Monday, July 29, 2013

Ellen and the Dragon's Teeth

When we last saw Ellen, her new acquaintance Roderick had given her a very sound spanking, and followed that up with vigorous some love-making which I chose to omit due to ts graphic nature. In this excerpt from Ellen's Story, the pair go on an adventurous expedition, and I decided to include the sexual activity that takes place.

It had been Roderick's idea to take me on what he called 'a pilgrimage', and when I had asked him where, he had put his finger to his lips and murmured mysteriously, "Wait and see!"

After several miles of hot, exhausting climbing I realised from the direction we were heading in that he was leading me to the Dragon's Teeth - the rock strewn ridge forever brooding down at us from the steep horizon. Local folk shunned this place. It was reputedly haunted by the devil himself. It was also commonly believed that all the ill weather - thunder, lightning, fog and tempests - was bred and nurtured high on that barren peak.

Happily there were no storms looming on that July day. The sky was cobalt-blue. Gossamer clouds floated like lazy galleons above the encompassing hills. The air was heavy with summer. Hand in hand Roderick and I toiled towards the distant rock summit while all around us stretched a crimson sea of heather. Birds shrieked overhead, wheeling and plunging in the wind that forever blows in those hills. Soon the valleys and the plain below were lost to view, cut off by the high plateau that surrounded us. On the extreme western horizon we could just discern the hazy peak of Cader Idris.

On the way, Roderick told me a little about the customs in pagan times, of which he said he had to make a study. Today, he declared, we would re-enact one of the most ancient rites - the rite of sacrifice!

I was both intrigued and more than slightly apprehensive, since he refused to give any explanation whatsoever as to his meaning...

At that moment we clambered up into the very jaws of the Dragon's Teeth. To our right lay the stupendous mound of rocks known as Lucifer's Throne, while at our feet the plain far below stretched away into seeming infinity.

Suddenly the world down there seemed a hostile, perilous place - and I clung to Roderick for safety and protection. "I am so frightened by what the future might hold in store for me," I murmured softly, seeking reassurance from the warm virile strength of his body. "I wish we could be together always."

Far below us to the west, the land was gashed as far as the eye could see by mountainous masses, like waves on a troubled sea, while above, grey and white fleeced clouds scurried over our heads.

I felt tiny, insignificant, and frighteningly vulnerable - even though my darling was there by my side, Aware of my fears, Roderick roughly flung me into an enormous bear-hug and kissed me so fiercely that one by one all my terrors and anxieties melted away.

Then the wind gathered itself into one great malicious gust and blew my frock and petticoat up above my thighs, revealing the tops of my black stockings and my spotlessly white linen drawers. I cried out in embarrassment - more so when Roderick, delighted by the sudden disorder in my dress, placed his hands under my ballooning skirts and, swiftly loosening my drawers, tore them down to below my knees.

"Roderick no! Not here in the open air where people can see!" I shrieked. Naked from the waist down I vainly wrestled with my captor as he laughingly dragged me towards the silent brooding bulk of Lucifer's Throne. The black rocks that rudely formed the shape of a gigantic chair had been so chiselled by the elements until they resembled the contorted faces of malignant beasts.

He pushed me face downwards across the seat of the throne so that my bare bottom was bent up at a shockingly immodest angle. To no avail did I struggle and kick my black-stockinged legs, for he held me securely pinned by the waist.

"Don't do it here, please Roderick - I beg you!" I implored, guessing his intention. But my feeble voice was borne rapidly away by the onrush of the wind.

"The Dragon's Teeth demand a sacrifice!" he chanted solemnly, running his hand over my shamefully naked bottom and down between my thighs. The more I protested and struggled, the more excited and carried away he became.

He plucked a supple bracken frond growing at his feet and measured it across the roundness of my squirming posterior. "In pagan times," he declared, intoning the words slowly as though they were part of a ritual, "the high priest would sacrifice a beautiful maiden to the gods by spilling her blood.." then he chuckled merrily and his voice once more became Roderick's, "...but this particular high priest proposes nothing more sacrificial for his lovely victim than a well whipped bottom!" and he commenced warming my bare backside with a series of deft, swishy strokes with the wand that, although not exactly painful, nevertheless made me yelp and wriggle in great abandonment.

I would never have admitted it, but in truth I found the role of sacrificial victim in which he cast me immensely exciting. Added to that, I felt by then that I could trust him sufficiently not to exceed all bounds and inflict real injury to my person.

"Swish! Swish! Swish!" said the busy little wand, heating up the flesh of my buttocks and creating darts of exquisite pleasure that stung my sex, making it throb and pulsate with awakened desire.

The sacrificial weapon continued to hum as it gradually broke down all the barriers of my maidenly resistance, high up there on that primeval rocky ridge. My bottom began to feel as if it had been pricked all over with needles. My legs grew weak and ceased to kick.....

He drew me even further over the seat of the throne so that my legs dangled helplessly - then, pushing them wide apart, he aimed his swishy wand at the lips of my sex, invoking incredible sensations with delicate little strokes which opened and moistened my sensitive slit.

I groaned and dilated involuntarily as the excruciatingly delicious torment impelled me nearer and nearer towards a wild consummation which, when it came, tore through my body as though it were the Golden Arrow itself - that burnished shaft of ancient Welsh border country legend that wounds before it can heal...

With my poor bottom still red and stinging from the myriad blows of his little love-birch, Roderick laid me down amid the springy heather. He released his burgeoning penis from the tight confines of his trousers, swiftly penetrated me, and soon our mingled juices overflowed and ran down into the rocky soil beneath our spread-eagled bodies - like blood from a freshly donated sacrifice...
A willing sacrifice indeed!

From Hermione's Heart


Anonymous said...

Hermione, that is a wonderfully written story. Thank you for posting it.

Aimless Rambling said...

Thanks for sharing. Ellen sure had a 'sacrifice' to share.

ronnie said...


Thanks for sharing another excerpt about Ellen. Have really enjoyed them.


DelFonte said...

This never happened to me when I lived in Wales :(
Great story, thanks for the post.

Hermione said...

Arched one - Thank you. I'm so pleased it touched a chord.

Sunny - Sigh! Something she just had to do.

Ronnie - I'm delighted to hear it.

DelFOnte - Aww, too bad. Maybe it wasn't the right time of year for sacrificing.


Anonymous said...

A very nice example of a spanking scene told from 1st person POV. The reader is in Ellen's head all the way, so female spankees can identify with and experience vicariously through Ellen. The author who comes to mind, one who used this POV a lot, wrote for Blue Moon books in the 80's as Willa Kaufen (sp?). I have not seen her since, but then again maybe we all have, since that is obviously a pseudonym.

Hermione said...

Rollin - I've never heard of Willa Kaufen, but she could be the author. You're very astute at recognizing an author's style.


Terpsichore said...

doesn't sound like they sacrificed too much...or at least they enjoyed it... :-) Hugs