Disclaimer:
This story contains several graphic scenes of sex and violence, if you are under 18, please stop reading.
Also, it contains several themes about the relationship between sex and religion.
It is deeply philosophical,if you are just here for a good time, then don’t read this.
If you want a deeper spiritual experience that explores the more sublime aspects of sex, then this story is for you.
The story uses several English terms that are not very common;I apologize if my vocabulary was too verbose. this story was written after one too many slices of Yellow Cab pizza last night.
Unlike my previous stories,this one is very short;only half a page in Microsoft Word.
Don’t worry guys,this is very,very short.
I’d like to dedicate this story to
Boobsybubbles69, Raginghormones,coffeeBBW, banibabe2009 , Sizzling_momma,and darkie,plus others like fireonfinger and hunnybun, and all those other people who inspired me to write. I hope you all like it.
Man,I hope I didn’t forget anyone!
Sa mga taga subaybay,puede paki basa muna ang disclaimer bago mag-comment?
Thanks again to coffeeBBW/Raginghormones, for lending me some of her characters.
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“What is that blood on your sword, my son, what is that blood, my dear-o?
It’s the blood of my sister, Mother, who I have killed in the
greenwood-o.”
~~traditional Celtic ballad
It was ten years ago… Ten tragic years ago,seems such a short time for one who is immortal like myself.
Even before I knew the thrill of battle,the sting of being wounded, the joy of victory… I would come to know her… All of her,the secrets of Eve revealed to me,just as with Adam at the start of creation…
Why is carnal knowledge forbidden?
Why is the knowledge of a girls soft and tender flesh denied man?
Why is a girl’s vagina the forbidden fruit?
All of these questions,only one person could provide the answer. She…
I’ll never know her touch,because death is a final barrier to our love?
But is death really the impenetrable veil that separates us from our loved ones?
Should we let it keep us apart from our desires?
Why should it?
Crimson droplets from the tip of his sword spattered onto dead brown leaves, and each droplet spoke her name.
She lay on her back, staring up at the treetops the way she loved to do, now with eyes that would not blink and would not close.
How he loved her blue eyes, when they used to gaze upon him with such quiet passion.
The scarlet stain spread outward from her belly, and he watched it grow as the blood formed a dull brown crust on his sword’s blade.
Once they walked in the greenwood arm-in-arm, on afternoons when sunlight streamed down from Heaven to anoint the burnished gold halo of her hair.
Here beneath the trees he lay her on the sun-dappled ground, and with one hand he tore open the bodice of her dark green gown while the other slithered under her skirts like a serpent, the moistness between her pale thighs warm on his fingertips.
And on the forest floor he took her, his fair and innocent virgin, she who would know no other.
He made her moan until she screamed, and scream until she could only
whisper.
This body, forbidden to him, he claimed as his own.
She blushed a deep red and ran her timid fingertips over the curve of his spine as
tendrils of mist rose from the cool earth, tiny spirits come to take them to the little death before returning them to their own realm once more.
They loved here often. And then, only just this morning, she spoke of the child. He fed her words of false comfort, told her they would say she had been violated by one of the boys in the village.
But he could not find solace even in his lies, for it was inevitable that their mother would discover the truth.
She had warned him often to keep his hands off her, Mother’s pride and joy, or she would see to it that he got what was coming to him.
It wasn’t right to have those feelings for his sister, she said.
He almost wished he had listened.
His pure and lovely sister, angel to his eyes, sang a song with her hands on her belly as if to help the thing inside her hear it.
They walked their well-trodden path through the wood as though there were nothing to fear.
He, however, knew better than that. No one could ever find out.
And only his sword could promise silence. “Turn ’round so I can watch you sing, sister.”
She obeyed, skirts and hair swirling about her.
How large her pretty and trusting eyes grew, and how he loved her so as he plunged the sword into the tender, yielding flesh of her stomach.
Her mouth fell open, but no words came, only a sad soft gurgle as blood bubbled up from her throat.
She stumbled back against a tree, clutching her gushing abdomen though the hateful creature inside her was surely no more.
They were saved.
She slumped to the ground. After several moments, he lifted her head and kissed the precious rosebud lips, lips still warm and still wet with salty blood and understanding tears.
He set his sword aside and pushed up her heavy skirts.
Her womb was dead, and he could love her the way he used to, the way she wanted him to, he knew, though she was limp and unresponsive.
He stabbed her again, only without his bloodstained sword; sanguine fluid flowed over his thighs, between his fingers, and he heard the echo of her scream in the greenwood, screaming until she could only whisper.
The End