Read an extract of Lilitu

Extract: Lilitu

I hope you’re keeping safe and well, and finding things to do to keep you occupied while we’re all still in lockdown.

I said I’d post an extract from each of the four books in the Erotic Myths & Sexy Tales boxset, and the one below is from the first book, a kind of dark fairy tale about a lilitu, Lila, who has problems of her own, but they’re made a whole load worse when she really needs to get the new lust of her life into bed, but his betrothed keeps getting in the way!

This scene finds us with Lila and her prospective man, after he has had an accident on his horse. And she has her own particular ways of making him recover! 😉

Happy reading!

Ina x

His head hurts a little, throbbing on one side and, in placing fingers to it, finds it both tender and raised into a hard bump. He wracks his brain, trying to recall the details of the moments before he awoke here. The nymph—mesmerising, her dark hair swirling in the wind, her body drenched by the weather that ruined his clothes; her skin delicate, soft; how easy it was to take her arousal and send it screaming throughout the moors. The very thought of it leaves his cock tip bulging through its skin, a delicious glimmer of pre-cum oozing from his slit and spreading under the piercing eyes of an owl, which hoots as an involuntary moan slides from between his lips. Did the bump on his head create her? His heart becomes a boulder, descending in his chest and crashing into the pit of his stomach. Surely not?

The noise of the bird, however, stirs his notions of reality once more, and he continues to the end of the balcony, where a narrow set of stone steps curl upwards into the dark. He cranes his head into the stairway; in the absence of seeing, he stands on the first step, debating ascent without candlelight. His heart jumps hard in his chest as, there in the silence, the owl’s feathers flap close to his ears like the beginning of a thunderstorm, and the bird vanishes up the stairway and into the shadows. He feels the stiffness of his cock brush against his hand at the sudden feeling of fear. He has heard warriors of old, and soldiers battling for the kingdom, react in such a way when faced with the possibility of death. Fear and arousal: perfect complements.

On reflection, and in the absence of seeing and not being in the mood to fall down the stairs and hit his head on the other side, Porphyro opts for the steps that descend to where large candelabras fail to give much light to a vast room. Candlelight glimmers in small, black holders against the wall as he pads down the stairway, the icy stone eating into the soles of his feet. Heedless of his nakedness now, he descends, the darkness and the intermittent candlelight leaving his cock in a state of complete and unashamed arousal. It throbs to such an extent that it begins to ache for release, and he takes it in hand and eases it with a few long stokes. The more in darkness he finds himself, the harder his strokes become, and longer, until the beginning of his orgasm harbours itself inside his heavy balls. He touches the substantial, long, ash wood table and the sumptuous red velvet of the chairs, held in deep burgundy shadows against the black wood, and the feeling grows, his cock becoming sticky, his grunts both shocking and delectable to him.

A breeze encircles him, reminding him of the squall that was somehow the instigator of his being here. He shudders, the violent rippling that descends through his blood and bone almost giving him untimely release there, next to the table. Grabbing one of the chairs and staring at it, his head is overtaken with a vivid re-creation of his winged woman, sitting, her black dress tightly criss-crossing her body and billowing at the bottom, and the image of her flesh between the mesh of lace and ribbon driving his desires to the brink of madness. He pushes her back into the seat, and her eyes grow wild. She licks her deep red lips, spreading her legs, resting the heels of her stilettoes on the arms of the chair. Grasping at the billowing fabric of her dress, she inches it up as he towers over her.

“You are behaving badly. I want to punish you for not revealing your pussy to me.”

His heart pounds in his chest, his hard cock desperate to rut the exquisite pussy that has ridden him in his dreams.

“And what will you do to me if I hide myself from you?”

Something deep inside him seeks out the darkness, draws its courage from the shadows.

“I will ensure you can’t stop me. When your punishment begins, I will—”

He stops. His heart hurts, his breath is erratic. His eyes are alight, but less with desire than with confusion. What is he to do? Why would he even contemplate this? The winged woman interrupts his thoughts, the bottom of her dress now hunched around her waist, and her slick, pink bounty on display to him.

“There you are.”

A guttural snarl rips from deep within his throat, and he lurches towards the temptations of her flesh. Thrusting his cock hard at her, he reaches to grasp her dark locks, winding them around his fingers, and pinning her head to the back of the chair. Voracious and snarling, he has no idea what he will do with her next. Why does he want to do this, to punish her?

There you are. Did you not hear me? Are you feeling quite better?”

Falling into the empty chair, his cock rages against the lush velvet, as he looks up to see the beautiful form of the nymph.

“I—I—oh, I’m so sorry.”

She is wearing a gown of rose chiffon, its single layer no match for her Aphrodite-like form, and her perfect, pert breasts point their blushing pink nipples into his face, her slick little pussy secreted semi-modestly behind the back of the chair. She has a candle which illuminates the side of her face, and as innocent as she seems, her eyes glimmer a yellow-green in the flickering, meagre light, lending her the appearance of a wild thing—a creature of folklore, or of—something—he does not know what. But she mesmerises him. He scrambles up into a standing position, brushing at the velvet, tainted with a glimmering trail of his lust. Offering her free hand, she takes his, his burning face apologising for both his nakedness and the state in which she found him. She leads him back up the staircase, the flames flickering to offer a glimmer of light only to be vanquished by the shadows that encircle them, back to the room he awoke in.

Everything about his nymph is perfect; she is the ideal, the epitome of all he wishes for, a surrogate for his Madeleine. He wishes to be back once more on the bed of moss with his nymph, his saviour from the fall, or else touching her exquisite wet beauty, letting her taste all that he will give her—give Madeleine—the moment they are gone from the castle. An image of his lady love fills his head, yet every time the candle flickers, the dark haired creature holds her wings around him, enveloping him in her darkness. Her black dress falls away, leaving her naked body writhing against his own and, dipping down, he thrusts his insatiable cock against her folds.

The bump on his temple aches; he holds it, wishing he could steady the whirlwind of images inside.

“Here we are. You will feel better in a short while, if you do as I ask you now, and come lay down once more.”

“I have to be gone. Where is this place? Is it far from Madeleine? The ball—the banquet!” His head throbs; his panic-stricken face glances over to her in the full throes of anguish. “I need to be gone a day hence. I have to find a way—. Madeleine, she is—.”

She releases his hand, instead placing hers onto his chest, and he feels a throb in his cock, too.

“I know who she is. You told me, out there on the moors. Do you not remember? Please—please rub it for me. You have need of it, I can see.”

The very notion of grinding his cock into his palm while her eyes lay upon it leaks more pre-cum from his tip. She takes her finger and dabs it on the glistening juice. He watches, transfixed, as her fingertip swirls around her lips, and delicately she licks at them.

“Mmm, that is beautiful. You must taste it.”

He has no time to speak before her wet lips are over his, and she wipes them across him, ensuring that his arousal finds its way to his tongue and the back of his mouth, so that he swallows his own sweet nectar.

“But—what am I to do about Madeleine?”

He says her name, but his beautiful nymph stands before him already. She smiles, letting her bare covering of chiffon fall away from her body, to reveal her naked form.

“I wish to show you something. Please—do not stop rubbing it. I want to see how beautiful you are.”

What is it that drives him to lay on the bed? She hovers over him and smiles, leaving his eyelids heavy, then closed, yet he can see clearly. The darkness behind them; the darkness in the room enclosing him; the nakedness of her luscious body and the spread of her black wings. Is he asleep? His cock stands hard under his hand and his chest heaves; she has come to him, here, in the strange dark, not a creature with talons, but a woman, fully formed with a stunning form and pale, alluring face.

“Touch me.”

His fingers trail over her face, and he looks into her green eyes, lit with a deep fire that transfers to him and burns within him, so that he clutches at her body, pulling her onto him. Her wings lift up and over her head, creating a black canopy above the bed. He cannot resist her and, despite his injuries, he finds strength enough to lift her by the ribs, suspending her over his cock.

“I want to fuck you. I want to feel my hard, fat cock pressing deep inside you. I want to lift you up and down on it, just as shallow as the tip, then ram you onto my entire length, so hard that you scream. I want my hands to roam your body until they find your tender nub, and I will fuck you until it hurts, with my fingers inside you, too, and with my thumbs driving themselves against your hard little ball until you scream again.”

“Why do you want to make me scream?” The winged beauty looks down on him, her body quivering in his hands, extending out to her stunning wings, so he feels like a Roman Caesar, fanned by his slaves while he lays upon a bed of the Ancients. For a moment, guilt wracks him, and he looks in her face for a clue that he has not frightened her and made her ill. What it is that has come over him? But her eyes are glowing, wild and waiting for an answer.

“Because—you are not my nymph. You are not the one who brought me here. I could never harm her. She has been so very kind to me. You are not my Madeleine, who would never allow such a thing. And—I need—to do it to you. You invade my dreams, you drive me to these feelings. You—you are my darkness.”

He watches a blood red smile break across her lips.

“I am Lila. You recognise me at last. But, if you wish to see your nymph, your beautiful Madeleine, I will show her to you.”

Her eyes flash at him, and her wings beat, harder, faster, until a breeze becomes a storm inside the room. The force of it almost prevents his breathing altogether and there, in a state somewhere between life and death, she forces herself down onto the end of his cock, and he groans, guttural and long as an image appears, floating in the wind: the naked Madeleine. His chest aches as Lila forces herself further down onto his cock, his arms giving way to her superior power. He watches, the way the dressmaker de-robes Madeleine, touches her skin; how Madeleine’s fingers explore Lila’s body, and how her nipples harden under Lila’s fingertips; how she willingly lays so that Lila’s cunt can entice and excite her juices from her.

A tear stings each eye, yet the hurt pride of a virile young man penetrates his insides and stings much harder.

“This isn’t real. You are trying to turn me against her. My Madeleine will wait for me, and only me. You would not be able to tempt her. No woman would. No-one. She is my Madeleine. My beautiful, innocent maiden—a nymph, like—”

He pauses, seeing the room as a concrete image once more: the flagstones, the window and the night now, but no flickering candles anymore. The woman who has brought him to this room is gone. And all he has is the darkness—and the black wings of his stunning creature. A desperation for release from his torment runs through him, and he strokes his cock hard, fast, squeezing it so he feels it pulsing against his hand, overpowered by the feeling.


If you liked this, and would like to take a peek at the boxset of four different erotic myths and sexy tales, you can find it at all the following places. I’m keeping the price really low right now, so that you can get your hands on it cheaply if you need some… um… distraction.

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