Nicola Jane - Follow Your Fantasy - Deeper

'Jewellery or something, right?'

'In the children's version, yes. But I think he would have taken something only she could give him. This was a creature that could spin gold from straw, remember? He could make trinkets any time he wanted. What could she give him instead?'

'Ahhh!' You'd never thought of that before but it makes perfect sense. Or as much sense as anything could under the bewitching of your senses at the aroma of the oil and the sensation of it working its way to the mound of your pussy. You let your legs fall open, outer thighs resting on the smooth velvet. 'Herself.'

'Again, yes and no. The King let her know he would marry her if she pleased him. That was her only way out of her slavery. From a miller's daughter to the Queen? Obviously, she'd take that way out if she could. But she had to guard the thing both men wanted the most while at the same time securing Rumpelstiltskin's help. So, on the first night – there were three nights in all, you remember? There are always three of everything in fairy tales, just like here.'

He sweeps the brush between your legs, with a gentle pressure at your clit, so fleeting your answering throb comes as if minutes later, and moves down to dip into your pussy and pass lower between your cheeks to your ass. You raise your hips in response – or request.

'My subject is almost ready,' he says. 'What does she do to Rumpelstiltskin on the first night?'

You breathe in and out and lick your lips, trying to gather breath enough to speak instead of the less coherent noises coming from the back of your throat.

'She lets him see her,' you say. 'She knows that she has to keep him from touching her – ah!'

Julian uses the brush as if he's painting you, in smooth strokes up and down, pinning your lips apart as the brush passes and whispers past your clit. You swallow and continue, picturing yourself in a candlelit, stone-walled cell, dropping a coarse, long sleeved robe to the floor.

'Rumpelstiltskin is paralysed, staring and panting. She lifts her long hair from her breast and turns around. The light from the flame plays over her and throws shadows of her curves on the wall. Her ass, her thighs, her breasts. And she's never seen herself because they don't have mirrors anywhere but in royal palaces. She's scared so she's shaking, but she completes one whole turn and, when she looks back – he's gone but the straw has turned to gold.'

'Teasing,' says Julian. You hear the clink of wood against glass and for the moment the brushing stops. 'The next night?'

You bring your hands to your own breasts and slide them over your oiled skin, pinching your nipples as hard as the oil allows before your fingertips nip at the air as they slip off. Your body has heated the oil so it moves like the finest of veils and you moan aloud as a smaller, more precise brush finds your clit. It swells under the brush, so full you can feel it standing up, eager for the pressure to increase.

'The next night, the king has left even more straw than before and she is half scared Rumplestiltskin won't come, half scared he will and about what she might have to give him.'

'Maybe she's scared what she might want to give him?'

'Mmmm,' you agree but the sound turns into a moan of appreciation as the brush swirls around and around your clit in pinpointed circles, closing in on the peak with each sweep.

'This time, he tells her his price is higher because there's more work. She doesn't know what to do, not even what more means because her father has always been so strict with her and she never had a mother to tell her what men want. She takes off her clothes again and when he comes towards her she steps back until she's against the wall.'

The brush is moving faster now, flicking your clit with just enough pressure to excite but not to tip you over the edge. Your hands are still toying with your breasts and you imagine yourself with the cold stone at your back and the ugly, dark-eyed face of the little man staring at you.

'He's watching her so intently she follows his gaze as he licks his lips and she sees that his eyes rest between her legs often. She thinks maybe she needs to show more and all she has left is what's there, under the hair she's started to grow but that she instinctively knew not to ask her father about. So she puts her feet wider apart and she knows immediately that it was the right thing to do as Rumpelstiltskin's mouth drops open and he smiles.'

Julian replaces the soft brush with something small but stiffer and he begins dabbing at your clit as if touching up tiny gaps in his work. You break off again, unable to speak even though in your mind's eye, the dwarf is standing closer, his face level with your pussy.

'He breathes in and then he dips his head forward so he's pressed right up against her. And she's never felt anything there before but her hips push out from the wall and she presses herself back at him before she even knows she's doing it. She can't see his face anymore but she can feel what he's doing.'

'And what's that?'

'His tongue. He curls it up and it's long and rough and he curls it right up inside her.' You can't cope with the dotting motion of the brush anymore. 'Please…your fingers, your cock. I need you inside me.'

'She's very knowing for an innocent miller's daughter,' Julian says and you can hear the smirk in his voice. 'Open your eyes!'

He gets up and everything stops, the tickling, the brushing, the pressure. But your clit is still throbbing, and your eyes flicker open, bleary and unfocused. It takes a couple of seconds for them to clear and, by then, Julian is behind the tripod, adjusting the camera that's pointed at you.

'Carry on,' he says, beginning to click the shutter. 'You're ready. You're perfect.'

You want to beg him to come back and fuck you but you can see that this is what he brought you here for. The canvas has been prepared and if anything else is going to happen, the art comes first. Literally.

You talk into the camera, still holding the images in your mind's eye and letting the story play out as if the characters are acting and you're just the witness, not the creator. 'Rumpelstiltskin's tongue unfurls right into her and it's fat and solid, but flexes and twists and she has to put one hand over her mouth in case she screams and the guards hear.'

Click, click, click. The shutter opens and closes in rapid fire.

'Then he pulls his tongue out, forever pulling and pulling with its rasping surface until he kind of slithers it against her clit. She didn't even know she had another place there. And she's so hot and wet and turned on and all these feelings she's never had that she orgasms into his face. And when he steps back his mouth and nose and chin are shining wet.'

'Good ending!' Julian straightens up and grins. 'Those are going to be amazing shots.'

'That's not the end though, is it?' Your voice is hopeful, almost pleading.

'Of the story? Noooo.'

You let out an aggravated sigh and prop yourself up on your elbows. 'Come on! You can't just take photos!'

'A good artist knows when to stop,' he says, but he comes back to sit on the cushions and you can see his shirt is sticking to his bony chest and an erection is pushing against his tight jeans.

'Lay back again and I'll finish it,' he promises.

You close your eyes and sink back as he starts talking.

'On the third night, the miller's daughter is sitting in a room piled to the ceiling with straw and the King has told her he will marry her for sure if she can turn it all to gold in one night. She's scared she looks different to him after her torrid night, so she keeps her eyes down and tries to look subservient while all the time she's thinking about Rumpelstiltskin and what he did to her. But she knows that whatever it is men want from women, it's more than what he took the night before and that she's in terrible danger.'