elvella's trash bin

Her chest was heaving as if she’d run a mile, her heart was racing, she was giddy. She’d made the master angry — she’d used magic!— and she was alive, alive with the earth pounding under her feet and the precious locket thumping against her chest.

(Could this be freedom?)

And then something was suddenly looming up ahead of her and she pulled up hard, but when she raised her eyes she saw that she had come out of the trees. Not far from the edge of the forest was a small sturdy cottage surrounded by tree stumps and split lumber, and there by the cottage — ah, could she believe it? Somehow her feet had carried her back to him, to her woodcutter.

He was there with his axe in his hand, and he was tall and beautiful in the blaze of the sunset, and the gentle breeze was in his hair.

His dark eyes widened when he saw her, and the axe fell from his hand. Who moved first toward the other she could not say, but in an instant he was in her arms, strong and solid and hers hers hers all hers. And then he was bending his knees to meet her and she was straining up on tiptoe, and she was kissing his mouth, warm and wet and so much realer than she could have imagined.

His arms tightened around her and she felt the ground fall briefly away as he lifted her up in his strong arms. When he set her back down, she drew away from him just a little. And as he had beat the rhythm of two swift taps over her heart as he taught her the music of his work, so now it was she who beat two swift taps over his heart. Then she crowded into him again, her arms tight around his shoulders, and she let the drum that was his heart thunder in her ear for just a little while.

(Could she have this? Could she really, really have this?)

There were fireflies out that evening, tiny points of light softly glowing on and off in the summer warmth. She caught one in her hands for a moment, and looked up at her woodcutter whose face was full of tenderness.

It was a beautiful, beautiful night to be free.

They watched the fireflies together until the sun went down, and then he took her by the hand and drew her into the small house that must be his. It was plain and rough-looking and a single room, not large or fine as the house on the hill where she had served her master, but tidy and obviously well kept. There was a low banked fire in the hearth, and a bed in the corner.

Her woodcutter hesitated, and the firelight gleamed on his open, expressive face. Slowly, maintaining eye contact with her until he couldn’t anymore, he bent to untie his boots and step out of them, with his stockings to follow. She eagerly slipped off her own shoes, and carefully laid the locket necklace on the mantel.

There came a breathless moment where they looked into each other’s faces, and asked a question. She was never sure afterward who moved first, only that they were both moving across the floor to the bed, that they were lying down on it side by side, turning to face one another.

She bit her lip, fidgeting with her hands, and propped herself up a little to look down at his face.

He blinked up at her, questioningly.

Feeling bold and a little giddy and a little self-conscious, she put her hand low on his stomach.

His eyes widened, and she saw him flush. It brought a little more heat between her own legs — she had done that, her!

He nodded eagerly, and sat up, dislodging her a little. She had a moment to feel just a little shocked at her own forwardness before he unclipped his suspenders and undid the buttons of his trousers and the linen drawers underneath.

She couldn’t help staring. There, between his thighs, she saw his male part starting to stand out of the opening in his garments and oh! She was really going to touch him there, wasn’t she?

She raised her eyes back to his face; but to her dismay he could only meet her eyes for a moment before hiding his flushed face in his hands. His chest jumped on an inhale.

Was he … did he not want to, after all? She took his wrists in a loose hold and gently drew his hands away from his face, leaving him every opportunity to stop her, made a low questioning hum.

His eyes widened and he nodded quickly, picked up one of her hands and lightly kissed it. His breath was warm on her skin and now it was her turn to flush hot and drop her eyes.

(Was she really about to—)

He retook her attention by letting go of her hand, and he seemed to grow a little bolder. He drew his male part out from his open trousers and drawers, and she saw that it was thickening and flushing. She had never herself seen a male part before, and she wanted to touch it.

She put her hand lightly on his clothed thigh and looked back at his face, a question.

His throat moved as he swallowed; he nodded again, an answer.

Her heart beat faster and her stomach fluttered in excitement and nerves. She folded her hand gently around his flesh, and it felt bigger in her hand than it had looked in his.

… and what now? She had his male part in her hand, how was she supposed to touch it?

She couldn’t stop a nervous giggle from slipping out of her.

He giggled too, and then his large warm hand was closing around hers, tightening her grip a little. He moved her hand so that she was stroking him, up toward the tip. He sighed in obvious enjoyment as they did this, face going slack and mouth falling slightly open. Something about his expression looked — oh, it looked so wonderfully vulnerable, and the heat low in her core and between her legs grew.

She felt (and saw) his member thicken in her hand, and the skin around the head seemed to slip back a little. Something wet started to leak from the tip, and she made a little noise of surprise, her grip tightening accidentally.

His hips jerked, and a soft startled ah-ah-ahfell from his mouth. He pulled her hand suddenly away from his member and lay twitching. He was red-faced and sweating and his chest was heaving and she wanted to eat him up. She actually wanted to bite him, and had to bite her own lip to keep herself in check. She wriggled a little, her one hand still suspended in his grasp midair.

He looked at her, still panting a little, and then without warning he sat up and bent over her, pushing her down on her back. She let out a soft ooh! of surprise and she could’ve sworn she felt the wetness between her own thighs squelch.

He made a questioning hum, and put his hands on the hem of her skirt. She nodded eagerly — oh, this was happening, this was happening! She sat up, pulled the plain dress over her head, unfastened her petticoat and corset cover, and unhooked her corset. Down to the last of her undergarments, she flopped down on her back again and slipped her hand down between her thighs to find the opening in her (already wet) drawers. Her fingers trembled a little with sudden nerves — what if he didn’t like how she looked, how she felt down there?

But the dim light she saw his eyes follow her hand with knife-sharp attention. He moved around a little to better reach her with both hands, bent her knees up, and watched her hand. A little self-conscious, she bit her lip again as she ran her fingers lightly up and down her lower lips.

He made an ahhh sound as if he had learned something tremendously important, and moved one of his hands up her inner thigh. He checked her face again, clearly looking for permission.

She nodded, her breath catching in her chest.

He crouched in front of her to better see what he was doing, and began mapping her long lips with his own broad hands. They were rough and callused with labor and she shivered a little to feel them. Of course no person other than herself had ever touched her in such a vulnerable place, and the strangeness of it made her feel a little mad.

He traced her lower lips a while, but when she tried spreading her legs a little further he ventured inside. He found the opening of her cunt easily enough, but also he dragged his fingertips up and around and found the little hooded bud that made her gasp.

Ahhh, he said again, beaming all over his beautiful face. He swept his finger over her bud again, and her breath hitched again. She was feeling swollen and sensitive, and she wanted — she just —

She grabbed his hand and started rubbing his two fingers in circles over her swelling bud, her wetness making his fingers slick. It felt so good, so very good and warm and much on her sensitive flesh and she was chasing, chasing the high point of her pleasure. She heard deep-voiced groans coming from her own mouth, her head reared back and—

She was tipping over the edge and her hips thrashed up, she cried out long and loud. The drunk, heady pleasure washed over her in waves, and for an endless moment she felt like some part of her spirit had drifted away from her, as if she were somehow both dying and floating.

When the floaty feeling finally subsided she found she was still holding onto his hand. She let go with a little embarrassed sound, though she was still a little shivery.

He was staring into her face with unabashed hunger, his eyes bright. He surged up to kiss her mouth, hot and needing, she swore she could feel it. She could feel, too, the stiff hardness of his male part brushing against her thigh. She suddenly wanted desperately to know what it would feel like inside her.

She tried to spread her thighs even further under him, but he must have felt the movement. He broke the kiss, and looked at her questioningly again.

Still a little tingly and maddened from the heights of her pleasure, she reached down and put her hand low on his stomach, just above where his stiff, leaking member hung out of his trousers.

He nodded eagerly, and re-settled himself. He even picked up her legs and put her ankles over his broad shoulders, making her giggle. He took his male part in his hand, and something about the sight of him bending over her, mostly still clothed and yet obscenely undone, made her feel like a wild thing. It was a good thing her teeth were nowhere near any of his body parts or she might have bitten him.

He felt shockingly big when he entered her. She couldn’t stop a quiet wince; she felt stretched in a way that was odd and not so pleasant. He froze for a moment, eyes flying wide and terror flashing over his face. He made a low sound, and began to pull back out of her, and no, that wasn’t allowed! She shook her head with an ah-ah for emphasis.

He hesitated, peering at her again, and then slowly he began pushing his male part inside her opening again. Still a stretch, and she didn’t try to hide her sharp inhale. He held still inside her, but she felt the tightness in the muscles of his thighs.

It didn’t take her long for the weird stretched feeling to settle into something more like … fullness. She moved her own hips a little, experimentally. He grunted, and his own hips jerked a little, and his member kicked a little inside her.

Oh. Oh, that was actually— that was good?

She moved against him again, drawing another grunt and another thrust of his hips that made some new sensitive part of her go off. Slowly, half by accident, they began to fall into a sort of rhythm, him thrusting into her cunt and her rolling her hips under his. He was — yes, he was fucking her, this must be penetration, and for her it was maybe not so glorious as his fingers on her bud had been, but still pleasurable. But he was sweating and flushing to the roots of his hair and groaning, and then suddenly his eyes rolled back and he buried himself even deeper inside her and cried out with a loud voice, and she felt something hot and wet inside her.

He must be soaring as she had after her peak. His face was slack, his eyes glazed, and his chest heaved. He slumped forward a while, clearly a little out of himself at the moment. She liked such a dazed expression on him (maybe a little too much?)

He came back to himself in a few moments, and now that he had gone soft he did pull himself out of her. Still heaving a little, he lay down next to her and slipped his arm around her. And then, to her amazement, he opened his mouth and said: “Nick.”

His name. He had broken the Silence, to offer her the gift of his name. Could he know how precious such a thing was to her?

And she found herself in turn daring to break the Silence herself, to give him, her woodcutter, her brave and beautiful Nick, that which she had never given to her master: “Nimmie.”