750 Words: The Cursed Woman - Sex Stories

750 Words: The Cursed Woman

This story was written for the750 Word Project 2024, below this line are exactly 750 words:

I stand alone on the hill, over a vast green landscape that used to be my unchallenged dominion. Like me, the land retains a glimmer of youth and beauty, but it's growing spoiled. It's seen better days, and won't see them again.

Even in the waning sun, the summer air is hot. That's good. All I have on is my wrap, thin and purple and translucent. The breeze keeps pulling it from my breasts, threatening to take it entirely and leave me with nothing but pubic hair to preserve my modesty.

Not that I'm concerned about that.

Far below, three men are coming. From the top of the slope, they look small.

One of them is broad, powerful, bronze. The next, lithe and effeminate. The last, a young one, barely a man, probably a virgin. (I'd requested one!) All three of them naked.

Aside from their long, shining dark hair, they're all immaculately shaved. I can see the gleam of their skin from here.

After a small eternity, they're standing before me.

I walk around each of them, looking them up and down, lingering on the good bits, unshy about treating them like goods in a market. I'm so wet.

If it were possible, I would make any one of them my permanent courtesan. But it won't be. Not after tonight.

I let the wrap down about my forearms, exposing to them the full flesh that they've been made responsible for.

The bronze one approaches me first. I'm tall, but he's taller. ...

... He lowers his head and kisses me. His spit tastes lemony. No doubt they were all prepared so.

The effeminate one comes to my side. He tentatively touches my breast. I break the kiss just long enough to encourage him. He puts his mouth over the areola. I grimace with sudden pleasure.

The virgin is, of course, already hard. For someone so small, his cock is the largest of all of them. I'm tempted to give him his first fuck before we're done. Wouldn't that be something?

He crouches--just the sight of a man crouching before me induces a pang in my belly--and hoists me up, my legs over his shoulders, his nose close enough to touch the hair that grows there.

The other men hold me aloft. Idly, I reach behind and grope the bronze one. He gasps against my lips when my fingertip finds his asshole.

No words have been exchanged. This is all prearranged according to my wishes.

I suck on the bronze one's tongue, the effeminate one gropes my tits and makes a spitlogged purple finger of my nipple, the virgin laps at the soft, warm flesh between the folds of my vulva. He was made to practice on the best female courtesans, who would have been instructed to react as though their tastes and desires matched mine.

His education was apparently worthwhile. The tip of his tongue dances up and down my inner labia, probing the savory opening in between, coming within teasing nearness to my clitoris.

He's a wonderful cunteater, marred only by his slight plainness, which can't be ...