My Night in a Fairy-Tale Whorehouse
By Casey Jepson


    I tremble slightly as I ring the doorbell. I just don’t know what to expect; I’ve never been to a brothel of this sort before. But I’ve heard a lot about it: demons, fairies, vampire seductresses, all kinds of mythic yet very real creatures. And dead sexy, every one of them is (so I’ve been told). So the door opens up, and already I am as excited as I am nervous. For before me stands a woman in an open red robe that doesn’t even try to cover her tight, toned body beneath skimpy lingerie that shows more than it aught to. Her reddish-blond hair is up in a bun, tied by violet ribbons that flow down by her face.
     "Ah, welcome, do come in," she says in a sexy British accent. So I follow her in. We go through a narrow corridor, but if the walls are decorated I do not know, for I’m trying to find the shape of her bum beneath the robe. I don’t mean to, but I cannot resist. She says something, breaking my concentration.
     "Sorry, again?" I ask
     She stops at the end of the hallway, in an open arch, and turns around.
     "I said my name is Druscilla. I have to tell most men twice." She winks as she turns again. She leads me into a scene it could take a long time to describe. It’s shaped like a hotel lobby, but very posh; red sofas, red pillows, even the hardwood floor has a red sparkle. Various people are gathered, some talking, some drinking, some making out. One woman with her back to me has a tail sticking out of her dress, the tip wiggling. I see a couple of men, possibly twins, with red horns sticking out of their foreheads, drinking imported beer and laughing with a blonde woman in a one-piece, sequined swimsuit. A couple of the human-looking women, one in a low-cut dress, the other in black panties and a ruffled bra, smile at me and wink as I walk by. Dead sexy, like the rumors say. Except for one. There’s a little girl in the corner; she wears a white T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, and she can’t be more than eleven. What’s a girl like her doing here? This place must cater to all kinds of needs, but shant good taste only go so far? Nah, she’s probably just a daughter of one of the hookers, who couldn’t find a babysitter this time of night.
     "Wait here," says Druscilla as we approach the desk, which is unattended. "Agatha will get you set up." She walks away.
     My eyes again hone in on her backside, almost against my will, when a voice startles me.
     "Do you have a reservation?"
     Standing on the other side of the counter, as if she were there the whole time, is a young woman with long brown hair held back by a tiara, wearing an open pink sweater over a sky-blue tube top. She has a beautiful smile, and speaks in a heavy Swedish accent. "Or are you just dropping in?"
    "Uh, just dropping in," I say, trying to sound confident.
    "Alvight, we just need to sign you in. Name?"
    "Um..."
    "It doesn’t have to be your real vone."
    "No no, it’s okay. Elijah. Elijah Galadon." She writes my name in a large guest book on the counter. "I don’t need to sign my name in blood, do I?"
    She laughs. More like a squeak really, but it’s cute.
    "No, thumbprint vill do." So I press my inked thumb in the book, and she takes it away. "Now, I must explain to you ze rules. Since you are a drop-in, you do not get to chose za woman you get. Ve must choose for you. If you vant to select vone yourself, you must make a reservation. On the first two visits, you can be assured zhat no harm vill come to you. After that, you will have the choice of how ‘dangerous’ (she accents the word by making finger-quotes) your visits can be. As a rule, on the first visit you cannot leave until avter the visit is complete. If you are dissatisfied vith your voman, you do not have to pay." She leans closer to me to say: "And no vone has not paid their first visit." Wink. "Ve accept cash and all major credit cards, and you do not have to pay until the end of each veek." Now she puts her hand on something behind the counter and stares at it; I’m guessing it’s a computer screen for I can see the reflection of green letters in her large, brown eyes. "Ah, Lauralin will be your match tonight. She gets a lot of first-timers; ve credit a lot of our return business to her. Go up ze staircase to your left, down to the third door on the right. Lauralin will meet you there shortly."
    I look to my right to find the staircase, but when I look back Agatha is gone. How does she do that? Oh well, let’s go. I try to imagine all the kinds of people this Lauralin can be. Mature and sexy like Druscilla? Young and sweet light Agatha? Might she have a tail, or a third breast, or something? The first door in the upstairs hallway (which has red carpeting and maroon wallpaper, as most of the place) is open, and I catch a glimpse of a topless woman with her lips on the neck of some Joe Average... no not her lips, her teeth! She’s a vampire beyond all doubt, but the man seems to be in ecstasy. I cringe and continue down the hall. The third room on the right is small but posh. A bed with satin, leopard print covers; large red pillows; a nightstand with lampshade above it--floating above it, as if the lamp itself was invisible; a couple erotic paintings, and a mirror.
    I can feel the blood rushing to my face and my fingers tingle; it’s not like I haven’t had a prostitute before--in fact I’ve had mostly them. It’s just that in this place you can’t know what to expect. So I remove my jacket and shoes and sit down on the bed. I just tap my fingers on the bed and look at the door. But time drags by. I get restless after a minute and look around to see if there’s anything else here. The cabinet in the nightstand turns out to be a small refrigerator, and there’s a couple bottles of beer in it. I take one out, but am afraid to open it. But I hear a knock on the door and put the beer down.
    I am not happy when I open the door. Standing in front of me is the eleven-year-old girl, with a huge smile on her face. "Elijah?" she asks in a very fifth-grade manner. Oh pa-leeze, I think, and close the door on her.
    "Excuse me?!" I hear her say through the door. So I open it back up.
    "Sorry, it’s just that I’m expecting someone here... um, soon.."
    "Lauralin, right?"
    "Yes."
    "That’s me." She pushes her way past me into the room. My tongue catches in my throat.
    "You? You gotta be kidding me!"
    "Don’t worry, I may not look like much but I always manage to surprise my customers." She picks the beer up off the endtable, twists of the cap, and takes a sip. "Want some?"
    I stand with my jaw hanging open, feeling like someone had just stepped on my toe. Then I come to my senses, and smile.
    "Oh, I know what’s going on here, this is some kind of prank, and some beautiful buxom brunette is gonna jump in and yell surprise. Then we’ll all have a laugh and you’ll go watch cartoons. There’s a hidden camera behind the mirror, right?" I try to pull the mirror off the wall nonchalantly, but it doesn’t move. In the reflection I can see the girl looking very serious.
    "I won’t be happy if I don’t get what I came for," she says. I turn around. She’s serious. Well this...this child...won’t get me what I came for; I must demand someone else. But the door slams itself shut as I reach for it. I quickly find the door is locked, and I haven’t the strength to force it open.
    "Unlock this door!" I demand.
    But the girl just smiles and stands up. "Don’t worry," she says slowly, "you’ll like it in a minute." She stars to pull her T-shirt up, and I shut my eyes. I hear her clothing fall lightly to the floor. "Open your eyes," she says.
    "No! Whatever you do to me, I’m never coming here again!"
    "Sure you are." But something’s different. Her voice has changed. That was not the voice of an eleven-year-old. "Now come sit by me," the new voice says, obviously the voice of an experienced woman. I open one eye, then stare.
    Sitting on the bed is beautiful, buxom brunette, completely nude, and at least in her mid-twenties. I guess my theory was true; but how’d they make the switch so fast?
    "How’d you do that?" I ask.
    "Do what?
    "How’d you get in here so fast? And where did the girl go?"
    "I’m still here." She stands up, and at the sight of her body my crotch does a little standing of its own. She’s slender, but with very curved hips. Her breasts are ample, with large pink nipples just out from the center of each. Her pubic hair is shaved to just a line down the middle. And her face is cuter than even that of Agatha, with pouty lips and an slightly upward pointing-nose, and deep green eyes between luscious lashes. Her brown hair hangs down not quite to her shoulders, and points inward at the bottom. However she got in my room, she can give me what I came for.
    She slips off my shirt while I undo my belt. She helps me pull my jeans to the floor, and smiles at the bulge beneath my boxers. She kisses me ever so slowly, rubs her hand through my short hair, then steps back and sits on the bed, with her legs open. She picks up the bottle of beer and holds in between her breasts. "How ‘bout a sip now?"
    So I approach her and lay one hand on the bottle, as I press my face forward an lick her left nipple. She pulls back and moans slightly. I do it again. I take a sip of the beer, but then put it on the table and forget about it. She stands up and pushes me onto the bed, then kneels above me, with her knees on either side of my thighs. She leans down and kisses me again, this time opening her mouth and inserting her tongue into my mouth. My tongue meets hers and they begin to dance within me, swirling around each other and rubbing my teeth. I reach up and squeeze her breast, then rub my thumb around her nipple. She lets out a sigh, then nibbles on my earlobe. Oh, I LOVE it when women do that! She pulls me up and pushes my head between her ample bosoms. I put my palms against them and carefully push myself backwards onto the bed.
    "Have you ever read The Lord of the Rings?" she asks, sounding very hot & bothered as she does so.
    "It’s my favorite book," I say slowly as I run my hands down her back, onto her firm buttocks.
    "Who would you say is the sexiest in that story? I always found Aragorn to be quite manly; strong willed, valiant, and rugged. And you do remind me of Frodo too, with your deep eyes and charming smile." As she says this, she pulls my boxer shorts down past my feet.
    I lay back and close my eyes, then reply "I always had kind of a crush on Galadriel."
    "Mmm, queen of Lothlorien. Who hasn’t?"
    "Where do you think I got my name?" I say as I look her in the eyes. She looks back.
    "Where do you think I got mine?"
    I’ve been called a nerd for my advanced knowledge of Tolkien mythology, but few nerds ever experienced this from their obsession, save in dreams.
    "Close your eyes," she says. "Don’t open them until I tell you to. She kneels over me again, and slips her womanhood over my pulsing protrusion. I open my mouth wide as if I were to scream, but in pleasure not fear, but all I let out is an "Ooh." Then a remarkable thing happens: I can feel the inner folds of her sexual palace shift and move about, as if they are being rearranged, or sculpted by an unfelt artist, ever so slightly. The feeling of it against my manhood sends waves of lust through my body. "Now open them."
    But the voice I hear has changed again: this time it is English and serene; I open my eyes and gasp. Sitting atop me, locked in our sexual embrace, is not the woman with whom I was fornicating a moment ago, but Galadriel herself, the Elf-queen of Lothlorien, exactly as she appeared in the movie, sans garment. She runs her finger down the side of my face with a look on her face that seems to say "Do not be afraid." I know now what this woman is: she is a shape-shifter, a changeling. It really was her in the pre-teen body that I thought was a joke. Yet far as I know, she could be centuries old.
    She begins to raise and lower her body, inches at a time, rubbing her inner parts against me. I push forward in tune with the movements of her body.
    "Talk to me," I say, "like she would."
    So she begins quoting from the book. "But even now there is hope left. I will not give you council, saying do this or do that. Mmm, for not in doing or contriving, nor in choosing between this course and another, can I avail; but only in knowing what was and is, and in part also what shall be. Oh, yes!"
    I pull her down onto the bed with me, and kiss her passionately with my arms around her. I slip my tongue between her lips and explore her mouth. Then drawing back, I say "Why, this taste is better than the honey-cakes of the Beornings, and that is great praise, for the Beornings are the best bakers that I know of."
    She smiles casually and says "Now it’s my turn to taste." She slides her body down mine, toward my pelvis, and as she does so she seemed to transfigure: her hair changes from blond & straight to long red curls, and her skin turns slightly paler. She grips my stiff member in her mouth, and rubs it with her tongue. Then up and down her head moves, her saliva lubricating my shaft. It feels better than all the times I’d ever had it; she is thorough but not harsh; her lips are soft yet secure. I feel intense pressure building up inside me, I must not let go too soon!
    "Please allow me to return the favor," I say. She looks up and smiles at me, then lays back on the bed with her legs wide apart. Her bush seems to fade into her skin before my eyes, exposing a pair of vertical pink lips, which she spreads with two fingers.
    "You may learn something," she says, still in her Galadriel accent, with doesn’t quite match her current face, "and whether what you see be fair or evil, that may be profitable, and yet if may not. Seeing is both good and perilous."
    "I will look," I reply, summoning her quote from my memory. I lean forward and place my fingers on either side of her slit, and lick it. Then pushing my tongue into her I contact her love node, and tickle in with my tongue-tip. She giggles and cries out in passion at the same time. I slide my tongue in and out, then push it as far in as I can, tasting much of the salt within.
    "Enough games," she gasps. "We must wait no longer. Fulfill me!" I get up and thrust myself upon her, and force my cock in and out of her valley. Her arms and legs flail and tense, and I barely notice when she kicks the beer bottle off the table. Every thrust draws my physical desire closer to the surface. A sweat breaks on my face. She shouts encouragement with each of my lurching into her womanly chamber. And when she breaks into a poem, I can’t choose not to join in.
    Her: "Three rings for the elven-kings with their slender thighs!"
    Me: "Seven for the dwarf-lords and their bearded wives!"
    Her: "Nine for manly men and their masculine hands!"
    Me: "One for the dark lord on his dark throne, where I KICKED HIS ASS!"
    "Oh, he’s going down!"
    "That sucka can never please a woman like I can!"
    "Oh, Elijah! Free me from the bonds of this petty earth!" Our energy peaks to ecstasy at that moment, and the skin of her entire body turns blue, then red, then glows with a light as if she were Eärendil himself. I feel the light escaping my body through a manly faucet, to fill this woman’s basin such that it might never be empty again.

     Then, the explosion spent, I collapse on top over, and breathe heavily. After a few seconds of rest I roll off of her and have a look. But laying beside me now is young black woman, with long curls not unlike the red ones, and a nose ring. She squeezes her breast for a bit while she gathers her breath.
    "That was wonderful," she whispers.
    "That’s like nothing I’ve ever had. I... I mean... I just had sex with four women at once! I didn’t think such a thing was possible!"
    "If you make an appointment, we can arrange for the real thing," she says teasingly.
    "Ho boy!" I say, then roll over and get comfortable. I drift off to sleep with her arm around mine, on top of the covers. I dream of wonderful things: butterflies the size of mountains, with jewels in their wings, and the drinking of honey-like nectar from a fountain shaped like an Elven maiden; and I dream of terrible things like vampires approaching me with fangs bared, and ancient houses collapsing on top of me, yet each time Lauralin appears and rescues me, and each time she is a different woman.
    When I wake in the morning I feel as if I had slept over a hundred years, hibernating in a luscious valley. I find that I am alone in the room, and under the covers. I stretch and put my pants on. There’s a knock on the door and Lauralin peeks her head in, and once again she is a little girl. I am thankful I did not wake up by her like this.
    "If you’re all ready and up," she says, "we’re serving breakfast in the dinning hall."
    "No thanks, I have places to be. Thank you for last night, but if we meet again, can you promise not to look like... that?"
    "Don’t worry, this guise is only for first timers. Wait until you really get know me, I can have a tail and three breasts, hee hee!"
    So she leaves, and I dress, and walk down the lobby, and tell Agatha at the desk that I am satisfied with my visit.
    "Vill we be seeing you again soon?"
    "Tomorrow," I reply. "Tomorrow night."
    "And whom vould you request? Shall I show you za catalog?"
    I pause. "How ‘bout you? Do you perform?"
    She grins largely, and closes her eyes. "I’ll put you down for 9:00," she says.
    "Perfect," I reply. Perfect.


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