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  • Eccentric Hero & Dancing Girl Ch. 01-03

Eccentric Hero & Dancing Girl Ch. 01-03

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[Author's note: I am the creator and own the copyright to all images. PLEASE ALSO NOTE: I do have the need forboldsor italicsin certain parts. Thank you!]

The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl: (1-3),

by Yoru Lamourfou

(1. Until I beg you thrice to fuck me)

(2. Helpless cunnilingus)

(3. The Sea of Perpetual Surf)

(Yoru lounging with Lorenzo in an uptown nightclub, by Yoru Lamourfou)

The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl: (1. Until I beg you thrice to fuck me)

A fragrance all along its length

There was long ago a Samurai warrior who every morning sent his servant to secretly fetch Yoru's erotic dancing pole from the club where she worked on nights previous. The servant balanced the heavy pole carefully with widespread legs as he carried it home, for it was made of finest, polished hardwood. To it clung a fragrance, all along its length, left by the exquisite dancing girl.

The warrior, in his private quarters, licked the pretty dancer's pole from bottom to top to quench his thirst for the secret triangle of love between her thighs. His strong hands tossed the heavy pole from one hand to the other as effortlessly as though he were grasping his wakizashi sword. He waxed in ecstasy as his tongue lapped the very shaft she had bathed with liquid essences leaking through her skin-tight panties.

It glistened slick and wet in the night

Why would the warrior so crave to dissolve with his own saliva -- and then consume -- the dried feminine nectar coating Yoru's pole? The ancient recipe calls for liquid, passionate essences, squirted from her sexual core, to be salted with sweet, musky sweat of the dancer, and finally scented to dizzy perfection with subtle perfumes. It is perhaps eccentric, but he found it so tasty that he enjoyed passing his tongue over the entire pole, imagining having her pussy for his breakfast.

As could be expected, this poor man's rumored eccentricity was partly due to the naughty dancer. It was whispered in the audience that Yoru, while lavishing skin on the pole during her shows in the darkened club, was overwhelmed by multiple orgasms as she pressed herself on the hard, round, unrelenting surface. It glistened slick and wet in the night, for everyone to see.

Yoru couldn't help herself. She has the habit of closing her eyes and falling into a trance of passion at the moment her body loses control to a rising tide of erotic ecstasy. Her thoughts turn naughtier as she uses her pole as a lover... the pangs of pleasure send burning rivers up through her tummy to crisscross her breasts and flood up her neck, and finally she gasps for air as the hot waves grow fiercer, the desire spreads deeper... and at last she pauses to catch her breath and grin bashfully, contented, ready for another, and another...

The pole was slick and wet once more, but with blood

Yoru was never told of the warrior's rather odd behavior with her dancing pole. One day she arrived at the House of V to dance, and found her pole was missing. She stamped her foot in frustration--who would steal a poor sex dancer's only tool of entertainment? She was on the point of tears, standing almost naked on the empty stage, her pink nipples quivering, missing terribly the trusted, wooden pillar to hug tightly while she danced, when in the crowd she overheard a preposterous story about her missing pole of desire.

Someone whispered that a certain samurai warrior had seized upon her pole and wielded it unexpectedly as a fearsome weapon, transforming it into a battering club to defend the castle walls from the soldiers of the Emperor's army. Of course, nobody mentioned to Yoru that the warrior had been fetishizing the pole as his lick-darling when the alarm to defend the walls had been sounded.

After all, the warrior had lavished many delicious hours adoring the pole of his secret lover, and the giant piece of hardened wood had become an extension of the warrior's own body. Without pausing to pick up his swords, he had swung his favorite erotic dancer's pole expertly around himself in a deadly dance of war that flabbergasted the attackers, driving them from the castle walls and chasing them through the fires of the burning village they themselves had ignited. The pole glistened slick and wet once more, with the cooking blood of the vanquished.

Not as a hero, but as a whore

Yoru was too embarrassed to admit it, but while her eccentric admirer was fighting the Emperor's soldiers with her erotic dancing pole, she had secretly struck a lethal blow at the heart of their enemies as well. Not as a hero, but as a whore.

Although possessing only the lowly status of a dancing girl, she was able to bribe herself deep into the hostile camp with her body. Finding herself confronted at every step by ferocious warriors, who without exception instantly lusted her, she steadily seduced her way to a rendezvous in the royal tent of the Emperor himself.

Yoru toys with men's sensual souls

It had been a single-minded evening, and nothing could have stopped Yoru, for she was seducing the heart of an emperor, and he was a man, and Yoru toys with men's sensual souls.

The emperor had heard from his spies of her erotic dancing. Giddy with his supposed conquest, he bid his officers to erect a dancing pole for her in his silken tent, that he may see for himself how she orgasmed repeatedly on the unyielding rod.

At the moment the emperor ordered her onto the pole, Yoru dropped her silky blouse over one shoulder to expose a breast with its pink nipple. He should have been warned, seeing her like that, she could have been one of the proverbial bare-breasted Amazonian warrior women. But alas for the emperor, Yoru was making her own proverbs, speaking honeyed words in the man's waiting ear, licking his neck, so that he slipped into a sexual reverie, not noticing she had disobeyed. He was almost hers.

Until I beg you thrice to fuck me

"Darling Emperor," whispered Yoru, handing him a coil of ropes, "I will mount the pole, and dance, and make erotic love to you, but you must promise to bind my wrists high on the pole, stretch my breasts and body, and lick my pussy until I beg you thrice to fuck me."

The emperor was a man of legendary strength and caution, but from that moment Yoru was his Mistress, whether he was aware of it or not.

As the emperor reached in a frenzy to tie her wrists with the ropes, he caught sight of her soft hands and delicate fingers, tipped with long fingernails painted the hues of summer flowers. Playfully hiding her nudity from his greedy eyes, she unfolded her samurai dancing fan, tipped likewise with sharp razors tinted to match Yoru's long fingernails. The emperor was only conscious of the lust he felt for the promised tenderness of her pretty fingers and athletic body, such a sweet dancer's body, hidden behind the artful fan of an assassin whore.

An erotic dream

When Yoru whisked away the fan to expose her breasts and the purplish, sweetish, swollen lips of her yoni, ringed above with feathery pubic hair of darkest black, the emperor gawked like a commoner at market. Curiously, the beauty of her nails had confused his already sexed mind so that he failed to recognize the fan's identically painted fingernail razors. With them she ushered him into

a long dream,

the longest dream,

it was his last dream,

but what an erotic dream it was,

a wet-dream he would writhe in for eternity.

Only her infamous dancing pole remained

After the battle, the eccentric hero returned the pole to the dancing girl, and at the sight of him bruised and tired, bloody and limping, she instantly fell swooning from love at the brave man's feet. It is true, even the seductress Yoru can fall in love, in spite of the harshness of her secrets. She pushed by the pole and threw her arms around his muscular shoulders, finding a new home for her erotic fantasies in his mighty frame.

The people in the village still wonder whatever happened to that samurai and his dancer. One night they disappeared, and it is rumored they traveled to the faraway lands of the Maharashtra and became models for paintings depicting the Kama Sutra. Nothing has ever been heard of their fate, although everyone agrees it must have been erotic.

Only her famous collection of panties remained, and their infamous dancing pole of desire and destruction.

The Eccentric Hero and the Dancing Girl: (2. Helpless cunnilingus)

Floating encased in her own love liquids

The silvery highlights on Yoru's creamy skin blended erotically with those on the surface of the moonlit pool, making her surreally seductive. The exquisite creases of the woman's flower-like folds of swelling flesh, tufted with brown-black pubic hair, converged between her thighs in the clear water below.

A deep well

No longer did the eccentric warrior need to lick the erotic dancing pole of his darling girl to get a taste of her pussy, for she herself opened her legs and gave him to drink the womanly nectar he so craved directly into his mouth whenever he wished it. Yoru's well of liquid love is deep, its flow responsive to the call of ecstasy. She has much to give, it is as though her entire being floats half-submerged, encased in her own love pool.

Spurting spring of love

Enso, for so was Yoru's warrior lover called, had swept her up with one arm, planted her behind him on his horse, and struck out from the village of their birth, heading for the lands of Kama Sutra. With every step on their path the intensity of their passion grew. The man's feverish tongue, so long driven to lick the polished hardwood pole, found itself in this new life, living with the dancer herself, transported to the paradise of her pussy. Now, the very liquids of her essence were being squirted pure and fresh and in abundance over his nose, his face, his whole body, candy-coating him in the same way she formerly covered her pole of desire.

Yoru's sexual brain had always flowed effortlessly between theatre and reality, animate and inanimate, and her icy intellect mixed heat with liquid languidity. When they made love, she pressed her pubic bone and turned screw-like around his cock, so that he became locked in her love chamber for hours. She was his spurting spring of love.

Dangerous journey

The slain Emperor's soldiers wanted revenge for what Yoru had done to their Emperor. Enso had battled soldiers on the ramparts of the castle with the huge dancing pole, and all agreed it had been an admirable, surprise combat tactic of the enemy warrior. But imagining Yoru slicing the emperor with a dancing fan tipped with razors, easing him into the endless sleep of an erotic death, the last images burning on his inner eyes of the nude dancer squirting the abundant, clear liquids of her pussy into his throat as he gulped for air instead, well, it was too much, it evoked their impassioned hatred.

Was Yoru worth the price of eternal erotic sleep?

And worse, it was told she had dispatched other high-ranking officers that night on the way to the Emperor's tent. None had lived to tell of the pleasure, to tell if Yoru was worth the price of embarking upon eternity erotically. Some savants in the empire, those experienced in the ways of love, whispered death by Yoru a resplendent way to die...

This infuriated the soldiers even more. Spies waited for the warrior to make his move, trusting he would take the treacherous assassin whore with him.

Neck taut with terrible intention

Indeed, Yoru and her lover did not get far before a small band of the emperor's men ambushed them on a dark road that passed through a grove of hinoki trees. The warrior instinctively shoved Yoru off the horse and into the forest behind him with one hand and drew his wakizashi sword with the other. He was a formidable sight, shoulders wide with hairless chest, heaving, neck taut with terrible intention, bellowing.

As the hero's sword sang instant death, lithe, little Yoru, having been vaulted behind his shrieking frame, easily escaped attention and slipped deeper into the darkness of the forest. She made her way around behind the soldiers, and while her warrior faced them in front, she crept in and sank her daggers, one in each hand, deep into the soft flesh behind the knees of the two ambushers still standing.

Engulfed in her own blood

It was soon over, but soldiers of the emperor are not easily defeated. Before Lorenzo could finish the last knee-stabbed ambusher, the man had spun over Yoru and slashed her upper back. In his dying movement he had transformed her from dancing assassin, artful whore, seductress extraordinaire, into a living mummy, unable to move, encased in pain and blood.

Encased in Pain, but unable to forsake love

Yoru would heal, but the brave woman's injury was a serious obstacle to lovemaking. Pain, it is enough to say the word. She laid rigidly in one position, for any movement created waves of nauseating suffering. Only immobility, holding completely still, offered tenuous relief, but even that was cause for complications, which gave birth to additional pain. She was plastered over, held tight, a slut embalmed into utter helplessness. It was a terrible thing, being a living statue, for a woman unable to forsake the art of love.

Fortunately, her caregiver was Lorenzo, the eccentric, pussy-loving Lorenzo.

Wounded, Yoru could take no cock

The couple tried every position. Broken Yoru twisted and writhed, trying to find a way to fit Lorenzo's cock into her tight vaginal cavity, but it was no use. She closed her eyes, opened her thighs wider, and tried breathing out the pain while breathing in the pleasure, but the pain stayed. Yoru was desperate to share love with Lorenzo, but their union was blocked at the iron gates of physical incapacitation. She was ever fearful of an approaching, debilitating throb, growing from a sinister whisper of discomfort, churning restlessly to expand its stark outline, thrusting from an uneasy, half-slumbering dread into full blown searing pain flooding her waking, waiflike, trembling body.

Willing receptacles of love

Yoru knew little about the erotic potential of her body when physically injured. She had never thought about wounded, sick, paralyzed, or otherwise incapacitated lovers, and wondered about their ability to absorb erotic love. Would they or could they be willing receptacles of large quantities of pleasure? With her hero she was willing, but eager Lorenzo had not yet found the key to overcoming her pain.

One day they discovered that her entire body was being held motionless by the pain, much like rope functioned in the Japanese discipline of shibari bondage. Through artful knots, no muscle is allowed freedom to move except those of the genitals, which are forced in such constrained circumstances to respond in focused, gushing orgasms. Moreover, the circular connections of experience, the convergences of sound, sight, taste, touch of lips on swollen, slippery, bright pink flesh, all of this was present as during "normal" lovemaking, so that the circle of existence completes in ways sufficient to transport the lovers to the ultimate pleasure known as mutual climax.

"There must be a way," they whispered to each other.

There must be a way

The brutal truth was that the pain was blunted and made more endurable when Yoru closed her eyes and surrendered herself into the arms of the mighty warrior, but it wasn't enough. The exhilaration of sex was bound up in a fever, and even though the ferocious warrior fought to displace the ferocity of the pain, he was defeated by it... defeated by pain.

Helpless love

But Lorenzo was not just ferocious physically, he was a warrior who thrilled harmoniously in the body and spirit of his erotic dancer. So close was Lorenzo to Yoru that he recognized the moment when her pain was almost absent, and it was then he took complete control, seducing Yoru the seductress, flooding her in pleasure, driving away the agony, if only for a moment.

He found her pleasure wounded, lurking afraid in a dim and tenuous place, and he captured it.

Shallow on the surface of my pussy

Lorenzo could not penetrate Yoru's mouth and dared not finger her pussy, and so he devoted his desire to her clitoris. It made her coo. He created a quickly passing moment, dreadfully short, but for that few seconds he floated her in bliss. It was a wisp of pleasure strong enough to cap the peak of mighty pain, and Lorenzo, licking his woman into a supernatural state of ecstatic radiance, effectively united with her in that mutual love-chamber in their sexed brains. Her body was immobile, but her mind was soaring, and her pussy was squirting.

"Please baby don't hurt me," she begged him, "please baby lick me, shallow on the surface of my pussy."

Thrice-sliced pie of woman

Lorenzo lapped Yoru's inner thighs with open tongue, moisturizing the soft skin covering hard muscles. Hovering above her crotch, he slipped down and traced the outside of her swollen pussy along the right crease where the leg attaches to her torso.

Woman is known by many things, but surely the slit between her thighs is one of the most prominent. Lorenzo, looking at his beautiful dancing girl, legs wide in the dim light, discovered three slits between her thighs. The two creases where her thighs met her torso complimented the larger slit of her pussy, the lips closing softly at the entrance to her womanhood. He perceived the thrice-sliced pie of woman's love triangle, crowned with a pink flesh stud at the convergence of the creases.

Lick-food of the gods

And so Lorenzo lapped at the creases between Yoru's swollen outer lips and her smooth thighs, teasing her, gently steadying her raised legs, trying not to move her. Back again he licked on the other side, avoiding her pussy proper, priming her, tantalizing her outer erogenous zones so that the ordinary flesh of her thighs was transformed into lick-food of the gods.

When Lorenzo saw that his tongue was leaving her breathless and moaning, he relented and placed his mouth directly on her main slit, gently on the pussy itself, and searched with little sideways motions of the tip of his tongue for her clit. Her pussy is small, and her button of pleasure not easy to find, but it perked up thankful and pink when dug from the folds of her soft labia.

Then began the most amazing erotic event Lorenzo had ever seen: the touch of his tongue on her clit precipitated a shower storm on the surface of this exquisite woman's pussy.

A shower storm on the surface of her pussy

Yoru's naked pussy enveloped him, floated him in unfiltered, fluid, fragrant femininity, not just because her juices were on his lips and cheeks, but also her sexual essence was in the air he inhaled, the oxygen blending with the sweet musky vapors of the vaginal dew that he swallowed, passing through his nose and throat, the moisture of her swollen pussy, the heady scent of her sex mixing with the pheromones of her perfume, it all penetrated to the most recessed vessels of his lungs and from there was absorbed into his blood, the clear fragrance of her pussy thus transformed into the red fluid of life that carried her spirit beyond all boundaries to the extremities of his body and being.

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