On the edge of a dark, forbidding forest in a southern country that was seldom cold, there stood a small, plain village. On the edge of the village stood a small, plain house. And in that house lived a tailor, his small plain wife and his lovely daughter. In the way of such fairy tales, little is known about the tailor and his wife, but the daughter is of utmost importance.
Her name was Maizie, and she was a beautiful young lady, though perhaps too aware of her curvy good looks and the effect a mere flick of her long red hair had on the local boys. She spent her days weaving and sewing dresses, mostly for herself but some for other young ladies in the village and nearby. Maizie would have little to do with the young men who came calling, teasing them and flirting but sending them on their way, despite the significant looks and broad hints by her otherwise insignificant parents that it was time she moved on… and out.
A particularly significant, and persistent, young man was named Henry. He was the son of a farmer who lived near Maizie’s small, plain house, but Henry’s dreams were big and not plain to most. Except for Maizie. She could read Henry like the sign post that pointed away from her house and read, Ye Darke and Forbidding Forest. (Subtle, eh?)
Every few months, and especially at Christmas time, Maizie’s father would follow the sign and the path beyond to a point deep within the forest where the tailor’s former nursemaid lived. Maizie would usually go with, though she was quite frightened of the woman she called Granny, and her father called Nursie (and her mother called the crazy old witch, though Maizie didn’t know that). Maizie would carry a basket and her father would carry food to help Granny make it through. He told Maizie that the basket contained baked goods, though she couldn’t smell any muffins or cakes or bread, and the basket was always tightly latched.
After visiting with Granny for the whole day, Maizie would go to sleep in the small shed across the clearing while her father and Granny stayed up late, probably reminiscing about old times. By the time Maizie woke up, her father was always ready to head back through the dark forest. “Best to get away quickly… in daylight,” he would say with a shudder.
But one year on Christmas day, the very day before their planned trip through the dark and forbidden forest to Granny/Nursie’s house, a huge black bear charged out of the forest as the tailor stood counting his chickens (yes, they had hatched, so it was time), and with one mighty blow, knocked the poor man across the yard. It left soon after, having thrown off the tailor’s count by five, but the tailor was far worse for the wear and could barely crawl to the house.
When Maizie returned home, she cried at the sight of her poor father as he lay injured. Her tears doubled when he told her that she would have travel through the forest on her own to carry the basket and as much food as she could to Granny. “Couldn’t we wait until you are better?” she wailed, but he prevailed with a stern voice and a reminder that “Tis the season” and “She’s a lonely old woman” and similar parental guilt trips that even in fairy tales work their dark magic.
That evening, Maizie sat staring at the forest, wondering what dangers she might encounter. That bear, for instance. As she sat deep in thought, a tap on the shoulder startled her, and she cried out in alarm. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Maizie,” said Henry quickly. “I just came by to see if there was anything I could do to you, I mean for you.” He stopped, flustered. “Oh, Maizie, I’d do just about anything for you.”
Maizie started to look at him scornfully, but then a thought crossed her mind. “You know, there is something you could do,” she said slowly. She hesitated, and then explained Granny and the dark forest path and the basket.
Henry held up his hands and said, “Never. There’s nothing you can say or do that will get me to go through that forest on my own.” He started to turn away, when a bee that had been buzzing nearby landed on Maizie’s neck, and then dropped down the front of her frock.
“Help, help,” Maizie cried, pulling down the front on her frock so that the bee would fly away. After a frantic couple of moments as the bee bounced around angrily against her breasts, it finally escaped and flew off.
“Well, maybe there is something you could do,” Henry said, his eyes wide as saucers as he stared at Maizie’s barely concealed bosom.
Maizie looked down at her heaving chest, back toward the dark and forbidding forest, sideways at Henry’s growing discomfort, and finally over toward the barn with its soft hay. “I guess we could work something out,” she said shyly, and took his hand. Together, they walked (or perhaps ran, but it hardly seems seemly to say so) to the barn door and slipped inside, closing the heavy door behind them.
The barn was dark, with only some light from the evening sky entering through the gaps in the walls. Maizie led Henry toward the hay loft, piled high with hay. She reached out his hand, and as he took it, she pulled him over and then pushed him back into the hay. Henry laughed, puzzled, but stopped when Maize pulled her frock over her head. He leaned forward, hungrily, as she unlaced her undergarments, and slowly slipped them down.
As she pushed her garments down, her breasts popped out, and Henry’s eyes almost popped out as well. Creamy soft and perfectly shaped, these were not the breasts of an ordinary tailor’s daughter, but more like mountains of Paradise topped with delicate peaks. Henry reached forward, and Maizie stopped and let his hands explore the mountains, climb to the peaks.
“Ooh,” she mewed as he leaned forward and took her left nipple in his mouth. “Ooh ooh,” she purred as his fingers played gently with her right nipple. Before getting completely redundant with her oohs, Maizie pushed her clothes off completely, and Henry’s eyes drifted downward even as he continued to graze at the hills of Maizie’s incredible bosom. Once a farmboy, always a farmboy.
Maizie fumbled with the strings holding up Henry’s trousers, and he groaned as her fingers encountered his swollen cock. With an expertise born not of experience but of raw need, Maizie grasped him firmly but gently and caressed him while he writhed with pleasure.
Not one to allow a lady to do all the work, Henry stroked Maizie’s thighs with the palms of his hand, moving toward and then away from her wriggling and eager womanhood. He teased and tantalized her while her gentle but firm hands drove him wild. When at last his fingers traced across the soft down of her nether regions, he found her wet and excited and she thrust herself toward him.
Henry traced his thumb up along Maizie’s moist lips until he gently touched her clit, and she bucked and jerked until his thumb went inside her pussy and she cried out so that they would have been in danger of being heard if anybody had been close by. Reaching his other hand up, Henry pulled Maizie’s head down until their lips met, parted and locked, tongues exploring wildly even while his fingers did the same below.
As Henry’s fingers stroked Maizie’s tender nub, and his other fingers played with her tender nipples, her moans grew loader and faster until the dam burst and her body rocked and Henry could barely hold on to her.
After her wild orgasm slowed, Maizie pulled away and climbed onto him, straddling his waist. She lowered herself down upon him, driving his cock deep within her. It encountered a brief resistance, but this was a maidenhead whose maiden cared for it no longer.
Like a woman possessed, she rode him, her scarlet locks dancing around her head wildly, her breasts bouncing and jiggling like ripe, luscious fruit waiting to be picked. Henry grabbed her ass and encouraged her, though she needed little encouragement. Before long, they exploded again, together this time, their bodies colliding in youthful joy and excitement.
At last, they slowed, and Henry gazed up at the heavenly body above him like Galileo before him, though records do not indicate whether Galileo’s cock was still buried deep within the firmament.
Maizie pulled partway out and saw the bloody traces of her erstwhile maidenhead, both on herself and on Henry’s still erect, and quite impressive, manhood. “My, what a big red rod you have.”
Henry started to object that this was really not the right moment in the tale for such a statement, but then he saw the blood on Maizie and said anxiously, “Maizie, you look a little red riding me.”
Maizie laughed and explained (sex education for boys in their country not being much better than it is today), but her explanation grew rather jumbled as Henry grew distracted and started to move inside her again.
More time passed. Horses in the barn grew jealous of all the riding which didn’t involve them.
Spent, Henry and Maizie lay naked holding each other. At last, Maizie pushed Henry away and started to dress. “You have a long trip ahead of you in the morning,” she said. Henry sighed at the prospect of facing the dark and forbidding forest.
Early the next morning, Maizie stood and gave Henry a lingering kiss and a quick squeeze through his trousers. “Hurry back,” she said, her eyes dancing with promise.
