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But she canât even be
A real Witch.â
The blurred letters, penned with the colour of rusty blood, affected the little princess, but she decided to walk the alley which, with each step enriched with flowers, colors and perfumes of Guerlain.
2
Problems and solutions: mum's friend. (Reality)
âAnd this is Nicòle! See? I told you she is no longer a child. Time goes by fast, damn!â the girl's mother smiled at her old friend Flora. âCome on, Nicòle, shake Flora's hand and introduce yourself properly. Come on!â Her mother cared of making a good impression, of flaunting the daughter like a trophy to highlight how smart and lucky she had been. Nicòle puffed saucily and mimed a theatrical bow, sharpening the whole formal scene with a smile:
âNice to meet you!â she said quickly âSorry but my mother would make me parade like at the circus, if she could.â
âOf course!â said the mother, making full of her. âBecause only in the circus you find parading monkeys like you!â.
Flora laughed entertained:
âThere is only to sayâ she began âthat you couldn't be more "diversely" similar.â She shook the small hand of the girl, looking at her from head to toe, âYour mum is right, you are truly beautiful⦠to be a little monkey, I mean!â. They all cackled.
Nicòle and her mother followed Flora inside the small mansion, which although being suburbian was very well connected to the city centre.
âI'll make you a good cup of tea, would you like that? Or hot chocolate, donât be shy!â
The kitchen was part of a large hall out of a big flat which hosted a series of sofas and a big dining table. In the back of the room, in front of a wide window, a long wooden walnut bench served as divide with the cooking zone, covered in ceramic tiles in an infinite sequence of warm shades that spread between yellow and brown. Floras's house was welcoming and clean!
They hadn't met in years and Nicòleâs mother enjoyed those moments of thoughtfulness. âIf a fortune teller had predicted this to me, I swear I wouldn't have believed it... so far from home and finding ourselves here! I am so happy!â
While Franca was lively, at times almost fierce, Flora was had a joyful character, but spoke little. She was one of those people who inspire security: a quiet smile accompanied each movement. Watching her make tea was relaxing, just like the whole environment that she had created around her.
Nicòle immediately liked the figure of the mature and prosperous woman, with generous breasts that squeezed under the thin shirt that she wore at home.
âNicòle, do you prefer hot chocolate?â asked Flora with her stroking voice which the girl couldn't resist.
âOh, yes, please! Thank you, Mrs. Floraâ she answered, as she looked around inspecting the house.
âNo need for formalities, Nicòle: I ain't no married old lady like your mother!â she laughed, showing her small white teeth that looked like little pearls. Franca protested, but kindly.
"Come Nicòle, I may have something for you. You should enjoy it more that our chit-chat". Flora made the way to the living area, where a large TV towered on a coffee table, full of DVD movies.
"Here you should find something suitable to you; the daughter of my brother leaves around a lot of these disks, she is more or less your age. "
"Wow!" She exclaimed ecstatic, leafing between the clamshells "but this is the last concert of my favorite singer. Please, please ...!" She preced in attempting the best doe-eyed interpretation ever carried out "Can I watch it?â Flora had to make an effort not to stand still and enjoy watching those beautiful languid eyes. Briskly, Flora replied:
"Ah, my dear, as far as I am concerned you can even marry it, I never watch such modern stuff."
"Nicòle! Be aware that we will go home shortly!" Screamed Franca in the direction of the living room, where her daughter had already taken possession of the remote control. With the typical craftsmanship of the young, she had already performed all maneuvers to start the movie on the big flat screen.
"We have to return home soon." Franca told Flora, "You know dear, I couldnât wait to see you, but we just got here ... Picture that at home I still have the workers assembling the furniture, and Monday we have to already uptake service." Meanwhile Flora, heedless of the tornado that as usual unleashed Franca, methodically continued her operation of serving a good tea for two on the kitchen table. She then brought Nicòle a cup of steaming hot chocolate and a plate of homemade cookies, which disappeared soon from the tray.
In the meantime Franca had spang on her feet: "Come on, I'm curious to see your home!" She said, simultaneously secretly using her chin to point at her unaware daughter, who had already been kidnapped by images. Flora understood so, cup in her hands, she made way to her friend towards the staircase leading to the upper floor. There were two very comfortable and spacious rooms and a bathroom.
"It's so cute, beautiful! And these tiles: delightful. Mind if I take advantage? "
"Are you kidding? Be my guest" The host replied watching her friend quickly lowering her pants and tights to urinate. "They come from Italy," continued Flora, pointing at the tiles. "Vietri sul Mare, to be precise; the planks are decorated by hand, one by one. I also really like them. They have those strong colors born in places where the sun shines strong". While Franca reassembled giving herself a check in front of the large ground mirror encased in plaster and surrounded by a ceramic frame, she took more confidential tones, and quickly told her latest adventures.
They were at a moment of total confusion. Her companion, Nicòle's father, had been transferred quickly from their city. She had fortunately found work, with the help of a colleague, as a cashier. She would often have to cover the evening shift, but she did not complain. After all, the important thing was that she already had a job. Franca was very fond of appearances and with little money she wouldnât bare it... he had two other children, the fruit of the first marriage, who were grown up. The young adults had moved with them out of necessity, but they were soon arranging to go and live in Paris to attend university.
Flora tried to follow her hurried description as she quietly sipped her tea. The friend had mentioned something about some "help" on which she was counting. She listened carefully and curious to see where the monologue would land. Francaâs problem was not just practical: the whole family was going through a time of confusion and she tried to do her best. The eldest children, irritated by the forced move, had become impossible to deal with.
The coexistence threatened to crumble because of her husband's affair with a colleague. finally, Franca was depressed, and was searching, for her part, for something different... Old unsolved problems had crept into the family and now were undermining the relationship.
"The little one is agitated and nervous," Franca continued "and our family is so messed up... We are uncertain about the choices to be make."
Franca stared at her, "Behold, I would like to entrust Nicòle to you for after school care, so you can teach her the language and help her to overcome this complicated moment. Of course you will be paid. It's obvious! Please, I do not feel like leaving her with a stranger in a country she doesn't know. For her it would only deepen the trauma so, frankly, I would avoid it."
Flora interrupted, raising a strong hand:
"Stop, my darling!" Said. "It is not a question of money, imagine that. However, what you ask me represents a big responsibility. You think that the Italian tiles and the kitchen on the veranda represent a heaven on earth?â. She glared at her, almost offended. "I also have my own life, you know? I live alone but it does not mean I donât have someone and especially I have my problems, unfortunately. " Her face was overcome by a gentle sadness. Their eyes met eyes. Flora smiled, reviewing the haggard look on Franca; she seemed like the confused child, now.
"Oh, well," he said resolutely. "All right! We will make a week test, ok? "Franca nodded with the same expression of a happy dog wagging its tail.
"But I want to know precisely the days when she will come to me. I can receive her from three oâclock. Not before. I'm busy with work and more... and in the evening, at home by eight".
Later, alone in the big bed, Flora closed eyes and mentally returned to the emotions that had provoked the encounter with the young Nicòle. The immature shapes, small breasts certainly, hard as marble ...
At that point, her thoughts languished, imagining the immature flower that the young girl guarded. She would pay to be able to at least admire and smell it, but this could only remain a dream. Her thoughts, however, became more and more lascivious, despite efforts to divert the mind. Then the images, which at present were mere figments of her imagination, mingled with memories of the past. The face of the young girl overlapped with those of her mother, when she was young and fresh. She saw her lowering her flowing hair, diving onto her body, which smelt of pure pleasure. Francaâs tongueâs insatiable search. She remembered all the times they had reciprocated that exasperating poking, with their mouth, into the otherâs secret spaces. The dream of Francaâs young body, in the excitement that had seized her, mingled with that of another. An unknown woman with undefined contours, illuminated by a light behind her back, which discarded her features. Shortly, however, as fresh as dew, the innocent vision of Nicòle appeared again.
Panting and dripping, the woman reached a languid and intense pleasure that rather than satisfying, disturbed her and left her on the bed full of a renewed thirst.
3
In the wonderful world of the Iron Fairy (Fairy Tale)
The Iron Fairy had a house that can only be imagined in the world of fairy tales. The young princess had introduced herself, armed only of her innocence, her love of life and her fears. She had lived too long among the mysterious echoes of the forest, seeking the strength to overcome her uncertainties; she had felt upon herself the crushing weight of indifference. Now, all this was contrasted by the fantastic ambient before her.
Immediately she was hailed as the most beautiful of princesses: the most exclusive cocoa mixtures came from all over the world to for her chocolates, while biscuits, marzipan and honey jujube, never lacked at tea time.
The Fairy Iron was uncompromising: first of all you had to do homework; but then, as if by magic, they flew past fast. It was nice to even study if the prize was an affable and allied smile of the fairy. The young girl did her best to collect good grades, not to interrupt the happy union.
The Fairy Iron proved to be the best and most trustworthy of friends. Beautiful, large and prosperous; she always wore colorful and cheerful clothes: a real ode to joy. She had a thousand outfits, all too short to hide the thick buttery legs; all too narrow to contain the swollen breasts and round buttocks.
In the Fairy's house everything was available and there was nothing to do but be happy. The hostess helped Alba in her choices without overpowering, sharing ideas. The girl would find no objection to the whispered advice, but would hanging on every word she would whisper. It was amazing to receive her full, unconditional attention.
Nothing in that house was more important than the princess; she was the Iron Fairyâs center of the universe, all that Alba was interesting, unique and valuable.
Although we would be pleased to see her family, she could never wait to run back to the world of fairy tales, to the house at the end of the path, amidst the colored and poisonous bougainvilleas and oleanders. Each day the princess felt bigger and stronger; running toward new experiences day by day. And, hidden in the heart of small sinner, she had a shameful but sublime secret. One of the things that attracted her was the body of the fairy; she could have remained hours admiring her. Only that enchantment was enough to make the visits hurried.
She was beautiful and, to the delight of Dawn, very distracted. When they sat at the delicacies table, she would often opulently cross her legs, careless of the rising of her apron going up, with every movement disclosing her stockings; always of different, new colors. The ones she liked the most were black. The black stockings seemed smaller by a size, the silk stretched on her skin creating mouth-watering lights and shades. Her gaze, hypnotized by that vision, would search the place where the strong black laced rim freed, with very slight snort, her rosy, clear fresh. Even when she sat on a low ottoman, munching beans and Tears of love, it was not difficult for Alba to steal a picture of her panties, squashed between her thighs. The poor fairy sat there, to not to steal Dawnâs space that, as the princess she was, reserved the place of honor on the couch. Sometimes she wandered around the house, looking for a coward speck of dust, or one of the many items that, in the fairy house, had the terrible tendency to fall into the most hidden corners. Since he had found out that, to find them, the fairy would get on all fours, showing her ass or her glorious breasts; Dawn, although of affectionate and obliging nature, never offered to volunteer for the research. The fairy had infinite patience and asked nothing of its precious guests. Fortunately, all the redness and flushing of the sinful girl passed unnoticed. Until one day Dawn gathered her courage and called her godmother from the toilet with an excuse, letting herself be found sitting on the pot, her thin legs parted. Even then, the fairy said and saw nothing, locked in her âchasteâ indifference. On the contrary, the princess fell in unexpected shame after the excitement, she seeked a hasty excuse to go home and for a few days there was no sign of her. But on the third day the fairy called, and everything resumed as before.
4
The governess: charm, but firm hand. (Reality)
Flora thought she was going crazy, the situation had become untenable. Despite the promises made to herself and to the mother of Nicòle, the girl`s presence had become too intriguing, however oppressing for her. Her pleasure in feeling secretly observed from that little slut stirred the blood in her veins and, as soon as she saw or thought of her, she would find herself horny. From the very moment Nicòle would arrive at her home, her most inner part would begin to drool pleasure; she desired the orgasm for hours, while her cheeks glazed and her breasts sweat. She wanted her! And, of course, in the end she was left frustrated by the âstalemateâ that she had solemnly imposed herself. She wanted to vent about her delicate body that infinite desire. The first day that Nicòle deserted lessons, Flora breathed of relief, after weeks of stress she seemed to regain control of her life and home. She had become a small despot; a real little rogue, that princess! The second day she got gloomy. She missed her. She wanted to still be bullied by the impertinent spy. She missed her eyes staring at her thighs. True that Nicòle had gone too far; being found naked on the toilet, still wet. Delicious thoughts had crossed her mind, as galvanic sparking currents, but she had to behave like a responsible adult. She had to resist! That evening she made up her mind and called one of her friends to give vent to her volcano of lust, but the man already had a commitment. The fact that she could have not him made her even more furious. She fumbled in her intimacy mechanically in bed, but the pleasure made her even more excited and unable to overcome her desire for Nicòle.
In the evening of the third day she decided to put an end to it and phoned.
"Yet, I was sure that she had warned you," said Franca, perplexed "today's young people no longer have any respect."
"No, leave her alone, they are just kids, maybe she gets bored here with me. Unfortunately I do not have neighbors with children of her age. I understand the poor girl." Flora justified her.
"Wait Iâll call for her, letâs see how she feels." Then Flora, anxious and awkward, heard the distant voices of Nicòle and her mother:
"What are you thinking? Why did you not warn Flora you were sick? "
"Ugh, but I was not well, I thought you had told her."
"You're a so rude. Now get on the phone and apologize ... " Other words that Flora could not hear followed. Shortly after, Nicòle came to the phone:
"Sorry!" she began.
"For what, my darling? I'm sorry you were not well," beaming Flora said " but now how are you feeling now?"
"I'm fine," Nicòle continued, somewhat laconic. Then, again, Flora heard mother and daughter confabulating in the background.
"Mom says: if it's not too much trouble, can I continue coming to you?"
Flora didnât know how to conceal the joy that those words brought to her, her voice broke in trepidation, as she said:
"You know, Nicòle, now this is your home. You have to decide, if you want ⦠us to see each other again."
"Yup. I still want to come" said the young girl.
The next day, when she entered the house, a fragrant scent of apple pie and cinnamon filled her senses. Flora went to meet her and they embraced without speaking. Since then, however, she no longer sat on the ottoman, but on the couch, next to Nicòle.
5
Perversed enchantment (Fairy Tale)
Now that the ice had been broken the Iron Fairy no longer kept her secrets for herself. On the contrary, buttery and languished, she had decided to give her soul and, if possible, even her body to the princess.
To Dawn it didnât seem real: after homework, in the afternoon, they would have tea and chat like best friends. And since Dawn had never been so good and willing in her studies, in the end she would get a prize. This prize was presented as confidence and intimacy.
The fairy, resigned, would give herself to her completely, so to let her satisfy her lust and languished feelings of young and impertinent girl.
So the naughty girl would sit beside her.
They would often make use of a small blanket with a scottish pattern, times when Dawn would rejoice even more. They would watch television or Flora would read something in the long winter evenings. She would crash on the sofa and follow pretending interest to any program, for the sake of staying close to her. Their legs, hidden under the blanket, would begin rubbing together and the mere sound of the textile would excite them. Dawn never lacked the right excuse: for fun or for fear, any pretext was good to squeeze against the Iron Fairy. Then, especially if protected by the woolen blanket, the thin finger would begin rummaging. The girl would hug the woman in seek of protection and would explore all her roundness, all her curves. She wondered on the cotton shirt, sometimes getting lost among the roses on the black background, or picking daisies on the violet nightgown. The more the fairy would keep quiet, the more the hands gained confidence.
When she began she would want to stroke with delicacy, faking little interest: distracted, occasional caresses, as if born spontaneously with no ends. But then the excitement would increase, the movements would become increasingly raw, convulsed, disconnected. Those hands literally âpossessedâ the body of the large fairy.
Dawn would touch her abundant hips and then would crawl like a snake to her soft and generous belly, suddenly slipping under the cotton to caress her groin. Then she would return upwards, find her tits and pull, squeeze, play with her large breasts. The nipples would reveal themselves at her touch bloated and hard under the material, pressed under the matronal bra.
Then the fingers would explore the neck, the head, dangle on the earlobes⦠and the fairy would slowly die of languish. The heart would go crazy and small drops would shine on the forehead.
The blanket was Albaâs accomplice.
The girl would start complaining of being hot and, underneath the quilt would slip her skirt from her gazelle legs, staying only in panties and socks. The bare flesh would now again seek the contact, move the cotton, slip the silk and find, finally the otherâs skin. When the skin met, it was a joy for both. The desire was as great as it was suffered and prohibited. The fake silence of the fairy, that impossible indifference of hers, make the young girl shudder: instantly, she feared of being discovered that consequently banned, shooed. She knew she was taking advantage of all the Iron Fairyâs enchantments, but she couldnât help it. She had to drink from that forbidden fountain.
Every evening, returning home, she would promise herself to resist that thirst but the next afternoon the good intentions would fall and she would dive back on the surrendered, soft, maternal body.
6
Getting lost, to after seek for each other more than before. (Reality)
The afternoon was cold, though spring had already arrived.
Nicòle arrived with rosy cheeks and knees, her little nose was frozen. Her slender figure emerged superb, between the play of light of the doorâs glass. Flora was dazzled, once again, by her grace. She had been missing for a week and she had realized how much she loved her already.
Master of the world, Nicòle took off her coat and white scarf. Then, she took off her cotton cap, letting her golden hair scroll down her shoulders. She flooded the house of smiles and words without importance.
"No school tomorrow, no homework today!" She established, domineering, that it was the suitable afternoon to watch "Doctor Zhivago". Flora wanted to cry, but did not, nor did she oppose the request. She had been waiting too long for her to not fulfill the wishes of her small "tyrant". She began feeling butterflies in her stomach, while her mind relished the caresses she longed. Their hands would dance with their fingers, intertwining and repelling each-other, like dancers on a stage. She could not curb her desire, nor to put a real brake to that girl.
But they had been stalled for too long: she could not continue like this. Flora decided to take the plunge and play her cards:
"Go pee then, otherwise you wonât want to get up later" she smiled. "Meanwhile, I'm going to prepare tea."
"Yes, Sir!" Teased Nicòle.
While Flora was fumbling in the kitchen, the young woman lingering in the bathroom shouted:
"I have a surprise, you want to see?"
"Oh, ohhh!" Relaunched Flora, "your surprises do not promise anything good to my fate..."
"But yes, look at me!" She came out of the bathroom, putting herself on display. She was wearing only the thick ribbed sweater. Below, instead of socks, she wore blacks and sheer tights. Flora lurched, despite the girl held her thighs clenched, it was obvious she was not wearing panties: a mop of fair and delicate hair, cleared the socks, right over her virginal groin.
"And look now," Nicòle said with her smile of youthful impertinence. She parted her feet, spreading her legs. She had ripped her tights roughly with her fingers, just between the legs, so the stockings worked as a frame for that stunning spectacle.
"It is my invention! Do you like it? " She did not wait for an answer; she knew, anyway, that it would not come. Floraâs mouth was wide open in amazement, she could not utter a single word.
"They keep me warmer, I'll be very comfortable. And without panties, I can pee easily." She looked up and stared at Flora with swagger, the doe eyes defied her without shame. Flora managed to distract her attention from the spectacle. With longstanding breath, she pretended to mumble something about youth, turning to hide the redness of her cheeks. She dedicated herself tenaciously to filtering tea. Still boiling hot, she poured it in the favorite cups. Then, without a word, she retired upstairs to the bedroom.
Nicòle had already settled on the couch, as cozy as an alcove. She had dared, but in her heart she hoped not to have gone too far.
The film had just begun. From the stairs she could spy on Flora on her way into the living room. She had changed clothes: she wore a long shirt, tight over her breasts in a kind of empress style, slightly flared at the bottom, in fact, and closed with buttons. The girl noticed that she wore no socks. "She must be hot" she thought to herself, and took pleasure in the sight.
7
