A Magic Castle Ch. 01byJustmyimagination©
This story was written originally by my wife. We modified it for literotica. We had a lot of fun with this story and we hope you do to. Thanks to Jus8tine and Talynnda for their help, editing and suggestions.
It's morning rush hour at King's Cross train station. The heart of London swarms with commuters and folks like us who are just passing through.
We duck under the awning and shake our umbrellas. We must hurry. We both know the drill. We turn left after the line of coffee-shop tables that cluster 100 feet from the ticket agents. Seven lines of travelers snake almost to the entrance.
I took a big chance on this trip; it all seemed so improbable. But what if it were possible? I saw the card on the bulletin board of a small alternative food store. "Magic Destinations" was the name of her agency. "Go where you've never been before." The agent swore the castle was magic. We make our own magic, but that isn't what she meant. In any case, an old isolated castle hidden in the English countryside sounded like a lovely destination for our anniversary.
That flakey agent was right. We need no tickets -- a good thing, because we are late. But after the run up the stairs from the metro station -- the escalator wasn't working -- and our race down the block, I'd welcome the chance to stand in line and catch my breath. My shoulders ache from the burden of a backpack. I feel like I'm running a boot camp obstacle course.
"Wait," you pant, as I crane my neck, darting through the crowd as I find breaks. You don't look worn out under the load of your pack. We've waited more than a year for this trip and I won't let your slowness cause us to miss it.
I stop running, and you catch up, out of breath. We push ahead toward the platforms. Wrought iron sign posts bear the number for each track. We pass the first one, the second one, and the third. The crowd is thinner now. Four, five, six ... almost there. I skip to reshoulder the straps of my backpack, but the excitement over the odyssey to come has taken all thoughts of weariness under its thirty pound weight. Then we see it: Platform 9, then 10. No train waits on either platform.
The clock by the sign for platform 10 reads 8:03. We look at each other. One minute to spare. How long, though, will it take to penetrate the barrier? Neither of us has done this before, and if we miss, the next chance will be at least a year away.
I step ahead to the Platform 10 marker and rest my hands on the concrete barrier. If we want to keep together, we must hold hands; make sure nobody is watching, and lean just right against the barrier.
I'm nervous and gradually lean back, but you lunge. You take me with you, and I stifle a squeal as we land in a pile with a plop. We look up and behold the bright red locomotive, billowing steam, on Platform 9 ¾.
There's no time to admire its beauty. A kind young lady with bright green hair helps us to our feet and we climb the stairs. We're on the Castle Express.
Its interior is red velvet, like the plush cars of 1st class on British Airways. A young conductor, wearing a black robe with twinkling stars woven into the fabric, leads us to a compartment. He speaks to the compartment door, and it opens obediently. He motions us in with a broad wave of his hand. "I'll get some help for you on that," he says, eyeing our backpacks. No sooner has he spoken than a pair of elves apparate in our compartment, leap up together to grab your burden, then mine, and gently bounce them overhead to a luggage rack. Then the elves, with our conductor, disappear together.
We take in the magical train and the rolling scenery flying past our window. You close the door curtain as soon as he leaves, then pull me to you and kiss me slowly as you caress my breast through the thick green sweater I'm wearing to ward off the London chill. Strangely, I'm not cold anymore. You release your arm from around my back. I pull you to me, but you just smile and don't reciprocate. Our love will wait a little longer.
I cuddle up against your warmth, nestling my cheek into your chest. Slowly and absently, I stroke you through your jeans. If I were not afraid the conductor could return as quickly as he disappeared, I might do more. Then again, maybe that possibility would make it more exciting. I drift off to sleep in your arms to the gentle rocking of the train, smiling about the possibility.
The train comes to a lurching stop. "We're here!" Someone announces several compartments back from ours.
We hang behind to grab our stuff off the luggage rack and let the rest of the passengers file out. It's overcast and rain falls lightly as we step down from the train car onto a clear platform that hovers like a cloud over a lake churning beneath our feet. Dense fog limits our vision to a few feet around us.
Then the fog lifts like a stage curtain to reveal a five-storied castle of grey stone and adorned for spring with flowering green garland and flags of all types. We follow the crowd inside to a stone hallway lit by torches on wall sconces. A shaggy, bearded giant, about eight feet tall jogs toward us. The stone castle floor shakes as he approaches. "I'm Hammond. I'll be seein' you to the guest quarters." He relieves us of our backpacks, carrying them both with two fingers as he bounds away. I race to catch you as you race to keep up with Hammond. One of his steps equals four of mine and three of yours. Wall torches flicker as we trot past. People, in the paintings on the wall, wave as we go by.
Hammond stops at a big wooden door, but not so big that he won't have to bend to enter it. He knocks on an elliptical painting in an ornate gold frame. The sleeping fat lady in a big pink dress, her chest rising and falling as she gently snores, jerks awake. He gives her the password: "Pumpkin cakes." She nods and the door opens before us. Hammond lowers his head to enter as the fat lady returns to her snooze.
We enter a long, dark hall, lit by an occasional wall torch. Hammond sticks a silver key into the keyhole.
The room is filled with museum furniture that looks to have been designed for the original owner of this medieval castle. Tapestries of knights on armored horses cover one wall, floor to ceiling, which must be 20 feet, at least. Green velvet curtains cover the opposite wall of windows. In the center of the room is a four-poster bed with red velvet curtains draping its ruffled canopy.
"This is where you'll be staying," Hammond says, handing you the key. You put it on top of a polished 17th-century mahogany bureau carved with lion heads and tipped on the bottom with carved animal feet. Hammond lifts a three foot being with huge pointy ears and bulging eyes that make it resemble a human -- almost. I had no idea where she came from, but then again, we're at Hogwarts where anything goes -- almost.
"This is Mitzi, your house elf for your stay. Should you need an errand run or a guide to take you someplace, just let her know and she'll help," Hammond tells us as Mitzi wiggles to be set back on the floor. Hammond doesn't oblige. "She'll be nearby. Ring the bell if you need her." He sets the elf on the floor and hands you a gold bell tied with a red bow on the top which you put next to the key.
"And one other thing -- here's a wand for your use. It's a model that won't cause any curses or trouble. Have fun with it." He puts it beside the key on the bureau.
Hammond shuts the door behind him and we take in the vast, exquisite chamber. Above us, the ceiling is twilight blue and twinkling with stars and galaxies. A comet streaks across and disappears. A cloud drops a shower on the far end of the chamber, then stops, and immediately overhead arcs a perfect rainbow.
The bed is enclosed in red drapes. You pull one aside to reveal a rich, green comforter over a half-dozen pillows. You pull down the comforter to reveal maroon linens.
Then you pull my sweater over my head as you drag me into the lush bedclothes. You smile to see the surprise under the layers of my clothing: a tiny red lace bra. I fall back onto the pile of pillows and lift my arms above my head, smiling back.
You shed your coat and chunk it in a pile on the floor where my sweater has fallen. You unbutton your shirt. It's not fast enough for me; I feel my vagina secrete moisture, ready to receive you, but I know you like to wait. We'll take it slow.
You collapse on top of me and unclasp my bra, freeing my stiffening nipples as you cast my carefully planned surprise aside, having fulfilled its purpose. Bare-chested, we snuggle on the bed. But it's cold, and I draw the curtains on the poster bed. It's cozy and intimate, and then I tug on the button of your jeans until it opens. You pull on mine and unzip the fly to reveal red lace panties that match the discarded bra. I'll need a quick escape from the jeans soon, so I kick off my shoes. They tumble to the floor with a light thud.
You crush your lips to mine and we kiss passionately, and though we want to drag out the moment, we'll be here a few days. You are as ready for release as I am, and our passion rises, unhindered. We'll do it again later. So for now, you break from our kiss long enough to wiggle free from your jeans. Then you yank mine at the ankles, and they come off in a single motion. Gone is your underwear, but my lace panties stay in place.
But not for long. My head is at the foot of the bed as I lie awaiting your next advance. You tear my panties away from my sex, and dive straight in to my clitoris with your mouth, sucking it, rubbing it with your tongue as I moan at the luscious sensation. You plunge a finger into my vagina, then two, and three as you thrust your hand up and down inside me as though your penis were humping me. You continue sucking, tonguing, and hand-thrusting me, as I groan louder, and the sounds echo in the vast chamber.
I long for release, but I want you inside me for the orgasm, so I pull away. You look at me with tender longing. I smile as I remember a tool at our disposal. I reach outside the curtained bed and snap my fingers. As I expect, the wand flies from the bureau and into my grasp, and I bring it inside. I hold you around your bare waist and point the shimmering wood back towards us.
"Levantum!" I command, and gently we rise from the bed and drift through a part in the curtain. We embrace as we float past the tapestries toward the candle chandelier, still uneasy that the spell could suddenly break and we find ourselves crashed into the floor. No, I decide. I think it's safe, and I lean against your body. We kiss. Now where were we?
I release the wand from my grasp, and as I expected, it floats beside us, ready for its next command. We roll together and I feel your erection, hard against my abdomen. My vulva drips with anticipation. I want you to enter. I grasp your penis and guide it home. I feel a wave of relief to feel you within me. None of your weight bears on me as the air around us magically supports our embrace.
You begin to rock against me gently in midair, pulling, pushing, pulling, pushing, as we drift down the tapestry-covered wall and then over a plush arrangement of furniture. As we pass above an arrangement of a hundred roses, the intoxicating sweetness of its oils wafts our way. I can't stand it any longer. I want you now but I want it to go on until our bodies are stretched to their limit to endure such ecstasy.
But then I remember the wand and reach for it. "Tempus largus," I command as I grasp it, then let go. I wonder if I'm ready for what I've asked for.
Your gentle thrusting becomes more forceful, and we flip upside down, then right again.
You grab the wand. "Velocidad!" you say, and instantly we begin to move faster, until the tapestry knights are a blur and my long red hair billows in the breeze of our motion. You thrust me in keeping with the rate of our flying, faster and faster. I squeeze your butt and you push into me even harder and faster.
"Altibajas," I command as I touch the wand, and suddenly we are upside down again, but in response to the command, we're moving vertically as well, crossing a tangled path through all empty space in the room, our naked bodies joined in a knot of pleasure. You hump and hump and hump and I'm on the edge of orgasm. Should you hold back, you wonder? Not this time -- we're both ready.
We both begin our release. I scream in ecstasy at the initiation of my orgasm. But this time my vaginal nerves have come alive as never before, and for the first time I can feel the heat of your semen as it coats the inside of my cavity. The orgasm roars as we spin in midair. Our sweat drenches us, though the room is cold. I clutch you butt-cheeks as I thrust you into me as deeply as you will go. You keep coming and I keep going, and as the orgasm rages, well into its second minute, I wonder how long we will be able to stand the euphoria. Just as I feel myself about to collapse, by magic, we land gently on the plush, canopied bed, completely exhausted, but completely satisfied.
You smile. "We should come here more often," you tell me as you wrap the sheet and comforter around us.
"You're right," I whisper as I snuggle to your chest and close my eyes. "But this trip isn't over yet, either."