Once upon a time in a land of white sandy beaches and deep dark forests, there lived a fair maiden by the name of Priscilla Prendergast.
Priscilla, or Prissy for short, was well past the opportune time for securing a husband of either fortune or good looks. She worked all day in her Father's tavern serving the townspeople and the many visitors to the Region. A Region famed for it's wondrous springs of healthy long life.
The lusty young men of the village were ever wary when closeted close to the maiden Prissy, for her sire was well-known to be most harsh with those scallions employing loose hands on her personage. Thus, poor Prissy was fated to be devoid of spouse and deprived of sensuous intimacies with the opposite gender.
The young maiden was pitied by both the married ladies of the village and by the sexually promiscuous young maidens who worked beside her serving ale to the randy males drinking with abandon in the lively tavern.
She was comely of face and shapely of figure with long tresses of Golden Red hair. Her breasts were full and heavy with sensual promise. Her bottom was the plumpest and most delectable of all the young serving wenches. Many the young lad that desired a glimpse of her cuny to see if it was covered with the same exciting tinted golden red bush.
Prissy was doomed to relieve her yearnings with her own long, delicate fingers in her bed by herself. She whimpered and tossed many a nite trying to reach her special spot and the liquid release that made her smile.
One busy nite into the tavern strode a young master.
He was fair of skin, fair of face, and fair of silky textured hair. No beard, no scars, no defects had he. The maids were all a twitter, their bosoms were lowered, their tresses primped nicely. Even a swing to the hip was to naught for the handsome young stranger.
When Prissy lay close, the young man grabbed lustily at her never touched ass. The look on her face was most delightful. At last, she was being attended to by a horny young lad. Her Father, thank goodness, was away in the kitchen.
Little Prissy was pulled in repose onto the stranger's lap.
Her ass cheeks were spread apart in a trice and she felt the reminder of the gentleman's lust. Her face was contorted and she trembled with desire.
Soft hands on her nipples twisted so divinely
A whisper in her ear said, "My room at midnight and don't be tardy".
She scurried away in disarray with heart pumping hard.
Prissy lay with much impatience, waiting for the clock to strike twelve. She moved to the room with both silence and with fear. A soft scratch was all she could manage, but the stranger did hear clearly. Her silence was most seemly, her soft whimper was not.
The young man pulled her to the bed without comment. Her nightshirt was raised high. He laid her down softly and spread her legs wide. Her wet glistening cuny was open and most ready. She saw his staff and was shocked by it's length and it's breadth. The thought of it inside her filled her with dread.
Prissy opened her mouth to ask respite, while she thought for a moment.
Before she could say a single word, her cuny was quite filled. Her gasp was her comment as the fucking commenced. Soon poor little Prissy was moaning most loud. The stranger covered her mouth with his hand to keep their joining a secret for just their own pleasure.
All night long, until the cock crowed, Prissy was mounted by a rider so demanding that she scarce had time to catch her breath before returning to the fray.
In a dreamlike trance of fulfillment, Prissy returned to her room and the young stranger left the next morning never to return.
Nine months later, Mr. Prendergast became a Grandfather, he was ever so proud. He proclaimed it a miracle. His daughter a Saint. He believed it was the water for his daughter was still a pure maid. No one argued with the tavern owner, he was far too severe. They just nodded and agreed it was the water most certain.
After that first night, Prissy choose to scratch on many a door in the middle of the night. Her favors were taken with never a question. She was most careful to select only strangers and ones with quick hands. Her sad life was over and she lived with a zest.
The villagers all commented on how happy she seemed without a man in her life. The tavern business picked up even more after the night that Prissy scratched on the gentleman's door. Strangers from all around seemed to like the ale and the room service in the tavern of Mr. Prendergast more than any other pub. The stories of the girl with the golden red bush spread like wildfire as many a young lad traveled to have the ride of his life.
Or perhaps, it was the water after all.
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