Erotic short story based on The Tempest, by William Shakespeare
"Tempest," is a tongue-in-cheek pastiche of William Shakespeare's comic play, The Tempest. The Bard's creation recounts the aftermath of a shipwreck on the sorcerer Prospero's magic island. But Shakespeare omitted some details: While Prospero was busy with his books, his daughter Miranda was getting it on with the ethereal Ariel and the bestial Caliban. This version tells "the rest of the story."
Act I Caliban
“Fuck me, mooncalf! ” Miranda commanded. “Savage! Slave! Do as I say! Fuck me up the ass!”
Caliban, who was used to being ordered around, bent down and spit on Miranda’s pink, puckered sweet spot. More beast than man, he felt that this particular activity was unnatural. He preferred what Miranda called doggie-style, taking her from behind, yes, but driving his cock into her cunt (instead of her asshole) as the gods intended.
Not that he had much choice in the matter. Caliban’s mother, now deceased, was the witch Sycorax. His father? Who knew, but Caliban had definitely emerged from the shallow end of the gene pool.
His body was covered with matted hair, which was especially thick on his back and hindquarters. His forehead sloped and his lower jaw jutted. When Miranda called him, “Neanderthal!” and “Troglodyte!” she was more than half right.
His only saving grace: He was hung like a stallion. Women coul overlook a lot for a cock like that.
Women. That was another problem. Caliban was stuck on a more-or-less deserted island. Miranda was the only show in town, and she, being Prospero’s daughter, had attitude.
Prospero, the wizard who owned the island, had enslaved Caliban on the pretext of civilizing him. Miranda, on the pretext of educating Caliban, had read him her father’s dirty books and taught him a wide variety of dirty words. Caliban was now completely enslaved, not only by the wizard, but by Miranda’s tits, clit, quim, slit, hole, and poop shoot, not to mention his own dick, prick, John Thomas, joystick, etc.
So here Caliban was, on a rude pallet on the jungle floor, fucking Miranda’s brains out (assuming her brains were in her ass, as Caliban liked to say behind her back).
“What are you waiting for, monster?” Miranda screamed, slapping Caliban’s haunch. “Fuck me up the ass!”
Caliban brayed like a donkey and grunted like a boar – Miranda liked that – and jammed his red-hot cock up her ass. He usually proceeded more cautiously, lubricating her with spit, nuzzling the head of his cock gently into her asshole, and moving gradually past her tight little sphincter into the great beyond. But Miranda’s haughtiness had gotten on his last nerve and he wanted to teach her a lesson. Besides, if he made her mad enough, she’d whip him later, even though he suspected she knew he enjoyed it.
“Take that, bitch,” Caliban growled. Putting his hands on Miranda’s hips, he pulled her to him and banged into her from behind.
“Hey!” Miranda squealed, “I’m getting whiplash.”
Okay, I’ll stop.” Caliban left his cock inside her, but stopped moving.
“I’ll beat you for sure if you don’t fuck me!” Miranda cried.
“Now that “would” be a shame,” Caliban replied. He slapped her ass sharply a few times and raked her breasts and ass with his claws. Miranda shivered.
“Cut that out,” Miranda hissed. “You’ll leave marks.”
Caliban interpreted this as, ”Cover me with welts! Mark me as your slave!”
Miranda reached back, twisted her fists in his pelt, and tried to get a little back-and-forth going. Caliban slapped her hands away.
“Play with my balls,” he ordered, thrusting one of Miranda’s hands between his legs. “Stick your other hand in your cunt. Feel the honey. Lick your pussy with your fingertips. Imagine that Caliban has a brother, and he is tongueing you and sucking you while I fuck your ass. He’s part goat, you know. Feel his horns bump your belly?”
Caliban started moving again, pumping Miranda’s asshole. Miranda fingered his balls, played with herself and fantasizing about a threesome with Caliban’s imaginary (and even more personally degrading) brother.
They fucked like conjoined dogs, until Caliban filled Miranda’s ass with his spunk. Caliban howled when he came. He felt free.
Act II Ariel
Illustration by Georges Barbier
“How’s Prospero?” Miranda asked as Ariel filled her glass with an insouciant little Chardonnay. “I never see him any more.”
Ariel, an airy spirit with magic powers and the ability to shape-shift, was entertaining the boss’s daughter in his penthouse high atop a royal palm. Caliban’s mother had once imprisoned Ariel in a tree trunk. Prospero freed him and turned Ariel into his very own indentured servant-stylist-chauffeur-nutritionist-PR guy, using his own, more potent sorcery to keep Ariel from bolting.
“Your father’s holed up in the lab,” Ariel answered, dipping a crusty chunk of bread into his signature tapenade. “Working on something big. Gonna ‘stick it to some guy named Antonio.”
Ariel kicked off his Gucci loafers and positioned one of his blond curls over his right eye. “Can you stay the night?” he purred.
Miranda moved the little café table out from between them and straddled Ariel’s lap. “Yes … I … can,” she said, giving him a peck on the mouth between words and sticking her tongue down his throat when she was done.
In his current incarnation, Ariel was tanned, toned, and blessed with an unerring fashion sense. His cock was slender and a tad shorter than Caliban’s, but it got the job done. Besides, he liked to eat pussy.
Miranda’s short skirt covered Ariel’s lap like a doily. Only her thong and Ariel’s gauzy drawstring pants stood between them.
“You’re getting sooo hard,” Miranda cooed, gliding her silken cunt back and forth over Ariel’s growing erection.
Ariel slid his index finger under the top of Miranda’s thong and swirled it around in her wetness. He then put the finger in his mouth and sucked it, making slurping sounds and rolling his sea-green eyes. With his other hand, he loosened Miranda’s hair from its ribbon, sending it cascading over her shoulders in shiny, ebony waves.
Miranda pulled her t-shirt over her head and tackled the buttons on Ariel’s collarless linen shirt. Since he always left the top three buttons undone, it wasn’t long before he was shirtless and Miranda was loosening his trousers and freeing his beautiful pink cock.
Meanwhile, Ariel had ripped off Miranda’s thong. “I’ll get you another,” he promised, lifting her up and sitting her back down on his cock. Miranda bounced up and down energetically while Ariel shook his curls between her breasts.
“Love these itty, bitty titties!” he said, pinching and twisting her nipples. Taking one of her small, firm breasts into his mouth he sucked and diddled her with his tongue until she cried, “Eat me! Eat my cunt! Pleeeeease!”
Ariel lifted her off his cock, and holding her ass in both hands, stood up and deposited her in his chair. He stepped out of his pants and fluttered the tip of his tongue like a lizard. Miranda opened her legs and spread the lips of her pussy with her fingers, exposing the bright bud of her clitoris. Ariel got down on his knees and buried his face in her.
Ariel licked and sucked her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. He lapped her slit with the rough surface of his tongue, drinking in her briny juices and her slightly sour fragrance. Miranda rolled her hips as if she were fucking his cock, and moaned with pleasure.
Without abandoning Miranda’s hard, fat clit, Ariel slid two fingers into her vagina. He plugged the thumb of his other hand into her asshole, which, unbeknownst to him, was still lubricated with Caliban’s jissom.
For the coup de grace, Ariel conjured up some friendly spirits. One of them stirred the inside of Miranda’s mouth with his (or her) tongue and bit Miranda’s lips. Another spirit sucked Miranda’s tits as if she (or he) were extracting milk from a coconut. A third blew feathery breaths across Miranda’s neck and back, raising goose bumps all over her body.
Ariel kept at it even when Miranda started to roil and buck. When she lurched to one side and slid off the chair, he followed her down, like a captain with his ship.
Once again he bowed before her. This time he hoisted her legs over his shoulders and plowed her with his cock. Miranda was coming and the contractions of her cunt wrung Ariel’s cock like a dishrag until it was dry.
Exhausted, they lay together on the deck looking up at the clouds. In a sultry tone, Miranda asked. “Does this skirt make me look fat?”
Originally published November 2009
