Immoral Earnings
- 3 years ago
- 9
- 0
Immoral Fairie Tales free porn video
Once upon a time, long ago, there was a beautiful maiden. In all of the lands, there was not a woman who lived, more beautiful. So benevolent was this woman, that her kindness stretched to the four corners of the world. Kings, and Queens came to her, to show their gratitude for her simply being alive.
The maiden was called Divinity Mundane, and for all of the beauty that she possessed, she was a woman of common wealth, common possessions, and common wisdom. Like all women of such wealth, possession, and wisdom, she enjoyed simple pleasures. She was often bored at Palatial functions, and she found neither romance, nor delight in royalty.
One night, a lonely night while leaving the market square from a day of window shopping, Divinity decided to visit the singles tavern for a cocktail. One cocktail turned to three, and then five. Soon she was drinking ale, and singing drinking songs with the locals.
She sang the night away, until the coldest hour passed, and most of the tavern patrons were passed out, or home. Seeing she was too drunk to walk on her own, a man who introduced himself as Fleece Swindle, offered to walk her home.
‘I am a respectable lady!’ Divinity Mundane cried, pushing Fleece Swindle away flirtatiously.
‘Certainly, you are.’ Fleece Swindle smiled his most charming smiled. ‘Surely my lady needs aid. A lady of such respectable nature, and incredible beauty would not be safe stumbling so elegantly her way home.’
‘Very well,’ Divinity Mundane slurred. ‘I will let you walk me home.’
Divinity Mundane and Fleece Swindle sauntered drunken through the main roads, stumbling to, and fro, and laughing together.
‘I feel like I have known you forever!’ Divinity Mundane cried, clinging to her charmingly helpful fellow friend.
‘Perhaps it is fate that I help you.’ Fleece Swindle smiled.
When they finally arrived at her common cottage, of simple and common possessions, Divinity Mundane stopped at her door. She fiddled through her keys—all two of them—and silently argued how she was going to get them into the lock.
Fleece Mundane, seeing her struggle, aided her.
‘You are such a very nice, and honest man, Mr. Swindle.’
‘Please, call me Fleece.’
‘What a nice name!’ Divinity Mundane giggled, drunkenly. ‘Would you like to come in for a nightcap?’
‘I surely would.’ Fleece Swindle said, and walked arm in arm with Divinity Mundane, shutting the door behind him.
The next day, the sun shone too brightly through her windows. Divinity Mundane awoke to find her shutters were gone, and all of her exclusively common belongings were gone. She arose from the hard floor, wondering where he bed had gone, and why her legs were so sore.
‘So much that the prior nights memories have robbed me!’ She cried, stumbling hung over to her bathing quarters. She rummaged through her beauty chest, seeking herbs, or possibly an ointment, or a tonic that would help rid her of her throbbing head pain.
It was then that she realized that not only was her bed missing, and all of her very common belongings, but her mirror was, and the chest she thought she was rummaging through was nothing more than a mere hallucination of her imagination.
‘My goodness!’ She cried. ‘Where have my belongings gone?’
The day went by, but the mysterious stranger from the night before was both forgotten, and gone forever. As the afternoon swept over the lands, Divinity Mundane, being a spectacularly beautiful woman, of an entirely too common wisdom, sat where her dining table had once been, and stared at the blank spot on her wall, where her common wood burning stove used to be.
Feeling helpless, Divinity Mundane began to cry.
A passing gypsy heard her weeping from outside her cottage, for the door that had separated the inside from the outside was indeed gone, stolen by Fleece Swindle, who Divinity Mundane neither remember, nor would ever see again.
‘Ho! Ho, in there!’ The old gypsy called out. ‘Who cries?’
Divinity Mundane appeared in the empty space where her door had been, still weeping. ‘It is I, Divinity Mundane. I weep because I have lost all things in this world that I had.’
‘Oooh,’ The gypsy cackled, ‘…not everything.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well,’ The old gypsy woman smiled coyly, pulling a small ivory pipe from within the layers of her clothes. ‘…it seems to me, so strongly, you glow with more than just a life of your own.’ She said, putting a strange blend of herbs into her pipe. The old gypsy, ancient, and thin lit her pipe, and inhaled deeply. Divinity Mundane stood with an unexceptional expression on her face as the gypsy exhaled, blowing the smoke into her face.
Divinity Mundane coughed on the stink of the acrid smoke. ‘My, old gypsy! That was certainly rude.’
‘Manners have no place, for the smoke has spoken!’ The gypsy laughed.
‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘You are with child!’ The gypsy said. ‘Today is not for a day of grief, but great celebration. For all those things that you had, whether they were of splendor, or glory, or riches, none of them matter.’
‘…but how am I to sleep, or eat?’ Divinity Mundane cried.
‘Marry rich, my dear.’ The gypsy said. ‘You are spectacularly beautiful, even if you are somewhat dull, and unprepared. ‘Marry rich, and then deceive the man into believing that the child is his.’
‘To do such a thing, I would have to lay with him.’
‘You have done such already, why not at least make it worth your while?’ The gypsy cackled, inhaling deeply into her pipe again.
The very next week, the beautiful Divinity Mundane was married to the well-to-do Prosper VanAssets. Theirs was a wedding celebrated by the entire world, and within two weeks of their honeymoon, Divinity Mundane unveiled her pregnancy to Prosper VanAssets, and deceived him as the gypsy had instructed her.
Time passed, and Divinity Mundane enjoyed her comforts, and newfound wealth. Prosper VanAssets was a womanizer, but he was nice to her, and because she had wealth, and comfort, and stability, she pretended not to notice his infidelities, and he pretended not to practice infidelity.
Finally, after a long time, she delivered. Heartache swept all the lands as the news spread that Divinity Mundane had died during childbirth.
The baby, a little girl, was named Nausea Mundane, for Prosper VanAssets refused to give her his namesake, as this little new born girl was the most ugly girl he had ever seen. She had all the features of a flawed future, and so she was given away to a convent, that the sisters of the convent might raise her to be beautiful on the inside.
Nausea Mundane spent the first ten years of her young life slaving away for the sisters of the convent, known as ‘The Sisters of the Convent’. She cleaned stone until it shone, and swept dirt from the earth until it became stone. Of all of the marvelous talents one could have in the world, Nausea Mundane was blessed with the ability to make common things extraordinary, and the ugly, beautiful.
Sadly, there was nothing more in the world that Nausea Mundane wanted, than to be beautiful. She had heard tales of her mother, for whose name she held, the most beautiful maiden the world had ever known. She longed to be as beautiful, but no matter how much she washed her face, no matter how much she scrubbed, she could not wipe the ugly away.
Wherever she went, children who saw her face wept, and mothers lamented. Men of conquest became courtesans to other men, rather than believe that she was a girl. Indeed, such a misplaced curse made her feel very isolated.
Very alone.
One day, while weeping in the convent, and washing the now pure golden floor with her mystical tears, a gypsy passing outside heard her crying.
‘Ho! Ho, in there!’ The old gypsy called out. ‘Who cries?’
Nausea Mundane appeared between the golden pillars o
f the convent, weeping uncontrollably. ‘It is I, Nausea Mundane.’
The gypsy took one look at her, and frowned. ‘Truly you are named for what you are.’
The girl, Nausea Mundane, wept harder.
‘Ahhh, yes… weep. Weep for what you cannot control… or can you?’
‘…but… but how?’ Nausea sniffed, wiping away her tears with a dirty sleeve. The sleeve was cleaned, instantly.
‘For all your talents, and all your mysteries, ugly little girl, I will grant you a wish.’
‘What… what do you mean?’ Nausea Mundane said.
The gypsy smiled a gnarled, toothless smile. ‘What if I could make all your dreams come true, and all you had to do was make a simple wish?’
Nausea smiled. ‘Could this be done? This is not a cruel joke?’
‘It is no joke.’ The gypsy said. ‘For all that you possess inside of you, I will grant you your wish, to be beautiful. With the prick of a pin, and the pressure of your maiden finger, I shall make you beautiful.’
‘Very well!’ Nausea Mundane cried gleefully. ‘I shall do it!’
So, the gypsy produced a needle from her many layers of clothes, and pricked it into Nausea Mundane’s maiden finger. When a full bead of blood formed on her maiden finger, she pressed it to a fragment of cloth provided by the gypsy.
‘It is done!’ The gypsy shouted joyfully. A great, bright light shone from the heavens, down onto them. Nausea Mundane reveled in its warmth, and felt it sweep over her. When it was done, she smiled broadly and looked to the gypsy.
‘I am beautiful!’
‘Not yet.’ The gypsy said sadly. ‘It has come to my attention that you must perform but one more task… a task of a great undergoing.’
‘Gypsy deceiver!’
‘My prospective beauty, I never lie!’ The gypsy said, smiling a mouth of perfectly re-grown teeth. ‘You must perform the final task, or you shall never be beautiful.’
‘What task!’ Nausea Mundane cried out. ‘What task!’
‘You must outrun Ugly.’
‘Nonsense!’ Nausea Mundane cried. ‘Even I, an ugly girl, knows that you cannot outrun Ugly. None can.’
‘Certainly none can, for all of Ugly was vested into you… but that is the true beauty of this. Because you are so ugly, Ugly is not expecting you should outrun it!’
‘It makes perfect sense!’ Nausea Mundane said.
‘You surely are the daughter of Divinity Mundane!’ The gypsy cried. ‘You have her sense of judgment, and wisdom!’
‘Thank you, gypsy!’ Nausea Mundane said, and began running.
Running, as fast as she could.
For many hours, Nausea felt as though she would collapse, for she ran as she had never run before. She ran through town, pushing through people with disregard. She ran hard, knocking over the carts of many food vendors.
After the sun began to set, Nausea Mundane slowed. She kept her pace at a slow job, but whether it was her imagination, or reality, she felt as though she was close to outrunning Ugly. When she came to a river, she removed all of her clothes, and dipped into it to bathe. Surely, so long as she kept moving, it should count as running. After she bathed, and dried by the cold air of night, she hopped around on a leg, until she was dressed. She tackled, and rolled, and moved as she pulled her hose into place, and then her dress over her head.
Nausea ran, for years. She ran, and ran, and by whatever mystical powers the gypsy hand granted to her, she never needed sleep. She ate, as she ran, and sped through the world around her with no regard to the beauty of nature, or structure, land, or sea. Nausea ran, and ran, and each day that she ran, she felt certain that the next day she would outrun Ugly.
It was a cold, cold Winter’s night that took Nausea Mundane. No matter how fast she moved, the blistering cold winds slowed her pace.
‘No!’ She begged. ‘No, cruel Winter winds, please! I must outrun Ugly.’
The winds had less wisdom than she, or her mother who had passed before her. They were merely winds, and so they blew, and blew, and as the night grew colder, Nausea Mundane froze running.
It was three weeks later that a caravan of gypsies passing through the icy highways came upon her. She was as an ice statue would be, a beautiful shade of blue frozen over a hideous face that should have been a mask for All Hallows Eve. ‘Stop!’ A beautiful young voice called out from the caravan. A woman of regal beauty stepped from the middle of the gypsy caravan.
She was dressed like the old gypsy, dressed in the exact same layers, and smoking the exact same ivory pipe that the old gypsy had smoked when she instructed Nausea Mundane’s beautiful mother. Nausea Mundane, sadly, had passed into the next world, leaving behind an ugly, frozen body.
‘Ah,’ The regal gypsy cried. ‘The spell has worked. She has run her course, and I am beautiful.’
The caravan that followed with her applauded Nausea Mundane. The gypsy said then, ‘For life was cruel to you, death was your only escape. You ran, and you ignored the wailing children, and horrified mothers. You gave me your inner beauty, and the world has suffered worse for it. You devoted your life to being what your mother had been without effort, and in your death, you have earned it.’
Warm light broke through the frozen clouds in the sky, as a sword pierces weak armor. It shone down on Nausea Mundane, and instantly her frozen grave shattered, spilling her limp form into the snow.
Her body rose from the snow, the dirty, shredded clothing hanging from her in tatters. As she rose, she began to turn slowly.
‘For what you could not be in life, so you shall be in death.’ The gypsy said, and waved a hand. In a flash of blinding white light, Nausea Mundane was beautiful. Her beauty was glory beyond the regal beauty of the gypsy’s, and well beyond the beauty of Divinity Mundane. Her body glowed with a life that simply was not in her.
The gypsies of the caravan placed her body into a beautiful, solid golden casket. They traveled from town to town showing Nausea Mundane’s beauty to all the world, before finally returning her to her home in the sisters of the convent’s ‘Sisters of the Convent.’.
The world lamented, and was sorry they had ever been cruel to such a beautiful girl, for as it was okay to wail, and run from the ugly Nausea Mundane, surely the beautiful Nausea Mundane would be missed forever, and ever.
She was buried beneath the convent, where the sisters of the convent would live in peace, and harmony, happily ever after.
Kierra
- 26.05.2021
- 30
- 0
