The Smell of Magic, the Thunder of Hooves

By Theda Hudson

Cara Bas is living a real life Puss in Boots fairy tale, complete with Frye, a dyke who will teach her how to be the perfect sub when her knight pounds down the hill to sweep her up. Contains a sample from the follow on story, "Dyke Valiant".

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lilac Moon Books
• Release date: Feb 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476171531

Theda Hudson

Theda Hudson's deliciously wicked short fiction has appeared in Best Lesbian Erotica 2011 and 2015, Best Lesbian Romance 2011 and 2012, Best Women's Erotica 2007, Sex in San Francisco, Pirate Booty, and Best S/M III. Her novels include Dyke Valiant, an erotic lesbian urban paranormal, and The Pearl Witch and Lord of the Broken Tower, both hetero erotic science fiction. She lives in Colorado with four rescued cats, 1000 books, and an understanding partner. She likes to use her writing to share things women don’t usually get to talk about.

Book preview

The Smell of Magic, the Thunder of Hooves

by

Theda Hudson

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Lilac Moon Books on Smashwords

The Smell of Magic, the Thunder of Hooves

Copyright (c) 2000 Thea Hutcheson

Cover by Laura Givens

Copyright (c) 2011 Laura Givens

http://www.lauragivens-artist.com

Discover other titles by Theda Hudson at Smashwords.com

And at http://www.theahutcheson.com

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The Smell of Magic, the Thunder of Hooves

I was looking for some little cup hooks. She was looking for big eye bolts, right next to the decorative ones that I wanted. When I reached for them, I smelled the magic on her then, flowers and musk and excitement, all rolled up in a palatable charge that went right through me. She turned to look at me and I recognized her. Her name is Frye and she's the leather version of the charging knight from the magical land I had dreamed of since childhood.

I was kind of surprised; that wasn't the way I pictured it because the land she comes from is isn't exotic in any fairy tale way and it isn't a castle she carries you away to, it's a dungeon. I was a first-time visitor to it when I'd seen her.

Frye'd been working over a curvy blonde. The woman was bound to a St. Andrews cross and her ass was almost as red as the satin corset riding the tops of her hips. Frye'd stepped in to stroke her bottom. Whatever she whispered in the bound woman's ear sent a shudder through her. My heart leapt as I wondered what she could've heard and prayed I'd find out.

I watched her play with the blonde all night much to my date's irritation. Frye wore her chaps and the namesake boots matter of factly, because they suited her and what she did, which implied regular exposure over a period long enough for them to be worn in, fit to her.

Figuring out what she had been doing to wear them in taxed my meager imagination, but left me breathless. She had magic, though; there was no doubt about it and the smell of it made me wet and hopeful. When I asked about her, they said, Frye, she's been around forever, a wicked experienced top. She likes the new ones, the juicy ones. She likes to show them what's what. Break ‘em in for the rest of us. they said, leering at each other