Speaker-to-Customers (speakr2customrs) wrote,

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Fanny Troll, or, Memoirs of a Woman of Merry Sport

This is yet another in my series of Where did Olaf the Troll go? ficlets started in answer to a challenge at ‘Twisting The Hellmouth’. This time the crossover is with a classic work of erotic fiction; ‘Fanny Hill, or, Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure’, written in a debtors’ prison by John Cleland and published in 1749 (this was, of course, long before his two titles in the British Touring Car Racing Championship). I have tried to replicate the style as closely as possible.

Exactly 3,500 words. NC-17 for erotica.

Fanny Troll


Memoirs of a Woman of Merry Sport.

I was christened Frances Hill, born of poor but honest Lancashire stock, and my tender parents worked hard to care for me until they were both carried off by the small-pox and I was left alone and destitute when I was just arriving at a marriageable age.

I gathered up such meagre funds as they had left to me and, encouraged by Esther Davis who I thought a friend, I resolved to seek my fortune on the gold-paved streets of London. That resolution led me into a situation of which I could ne’er have dreamt. Abandoned by my travelling companion and, as I had thought, protectress, I was taken in by one Mrs Brown who gave me lodging and promised that she would find me employment as a companion.

I was grateful beyond measure and thought myself lucky in the extreme; for I was as yet altogether innocent, and it seemed to me not at all unusual that Mrs Brown should keep a house that was entirely full of young ladies. That I was to be a companion to men, and in the most carnal of ways, ne’er entered into my remotest imagination.

I was sent to share a room with Miss Phoebe, who professed herself to be of five and twenty, although in this claim she was improving the truth by perhaps ten years. When she said her goodnights to me with a kiss I thought merely that this was how things were done in London; and when her cunning fingers stole under my night-garments I knew not what to think! Yet my body reacted without the promptings of my mind, and my protests died half formed as my modesty was swept away by unknown pleasure.

Phoebe was, as I learned later, priming me for the task for which I had been unknowingly recruited; for my maidenhead was worth a good fifty guineas to Mrs Brown and she desired that I should surrender it without undue fuss when the time came. That I should be familiar with the pleasures that could be gained from lustful embraces, yet that I should remain untouched by male member, was in accordance with her plans.

All went astray, however; for the man who produced the fifty guineas for Mrs Brown was a most repulsive specimen. Mr Croft was five and sixty years of age at the least, bald, wrinkled, and pot-bellied, and a liquorish old goat of vile temper withal. I will not here recount the details of our encounter, save only to say that it was unsatisfactory in all ways to all parties, and that I was rescued at the last by Miss Phoebe when the ‘gentleman’ was attempting to take by force that which I would not surrender to him willingly.

Mrs Brown waxed wrath with me afterwards but Phoebe interceded for me and pleaded my case. Thus Mrs Brown came to realise that I was yet too innocent to understand what was expected of me and set Phoebe to educate me in such matters. Not by exciting me with her own lewd caresses, such as she had done already, but by instructing me in the manner in which acts of love were carried out between a man and a woman.

Curious to see such things for myself, before I took the plunge into those uncharted waters mine own self, I resolved to take whatsoever opportunity presented itself to spy upon one of the lewd acts that I had learned took place in the house many times each night. It so happened that the first occasion I had to pursue my voyeuristic intentions chanced to be an encounter between none other than Mrs Brown and her paramour, a stalwart Grenadier, and from a closet I was an awestruck witness to a scene of debauchery quite outside my experience.

I was filled with revulsion as the Grenadier pawed with hands like legs of mutton at Mrs Brown’s pendulous dugs, and as he heaved his bulging belly atop the woman and thrust his member into the cavernous maw of her well-used slit, and yet it was curiously exciting withal. I had ne’er seen anything like unto the staff that protruded from the junction of the Grenadier’s sturdy thighs. It seemed immense to my unpractised eyes and, when I recounted my adventure to Phoebe thereafter, I commented to her that such an organ could ne’er be expected to fit within my own delicate slit without inflicting upon me a grievous injury.

Phoebe laughed and dismissed my fears. “I have ne’er yet heard of any mortal wound being inflicted by such a weapon,” she assured me. “In truth a woman’s slit varies greatly in size, through usage and most especially through childbirth, but always it expands to accommodate the task expected of it and returns to its previous condition, or near enough, thereafter.” Her forehead wrinkled with thought. “I have it,” she declared. “As chance and your own curiosity have presented you with one such spectacle, I shall by artifice procure you another, but with the participating maid being one whose slit approximates in size to your own. You know Polly Phillips, of course, Fanny?”

“Indeed,” I confirmed, “most assuredly, for she tended to me when I was ill. I understand that she has been but little longer in this house than have I.”

“True,” Phoebe confirmed. “She has a Genoese lover, nephew of a merchant of surpassing wealth, who has taken such a fancy to her that he keeps her entirely to himself. I shall arrange for us to be in a position to spy upon their next assignation, and you shall see for yourself that your slit shall take no harm from being penetrated by the shaft of a man.”

Phoebe was as good as her word, and we hid together and spied upon the couple, and a most pleasing couple to the eye they were indeed. Polly’s slit was, as Phoebe challenged me to deny, as delicate and tight in appearance as mine own, and yet it swallowed up most easily the tremendous member of the handsome young Genoese. I was quite consumed with ardent desire after witnessing the act and, although I spent enthusiastically upon Phoebe’s fingers thereafter, I could not help but look forward with eagerness to the day when Mrs Brown would once more call upon me to part with my maidenhead for her profit – although I dearly hoped that it would be with a man resembling Polly’s Genoese lover rather than with another lecherous old Mr Croft.

Heavens! Ne’er in ten thousand years could I have imagined the fate that awaited me, or visualised the man who would be the one to rob me of my maidenhead.

Man, I say, and yet I am uncertain whether that is in fact the correct term. Although most certainly he was no woman.

It came to pass that Phoebe delivered a message to me that Mrs Brown was desirous of my presence in the outer chambers, and I hastened to attend. There I found the bawdy-house proprietor in the company of an enormous personage.

Perhaps seven feet tall he stood and his shoulders seemed to stretch the breadth of the room. His skin was dark; neither the swarthy darkness of a Genoese, nor the ebony of a blackamoor, but a shade of brown that was heavily tinged with green as if he were a tree upon which moss didst grow. His head was crowned with a powdered wig in the most fashionable of styles, but from under it long straggles of bright red hair hung forth, and – most alarmingly – a pair of horns poked out through the top of the wig. He held a sword in one hand, a two-handed sword of the pattern that the wild Jacobite Scots termed a claymore, and yet in his grip it seemed no more than a duelling small-sword or a walking stick.

“Horrors!” I cried. “It is the very devil, come to devour us for our sins.”

Mrs Brown favoured me with a surpassingly fierce scowl. “Lord Olaf is no devil,” she snapped. “He is a gentleman of wealth and taste who I trust will become an important and regular customer. The time has come, Fanny, for you to repay me for all that I have spent upon you in board and cloth. Lord Olaf has bestowed upon me a hundred golden guineas and I expect you to give satisfaction. There must be no repetition of the unfortunate incident with Mr Croft or I shall be compelled to put you out.”

I quailed at the thought of being put out destitute onto the streets of London, which I had learned were in no way paved with gold but were hard and unforgiving, yet I was still stricken with terror at this strange apparition. “If no devil, then he may be a Highlander,” I protested, “for I espy the claymore in his hand. That the Scots came down into England as far as Derby is well known and who is to say that they might not have returned?”

Lord Olaf threw back his head and laughed. “Ho, this one is a nervous and flighty piece,” he said. “I would throw her back but she is indeed as attractive as you claimed. No, little one, I am from Sweden and am no Scot. This Scottish sword I took from the body of a clansman who sought to slay me with it. He was displeased with me,” he reminisced, “for I slew his puny Prince. It was his own fault. The little man was dressed as a maid and I sought only to make merry sport with him. A simple mistake that anyone could have made. The Highlanders were angry with me and I had to burn their crofts, pillage their oats and haggis, and make merry sport with Flora MacDonald before they learned that Olaf the Troll is not to be taken lightly.”

“Olaf the Troll?” What was this creature? Man or beast?

“Lord Olaf now, for the Duke of Cumberland was greatly pleased with my Viking actions in the Highlands,” the massive visitor told me. “I have gold enough to gladden my heart, and when my heart is glad my member swells. I will make merry sport with you, maiden, for you are pretty.”

I turned to Mrs Brown. “Madame,” I said, “this is a mismatch, for Lord Olaf is quite immense and his member may be of a size proportionate. I am fearful that he will do me harm.”

“I shall treat you gently, little woman,” Olaf assured me, “and you shall cry out only in pleasure as I make merry sport with you.”

“Phoebe tells me that you are not averse to playing your part and providing services to recompense me for my expenditure upon you,” Mrs Brown said, “and that you ask only that the man shall not be old and flabby and wrinkled. Lord Olaf is as far from flabby as it is possible for a man to be, and has no wrinkles, and is indeed as fine a specimen of manhood as I have seen in many a long year. He is hardly to be called old either.”

“No, for it is only eight hundred and sixty seven years since I was turned into a troll,” Olaf agreed, “and that is no great age for a troll. Especially as I spent several hundred of those years imprisoned in a jar by a witch. I hate witches. But enough of such talk,” Olaf decided. “To the bedroom, maiden, and there we shall make merry sport and you shall be maiden no more. I grow impatient and the sight of your breasts swelling beneath your shift is making me swell also to the point of discomfort. I must undress before I burst free.”

I was all a-fluster at this strange talk, and at the sight of the giant who was determined to take my maidenhead, and when Mrs Brown turned her fierce gaze upon me I could not summon up the courage to refuse. “Very well, Lord Olaf,” I assented. “I ask only that you be gentle with me.”

Thus it was that in no more than moments later we were in my room and Olaf was removing his garments. His shirt, vast enough to have served as the mainsail for a Man O’ War, came off first and revealed to me a chest the size of a cask of ale. Red hair grew thickly upon the mightily muscled expanse and through it I could see nipples of a dark green hue. He pulled off boots of furred hide; he wore no stockings or garter-laced livery and I saw that the toes of his feet were adorned with claws. Then he untied his breeches and let them fall.

I stood transfixed in awe as his gigantic member came free and was exposed to my sight. Its prodigious size made me shrink and yet I could not help but marvel to behold such a length, such a thickness, of a maypole that seemed to be crafted of living wood. Why, if that of Polly’s lover had been Genoa, this was all of Italy! The shaft was crowned with a tip like unto the size of a hen’s egg, coloured in a delicate green hue, and seemingly possessed of such velvet softness that my hand stole forth of its own accord as if to touch it. I stopped short of such boldness and my hand faltered and withdrew.

Olaf saw my action and laughed. “Shrink not back, fair maiden,” he told me. “It will not bite you.” Thus encouraged I ventured to caress the organ. It was soft yet rigid and hot under my hand. Olaf groaned in pleasure as my fingers ran back and forth along the pole. “It is time that you too were unclad, that I might feast my eyes upon your beauty,” Olaf said, and his great hands went to the fastenings of my apparel.

As I had no stays to unfasten it took but a trice to have me down to my shift. He pressed his hands to my breasts as they thrust against the cloth, and fondled me briefly, and then my shift too was stripped from me and cast aside. Naked as the day I was born, and blushing madly, I stood before him.

“Ho, maiden, you are indeed a beauty,” he declared. His thumbs went to the rosy buds of my nipples and stroked back and forth over them. The stimulation from those calloused digits seemed to go directly to my slit and I felt myself bedewed with moisture therein. He then planted his lips upon my breasts and sucked my nipples into his mouth. The bedewing became a flood and I let a moan escape my lips.

Next his mouth met mine in a kiss both demanding and tender withal. His hands moved down my body and probed for my slit, his great fingers parting the hair that shielded it and slipping within, frigging me most deliciously. His attentions brought me to such a state of excitement that I was in no whit alarmed when he lifted me from my feet and placed me upon the bed.

My legs parted as if of their own accord but Olaf did not immediately rush to plant his member within me. First he lowered his head and planted his mouth upon my slit. His tongue lapped at me as if drinking my juices. The pleasure that this gave me was such that I cried out aloud and clutched at his head, taking hold of his horns, and hanging onto them as his tongue probed within.

Yet his desires were not to be satisfied with such procedures, and he climbed onto the bed also, and placed himself between my legs. His staff pointed at my slit, a battering ram against which the defences of my castle could not hope to stand, and he moved forward and placed it against my opening.

I quivered in both fear and joyful anticipation. The tip entered between my vermillion folds. The head parted my slit and slipped inside, most pleasurably, and then he thrust forward a small degree and encountered the barrier of my maidenhead. For but an instant it resisted and then he drove forward with might and main and the obstacle was swept aside and annihilated.

I shrieked out in pain, for all that he had promised there would be only pleasure, and tears started to my eyes. “Hold, Olaf, for it hurts,” I entreated, but he was not to be denied and continued onward until the whole of his great shaft was sheathed well within me. He withdrew to the tip, then drove forward once more, and yet again withdrew.

The friction thus engendered produced pleasure that overcame the pain. As he made another stroke and penetrated me deeply I cried out once more but this time not out of discomfort. “Oh!” I called out. “Oh!” Then his lips covered mine and there was no more opportunity for words.

We rocked upon the bed, his organ plunging deep within me, sending me into very paroxysms of delight. It was a combat in the lists of love that made that of Polly and her Genoese seem a mere skirmish by comparison. For perhaps an hour we strove together and I reached the very heights of joy several times until Olaf grunted heavily and spent his seed within me. We lay still together, kissing yet and exchanging caresses, for several minutes before Olaf withdrew from me and arose.

This was far from the end of our bout. He had but paused to partake of refreshment. He called out for Mrs Brown and demanded that she serve him food and drink. A whole roast boar was brought for him and he devoured the greater part of it, save for a few choice morsels of which I partook, and he washed it down with an entire butt of sack. Thus refreshed he returned to the fray and my no longer virgin entrance was penetrated again.

I rode upon him as he lay upon his back, in the fashion that I had observed when I spied upon Polly, and drove us both into a frenzy. He placed me upon my hands and knees and took me from the rear. At the last he laid me once more upon my back and covered me as he had upon the first occasion; and thus ended my first momentous night of love.

Lord Olaf professed himself well pleased with me, and bestowed upon Mrs Brown an additional fifty golden guineas in addition to the one hundred promised, and charged her that I was to be kept for his sole pleasure. This arrangement was well in accordance with my desires and my next months in Mrs Brown’s establishment were spent in unalloyed delight.

Yet all good things must end, they say, and the day came when Olaf was called away to go to war against the French. He sailed across the sea to North America and I was left bereft.

Of the next years I will say little. I was mistress to Mr H-, who proved himself most unsatisfactory after my troll, and in the end betrayed me with a rustic housemaid and caused me to desert him. I found new employment in the bawdy house of Mrs Cole, and also sought pleasure amongst the men of London at every opportunity, so that even Mrs Cole scolded me for being too ready to open my legs; yet satisfaction found I none. For all men paled in comparison to Olaf and his majestic staff.

At long last he returned. The doors of Mrs Cole’s establishment burst open and Olaf’s towering form stood there. For a moment I hesitated, afeared lest Olaf was here by accident alone and that perhaps he no longer desired my – now well-used – charms, but he favoured me with a beaming smile and opened his arms to me. I exclaimed in joy and flew straightaway into his welcoming embrace.

Many were the adventures that he had gone through, amongst the wild Hurons in North America and then upon the Continent of Europe, and many were the battles that he had won for the Crown with his might and ferocity. Twice he had seized French generals and devoured them whole, terrifying their troops, and he was in no small measure responsible for the decision of the French to sue for peace and to sign the Treaty of Paris. Mr Pitt had prevailed upon the King to ennoble Olaf further and he was now Marquess Olaf of Villinghausen. Laden with gold from his campaigns he had purchased a country estate; and it was to that estate that we decamped, retired from war and from the bawdy house, to pass the remainder of our days in those pursuits known to country gentlefolk and our nights engaged in the delights of merry sport.

Tags: fic, olaf
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