Snow Man

Copyright © Emmi Lawrence

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.

Short Story (Approx. 1900)

She first shaped him like a man out of boredom, packing down the snow so she could mold it better. The round balls she’d started with slowly turned into hips and thighs below a long torso. His fingers were difficult, the digits constantly wanting to fall apart, but she managed to convince them to stay on when she threatened to melt them if they didn’t cooperate.

When she stepped back, she laughed at how clumsy the snowman looked. Not even as good as the strawman she had built to walk her gardens during summer. So she laughed again, deciding to have some fun.

Packing another large ball, Georgiana pressed it between her snowman’s legs and scraped the excess off until the snowman looked as if he were ready for a snowwoman. In a fit of humor, she even took time to carve out the head in the proper shape before brushing the snow off her gloves.

“But you have no face,” Georgiana murmured to him.

He had no ears though, nothing to hear her with. So she rectified that problem with little piles of snow. She pulled off her gloves to use her finger to carve out the curve of the snowman’s ears, then used her thumbs to rub the indents for his eyes and mouth. Then she pulled out his nose, a slender one, much like the shepherd she liked on the other side of town.

“That’s right,” she whispered. “I’ll call you Jessop and make you mine regardless of what he thinks of me.” She laughed again when she stepped back. “But you have a far ways to go before you’re entirely like him.”

The snowman’s lips parted slightly, moving gently, with little bits of loose snow dripping off his chin to the ground. “What must I do to be more myself then?” His voice was soft, like a gentle winter wind that lingered long after the storm had passed.

Georgiana leaned forward and put her hands upon her hips. “I wasn’t ready for you to talk.”

“Oh,” whispered the Jessop-snowman. “I’m sorry, then.”

“It’s all right,” she said, patting his shoulder in a careful manner. “It’s probably my fault. I get carried away when I work.”

The Jessop-snowman nodded, and Georgiana saw with pride that his head didn’t tip too far in one direction or the other. Then he blinked slowly.

“You need green eyes. Just like Jessop.” She put her thumbs back onto his open eyes and thought of the leaves of summer. Then she coaxed out a few strands of snow into lashes. When she pulled her hands away, the Jessop-snowman gasped.

She put a finger to his lips, first in a shushing motion, and then in a sensual motion, thinking of how lovely Jessop’s mouth curved. Then she kissed the Jessop-snowman’s nose, feeling it warm beneath her breath.

“May I speak now?” asked the Jessop-snowman.

Georgiana frowned. She was still thinking of him as a snowman. Though his face looked like Jessop, the rest of him needed some changes. So she shook her head and went back to work.

She traced his fingers carefully until they colored and warmed under her ministrations. Then she worked her way up his arms, across his chest, conscious of his green eyes blinking slowly, his snow tipped lashes catching the sunlight.

Jessop the snowman—not the shepherd she’d like to coax into her cottage—murmured something when she ran her hands across his butt and down the backs of his legs and by the time she moved to his front, she had to laugh again for the rest of him had warmed and colored without her help.

“You seem to take to this well, my very own Jessop,” she said.

Jessop the snowman ducked his head, as if shy, almost the same way that Jessop the shepherd would when she’d offer one of her charms to him. But this Jessop didn’t also have that fear of her craft deep in his eyes.

No. Wait.

Georgiana leaned closer. Why, yes, Jessop the snowman did have that fear there, in the worry that she could destroy him as easily as she’d built him. All the better, for it made him more real, more human, more like Jessop himself.

She stepped close to him, breathing deep of remembered scent and blowing it across Jessop the snowman. Then she closed her eyes and leaned into his chest, smelling sheep and field and mud and feeling the heat from his body and breath.

Now he was the Jessop she wanted.

“You may talk now, Jessop,” said Georgiana quietly.

“What should I call you?”

She smiled to herself. “Georgiana.”

“Georgiana,” he repeated, his voice his own, so soft and gentle, same as when he’d speak with his sheep. Never before to her though. That fear always driving him away, as if she were some sort of deviant within their midst.

She ran her fingers back over his chest, going further down his stomach until she teased his balls slightly, massaging them gently.

“Georgiana,” he whispered again, this time with desire in his voice. “There’s something . . . a need.”

She laughed and put her lips to his. “I know. That’s how I envision you, you know. With a need you refuse to do anything about. Well, today, you’ll get to fulfill that need.”

Georgiana stroked his cock, the one she’d made for him though she’d never seen Jessop the shepherd’s. Yet. She ran her fingers across the head she’d crafted for him. She teased him gently, rubbing him until he finally brought his arms up to clasp her to him. His hair tickled her face as she looked up to kiss him again. This time she put her tongue to his, feeling his tentativeness, but not letting him get away. This Jessop was hers.

When she broke the kiss, she stepped back. This time when she looked over his body, she didn’t laugh. He looked beautiful and handsome. His cock stood at attention, the end of it dripping from where she’d been rubbing. His chest heaved as if he needed extra breath. His eyes burned into her with lust.

Georgiana pulled off her shirt, then her trousers and tossed them into the snow. She shivered in the sudden wind, then put a hand out to Jessop. “I like being touched,” she whispered to him when he came close. “I like being kissed—all over.”

He didn’t nod, but he did comply. His hands started at her shoulders and ran across her breasts, over her stomach and across her butt, where he grabbed and pulled her towards him.

Then he hesitated, his mouth to her neck. She wrapped her arms about his and pushed him closer, where he finally kissed her, his lips soft and kind. He made a trial across her neck, down her chest, upon her nipples. There he made her moan softly despite the chill in the air, warming her from the inside out, just as she’d wanted.

She pushed him further down, letting him continue kissing down her stomach. Between her legs, he stopped and looked up at her, the worried expression upon his face cute.

“What do I—” he began.

She laughed. “Your tongue, Jessop,” she said, savoring his name. Savoring all of him.

He complied, licking her gently. She put a hand to the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair. Then she stopped, too caught up with Jessop’s mouth as he spread her and moved inward, his fingers belying his inexperience. Jessop must learn fast. Yes, he did seem the quick type, even if he was shy.

Her insides spasmed once around his fingers as he rubbed her and she felt herself gush at his touch regardless of how hesitant he became at times. She stepped away with reluctance and knelt down.

His cock was shoved into the snow, no longer dripping, but still stiff and wanting. She took it into her hands and stroked him, first softly, then moving faster and squeezing harder, feeling Jessop lean into her with a groan, his hands finding her breasts and grazing her skin with his fingers, only lightly touching her nipples, making them even more sensitive.

When his breathing quickened to a point she recognized, Georgiana slowed and massaged his balls somewhat, feeling them tighten. Then she leaned back into the snow, pulling him on top of her. There his cock pressed against her stomach and he looked at her as if he was lost and desperate, wanting, but not knowing what to do.

“Do you want me?” she asked as she ran a finger down his cheek, over his ear.

He nodded once. “You don’t mind, right?”

She laughed again, this time the sound ringing out loudly in the woods. “Not at all.” She lifted up her hips and rubbed her body against him, feeling him twitch at the movement. Then she shifted further until she could rub him against her vagina, soaking him.

Jessop gave a moan and found her mouth, desire making him less like himself, more demanding, though his feeble attempts to enter her gave away his inexperience. She took him and guided him inside, whispering encouragement in his ear, her lips coming away wet from the touch.

She gasped as he entered her, his slowness and shyness endearing as he ducked his head again as if he thought he’d hurt her. She wrapped her fingers into his light hair and pulled him closer, letting his weight sink into her.

He moved haltingly. With worry and unsurity, just as Jessop would, his knowledge of ladies so limited and innocent. Georgiana urged him on, rubbing him and kissing him, tracing his sides and squeezing her legs about his middle.

With every thrust, Jessop became more confident. More serious. More urgent. His breath, so cold on her face before, became warmer and warmer. His tongue wrapped about hers, seeming to melt in her mouth.

And still Georgiana goaded him to press harder, faster, until Jessop was dripping upon her, his body shaking with lust and excitement. She shivered underneath him, finally feeling herself coming, the years of pent-up desire finally allowed to explode. The man she wanted kept moving without her having to tell him, kept pressing into her as fast as before until she was spent completely, her body wet and exhausted and barely moving.

Then Jessop cried out and his body spasmed. She wrapped her arms about him, feeling him drench her both inside and out, pouring over top her as he attempted to muffle his moaning. Then, with a sigh of release, Jessop melted completely, his body warming her as he sank against her and spilled out over her sides.

She squeezed at the snow, half wishing that she’d had the real thing inside of her. Wishing that Jessop the shepherd wasn’t so fearful of her craft and her ability. She chuckled to herself and nestled further into the warmed snow. Then again, maybe he was right to be fearful.

After a long moment of contentment, Georgiana sat up and tapped a finger to her cheek. The drifts of snow were still high, with only a little ice mixed between them. There was plenty more to use to create.

She thought for a time, then smiled. There was that hulk of a man at the blacksmiths. Only a journeyman, but his body was already toned and ripped from long hours at the forge. He’d always been one to glare at her whenever she came to town, but she’d seen the lust underneath the look, perhaps causing the expression to begin with.

She would love to see how he would behave when she got him worked up.

The End

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