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cc/

April 2 – International day of Fairy Tales thanks to Hans Christian

Andersen

Hans Christian Andersen, after graduating from university with the support of
the Danish court, visited several countries to gather inspiration for his future storybooks.
His journey led him to also enter the Habsburg Monarchy, where in the west he was
inspired by the customs of the nobles and bourgeois, while in the eastern parts he
researched folk traditions. He needed locals who could tell stories honestly, without
restraints about themselves and their homeland. Prostitutes proved to be perfect for this
task. He visited the brothels of Pressburg, where a diverse selection of girls was waiting
for the increasingly well-known poet. Andersen was pleased with the assortment, as
girls from all directions of the wind rose were employed in the pleasure districts here.
One prostitute was especially influential in the light of his later work. In Andersen's
imaginary diary, he put it this way:

Because travel expenses absorbed a significant portion of my money, I couldn’t afford

luxury prostitutes. I asked the brothel’s madam for her recommendation and send an
affordable girl to my room. It did not matter if she was not pretty, the point was that I
and her would be able to understand each other. The first night I got a real Slavic
beauty: light brown hair, narrow chin but round at the bottom, big blue eyes. I didn’t
even understand how this full-bodied, long limbed pearl of a woman could be a cheap
prostitute of this brothel.

When she started undressing, I found out the reason why. As I unbuttoned the row of
buttons on her back and pulled the hem of the dress off her pretty brown shoulder, the
little burn marks hidden so far flashed through her skin on her upper arm, shoulders and
chest. I started kissing her neck from behind and then turned to the skin engraved by the
old burn marks. She shivered and moaned lustfully. She turned to me, clasped her hands
around my neck and measured salivating kisses on every corner of my face. Without
waiting for me to order her, she bent down to reach under my collared tailcoat first and
caressed my thin chest with her fingers.
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Then she got rid of my pants and started kissing and suckling my growing penis with
her mouth. From above, almost only the lashes framing her two round eyes were visible,
her cute little face was almost lost in the outlines of my pants and my tool. Even her
small mouth could barely fit my penis, she had to open her mouth wide so that a lot of
saliva dripped out of the corner of her lips, yet she tried to put as much of it as possible
into her hot mouth. As she slowly began to suck my penis into her mouth, she pampered
my balls with both hands, pressing the sack with ten thin fingers as if she were playing
the piano. She dictated a gentle rhythm, as if inviting me for a Waltz. Then her
movements accelerated, making my tool swell even bigger, and then the last ticklings of
her hot tongue forced me to cum. She eagerly sucked the nectar out of my acorns, then,
after swallowing it, licking even the last drops from my shrinking penis with her skilled
tongue. When she was done, I gestured her to wait a little. I knew if I asked for story-
telling without an act, she would look at me with suspicion, but now that I have paid for
at least one of her services, I could boldly ask away.

"What are these burn marks on your body?"

"My foster father pressed the pipe against my skin if I disobeyed him."

"Why didn't you obey?"

“He asked me to satisfy him and then, after I said no, he wanted to send me out on the
snowy street to sell matches. I didn’t want to freeze to death outside, so he grabbed the
matchsticks, lit them one by one, and put them out with my body. This punishment
aroused him so much that he applied it for years, if we didn’t have a match, he solved it
with his pipe. His eyes always twinkled when I screamed from the burning sensation,
and he, as a caring father, immediately stuck out his tongue to soothe my pains. So he
managed to make me, still but a little girl, see him as a caring father, even though he
was causing me pain. In this way, he broke me, he achieved what he wanted, and the
rest is history… ”

Hearing her depressing background story fuelled my inspiration. I wanted to hear and
feel even more. I asked her to roleplay, to do with me what men used to do with her.
The Slavic girl looked at me in disbelief at first, but then the light of revenge sparkled in
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her big blue eyes. She pushed me against the wall under a sconce and fixed my two
hands so that my feet barely touched the floor. She grabbed a poker and heated it before
pressing it onto my bare chest. I first swallowed a whimper from the burning pain, I bit
my tongue so hard that I tasted a bit of blood. She moved in circles around my tiny
nipples, scorching my black curly chesthair. After stripping my chest of hair and
scorching my flabby skin, she started licking and suckling on the burnt parts. Although
her saliva seemed extremely hot when she sucked me off, it now seemed like an ice-
cold nectar compared to the poker. I felt like I was revived as she ran her tongue
through every nook and cranny of my chest, licking, sucking in and kissing my skin
with her soft lips. She took my nipples between two fingers, twisting and pulling them
for as long as the skin would allow. Although my eyes filled with tears from the
sensation, I nevertheless felt like I was crying from joy. My penis reacted in a similar
fashion, starting to react wildly.

She ruthlessly dug her nails under my foreskin, which made me scream. This excited
the girl even more. She jumped at me, her legs clasped around my groin hanging in the
air. With her pussy completely wet, she searched for the tip of my rod, then snapped
into place and slid my penis inside of her unhindered. She moaned as the vascular
contour of my penis tore through her tight vaginal wall. She made a movement such that
the vagina was rippling inside, my penis was rubbed up and down without me having to
move. She clung to me, dangling from my body like a horny monkey. She pushed and
pressed her hairy genitals to my groin, my waist and the woody wall crackled behind us.

I felt that my dick was thicker and bigger than ever before, because the girl let go of my
shoulders after a short time, and reached back to massage her bulging, vibrating ass
herself. She didn't fall backwards. My penis was like a curved hook and held her weight
up in the air. We were so tightly connected; my dick clung so eagerly to the damp hole
that I doubted we could ever be separated from each other. She screamed and orgasmed.
I went wild upon hearing her voice. I tore the candelabra out of the wall, we fell to the
floor. The girl fell under me, and I, taking over the dominant role, fucked her hard on
the ground, until she was tossing her head from side to side. I shouted as I ejaculated
during my last humps, my acorn stuck to her cervix, I completely filled her cavity with
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my sperm. I was satisfied with the service provided. Before I paid and let her go, I even
asked her:

"Tell me, why didn't you run away from your foster father at all when he was so cruel to
you?"

“You know, sir, it hurt what he did to me. On the other hand, in the bitterness of the
punishment, I at least felt life-giving warmth. I felt that even if I was dying from it, I
had to persevere because the burning matchsticks that hit my skin reminded me of the
heat of the warm fireplace I secretly longed for as a child. ”

Her words touched me. I was determined to write a tale in her honor so that I could tell
the children of my acquaintances back home: rejoice in the warmth of the house, for
there are children who can only receive it at the cost of cruel suffering.

Today, Pressburg proudly claims that Andersen was a returning guest to the city, with
some claiming that the great storyteller was inspired by the beautiful city in creating
many tales, such as The Little Match Girl. Although different sources interpret the
origins of Andersen’s works differently, one thing is certain: Today, a patisserie / ice
cream parlor is named after him to remember the famous storyteller’s visits to Pressburg.