Speaker 1: Welcome enchanted writers to erotica with Vivia Volupta, and I
am none other than your headmistress of happy endings, your
guide through the slippery pages of sensual storytelling, and tonight
we're venturing into a realm of Once upon a Time
with a wicked little twist. Now, let me start with
a little honesty. Fairy tale erotica. For me, it's tricky.
I love the romance, the magic, or the sweeping archetypes.
I do, But some of those erotic remakes of old
stories when they stay too close to their childlike origins,
give me the creeps. That's just my line, and maybe
yours is different. Now, if that's your thing, noshade truly,
But in this episode, I want to explore how we
can take the essence of fairy tale, the enchantment, the symbolism,
the epic passion, and retell them in a way that's adult,
ethical and totally original. Let's make them steamy, not squeamish, spellbinding,
not stuck in the nursery. But when it comes to fantasy,
oh yes, I'm full throttle. Give me hot model like elves,
dripping wet and mystical springs with lickable ears, warlocks with
big giant wands, and Dominatrix which is bursting with boobs
in your face, casting curses and knowing exactly how to
make a man bag. Mm. But we'll save fantasy for
another lesson tonight. We're focusing on how to capture the
sensual core of a fairy tale without falling into the
creepy or cliche. We're going to take the magic, the mystery,
and the hunger and retell these stories the way they
were always meant to be told with fire. Here's my recommendation.
Stay in the steamy lane. That means keep the magic,
the myth, the mystery, but make sure your characters are grown, consenting,
and fully embodied. Don't try to erodicize stories that center
children or youthfulness. Instead, retell those stories as if the
characters have matured, evolved and now own their pleasure. Give
us lust, give us love, give us power, dynamics that burn,
but always in a way that feels right. Your version
of sleeping beauty doesn't have to be about a helpless girl.
Maybe she chose to sleep because dreams are the only
place he's allowed to touch her. Stick around because I've
got a writing exercise that'll make your muse moan, and
a few tricks to help you write the kind of
erotic fairy tale that leaves readers panting for happily ever after,
and then some Why do people like erotic fairy tales?
Erotic fairy tale books are incredibly popular. Just look at
Amazon's steamy subgenres. Readers love the blend of fantasy, nostalgia
and forbidden longing. You've got powerful archetypes, magical settings, and
stories that promise transformation, all wrapped in desire. They are
comforting and dangerous, familiar and totally wild, and when done right,
they unlock something primal, something deep. There's a reason Beauty
and the Beast keeps getting rewritten, and why fairytale erotica
continues to climb the charts. Who is the audience? So
who is this for? Honestly, erotic fairy tale readers tend
to be central dreamers. They want a love story, but bigger, brighter,
with spells, curses, and supernatural heat. Many readers are women
and fem identifying folks who crave fantasy with emotional depth
and yes, the heat turned all the way up. If
your audience likes enemies to lovers, monster, romance, slow burn dominance,
or lush lyrical prose. This niche is made for them.
It's not childish, it's not silly. It's transformative escapism with orgasms.
Now for your lesson fantastical lust. One way to really
elevate your erotic fairy tale turn it into a myth.
Strip away the cartoon visuals and focus on the symbolic
weight of the story. Ask what are the gods watching?
What ancient energy is being stirred? When you shift from
fairytale to myth, you tap in to something older, deeper.
Desire becomes destiny, Pleasure becomes transformation. You can draw from
Greek myths, Norse legends, African and indigenous folklore and layer
them with sensual tension. The goal let it feel sacred
and forbidden at the same time. Erotic fairy tales work
best when we shift focus from the cartoonish to the mythic.
Don't just write about Cinderella and thigh highs. Ask yourself,
what is the erotic core of this story? Is it
transformation ugly duckling into swan, or servant into seductress? Is
it forbidden power? The beast tamed, the curse broken, the
girl who dares touch danger? Is it awakening? Sleeping Beauty
isn't just about sleep, It's about stirring. When you lean
into the themes, not the literal plot, you open the
door to deeper, hotter possibilities. Maybe your Little Red is
a grown woman with a crimson cloak and a wolfish
lover who waits for her in the woods, not to
eat her, but to devour her in other ways. Maybe
your snow White isn't a damsel. Maybe she bites the
apple on purpose, just to see what dreams awaken on
the other side. These stories have bones that stretch back centuries. Lust, love, loss, longing.
Your job is to trace the skeleton, then flesh it
out in velvet, fire and sin. Some fairy tales naturally
lend themselves to erotic retelling because they were already layered
with darkness, danger, and seduction. Beauty and the Beast the
ultimate story of seeing beyond appearances and surrendering to desire.
Blue Beard, mysterious and dangerous forbidden rooms. Yes Please, the
snow Queen, Coldness, longing, sacrifice, and the ache to awaken
something real. East of the Sun, West of the moon,
shape shifting lovers loyalty and hidden truths, tam Lynn Fay, abduction,
sexual awakening, and a heroine who fights to save him.
Dracula technically not a fairy tale, but ooh baby, he's
pure erotic, Gothic fantasy, dark castles, forbidden thirst, seduction by shadow.
Write him as a beast, or a god or a captive.
He works in any erotic mytharc and don't limit yourself
to the Brother's grim or Western canon. And if you're
tired of the ones we all know, explore Global fairy Tales.
Project Gutenberg is full of obscure, ancient and multicultural stories
just waiting to be rewritten with a sensual spin. And
it's all in the public domain, so you can do
whatever you want with it. Dive into Persian, Japanese, Haitian,
Celtic or Indian folklore and bring something new to the page,
because sometimes the sexiest thing you can do is take
the reader somewhere they've never been. Now for your writing exercise,
fairy tale retold. Pick a fairy tale anyone that calls
to you, and retell it erotically, but don't just copy it,
transform it. Ask yourself who has the power, what they
crave Where does the heat live and how does it build?
Write one scene, just one, where that classic tale becomes
something new, something lust filled, lush and holy yours. Does
the beast beg to be dominated? Does the princess trap
the prince in her tower for a change? Does your
version end with a kiss or a moan? Let it
be bold, Let it be strange, Let it be beautifully unrecognizable,
but still carry the whisper of that tale. We all remember.
Erotic fairy tales don't have to be creepy. They can
be cathartic, empowering, mesmerizing, a place where the sensual and
the symbolic kiss and stay kissing. So go on, rewrite
the rules, enchant us, and remember, even in a world
of fantasy, your desire is the most powerful magic of all.
Before we close tonight's lesson, I have one last indulgence
for you. A dark fairy tale, erotic, a lamental, the
kind of story that slips beneath your skin and makes
you wonder, what if the monster wanted to be saved?
What if the witch wasn't cursed but wading. This piece
is an original erotic adaptation of the Slavic Risalka legend
the drowned spirit who lures lovers to their deaths beneath
moonlit lakes. But in this version, the warlock comes looking,
and the water it wants more than blood. So settle
in my lovelies. Here is the warlock and the water witch.
They warned me not to come here. The lake was cursed,
they said. A rusulka lived beneath the surface, a drowned
woman with lips like night shade and a body made
for sin. She'd sing you to her, seduce you, suck
the breath from your lungs while you begged for more.
I came, anyway, not out of arrogance, out of curiosity obsession.
Maybe I was a warlock, raised by shadows and spell books,
the kind of man who got off on taming the untamable.
And she, oh, she was myth wrapped in wet lace.
The first time I saw her, she rose without sound,
the water clinging to her skin like glass. Her hair
was long, tangled, alive, floating like kelp, winding around her breasts,
her waist, her thighs. She wasn't shy, she wasn't human.
She was hunger. You knew i'd come, I said. My
voice was calm but my pulse betrayed me. She'd been
waiting not just to feed on a man, but for
a real challenge. She smiled with her eyes, not her mouth,
the kind of smile that held sentries of drowning lovers
and not a drop of regret. Her voice rose like
mist off the lake, low and inevitable, as she said
they always do. But I'm not like them. I said
it like a promise, but part of me wanted her
to test it. That's what they all say. She spoke
it softly, like a lullaby or a curse. Then her
fingers brushed the surface of the lake, and the ripples
that spread looked a lot like warnings. She circled me
like a serpent as I stood thigh deep in her lake.
The spell was half formed in my mind. I just
needed her to want it, to open to it, to
let me in. I can undo your curse, I told
her voice, low, steady, If you let me, she laughed,
a soft, broken sound. And if I don't, I stepped closer,
then drown me. She kissed me. It wasn't gentle. It
was cold and slick and consuming. Her tongue tasted like
the storm before it breaks, and her hands, God's her hands.
They weren't hands at all. They were tendrils. They were longing,
They were centuries of denied place, leisure wrapped around my
neck and down my spine. She pulled me under. I
didn't fight it. Her body coiled around mine, beneath the surface,
hips grinding against me like a promise laced in punishment.
I should have been afraid, but all I could feel
was want. She moaned into my mouth under water, and
it made my chest burn. I reached for her hips,
her hair, her magic, anything I could hold as my
lungs screamed the spell, the final word, I mouthed it
against her lips. A burst of heat exploded in my chest,
not fire, not air, but something in between. The lake
screamed and spat us out. We landed on the shore,
in each other's embrace, heavy breaths. She was gasping, crying,
smiling sweetly and alive, no longer a creature of the water,
but flesh and warmth and wildness. She spoke with quiet remorse,
her voice shaking like the surface of the water. But
there was something different in her, a woman now no
longer cursed as if she'd stepped out of herself and
was seeing the wreckage left behind. I didn't mean too,
she whispered. I always kill them. You almost killed me,
I said, brushing the wet hair from her face. Her
voice was soft, breathless, as if she couldn't quite believe
her own words. She looked at me with wide eyed wonder,
as though seeing color for the first time. And you
changed me. We laid there, side by side, the moon
heavy above us. She touched her lips, stunned by her
own heat, and I touched her chest, her heart beating
fast and fragile under my palm. You're not a curse,
I said, You're a woman. And then, like a breeze
over water, trembling but certain, she looked at me with
new eyes, filled with hope and longing. No, she whispered,
looking at me like I'd stolen the lake itself. I'm yours.
M m M. Isn't that just like magic? The way a
curse breaks not with force but with desire, The way
death loses its grip the moment love dares to touch it.
Our Resulka found her way back, not through a prince,
not through prayer, but through power, pleasure and a warlock,
brave enough to her. So remember, my sweet storytellers, even
the darkest tales can burn with heat and hope. Even
the coldest waters can be stirred by a single whispered spell.
Now go on, wild, lover, run barefoot through the forest
of your fantasies. Pluck the forbidden fruit, dance with the wolves,
kiss the curse. Let your ink be moonlight, and your
voice the spell. Now go right your own enchantment, and
may your words always leave them gasping. Stay sultry, stay bold,
and write like you own the kingdom. This is Vivia
signing off with a wink and a kiss. Until next time,
Stay naughty, my lovelies.