Spring Before the Goddess
CW: M/ff, MC death, mouthplay, infidelity, capture, non-con, dub-con, nsfw, humiliation, semen, drugs
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Bluebell woke up shivering, but covered in sweat. This was too early. It was time to go back to sleep. She hugged Lilac closer and tried to return to her dreams.
A spare thought crawled through Bluebell’s groggy mind, as she lay on a flipped coin’s edge of consciousness. She sighed, and sat up, rubbing her eyes.
She can’t just go back to sleep. Not during Hibernation. Unlike a normal night-long sleep, which she could stop and start whenever she felt like it, this three-month-long rest was started and stopped by forces far beyond Bluebell’s power. The seasons themselves dictated it.
If she was awake, that meant that it was now spring. The fact that she was waking up meant that the frozen ground around her was thawing. It meant that it was the end of winter, March 21.
Bluebell’s goddess patron was coming back to the surface today, magically waking all of the Persephone Fairies with her presence.
Bluebell still felt exhausted, like her sleep was not nearly long enough. Her wife Lilac was still fast asleep on her side, on the other side of the rabbit-fur-covered bed. Bluebell stood up, gingerly stepping around her, trying to let her sleep for longer.
She stretched and bent her limbs, which had gotten stiff in the long rest. She creaked her dragonfly-like wings open, spreading them out across her back. They felt wrong, somehow. She fluttered them. They couldn’t vibrate fast enough. She felt the shape of them with her hands, and gasped.
The wings were too small, like they were still forming. It took the full three months for them to grow after they fell off in late December of each year. She had never seen what they were like in between the two landmark days that begin and end her annual rest, so she didn’t know how undergrown they were.
Wait. Had her wings stopped growing too early? Or had Bluebell just woken up too early?
She put on her warmest vole-leather leggings and boots, and her down-filled, magpie-feather-accented cloak, and walked through the moss-carpeted tunnel that lead to their front door.
To an observer of the outside of her front door, it looked like a circular hole opened in the root of an oak tree. A four-inch-tall woman dressed in a rustic leather and fur outfit with a feathery cloak stepped out. When she closed the door behind her, the hallway looked like an ordinary tree root again.
She took in her surroundings. This was an uneasy warmth. She remembered an outdoor thermometer in a human’s garden that she used to read every day, and thought that this was around 15 degrees Celsius, or 60 Fahrenheit. She saw some small brown mushrooms near her front door, freshly sprouted. She felt the earth beneath her feet, spongy and alive, smelling like early spring.
There was snow on the ground in some places, though it had melted in others. There weren’t any leaves in the trees yet, but the tree branches were wet with melting icicles.
This wasn’t right.
She glanced directly at the sun for an instant, and put her thumb in front of it. She compared this position to the horizon. It was four PM, and it was warm enough to grow flowers in. Warm enough for mushrooms to sprout today. But the sun was too low to the horizon for it to be March 21 yet.
Based on the sun’s position, it was still early February. She had only slept for half of their 3-month hibernation.
“Damn,” Bluebell cursed to herself.
She took off her cloak, which was beginning to feel stifling in this unexpected heat, and tested her wings out. She flapped them vigorously, but they couldn’t lift her. Trying to vibrate them just tired her out. She folded the useless appendages back onto her back, and put her cloak back on.
“Shit,” she cursed to herself deeper now, and put her hand on her chin.
She tried to use her magic. She made the gestures and spoke the words, but nothing happened. Of course, it wouldn’t – her magic was a gift from Persephone, and she was still partying with her undead husband Hades in the underworld in early February.
You don’t just wake early from hibernation. Persephone’s footsteps are what wake you, and she never walks her Spring Path too early – she’s a goddess, with divinely perfect timing.
But something had modified this celestial clock, and now, Bluebell has woken up without the goddess’ seasonal gift of wings, and without the magic she grants her faerie devotees in the warm months.
Unless Bluebell could stuff herself so full of food and wine that she could trigger her hibernation sleep to start again (as they normally do every December 21), she will instead have to be awake in the winter for 45 days, foraging for food in this strangely half-winter, half-spring landscape.
Where could she find a winter’s feast in the wilds during this unnatural season, anyway? None of the trees were fruiting, and the small brown mushrooms near her door would only go so far.
“I’m fucked,” she said quietly to herself, staring up at the huge, bare-limbed trees around her. She walked a few feet away, looking for something to forage.
“No, hun, we’re fucked,” Lilac said, as she walked up behind Bluebell, putting her arm around her shoulder. “But we’re fucked together.”
Bluebell hadn’t noticed her come outside. Bluebell grasped Lilac’s hand, and turned to her.
Lilac was a sight for tired eyes. Her black, chin-length hair was naked in the air, and hung around her face freely. Her cute button nose was twitching in a way that always reminded Bluebell of a mouse sniffing the air.
“You’re up too? Oh, honey. I was hoping to not wake you.”
“You didn’t wake me. This weather did,” Lilac said, gesturing around to the freakishly warm atmosphere surrounding the dripping winter landscape.
“I remember this happening once. Two days early, a few years before I met you. Fir, Wren and I just huddled in our house, drinking some water we found right near the entrance. We didn’t want to risk foraging in winter-time, without our magic.”
“It’s more than two days from spring, this time,” Bluebell said.
“I noticed, too. We can’t avoid eating that long. We have no choice but to gather what food we can find,” Lilac responded.
“And without any prey charms, or sparked arrows…”
“That means no easy hunting. Foraging, then. We should see if any of the holly berries from the bushes above the ridge are still there,” Lilac said, pointing at the tall wooded ridge behind Bluebell.
They both looked at the ridge a few dozen feet in front of them, separated from their tree home by a group of oak and sycamore trees, and some undergrowth.
They stared at the top of the ridge. Something looked different than how they remembered it.
“Are the holly trees gone?” Bluebell asked.
“At least the one at the top of the ridge is. There were a few at the other side of the ridge, too,” Lilac responded. “Let’s see.”
Lilac and Bluebell carefully walked toward the top of the ridge, both taking into account every noise, every rustle, and every flash of light that could indicate danger. It was perilous to be just a few inches tall in the forest. There were hundreds of larger things that wanted to eat you.
They reached the top of the ridge and were shocked by what they saw below. Where there had been virgin forest in late December, there was now just a clearing, complete with stumps and matted earth, and plenty of human-made insults to nature. There were still some scraggly pieces of undergrowth on the edges. In the middle of the oversized clearing, stood a manmade structure, silvery-chrome with reflective windows and rubber wheels, standing next to a black pickup truck.
Some human had cleared a patch of pristine mountain forest and put a trailer home on top of it. Woodsmoke wafted out of the chimney, and the lights were all on at once. The whole structure hummed with glowing electricity and artificially created heat. It stood out like an ugly silver pimple on the soggy brown earth.
The fairies stared in horror.
“There are no holly trees here at all,” Bluebell lamented.
“The humans left some food out, though,” Lilac said, pointing to a patch of dirt near the largest trailer window. Standing on the dirt was a wooden post, intricately carved with Norse-style decorations. Attached to the post, about six feet up, was a wooden arm, with a thick metal hook, holding a chain, which held up a bird feeder made of green metal. The bird feeder looked like a miniature house with a metal roof, clear plastic walls, and a flat metal perch beneath the plastic windows. The perch was overflowing with bird seeds of all types. The fairies stared at the mounds of seeds tucked behind the plastic, and salivated. The dull pain of hunger crawled into both of their stomachs, and they remembered that they hadn’t actually eaten in a month and a half. Their instincts screamed at them to break their long fast.
There were a few discarded sunflower seed shells on the ground, and several forgotten specks of millet. But that wasn’t enough to last for long, and the fewer foraging trips they took to this cache, the safer.
“I’ll climb up to the platform, and fill my whole cloak with seeds. I’ll tie it off with the twine into a package. That much should last us for at least a week,” Lilac said.
Bluebell remembered what a talented climber Lilac could be. Bluebell had no doubt she could do this on her own.
“I wish you didn’t have to. Let’s come back at night.”
Lilac shook her head no, and spoke gravely.
“By night, all of those seeds might be gone. Birds can get through this in a matter of hours. This must have been filled this morning, and it’s already half-empty, in the afternoon.”
Bluebell looked at the patterns of use, the bird droppings, and the scattered seed pods. Lilac was right.
“Be careful,” Bluebell said, and hid inside a remaining evergreen shrub on the top of the ridge. Lilac stayed outside of the same plant as she put together her tools. She used a length of thin twine to tie her outer cloak into a large, empty satchel.
Lilac was the more adept tracker, and the most skilled crafts-person of their whole fairy circle. Bluebell watched Lilac’s impromptu satchel creation with wonder, her worried heart making room in itself for glowing threads of admiration.
Lilac came into the bush. The two kissed passionately for the first time since they woke up, and sparks of delight lit up both of their hearts. They smelled like each other’s best days.
“I’ll be back in two shakes of a squirrel’s tail,” Lilac said, and left the bush. She picked up the satchel and snapped it to her chest, and turned around one last time to wave goodbye.
Her back to the bush, she scanned for danger among all of the details of her surroundings. She then put her ears to the ground, closing her eyes. There was no sign of large animals nearby. She stood up, and went down the grass-and-tree-stump-covered hill.
The bird feeder was in the middle of a cleared patch of dirt. Lilac ran towards it with ease, before she climbed up the intricately carved wooden beam. She walked down the two-inch-thick wooden arm that held up the seed cache like it was an easy pathway in her thick, gray mouse-leather boots, and waved a brief greeting towards the bush that Bluebell was hiding in, before climbing down the metal chain and onto the bird feeder platform.
Lilac scooped bird seed into the makeshift satchel, over-stuffing it like a chipmunk filling its cheeks. She fastened it securely to her back and climbed back up the short chain to the wooden arm, and started walking back to the carved support beam. A quarter of the way back to the beam, she froze in her tracks.
She knelt down to put her more sensitive palms to the wooden rod, to feel the vibrations more clearly. This was no false alarm. A human was active inside the trailer.
A light switched on, illuminating the small window on the top of the back door with sodium-yellow. A human’s head looked out of it for a moment, before turning down, to finish putting on his boots. The steel door swung open on a creaking hinge, and the man who had put this trailer in the middle of this pristine forest walked toward the bird feeder.
The human was a middle-aged man dressed in hunting gear, with a full, dark beard specked with grey, a strong nose, and piercing brown eyes. He was thick and muscular-looking, like someone who ate a lot of venison, and the two main textures in his winter wardrobe were dark blue canvas and green camo waterproof nylon. His hiking boots and gloves were black leather.
Lilac didn’t get a good look at man, but she felt the vibrations from his huge footsteps travel through the ground and into the wooden structure she was on. She sprinted to the vertical support rod, and shimmied to the side of it furthest from him. The fairy desperately climbed down to the ground, cursing her useless, half-grown wings.
Lilac felt the swollen satchel tied to her back pull her away from the carved rod. She reached her hands and arms out uselessly as she was yanked further and further away, before an enormous hand turned her towards a giant face.
“I wasn’t expecting to attract something as beautiful as you with that feeder,” the hunter said, wonder thick in his voice.
Lilac tried to get out of the man’s grip. She pressed a latch on her chest and the swollen seed-satchel that he was holding her by disconnected from her. She fell swiftly toward the ground six feet below.
Certain death from this fall was better than what she had heard humans could get up to with fairies. Better to be a crumpled thing on the ground than a meal.
His left hand easily caught her just a few inches below the beginning of her fall. His gloved grip closed around her tightly. She struggled against the fingers’ black leather surface, but she could feel their overpowered strength with his slightest movement, as they held her tight.
With his other hand, he examined the satchel, gently prodding it. Its simple knots burst, the cache of seeds falling into the soft dirt below, sounding like heavy rain. He watched this all with curiosity.
“Trying to steal seeds from the birds?” the hunter asked her, moving his cold gaze to the tiny woman struggling in his grip.
“What are you, little thing?”
Lilac said nothing. Talking got you nowhere with humans. The only thing to do for a fast escape was to fly away, or, if that fails, charm them into forgetting you.
Persephone, help me, Lilac prayed to her goddess. Just one sleep-and-forget-charm. That’s nothing to you. I know you can hear me down there in the underworld.
“Not much of a talker?” the hunter asked.
He took all of her details in. From head to toe, she was no taller than his middle finger. She was wearing a thin, ren-faire-style brown leather outfit with such exquisite details, that it must have been constructed by her tiny hands. She had pale, almost-white skin, and a chin-length bob of straight black hair. Her tiny, beautiful face was horrified.
The hunter loved seeing and feeling this entire little being in just his hand. She was like a woman, almost, but she was so small, so beyond the human scale, that she must have been some sort of undiscovered type of non-human animal. He thought about what he could do with her, and remembered. God had given the earth and all its creatures, the whole domain of nature, to Man, to do with it as Man pleased. He didn’t even need a hunting permit for something so rare.
She was his now.
He noticed a slight wiff of something unexpected in the air, and brought her to his nose. She smelled like wildflowers, and roses, cinnamon rolls, and petrichor, all mixed into one. A wave of warmth and sunshine went through his nose.
“Wow, that smell,” he said, and he breathed out, before he took a second, deeper sniff, filling his lungs completely with her scent.
Memories flooded his mind. Summer vacations and thunderstorms, his first kiss with a classmate wearing cherry lip balm, his first ride on a roller coaster, smelling funnel cake. The gasoline in his first car, the perfume of his ex-wife on their first date, fresh deer blood from the first prize buck that he bagged when he was 17. The overwhelming scent of a woman’s pussy, clinging to his beard after oral sex, as he slid his cock deep into the tight flesh.
The hunter was suddenly stiff, and high as a kite.
“You’re a drug. Oh my god,” he said, and took her inside the trailer.
Bluebell had been inching closer to the entrance this whole time, carefully darting from one piece of cover to the next. By the time he slammed the steel and glass door behind him, she was hiding behind a vaguely egg-shaped propane tank attached to a grill right outside of the back door.
The bastard. Bluebell thought to herself. Taking Lilac like she was some lowly creature. Like she was merely a small human. He doesn’t even know what she is, other than enticing. We’re Goddess-Blessed beings of the forest. This mortal fuck.
Down the length of the trailer, on the opposite side as the parked truck, there was a firepit. Between the firepit and the trailer was an enormous pile of firewood , as tall as the window next to it. A light turned on in the window. Bluebell climbed the logs as fast as she could, and looked inside, resting her face and open palms against the glowing glass. Without any mystical help from her absent deity, all she could do was watch, as the huge man did whatever he pleased to her captured fairy spouse.
Bluebell’s window faced into the bedroom at the end of the trailer. Through a rounded door frame, she watched as the giant man, still at the end of the kitchen, stood up from a crouching position. He was getting an empty glass jar from the bottom cabinet. He had a hammer and a nail in his other hand. Bluebell couldn’t see where Lilac had been placed, until, with horror, she realized that what she thought was a branch in the giant man’s mouth being casually sucked on was actually Lilac’s brown leather boots sticking out. Bluebell wanted to scream, but she didn’t dare. Not if she wanted to survive witnessing this horrible spectacle.
Lilac was surrounded by a wet, dark, series of muscles that made up the hunter’s mouth. They had complete control of her movements. She tried to go one way, and the tongue countered. She tried to slide backwards, to get the rest of her legs out of the dark and slimy mouth, and his lips just pressed down harder around her legs. The blade-like teeth scraped the edge of her shins, and she shivered in terror at the thought of them biting down. She couldn’t decide which was worse – getting crushed to a paste by these teeth, or being swallowed into the inescapable oblivion of his huge stomach while still aware. She preferred neither.
As she struggled against the mouth, the giant hunter kept her tucked between his lips out of convenience, like someone holding a spare nail, as he punctured some holes into the lid of a glass pint storage jar. He had taken off his winter clothes at the door with her there, and it was a convenient enough storage space for now. It also let him continually inhale his new fairy friend’s scent, which filled him with excitement and lust. He finished piercing the lid, put the hammer away, and carried the jar into the bedroom. As he walked through the doorway, it felt like he was floating on air. He was careful to remind himself of gravity and his body’s placement amongst his furniture.
The hunter put the jar on the bedside table, and grabbed the fairy woman by her tiny boots. As he pulled her out of his mouth, a drip of saliva followed behind. He slurped, a little embarrassed to be drooling like an animal, and a rush of her scent came to his palette. She tasted like fine whiskey, like cognac, like the best new years eve midnight of his life. A thrill flashed through his body like lightning.
Her magic was even more intense when she was tasted. His mind rushed. He thought about eating her, but decided not to, when the logical part of him reminded him groggily that if he kept her alive, he could come back to her for these little tastes again and again, whenever he craved her. The jar trap he just made will be a good enough prison for her, at least for when he was done with her today.
And he knew that he wasn’t anywhere close to done yet. His dick had been raging in a tumescent tension since he was still outside, and the intense dose he got from putting her on his tongue had made his lust even stronger. He felt helpless to the feelings her scent was causing in him.
Lilac didn’t just feel helpless, she actually was helpless, dangling upside-down like a caught fish from the giant’s grasping fingers. She tried to squirm out of them, but there was no use.
The huge right hand placed her into his left palm, her belly up. His fingers started yanking off her tiny boot. She unbuckled it and let it go into his grip, not wanting to get in his way if he were to yank harder. She took her second boot off, unprompted.
“Good, now take it all off,” the giant man said. “I need to smell you more.”
Lilac peeled off her mouse-leather leggings, carefully bunching them next to her on the raised platform of his hand. She removed her rabbit-fur vest, and then her miniature white silk brassiere, her tiny raindrop-sized breasts jiggling into the open air. She stood up on his bouncy palm, glad to not be held so tightly. She languidly vibrated her wings, stretching their flight muscles out, like someone cracking their knuckles.
The movement caught the hunter’s eye.
She tried to fly. Her growth-stunted wings couldn’t lift, either.
“You’re a fairy?” he asked.
If she could fly, then he had no choice but to hold onto her to prevent escape, the hunter thought. He grabbed her with his vice-like fingers again, and flipped her upside-down, onto her knees. Her tiny, hand-crafted wardrobe fell from his palm to the floor of his bedroom.
She folded her wings to as small as possible, not wanting this monster to be any more interested in her most fragile body part. Cuts heal in days, bruises in weeks. Bones can heal in a matter of months. Her dragonfly-like, gossamer-thin wings only get repaired during her annual winter hibernation.
With her face looking down, she noticed that his cock was hard enough to show an erection clearly through his jeans. She made a disgusted sound. It sounded like a squeak to him.
His dick was proportionally big, even compared to other humans. She was reminded of her boyfriend Fir’s substantial fairy-sized cock. He was just five inches tall to her four and a half, but he also had a dark beard and a big dick, like this awful man. His features were craggy, and dramatic, also a little like Fir. Lilac realized that she could have enjoyed an encounter with a being who looked like this – if he was only the right scale.
He lifted her again, gripping her ankles in his right hand, and brought her to his face, to gaze at her remarkable, now nude, form.
She closed her eyes at first, but she couldn’t help but notice his expression. He was absolutely stoned out of his gourd, like someone on a gleeful mushroom trip. She remembered a rumor that humans found fairy pheromones intoxicating.
She cursed her own scent. There was no negotiating or tricking a man this outside of reality.
The only escape would be from her own movements. She used all of her flexibility and strength to reach down to her feet, and gripped her calves, trying to pry his giant grip open with her hands. He just held her slightly tighter to compensate.
The sheer difference in strength made her heart sink. She thought about giving up. But she had to escape: his titanic scale, and his mental weakness to her scent, just made this all wrong. She reminded herself: He wasn’t a potential lover, he was nothing like Fir – he was a monster, who, if she didn’t get out in time, would use her however he wanted to fulfill his drugged-up desires.
He placed the tiny naked woman back in his mouth, her face pointed out this time, her legs firmly on his tongue, beneath his palette. Her head and shoulders remained on the outside of his tensed lips, which held her there again for the convenience as he needed his hands to undress.
Lilac tried to get her hands free so that she could push against the lips, to jump down, but he grazed her prone body with the tips of his teeth again, and she stopped squirming. She prayed that he didn’t want to swallow, as she stared down, watching his oversized limbs take off his thickly woven, dark blue canvas pants. The hunter’s gargantuan cock now poked out of his opened camo boxers, which he slid off, and kicked away with his feet. The dick bobbed steadily in the open now, naked, stiff as a rod, and dripping pre-cum. He unpeeled his red flannel shirt from his huge, hairy torso, causing a waft of sweat and cologne to drift past the fairy’s nose.
He had a body like a warrior: covered in functioning muscles, with a sturdy layer of fat above them, under his tanned skin. As a now-half-starving, wild creature in the middle of a lean winter, Lilac was ashamed to find his sheer thickness and strength appealing.
Each one of his parts was so much bigger than hers that any contest of wills was absurd. He could destroy her so easily. But based on everything so far, injuring her didn’t seem to be his plan.
Despite herself, she felt wetness coalesce inside her swelling cunt. A dewdrop of pussy liquid dripped onto his tongue.
The hunter’s smell and vision trip took a turn, from focusing on his conquests of the past, to an inviting, feminine sensation. He tasted wild strawberry juice, and sensed a mind that was not his own speaking to him through his taste buds. The mind was feminine, but wild, and it expressed to him nonverbally that she wanted him, too.
If he had to name the scent of this exact alchemical message, it was cloying, heady lilac.
He gasped, not expecting mutual lust from the tiny creature trapped in his lips. He loosened his jaw, grabbed her gingerly beneath her shoulders, and pulled her out of his mouth. He stared at her dainty form, dripping in both his saliva and her own sparkling wetness.
“You’re into me. You tiny slut,” he said, smiling slyly.
Lilac spoke up for the first time. “No!” she shouted, turning her head away from his powerful gaze. “Let me go, you cocky asshole!”
She hated that his face was so appealing. Why did she like his smile?
He breathed in her scent. It was obscured by the fluids that were covering her. He moved his hand to close to his face, and huffed in deep. She smelled like cotton candy, and wildflowers.
Lilac shirked away, trying to get as far as possible from his nose while pinned between his giant fingers, but the feeling of the cool air passing over her as he inhaled was refreshing. She realized that she was being worshiped by this enormous creature instead of threatened. She opened her legs, she told herself, to get this over with more quickly. Her tiny, hard clit was swollen with desire.
She couldn’t possibly want him to suck her pussy.
He cupped her more in his hand, now holding her with his thumb firmly pressed on one of her sides, and his other fingers securely hugging the opposite. His pinky lightly hovered above her dangling legs. He tilted her a little, her cunt and her face now pointing towards him and the ceiling. The discomfort that came from her weight only being held up by his two fingers went away, as she was now comfortably laying in his hand.
His impossible lips hovered over her, and she twitched, anticipating his next move. He could finally smell her, and the floral expression of her self had increased from before. He licked her with the tip of his tongue, the huge, wet muscle barely grazing her wet cunt. He tasted joy. Wildflowers, honey. Cream and coconut. Pineapple and happiness. He moaned at the deliciousness, his deep voice causing the faerie’s whole skeleton to vibrate.
She breathed in and yelped with excitement, blushing.
He licked her again, and again. The giant muscle passed over her screaming cunt in complete sexual overkill. She squirmed once more, but by the third time, she was starting to feel more like a living salt lick than she wanted to.
“Suck,” an ethereal voice floated to him from his tongue.
He pulled his tongue in, and put his lips around her little torso. She arched her body up, and hugged his upper lip with her arms. Her dainty head was beneath his huffing nostrils. She leaned on his rough mustache like she was resting on a warm pillow covered in curved kindling.
He pursed his lips on top of her, overwhelming most of the front of her body with tensed muscle, and sucked in.
His gargantuan mouth sucking on her tiny clit was explosively strong. She screamed in ecstasy. He kept sucking. She bucked and ground her cunt into his mouth, shivering, losing control.
“Yes,” she said to him through her taste. He tasted victory, and ecstasy. He felt like he was commuting a holy sacrament to God. But, like, a chick version of Jehovah, maybe one who knew a thing or two about sex.
“Aphrodite!” the voice in his head said, as though it heard his musings.
“Yes!” The little feminine voice yelped now. The pleasure shot through Lilac like a shooting star, lighting up the dark night sky inside her. She kicked her tiny feet against the hunter’s tight bottom lip, and slammed her open palms against his mustache as she moaned. She sounded like a wild creature.
Her gyrations got slower, and then stopped. The hunter lifted his face from her waist, and tilted his head back, eyes closed. He sighed toward the ceiling.
He didn’t know that he could taste something this delicious. It was the taste of ambrosia – the food of the Gods. He lost track of reality for a moment, his mind caught in a sticky layer of happy spiderweb, centered on the droplets of fairy fluid that he was absorbing through his tongue. Her cunt drippings melted like tiny sugar-cubes into his tastebuds.
He sucked it in, and shook his head, trying to come out of this daze. He looked down at the tiny woman in his hand, and grinned, as lust returned to his drugged mind.
His dick was now painfully erect.
“My turn,” he said.
He gripped her more tightly, and shoved her tiny form against the top of his cock.
Before she could process what was happening, steamy heat and a musky odor overwhelmed her senses. The entire front of her body was now pressed against this rod of flesh and heat. He was using his thumb to grip her onto the top side of his dick.
She gasped, and turned her head to the side to breathe better. His thumb was resting right beneath her shoulder wing sockets, letting her lift their fragile membranes safely away from the dangerous strength his massive body parts were exerting on her. She fluttered them in relief, and moaned, still shuddering from the flood of endorphins he had sucked into her right before pinioning her so abruptly.
She kissed his dick, and he shuddered, taken aback by how affectionate the gesture was, coming from his tiny captive.
“How sweet,” he whimpered, blowing his sweet-tasting captive a kiss.
Bluebell knew that she had to destroy this man. She had been watching this whole sordid display from the window. How dare this human scoundrel, this bearded fuck, who’s currently using her beloved wife as a magical lube bottle, blow a kiss at Lilac?
Was he mocking her, before he crushed her tiny form out of a bored sense of domination, and threw her away like a wet tissue? She could not find out. She had to stop him from cumming, before he lost interest in what he must have seen as a toy.
She was horrified, but this whole time, she didn’t know how to help. She felt powerless without her patron goddess.
Persephone isn’t the only one in this land, she thought to herself. She remembered her friend Hawk, whom she hunted rabbits with two summers ago. Hawk was an Artemis Fairy.
Artemis, the Goddess of the hunt. The Goddess who either killed or transformed most of the men she came across in stories. The Goddess who had once killed a hunter for the transgression of peeping on her bathing naked in the forest.
Bluebell cast a spell by evoking the Goddess with her words. She chanted Artemis’s name, closing her eyes, and stated her case.
“Hunter-Killing Goddess, defender of womens’ virtues. Hear my prayer. I know my wings are not grown, I know my magic is out of season. But, for my love’s sake, I beg of you, give me this smaller gift: lend me just this: the speed of a hunting dog, so that I may make my move.”
Neither the hunter nor Lilac could see or hear Bluebell’s chant. She was behind the glass, and anything she said was drowned out by the drum and thrum of the mismatched pairs’ heartbeats and panting. The hunter stroked his dick with the fairy trapped inside his hand, up and down. He glanced down, and she was rubbing her cunt against the shaft, moaning faintly.
He let his thumb out a little, giving her a chance to try to get away if she felt the need, but she stayed, and hugged the dick tighter when the thumb moved away.
He smiled.
“Enjoy the ride,” he said, as he gripped her against himself again, and resumed stroking. Her pussy’s wetness felt warm and tingly against his sensitive cock skin. The feeling of her tiny, gripping body between his hand and his cock made him feel like a holy God of his own image.
He couldn’t last long, after all the build-up. The hunter strained his thighs, before his balls tensed upwards, and then his dick erupted in a painfully intense spurt.
He lessened his grip on Lilac, keeping his hand next to her, and she moved herself to the bottom side of his dick, deliberately getting in the way of the stream of sticky white semen. It dripped down her head, over her shoulders, and down her backside. She had to hold her breath, there was so much of it covering her face.
Lilac shimmied up to the top of the glans, and shook her head back and forth, trying to shake the cum off her face while keeping her arms around the dick. Most of the sticky gunk stayed. The hunter, watching this, wiped if off her face with one sweep of his fingertip.
Lilac laughed. It sounded something like a cricket.
“That was fun!” she shouted, looking up at the hunter, grinning madly.
“You really are a freak,” the hunter said, admiration in his voice. He was smirking as he shook his head.
“But, you can clean up, if you like. Here,” he said. He lifted her up gently off his cock and put her in the bottom of the large glass jar. He sprinted to the kitchen next to the bedroom and quickly brought back a paper towel soaked in warm tap water. He gingerly put it in the bottom of the jar with her, and then closed the lid, loosely, barely using the threads.
He didn’t think he would keep her in the jar for long. But he couldn’t let this marvel get away just yet.
He cleaned himself up, and put his pants back on.
“I have to drive into town before the store closes. I’ll be back soon, my fairy pet,” the hunter said.
Lilac stopped cleaning herself off, and watched her huge captor leave. This was a fun encounter for now, but she was nobody’s pet. She would figure a way out soon. If not now, then in a few weeks, after Persephone returned. Putting her still dry clothing back on, she wondered if she’d leave him alive or not. In March, she’ll get back her power to magically transform his veins and arteries into flowering vines. That was always a fun way to get rid of a mortal she was done playing with.
He had a nice skull shape she could get to know better. The big human skeletons made for such handsome flower mounds after a few centuries.
The hunter stepped outside, still dazed from the fairy’s enchanted fluids. So drugged, that he doubted his eyes at first when another fairy ran right up to him, and stood firmly in the path between him and his car.
This one was dressed in darker leather, and her feathered hood was up, covering her hair and ears. Tiny, black, eyes stuck out just below the hood, staring up at him.
She seemed furious.
She took off, running past his car, to a woodchip path through the forest that he knew well. She was running as fast as a deer, which on her tiny frame, was unbelievable. Light seemed to trail after her shape as she ran, like she was leaving an after-image on his retina. He couldn’t tell if that was a side effect of the fairy magic from earlier.
The hunter wondered if she tasted like the other tiny woman, or if there was variety between these creatures’ miniature cunts. The errand in town could wait for tomorrow – he had to catch her.
The man ran up the path towards Bluebell, as fast as he could sprint. It went uphill, and he lost speed. He lost sight of her between the trees and dead logs next to the frozen pond at the bottom of a ridge.
The pond here had frozen and thawed, frozen and thawed over the course of this strange winter, but the last time the hunter had walked to it a week ago, a full-sized buck had run across it to the other side.
Bluebell reached the edge of the pond before the human had even made it to the top of the hill. She could tell by its coloring that the ice was perfect for this.
The fairy ran across the ice. Her knee-high shrew-leather shoes had just enough grip in their pine-sap soles for her to be able to trust each footfall. She fled as fast as the wind.
Twigs snapped, and clumsy footfalls followed. The bare winter bushes parted as the huge hunter reached the edge of the icy shore. It was getting dark, on a cloudy afternoon, so he relied on her telltale footprints across the snow-splattered ice to see where she had run to. They looked like the prints of a tiny woman’s boots. He saw her, next to a frozen reed plant most of the way across the water. She was standing still, like a dark-colored bird hidden among leaves.
But she was obvious, there, her black leather outfit starkly standing against the white snow. The human and the fairy exchanged glances, and she turned around, running to the opposite shore of the pond.
It would take just a few fast steps for the hunter to catch up. Bluebell went through the reeds at the far shore, taking no chances with her distance-making.
The hunter considered the risks, still drugged as hell, and he went for it. Even though he already had one, this was not a being to let go into the night. Another delicious, ecstatic pet was worth any chase.
The man gingerly stepped onto the ice. It felt solid under his feet, and looked opaque beneath him. He stepped forward once, and then twice, planning his final pounce onto the new fairy. She was still standing still on her opposite shore, her arms crossed.
He wondered if she was mocking him. Unlike the first one he had caught, this one didn’t seem afraid.
Three steps in, the ice cracked under his boot. He turned around, carefully stepping back to safety, but the surface snapped again, and gave way. With a huge splash, the hunter fell into the freezing-cold water. Pond water filled the hunter’s outfit. The premium goosefeathers of his coat soaked it up like a sponge.
It had looked solid, the hunter thought, as he tried to stay above the surface. The pond was deeper than he expected, and his clothing was heavier than he was used to swimming with. The weight dragged him down. He kicked and churned, desperate to stay afloat. He tried to take his winter coat off, but taking his arms away from his desperate treading let him slip deeper beneath the surface.
Bluebell watched safely from the frozen shore as the surface of the water behind the cracked ice churned. First the hunter’s hands came up, and then his head, as he got a few gasping breaths in. He began to climb up onto the ice surface, and pulled his torso above the ice. As he was lifting his first leg onto the ice, the surface cracked again, and his weight sunk it back into the water, another half-floating obstacle to the man’s futile attempts at swimming.
The sun was now setting onto the half-frozen lake. A cloudy dusk cast only muted shadows on the surface of the water, as, over the course of several minutes, the churning and the bubbles died down to a full stillness.