Content Advisory: profanity, sex with magical creatures, m/f
When we last left Peter, sexual chaos had ensued after the Pixie Processing Plant exploded and blanketed the surrounding area with Frisky Fairy Dust. With his wife, Pumpkin, running amuck and jacked up on Dust, Peter is determined to track down and capture his wayward spouse.
Peter scanned the forest for Pumpkin, but she’d disappeared. He’d lost sight of her at the Sherwood Falls Bridge when that ass of a troll had stopped and quizzed him before giving Peter permission to cross.
He looked around for some landmark that would tell him where the hell he was. Nothing, only trees, trees, and more trees. Peter squinted at the swirling hypnotic lights dancing up the trail toward him. He shook his head.
“Whew, this fairy dust is kickin’ my ass.”
He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times. Still no luck. The trees continued to bleed neon green, the sky pulsed orange, and his dick was as stiff as a steel rod.
“Oh Bo, where are you when I need you?”
Peter reached in his pants to rearrange his erection. The new position didn’t relieve his discomfort but his firm grip sure felt good. He contemplated giving his boner a few extra strokes. What the hell? As far as he could tell, he was the only person for miles. Well, him and the cluster of crazy fireflies racing toward him.
Pulling his hand from his pants, Peter shielded his face with his arms as the throng of lights swarmed around him. Wind from a hundred fluttering wings ruffled his hair and buzzed against his ears. The smell of honeysuckle invaded his nose. Peter peeked through his fingers—pixies.
The tinkling bells of their glee sent a quiver of pleasure down his neck and into his cock. He shivered.
“Whoa, niiiice.”
Tiny peals of laughter echoed as the balls of light wove through his legs, circled his waist, and looped back around his head.
“Afternoon ladies,” Peter said.
Bracing his back against a tree, he tried to steady himself against the buffet of sensations that enveloped him.
A single dot of light stopped to hover inches from Peter’s nose. He narrowed his gaze and focused on the miniature female in front of him. Pretty—very pretty, and voluptuous. Though tiny in stature, she was endowed with everything a full-size woman possessed.
Large breasts pushed against the pink veil of her dress and shapely legs hung below the kind of hips a man could grab hold of while giving it his all. Peter’s cock thickened and pulsed. He rubbed his crotch. This couldn’t be good.
“Well Tink’s tits, if I’m not having a full-blown fairy fantasy about you.”
Her plump lips stretched into a wanton smile as the pixie ran one hand over her nipples while the other dipped low to bury itself in the folds of her dress.
Peter licked his lips. He didn’t care how small she was, this Tink-look-alike was hot. He held out his hand in invitation. She landed on his palm, her weight no more than a pebble. He curled his fingers, giving her something to lean against. But instead of reclining, she wound her legs around his pinky, using it like a stripper pole, and launched into her own rendition of a pocket-sized striptease.
She circled her hips in a slow grind and keened as her mound rubbed against his flesh. Specks of gold dusted his hand and slipped through the spaces between his fingers. Like crack to an addict, the other pixies went wild, snatching at the glistening particles. The sprites darted back and forth in an effort to claim the prize by out flying each other. The ringing of what sounded like a thousand tiny bells filled the air as the pixies collided and grappled for the Frisky Fairy Dust.
In mass the winged nymphs jetted around Peter’s thigh. With each pass they flew faster and faster, delivering what could only be described as a fairy hand-job. Peter moaned and spread his legs.
“Yeah, that’s it. Don’t stop.” His head lazed against the tree and he closed his eyes. “I’ve never been felt up by fairies before.”
His lids eased open and he gazed at his crotch. Two determined sprites wrestled the brass tab of his zipper down, while another braced her feet against the edge of his pants and tugged the button from its slot. Together they heaved open the edges of his pants and set his cock free.
The frisky lights circled Peter’s waist and drove his pants down around his ankles. Distracted by her companion’s antics, the pixie in Peter’s hand stopped her pleasure dance and climbed to the tips of his fingers. She looked over her shoulder at Peter, smiled, and hurled herself into the erotic pandemonium whirling up his exposed legs and around his erection.
Peter raised his hands over his head and held on tight. Dozens of tiny fingers pawed and massaged his ever-growing hard-on. If he was lucky his knees wouldn’t buckle before this escapade ended.
Pushing aside all rational thought—Pumpkin, duty, and the notion that fooling around with sprites might be wrong—Peter closed his eyes and sank into the feel of the pixie magic.
Without warning his original blonde temptress gave a piercing whistle and all activity ceased. The bells fell silent for the first time since their approach and the woods around mirrored the quiet.
"Hmm?" Peter looked down at his would-be paramours. "Too much man for you, ladies?"
Crowding together, the pixies’ radiance merged into a bright ball of light. The pulsing glow stretched and formed, morphing into a small, curvaceous, Tink-like fairy.
"Whoa, you look like a miniature porn queen," Peter whispered.
The scent of honeysuckles filled the air. An impish grin formed on her face as she leaned forward to take his straining erection into her mouth. A tingle of magic brushed his cock—moist, hot magic.
“I think I’ve died and gone to Heaven,” Peter murmured.
Her full breasts and peaked nipples strained against the gossamer material of her dress. God, what he wouldn't give to grope those melons right now. Reaching down he tweaked her nipple and rolled it between his thumb and finger. Nice—more than nice—mouthwatering.
The pixie queen wrapped her tongue around his helmet, tunneling his length deep into her mouth to tickle her throat. A moan ripped from Peter's lips, echoing around the forest. His legs quivered as the small woman's suction increased, the muscles of her throat fairly milking his cock.
"Damn, Pumpkin never sucks my dick. I forgot how good it feels."
His temptress looked up through glittery eyelashes and gave him a satisfied smile. "Come on Peter, forget about Pumpkin.” She ran her tongue along his cock. “Let loose and I’ll give you the orgasm of your life.”
Peter’s legs buckled and his ass hit the moss near the base of the tree. Pumpkin? Pumpkin who?
The pixie crawled over him, trapping his legs beneath her abundant breasts. Unable to move, he watched her mouth descend onto his cock again. She laved it with much-needed attention, caressing it with gentle strokes. She brought him to the edge quicker than ever before.
Burying his hands in her crown of glowing blonde hair, he cupped her head, and moaned. His hips thrust upward, pushing as deep as he could into the moist warmth of her mouth. His gentle hold on her head tightened as he urged her to suck faster. Grabbing a handful of her silken tresses, he thrust one final time and rode the waves of pulsation wracking his body.
Heat shimmered above him and his hands suddenly grasped air as his mini-lover transformed to her original size. Pixies scattered with their bells tinkling in their glowing wake.
Peter laid spread eagle on the ground, spent and panting. His vision cleared and the blood pounding in his ears faded. Lifting his head, he looked at his chest, and smiled. His little pixie lover perched on the edge of the paramedic patch sewed to his shirt. Though her hair was tussled and her cheeks rosy, she looked satisfied.
“Thanks,” Peter said. “I owe ya.”
Stretching to her full two inch height, she blew him a kiss and launched into the sky to follow the parade of lights that weaved and bobbed between the trees, before completely disappearing.
Peter slowly rolled to a sitting position and looked around. What had he been doing before being pleasantly interrupted? Oh right, Pumpkin. He ran his hands through his hair. What he needed was a nap. And where were his pants? This day had turned into utter mayhem. If he was lucky he could catch Pumpkin and be home by evening.
Boone Brux
~~ C.J. Ellisson ~~
Please come back January 26 when Boone will bring you her next installment of Sexy History, and the next installment for Pumpkin's Great Escape will air in February.
Copyright © 2011 Boone Brux and C.J. Ellisson
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.
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