Your Little Faery

Author’s Note: This is the oddest, strangest, weirdest thing I have ever written.

—

My Master,

I never really asked for this, you know.

It’s your fault that this is what I’ve become. The humming your ear, the early mornings and late nights. This is what you turned me into, what you demanded that I become. You have no one to blame except yourself.

I don’t hate you for it.

This is what I am now, what I love, what I want, what I fucking crave.

I was so very innocent when you caught me. Did you know that? I had never even heard the word `sex’ until you came along and ruined everything about me, making me into this slutty thing.

It wasn’t that I was somehow immature. I wasn’t innocent because I wasn’t all grown up. No, that’d be just foul. It was because I was on my own, always on my own.

When you caught me, you told me that you’d never seen a faery before. Not that I could understand a damn word you were saying at the time. I was mostly just shitting myself because some giant thing had me in their hands and had torn one of my wings catching me.

Well, I’d never seen a faery, either.

I’d seen my own reflection, of course.

And I guess I had parents, once, but I can’t remember ever meeting them. I don’t have a cloaca, so I doubt I hatched from an egg. You discovered my vulva about five minutes after catching me. So I should have had parents.

I don’t blame you for that, either.

You were curious, not knowing if I was a boy or a girl, and wanting to talk to me. Call me the right things, but not able to understand me. So you pulled off my clothes, and made me do the splits, so that you could see what I had between my legs.

I was so horrified. So embarrassed. So ashamed.

You poked and prodded at me, your finger so much bigger than me, but still managing to rub the hell out of what you found. The bumps of your fingerprints rubbing up and down my clit, my never-touched clit.

You made me cum, even before I knew what you even were. What an orgasm was. Before I knew what sex was. I hated you for it, forcing pleasure on me, in that moment.

When I burst into tears and curled into a ball, I think you realised what you’d done.

That was when you shoved me into a pocket inside your jacket. Pushed me into a deep and dark crevasse, upside down, and then I was jostled all around. I didn’t understand what was happening. I cried the entire way, my world being thrown around wildly.

Do you remember what came next?

You pulled me out of your jacket, and I wasn’t in my garden anymore. I was surrounded by things that stank. Metal and plastic and a shitload more plastic.

Dizzy from the hell of your stupid jacket, the smell was too much. When you laid me out in your hands again, I vomited. I puked up all over you, you bastard.

You deserved it, even if you didn’t know what you were doing.

What came next… That… That made it hard to hate you. You took me, and put me on your desk. You tried so hard to help me clean up, the corner of a tissue wiping at my mouth, despite how big you are.

Then you pulled out the bright lights that I hated, and the big glass that makes you look small, and you looked at my broken wing. I realised then, that you were trying to fix your mistake.

Realised then, that you never meant to hurt me.

I tried to talk to you, shouting at the top of my lungs until I was hoarse, but you didn’t understand. You couldn’t hear me. It was nothing but windchimes to you.

A broken wing is a broken wing.

You tried to wrap it and bandage it, but we both know it now, don’t we? The damn thing is never going to heal. I was trapped there with you, relying on you, because you chased me down in my garden and caught me.

I nearly starved, that first week in your house.

You tried to feed me cheese, and I tried to bite your hand.

You gave me flesh, and I vomited at the smell of it.

Yet, you kept trying. You always kept trying, just trying to care for me in your own clumsy way. I learned to listen to you, then. Your long and loud sounds. It took me a while to work out they were supposed to be words.

Longer to learn what they meant.

Did you know I had to tinkle, in that week? I’m a faery, not a miracle. When a girl has to go, she has to go. And when a girl is pissed at the freaking giant, she tends to… Well, lets say I ruined a bunch of your sandwiches when you weren’t looking.

Sorry.

I got by, surviving. In the mornings, when it was cold, I’d catch the dew drops from the window. Hold one in both hands and slurp at it, like you sipped at your coffee.

You tend to be grumpy in the mornings, without your caffeine hit. Same goes for me. You tried to talk to me once, before I’d managed to catch some dew.

I think I threw a pencil at your head.

We can laugh about it now, can’t we?

All those times that I tried to hurt you. Frustrated at the way my life had been completely turned upside down by nothing but an accident. You didn’t know what I was, when you caught me.

I didn’t know what you were, either.

I thought you were a monster.

A monster can’t love, and a monster wouldn’t give everything that they had for another. You did everything you could for me. Spending all your spare moments in your books and on your computer, just searching for a way to help me.

The mushrooms weren’t a bad idea, even if I still couldn’t eat them.

No, it was chance that saved me, in the end.

You left me a thimble of cold water, because you watched me. You learned what I could have. The water wasn’t purified like I needed, so I spent most of my time plucking things out of it, but you tried, my clumsy oaf.

Then… Then you went off.

You went into your bedroom, and you closed the door. You know now, don’t you? A door is never going to keep a faery out. Whether or not I could open it, doesn’t matter.

There’s always a crack to squeeze through.

I heard you making deep noises. I thought you were in pain, at first. I might not have liked you much, but you were still the closest thing I had to a support system.

I slipped in between the door and the wall, climbing over the hinge. That was the first time I’d been in your bedroom before. It smelled so different to the rest of the house. It smelled like you, and it smelled like something new.

The new smell, that was because of what you were doing.

It was so new, because I was so naive.

I heard your deep and rumbling voice. Saw the bed shaking, and I ran for it. I grabbed the edge of your blanket in my hands and I heaved myself up it. Hand over hand, straining and sweat as I free climbed up that bitch.

I was half-starved and all-exhausted by the time I made my way up and onto your bed. I collapsed, and for a while, I did consider giving up altogether, right then and there.

But you were still making noises, and I was beginning to worry. So I pushed myself to my feet. Leaning my hands on my shaking knees before I forced myself to stagger forwards, ever forwards.

I crossed the dunes of your sheets. Stumbling across the moving folds in that oceanic swirl as you moved around, feet pushing back and forth on the bed.

I grabbed onto the edge of your pants and pulled myself upright. That was when I realised you had pushed them down to your ankles. I found myself falling and had to grab at your hair not to fall and drown in the mess of your sheets.

You hadn’t seen me, hadn’t noticed me.

Too preoccupied.

I climbed again. Dragging on your hair, as your legs rose and fell. I was so scared of being thrown away. Or worse, falling and having your crush me. I didn’t want you to find me in your bed, no longer breathing. I wanted to be the one to save you.

Don’t ask me what I thought I could do, if something had actually been wrong.

I wasn’t thinking.

I could hear you better, now. Hear some of the words I’d started to learn from our time together. Words that I recognised as words that meant something bad was happening.

Poor, little naive faery.

I didn’t know back then that `fuck’ could mean anything but a frustrated curse word. I had no idea that it could mean something so much better. I had no idea that it would become the word I crave to hear come from your lips, more than any other sound.

I fell the final way, my little body tumbling down your leg and into your hand. I fell against your fingers, moving so quickly up and down that I grabbed on just so that I wouldn’t end up flattened by them.

I can remember being vaguely confused by where your hand was, but I didn’t have the time to focus on that. I was clinging on for dear life as that hand went up and down.

You’re fast at that, aren’t you?

When you get so close, you can get so violent. Losing yourself to the moment, focusing on nothing else. I love it, now. At the time, I had no idea what was about to happen.

I climbed to the top of your hand, hoping to find out why it was moving so erratically. Hoping to find some way to stop it. Mostly to save myself, I’m afraid to say. I’d stopped caring about saving you the moment it looked like I was in danger.

Sorry. I’m kinda like that.

What I found at the top of your hand was a slippery, sticky, mess. A liquid spilling up and over the edges of your fingers. A slime that I quickly found myself up to my elbows in as I tried to hold onto you.

I don’t know how I slipped and slid in it, trying to cling on, until my face was driven into your hand. That fall that nearly dislodged me, that was the one that changed it all.

When my head hit your hand and I was dazed, my mouth was open. When your hand came rushing up, I was pushed down, and I tasted it. I didn’t mean to get a mouthful of the slime, and I really could not have predicted the effect it would have on me.

The salty taste filled my mouth, and my entire body came alive. My wings buzzed up a storm, broken or not. My little vulva that you’d abused that first day, that screamed like a hot little volcano, begging for more. My muscles tightened and loosened all at once.

I groaned, and my grip slipped away.

I was knocked flying back onto your stomach, as for the second time in my life, I experienced an orgasm. A storm of emotions that I still struggle to describe today. My whole body shaking and vibrating as I made my own dew drop into my panties.

Did you know I didn’t have a word for them, before you called them that? I didn’t really think in terms of words. Just pictures. Words only really start to matter when you have someone else to talk to.

I came. That’s what I’m telling you.

I came, and I came. Flipping and flopping around on your stomach as you pumped away in front of me, creating this nectar of the gods that I immediately craved. I wanted it in my stomach. I needed it! All of it!

I came like a little bitch, a hot little whore. The bead of my cum welled up until it slipped out of my slit and burst against my panties. Spreading out and running down my legs.

And I wanted more.

I didn’t go crawling towards your hand. I went sprinting. You finally must have felt something, because you let go. I finally saw that towering rod of muscle that I can no longer live without.

I saw the liquid dripping down the edge and dove at it. I hugged onto it tightly and licked at it. Pushing my head in, and tilting it back to try and swallow as much as I could.

You must have been sensitive, close, because that’s all it took.

That miracle that you call your cock fired off it’s cannon. Spraying that godlike material up and into the air. I was laughing and crying at the same time as it fell down around me, on me. Soaking into my hair, soaking through my clothes.

I scraped up double handfuls of your cum, and shoved as much down my throat as I could. I must have looked so strange to you. Buzzing and alive for the first time since you’d caught me. Showered head to toe in your cum, and drinking like a starving woman.

Because I was.

I could feel it hitting my stomach. It wasn’t just my pussy that craved your cum. I felt it satisfying my desperate hunger, after a full week of nothing but water.

Your cum wasn’t just close to faery dust, it was better, in every way. It was a full-bodied experience of joy and life, that gave me orgasm after orgasm, mouthful after mouthful.

You did this to me. Making me your tiny slut.

I climbed right up your dick whilst it was still pulsing and shuddering, and shoved my face into the top. Sorry about that. It wasn’t like I knew it was sensitive! I barely understood that it was a part of you.

But, my face going between that line, and my hair rubbing on the exposed end, apparently hurt you a bit.

You grabbed me, and you weren’t gentle about it.

Taking me away from my miracle food that had made me soak myself so badly that I had my own cum dripping from my ankles. I shrieked and screamed and clamoured, trying to get back at your divine fluid.

You wagged a finger at me, trying to tell me off. I think I swore at you, but you didn’t understand me. When that didn’t work, I pulled a handful of your cum out my hair and threw it into your eye.

That worked.

You dropped me, grabbing at your face, and I went scampering right back to slurping all over your cock. Eating and swallowing all of it that I could find. Every single drop.

When I was done with that, I started pulling it out of my hair and wringing it out of my clothes and eating that, too.

I think that was when you realised that I could eat it.

That you’d found a way to keep me alive.

Were you excited? Embarrassed? Confused?

You certainly tried to push me away from down there, once I’d had my fill and collapsed with a stomach bloated to three times its normal size. Putting me aside gently and pulling up your pants.

Hiding away your cock from me.

Even though I was so stuffed that I couldn’t even move, I resented you for that. For hiding away something that I loved so much. That I wanted to use, again and again. I wanted it so much, even though I had no more room.

I was drunk on your cum.

I’d never been drunk before. Never tasted alcohol or any other intoxicant before. I had only really eaten dust and drunk dew. So when I found my speech slurring, and my movements clumsy, I giggled like a moron.

I fell over my own hands and arms as I tried to roll over. Confused as how they were in the way. I couldn’t stand, kept falling. So I gave up and crawled, still giggling and laughing at myself.

Crawling up to where you were sitting on the edge of the bed, staring and thinking. I crawled up to you and bumped my head into your leg until you looked down at me.

I couldn’t stand, so I lifted up my arms to you.

Asking you to pick me up, for the first time.

I remember the look of awe in your face, when I actually sat in the palm of your hand. Didn’t run or fight. Just sat there, giggling like a moron and smiling at you.

I wanted to thank you for the cum.

Thank you.

I can say it now, or write it. So, again, thank you.

When you didn’t seem to understand what I was trying to say to you, looking perplexed and afraid, I remember thinking that it would be obvious, and even the best idea I’d ever had.

Drunk me is an idiot.

I pulled off my panties, lifting them up and wringing them. Dropping a tiny little drop of my own cum onto your hands. Then, I held out my panties to you.

Trying to tell you, that this is what you had done for me.

Like I said, drunk me is an idiot. She doesn’t really know what she’s doing, and she thinks she’s a bloody genius. There’s no way she knows how to communicate.

I’m not surprised that you misread me.

Drunk me, at the time, was surprised. Confused why you pushed me over like a jerk. Befuddled why you held me flat with one finger whilst the other reached down to touch at my soaking legs, and push up between them.

I moaned the moment you touched me.

I had already cum. I had already cum over and over, again. I didn’t know if I had any left to give, when you started to touch me. I was so very sensitive, so raw, when your finger began to play with me.

Oh, goddess. When you began to play with me.

I moaned and I groaned, and I begged you for more. I didn’t have the words for it, but I was begging you to fuck me. Begging you not to stop, never to stop. To press your fingerprint against my clit, and rub that naughty little thing.

One final burst, one final sphere of clear liquid, burst from my slit and all over your finger.

I might have fallen in love with you, right there and then, but then you made it even better. I remember you lifting me up, hesitating, and then kissing the top of my cum-soaked head.

I burst into tears… To be fair, I was drunk. And fucked. And bloated with your cum in my tummy. I cried happy tears and curled up in your hand, trying to hug onto one of your fingers. I cried and kissed you and cried until I fell asleep, in the palm of your hand.

What did you do whilst I slept?

Did you just stare at the little faery snuggled into your palm? I can’t imagine you went anywhere or did much, because you didn’t wake me. I stayed in your hand, pantyless and content, snuggled into your warmth.

When I woke up, your hot breath was on my face. You were asleep, lying beside me. I was still safely cradled in your fingers, your hand on top of your pillow, arm stretched in a way that couldn’t have been that comfortable.

I can remember being ashamed of my behaviour.

I had completely lost control of myself. What kind of grown woman gorges herself on any kind of food? She’s supposed to be dainty! Delicate and… Who am I kidding? I’ve never been dainty.

Delicate to you, but only because you’re fucking big.

I wasn’t just ashamed though, I was also uncomfortable. Cum stained clothes are truly awful when they dry. They get all hard, and they crack and peel when you move in them. And that’s before you talk about the smell.

Stale cum is vomit inducing.

Especially when you have a weak stomach, like mine.

I saw the fresh frost against the outside of your window, and stripped out of my clothes. Carrying them with me as I climbed up and over you, over the headboard and to the window.

What did you think, when you woke up and saw me?

To me, I was just having a bath, a shower. Plucking water droplets from the window to get your grime off my skin and out of my hair. Have you ever had to get dried cum out of your hair? It’s gross.

My clothes were nearby because I’d planned to wash and dry them. That was what I was doing. I was just having a nice pleasant bath to try and find some cleanliness in my life.

What the hell did you think I was doing?

I don’t know what went through your head, but it certainly wasn’t that.

You picked me up and put me on your bed. I was too surprised, and too vulnerable, to do anything about it. I was halfway through my shower! As if there was anything this naked faery could do to fight back.

Yet, you weren’t trying to be mean. You just didn’t understand.

I didn’t understand what you were doing when you spread my legs apart. When you leaned down towards me and engulfed me in the heat of your hot breath.

I was scared you might be about to try and eat me, after fattening me up, when your tongue came sliding out of your mouth, towards me. I even squealed in fear, but you never heard it.

Just the tinkling of windchimes in the breeze.

What did I taste like?

I was confused when that bump ridden tongue rubbed along between my legs. Flicking me from rump to clit. Being two inches tall makes everything very small. From watching your favourite videos, licking a girl’s slit it normal, so I guess that’s what you were going for.

You absolutely got my slit.

But being soaked in your saliva, that got me running, too. From bathing to bathed in your mouth. The tastebuds running up and over me, messing with my delicate little love button.