Since I'm off to read smut to a pagan moot tomorrow, a bit of fairy-sex seemed to be appropriate... Here's a no-holds-(or holes)-barred wrestling match from Named and Shamed
“Eat, stupid mortal!”
I gave Milkthistle a cold glance. “I said I’m not hungry.”
“You’ll regret it.” She gave me one of her carnivorous grins.“Because it’s time for you to wear this now.” She brandished — not entirely to my surprise — a curved horse-tail the colour of my own fiery hair. It ended in a familiar butt-plug shape of hard leather. It would fit neatly into my ass and the tail would rise at a cocked position from between my cheeks, the hair switching behind me as I walked. I bit my lip as I felt a hungry spasm run up my rear.
Oh God, how my ass missed the Bour Lady’s butt-tether. I’d worn it so long I felt empty without it.
Milkthistle misunderstood my expression. I knew that as I heard her chuckle.
“Don’t be shy,” she hissed. “It’s the Brenhines’ command that you all wear them. Turn round and give me your ass, mortal. I’ll slip it in so sweet you’ll hardly feel it.”
I wanted that. My body, insatiable as ever, burned for it. But that pissed me off. It was almost like wanting to eat their cursed fruit.
“You can try,” I said, getting to my feet and walking off.
I guess I just don’t submit that easily to women. I need them to overthrow me physically first.
Well, Milkthistle certainly rose to the challenge. I’d hardly moved beyond the feeding circle when a bolt of pain struck me on the thigh, so unexpected and so fierce that I twisted and fell, screaming with shock and clutching my leg. I was convinced there’d be blood. I was sure there’d be a wound. But when I dared peek under my clutching fingers there was nothing — no scratch, no mark and, I realised belatedly, no more pain. It was gone as abruptly as it had hit.
I stared up at her as she swaggered over and looked down on me. “Fuck!” I protested.
Grinning like a shark, she lifted a hand to her ropes of blue hair and pulled something from between the twists. It was too small for me to see it between her fingertips. A pin maybe, or an arrowhead. She waited till I knew she was going to do it, and then she threw it at me. The pain hit between my breasts and I thrashed wildly, too agonised this time to scream.
Elf-shot, said the analytical part of my mind. It didn’t help any. What did help was knowing that it was only pain — not real harm. This time I didn’t wait for it to leave me. I gathered my limbs and launched myself at the bitch, bundling her over onto the floor and snatching at her wrists before she had time to arm herself again. I had all the apparent advantages of size and weight — but good God she was strong; far stronger than any human her size would be. She fought with the twisting muscularity of a cat. She screeched like one too, and I was vaguely aware that all the birds overhead were screaming as well. It took all my effort to pin her face-down on the floor, her arms pinned to either side under my knees. I’d learned from the Ganconer’s girl-gang too, and I used my feet in her hair to keep her in place. Her legs thrashed, scissoring. I ground down with my body weight and used one hand to hit her bare ass spitefully.
She howled, humping her ass and spreading her thighs
I’m not proud. I’m not fucking proud of what I did. But I was completely off my mental balance — despairing and horny, scared and angry and lost. Lost was worst of all. My judgement was completely shot. And I hated this vicious little bitch. I whacked her ass until my arm hurt and the smell of her sex was pungent. I slapped her pussy and felt her as wet as a swamp down there. She pushed right up into my kneading hand.
“You fucking like this, do you?” I snarled, bending to stick my head in there and biting hard at her bum.
She spread wider. I shoved fingers inside her cunt. It was like she had no bones. Despite her tiny frame she took all four fingers of my left hand in her hot wet grip and I suspect she could have taken more if I’d dared. I wasn’t terribly gentle as it was. And the horse-tail plug she’d dropped only a moment before was within my reach.
Around the room the shadows flickered and thickened and clustered, like spectators pushing in for a closer view.
“Come on then, bitch — you wear it if you like it so much,” I told her, pushing the stitched leather plug between her cheeks. I saw the dark purse of her asshole open like a mouth to gobble at it, and I plunged it in hard. She was yelping rhythmically now, banging her pelvis up and down on the hides, her cunt sucking my hand. “Not such a great top now, are you?” I spat. “You like this, don’t you? You like this!”
This feeling of dominance was intoxicating. Lust and power bubbled up and overflowed within me — and I cannot presume what it would have made me do. As it happened, I wouldn’t have a chance to find out. Fire cracked across my ass cheeks. The sudden, searing pain made me forgot Milkthistle, and forget how angry and dirty and mean I was feeling. I forgot everything except the importance of getting away from the fire flaring over my flesh. I was yards away from her and piled up against one of the central pillars before I realised what the hell had happened.
The room was full of the Gentry. Foremost, and the focus of my dawning horror, was the Brenin and a woman who stood at his left. He, still wearing his death mask, was wrapped in a voluminous black toga like Virgil pictured at the bottom of the Inferno, and he carried his whip in his hand. I guessed that the woman would be his queen — the Brenhines. She was dressed in the style of a Classical goddess, all in drifting translucent white. Her slender body was perfectly visible through her draperies. Her hair was jet-black but crowned and wound with gold wire, and her golden carnival mask was composed of intricate petals, as if her face were an orchid. Beneath a row of trembling gold beads, her lips were full and dark red, like blood-bruises.
I whimpered, touching the burning weals across my bum-cheeks
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