Inside her faery-cave at the base of the tree, Trea sat up with a start… ----------------------------------- The Curious Faery Part 2: Something Sexy This Way Comes There was now a rustling and Trea felt ice in her veins. She slinked into the shadows at the side of the tree-cave’s interior and softly made her way to the entrance. She peeped out. There, settling into a nook between two of the tree’s massive roots, was a… A… A human! Her insides turned to pond-sludge, and she found she couldn’t move away, so she didn't, she just stared. No, hold on just a mushroom plucking moment, it… wasn’t a human. She sniffed. By the fair winds of Arameith! Well now! If she’d thought humans possessed a pungent aroma, then her internal monologue was lost for words to describe this smell. If it had found some it might have offered “thick, lush, smoky, earthy”, and “masculine”. Her tongue unconsciously graced her lips. “Mmm” the syllable escaped before she realised she'd produced it. She immediately clapped her hands over her mouth. Fortunately the big being outside didn’t seem to notice, one of his ears merely twitched as if of its own accord but he continued to rifle through his pack, unconcerned. *His* ears, she thought. Yes it was a him, that was for sure. She inhaled again, giddy with delight and fear. Minute goosebumps covered her skin and a tremor overtook her wings that she could not cease, however hard she tried. The being outside grunted as he sat against the tree, his back now blocking Trea’s view. She uttered a quiet curse of faery-frustration and craned further out of the hole, but she could not see around him. If she wanted to know more about this strange visitor – and oh, how she did – she was going to have to sneak through the gap between his back and the tree. The thought was equal parts compelling and awful and she waivered uncertainly. Another inhalation of his enticing odour ensured that curiosity became the victor. Her undergarments were made of fresh petals, “underpetals” she called them, and she was irritated to find that they were bunched up from her strange positions during her attempts at sleep. This would not do if she were to go on a personal quest! One cannot concentrate with undergarments between their buttocks. She daintily removed the underpetals from their rumpled nest and tightened the stalk which fastened her hair. She brushed some excess dust from her shoulders and wings and mentally set her faery-dust production cells to “mute”. She mustn’t make even a jingle or this thing would probably… erm, probably eat her, she reckoned. Or squash her under his foot, or something equally horrific. She paled at the thought, but it wasn't enough to stop her now that her mind was made up. She waited till he stopped rustling about, each frustrating moment building her curiosity. When she thought her heart would take the impatience (and by now mild claustrophobia) no more, at last she heard his breath deepen, and slow, and a low growling snore vibrated into the tree. Good, he was asleep. On the quietest of tip-toes she shimmied her way past his back, then screened her face with a pale arm as the flames of his dying campfire hit her dark-accustomed vision. Her massive pupils contracted. She edged her way out fully and skirted the little clearing so she could remain in darkness. Must… not… accidentally… glow. Once she reached the other side, she looked back, far enough away now to see him in his entirety, and properly take him in. She goggled at the sight. It was not what she had been expecting. What she had at first taken in the shadows to be some kind of hat, was in fact part of him, part of his body. It was a set of horns. Horns growing from his head! A feeling of horror washed over her. What was he? Some kind of monster? A deeply rooted instinct - something ancient - stirred inside her. Something told her she should fly away and never look back, this creature, this thing would do her harm. This thing, she imagined, would likely gobble her down without a second thought as a snack, or sit on her just for the fun of it, just to feel her bones snap, and yet… And yet the rest of her wanted to know more. The rest of her quite literally ached for it. She remained where she was, crouched on a low branch while she mulled it over. Her heart, and her head, and her underpetals, pounded. She swayed and for a moment she thought she would swoon. A snort-growl from the sleeping thing shocked her back into focus, and she forced herself to concentrate. Okay. She tilted her head a little, examining him across the moonstreaked clearing. Hmm. His face was kind of handsome. It couldn’t exactly be called symmetrical, because it had a harsh scar running through one of the eyes and a tattoo around the same area. She found herself wondering if the tattoo was there to hide, or to enhance, the injury. What kind of a person (she supposed he was a person) would make the choice either way? The cheekbones were high and there was no spare flesh, his jawline and nose were both strong. He had a small beard, and his ears - which she could see poking through his long dark hair - were perfectly formed, the tips pointed elegantly... though the side of one was missing like it had been bitten or torn off, leaving a jagged edge. It was strange, she could see how without all the – she waved a hand in a small gesture as she thought, "stuff", he might be fair. But there was no way his actual appearance could be described as fair. Her own perfect little brow creased. He was handsome in a sort of ugly way, she decided. She found herself wondering what his eyes would look like when open, yet silently thanked Moilnje that they remained closed. The glow of the fire and the silver of the moonlight made it hard to tell the exact hue but his skin appeared to be a sort of grey colour. She realised she had been moving towards him, eyes fixed on his sleeping face, and oh dear, she should have been looking where she was going, because she now promptly fell over a thick branch. She pushed herself up, brushed her hands off, removed an unwelcome leaf from her head, and looked quickly back at the beast. She nearly melted in relief to see that he was still asleep, however she almost soiled her underpetals, when the branch she had tripped over suddenly whipped by her ear. IT WASN’T A BRANCH! IT WASN’T A BRANCH! It was something alive! She knew it would make too much of a scene to shriek, flap and fly away. Which was quite lucky really because she seemed to be mute and frozen to the spot. Eeeeek! W-w-was it a snake? The thought of a snake was apparently enough to get her moving. She darted out of the way, hid behind the being’s leg, and peered around it. She wasn’t sure if she felt aroused or horrified when she realised that the thick thing which tripped her wasn’t a branch or a snake, but a tail. How peculiar! Whoever heard of a human or elf with a tail!? Was that… disgusting or was it… alluring? The offending feature had zig zag patterns down it and a large point on the end. The man-thing grunted in his sleep and moved a little before snoring onwards. Relief waterfalled back. She must have tickled the tail with her wings as she was moving by. That made her want to giggle, but she didn’t, just thanked the gods this beasty was still asleep despite her clumsiness. From her hiding place behind the crook of his leg she watched the tail, her pupils large again. She was strangely disappointed to discover that the interesting appendage had settled down, so she moved over to it and carefully touched it with her palm. It was warm, and dry, and a little rough, sort of like a rat’s tail, but it smelled oddly fresh and fragrant despite having lain among the soggy leaves. Yes, clean and fresh but *sniff* with a dark hint of man. She shuddered, a big juddering shudder which rippled through her entire body. Something about her skin pressed to his, had made her feel like one of her luminous firefly friends. Nnggff! She touched it again, this time with just a fingertip. The glowing feeling returned. Before long she had her arms and upper body stretched out along the tail, feeling a golden glow at every point of contact. The tail, for its part, remained still. Hmmm… A mischievous note played through Trea and she turned and fluttered her wings so that they brushed lightly on the tail's skin. She smiled in delight when it twitched in response – she’d made it move! She touched it again and saw that her hands were now actually glowing whenever she touched him. She reminded herself to remain careful and dimmed her lights again. But she could not, and did not want to, stop touching him. During one tactile pass she wondered how it would feel to kiss him, and peered up at his face again. She hadn’t noticed before but his lips were extremely well shaped, despite another jagged scar tearing through them. In fact the scar seemed to improve them if anything. She frowned in confusion at her sudden new man-type, then dismissed the ponderance and continued admiring the nicely-formed lips. They weren’t much darker than the rest of his skin, she noticed, and suddenly she wanted very much to press hers to them, despite the size difference. She moved semi-reluctantly from the fascinating tail, back towards the big person's body for a closer look, blinking and pausing in surprise as a slender but strong-looking finger scratched at his belly for a moment before falling back to the ground. He snored gently on, oblivious to the curious and desirous little faery studying him. Trea turned her attention to the recently scratched belly, the pleasing shape of which was visible through his simple cloth shirt. The stomach was flat but ridged, and looked fun to climb on. She glided stealthily over to inspect it. She wanted to see the skin beneath the shirt and, after a guilty glance around, slid it up a bit. His belly was grey like his face, tinged with a slight pinkish hue and decorated a little with some kind of tattoos or body art, and there was yet another scar, this one thick and lumpy near his hipbone, it looked as if he might have once been stabbed and it had healed badly. She hesitated a little, trepidation tickling her spine. She wondered whether to feel sorry for him, or if he’d deserved it. Was he dangerous? If so, how danger-- ooh... A trail of hair below his bellybutton stole her attention, making her gasp in surprise. She'd thought Big Folk had no body hair – or… was that only the elves? Her eyes flicked to the pointed ears and back. Well this thing was no elf, that was for sure. She smelled him again. Suddenly, without thinking she plunged her little nose into the hair and inhaled, rubbing her face back and forward. How could anything smell so good? There was a creaking noise behind her. Her heart threatened to smash its way free of her ribcage and bounce away on its own. With a swallow she looked down, behind her, to see what was causing the creeping creaking. His trousers were bulging. She blinked. Oh. Oh!! His leather breeches were creaking ominously as his… other tail… expanded. The faery's eyes widened - and the pupils were now so large that her eyes would have appeared black to anyone who happened to be looking - as she considered the dynamics of a big person’s “other tail”. She was suddenly desperate to see it. And why had it become a trouser-creaker anyway? She gently, experimentally, stroked the trail of man-fur to see if it was that which had attracted its attention. It might have been, she couldn’t tell, but one thing was for sure, the laces on the leather pants were on the verge of busting. Probably. She should really undo them, as a favour to the beast. It was surely the kind thing to do. She didn’t want him to have to buy new trousers, when such an expense could so easily be avoided with a little breathing room. At least that’s what she told herself as she undid the stiff laces. She was nearly catapulted across the clearing when the creature’s tremendous penis sprang out, no longer confined by the strictly tied cage of the pants. Trea climbed back up from the forest floor where she'd tumbled from both momentum and shock, and sat on the beasts leg, gaping at the thing before her. Like the rest of the person it was attached to, it was both ugly and handsome. It was much taller than her, and far thicker. Veins stood out unashamedly, and the head bulged like a giant Aeiu mushroom. She loved Aeiu mushrooms. It also reminded her of the ancient tree at the side of the grove. Solid. Sturdy. Gnarled. She touched the shaft. Warm like the tail, but smooth. Entranced, she moved closer and gave it a stroke, and a push. It was, nnnngggg, heavy, she tried unsuccessfully to reposition it. It reacted to her touch and her face lit up, both figuratively and literally. She wriggled her body closer still and didn't fight the urge to wrap herself around this new-found delight. The veins were placed most fortuitously, she found, as they were in exactly the right spots for rubbing all the parts of herself against him that she was compelled to. She kissed the soft-over-solid skin beneath her embrace, then, still fascinated, turned and used her wings against it like she had the tail. The gargantuan member swelled even more, which she hadn’t thought possible. Trea's lusty haze was not complete. Something inside was pulling at her mind, trying to remind her of something, but she kept pushing it away - how dare a rude thought interrupt this most wonderful of moments! It persisted though and eventually she gave in and allowed herself to distantly register the problem. Oh. Oh dear. What her mind had been trying to tell her, was that she hadn’t heard a snore for a while. Oh no. Her own veins re-iced, magma to glacier in a moment, and she lifted her head slowly, terrified, to see that the beast was leering horribly down at her, one red eye glowing, the other, sightless, eye somehow seeming to bore into her soul. “Don’t... stop.” The voice reminded Trea of a heavy temple door grating against stone and she trembled, this time from dread. To be continued…
The Curious Faery ~ A faerytale for adults ~ Part 1: Humans and other Bigfolk Humans were sexy, Trea had always thought so. They were so big, and funny-looking, and she found them attractive in a sort of blandly exotic way. The tiny faerie’s brow wrinkled a moment as she mused on that, blandly exotic. Hm. The mixture of dull and alien might seem like a contradiction, she considered, but in fact it was their no-frills, no-nonsense straightforward nature which made them so, um… otherly, so oddly fascinating. She whipped a hand to her mouth, glancing around quickly, suddenly worried that such thoughts were stereotyping the Big Folk, or perhaps even – perish the thought - speciesist. She swallowed with a guilty gulp, and was glad to find that no-one was around to guess at her thoughts. Oh, yes of course, the others were all underground in the Burrows still, gathered for the three day convention put on by the moles and rabbits. She hadn’t been in the mood. Not for that, at least. She felt a little better, comforting herself with the fact that of course she only meant these things about the Biggers as observation, and compliment. For a start, Humans didn’t tend to have wings or possess natural magic, this was just a fact! Not an insult. Phew. And anyway, she happened to like that about them. Relieved to find that she wasn’t a rampant speciesist, she allowed her thoughts to flow onwards, unrepressed, as if mirroring the river raging far below the branch which held the leaf she was perched upon. Yes, indeed, there were many things she found she liked about humans and other big folk. Her well-proportioned lips pursed as she mentally compared some of them. Unlike elves, humans were smelly. She nodded in unconscious self-agreement, recalling the odours she'd inhaled from the humans of a farmer's market she'd once visited during Summerquest. Yes, smelly. Not in a horrible, turn-your-stomach kind of way, but in an alluring “ohhh pleease let me stick my nose into your armpit” sort of way. A goofy grin spread over her lightly freckled face. Especially the male ones. Not that she’d ever had much chance to stick her nose in anyone’s armpit, let alone one that belonged to a Tall Person. Humph. The grin fell away and her little arms folded indignantly. The preferences among the faerfolk were simple. All their varied complexity evened things out to being something which was… not complex at all. A lover was a lover was a lover. And much love was made. Trea was sure her Faer kin with their curious tastes and healthy appetites adored male and female Bigguns, and any variety in between. Faer enough, yet she herself lusted over the sturdier stinkier ones: Men. Her cheeks coloured as those words, “lusted over,” drifted through her mind seeming to give off a mental golden shimmer, much like her own faery dust did in the physical realm. A micro moan of frustration and appreciation escaped her perfectly plump lips. She longed to discuss this with the others. Despite her intuition there was no way of truly telling how the other kin felt about humans and other bigfolk, because to talk of such things was forbidden. Taboo. And now she let out a great shuddering sigh at the thought. It escaped like the tiniest sea breeze tickling coolness into a spring day. The leaf next door shuddered. Unfortunately the little gust of air, and the little vocalisation which accompanied it, happened to startle a passing spider who'd been minding her own business, enjoying a pleasant eight-legged stroll among the treetops. The shocked arachnid fell from the leaf, landing on the head of a somewhat unimpressed sloth, three branches below. Trea didn’t notice the spider, the sloth, or the leaf; Her thoughts were thirsting and thrusting far too deeply human-ward. Really! It simply wasn’t fair! Lovemaking of many sorts was encouraged among the faerkin, celebrated, a thing of joy! But mention the fact you might find a human somewhat pleasingly muscled, or that the tall willowy elf merchant who came to the village last week had a curious bulge to the front of his breeches, and you’d be sent before the Faer Council before you could beat your wings three times. She shook her head and - wings on the brain - grumpily repositioned hers. It was silly, they were all the same shape, weren’t they? People. They all (for the most part) had two arms and two legs and hands. They all had mouths to kiss with, noses, and long pointy ears, didn’t they? Just because they were different sizes didn’t mean that they shouldn-- She dammed the thought-flow, as she suddenly remembered that most pure-bred humans didn’t have pointy ears. Her mood lightened a little and she giggled at the thought of the round-topped blunt things that most humans had. It made them sort of special though – rounded ears indeed! She believed she would quite like to nibble on one. See? This was exactly the kind of thing she meant by blandly exotic - round-topped stump-ears. Stupid village elders! She grimaced as she thought about Peeble Pipsquin, the mayor. As if being four hundred and fifty nine meant that you could tell people who to make love to. How eye-rollingly dull. She sulked, her large eyes and high cheekbones, and those full lips, forming a rare serious expression. The solemn look made her appear quite adorable and would have been a treat to behold for anyone strolling or flying by the Upper Branches. Sadly only a hummingbird was there to see it and he always loved her anyway, pouty or not. He had just flown up, beating his pretty wings so fast they were a blur. He tilted his head, wanting a treat, or rub behind the head. “Ohh not now Frankie” muttered Trea, but the bird – his belly and head glistening with greens and rainbow-tinted purples - landed on the leaf on which she sat, then pulled his wings in and lie down next to her, cheekily nudging at her, not giving her a choice. She laughed softly and snuggled against him, closing her tiny fists gently around his long black beak and, after a few minutes’ further fretting, falling into a restful sleep. Thunder cracked them back to the waking world. “Oh dear Frankie,” Trea said thickly, through a yawn, “it has become a little loud, and a little damp up here for my liking.” Frankie squeaked his agreement and held out a wing for her to mount him. Together they darted to the forest floor below, and swiftly whisked into the entrance beneath the tree where the roots caused a natural, and happily faery-sized, cave. “Thank you, good boy!” She dug out a phial of nectar to give him a reward. “Would you like some-- Oh.” The bird had spotted a few gnats zipping by outside and gone off after them. Trea rolled her eyes again, “hummingbirds these days” she muttered, and wiggled her hips into the soft loose dirt, starting to make herself cosy in this much drier part of the tree. “Mmm that’s better”. Before sleep could welcome her back there was a loud crack outside. It was not the crack of thunder, but a foreign noise in this part of the forest - the crack of a thick twig being broken. Inside her faery-cave at the base of the tree, Trea sat up with a start. ~ To be continued… ~ “This is NOT what I thought you meant by weapons practice…”
Gimli grunted as the grip on his Mighty Axe increased. “Shhh” came the gentle scolding. “I’m just saying,” the bearded one managed to grump (somewhat hoarsley if truth be told) “… that nobody tosses a—“ His voice choked off and his eyes rolled in pleasure “… Dwahahaaarf” he finished. For a moment there was nothing but a lazy rustling of formerly pristine bedsheets and the forlorn call of a wild bird echoing around Rivendell. Gimli let out a shuddering sigh. “Oh, I quite disagree” smiled Legolas, with the kind of serene smugness that only elves are capable of projecting. “You’re lucky you’re so fair” Gimli told him, admiring his companion's almost unnaturally even features which seemed to glow, through his post-ejectory haze. “Or I might have to teach you a lesson or two.” “Yes” Legolas unceremoniously dropped the ‘weapon’ he’d been weilding and stretched. “that’s what you always say, and yet I do believe you’ve yet to teach me anything.” Gimli began to half-heartedly re-dress himself. “Anything at all in fact” the blond elf added with infuriating calm. He was perched on the edge of the bed and made to stand, but Gimli was suddenly behind him. “Is that so?” Before Leggers knew it, the dwarf had brushed his hair to one side and placed lips 'pon neck. “I think--” Legolas’s voice quavered and Gimli smiled to himself, and into the elf’s fragrant skin. “Mmm? Come now *kiss* princeling *kiss* you were accusing me?” “Well perhaps just one or two things” Legolas conceded, voice and legs tremulous at the sturdy one's soft kisses which always took him by surprise. “That’s what I thought” said Gimli with a touch of smugness now himself. “Now get those britches down laddy, it’s time for your next lesson.” --- “You know” commented Legolas whilst his smooth buttocks were revealed by Gimli’s tuggings, “for someone so gruff and hairy you really are a tender lover. More tender even than Eahrian the Gentle.” Gimli was unbuckling his belt again, ready for stage two of the ‘training session’. His face screwed up, unimpressed. “Oh shut up and bend over,” he gestured irritably, pointing out the height disparity “I’m not a giant you know.” Legolas obediently dropped to his hands and knees with an amused smirk. “Well, not *everywhere*.” Much elven fondling and dwarven grappling came to pass, but before long, these pleasant activities were disturbed by the shrill shriek of a hobbit. The two lovers looked over just in time to see Pippin keeling over backwards in a dead faint. “What’s the matter?” Gimli gruffed. “Never seen two friends compete at love-making before?” "Fool of a Took" murmured Legolas, echoing Gandalf's occasional sentiment. “I daresay he hasn’t.” The unexpected voice was firm, strong, regal, the accent not quite pure, a peculiar but not unpleasant twang giving away many years of travel. Aragorn was leaning in the doorway with his arms folded and a knowing smile on his face. “By the-- How long have you been there?” A somewhat surprised Legolas enquired, with all the dignity he could muster upon his hands and knees with a hairy dwarf sticking into him. “Quite long enough I assure you.” Legolas blinked. Gimli thrust. Aragorn smirked. “Are you horny?” “Uh..?” “Not nearly horny enough!” “I'm sorry. (Uhh! Harder Gimli.) Sorry what are you saying?” Aragorn smiled warmly “I am simply suggesting that I take this little one to Gandalf,” he waved an unconcerned hand towards Pippin, “then return for us all to spar.” “An interesting proposition.” Legolas craned round to look at Gimli to see what he made of all this. The regularity of his lovemaking thusfar indicating that he wasn't at all perturbed. His training partner shrugged as if to say why not? “Then it is settled!” Aragorn swiftly scooped Pip into his arms and disappeared, his long strides bearing them wizard-ward. “I wonder if he’s any good.” “Only one way to find out” *thrust* --- Return of the King. Some time later: Aragorn lie between an exhausted Gimli and an astonished Legolas. Over the last three hours, after dropping poor Pip off with Gandy (who'd had to revive the flustered halfling with some very strong tea), Strider had shown the boys who really was lord of the rings. Gimli murmured something in his sleep, something about gold. Or was it something about being tied up? It was hard to tell, his beard was in the way. 'Longshanks?' Mused Legolas, more like Longshaft. The sweet Rivendell air drifted through the open window. Little did they know it, but tomorrow there would be much to discuss, for Elrond had been taking an early evening stroll around the 'dell and been quite taken aback to find Gimli, Legolas, and the Dúnadan engaged in carnal activity... When Galadriel informed us she beheld startling images in her mirror, I didn't expect this! ... But for now, they slept. |
Imagining hilarious, beautiful
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