The Tale of Jarmara the Wicked Sex Poppet


Listen closely children whilst I tell you the tale of Jarmara the wicked Sex Poppet. For someday you will be grown and when you are quite Old Enough to Know Better, you may find yourself possessed of a poppet like Jarmara (tho never quite so wicked I hope!). And then you may remember this tale and know what to do.

Where did Jarmara come from? There was no tag on his side seam to tell country of origin. In fact Jarmara was quite cleverly made and had no apparent side seam at all. There are some who say he was an evol demon conjured by an impetuous blond sorceress who was at least as wicked as he, and subsequently trapped inside a frail body fashioned from rosin and ashes. There are others who say he was quite an ordinary rag doll inadvertently given to a brilliant but autistic witch child named Poppy who called him Ragbag and dragged him by one wrist into the fantasy world she inhabited; a world so violently lovely it infused him with unholy life. Perhaps the origins of Jarmara are best left to moulder in the haze of mythology.

Since his origins are unclear, we cannot say for sure when his tale begins, where it ends, or if it is over even now. But if we are to tell this in something like a linear fashion we must begin somewhere, and so we will begin with this:

There was once a lovely faerie named Maerwyn ni Homolka. Like most faeries she did not interact with what we know as The World well, but went her own path, stopping to pick up sparklies and weep over crushed flowers, usually wearing as little clothing as possible considering the weather. One evening Maerwyn left her domed cottage by the lake and wound her way down to the water's edge. Looking surreptitiously about, she threw three bright copper pennies into the water and proceeded to whisper a plea to Yemanja. We do not know what this plea was, but we may make our guesses considering the outcome.

The moon was full and bright that night, and Maerwyn could not resist Her beckoning. Finding a niche in some rocks near the water, she began a quiet ritual that culminated in the offering of her own moonblood, marked upon the rock to fix the rite. Once it was fully dark and she was satisfied that no mere humans were about, she emerged from her niche and went off to dance in the woods.

Shortly after this, Maerwyn's acquaintances began to notice she wasn't frequenting her usual haunts. When asked what she was up to, she would smile a slightly crooked small smile and claim she was very busy binding a spell. This was in the fall of the year, and Maerwyn's acquaintances were quite busy themselves preparing for the Feast of the Harvested Souls held at the end of Octembre, so they paid her little mind. It was during this time that she was first seen with Jarmara but no one could ever agree on a date or be certain it was Jarmara at all, for he was a shape-shifting poppet who at times wore different faces for obscure reasons of his own. Maerwyn herself later claimed to have found him, being dragged by one wrist and then left in a corner by an immoral diabolic hag; but Maerwyn, being a faerie, could not always be relied upon to remember such things with any accuracy. The Feast of the Harvested Souls came and went, and Maerwyn finished binding her spell. Soon Maerwyn began showing up again, though at the most unpredictable times and ways, often with Jarmara on her arm. The inhabitants of the small town of Union Penny, on the edge of the Wylde Wood that Maerwyn called home, became used to the poppet and soon accepted him as one of their own.

Jarmara was in the habit of using his afternoons - for it was afternoon by the time he and Maerwyn tumbled out of whatever fur-lined nest they had been rutting in the night before - to go off to darker corners of the forest to meditate. At least that is what he told Maerwyn, peering out at her as he did from beneath his smoky brows to see if she believed it, and of course, being only a faerie, she did.

One afternoon following Jarmara's departure, Maerwyn began rummaging through her store of herbs and simples in search of a special root she intended to use for purposes of her own. To her dismay, her last bit of root had been so gnawed by burrowing velvet moles as to become unusable. Sighing, she wrapped a length of filmy fabric around her and set off for Union Penny to see if the crone at the corner herbalist had any more in stock.

Maerwyn was in luck; a fresh shipment had arrived from Byzantium a few days previously. Humming happily to herself, the faerie set off down the road that led back to her beloved woods. Suddenly, her reverie was broken by a familiar voice. Softly turning a corner, Maerwyn found herself beneath the open window of one of Union Penny's less reputable drinking establishments, the Rose and Crown. With a fluid motion, she cast a shadow glamour over herself before standing on tiptoe to peer in the window. And there at a booth in the corner sat Jarmara! It was his voice she had heard. On either side of him was a young and silly sylph, each quite tipsy and in obvious awe of the boastful poppet. So this was the style of meditation he preferred, was it? Setting her pretty mouth in a firm line, Maerwyn slipped silently back to the herbalist, her head full of plans.

Jarmara returned around dusk, feeling quite emboldened by having enraptured two sylphs that day, as well as the extra serving of hobnoberry wine he had celebrated with. He was convinced his tale-telling abilities were second to none, and foresaw no trouble persuading Maerwyn as to his day's activities. He strode boldly into the low, round barrow she most often called home and greeted her with a saucy kiss. The faerie returned it as if nothing was amiss. "So how went your meditations today, my love?" she inquired innocently.

Warming to his subject, Jarmara launched into an elaborate account of his supposed reflections. He was so busy inventing little details that he failed to notice Maerwyn pacing around him in a deliberate counter-clockwise fashion, trailing bits of faerie dust from her rosy fingertips. She timed it so that her circle was completed as his tale reached its high point, closing it so that she was on the outside, facing him.

"There's just one bit you forgot to mention, dear," she said when he finally stopped for breath; "the sylphs." And with that she blew a handful of a curiously scented herb over the startled poppet and clapped her hands three times. From Jarmara's point of view, everything in the room suddenly mushroomed to more than ten times its normal size. This transformation so overwhelmed him he was knocked to the ground and lay trembling with fear.

A huge object suddenly descended towards him from the sky, and he struggled to get to his feet and out of the way. He was horrified to discover he could move neither arms nor legs; but that was nothing to the terror he felt on realizing the gigantic object was a very familiar-looking right hand! He was scooped out of the circle, carried some forty feet into the air, and transferred unceremoniously into the waiting, upturned left palm.

He found himself sprawled on his back, looking up into the face of a giantess. Yet this was his faerie beloved, Maerwyn! Waves of misgiving and confusion washed through him. He now thoroughly regretted that last flagon of wine; the circumstances alone were enough to make his head spin. His whole body reverberated as she parted her two-foot wide lips and spoke to him:

"You have been a most wicked poppet indeed, little Jarmara. My business took me to see the crone herbalist in Union Penny today.. imagine my surprise when I heard your voice drifting out the open window of the Rose and Crown! That was most arrogant of you," she shook her head sadly, which set up a strong gust of wind that blew across his trembling belly, "two sylphs. I'm afraid I shall have to teach you a lesson. Lucky for me the crone had in a fresh supply of some of her rarer herbs, hm?"

"You needn't bother struggling," she continued. "You see, not only have I shrunk you to one twelfth your former size, I have turned you into an actual poppet as well. Your arms and legs are stuffed with ladystraw now; quite useless I assure you." She grasped his left leg between her right thumb and forefinger and waggled it back and forth to prove the point. "Though for the punishment I have in mind, I left certain parts of you as they were," she giggled devilishly.

"There are a few more items I need from the forest though. It's obvious I can't trust you alone, so I shall just have to take you with me," she finished. With that, the enormous faerie laid the helpless Jarmara in her lap. She had removed the sheer sarong she wore into town upon returning home, so he found himself pillowed between bare white fifteen-foot long thighs. She had dumped him off her palm rather carelessly, so that one arm was thrown above his head, and his left leg folded back across his chest. Despite some discomfort, he found he was glad of the privacy the position afforded. For despite having shared Maerwyn's bed on a nightly basis, Jarmara was now embarrassed to find himself aroused by the sight of her immense breasts hanging over him like pale twin moons.

Maerwyn took up a length of silken floss from a basket on the floor. Grasping Jarmara by the hips, she lifted his bottom up and slid one end of the floss underneath him. She smiled as she unfolded his leg, catching sight of his tiny secret. Setting him back down, she tied the string around his waist. Lifting the other end - and the helpless poppet with it - she looped it around the garland of flowers she wore around her neck. This left Jarmara dangling like a pendant between her breasts, which were more than twice his height. Since he no longer had the ability to hold himself upright, he was bent double, his arms hanging loosely above his upside-down head.

"Well, I can't say you'll be comfortable, but at least now I'll know where you are," the faerie smirked. With that she strapped her knife around her waist, took a candle lantern in one hand and set out into the twilight woods. Maerwyn's breasts were large, round, and widely spaced. Jarmara had always enjoyed how they jounced when she walked, before. But now he was nearly crushed by their jiggling. They knocked against his fragile stuffed body, leaving him beaten and dazed. In addition, the sight of the ground rushing by some thirty-five feet below gave him such vertigo he kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut during the entire trip.

It was only when the rollicking ride had come to an end, and the warmth of Maerwyn's cabin permeated his frail, limp body that Jarmara dared open his eyes. The enormous faerie was reclining on her favorite moss-covered hassock, her new plaything lax against her chest. Jarmara found he was almost able to drift off, riding the slow rise and fall of her breathing. After what she had just put him through, he was grateful for the momentary respite.

Jarmara's rest was interrupted by the voice of the monumental faerie. From where he lay curled on her, it was as if the earth itself was speaking to him. Her dulcet tones reverberated through his tiny frame, rattling amongst his stuffing.

"Now that I've had a chance to catch my breath, I think it's time we got on with the evening's activities, don't you dear?" she cooed. "I've so much planned for you!" Jarmara trembled to think. He already regretted having ever visited the Rose and Crown.

Maerwyn sat up then, catching the little doll as he swung away from her chest. She unwound the floss from her garland of flowers, then untied the end that held Jarmara about the waist.

"I'm afraid I can't trust you with your freedom though, my pet," she sighed. Her warm breath blew across him like the advent of a summer thunderstorm. "Even though you have no bones, I know what a clever little demon you can be." As she spoke, the faerie was arranging the helpless poppet across her left palm again. She pillowed his head against the base of her yard-long middle finger. Raising his tiny arms above him, she bound his wrists with a piece of the floss, wrapping the other end round her lovely digit.

She lifted his legs up next. If he still had knees, they would have been pressed to his chest. She secured another bit of silk to one ankle. This she then threaded between her ring and little fingers, bringing the other end out betwixt index and middle. His right ankle was then bound in the same fashion to the other end. The poor poppet was now lashed to her hand, open to whatever indignities she might care to visit upon him.

"Mm, I rather enjoy seeing you like that, my sweet," she purred. "Just right for what I have in mind. I'm not exactly sure," she continued, "how your transformation has affected your nervous system. So to be sure you are fully able to feel, I think I shall have to apply a bit of this."

Jarmara recognized the pottery vessel she brought out as containing an unguent the two of them had enjoyed on previous occasions. She dipped the tip of her right pinkie into the jar, then proceeded to rub the ointment onto Jarmara in the most sensitive places. She tried to be gentle, but from his viewpoint it felt as if he was being trounced with an enormous sausage. The ointment had the effect of instantly bringing a warm tingle wherever it was applied, and Jarmara found himself reacting to it exactly as he had when he and Maerwyn used it together.

"Yes, I thought as much," murmured the wicked faerie, gazing at him intently. She proceeded to caress herself with more of the preparation, with her eyes fixed on Jarmara all the while.

"They say that turnabout is fair play, pet," said Maerwyn, her voice throaty. "So I think it's about time I did to you what you've been doing to me. Only first," she paused "I believe I'll restore your voice. Only because I want to hear you moan, understand?" she said sharply. "Any words out of you and I'll have to resort to stricter measures." The miniature doll could not nod in assent. He pleaded mutely with his eyes, hoping the giantess would understand he agreed. Taking up a bit of broomstraw, she pried open his jaws and brushed away a bit of the magical herb that had become lodged there. Jarmara gasped and coughed a little; he had not realized the powder had taken his breath as well as his voice.

Maerwyn eyed him with a sinful glint in her eye. "Let's see if you can take as well as give, shall we little man?" She picked up a night-blooming white adijah flower from beside her on the hassock; this had been the object of her earlier excursion. The stem of this flower was, to Maerwyn, barely thicker than a hair. However, it was tough and fleshy, and the end of the stem oozed a thick milky sap where it had been plucked.

She dipped this end into the ointment jar, covering it with the slick, oily substance. Jarmara watched her actions with a mixture of apprehension and hidden desire. Her intent seemed clear enough, yet he could not quite believe she intended to use him so cruelly. However, as her right hand lowered over him, the flower grasped firmly between her thumb and index finger, it was apparent the little doll had no choice but to submit to the wicked faerie's perverse desires.

On the way though, another idea seized Maerwyn. "As I recall, this ointment has a pleasant cinniander nut flavor," she purred. "Open wide now - I want to see you lick every bit off the stem." With that, she pressed the flower's jade stalk against the poppet's small quivering mouth. Jarmara obediently began to suck the stem. He wondered if Maerwyn knew that adijah sap was both narcotic and mildly hallucinogenic. Few bothered with it since so many of the rare blossoms were required to produce an effect that it was hardly worth the trouble. Yet at his present size, the fluid from one single adijah stem was the equivalent of the juice from a thousand blooms. Still, he sucked and licked on the stalk as if his very life depended on it - for to the best of his knowledge, it did. As he swallowed, he felt the slow, ordered derangement of all his senses begin.

Presently, Maerwyn grew tired of this game and returned to her original idea. Since Jarmara had polished the end of the cane so well with his tiny tongue, she was obliged to dip it into the unguent once again - though she wished to teach the wicked poppet a lesson he would never forget, she had no desire to mutilate him.

True to her promise, Maerwyn had left some parts of his anatomy untransformed. His diminutive penis was achingly erect, had been ever since the immense faerie had caressed him with the ointment. This time, she stroked the stem gently over his genitalia before pressing it against his small tight anus.

Jarmara cried out as the stalk slid inside. The sensation was at once painful and intensely pleasurable. Maerwyn used the flower lovingly on her miniature captive, being careful not to penetrate him too deeply, yet thrusting it in over and over again. This, combined with the adijah juice's effects, soon drove Jarmara to the peak of frenzy. He cried out again as he lost control, climaxing all over himself.

"Oh dear, look what's happened," tittered Maerwyn. "I guess now I'll have to clean you up," she continued, lowering her head over the little prisoner on her outstretched hand. Extending her huge pink tongue, the enormous faerie ran the tip over Jarmara's tiny groin and belly, lapping up the droplets of his creamy seed. The pressure of the large warm wet tongue was more than the poppet could resist; within moments he was aroused again.

"All this activity has made me pretty horny too, my pet," the faerie purred huskily. "You've had your fun; now it's time for mine. I won't be able to hear you moan though, and besides," she giggled, "you may not come up for air for awhile. So let's just put that bit of herb back for now, shall we?" With that she again parted his little mouth with the broomstraw, dropping the exotic ground leaf onto his tongue.

Between the dynamic orgasm he had just experienced and the effects of the sap he had ingested, Jarmara hardly noticed that his breath had stopped again. He was in an erotic haze, overwhelmed by the sensations engulfing his frail physique. Whatever further plans his gigantic captor had in mind would only prolong the delicious torture. Maerwyn rolled onto her back. Dipping her right hand into the ointment jar, she rubbed a generous handful on all her most sensitive spots. Leaving her right hand to knead her massive breasts, she lowered the other - with the lilliputian doll still tied helplessly to it - towards her massive, heaving mound. She began to pleasure herself. Jarmara was able to verify her level of arousement; her yard-long labia were drenched in womanly moisture. Maerwyn pressed her hand against her huge delicious pussy, sliding her middle finger inside the steamy opening. Jarmara's face was ground against the upper wall of her cunny. It was indeed good that he had had his breath stopped again, for her juices were flowing freely, smearing over his raised arms, his ragdoll face, even the little feet that were bound on either side of his head.

The pose he was folded into meant that his tiny erect cock was perfectly positioned to rub back and forth over the giantess' pulsating clitoris. It almost seemed to him that he could twitch his hips a little, thrusting himself against the throbbing pillow of flesh. This only added to her delirium. She pressed harder, wriggling her fingers ever faster as she neared the peak of her pleasure. He felt her moans and sighs more than heard them; they caused the massive cavern he was being slid in and out of to vibrate passionately.

Maerwyn was now on the verge of a violent orgasm. She bucked and shuddered, then tensed. The heel of her palm - and Jarmara's miniature genitals - ground against her delicate bud with incredible pressure, while the tip of her middle finger fluttered spasmodically deep inside her vagina, fiercely shaking the pint-sized toy as well. The walls of her gigantic pussy tightened, crushing the fragile poppet into her hand. The pressure continued to build; if Jarmara had been able to breathe, the air would have been forced from his lungs. Finally, Maerwyn broke through with a scream that would have deafened her minuscule plaything had he not been shrouded in acres of sensual pink flesh. An ocean of spicy thick cream washed over him as her waterway of love contracted rhythmically again and again. Her enormous clit was pulsing to the same sensual cadence. The throbbing motion against his little hard-on was more than Jarmara could stand; he climaxed again, spurting his own juices into the warm liquid that surrounded him. His entire body shuddered with the intensity of the erotic peak, leaving him sodden and limp against her palm.

After a long while, Maerwyn lazily withdrew her hand from where it was nestled between her softly rounded thighs. Her petite poppet seemed to be straining against his bonds, so she took pity on him. The silken bonds would be impossible to untie now, so she groped for her knife. Carefully inserting the point between his wrists, she slit up and away, letting his tired arms at last fall free. She severed the floss that held his ankles the same way; had he not been reduced to a mere stuffed toy Jarmara would have felt like one anyway, after having been held so tightly for so long. The huge faerie again poked out several feet of warm pink tongue and idly bathed her tiny captive. It seemed to her he responded slightly to her ministrations; stopping, she looked at him curiously.

"Little toy," she asked inquiringly, "are you moving by yourself?" His pathetic glance reminded her that his mouth was still stopped with her magic herb, so once again the broomstraw came into play. "It's alright, you can talk," she reassured him. "I've done with you - for now," she finished mischievously.

Jarmara was still abashed in the presence of the enormous faerie, but he gathered his courage to respond to her. "I - I think, my dear, that perhaps the quantities of adijah flower juice I swallowed may be counteracting the herb you gave me." He looked shyly up into her large beautiful face, peering down at him from four yards away. He fervently hoped this information would not anger the lovely giantess, who after all was still nearly twelve times his size.

"Is that so? ..Oh well," she sighed. "Even if that's true, the herbalist got in a very large shipment of what I need - I can always shrink you again. But it's late now," she continued, "and I'm very tired. I think it's time we got some sleep. I guess I'll just have to see how you behave from now on before I decide how to deal with you."

With an effort, Jarmara found he could bend his legs a little, enough to fall to his knees. "Please love," he begged, "I promise I'll be good from now on. You can keep me as your toy if you want; I don't mind." Jarmara blushed as he admitted this. He had not fully realized it was true until the words were out of his mouth. "Just - keep me close to you?"

A slow sly smile crept across Maerwyn's lips. "Well, I think we can arrange that." Grasping her little doll around his middle, she lifted him off her palm as she rolled onto her back. Opening her legs, she nestled him between her pussy lips. Though still quite wet, they were warm and soft. And her clit made a perfect pillow for his small tired head. "Sleep well, my pet," she said, lifting her own downy quilt from the floor near her hassock.

Jarmara sighed contentedly as the thick living blankets closed around him. Whatever size he was by morning, he knew he would never leave his faerie mistress again.