“And
don’t forget to stop by Mr Themsen and thank them for the oranges! Perhaps his
son will notice you on the visit.”
Summoning
as neutral of a voice as possible, free from the annoyed, petulant sting
coloring her mood, Clara called back, “Yes, Mother, I know.” Clara stepped down
from their cottage with the wicker basket in hand, opened the fence and closed
it after her. Correcting her mother on how Clara had already thanked Mr Themsen
numerous times, how his son’s interest was a long-lost option as he’d showed
interest in another girl, it didn’t matter. At eighty-eight with her feeble
mind, it was a wonder Clara’s mother even remembered her daughter’s name.
Their
cottage was at the corner of the village of Resten, leaving Clara with a short
walk until she neared the trees of the woods. The sun was heading for the
horizon now in late afternoon, the summer comfortable and making the simple
yellow day gown and slippers more than enough.
Past
the corner of the last house, two of Resten’s infamous troublemakers loitered,
and Clara sighed. They saw her, energizing their listless mood as they dashed
out of the corner.
“Yo,
Clara, where you headed?” Ben, the shorter of the two, said.
“Off
with the other cows to graze?” Troy mooed like a cow, bouncing his cheeks about
in an animated imitation of cattle stuffing its mouth with grass.
“And
have those big tits milked?” Ben stooped forward and Troy half-squatted beside
him, putting his hands under his abdomen and alternating between them with a
squeeze down, as if milking a cow. Ben, the pretend cow in this mockery, mooed
in satisfaction, and they did all this while stumbling after Clara to keep her
pace.
Clara
forced out a chuckle. “I don’t think I was ever this annoying when I was sixteen.”
“And
I won’t be that ugly when I’m twenty,” was Ben’s retort, to which Troy laughed.
“And I’ll be married too. Who turned you down today?”
“No
one.” Clara didn’t even know why she bothered answering, she’d done well enough
continuing down the path without turning her head back on them once.
“No
one left,” Ben said, him and Troy exchanging snickers with every line. “I don’t
think anyone wants a big cow for a wife. Maybe try the hermits over in the
Valleys.”
Clara
stopped and turned. “Listen, you two devils, I’m not in the mood to chase you
down or hear another word out of your mouths. Get back home or I’ll tell your
mothers.”
That
put a visible blow to their insistent sprightliness. “Come on, don’t be like
that.”
Clara
shooed them away with a hand. “Back home.” She turned and went on. Fortunately,
so did they.
Even
if their insults were dished out generously and meant the least, they were
somewhat rooted in reality. Clara couldn’t pretend she didn’t care. She had a
large stature, with an enormous bosom, supplying them with the comparisons to a
cow. Her blond hair reached the lower back, and not only was she tall and
large, her face was rather homely, leaving the local men wondering why they
would ever marry her. ‘At least she’s kind and helpful’ or any other variation
parents would give their sons was further insult. Any good quality of Clara was
always presented with an ‘at least’.
The
ridgelines grew ahead of her. Beyond them one would find the Valleys, together
with Resten making a remote corner of the country. A stream tumbled down the small
mountain and pooled at the base of the foothill at a pond, and at the
waterfront Clara set down her wicker basket. She broke the cattails and flung
them into the basket, a few ducks near the edge startled and swimming into the
pond.
When
it was filled up, Clara took it with her upstream, the large elms providing an
ample canopy. Further up, around a plateau amidst the foothills, was another
little pond where the water pooled. The mountain spat out the stream in the
form of a medium-sized waterfall. There Clara picked out a satchel with a
thread around it, wearing it over her neck and filling it with the cranberries
growing there. There was an entrance into the massive hills and mountains under
the waterfall, leading into an expansive network of tunnels made forbidden for
entry by Resten’s elder. Those tunnels had seen many twisted ankles and broken
forearms, its playland-like network along the damp, slippery stones inviting
children to come in, play, and stumble.
There
was no shortage of wildlife, and at first Clara believed the figure flitting
across the pond was a dragonfly or the like. Though its course was unmistakably
towards Clara, closer and closer, and as Clara put her full attention to it,
she rubbed her eyes to double-check. It came closer, removing all doubts.
It
was a tiny lady the length of Clara’s palm, from wrist to fingertip.
Overwhelmed, Clara stared at the figure hovering before her. She wore nothing,
but naked didn’t feel like the fitting word either, for there were little
details to bare. There was no womanhood, no nipples, her pale skin resembling
the unembellished surface of a mannequin.
“Hey
there,” Clara said, the way one speaks to a child, despite the face of the
creature resembling a young lady, her hair and eyes the color of snow. “Are you
a fairy?”
She
didn’t say anything, hands clasped behind her back timidly.
“Can
you speak?”
Nothing.
But one could not say she was inactive or clueless, for the fairy-like creature
floated forward and grabbed Clara’s right breast. She had to stretch her arms
out to encompass its whole enormity, essentially hugging it. The fairy not only
cuddled against Clara’s breast, she started kissing it, accurately locating the
nipple through the gown.
“Wh—
What are you doing?” Clara’s hand instinctively snapped up, about to snatch the
fairy with her fingers and pull her away. But there was a moment’s hesitation,
and the fairy stared up at her with a clueless look, before planting more
kisses.
Clara
blushed. “Geez.” There was no danger in sight. The fairy was utterly harmless,
no larger than Clara’s hand, and the instinct Clara had to inform her of this
indecency, of how this wasn’t the way to greet strangers, it didn’t manifest
into an action. The fairy seemed incapable of speech, Clara never having heard
of it, a thing born out of nowhere.
Nothing
happened when she didn’t scold or correct this fairy. Nothing. In fact, Clara
saw what was better than nothing, the pleasant, titillating sparks spreading
within her, starting from her chest.
Clara
watched the path from whence she’d come. There was no one around, not even
further down towards the lower pond. And just as there had been better than
nothing, Clara saw what might be better than this. She traced her index finger
over the fairy’s back soothingly, accustoming her to the touch, then closed her
fingers around her torso. As Clara pulled her away, the fairy’s arms stretched
after the teat longingly. Clara pointed her down towards her neckline and
tugged at the collar of her gown, revealing her naked breast. The fairy’s eyes
were fixed to them.
“I—
I’m not forcing you or anything,” Clara said, stammering. “Do you want it?”
Not
merely without words, the fairy didn’t even acknowledge Clara’s words, not
turning to her when spoken. All she did was stretch her arms forward, reaching
for Clara’s breast.
Clara
released her. The fairy didn’t fall, a reminder she could fly. But she did
nothing gravity otherwise wouldn’t have, using her freedom to dive under
Clara’s gown and continue where she’d left, this time with no cloth between
them. The kisses she planted on Clara’s nipple were little picks of love, the
stroke of her tongue now added.
“Ah.”
The moan pressed out of Clara, beyond her control, the titillations sharper
this time. The potential for these feelings had always been there, but in her
ugly life, there’d been no one to explore it with, and this fairy was waking
something in her, touching her with love she had plenty of room to receive.
“God. You just happened to be floating around here, huh?” Clara stroked her
again, through the fabric, petting her. “You don’t have anything to say or
think?”
No
response, nothing but continual worship. Clara shifted her over to the other
breast, and the transition was seamless as the fairy simply kept going there.
Clara
saw the little entrance under the waterfall, making her way there. There were
lewd ideas in her mind, guilt and shame following the mere thought of them. But
under the guise of reliable privacy, they could surface.
What
Clara imagined in the lewdest, most embarrassing corner of her mind, the fairy
shamelessly went there. She abandoned Clara’s nipples, scurried down her
abdomen, and slipped in under her panties. She squirmed against her womanhood,
kissing.
Clara
shrieked aloud, immediately putting her hand over her mouth. “What a, naughty,
naughty little thing.” Clara giggled, hurrying towards the tunnel, knees
buckling, doubling over, supporting herself against a tree or boulder. It
looked as if she were sick, ailing, rushing for the doctor, her body zapped
with pleasure as the fairy was relentless on her pussy.
A
short walkway over the pond threaded in under the waterfall and to the open
doorway. Clara entered, and there one could hear the rush of water bouncing off
the stony bowels of the mountain. It proceeded down in a network of tunnels as
if made by giant rabbits capable of digging through stone. The water split
through many avenues.
Clara
didn’t complicate it. She kicked off her slippers and lay down on a mattress of
moss and the tiny growth it supported. The heat in her lower abdomen was
feverish, the sensations arising from her pussy making her twitch and jolt
about. Controlling that, she raised her ass to pull the gown up over her, then
lowered her panties, seeing the fairy in action. She’d inserted her lower body
and was furiously making out with Clara’s clit. Rushing to tend to her breast,
to her pussy, the fairy was a machine, like the waterwheel with its rotations
over the river, she had no function but to worship.
Clara
held onto a rock to her side, fingers clawing over its rounded top, her squeals
echoing hollowly down the tunnels. Clara realized there wasn’t much she could
do to cross the line; the fairy had broken any barrier of shame. “It’s my
goddamn turn!” Clara grabbed the fairy, holding her lower body, and plunged her
inside. Index and thumb locked around the ankles, Clara pumped the thing in and
out of her pussy rapidly, creating a fast, slimy rhythm that would make a
listener think one was sliding their fingers over the slick body of a fish.
With her other hand, she rubbed her clit, and everything in the world was gone.
To be quiet for the fear of no one hearing, the fear of not having explored the
origins of this fairy to be assured this affair wouldn’t lead to any
consequences, nothing mattered but the amassing thrill, the blossoming heat and
paralyzing pleasure. Clara screamed out loud, easily outcompeting the flush of
the continuous rivulets coursing through the tunnels. Her liquids blasted out,
an untapped source which her accursed homeliness had not appealed any boy to
come and explore. Legs spread wide and up in the air, the climax of Clara’s
screams plateaued to a steady howl. Despite how well the flora of the cave
would fare without it, now they received an additional source of liquid, as
Clara slammed the fairy through her pussy and squirted one stream after the
other, drizzling on the leaves of a fern.
It
was ecstasy, it was everything right in the world. It was, without a doubt, the
best time of Clara’s life.
She
didn’t know how long she’d been out after waking up, her body comatose. The
first thing which arrived to her was the rock she’d had her hand on. Except
now, her arm wasn’t bent by the elbow like before, it was decently outstretched
to reach it. Nor were her fingers clawing over its rounded top, previously able
to feel its roundness like a ball. Instead, her fingers were extended, yet she
didn’t feel any curves. Had the rock gotten larger?