“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?