by Hondo Jinx
“But do not forget that Tilly still remains,” Philia said.
“Yeah, I know. But… not tonight.”
“I understand,” Philia said, sidling up to him with a sly grin, “but perhaps there is another way to reward Tilly tonight, husband; a way to thank her for saving your life and to tide her over until you are prepared to give her the full reward.”
He listened, thinking her proposal sounded insane, but left it at “We’ll see.”
Hours later, with the passed-out fur folk spread across the cabin like so many mittens, Braddock lay on his back near the hearth and stared up at the perfection of his wife, who rode him even more passionately than usual.
Philia rocked back and forth, moaning with pleasure, squeezing him in her tight warmth, eyelids fluttering nearly shut as she built rapidly toward climax.
Braddock wasn’t far behind her, he realized, pumping away with little thrusts that made the green globes of her gorgeous breasts wobble above him.
He reached up, latched onto her wings, and pulled her forward, wanting to taste the heavy fruit of her breasts, and caught a glimpse of Tilly masturbating feverishly on a beam overhead, watching them with glowing eyes.
Philia hadn’t told Tilly of the plan.
Braddock pulled his wife’s breasts to his face and wallowed in their magnificence while Philia squirmed and whined, frustrated that she was too far forward to impale herself on his manhood.
“I was so close, husband,” Philia moaned, her breath hot against his ear. “Fill me. Finish me. Please, Meadow Master.”
He hugged her tightly, crushing her firm body against him, and battered her with powerful thrusts, coming off the floor and making her cry out with each deep stroke until she clung to him tightly and yodeled through a convulsive orgasm that showered his loins with hot juices.
“Pump me full of your glorious seed, husband,” Philia snarled in his ear.
He pounded into her, burying himself to the hilt, and muffled his roar of climax against her perfect breasts as he fired jet after jet deep inside her.
Philia scrambled off him and spilled backward with one hand clamped over her sex then lolled against the wall with her legs spread. In the firelight, their commingled juices glistened on the smooth green canvas of her inner thighs. Her beautiful breasts rose and fell as she gasped for breath.
Overhead, a whimper drew Braddock’s attention.
Tilly stared down at him, mouth open as if in pain, her entire body rigid save for her little hand, which pumped feverishly between her legs, squishing frantically as she barreled toward orgasm.
“Oh no you don’t, little handmaiden,” Philia said, mock-crossly. “Cease that depraved masturbation this instant.”
“Yes, Meadow Mother,” Tilly moaned, sounding desperate and deeply disappointed as she pulled her glistening fingers from between her tiny thighs. “But Meadow Mother, can’t I please just—”
“Silence,” Philia hissed. “Do you wish to awaken our guests?” She gestured to the slumbering fur piles strewn about the small home.
Tilly bowed her head. “No, Meadow Mother. I apologize. I just wanted to—”
“Hush, child,” Philia said, moving her own hand back and forth, “before I change my mind.”
Tilly straightened, a note of hope in her quavering voice. “Yes, Maiden Mother? Is there something I may do for you?”
“Yes, there is.” Philia scooped her fingertips up her sex with a shudder then twisted her wrist to cup the juices that had run from her sweet loins. “Come down here this instant.”
Like a falling star, Tilly zipped to the floor trailing twinkling green dust. There she knelt before Philia with her slim torso stretched across her thighs and her forehead pressed to the stone floor. The hem of her skirt crept up, slipping over the juicy curves all the way to her waist, baring Tilly’s small yet shapely bottom, which pointed directly at Braddock.
“Yes, Meadow Mother? How may I serve you?”
Philia lifted her chin slightly, regarding the trembling little sprite through hooded lids. With one hand, she still cupped the juices. With the other, she reached down and peeled back the fleshy hood of her clitoris. “Clean me, handmaiden.”
A spasm went through the kneeling sprite. “Yes, Meadow Mother.”
She inched forward on all fours, her perfect little bottom twitching back and forth. Each time her legs shuffled, the glistening pinkness of her tiny, inflamed sex winked at Braddock.
Suddenly, he was hard as granite again.
Quivering with desire, Tilly gathered her golden hair in one hand and lowered her mouth to Philia’s inner thigh. The second her lips touched her Meadow Mother’s wet flesh, Tilly cried out and spilled forward between Philia’s legs, jerking with orgasm.
Braddock’s eyes flicked back and forth between her pretty face, which grimaced through an agony of ecstasy, and her shapely, shuddering rear end. She cupped her miniature sex with one hand and buried half the tiny middle finger in her tight slit as her own juices rained down.
“Now look what you’ve done, handmaiden. You’ve made a new mess. More for you to clean up. Now, stop diddling yourself and lick your Meadow Master’s seed from my flesh.”
Snatching a handful of sunshine-colored hair, Philia pulled Tilly’s face into her crotch and clamped it in place, moaning with pleasure as the tiny sprite went wild, devouring Braddock’s wife with a gluttony of lust.
“Thank you, Meadow Mother. Thank you, Meadow Master.” Panting, Tilly licked and sucked greedily between Philia’s legs. “I’ve never tasted anything half so glorious.”
The women filled the night with whimpers and gasps and wet slurping.
Philia convulsed with orgasm. A second later, Tilly cried out with release… but did not pause in her ministrations.
Philia extended her cupped palm and tilted it, slowly draining sparkling strands of mixed juices onto Tilly’s bare bottom, working her hand back and forth, basting the tiny woman’s green curves, which glistened in the low firelight, completely slathered in their fluids.
With the tip of her pinky finger, Philia poked and prodded, lubing Tilly’s holes.
Braddock throbbed with desire, knowing a simple spell would instantly resolve any size problems, allowing him to pound both women in any imaginable combination.
But he reckoned he would stick to the plan. This was not the time or place to bond with Tilly. Soon enough they would make that happen, and it would be right.
Besides, the two sprites didn’t seem to need any help at the moment. Whimpering, they shuddered through several mutual climaxes.
He was on the verge of abandoning his plans and joining them when the door burst open and an enraged Elizabeth stormed into the cabin.
Elizabeth looked like someone had dumped a bucket of water on her head. Her red locks were flattened to her head, and the striking curves of her incredible body were plainly visible beneath the soaking wet nightshirt.
“My roof!” she shrieked.
Braddock barely heard the words, mesmerized by the amazing breasts and hard nipples beneath the clinging veil of thin wet fabric.
“Those drunken flea bags burned a hole in my roof!”
25
Before first light, Braddock woke Philia and slipped from his bedroll. He had only slept a couple of hours, thanks to the late night, the commotion of the fur folk, and all the thoughts rushing through his mind.
Tilly murmured softly where she had been cuddled up beside Philia but didn’t awaken.
Elizabeth and the other half of Chundra’s people had invaded their cabin, which now smelled of spilled wine, wet fur, and smoke from the dwindling fire.
The infuriated redhead had been angrier still when she registered what she thought the sprites and Braddock had been up to. Though, regardless of Elizabeth’s show of disgust, she hadn’t turned away, and Braddock hadn’t missed the way her flaring blue eyes had studied his nakedness.
With the sprites’ help, he had crudely patched the hole in Elizabet
h’s roof with a cured hide and placed a chamber pot and various tin cups and bowls under the largest streams of water. But it was going to require a lot of clean up, and he didn’t know how well he could fix the roof under these conditions.
At least Doal remained above ground. Once the bargle hibernated, things like this would be tougher, especially considering the problem of the fur folk. They ate a lot, made sleeping difficult, and took up a lot of space.
Braddock had offered them sanctuary, though, so he would follow through with that promise, no matter how difficult.
First, he must hunt. Food was their most pressing need.
Moving quietly so as not to wake the others, he left the cabin with his pistols, spears, tomahawk, and Cleaver.
Philia accompanied him to lock the gate and promised to keep an ear out in case he returned in a hurry.
You never knew what you might run into in these woods.
The rain had stopped, and the temperature had plummeted, making the stone enclosure treacherous with ice.
Doal was waiting for them, squatting miserably in the meadow just outside the gate. A sheen of ice clung to the hunkered bargle, glowing pinkly in the rosy moonlight of the frigid predawn.
Doal groaned mournfully in his rockslide language.
“Goodbye for now, dearest Doal,” Philia wept, and zipped forward to kiss the icy cheek of the stony giant. “Sleep well, my beloved friend. We will be happy to see you in the spring.”
Doal’s mouth stretched into a huge grin. He touched the spot she’d kissed and gave a rumbling purr.
Striding out into the meadow, Braddock patted Doal’s massive toe. “Rest well, amigo. You’ve earned it. Thank you for your help.”
Doal turned his grin on Braddock and rumbled again.
“He says you are his friend.”
Braddock smiled and nodded and patted Doal’s foot again. “Yes, we are friends.”
Philia translated, and the giant nodded, looking both content and very sleepy. Then he gave one last wave and sunk into the ground.
Things would be more difficult now. But somehow, Braddock would wrangle this situation. They would manage. Frontier folk always find a way.
He kissed Philia goodbye, and she locked the gate behind him, and he trudged across the meadow, frozen grass crunching beneath his boots, which rapidly soaked through with the cold water puddling the plateau.
Along the eastern horizon, the palest hint of dawn crouched beyond the dark, rolling hills.
Reaching the tree line, he spooked a herd of large shadows. The largest of them rose to challenge him but did not follow when Braddock skirted off to the east, giving the cattle wide berth.
A grin split his face.
He had wondered if the beasts had fled the plateau after being surprised by Cascadia, but apparently, they had not, which meant they would likely winter in these woods, feeding on the rich grasses.
Making as little noise as possible, Braddock climbed into the low notch of a squat apple tree beside a game trail fifty yards from the eastern hillside.
No fruit remained on the limbs, but the ground was an aromatic mash of half-rotted apples that would serve to cover his scent and draw curious animals, especially those driven uphill from the canyon and less familiar with these feeding places.
For a time, Braddock enjoyed the gloom and soft patter of water dripping from trees onto the sodden carpet of fallen leaves.
Then, as dawn was breaking through the forest, he bagged an eight-point with a spear through the heart. The buck was a magnificent specimen, very much like a heavy whitetail except his reddish fur and the smattering of black spots that flecked his hide.
His rack was thick and symmetrical, with a wide spread and high tines.
More importantly, he was a big deer in fine shape. Braddock estimated his field-dressed weight at around 250 pounds, which would mean a good 140 pounds of edible meat for his people.
And a long, hard drag back home.
But after losing game to a monster, he wasn’t going to leave the buck and head back for the mustang.
So Braddock grabbed the dead deer by the base of one big antler and started dragging him over the frosty ground toward home.
Reaching the edge of the woods, he paused. Not to rest—his new endurance was amazing—but to appreciate the breathtaking panorama.
Beneath the rising sun, the vast valley shimmered. The frosty ground twinkled, and the pools and puddles left by the flood caught the sunlight, flashing like mirrors.
Pleased to see cattle grazing at the edge of the woods, Braddock pulled in a deep breath of fresh, piney mountain air, so cold it made his lungs ache, then started dragging the buck across the meadow.
Dragging a deer is great work for thinking. The body is locked onto a simple physical task. The blood is pumping, but exhaustion is far off.
Braddock considered how to best mend Elizabeth’s roof without Doal’s help. Likely, he would need to remove a larger section then replace it with smaller saplings the sprites could help him to lash into place. Then he would try to get the fur folk to help pitch sod and mud.
First, he would speak with Tilly. Could the vine maiden use vines to patch the roof?
Before starting the repairs, however, he needed to explore the sidehill above the canyon.
He didn’t think he would find Cascadia. The girls were certain she’d been killed. But he had to look.
When he reached home, Philia was outside the walls, crouched down in the meadow near the enclosure. She swept a glowing green hand back and forth over the grass, melting the frost and catching it in decanters she would later use to mix additional elixirs.
“Husband! You have had a successful hunt!”
Braddock nodded, breathing a little hard from the long drag. “Good meat here. Nice rack, too. I reckon I’ll hang his antlers over our cabin door.”
Philia smiled. “Let all visitors know they’re entering the domain of the great hunter?”
“Something like that.” He went into the enclosure, fetched a bucket of water, and washed out the buck. After several buckets, Braddock dragged him inside and hung him from the heavy porch beam. “Have Elizabeth skin him. Tell her I’ll help quarter him when I get back.”
“Where are you going now, husband? Another hunt?”
“Down the hillside,” he said, pointing toward the canyon. “I’ll take my spears, but the game is probably long gone after the flash flood.”
Philia frowned. “You’re looking for Cascadia?”
He nodded.
“She is dead, husband.”
“Perhaps. I won’t have her lying down there injured, with no one to hear her cries for help.”
“I don’t think she is injured. I think she is—”
“I won’t have the carrion birds eating her, either,” Braddock interrupted. “Do you know the funeral customs of water sprites?”
“I think so. If you find her, I will consult some water sprites I know.”
Just as Braddock was turning to leave, Tilly emerged from the cabin looking absolutely radiant. Her eyes and smile gleamed, and her hair and skin glowed.
“Good morning, Master.” Tilly gave a little curtsey, smiling coyly, and held out a fistful of jerky and a cup of steaming coffee.
“Thanks, Tilly,” he said. “You look so nice this morning I almost didn’t notice the coffee. And I’m a man who takes his coffee seriously.”
“Thank you, Master,” Tilly laughed, blushing. “And I know you love coffee. But not half as much as I loved what you let me drink last night.” She bit her lip and fluttered her long lashes at him.
“Tilly has been transformed by sipping your seed, husband,” Philia said cheerily. “She will be slightly more powerful now, too. She is not a Meadow Mistress yet, of course. She has only been fed, not seeded. This change is only a small sample of the vigor she will gain.”
Tilly shivered, making her wings flutter and her shapely body wiggle. “I feel like I’m glowing inside.”
; Philia reached out and nonchalantly smoothed her hands over the tiny woman’s breasts tweaking the hard, little nipples as matter-of-factly as she might straighten a child’s cowlick. “We will feed you again soon. Perhaps your Meadow Master will be so gracious enough to feed you straight from the source.”
Braddock took a sip of coffee and grunted with approval, realizing it was actual coffee, not the sweetroot substitute they had been serving him as the supply of actual coffee dwindled. Then, he further realized that he was hard again. And it wasn’t the coffee doing it.
“Oh Master, would you feed me straight from the source?” Tilly submitted before him, kneeling over her thighs and kissing his boots. “Please, Master?”
Braddock pulled his boots away. “No more of that. I let you kiss my boots when you asked to join the meadow, but I don’t want any bootlickers.”
Tilly blinked sheepishly up at him with huge eyes. “Yes, Master.”
“Come on.” He gave her a hand up.
“Thank you, Master.” Her grip was tight, the palm warm and damp.
“We have too much work for fooling around.” Tearing off a piece of jerky, he pointed to the sagging hide they had used to patch Elizabeth’s roof. “Can you fix that with vines?”
Tilly frowned at the roof. “Maybe? I don’t think I’m strong enough to patch the entire hole, not in this cold and not so far from the forest, but if we create a latticework of saplings, I should be able to weave vines into it, filling the largest gaps and securing it to the roof on either side.”
“Sounds good, darlin. We’ll give it a shot when I get back.”
He finished the meat and coffee, fetched a coil of rope, and set off, carrying only one spear.
The river was still much higher than normal, but it had receded, leaving the valley puddled with water and cluttered with uprooted trees and rocks and broad swaths of river bottom muck and disintegrated hillside.
Smaller birds dipped, feasting on worms and bugs.
Close to the river, a bunch of the crow-like carrion birds huddled around some half-seen lump like so many mourners at a funeral.