by Sahara Kelly
“Okay. I get that. But how long do we stay? Are we here forever? Do we get to go back? I still have parents, you know…”
Sugar nodded. “We know. There are…criteria…Persephone. Things that must occur in order for you to fully accept your status as a resident of Fairyland. If, as sometimes happens, things don’t work out, you are returned to your previous mortal existence with no recollection of this place at all. If all goes as planned, and you become a full member of our happy family, then arrangements are made for you to contact your remaining family members, either by mail or by phone. We actually have a new satellite cellular system going online shortly…” Sugar looked breathlessly excited.
“Fine, fine.” Persephone had no patience for cellular wonders. She’d been bugged by too many salesmen in the past. “What criteria?”
Sugar looked blank.
“You said there are criteria. Things that must happen before we can stay. What are they? If they happen do we get a choice?”
“Do you want one?”
Sugar’s words slipped into the room like a cool breeze, bringing a shiver to Persephone’s flesh. It was a loaded question, all right. In a moment of brutal honesty, she admitted she had nothing to go back to. But was this a better alternative?
She didn’t know.
“The criteria, Sugar?” Ms. Teacher voiced the question that still hung over Persephone’s consciousness.
“Well, that’s easy. Wings, of course.”
“Wings.” Persephone echoed Sugar’s statement with a wry twist to her lips.
“Yeppers. Wings.” Sugar fluttered hers with delight. “Pretty, aren’t they?”
“Yes. Wings.” Persephone repeated herself, just to emphasize to Sugar that they’d all got that point, and that Sugar’s wings were lovely, thank you.
“Well, to be a successful resident of Fairyland, you have to grow wings. Now, all humanoids who are recruited have the wing DNA implanted. Not all humanoids are able to activate it.”
Sugar laughed, a tinkling sound with hints of the 1812 Overture. “That takes a special kind of person. Of course, we hope you’ll all be that kind of person…”
“So, how can we tell?” Mr. Inkstain asked the obvious question.
“Just wait and see if the growth responds to the activation stimulus.”
“And the activation stimulus would be…” prompted Persephone.
“Well, it’s quite easy really. You just have to have—er—relations.”
“Relations?” Mr. Branding Iron boomed. “Ain’t got no relations, honey. Family’s all dead and gone, like old tumbleweed.”
“Quite.” Sugar looked perplexed. “And the name is Sugar, not Honey. But that’s not exactly what I meant by ‘relations.’”
Ms. Teacher looked horrified. “You don’t mean what I think you mean, do you?”
Sugar blushed, her abundant expanse of creamy skin coloring softly. “Probably. Yes.”
“So what does she mean that you don’t think she means, but she does?” asked Mr. Branding Iron, obviously stretching his intellect as taut as his jeans.
“Oh for god’s sake,” muttered Persephone. “She means you’ve gotta fuck, cowboy.”
“But I don’t wanna fuck cowboys,” he whined.
Persephone’s eyes met Sugar’s in a moment of female bonding that transcended species.
Sugar smiled. “Good. I’m glad you all understand. The more you—um—indulge, the bigger your wings will become and the faster they will grow. There is a limit, of course, otherwise, my goodness, there wouldn’t be room in Fairyland for all our wings.”
Sugar looked around with a little giggle and fluttered her quite sizeable wingspread gently. She must be one hot little bedbug without that wedgie, thought Persephone.
“Oh, and I should add that doing it by yourself doesn’t count. You must, you simply must, have a partner. Any partner is fine, of course. Gnomes, yes, quite acceptable. Elves, most satisfactory. Goblins, well, I have to admit their breath can be, shall we say, less than fresh at times, but they have other charms. We are basically quite diverse in our activities. Of course, you’ll want to experiment and find out who and what suits you best.“
Sugar looked around the room. “If they don’t grow, then, well…I’m afraid you’ll be returned to the mortal world. There is one other circumstance too, that will send you back to the mortal world.”
“Oh yeah?” Mr. Branding Iron was fidgeting on his chair, and Persephone couldn’t decide if he was embarrassed by this conversation or wanted to get on with the fucking and grow himself the dangdest pair of wings.
“Yeah. I mean yes.” Sugar bit her lip nervously. “In the event that any of you find your wingmate…” she held up her hand to forestall any questions, “you’ll be required to make a Nuptial Flight to cement your bond. Should you fail the Nuptial Flight, you will immediately be returned to the mortal world and all memories of not only Fairyland, but your love for your mate, will be erased.”
The room had turned silent as Sugar spoke. “Your wingmate is someone special for whom your heart beats faster. The one person who can awaken something deep inside you that has never been touched before. The one person who can mate with you and create life. It’s a very special thing, and doesn’t happen too often. That’s why the requirements are very precise and must be completed perfectly. If you fail…the alternative is bleak indeed.”
Persephone shivered, as if someone had walked over her grave. A wingmate.
Was there one for her here? Someone to fill her loneliness? If there was, then she owed it to herself to stay and explore the possibilities. After all, if the choice were between an empty apartment and an equally empty life or the chance to find her “other half,” then she’d be a fool to turn it down.
“So, we fuck around, we get these here wings?”
Mr. Branding Iron boomed out his question, obviously immune to the thought of a wingmate.
Sugar nodded.
Persephone felt a little twinge between her shoulder blades as she thought of her experiences with Sal and Clover earlier. Surely she should have some kind of a wing by now if fucking was all it took. She’d had two fabulous orgasms with three fairies so far. And, dammit, one of them had been the King. That was a case of starting at the top. Shouldn’t that have gotten her to the single-engine Cessna stage of development? At least?
She raised her hand. “Excuse me, Sugar?” she asked.
“Yes, dear?”
“Where do they grow and how can we tell they’re growing?”
“Good questions. Firstly, they grow from your spine right between your shoulder blades.”
Persephone’s hand automatically slid behind her to that single itchy spot.
“And you’ll be able to tell when they start growing because they’ll itch like crazy.” Sugar laughed. “Oh, and although that spot will itch, it will also become quite special to you. But,” she dropped her lashes and peeked coyly at the group, “I’m not going to give away any more secrets. Some things are better left for you to find out on your own. Now, if there are no more questions?”
No more questions?
Persephone didn’t know where to start. She was in Fairyland, having sex with strange creatures, probably growing wings, although she couldn’t tell yet because she was still itching and had no mirror handy, and had engaged in a visual confrontation with a squirrel.
Oh yes, she had more questions. She wanted to know more about wingmates, about Nuptial Flights and the love of her life. If he was out there.
But Sugar wasn’t, apparently, going to be the one to answer them. Gathering her little goodies together and giving her butt one last tweak, Sugar was already walking from the room in that curiously flat-footed style affected by ballerinas since the first one thought that deforming her foot so she could be an inch taller would be a good idea.
Persephone sighed and headed for the door. She hoped someone, maybe Sal or Clover, would be outside to help her find her way around. Did she have her
own room? Was she rooming with someone else? Or worse, something else?
She was the last to leave, and as she did, her back began to itch again. Really itch, this time. She saw no alternative, but gently leaned against the doorjamb, rubbing the offended spot against the wall.
She sighed with relief.
“Why don’t I help you with that?” A deep voice intruded on her moment of bliss and she turned.
Her jaw dropped.
She found herself looking at a vision of sexual magnetism. If Harley Davidson designed fairies instead of choppers, this guy would be their poster boy.
Long, muscled legs were encased in black leather pants, not too tight, but snug enough to hug his thighs and other interesting parts really nicely. A white T-shirt with no sleeves topped the pants, and matched the untamed look about his unusual gold eyes and jet-black hair. Straight and shiny, it fell past his shoulders to lie softly against his chest. Just like she’d do if she got half the chance. A tribal tattoo circled one solidly cut bicep.
His thick chain belt clanked as he neared her, and she glanced upward at the wings that were folded firmly above his head.
They looked just like shiny black leather with the occasional silver stud down the ribs.
She shivered.
His hand slid behind her back and went directly to the source of her itch.
He rubbed.
She shivered again, this time unable to contain the moan that his touch brought to her throat. He stroked her skin as his golden eyes held her gaze, and watched as she bit down on her lip while trying not to squirm.
His fingers were sending waves of semi-orgasmic pleasure through her body. Her breasts were throbbing and she wanted to leap on him and wrap her legs around his hips. Tight. So she could get that bulge in his leather pants right up against her needy pussy.
She gasped as he slipped the ties on her halter-top and freed her breasts.
His head dropped and he fastened his mouth around her hard nipple, tugging and pulling with his tongue.
She moaned, closing her eyes and letting her fingers drift up to the black silk of his hair.
“I’m Thorne Leatherfly.” He moved away a little, breathing hard. “So for god’s sake don’t call me Pat anymore.”
* * * * *
Thorne was practically beside himself with lust. He’d finally managed to get those beautiful tits into his mouth, and he resented the fact that conversation, not to mention efficient breathing, required that he remove them.
But he slowly became aware that the woman in his arms was staring at him with an expression resembling a cross between outright horror and what she’d probably looked like the first time she’d tasted snails.
“You? You’re my…my…cat?”
He pressed her even closer, letting her breasts rub against his T-shirt, and growling deep in his throat at the sensation. “I’m not your damn cat. Do I look like a cat? Do I feel like a cat?”
He thrust his hips into her body and drew a groan from deep down in her gut as his hardness slammed against her heat. Even the leather pants they wore couldn’t stop her cunt from burning him.
“So why did you say anything about Pat?” She gasped again as he dipped his head for a brief suckle. “You certainly seem to have some of his tendencies. Although he preferred my bra.”
“No, I didn’t,” he muttered, flicking her nipple to a state of impossible hardness with his eager tongue.
“That does it.”
She wrenched herself away from his hold and jerked her halter back into place. “You can just put that talented tongue away, mister. I don’t know who or what you are. You may be a Hell’s Angel Fairy or something. Or maybe you’re wanted by the FBI. How the hell should I know?”
“FBI?” Thorne’s eyebrows rose.
“Yeah. Fairy Bureau of Investigation.” Persephone snickered.
Thorne closed his eyes and sighed. “Persephone, I’m not a Hell’s Fairy, wanted by any law enforcement agency, nor, at this moment, am I your cat. Can we go someplace and discuss this please?”
“Will you keep your mouth away from my boobs?”
“Do I have to?”
“Yep.”
“You’re cruel.”
“Oh, give me a break…” Persephone flung up her hands in a gesture of frustration.
Thorne laughed. “Come on, honey. Let’s find ourselves a cup of coffee. Looks like you’re gonna need it, seeing as you’ll be working for me from now on.”
“Excuse me? Working for you? Hey, says who? Last time I looked, Oberon was King. So who died and made you Top of the Toadstool?”
Thorne froze and pulled her back into his body. “You met Oberon?”
Persephone leaned back and smirked at Thorne. “Oh yeah. Did I ever.”
Thorne’s golden eyes narrowed into fierce slits and he crushed her so tight he knew she’d have trouble catching her breath. “No one, and I repeat, no one, puts a hand or a wing on you from now on. You got that?”
His heart pounded with a combination of lust and anger, seasoned with a dash of fear. He was awfully afraid he held his fate in his arms, and that Oberon, damn his wings, had gotten to her first. He also had a scary feeling that his days as an unencumbered source of virile fairy pleasure to the female residents of Fairyland were just about done.
Persephone Jones could well be his mate. His wingwoman.
A small part of him shouted out against the twists and turns of fate and that he wasn’t ready to settle down with just one woman for the rest of his life. The rest of him just wanted to shout out while inside Persephone.
Chapter 5
Persephone found herself being ruthlessly dragged along darkened corridors and away from the bustling and active business end of Fairyland. Now the halls were quieter, the doors closed and numbered, and she realized this was the living quarters for some of the creatures she’d met.
Stopping in front of a large door, Thorne maneuvered the handle and pushed her inside as soon as it opened. It slammed behind her with a solid thunk, and it dawned on Persephone that she was now alone with some kind of buffed-up fairy-cum-stud who considered her his exclusive property.
Oh dear. She probably should scream or something. Well, perhaps she would. In maybe a month or two.
However, there was no time like the present to get one thing straight between them before they went any further.
“I don’t belong to anyone, Mr. Macho-Fetish-Gear. So cut out the domination crap right now, okay?”
She was ignored.
Right. So much for asserting her individuality.
Thorne busied himself in what appeared to be his kitchen, and Persephone couldn’t resist the urge to peek around his apartment.
The ceilings were very tall, helpful when one had wings, she supposed. The decor was pretty much what she’d expect from a bachelor. Some leather chairs, a lot of chrome and glass, a batch of magazines featuring semi-naked fairies, an old pizza box and a large pot of something called “Wonder Wing Wax.”
And then there were the windows.
Persephone gasped as she stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling sliding windows and looked outside for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime.
She felt, rather than heard, Thorne cross the room and stand behind her, his body radiating heat against her bare back.
“It’s beautiful, Thorne,” she breathed.
“I know,” he answered softly.
She was grateful that he gave her the time to appreciate the scene before her. Greens in every shade imaginable painted the landscape outside Thorne’s windows. They seemed to be high up in a tree, because branches and leaves shaded the small deck that jutted away from the windows, and the ground looked to be far below.
It was a far cry from the brick wall and the occasional glimpse of sunshine that her apartment windows had offered.
The bright sunny sky was dotted with small flying things, and every now and again a blinding flash could be seen as the sun glanced off a delicate wi
ng.
“The kids are playing right now, learning how to fly.”
“Kids?”
“Yeah, you know, little sprites, small wings? Clumsy fliers, too.” He laughed as one swooped upside down beneath a branch with a shout.
“I didn’t know. There’s so much I don’t know,” said Persephone, more to herself than to Thorne.
“There’s time, Persephone. Don’t rush it,” he answered, coming even closer. “I’ve put some coffee on.”
A thrill of desire made her shudder as she realized that Thorne had also taken his clothes off. The feel of his nakedness behind her turned her on with a vengeance, and she made no demur when his hands unfastened her halter and tossed it away.
He moaned with delight as her breasts filled his hands to overflowing.
“I knew I’d love these babies. I knew it. They used to drive me mad, especially when you’d ask me if they were too big.” He rolled them lovingly around, taking Persephone’s breath away.
“So, are you going to tell me how you come to be here when you should be curled up on my quilt enjoying a nap? Pat?”
He tweaked her nipples energetically, making her squeak.
“I did warn you not to call me that,” he breathed against her neck. He licked her shoulder and with one hand quickly unsnapped her pants and let them fall to her ankles.
She moaned as she felt him hard and thrusting against her buttocks. The heat of his touch was incredible.
“So, you don’t deny you are my cat?”
“Were your cat. No, I was your cat. Oh hell, you know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t,” she answered, shaking her head. Carefully, because she was quite concerned that the least movement on her part might send her into some kind of orgasmic frenzy.
“You want to hear about relativistic theory and the space-time continuum?”
“Noooo…” she moaned.
“How about the recruitment service that transforms fairies on a regular basis and sends various divisions out to locate the right people for Fairyland?”