Persephone's Wings

by Sahara Kelly

  “Noooo…” she repeated herself.

  “Good. Just accept that it’s magic. I was there scouting you out, now you’re here. That’s all that matters.” His tongue moved down to her spine.

  With the first slide of his wet warmth across her wing buds, Persephone was a goner. Her pussy was soaking to the point where her juices were tracing cool tracks down her thighs. Her nipples were harder than agate and Thorne seemed to be obsessed with tugging and pulling and rolling and squeezing them and driving her slowly into insanity.

  Her hips began to move, rubbing and pushing against him, and he worked his tongue a little more firmly against her wing buds.

  “What’s happening to me?” she whispered, as she pushed his hand harder against her aching breast.

  “Touch yourself. I don’t have a free hand at the moment,” he urged, between licks and flicks to her back.

  Ignoring the fact that she stood naked in front of twelve foot—excuse me—twelve inch glass doors, and halfway up a tree to boot, Persephone obeyed Thorne’s command and slid her hand down to her pussy.

  “I can smell your body,” moaned Thorne. “God, you taste so good…”

  “What are you doing to me? Why is this so…sooo…” Persephone’s breath caught as her fingers found her clit, and the merest touch sent shudders through her.

  “It’s your wing buds, darlin’. They’re a sexual organ…”

  “Oh god, are they ever…” Persephone thrust herself against Thorne, pulling his body closer, forcing his hands to rub her breasts harder, and teasing her clit with rapid movements of her own fingers.

  His cock slid between her buttocks as he nibbled around her wing buds and forced his tongue into unknown places.

  Her legs trembled.

  This was something completely out of her realm of experiences. Her lungs felt as if they could scarcely draw enough oxygen to keep her conscious, yet her body was alive to every breath Thorne made. His tongue burrowed into a place in her spine that acted like an “on” switch for the rest of her body. She sobbed as she rubbed her clit and writhed against him.

  Suddenly, she felt him inside her and gasped with the joy of it. She heard his intake of breath.

  “Don’t move for a second, doll. Just hold it. I need to feel you for a minute or two.” His tongue slid gently over her flesh, his hands caressed her breasts and he moved deeper into her ass with a little thrust.

  Into her ass.

  “Thorne!” The screech could have shattered crystal.

  “Easy, babe. Easy.”

  “Thorne, I’ve never…” Visions of lubricants and condoms and safe sex lectures flashed before Persephone’s eyes.

  “Relax, honey. This is Fairyland. Am I hurting you?”

  She paused for a moment. “Come to think of it, no, you’re not.” She tried tightening her inner muscles, only to hear a grunt from Thorne behind her.

  “And does it feel good, babe?”

  He slid back and forth a little, very gently, while administering fluttering little licks to her wing buds.

  She melted. “Oh yeah…” This was magic the way it was supposed to be.

  Her arousal revived itself within seconds, and she moved from a plateau of pre-orgasmic heat to an approaching explosion within moments.

  “Please, babe, please…” begged Thorne.

  “What? Anything, oh god, Thorne…”

  “Just keep doing that,” he groaned, as he thrust deeply into her with his tongue and his cock.

  Her fingers found her clit, now oh-so-ready to be tugged and encouraged into doing its job and sending her off into bliss.

  Persephone’s buttocks tightened, making Thorne sob with pleasure.

  His tongue found the perfect spot on her wing buds as her own fingers found the perfect spot on her clit.

  She shattered into a million cosmic pieces, taking Thorne with her.

  His cry deafened her, and his shivering body filled her. His wings rustled and shuddered around the two of them, adding another dimension to her orgasm. She’d never experienced anything like it in her entire life.

  She closed her eyes and moved her hand away from her now-extra sensitive clit.

  With a little gasp she realized something else.

  Her feet weren’t touching the floor.

  Slowly, gently, Thorne lowered them both back down to ground level, then simply held her against him. She could feel his cock as it relaxed inside her, and that was also something uniquely special.

  “Thorne,” she said.

  “I’m here, honey. I’m here.”

  “Oh, Thorne.” Disgusted at her complete inability to come up with anything more than his name, Persephone just closed her eyes and allowed her body to come back to whatever passed for normal in this strange place.

  “Oh, Persephone.” Clearly Thorne was having the same problem.

  Not so the goblin who watched them. “Well, shit, dudes. Now that was a good one.”

  “Oh—fuck,” said Thorne.

  * * * * *

  “Hi, Thorne,” said the goblin. He wrinkled his already-wrinkled face into what passed for a grin. “That was one helluva bang, boy. Up the ass, too. Whew. Damn near got my nubs into a twist and shot my load right along with ya.”

  Short and hairy, the creature leaned nonchalantly against Thorne’s couch, stumpy legs crossed and belly fat flopping over his rather grubby white silk trousers. His wings were on the stubby side and looked like someone had spilled ketchup on them some time ago.

  “Who the hell are you?” Persephone found her voice and it reflected her outrage. Well, she was as outraged as she could be given that she was standing stark naked in a post-orgasmic fog and talking to a goblin.

  Thorne was clearly having trouble holding back his grin. “Persephone, allow me to introduce Phuque.”

  “Thorne, please. Get your mind out of the gutter. Who is this?”

  “This is Phuque.” He paused, as Persephone frowned at him. “P-H-U-Q-U-E.”

  “Hiya Toots.” The little man waved a rather grimy finger at Persephone. “Real nice set of honkers you got there, lady. Can I have a lick?”

  He zoomed up to Persephone’s breasts with his tongue hanging out.

  Before she had time to flinch, a leather-clad wing rib slapped Phuque back down onto the floor.

  “Damn, Thorne. That hurt.”

  “It was meant to. Touch her and die.”

  “Really?” Phuque stroked the stubbly hairs that passed for a beard. “Well, well. Whaddya know. You never told me that before about any of them. In fact, I remember when you an’ me an’ those two from France, you remember? The highfalutin’ one who screamed when you pulled her skirt down and stuck your tongue up her…”

  Another lash with the wing rib shut Phuque up.

  Persephone had struggled back into her clothes and was regarding Phuque with a good deal of distaste.

  “So, let me get this straight. Your name is Fuck? Like…like…well, like in fuck?” Her hips moved forward slightly, the gesture conveying her meaning.

  “Well, yeah. Of course, some people pronounce it ‘Fook,’ but you probably know me better as Robin Goodfellow. You know…” His eyebrows waggled at her. Not a pretty sight. “Ahem.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes.”

  Persephone frowned.

  “If we the shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended?” Phuque tried again hopefully.

  Persephone’s expression changed. “Ooooh. Now I know. You’re Puck.”

  He sighed. “Well, I suppose it’s better than that sissy-boy Robin shit. But that’s the thanks I get for helping create one of the greatest plays ever. Do you know…” He led Persephone to the couch and sat down beside her, legs dangling.

  Thorne shrugged and slipped back into his pants.

  “…I was the one who gave Bill that damned idea for that fucking play. I even allowed him to use my name. Did I get a word of thanks? Nope. Any credit? Nope. Did I se
e a fucking ducat out of those productions? A percentage of the gate from the Globe? Not a pisspoor penny.”

  He shook his head in mournful sorrow. “All I get is grief. I didn’t tell Bill to make the Queen a pain in the ass, did I? He did that all himself.” Phuque absently scratched his crotch.

  “So, what does Queen Bitch do? Well, every stinking night she creeps up there and changes Bill’s script. Of course his spelling sucked, and he was writing my name like he heard it. So she goes and quote corrects it unquote. No F’s like he was writing it, but a “P” instead. I mean, I ask you. Would it have been so bad to have had a fairy named Fuck helping out Bottom?”

  Persephone bit back a giggle.

  “It’s okay, honey, you can laugh.” Thorne slid in next to her and cuddled her protectively next to him. “That’s one of his jobs, to—what’s the phrase—“jest to Oberon and make him smile”? He does it quite well. Most of the time.”

  “Yeah, right.” Phuque farted loudly. “That’s for you, piss boy. Anyone who dresses like the inside of a Chevy shouldn’t get bitchy with me.”

  “Was there something you wanted, or did you come by just to be your usual pain in the ass?” Thorne looked at Phuque with distaste.

  “Hah. Don’t you two talk about pains in the ass. I mean, sheesh. Oberon could have gotten a few tips from you two. Fogged up my glasses, you did.”

  Persephone lowered her eyes, while Thorne just snorted. “You don’t wear glasses, you’ve seen it all before, and you’re not about to tell Oberon anything because he’s still mad at you for trying to goose the Queen at the last party.”

  Amazingly, the grumpy little goblin colored up. “She’s a stuck up bitch, that’s what she is.”

  Thorne turned to Persephone. “As a little back history here, you might be interested to know that our friend Phuque has had a severe case for the Queen for, what is it, two, three hundred years now?”

  Another fart greeted this statement, and Phuque turned his face away from the pair on the couch with a pout.

  “Unfortunately, Phuque made the mistake of trying to get it on with Peaseblossom…” continued Thorne.

  “…Mustardseed.”

  “Beg your pardon, Mustardseed, when she was bending over some flower or other, harvesting nectar. Well, as you can imagine, most fairies, and other creatures too, come to think of it, don’t take too well to having their butt cheeks spread and their asses reamed when they’re not expecting it.”

  Persephone blushed. Obviously she wasn’t “other creatures” because she’d enjoyed it immensely.

  “You, my love, were expecting it. Or at least ready for it.” Thorne’s low whisper made her shiver.

  “Anyway, Mustardseed took her complaint to Queen Titania, who decreed that history would remember this lad as mischievous Puck, not lusty Phuque, seeing as he’d tried to live up to his name once too often. Since then, he’s lost no opportunity to piss her off, in the vain hope that she’ll change her spell and put his real name back into Bill’s scripts. And possibly screw him senseless as well.”

  Persephone gazed at Phuque. “Don’t get your hopes up, little fella.”

  “Little fella? Little fella?”

  Thorne sighed. “You’ve done it now.”

  “Let me tell you, hooters, better women than you have trembled and begged for this…” His hands fumbled through his pants and whipped out a quite impressive cock.

  Persephone, who had just taken care of some very impressive cock attached to a much more impressive Thorne Leatherfly, merely smiled. “Quite nice, Phuque. Now put it away. There’s a good boy.”

  Thorne stood up while Phuque was still sputtering. “Come on, rat.” He grabbed Phuque by the scruff of his rather ugly neck and dragged him to the door. Phuque’s wings fluttered madly but he was helpless against the muscled strength of the arms that held him securely.

  “Now. Did you have a message for me from Oberon or did you come here just to get your ass kicked out again?”

  “Oh yeah. Jeez, Leatherboy, go easy on the back will ya? Keep that up and I’ll be humping your ass in a minute.”

  Thorne dropped him quicker than a hot potato.

  “His Royal Pain-in-the-Ass-ness wants you to bring Miss Big Bazooms here to Neville’s tonight. Party time. See ya, Stud-dud.”

  With a snicker and another loud fart, Phuque was gone, leaving a quiet room and the definite scent of marsh gas behind him.

  Thorne leaned against the closed door and sighed.

  Chapter 6

  Persephone gazed out of Thorne Leatherfly’s tall windows, not really seeing what was before her, but pondering what was within her.

  Thorne had fussed and fidgeted around after Phuque had left, finally pressing a hard kiss on her lips and telling her to rest.

  “Make yourself at home, Persephone. It’s your turn to curl up for a nap on my bed.” His sensual lips twisted in a wry smile.

  In answer to the question in her eyes, Thorne gazed at her, his unusual golden irises flickering with his changing moods. “You are staying here with me. That’s all there is to it. No questions, no arguments. You’re mine.” He’d turned to the door. “I have to go back to the office for a while, so settle in and try to rest up a bit. It’s likely to get wild tonight at Neville’s.”

  With a wink and a flick of his wings he’d left, leaving Persephone with the taste of his mouth on her lips and a million or two questions in her mind.

  Settle in, he’d said. Yeah, right. She’d begin by unpacking her suitcases. No, wait, she didn’t have any suitcases. Obviously, Leatherhead had overlooked the fact that she hadn’t so much as a change of underwear, not that she needed them because no one here wore any, but it was the principle of the thing.

  She’d wandered around the empty apartment and found the bathroom. Suppressing a giggle, she’d used the eggcup and then showered. Thorne’s towels—black of course—were softer than kitten fur, and she’d swiped a robe that looked like midnight velvet and was long enough to polish the floor behind her as she walked.

  So she was clean, warm, dry, and wondering if she could raid his fridge, if he had a fridge, and if he did, would it be full of nectar and moonbeams?

  Nothing ventured, nothing gained, decided the intrepid Persephone. She left the windows and moved to what seemed to be Thorne’s kitchen.

  Oh happy day. She found the coffee. And it was the good stuff, too. It was in a French-press style coffee pot, but she could manage. There was some milk in the small fridge, hopefully not from aphids or anything, and even a couple of frozen waffles. Now this was more like it.

  Wiping the remains of her late breakfast from her plate, Persephone jumped as a melodious chime filled the room. She couldn’t smell smoke, which eliminated some kind of Fairyland fire alarm. She’d turned off the toaster, so that wasn’t doing it. She couldn’t see any kind of telephone. Then the sound came again accompanied by a tap on the door.

  Aha. The doorbell.

  Pleased with her deduction, Persephone opened the door.

  “Hi there. I’m Cobweb.” A tinkling voice emanated from a glistening white ball of fluff.

  “Really. I’d have said dust bunny, but what do I know.” Persephone leaned against the doorjamb.

  “Mr. Leatherfly said I should drop this off with you.” The delicate little creature hovered over the doorstep with a large box in tow, supported by five fluttering moths, one at each corner and one, presumed Persephone, as a back up in case one of the others got a flat wing?

  She moved back, waving Cobweb and her entourage into the apartment.

  “Oh, thanks. This has been a bit awkward. Where shall I have them put it?”

  “How about right here,” said Persephone, pointing to the coffee table.

  “Super. Okay boys, down here, please—gently, that’s it. Thanks so much.” Cobweb fluttered her wings and blew little fairy kisses at the departing moths who fanned their wings as they assumed a precise formation and zoomed off.

  “Now,” said Co
bweb, closing the door behind them. “Let’s get to know each other, shall we?”

  Persephone gulped.

  “You must know that everyone is all agog because you’re here with…him.”

  Cobweb’s perfect golden ringlets shuddered on the last word, and she looked around fearfully.

  “You mean Thorne?”

  “Sssh. Yes. Him.”

  “Er—something wrong with him?”

  Cobweb’s huge blue eyes got impossibly huger. Persephone suddenly remembered the racks of Victorian-themed cards in her local store. Cobweb would have been a perfect model for each and every one of them. Her heart-shaped face shone with innocence and delight, and her whole body glowed with warmth. She was a natural for the ones about the perfection of giving and sharing, endless love and stuff like that.

  “Wrong with Mr. Leatherfly?” Cobweb’s little giggle sparkled across the room. “Oh no. Of course not. Not if you don’t mind the fact that he’s the biggest motherfucker to hit Fairyland in a hundred years, he’s got a temper that could slice the dick off a goat, and most days I’d like to tell him to take his head and shove it so far up his ass he can see daylight.”

  Persephone’s jaw dropped and she lost her breath for long seconds.

  “Oh, sorry. I forget to watch the language sometimes.” Cobweb colored prettily.

  “Um.” Persephone was at a complete loss for words.

  “Are you going to open the box?” The delicate little beauty skipped to the large package and let the sunlight dance off her wings as her tiny fingers twitched the ribbons apart.

  “Sure.” Persephone followed her, feeling fat, lumpy, and un-fairylike.

  “Oooooh…” Cobweb’s exclamation filled the room. “Persephone. Look at this…”

  This was a leather dress of sorts. Vivid pink at the hem, it faded through all the shades of pink until the top where it was almost white. The front was cut low and the back non-existent. It was softer than the finest chamois and Persephone wanted to roll herself up in it and wriggle for about a week. She noticed a nice pair of matching boots.

  “Oh my. This is really cool.” She stroked her hand along the fabric like she would pet a dog. “What on earth is it made of?”