Never look back; that's your mantra. It helped loosen the knots binding me to parental beliefs.
But, now; fuck you, it's never, ‘just sex.’
So it’s a spiteful last longing look over my shoulder, before vanishing into the woods. Lot’s wife glanced back and paid the pillar of salt price. That won’t happen to me; Mistress’s Halloween trick, turning our home into Sodom and Gomorrah, has already encased my heart in stone.
On the balcony, hand having imperiously dismissed the treat-choosing sophomore sluts, Mistress is reduced to optimistically repeating, in her professorial tone, “It’s only sex, Alice.” As if that could be something grander than a fig leaf for debauchery.
God, impaling their cunts with a cream Feeldoe. Not just any toy, oh no; misusing my surprise, given as we adored testing how far I could smear red lipstick down a deliciously lewd girl-cock.
“Fae aren't real, you silly girl.” The light of my life’s last roll of the dice, gaslighting me.
With a one-fingered reply, I step into the woods muttering, “We’ll see. Halloween is liminal, you silly bitch.”
Mistress gets a little spooked when the sun’s last rays are extinguished. Something about not knowing, or more likely not controlling, whatever’s going to go bump in the night’s shadows.
So she’ll hardly follow me into the ancient forest; a magical and mystical feast for the senses.
The leaves crush underfoot, the nocturnal animals squeak and hoot on wakening, the aroma of damp moss hangs in the air and the featherlight silky ferns brush against my legs; I’ve taken this path a hundred times, heading for an altar beside which I tend hawthorn bushes.
I'm stopped in my tracks by a silver glow emanating from the glade. Excited, creeping closer, so ecstatic after peering around an ancient oak, I can’t help myself. “So much for not being real.”
A solitary fairy, beautiful and blond, is dancing around the hawthorn. With each whirling dervish twirl, her blue dress swirls up giving me glimpses of the prettiest pussy.
With a leap, her hummingbird wings hold her aloft before a featherlight touchdown beside my fae altar. She smiles at the gifts, acorns, clear quartz, foxgloves, wind chimes and Manuka honey cake.
Tasting the cake, she smacks her lips appreciatively and reads the altar’s dedication out loud, “Fay folk, come unto me. I, Alice, wish to share happiness and love.”
She looks over to where I think I’m hidden, her malachite green eyes glowing from within. Licking her ruby lips, she crooks her finger.
“Me! See, someone wants me, Mistress.”
Fairy wings flutter; her diaphanous dress vanishes. “Of course, I want the one who’s willingly shared her name.”
Her sultry giggle magically sheds me of clothes. I’ve always dreamed and prayed I’d meet a fairy. Skipping over, her magnetism has my aromatic arousal scenting the glade.
She sits on my altar spreading her legs. “May I, Miss?” I know better than to ask what she's called. Only the Faerie Queene may use a Fae’s name uninvited.
Her angelic smile encourages me onto my knees, her glorious pussy lips glistening in the rising moonlight, her honey intoxicating.
Gripping my head, she mashes my face against her folds, smothering me in her liquifying sex. The sweetest ambrosia explodes on my taste buds. My tongue, needy now, fossicks in her velvet walls for every drop of liquid heaven.
My nose bumps against her throbbing pearl. She whimpers, her arousal bubbling, building fast.
My tongue touches her spongy spot. A pleasure wave crests. She moans.
Then my tongue repeatedly flicks her swollen bud and wave after wave wracks her sex. She wails like a…
“Bum, bugger and tits.” Alice lifeless beside the altar brings the fairy’s delectable quim quivers to a shuddering halt.
Suddenly flickering fire-fly lights appear amongst the stars. “Double bum, bugger and tits. Talk about inopportune.” The fairy trooping materialises at shooting star speed.
In their midst a golden glow coalesces into the epitome of beauty, her ethereal skin brightening the forest glade.
“Triple bum, bugger and tits.” These aren’t any old fly-by-night fairies; rather it’s the Faerie Queene and her court paying a Halloween visit.
“Indeed Susie. Once again!” The queen’s honeyed words are laced with the bitter implications of saying a fairy’s name uninvited.
“Majesty. I can explain.” The dryads attending the queen giggle like a Greek chorus; their eyebrows speaking volumes, ‘Yeah, sure you can.’
“A congenital weakness. Ecstasy led to heart failure.”
“You’ve tried similar fairy floss with me before. Remember.”
“A millennium ago. Kinda slipped my mind.”
“Forgot that if a banshee wail isn’t for the recently deceased, it causes death!”
The queen stoops, her golden glow directly on Alice, and exhales. The breath thickens and liquifies, flowing across Alice’s skin, cocooning her.
“Ala menal nis este, namarie.”
Blessed by those words, Alice’s body rises and ascends into the realm of the fae. The banshee daren’t ask about the queen’s words, not wanting to reveal another thing that she’s forgotten. “Who said I wailed?”
“We did, we heard you,” the Greek chorus interjects. If banshee looks could also kill, the Faerie Queene would be needing new courtiers.
“At liminal times you and I easily pass into this world. And likewise, our sounds flow into our world.”
“Oh… Quadruple bum, bugger and tits.”
“I’ve never seen a fairy blush before. Tinker Bell, the Book of Fae Lore. Now!”
The luminance of the fairy court fades as the queen deepens her golden glow and illuminates that most ancient of manuscripts.
“Which chapter, Majesty?”
“B for banshee, of course.”
“New Rule B52,” the queen intones, “Susie and the banshees inclined to follow her example and fornicate with humans, will, henceforth, face exile.
“Furthermore, for repeatedly not engaging in safe sex, Susie, is, hereby, appointed to the Royal Court. Her position: dryads’ bottom bitch.”
“Quintuple bum, bugger and tits!”
A twig breaks and leaves rustle. Human; the fairies vanish like flames snuffed out.
“Alice! Alice, forgive me. Come home.
“Where’ve you gone, baby girl?”
