1 comments/ 23681 views/ 2 favorites Pixie Feast By: Nellskitchen "Semen ejaculated in love's absence not only tastes virulent, it lacks nutritional value."-Wade, Queen of the Pixies Part 1 "Ista Artamir gilinarthdae tiros norol uthu. Oh dear, I'm sorry, I must work harder to remember that you, being human do not know the Eldanar Tongue. So, let me begin afresh, in English this time for I am Ariel, a true pixie from the land of Fey and I am glad to know you!" All should be mindful of pixies because eventually everyone either stumbles upon us or we stumble upon you. We do after all, live along side gnomes, fairies and the others of like nature but spend much of our time in your midst, often appearing as whirlwinds, dust storms and such. We also bring your dimension enchantment through our mischievous and childlike gaiety. Natural pranksters, we revel in annoying humans, with appropriate affection of course. As you read this story, please remember that unlike you we live our lives completely naked. Fortunately, for modesty's sake, people only catch sight of us in the dark, where we are ofttimes mistaken for fireflies or figments of imagination. Being only three English measure inches and a quarter tall, our fluttering wings at times betray our presence -- to women mostly, who catch the moonlight's glint reflected into the darkness as they wait patiently for their partner's to seed their waiting wombs. Were it not for the female's role as willing receptacle, pixie girls would likely avoid these completely for they are so unpredictable. But I digress. Yes, it is semen, the fare of Mid-Summer Eve for every pixie girl - no more, no less - of which this story tells. And, excitement now runs rampant, for today is Mid-summer Eve! So, our search is underway and because there is good and there is bad and because in these present days the bad outweighs the good, it has become quite difficult to identify honest men; men who treat their women well and whose semen when ejaculated in love, well, you know the rest already. For pixies, consumption of sperm born of affection is all important since it is our entire diet; at least it is for us, the females of the colony. So, before I get too far ahead of myself, have a glance with me below. It is at times such as this, when a woman such as she, now thrashing about with a good man, lazily opens her eyes and catches a pixie's shimmering glint as we hover over the back of her laboring beau. Trista and I have such fun as we flutter about, at least that's what we whimsically think because she -- that is the woman over whose bed we currently linger, is never completely certain whether what she is seeing is really there. Naturally we only arrive after she has plummeted to the depths of her intercourse with the valued male; when we may watch them in all their passionate lunacy while they know not whether, nor what, nor if - we even are. As for Trista; I do adore her but to my chagrin she's been assigned to follow me when I feed because she knows that I know where the good men are. I hesitate to let her tag along of course for fear she might do as she is wont to do; to consume all, leaving me with little more than sticky remnants; remnants which I must access through heavy labor. Such a squealing piglet, that one; and she wonders why she's overweight. Hah! She and I remain loyal to Queen Wade and the Pixie Doctrine her Majesty justly expounds. All of us feel the same and hold her teachings sacred for she is a great queen who shields us in the deep woods we call home. It is to the woods that we return after feeding. It is there that we only speak Eldanar. And her Majesty's teachings you ask? Mmm, let's see. All are taught the rules which read as follows: have fun - don't do it if it's not fun, shift any blame for getting caught to someone else, especially to people - and remember, a friend of a friend, as an enemy of my friend is my enemy. Yes, I think that's it. Anyway, I may be a word or two off, but even a human will grasp these, given sufficient thought. Oh, one thing more, a pixie never tells the truth flat out. Yes, now it's complete. That's what we think. Part 2 I peered across the darkened bedroom and caught Trista's eye. As usual, her attention was waning as a twinge of hunger overtook her. I understood her fatigue as I feel the same but it was a matter of vigilance. Though the sex had gone on interminably, we liked these particular humans best since their physical practices had become increasingly elaborate, their luxuriant ministrations enhancing the male's already sizeable load - all to our delight. They usually began with warm baths, leisurely imbibing from an immense dark green bottle which, when empty, the male would gently insert into the female's backside. How did she take it all, I wondered? Well, that's not important. Yes, of course it looked like it would hurt, but all she ever did was moan pleasurably, using vulgar words like 'deeper,' and 'more, please more.' Human women are repellent and pixies are clear about their feelings: we attend to women for one purpose only -- that of nourishment. For it is from their receptive vaginal entrances that the milky seed does ultimately flow. And it is there, from which we feed and feed well! In any case, the couple's ritualistic lovemaking is taking so much time tonight and being fragile pixies, our energies are limited. Perhaps, I found myself wondering, we should slip under the sash from whence we came and be off. "We should go to the cabin in the woods where the others live," I whispered to Trista. "At least they finish speedily." Looking forlorn, she shook her head, a slight droop in the points of her ears and eyelids telling all. No, she knew better than most, it would be futile to go there. So in the end, we didn't fly away because the people that lived in the woods were different - in an evil way. At least the man was. And pixies don't like evil. He was an unfit male who treated his woman roughly, pushing her about, forcing his hefty, I think they call it a cock -- yes, that's it - anyway he forced it into her mouth and though finishing there, after only a moment during which our hopes ran high, his seed just as suddenly -- in one gulp mind you -- disappeared. Imagine? Just gone! In typical human fashion, and obviously thinking only of herself, she drained all from his hefty sack, swallowing and leaving nothing for us! Oh, and one time, at the act's conclusion? She drooled a small amount from her lips as she dozed off and Trista and I quickly licked the bitter gist as best we could but its acerbity told its true story of cruelty and forced entry under which he obtained admittance. Another time, the savage man held her nose shut tightly as he spent himself deep in her throat, compelling her to imbibe. It was just as well since even had there been anything left, it wouldn't have been marginally palatable. But he didn't know that pixies were so discerning, that we could tell when it was forced. The tartness of his leavings oozed from the bitterness of his behavior toward the poor woman. Startlingly, she allowed it none the less, as so many humans do. So we didn't like to go there unless compelled by circumstance and then always left hungry. That we could smell the difference between his seed and that of the loving man now thrusting against his woman below is a testament to a pixie's sensory perception. In an almost laughable twist, human women, excepting of course for half-werewolves, have neither the sense of smell nor the keen taste as do pixies. But tonight? Tonight though we were visiting our favorites, our fragile wings demanded rest. That would mean landing, a dangerous endeavor as we are hunted by the dreaded Leprechauns who poach us unmercifully and have for centuries past. One must always beware of them for they play nasty tricks and once in yesteryear nearly forced us to the very brink of extinction. Dirty and vile, they are awful brutes. "Ariel," Trista called with a growing hint of fatigue in her otherwise harmonious voice. "I must rest. Will you float down with me, I'm so afraid." "No Trista, you mustn't," I responded firmly, "stay strong, the pair can't go on much longer. Look at them, they're nearly spent; be patient. Touching down is too risky. Please hang on, please Trista, you can do it." We both looked back at the struggling lovers. The pace of his thrusting had increased and with eyes shut tightly against the dark, she held an arm around his neck, while with her other hand she reached between their sweating bodies to cup his brawny testicles, which she worked against one another as a baker might her bread dough, kneading it to enhance its already lofty size. And lately, she did so more often than not, for this woman wanted more and more fluid from the male, which is what attracted us to her in the first place. Frankly, due to her patient attentions her male emitted sperm in quantities that brought us joy and which we knew would sate our hunger as long as he ended in the appropriate place of course -- which, unfortunately he tended to vary the location of, as do all human males. 'Why?' I wondered. So untoward, I thought. If, like the bad man from the woods he ended in her mouth -- which he sometimes did, we would have nothing. But if he ended where she liked it best, we could swoop down after she slept, lapping his gifts to our palate's delight. When first we found them, she only granted his loving there, betwixt her legs, gathering his full emission into her warm body. As time passed and her affections grew, she allowed him ever greater latitude. Lately, to our growing dismay, she had fallen into the unfortunate habit of sucking him afterward, selfishly consuming for herself the cherished residue of his sperm, that which only emerged afterward, thin and wispy, a pixie's delight when compared with his thick and heavy initial bursts. As one would expect, all pixies know there is something special to be worked to the tip of his tremendous penis at the close of the sexual struggle and of all things, the human female learned of it too! Trista wondered whether another pixie, a traitor perhaps, might have whispered it into her ear as she dozed off. Previous to this most recent practice, she had always left some for us and though it took the better part of a human hour to finally dislodge, it was well worth it for its sweetness left our entire being euphoric. You see no one remembers how it all started but long ago pixies became highly sensitized to human sperm and just as those strange looking herbal cigarettes induce in humans hours of laughter and giggling, so this final trickle of nectar affects us similarly; sometimes -- depending on the intensity of the passion the two have for one another, its rapture prevails for days after feeding. Unfortunately for our colony, the practice contained a Hook which eventually became an addiction. We must have it or we'll starve for it contains the source of our magic dust and energy. I watched as Trista's elevation dropped. With an obstinacy all her own, dealing with her wasn't easy. But I persisted in my pleadings. You see, I understood, for I too was fatigued - as it had been forever since we neither of us had had any nourishment. I knew if we acted in haste, we would overlook the man's ending, thus missing out on all that was good. If only we were boys, I thought, things would be simpler. But females have complicated digestive needs and our feeding habits became restricted centuries ago whilst living in the land of the Celts. It was then, on the verge of extermination, that our queen delivered her directive, that we search each year for humans; one man, one woman - from whom we might acquire the distillation of their all in the form of a loving male's seminal fluid. Pixie girls, especially the very young, commonly err on the side of yielding to their unspeakable cravings. Trista was one. Conceding to her emotions, she had in the past, drifted to couplings devoid of love; where the male or female sought fulfillment in selfishness. The flooding from such trysts quite naturally made her ill, confining her to some dank thicket under the tiger lilies which covered the bogs until her system cleared itself of the foul piths she had consumed so ravenously. Now on the mend, I was charged by Queen Wade with teaching her the means to a healthy life so tonight she had followed me to where lovers spent themselves; to where the sperm which we harkened after would nourish us like Ambrosia from the gods of Classical Antiquity. Since that long ago time our colony has thrived, while others have vanished into the ether. Search we did, continuously and his little apartment was one of our favorite haunts. The male was young, perhaps twenty-seven human years. He was strong and handsome, we thought, despite the natural revulsion of all pixies to rounded ears. Yuk! So loathsome. Aphrodisiacal meant one thing to a pixie and one thing only: pointed ears. Humans are obviously not sexy -- but since they impart our food supply we need to be near enough to partake but far enough away to maintain a healthy pixie sanity. Even Larissa understood that. We didn't feed with her though because she insisted on ingesting the male's final precious discharge. Anyway, that aside, it had been so long since we had eaten and these two, this man and woman, always coupled in near darkness, there being but one candle next to the bed. It was a dangerous thing for us for flying too close might mean singeing our wings. "Be careful Trista," I warned on more than one occasion as she neared the hot light to gain a better look. Darkness didn't trouble me for I was used to the deep woods where it reigned as its own kingdom. But in the darkness and with her lying on her back gazing up at the ceiling, we knew the shrieking woman was catching glimpses of us as we hovered about waiting for his finish. Her legs were splayed widely as she accepted the male's powerful piercings which grew in violence with every thrust. Normally it didn't take him so long but he was acting differently tonight, seeking some other accomplishment that required time and Trista and I found ourselves looking at one another in consternation, wondering why the departure? What was he doing that was upsetting our feast? It was utterly frustrating. Finally, as humans often do, the woman cried out. Especially true of females, she began the process in subdued form at the exact moment when the male inserted himself deeply. We knew from past experience that he had an especially large member; one we had fed from and understood how difficult it was to move it about, even after his withdrawal from her -- even when flaccid, as it often rolled from side to side, its stickiness sometimes covering our wings! And you should know his taste contained such sweetness that we found him irresistible, something which the impertinent Calypso had alleged mockingly on more than one occasion. But then, for a pixie, she was such the bitch. Disregarding her unbecoming opinions, we returned night after night as our nocturnal flight took us under the crack left in the window through which we entered their bedroom. "He's cuming," Trista whispered excitedly. Looking down, I could see she was correct for his pace had changed and with it the woman's heightened vocal responses. For she shouted out, "More...deeper Peter, there, please -- there - deeper." It was so funny really and I shouldn't be making fun, after all it was their special passion and pixies are bound to honor it with a serious air. But I giggled none the less. We each drew ourselves closer, hoping to access the woman from whom most of the precious sperm would momentarily ooze. But because of her slutty habit of tightly closing her legs subsequent to lovemaking, she sometimes locked us away from the amplest nectar of our want. This compelled us to settle for the few remaining driblets which, as he slept, we would work from the base of his enormous penis just to bring to its tip. All to obtain the minor remnants left after her powerful pelvis had accomplished what seemed its all consuming labor. She did occupy him so, as though he were her very own private property! Were it not for the fact that he appeared to have little desire to relieve himself in her absence, we would have detested her. But as it was, we had become dependent on this woman of his choosing. And only once, just once, had she fallen asleep; just once mind you - when her tired eyes had closed, were her legs spread out, allowing his semen to seep from her distended slit, creating such a torrent for our enjoyment. Imagine? Just once! Oh how we banqueted that night. Feeding for hours afterward, we worked frantically before the coveted white substance dried itself to an innocuous residuum, inedible to pixies who must lick to eat. Any who, that time we had had sufficient. But lately, things had changed and not for the better I might add, as this female was being even less generous. His was a special fluid, by all appearances readied by genuine love and affection despite the woman's hideous rounded ears. Its value was implicit and all Pixies would be drawn to it but both Trista and I were sworn to secrecy, telling no one where the couple coupled. "It's our private stock," I had mused to her once in the euphoric afterglow of our gluttony. Now, she was tiring. "Can you remain on the wing?" I asked her. A chronic overeater known for excessive weight; for goodness sake Trista carried a full ounce and an eighth into flight! Everyone knew she was out of shape. "I can't," she said. "I must land Ariel." "Don't..." I shouted, in a hushed whisper. "I'll be careful." I watched helplessly as she drifted to the rumpled sheets, the usual blur of her wings slowly dissipating in descent. Just then, the male moaned and Trista, having rested just beyond the location of his foot, lifted herself with a groan into the air and looked with fright into my eyes. She, like I, knew it was almost time and one could never be sure just how much thrashing about would take place on the bed below as the ejaculate accumulating in the male prepared itself for expulsion. With a combination of apprehension and excitement, I'm certain we were thinking the same thing; about the time Gylfi was struck at the moment of climax by that Bobby Soxer woman's big toe and found himself tossed like a common insect across the room and through a whirling window fan. It was an awfully messy ending, unbecoming a pixie. The pair began crying out in unison and held each other tightly as we drifted, together this time, back down to where we could view the exact place of the male's insertion from a better vantage point. We simply had to, regardless of the fierce terminus to this strange human act and despite its dangers, for it was simply imperative that we know when his thick jism was in the process of transference to the female. That, after all, was key. For it was then that our sustenance was best ingested. We waited patiently as the woman screamed; quickly followed by her mate who groaned in a deep and manly voice, making no particular sense but convincing us his time had arrived. We could each clearly see the contractions of their anal portas during the final telling moments, something which all mothers taught their girls to watch for and to count; this series of revealing spasms; one, two, three, four, five - something they said was unknown to most humans who experienced its ferocity but failed to take note of its occurrence as they tended to be preoccupied at the moment of orgasm. Looking into Trista's eyes, I half-smiled as we settled onto the end of the bed whose wild vibrations slowly simmered as the couple, though still breathing heavily, calmed to an eerie silence. They kissed deeply and I glanced about at Trista, rolling my eyes in impatient disdain. Moments later the male partner slowly withdrew from her depths, his glistening member a wonder in the near darkness. Pixie Feast "Look!" I shouted, pointing in joyful celebration. "Look Trista, it's over. They've finally finished. Now it's our time." She nodded excitedly in response and we moved a few inches closer to the woman's shaven slit. But suddenly, she pursed her nether lips with her fingers, holding the coveted ejaculate within while with her other hand, she reached to the table next to the bed, feeling for some object resting there. "Now what?" Trista called in abject frustration. Shrugging my shoulders, we took flight again to see what she was reaching for. A glance revealed all. There it was, a bejeweled vaginal clip which she expertly slipped between her legs, over her massive clit and onto her vulva, whose thick labia held the object tightly in place, sealing her against any possibility of leakage. She smiled lovingly at the man, sucked the vestige of cum from her fingers and after kissing him again, nestled her face in his shoulder before drifting off to sleep. Though he too appeared exhausted from the past hour of what seemed to us indecent madness, he too eventually closed his tired blue eyes and breathing deeply once again, fell into slumber. Locked as we were from her secured vagina, it was then that Trista and I flew to him, now grown soft and pendulous, still middlingly sticky from their passionate wickedness but with little left for consumption. With her tiny hands, Trista, struggled to move his enormous testicles, first one and then the other and did her best to create a semblance of the arousal the woman had so handily engendered -- yes, handily, whilst I pushed with all my might against his sensitive underside, to force the remaining drop of semen to its tip. In the end, we both took turns licking the translucent nectar. With each lap, Trista, now lying on her back, her eyes floating lazily into her lids, opened her mouth to receive her reward, dropped onto her tongue from my own, all the while rolling the thick substance in her mouth before swallowing, whereupon, she took a lick and did the same for me. Sadly, we both knew it wasn't the lavish feast we had waited so patiently for. Trista was furious and upset. "All this for a single drop...she had some nerve Ariel," she snapped, as we touched the rapidly drying tip of the man's endearing penis. "She kept it all for herself in the end; to make a human child no doubt. Oh, I really scorn her." "Trista don't," I admonished quietly, knowing she wasn't herself due to the endorphins just now taking hold in our swirling minds. "The woman only did what she thought best. Remember, she knows nothing of our needs as we are incorporeal to her." But still and all, pixies are committed to playing tricks on humans, so we smiled and nodded to one another as we flew in silence to the woman's ear. As she rested contentedly on her lover's shoulder, we both shouted in unison, at the top of our lungs, "WAKE UP WENDY!" Sitting up with a start, a look of fright on her otherwise radiant face, she hastily searched about, but by then we had flown off, had slipped under the crack in the window and into the darkness of the night.