Even with her back to the door there’s enough light from the small grimy side window for me to appreciate her powers of persuasion. She’s dressed entirely in black. Tight leather pants hug curvaceous thighs and sturdy calves, their muscularity accentuated by the height of the diamante covered stilettos. A pair of milky white breasts threaten to spill over the top of her satin bustier.
She stares around the bar as if searching for someone specific, her eyes of molten gold flicking from face to face until they come to me. She pauses and tilts her head. Long flaming waves of hair cascade to one side exposing an upstanding pointed ear. I’m no elf expert but given her colouration and shapely build I’m pretty sure that she’s a Fire-Elf. To dispel any doubt a small flame flickers around her fingertips for just a moment.
A murmur sweeps around the room and a couple of dwarves stand and leave without finishing their drinks. Not everyone can handle a Fire-Elf.
I feel a little dizzy as she takes a step forward and saunters in my direction, she nods at the goblin behind the bar. He pours a measure of whisky and the glass appears on my table without the aid of a hand. I look at my white wine and wish that it was something a little stronger.
She leans forward until her face hovers just before mine. I grip my glass to prevent myself from reaching out to stop her magnificent breasts tumbling forth, somehow they stay restrained.
“You need company.”
It wasn’t a question and she slides onto the bench seat of the cubicle beside me. It’s awkward for me to shuffle over. My wings won’t behave, I’m certain they’re why she’s chosen me. She leans in and with the merest of touches traces a fingertip across their soft gossamer. I do my best to tuck them behind me but, traitorous appendages that they are, they quiver with delight and flutter closer to her touch.
“What’s your name?” Her voice is deep and husky.
Small explosions of delight go off in my groin.
She sips her whiskey, rolling the liquid fire over her tongue before she speaks again.
“Perpetua…Perpetua…Per…pet…ua,” she plays with my name. “Pretty Perpetua are you open to persuasion?”
“Perhaps.” I’m aghast at the alliteration but the small explosions are radiating sparks of pleasure all the way to my nipples and I can’t think clearly.
I think you are my pretty Perpetua. We’re going to have such fun.
Oh by the flowers of the forest…she’s inside my head.
My wings are beating so hard they’ve lifted me out of the cubicle and I’m hovering beside her. She stands and slips her hand into mine. I think it’s to hold me in place but then the room blurs and we’re outside. Not just outside but somewhere else altogether. She’s powerful this Fire Elf, she’s found my dream location. I let her pull me into her arms.
My fingers drift across her milky mounds. It only takes a gentle flick of my thumb for them to burst out. In freedom they are full and round. Her nipples, the palest of pink, scrunch up tight in the cool air of the forest. She chuckles from the back of her throat as I pinch them.
Somehow, she’s managed to slip my halter-neck dress off, the cloud of purple spider silk wafts to the forest floor. I’m exposed. Her golden eyes glimmer as she runs her gaze over my small but pert breasts, down past my tiny waist and across my flat belly. The glimmer turns to a blaze as her eyes come to rest on my naked mons Venus. It’s already glowing, pulsing with a soft pink shimmer that matches the lights flashing across my wings. It is obvious that I need no persuasion.
Her mouth is hot and her tongue tastes of the whisky, she’s firm but not rough. I pinch her nipples again and feel her heat flare. Grasping the short spikes of my pale green hair she pulls my head back to expose my neck. Her hot tongue slides its way from my ear, down my neck then lower until she wraps her lips over my jutting nipple. The eruptions in my loins intensify, fed by the fire in my nipples. Flashes of red streak across the gossamer of my wings.
I flutter higher, allowing her tongue to trail down my body, until I can wrap my delicate legs around her neck. Her tongue plunges inside my cunt with a heat I’ve never experienced. It’s almost too hot to endure. Almost. Replaced by fingers that thrust into the glow of my pulsating red lips her tongue flicks up to lash at my clitoris. As my insides turn molten and melt into her palm the birds are silenced by my cries of delight.
Sated and gasping for breath I sink to my knees landing on soft moss. With her help I remove her spikes and slide her pants off one foot at a time. My wings flutter across her nipples, the hard edges beating so fast they’re a blur. She groans as I slide cool fingers up her inner thighs and penetrate the flaming thicket surrounding her hot cunt.
She’s hot and welcoming, I slip one, two then three fingers inside. I plunder her depths. She thrusts against my fingers but I know what she really wants. She’s still standing and opens her legs at my nudge. I crawl underneath. My glowing red wings beat against her, all four of them pound her clitoris in rapid succession. I can’t see her face but from her moans I know that she’s about to come. My body joins hers in mutual orgasm — it’s like nothing I've ever experienced. As she roars in ecstasy I shriek my words of magic. I can't help it, it's just who I am.
She asked my name, but she should have asked who I am. For I’m a Fancier-Fairy. A finder, collector, gatherer, accumulator and appreciator of lovely, sexy things. And she’s mine now — mine to keep forever.
She’s unique in the known world and my fellow Fancier-Fairies come from far and wide to admire her. The miniature Fire-Elf flaming in fury in a palm-sized glass bell really is the jewel in my collection.
I call her Persuasion.
Copyright 2015, Jacqui Greaves (firstname.lastname@example.org). All rights reserved.
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