Sylvia the half faerie, half wood elf is taking a break from traversing the woodlands when she’s spotted by a mischievous creature. This normally wouldn’t be a problem, except she’s sunning herself on a stone after taking a swim and her clothes are still on the opposite shore!

Deep in the Mirboon Forest

TIBBOT WAS FLYING high through the Mirboon Forest. Weaving between great oaks, diving beneath the rocky outcroppings of the craggy, steep mountain side and gliding through the open spaces. It was a joy to have one’s wings. He was one of many pure breed Faeries, but often boasted that he was one of the few with a close tie to the royal line.

He wore no skins. What little clothing he wore was made of fine cotton weave. The Faerie folk weren’t a bashful bunch, physicality and freedom of body was celebrated as much as overall cleverness. There was nothing like a good trick to the Faerie Folk, it was as good as fine wine, your best friend or even admirable beauty.

His clan thought so anyway. There were others, many others. One clan preferred tricks that relied on magic, others liked to play at being wizards, and still more liked to horde anything shiny. Such fickle clans they were compared to his own. Trickery was difficult! A great jest or trick was remembered for years! Decades! Centuries!

Of all the magically touched races he most pitied the Wood Elves. Touched by magic, certainly, but they rarely grew wings, were forced to mix with humans since they were so often on the ground and many of them wandered in bands.

He had only seen one band of them, to be honest, and he was shocked to discover they wore leather clothing and ate meat! An Elf who ate meat, no wonder they didn’t grow wings! They were too heavy!

Still, they were an entertaining folk, making up for their lack of upward mobility by forming acrobat and dramatic troupes. They brought trinkets and marvels from cities and traded with their upper branch cousins, as they were the entertainers of men as well as Faerie kind. He had seen only one of their plays and it was a wondrous thing, he had to admit. Glamours and singing and great acts of grace accompanied the telling of their stories.

He glided between the trees following a quick stream when he came to the high falls and saw her. At first it was beauty that snared him. A vision with red hair climbing out of the waterfall pool onto a large flat stone in it’s middle. Set between the shores it was a perfect resting spot after a morning swim. Her sweet pink tinted white skin glistened under the clear morning sun.

She was completely nude, her red hair was like a curling oil fire cascading from her head down her gracefully curved back. He sat down on the high falls, taking cover behind a jutting rock to watch unobserved.

For a moment her bottom pointed upwards just perfectly so he could admire the smooth curves of it, the absolute perfect handfuls it would make before he sought between and below, to touch the pleasure slit. Her secret place was lightly guarded with soft, short auburn hair. He gasped when she turned over onto her back, her breasts were twice as much than would fit in his small hands, but so firm, topped with pink nipples that were hardened by the cold water.

She flipped her curly red hair out of her face, throwing tiny droplets into the air around her making a rainbow all around for just the blink of an eye. She had a heart shaped face and pouty, full pink lips. Her little stomach and perfect chest heaved as she caught her breath. She lay down on the rock, closing her eyes, letting the sun dry her skin.

It was a Gypsy Wood Elf! So soon after their kind were in mind, it must have

been a portent of this fiery seductress! She was the most gorgeous one he had ever seen! He couldn’t think of a Faerie of his own clan who compared! Her little pointed ears were his first clue, but there was something else he couldn’t quite place. A touch of the wild that was enticing, intoxicating. That must have been it.

He couldn’t think of a way to introduce himself to her without frightening her into shame or sending her scurrying away so he remained in his hiding place, admiring the bold beauty of the creature.

Tibbot was tall for a Faerie of his clan, when his wings came in his aunts were afraid he would never fly. Four feet dead on, almost as tall as a human. Two years after they appeared his wings were put to good use. He was not only able to fly, but he was strong, fast, and loved to spin, turn and flip in mid air. It was like breathing, it came so easy to him.

He measured her against his own charms. She was only one or two inches taller than him, she was fit and incomparably lovely. He had never found difficulty in finding a mate, being quite handsome himself so she would certainly accept him with a little incentive. Tibbot concluded that she would be wonderful for him and smiled to himself.

As his considerations came to an end she stirred. Her hands ran down the course of her body, slowly sluicing the cold water off of her skin. He watched her lift one leg in the air and press her hand down its length, caressing the water from it, then she did the other. She lay out again, one hand under her head, the other on her belly.

Such a creature, I must entrap her somehow. Experience her. He ducked lower as she opened her eyes and looked about herself for a moment. First this way, then the other, and then up the falls, finally behind her.

Did I make a noise? I’m sure I did not move an inch, barely breathed, did I! He thought, on the verge of panic, so afraid to spook her. He hadn’t made his plan yet! Wasn’t ready to be discovered!

To his relief she put her head back down and closed her green peepers again. The hand on her belly moved up, slowly caressing like a lover’s touch. Up to the midpoint between her breasts, then ever so slowly, hesitantly tracing the lovely round shapes before caressing a nipple.

She teased herself, this red, white and pink creature. Pulling at one nipple gently, stroking the other breast, pinching the pointed pink bit there. Her lips parted, her mouth was opened in a quiet, glad expression he had seen when pleasing a lover in just such a way.

That hand was satisfied with the work it had done there and moved on. Down her chest and belly it went, her legs celebrated its arrival and parted wide enough for it to play.

Tibbot could see the lovely light trace of auburn down there, so soft the fur must have been, a pity it wasn’t thicker. The pink slit was so pretty and neat, his eyes went wide as her fingers pried her fleshy gates apart. It was so floral and delicate, that small sweet place.

Her fingers traced the outline, explored a little before resting at the top and moving in tiny circles. Her head thrashed to one side, he could hear her breathe in sharply and exhale in interrupted gusts. The middle finger dipped inside and her hips rocked several times before it retreated and went back to rubbing the sensitive spot where her nether lips came together.

He licked his lips. I must taste that flower. There must be something I could barter, a key that would guarantee my entrance into this treasure gate. His eyes darted around her on the rock, up one shore, the other, and then he found it!

She wears clothing! Modesty must be of some value to her. But there is a blade in that little pile, I must be careful. He concluded to himself.

Without a second thought he swept down to the bank where her neat pile of clothes and a heavy cotton bag had been tucked, took the whole bundle in his arms and flew to the center of the pool at the bottom of the waterfall.

“Oi! That’s mine!” The red haired creature called out, practically leaping to her feet, planting little hands on little hips.

Tibbot couldn’t help but smile at her angry, pouting face, her fierce naked form was so pretty and demanding. He remained aloft, hovering above the water and out of her reach. “In my hand are the clothes and things, so yours they must not be.”

“Blimey, what a morning’ to meet a Trickster Faerie, and a pervy one at that.” “Pervy?”

“Aye, like folk who like to nick clothes an’ force others to stand in the buff

lookin’ on, starin’ at the naughty bits all the while.”

Tibbot thought for a moment and nodded his agreement. “Tibbot’s a pervy

Faerie.”

“Aye, now that we’re sure o’ that, what’ll it take to get my clothes back?” “Trade.”

“What? I’d trade you, but I’ve nothin’,” she looked him up and down from

toes to slicked black hair. He is a handsome one, if a little skinny and girly. She thought to herself.

Tibbot looked down the length of her body, his eyes coming to rest on her lightly furred auburn mound. “I taste your flower and then give clothings back.”

She stepped back, putting her hand in the way.

Tibbot panicked and nearly dropped the clothing. “No! I taste, lick flower! Not eat! I do things that start with kisses, end with oooh, aaaah!” he said exaggeratedly, feigning the pleasure he offered.

She giggled and smiled at him, shaking her head. “Well, considering I dinna get to finish, you owe me that’ much. You can pleasure my puss till I’m feeling’ sunny inside then I get my things,” her voice was sweet, her accent was as bold as she and unlike anything he’d ever heard before. This was a creature of unique magnificence.

Tibbot was not a stupid Faerie, he knew he had to wait to give the clothing back despite how badly he wanted to just drop everything and rush up the pink and red creatures’ legs and lick the flower. So he turned, flew up the falls and wedged her bundle of things between two rocks right at the top. It would take her a long time to get there if she somehow cheated him.

When he turned around she had laid back down, relaxed again. Propping herself up on one elbow he fixed him with a wicked, inviting grin.

He glided from the hiding spot and let himself down gently on top of her. Arms wrapped about him and her lips were on his in moments. The kisses were warm, breathy, her pillowy lips were soft and inviting. He returned her efforts for a few blinks before turning his attentions elsewhere. Free of her mouth, he feathered

kisses down the smooth skin of her neck.

His lips pecked and smooched their way down to her breasts. His head felt

full, his heart beating between his ears he was so excited as he pinched a nipple between his lips. She gasped and ran a hand through his hair. Her body moved slightly under his in celebration as he flicked at one little pink nub with his tongue, then set his attentions on the other.

She savoured the sweet sensations, his tongue was quick and nimble. His hands moved up and down her sides, and he felt feather light on top of her.

His patience gave out before long, however; “The flower! That pink flower!” He declared as he went down between her thighs.

“Straight on ta business,” she breathed with a little smile. “My kind o’ perv; cute an’ handy.”

“No more waiting!” he ran his hands over the soft mound and she shivered. The fur there was so scant, so soft, it was as light as air and a perfect red nest. He parted the two halves of soft flesh to reveal the delicate pink he treasured, like others he had seen but this was exquisite.

The lips were perfectly sized, only large enough to see all the detail, but small enough to hide in her pleasure mound. The little hood at the top hid a bud that he knew he should seek to bring her to her full pleasure, but tasting was his desire.

He buried his face in it at first, celebrating its warmth and wetness; she inhaled sharply. Tibbot lashed out with his tongue, licking, exploring, touching every little fold from the bottom of the dainty slit all the way up one side then starting over and feeling, caressing the other. Her fingers came down to entwine with his dark hair as she heaved and sighed.

It tasted sweet, but there was a deep, full flavour there as well. It was wet and responsive. His tongue passed right up the middle, extending out fully, lashing the whole against the pink, again and again and she was squirming, writhing under his attentions.

When he began to feel the fine detail with his tongue’s tip, her head rolled, and he looked into that pretty, heart shaped face. It was turning flush, her chest, her neck, her face were becoming pink. Her lips came together, leaving only a small hole in their center to suck in a big draw of air as he felt her almost ready to reach her climax.

That expression, with the flushing of her skin, the fullness of her lips and her eyes squeezed tight was more than he could stand. His desire changed in an instant and he tore his skimpy leggings off.

His own pink tool would fill her, almost certainly, but the lush mouth above was what he wanted most. Tibbot followed his need and leapt up, pressing his pleasure piece between her lush lips just as she opened her eyes.

She had only an instant to see it coming and to his delight she did not refuse him. There were a few grunts at first, a little fussing, but she did not push him off as he plunged his member into her warm mouth. Its tip ran back and forth along the roof of her mouth as she went to work quickly. Then he pressed deeper and she made gagging sounds before pushing his hips away.

He took the hint, the Faeries in his village didn’t enjoy that deepness either, well, most of them didn’t, anyway. She closed her mouth around him and sucked hard, pressing the tip of her tongue against the end, flicking it. He was in heaven an instant later as she ran the top of his member up and down the roof of her mouth again and sucked as hard as she could.

The rhythm was perfect and he tensed, grabbed her head and thrust his hips shallowly with great speed. She pulled away only too late.

He shouted in celebration as his seed spewed all over her face, her hair, her breasts. She just didn’t have time to get out of the way.

She bit her bottom lip and opened her legs wide, pointing with her index finger between them, beckoning him to return to his work.

He sighed and looked down to her with a satisfied smile. Without a seconds hesitation he leapt up and took wing! The Faerie flew at great speed to where her things were, retrieved them and swept back over her head, dropping the items on the rock all around her. He giggled and spun as he flapped away down the river.

He could hear her shout; “Oi! I didn’t get mine! I only rushed to finish you so you could get me sunny inside after you’d finished! Grotty sod!”

***

Sylvia dove off of the small, flat stone island into the water and washed the Faerie’s seed off her, careful to get it all out of her hair. She had to get a bar of soap from her pack to finish the sticky work.

Swimming back up onto the rock, she sluiced the water off of her skin and sat a moment, waiting for the sun to finish drying her. “Bloody Fae boy. Bein’ his kind I shoulda known it’d be all about him. Haven’t found my joy in forever. Finally get a little chance at it with my fingertips and he comes along, promises to send me to glowing’ glory but sticks his little manhood down me throat at the last minute. Bloody hell, can’t find a good bonk to save me,” she grumbled to herself as she started to sort through her things.

Her black, supple leather thigh high boots were there, along with her tight fitted black leather pants, a few skimpy thin strapped thongs, her white silk halter top and black leather sleeved vest to match her boots. The pair were a great gift, made just for her. The vest was just long enough to cover three inches below her breasts, laced up the front a few times, and the sleeves were tight fitted down to her wrists. There was even a wonderful silk lining inside with a pair of secret pockets woven within.

Her short sword, the belt and sling were there as well with her pennies, shot bag and travel pack with all her extra knickers, food and other provisions. She even had her silver belt of charms, coins and medals. She had fully expected the Faerie to run off with it considering how glittery it was, how sweet it sounded when all the medals, charms and coins chinked and jingled together. He had made off with something of great value nonetheless, but at least she had all her things. He left something in trade all right. Little value that was, He shoulda given something else entirely, can’t believe he didn’t hold up his end! He seemed so chuff to get down on my puss! She thought to herself, shaking her head.

It occurred to her then, she was in the middle of the river, she’d have to use a little magic to get back across if she wanted to get dressed there. She shrugged and started putting her clothes on. “May as well use it for something. Not like I’ll be getting wings.”

Despite the fact that she was half Faerie, her elders told her that her Wood Elf side would prevent her from growing wings. As a girl that was depressing but when she grew into womanhood she realized she had inherited many other gifts from her Faerie lineage. Her beauty was only the tip of the iceberg.

She was raised by Wood Elves, they were the only family she knew and she considered her entire Gypsy clan as close relatives. It was good being a Gypsy most of the time. She got to see every end of the Westward Green, the quieter core of the forest. Sadly, it didn’t last forever.

There had been other mixed bloods among her clan before. They were typically the prettiest and had incredible potential. Many had become heroes of her clan but seldom found their adventures while travelling with their people. To every generation there were so few mixed bloods born. She was the only one in her clan with such a lineage, as it was very rare for the bloodlines to mix. The two bred often enough, being of similar height and attractiveness but offspring didn’t come as a common result of such a pairing.

Even as a child she knew she was different. Her playmates were kind, however, and her childhood was a happy one. As she grew into a woman the differences became even more noticeable. The clan was still very accepting of her but the whispers about her untapped potential were present more and more. That, along with her growing wanderlust, her desire to go on adventures like the High Elves of old and see the world fortified her certainty that she wouldn’t be able to travel with her people for long.

It was the sad truth of her existence and deny it as she might,she was destined to go into the world alone in search of adventure, of something to thrill her, to tell her clan, to fill the needs she often felt slave to.

Sometimes it was difficult to resist thinking back to the life she had with her people. Being full grown, the most beautiful and sensual of all the women of her age in her Gypsy clan, a roving camp of three hundred or so, she could have stayed and had any man she wanted. She sometimes went as far as to tease the fellows by taking to bed with women instead. None would refuse her and she flirted with them all.

She was a challenging student, so her elders told her, and had learned much of what they all had to teach. She questioned even more and ignored all but the barest etiquette. Her need for information about the world beyond what she knew was insatiable. She would suffer no niceties or pomp or ceremony if it meant she’d have to wait to get what she wanted.

Her appetites were voracious. She craved new sights, went through what she called; ‘passable partners’ in the evening that never truly satisfied her and always wanted to experience the unknown. Her elders had one message for her upon hearing her latest idea for a quest; ‘just go, you’ll be brilliant on your own. You’ll find new friends, see new things, do great deeds the like of which we’ll sing about for an age! None of it will happen if you stay here, so go and don’t be afraid to be yourself. You are not a hidden or easily passed thing like the chameleon. You are a lovely memorable creature and the more that’s seen the better off you’ll be.’

Over a decade before, when she was still just a girl starting to come into womanhood, she and her family were caught by King Moracor’s men. Taken as valuable slaves, they were caged with Princess Allestra, whose father, the King had been killed along with the rest of her family.

Sylvia and her family managed to escape. They were small, quick, but the Princess couldn’t follow. Sylvia had lost so many people she loved when the King’s men had first attacked their caravan. She sympathised with Allestra deeply and her thoughts wandered to how she may be stuck in a tall tower, captive to a King who had a reputation for greed and cruelty.

That was her great idea for adventure, to go to the city of Thaldis and find a way to rescue her friend if she still wanted rescuing.

When she was dressed she looked herself over. Her sword belt hung just the way she liked it; across her hips, slung low to one side. Her black boots were tightened just right using the leather thongs that ran up the inner thighs, her britches hung low in the middle where leather laces wove together to keep the leggings up, and much higher on the sides to hide the strings of her knickers most of the time. Her midriff was bare down well past her navel, just as she preferred.

She took a breath in slowly, deeply and then let it out through a small hole she made with her lips. “Magic time,” Sylvia said to herself.

The river banks were teeming with life. Closing her eyes she could feel it all around her like a warm embrace. The smell of the trees, the fresh earth, and the cool breeze coming off of the water told her that in this small part of the world, everything was as it should be. “Even Faerie boy belongs. Bloody arse,” she whispered to herself.

Shaking her head, she cleared the frustration from her mind. Several slow, deep breaths later she was ready. Her eyes opened and with a running start she leapt half way across the water between her and the bank, fifteen feet at least, then skipped over the rest of the water’s surface between her and the bank.

Clapping and shaking her hips, causing her silver belt of little coins and charms to jingle, she cheered herself. “Fae Gypsy blood keeps the luck from turning for long!” she cried as she spun on a heel faced the forest and started her long run through its lush green depths.

“Next stop Thaldis, where natures’ unsure of whether its sandy desert or green upright tree land,” she exclaimed to herself, referring to the border city between the deep forest and far reaching barren desert.

The happiness she felt at being near the end of her long journey was tinged with uncertainty and fear. She had never been out of the forest, didn’t have any friends outside of her clan, and no wings to boot. She’d have a very hard time winning the favour or trust of almost any Faerie in the area, not that it mattered much right at that moment.

Sylvia knew the river marked the end of Elven and Faerie territory. She’d have to look very closely high up in the trees to find any and even then they might not be kind. That part of the forest smelled a little like the darker creatures of the wood. The kind that jumped unwary travellers, nicking their gear, eating their horses and even their masters at times.

She shifted her small pack on her back, settling it into a good spot as she jogged at a brisk pace. No horse was needed, she stepped lightly in the wood, knew the ways of the forest and made her way like any other peaceful creature in it. Anything on two legs would have a difficult time catching her. The journey was coming to an end, the adventure was just about to begin.