Brownie Sauce
She's a filthy cock goblin, missus
The picture above is an illustration of an old French fairy tale. It was written in a different time, with more robust children who were expected to deal with Cinderella’s sisters cutting off their own toes and the queen wanting to eat Snow White’s liver.
The story below is more modern, and not for any children, however robust.
I wish I had fairies at the bottom of my garden, but I don’t. What I have got is a bunch of brownies. And I don’t mean earnest little girls in uniform promising to do their best, which would be bad enough, but much older and even smaller folk living under my gooseberry bush.
I put out bowls of milk for them but otherwise I leave them alone. In return they piss on my roses, smoke my peonies, and steal the stamens from my anthurium to use as sex toys.
I first discovered them last June. I was training my honeysuckle when I heard the faint but unmistakeable sound of a woman relishing discipline. Don’t ask me how I recognised that.
I looked behind the nudiflorum to find four tiny women wielding peacock feathers. They were whipping a younger girl who knelt in front of them, clutching the tattered remains of her gown to her breast. She didn’t seem to be suffering too badly: only one hand was holding shreds of material in front of her breasts; the other moved vigorously beneath her largely intact skirt.
When her ‘punishment’ was complete, I asked the women who they were.
The eldest scowled at me. “We’re brownies, ye ignorant biggun!”
In fairy stories, brownies are always male. It seems that’s because the brownie women have formed, “a lesbian separatist anarcho-syndicalist commune, stoopid hoomin!”
I think they’re mainly political lesbians, though. When I asked why the girl was being punished, I was told, “Wagtail’s a lazy boggart, missus! A slattern! And a filthy cock goblin!”
It turns out those noises I hear on summer evenings aren’t cats and foxes mating, they’re the sound of Wagtail the slutty brownie getting gangbanged by every imp, gremlin, leprechaun, skillywink, and nixie in the district. The other brownies disapprove of this and punish her, which she approves of.
So that explains everything, except where they found the peacock feathers.
* * *
I discovered the brownie commune some time ago, which is when I first published this story. Since then, and now knowing what the noises in the night are, I’ve taken the opportunity to engage in v̶o̶y̶e̶u̶ serious research into the sexual habits of fey folk. These are my observations.
Leprechauns
I’ve never seen Wagtail being fucked by a leprechaun, and I assume it never happens because she’s still in one piece. The little Irish fellas may be smaller than me but they’re three times the size of her and prodigously endowed: they travel with their cocks slung over their shoulders to avoid tripping. I wouldn’t tackle a leprechaun’s cock, not even for a pot of gold, and nor does Wagtail. She typically wraps her arms and legs around the shaft and grinds against a vein while licking the crown, until she’s engulfed by a flood of green goo and the leprechaun vanishes in the blink of an eye, leaving her to clean up the mess with moss.
Gremlins
Brownies apparently farm snails for lube. I learned this from Wagtail, who told me she only uses lube when she’s planning to meet gremlins. She preps for anal sex because gremlins like to ‘accidentally’ penetrate the wrong hole, so the application of copious amounts of lube can trick them into believing the right hole would be wrong.
Nixies
I’d never even seen a nixie until the night Wagtail take on ten at once. Anyone who’s watched The Abyss will recognise their general form: a sinuous, sentient tentacle of water, though much smaller than the movie version. The group I saw writhed their way across the lawn from my pond and each seemed to know its place in nixie heirarchy: four coiled themselves around Wagtail’s wrists and ankles, pinning her spreadeagled on the ground; two squirmed against the soft skin of her thighs; two more constricted her breasts; and the final three made her airtight… though not watertight.
Skillywinks
No larger than a mouse spider and just as hairy, the skillywinks always visit Wagtail as a tribe. They have microscopic genitalia, so what happens can hardly be described as sex, but the feeling of lying naked in the grass as hundreds of tiny, hairy men crawl all over your body, nibbling and licking and rubbing themselves to orgasm is almost indescribable. I imagine. I’m sure that’s what Wagtail would say if I asked her.
Imps
Imps are malicious, spiteful, sadistic little creatures, which is perhaps why I’ve observed them with Wagtail more often than any other fey folk. They are just civilised enough to take turns during a gangbang, but they do not queue: waiting imps, and those who have already satisfied their needs, find soft flesh to rake with their talons or tender spots to prod with their wicked horns. Wagtail tells me her punishment for an imp orgy is always a disappointment in comparison.
* * *
Wagtail is expecting a herd of brags tonight, down on holiday from the Northumbrian moors. I’m already sharpening my pencil in anticipation.
How adventurous and energetic W is! It was fascinating to consider the ‘good neighbours’ from a completely different angle- thoroughly entertaining Marsha 👏