Going Hybrid

I suppose I ought to have a name, just in case someone else wants to refer to me in this story. It says my name's Boris on my birth certificate but right now, I have this irresistible desire to be called Faunfodder. I also seem to be growing wings, which I'm currently seeing as a possible future cause of some social enbarrassment.

Okay, so these new wings of mine do tastefully reflect the colours of my off-white t-shirt and scruffy blue jeans but I'm pretty certain that the boys down the pub won't be saying "Wow! Great wings, Boris" anytime soon. As I stare in horror at my metamorphosis being reflected in my full-length bedroom mirror, my mirror image changes into that of the fairy I ate earlier.

"Hi" she says, "how are you doing?"

"B b b but . . . you're dead, surely" is my panicking reply.

"Apparently not" she says with a smirk. "It would appear you have a lot to learn about fairyism so I'd better fill you in with some of the basics. Look, you're human, right?"

I nod.

"That makes you a mortal carbon-based life-form, as indeed are most living things on this planet. A fairy, on the other hand, in an immortal magic based entity which is unique unto itself. And you my friend are now in the happy position of being a bit of both. Cool eh?"

"Eh? What? No! Look, I mean, how? Why?"

"Well, basically, this is all the result of a bit of a cock-up in our Customer Services Department. Like virtually everyone else, when you were offered three wishes, your first inclination was to use your first wish to gain unlimited further wishes. Right?"

Another nod.

"But, and this is where it all went pear- shaped, you didn’t actually say that. Had you done so, your wish would have been automatically denied under our current terms and conditions policy. However, since you didn't say it, our denial mechanism totally failed to operate and so your un-asked wish slipped through the net. Hence, you've got your wish. You can now have as many wishes as you like. However, as no one in the fairy realms is authorised to grant them for you, our Customer Service Department has, foolishly in my opinion, granted you honorary fairy status so that you can grant them yourself. So, congratulations on getting your wings, you jammy bastard. I had to work yonks to earn mine!"

"But I don’t know how to grant them" I whine, peevishly.

"Try making a wish."

I do and in line with my wish, my wings instantly disappear. There not gone as such because I can still feel them and apparently, you can't be a fairy without wings anymore than you can be a **** without a cock. The same principles apply. Gosh! Who'd have thought it eh? Rapists with principles!

But I'm going off at a tangent here; sorry about that. Meanwhile, back at the plot, another question occurs since I'm clearly aloud more than the statutory three due to my honorary fairy status.

"How long will I have these powers for?"

"Until you deliberately wish to be rid of them."

"Wow! Awesome! Well, thanks. Er . . . are you always going to be popping up in my bedroom mirror unannounced like this, only I could be doing anyone in here and . . . "

"Relax. This is just a routine one-off courtesy call. If you need to see me again, you'll have to summon me to your presence."

"Right, yeah, cool! I got this. Definitely! Er . . . how?"

"Same way you made your wings vanish. You can make me go away the same wa . . . hey, I'm not in the mirror anymore. What's happening?"

"I took your advice and made a wish."

"Oh fuck! You want to fape a fairy don't you, even one the size of a seven year old child!"

"I confess your small size is something of a kinky turn on for me, but you're certainly no child. From what you tell me, you could be thousands of years old for all I know. Still, that said, you're fantastically cute and yeah, I want to fuck you. Still, I suppose you can always stop me with a wish - if you wish."

"Actually, no. Protocol dictates that all wishes the rules make possible to be made, must be granted. The best thing I can do is wish it hadn't happened once it’s over, then it won't have. So go on then. You know you want to and just remember to wish for stuff as you go along. That way, you can keep on improving the experience."

So I do. I wish away her clothes. I wish away my clothes. I lift her soft, warm, diminutive, womanly form as if she were a child and bear her to my bed, on which I lay her. I wish her vulva to be hairless and it is. I wish her tits to have some firm resilience to them when I squeeze them - and there is. I wish for her lush green hair to smell of wild lavender, and it does. I wish to feel her tiny body trembling with excitement under me, and I do. I wish my fairy to beg me to fuck her and she does, most earnestly and eloquently. I wish her vagina to be hot, wet, tight but active, and it is. I wish for her to writhe and moan in ecstacy as I hump her and she does. I wish for my cock to be so large and to penetrate her so deeply that I'll be able to see her flat but feminine abdomen bulge with my every thrust, and it does so I do. I wish for my orgasm, when it comes, to be super-intense and last forever . . .

That's the last thing I remember before waking up alone lying facedown on my bed with three day's growth of stubble on my face. I'm starving and dehydrated, yet my quilt feels quite wet and slimey under me. Nervously, I check to see why and find I'm lying in more cum than I could produce naturally in a year's worth of shagging. In horror, I contemplate having to explain the stain to my dry cleaners . . . until I remember how it got there and clean it all up with a wish. I wish I could remember my orgasm and I do. It's fierce, its powerful, it's earth shaking and it goes on and on and on for so long that I become bored with it and have to wish for it to stop - and it does.

'Hmmmm!' I think to myself, 'I'd better start managing what I wish for a little more carefully or I could end up in deep shit here.' In a moment of realisation of what I've just thought, I look around in blind panic, but I needn't have worried. There's no shit of any depth here. I apparently hadn't wished for it.

On my dressing table, I find an invitation card for me to attend a function at Fairyland H.Q. Dress: black tie and wings. Hmmm! Sounds formal. I wonder what it's about?