Chris, the nerd that sent the email busted into the house to retrieve his new of a fairy.

The front door burst open with a crash, the cheap wood splintering as Chris—sweaty, wide-eyed, and gripping a butterfly net—stumbled inside. His glasses were askew, his nerdy polo shirt damp with nervous sweat. He had been nervous ever since he’d sent the cursed attachment on a drunken dare. And now—

There she was.

Airy lay sprawled across the phone, her glitter-streaked ass jiggling slightly with each whistling snore. A puddle of slick arousal glistened beneath her, mixing with drool in a shameful little pool. Chris’s breath hitched. The spirals had worked.

“H-holy shit,” he wheezed, creeping forward on unsteady legs. The net trembled in his grip.

Airy didn’t stir. Not when his shadow fell over her, not when his sweaty fingers fumbled for the empty jar in his backpack. She just kept snoring, her wings twitching occasionally like a dreaming puppy’s paws.

Chris’s hands shook as he unscrewed the cap. The way her plush thighs squeezed together in her sleep, the way her fuck-dumb lips parted around a tiny, needy whimper—

He scooped her up in one clumsy motion.

Airy didn’t even flinch. Her body was limp, her bubblegum-pink curls sticking to her forehead as she rolled bonelessly into the jar’s plastic depths. Her wings crumpled awkwardly against her back, her tits squishing against the curved wall with a soft smoosh. A fresh trickle of drool escaped her lips, sliding down the plastic.

Chris’s face burned. He could smell her—cotton candy and arousal, thick enough to make his knees weak.

“S-sucker,” he muttered, screwing the cap back on with more **** than necessary. Airy’s nose wrinkled adorably at the sound, but she didn’t wake. Just curled onto her side, her fat ass pressing against the transparent wall as she nuzzled into her own glittery cleavage.

The bottle fogged up almost instantly from her breath.

Chris stuffed it into his backpack, his heart hammering. The sigil on her stomach glowed faintly through the plastic.

Chris's fingers trembled against the backpack zipper as he hurried down the dimly lit sidewalk, the plastic bottle bouncing against his spine with every frantic step. Inside, Airy rolled lazily with the motion, her plush thighs smearing glitter and slick against the curved walls. A tiny, breathy moan escaped her glossy lips as the movement jostled her swollen tits together - not from discomfort, but from the simple, dumb pleasure of sensation.

The bottle fogged thicker with her humid breath, her wings twitching uselessly against the cramped space. She blinked awake for half a second, her unfocused eyes crossing as she tried to process the pinkish blur of streetlights through the plastic. Then—plop—her head lolled back, her tongue lolling out as another bubbly snore shook her tiny frame. Drool pooled in the dip of her collarbone, mixing with the sweat-slick glitter caked between her cleavage.

Chris fumbled with his apartment keys, his pulse hammering in his throat. The backpack straps dug into his shoulders, the weight of what he'd done—what he was about to do—making his stomach clench. The bottle gave a wet schluck as it shifted, Airy's plump ass leaving a smeared, glistening print against the side.