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Part III
They got up at the usual time, had a good pee, and then proceeded to breakfast. Once again, the weather had turned warm. Finished with their morning tasks, they headed out to spread fairy mischief and mayhem. This time they blighted hundreds of acres of crops, and so virtually guaranteed a famine. "That'll be something to linger over!" said Rhodopis with a smile.
After a hard day of wickedness, they flew back to their refuge. What would be waiting for them when they returned? It wasn't long before they found out. It had gotten chilly again, and within minutes of their arrival, the cats appeared, each with something new in his mouth. This time they had caught a trio of Plump-Bottomed Warblers–the smallest of wingless fairies. The Warblers (all of whom, of course, were female) were kicking as if kicking were going out of style, their little high heels flashing in the waning sun. It made not a bit of difference–no more then did their tearful cries.
"I . . . I'm going to try something new," said Rhodopis.
"Now be careful!" Xanthe said. She didn't like the sound of this.
Rhodopis lay back in the grass and planted her bootheels about two feet apart. Her wings moved up and down with a slow, steady rhythm. The white band of panty between her thighs was plainly visible. She started to rub it with her hand. The others could see the fabric dampen.
One of the cats looked over at her, dropped his Warbler in the grass (he kept her in place with one of his paws), and gave out a quizzical "Mmrroww?" But then his attention returned to his catch.
"They want to finish their meal," said Rhodopis. "It's all right; I can wait."
And finish their meal they did, licking the little Warbler pussies with their rough tongues till the victims fell into what seemed a delirium of painful ecstasy. When it was over, the cats opened their mouths wide and swallowed their prey whole. Then the one who had earlier shown some interest in Rhodopis approached her.
When she saw him coming, Rhodopis pulled back her legs as far as they could go, until her red boots were pointed skyward. At first the cat just sniffed the damp white membrane between her thighs. Then, with no warning at all, he nipped her.
"Ouch!" Rhodopis cried, and her legs shot forward. The cat leapt out of the way just in time. "Rhodopis!" her two friends screamed.
"It's . . . it's OK. It just stings a little. Oh, it's . . . it's . . . really good!" And with these words, the girl raised her legs once more. "It's OK, baby," she said. "Come on back!" And after a while, the cat did. No more nipping; now he just stroked her with one feather-light touch of his tongue after another. Soon Rhodopis was whimpering with pleasure. "Ohhh!" she cried at one point, "I've never had so much fun with my panties on! Why don't you join me?" It took a few more minutes, but at last Melantho lay down next to her friend and raised her legs to the sky. A little later, a little more reluctantly, Xanthe lay down as well. Within minutes, the other two cats were fully occupied.
It was a strange sort of pleasure: it had a sting to it, a burning itch that made the girls cry even as
they were transported by delight. (They had to laugh when they saw each other weeping.) They thought they would soon plunge into a maelstrom of orgasms, but somehow they lingered at the edge rather than falling in. Then, for no obvious reason, the cats stopped and withdrew.
"Oh darnitall," said Rhodopis, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Regrouping, I guess. Say, do you remember that silly human rhyme?"
"All their rhymes are silly," said Melantho.
"The one about the turtle. You know: 'He snapped at the mosquito, he snapped at the flea, he snapped at the minnow, and he snapped at me.'"
"What brought that up?" Xanthe asked.
"Well, this is a lot like that. It goes on to say: 'He caught the mosquito, he caught the flea, he caught the minnow . . . but he didn't catch me!' Isn't that about what's happened here?"
"I guess so," said Xanthe. "What's your point?"
"Just an interesting coincidence, and maybe a good omen–I mean, since we seem to be like the human in the rhyme, not getting caught and all."
"Hmmm," said Xanthe and began to snore gently. Rhodopis looked over at Melantho and saw she was sleeping, too. "I can take a hint," said the red-haired girl, and before much longer she was out like her friends.
The fairy dreamt that something as big as a mountain, but moving, had come up to her and was now pressing her down with its terrible weight. A hot breeze blew on her face. Aside from the breeze, everything else was cold. "Please don't," she whimpered, and then she was awake.
She was looking up at a great white Snow Lion, one of those fearsome hunters that haunt the northern mountains of Mythica. His long yellow fangs were bared and dripping saliva. His hot breath was on her face. He had one paw planted firmly on her breasts, almost crushing the wind out of her. She glanced briefly to either side and saw that two beasts of comparable bulk were standing over her friends, and the glade was full of . . . snow! It took a few moments, but her terror at last found a voice, and she screamed and screamed. Then her friends awoke and began to scream, too.
Keeping her pinned in place, the lion raised his other paw, its terrible claws extended. Then, with surprising delicacy, he used this appendage to nudge her skirt all the way back. Next he snagged the waistband of her panties and tugged them to her knees. Rhodopis could see that her friends were being stripped in the same way. Soon three pretty muffs—one fiery red, one gleaming black, one daffodil yellow—were exposed. Then the beasts lowered their great shaggy heads. Their saliva was dripping now on the three bared pussies, and it burned! The fairies screamed again. They drew their legs up and back, as caught fays often do, and began to kick, frantically and hopelessly. Rough tongues were extended, and each forced its way into a tender twat. The fairies screamed once more.
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