The Curse Of The Unending Cock-stand
Tinker Ali and the Curse of the Unending Cockstand
✦ fairy dust • girlcock • nectar • eleven fairy virgins ✦
Every fairy in my glen drinks the strong nectar and fucks like she means it. I am no exception. I have always been a slut for cock. Not shy about it. Not sorry. Tinker Ali — blonde, winged, built like a dirty little wish — starving for thick shaft. I loved to suck it until my jaw ached. I loved to split my twinkly tiny holes on it until fairy dust leaked out of me in sticky strings. Mouth. Cunt. Ass. I would have taken a fourth hole if the pixie gods had sewn me one.
Cock was religion. I worshipped hung visitors in the glen, swallowed futa fairy girlcock behind mushroom caps, bent over moss and begged to be used like a pretty, dripping sleeve. Futanari fairy slut, hung blonde fairy, Tinker Ali blowjob, fairy anal, girlcock worship, pixie creampie, shemale fairy fantasy — that is my whole personality with wings on.
Then I got greedy.
I scooped a palm of stolen fairy dust from the royal cache, pressed it to my tongue, and wished out loud like a spoiled, cock-obsessed bitch: give me one. A real one. Fat. Hard. Mine.
I woke before dawn with my belly tight and my thighs shining. Something heavy slapped my navel when I sat up. I looked down and laughed so filthy the birds left the tree.
My new cock was obscene. Veined. Fat as my forearm. The head was a slick, flushed crown that kept beading clear pixie pre until it drooled off my balls. And it would not go down. I stroked it. I fucked my fist. I bent myself over the stone rail and tried to grind the underside against cool marble until I sobbed. Nothing. The thing stayed iron, angry, throbbing with a heat that made my empty cunt clench around nothing.
A whisper rode the dust still glittering on my lips. It will not fall until you grease that cockstand with the pussy cream of eleven fairy virgins.
That was the bargain. I licked my teeth and went hunting.
The first was a garden attendant with pollen still on her wrists. I backed her into roses, let her stare, let her wrap both hands around me and fail to close her fingers. When I split her virgin cunt she came so fast her cream ran down my balls in a hot sheet. I counted one out loud while I kept thrusting, because Tinker Ali does not do mercy when her cock is cursed.
Two and three I took together in the bathing pool — twins who had saved themselves for a special night and got my fat girlcock instead. I made one sit on my face and drip into my mouth while I fucked the other raw, then switched, then stacked them so their holes kissed around my shaft. Virgin cream is thinner at first. Then it turns into glaze. I painted my abs with it and kept going.
Four was a court scribe who still blushed when she said the word cock. I put mine on her tongue until she gagged pretty, then folded her over her own desk and took her cherry ass because her pussy was already making a puddle on the parchment. Five and six were dancers. I had them hold their ankles in the rehearsal hall and take turns sitting on me until their cunts made wet, filthy music. Seven tried to bargain. I let her. Then I fucked the bargain out of her and scooped her cream off my cock with two fingers so I could make her taste what the curse demanded.
Eight I found asleep in a hammock of leaves. Dreaming. Wet when I woke her with the head kissing her clit. She said yes so fast it was almost a moan. I bred that tight unused pussy like it owed me rent. Nine and ten were guards who had never been touched on duty. I put one on her knees to slobber my shaft while I wrecked the other against the gate, then I swapped them, then I made them kiss with my pre smeared across both mouths.
Ten creams. My cock was shining like varnished sin and still standing so hard it hurt. I needed one more dripping virgin cunt.
Eleven found me.
She was a nectar priestess, white-gold hair, wings trembling, untouched because she had been waiting for a rite that was supposed to be holy. I told her the truth: I was a cock-drunk futa fairy with a curse and a need, and if she spread for me I would ruin her so sweetly she would never want the holy version. She hiked her silk, sat on the fat head, and sank until her pussy kissed my balls. The cream that broke out of her was thick, shining, almost sparkling. It ran down my shaft in ropes. I grabbed her hips and fucked up into that clutching heat until she screamed into my mouth and her cream frothed at the base.
Eleven.
The curse snapped like a wet string. My cock kicked so hard I saw stars. I came like a broken fountain — heavy, filthy, endless — pumping over her belly, her tits, the moss, my own tits, until I was laughing and shaking and still spurting. The stand finally eased, but only after I had painted the glen like a nasty little miracle.
I am still Tinker Ali. I still love to suck cock. I still love to take it in every twinkly hole I was born with. I just happen to own one now — a fat, mean, beautiful girlcock that remembers the taste of eleven fairy virgins and gets hard again the second I think about adding a twelfth.
If you want the rest of what I do with it, you know where to put your tribute.
