A Cautionary Note.
When I was a young girl my Mommy told me Fairy tales. When I was older I learnt that they are not real. When I was twenty I learnt that I was wrong, but that fairies sometimes are not as nice as I always thought they were! Not all fairies have pretty wings and eat ambrosia; some have pretty wings and whips and chains, and feed you gruel just for fun!
Part 3
My Mistress and her whole ensemble decamped from the house the morning of day four. I was still locked in my tiny cage swinging in my pear tree. I watched, as box after box exited the main house to be loaded on a string of wooden carts. Each of which was pulled by an oxen type of creature, a creature huge in dimension with four sturdy legs a thick coat of silky and looking hair, and the four of the largest tusks I have ever seen on any creature, living or fossilised. They appeared to be quite placid in nature and well trained, but underneath all that placidity I think I could still detect their natural aggression. How these damned fairies tamed such a colossus of a creature was beyond me, but clearly they had.
After three long days of watching the house vanish into boxes I was finally removed from the pear tree, though not my cage. My Mistress watched as two male slaves lowered me to the ground, she watched as they inserted carrying poles and lifted me once more. She watched as I like all of her other possessions was loaded onto the back of a cart, drawn by one of the creatures I had been admiring.
Then with me taken care of she turned away from me, all without so much as a word of praise or anger. She watched, looked and left, I meant so little to her right then, how could that be? She had spent a considerable amount of coin to purchase me, and now she acted as though I meant nothing to her.
The wagon tarp was dropped and left hanging, which surprised me! In all of the cowboy films I have ever watched, they lashed everything down before moving off, not here I learned, to my cost.
*
I did not know this at the time, but I discovered it later and it was to be quite important to me. You see my wagon was the last in the long procession of her wagons, something for you to remember.
I heard whips crack, male voices curse, and then felt the wagon jerk beneath me. We were off to some place unknown, at the bidding of my Mistress unseen.
The wagons rolled on over quite smooth roadways, which obviously implied well travelled roadways; but to me they were invisible as I was shut in my cage within the dark. I could occasionally see out of the back when a strong gust of wind blew and so lifted the rear tarp, but even then all I could see was yellow sand and thick airborne dust.
Nothing much happened for two days, the wagons rolled, the whips cracked and I was still ignored. I was cramped and desperate to move, and so it was that I tried to twist in my cage, and perhaps ease a leg out between the bars. Much to my consternation I felt the cage move, it tipped back slightly, I tried to rock forward but that only made things worse somehow. The cage rocked further, I realised that it was my foot causing the movement. I had felt it slide between the bars of my prison and push against a box next to me, as I had tried to alleviate my muscle cramps.
The box had moved in the process freeing another, which then tumbled to collide with my cage tilting it back even further. The wagon hit a rut, twisting and lifting, then slamming back down. The cage moved again and the box above pushed harder, clearly driven by gravity. Then there was no resistance, my cage slipped, it hit the low rail at the rear of the wagon, flipped backwards and it and I tumbled into the dust of a sand storm covered roadway.
The cage literally exploded when it hit the floor, the bars shattered and I was thrown clear. I rolled three times in the dust before stopping, only to find myself facing towards the fast disappearing wagon train.
I was free, lost, but free. My owner was driving away from me, unknowing and unconcerned. ‘I was free,’ the words rang in my head, no longer a captive, I reiterated to myself. Free to do as I like, to wander where I liked, and mostly free to escape and to seek out a way to get back to my nice little world, with my cosy life all full of luxuries.
*
Freedom as a word encourages certain feelings in one, unfortunately for me I was on a world that had total disregard for such concerns. I was one of a few female captives taken from my own world against their will. Then dumped in this crazy place with no rules, other than the fairies rule; the humans are their slaves! So my feeling of freedom was nothing more, in reality, than jumping out of the frying pan into the fire, and what a fire it turned out to be!
Naked and hot, dust covered, with tiny particles of sand glued to me by my own sweat, an itching course sand that covered my body. Every few steps I was scratching, rubbing at my body, but I only succeeding for my efforts in grinding sand into every crevice I had. Sweat dripped from my forehead, it rolled down my face, sometimes it dripped into my eyes where it stung and burned.
I walked, step after step with no idea of where I was, or where I was going, and without food or water or clothes to provide modesty; and that was how I was found. Flat on my face in the sand, a slave waiting to be captured and used, but also desperate for any help, even help of the most horrendous kind.
Life for me had devolved into a series of options, each of which was worse than the previous option. A day into my freedom I would gladly have crawled to my Mistress I would have knelt at feet and begged to be abused by her if only she took me back into her care. Two days on and I would, and did, beg to be abused, if only they would give me a drink first.
I was already crawling when they found me, four of them rounded a dune and saw me, much at the same time as I saw them. I called out for water; they laughed and pointed at me. I begged again, putting every last drop of effort I contained into begging louder. Their reaction was to close on me, grab my arms and then dragging me around the dune into the centre of their camp; dumping me on the hot sand before the tallest fairy I had so far encountered. The fact that he was tall slim and had a scar running from his left eye down to his lip made no difference to me, all I wanted was water, and the bastard fairy knew it.
Water in the desert lands was not a commodity to be wasted, and I could see that he was appraising me, trying, I believed, to work out if my life and body exceeded the value of the water I would consume. Thankfully for me he decided that it did, and soon I was gulping down cool mouthfuls of their precious water. After only three such gulps the male creature pulled the flask away from my dry and cracked lips. He patted my head and then turned away ignoring me.
Two different fairies both swathed in black cloth picked me up, they beat their wings together, and lifted my feet clear of the sand for the first time since I had won my freedom. They carried me across the camp, taking me directly over their fire. I felt intense heat on the soles of my feet as I flew over it, I was being carried towards a wagon with a metal cage fitted to its back.
Soon they had incarcerated me inside along with two other women. They were gagged and bound and lying on the floor and helpless, as I was thrust into the cage with them. A third fairy then approached, his wings buzzing, he carried a bundle of bindings.
He entered the cage rolling me onto my back with his foot, before shackling my ankles together. He then rolled me onto my belly and shackled my wrists. His breath stank, he then joined the two bindings together, synching me up tight with a length of rope. The gag that he held before me looked painfully big, ‘not another one’ it had taken me over two hours to removed the last once I was free. I clamped my mouth shut trying to resist its insertion by him. I had forgotten that my sunburned nipples were easily at hand, and that he had hard sharp pointed fingernails, which he dug deep into my nipples, one simple twist and I was screaming and the gag held waiting as inserted.
The other women twitched in their bonds, possibly in sympathy for me, more likely in a desperate attempt not to attract his displeasure, and to stay out of his way.
As I said, I screamed and that had meant that my mouth flew open, and he had shoved the large leather gag into it, all before I realised how easily I had been manipulated. The bastard really pulled the straps tight behind my head. I think he enjoyed overcoming my resistance and punishing me at the same time.
He kicked me with his leather sandaled foot before turning away and leaving the cage with us, its bound maidens all secure for the night. The door slammed with a sound that drove the futility of resistance from my mind. I was a captive again, and already I was in trouble and suffering at the hands of the fairies.
Oh how I wished that my little safe cage had not tumbled from my Mistresses wagon back. Oh how I wished that I had walked in another direction, any other direction, and so I might have escaped this fate. Though even as I mentally bemoaned my capture, I realised that I might have died instead, and I would have died had they not taken pity on me. I owed them thanks, they would take far more than thanks from me though, but what else would they want or expect from a slave like me. After all, they were fairy masters and I was a slave girl to them, so what could I expect other than for them to use me to make their lives easier, and to have fun with of course.
I was a play thing to a bunch of delinquent fairies, what a trip, what an end to such a promising life in my own world. Two long years at law school, half my course completed, just to end up bound, naked, gagged and perfectly prepared for abuse, in the land of the fairies, a place that really should not exist.
* * * * *
I sat back in my chair, switched off the computer, and thought back over the incidents that were to follow. My story was progressing, most people would think it to be nothing more than a story, but I knew that all that I had written and had posted out on the net was in essence true. Every single word of it was told exactly as it had happened to me.
I have a lot more to tell before my life changed again, but not tonight, I was exhausted, and remembering the fairies as they really were to me, not how stories portray them to be, was hard for me to do. Trying to describe my life with them, and do both it and them justice was draining.
Hence my story is being told piecemeal, event following event just as they happened to me. I just hope that someone will read it and understand. I believe that they should be grateful it was I that suffered not them, and perhaps my tale will act as a warning to others to avoid the simple dust that lead to my captivity.
The End…
You can also leave feedback for this story on the Plaza Forum
11.12.13