A Midsummer's Fling 4
Tied up to a ritual pole, Purity tries what she can to save Melia, or are things not quite as they seem for the magical girl?
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In the depths of the forest outside the borders of the city of Anteronia, the strange and wondrous things that occur are magnified upon the arrival of the day of Midsummer, where the various fey creatures cavort and play in their Bacchanalian. Even the Judicators of the excellent lawgiver deity Justiciar would never dare try to impose their rule upon the most unruly of revelries.
Perhaps they are a bit less foolhardy than Purity has been. The magical girl, once arriving here to rescue her friend, now finds herself bound by fairy thread, rope wrapped around the Maypole, her arms up high and her legs spread apart, exposing her to the other undressed revelers.
Melia is there with her. The scholar of the natural world is now fully exposed herself, tied to the Maypole and facing away from Purity.
Exposed as they are in the, the two could not look any more different. Purity’s skin glows with a soft pinkish hue from her magical energy. Her curves extend past the pole, her full hips and breasts the perfect representation of the feminine, and the hearts on her nipples and the one shaved perfectly at her peach add to the lewd cuteness she often portrays.
Melia, meanwhile, is thin as a rail with messy green hair. Her glasses hang down to the bridge of her nose. Her chest is flat, her hips narrow, and her own pole hangs between her legs.
Slowly, slowly, dancing fair folk spin around the pole, tying it up in the colorful streamers. Melia keeps her head low through the slow binding process while Purity struggles against her bonds, haven awoken from her strange hypnotic slumber.
“You think you’ll have your way with us, do ya?” Purity asks, snipping at them. “If so, you’ll have another thing coming!”
From among the revelers, a tiny pixie flies up. There is a smirk on her face as she flutters in front of Purity, her arms wrapped around herself, just under her perky breasts to show them off. “Yeah, no. We won’t let you or your friend stop the arrival of our King. We just need to make sure the two of you are prepared.”
“Don’t you dare hurt Mel!” Purity snaps, chomping at the pixie, who flits away from her, only to zip down over the magical girl, fluttering in front of her chest. “Something wrong, hero of Anteronia? You think you have a say here?” She reaches her hand out and brushes slowly along the outline of Purity’s aerolas.
The magical girl yelps and writhes, hopping about. “H-hey quit it! S-stop!”
“My, my, is the hero sensitive?” the pixie says. She places her fingers in her mouth and blows a tremendous big whistle.
A half dozen more pixies arrive, giggling and tittering as they find themselves peppering kisses and stroking along the sensitive areas of the magical girl’s skin. Around and no her nipples, up and down her side, and at her thighs, each of them stroking and playing with different intervals, tittering to one another in their own fairy language.
Purity thrashes around, tears rolling down her eyes, quick and uncontrolled laughs cascading from her mouth, and all the while, the other fair folk dance around the maypole, the ribbons getting to the bound captive’s hands.
Though she laughs, she doesn’t give in. So the fairies continue their playful torment, pinching and pulling at her nipples and even giving tiny pixie bites upon her side. Each of these tortures sends her thrashing this way and that, panting once they finally stop.
But why did they stop?
Purity blinks, her heart-shaped eyes glancing hither and yon before her ears twitch in recognition.
Behind her is the soft whisper of words, much like the ones the pixies spoke to each other, but these words come from Melia.
The pixies float around the pole, joining in on the dance and spinning counterclockwise to the dancers' movements. But all eyes are on the pole now, and they all turn their way towards the girls—no, towards Melia.
“Hey, Mel, what are you saying?” The magical girl asks. “I don’t know what kind of magic you’re doing, but it’s giving me bad vibes. Don’t you dare get yourself in trouble because of me!”
“Quiet,” the other student says. “For once, I am in my own element. You could at least let me handle this my way.”
Purity gasps, bringing her knees together, but she cannot help herself. Something is changing, and the magical girl gasps, her head lulling down, her breath heavy. It’s so warm all around her, with these eyes upon her, and the haunting messages. It’s all so reminiscent of other times when she was this susceptible.
“Mind magic…?” she whispers.
Melia shouts, and with a moment’s response, the fey falls to the ground, blissfully writhing about and singing the praises of delight. Fluids fly as the fairies extol their ecstasy upon the air and the grass, leaving each of them in a panting, glowing ruts of delighted debauched goodness.
“W-well, that’s one thing you can do,” Purity says, gulping, “But who’s going to let us out?”
“They are,” Melia says, her voice gruffer, deeper, and more masculine than Purity had ever heard before. A moment later, from the trees emerge the dryads, who tiptoe past their friends and approach the pole, undoing the ropes as they keep their heads bowed low.
Purity falls down and rubs her wrists. “Okay, and when did you learn fairy control magic?”
“Control?” Melia scoffs, grabbing her glasses. She tosses them aside, letting them fall to the ground. He then spins around, running a hand through his hair, his smirk sultry, masculine, smoldering. “It’s called authority, and I got it when I became the Summer King.”