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The harem is more for the Queen than the King.
Lately, to our growing dismay, she had fallen into the unfortunate habit of sucking him afterward, selfishly consuming for herself the cherished residue of his sperm, that which only emerged afterward, thin and wispy, a pixie's delight when compared with his thick and heavy initial bursts.
As one would expect, all pixies know there is something special to be worked to the tip of his tremendous penis at the close of the sexual struggle and of all things, the human female learned of it too! Trista wondered whether another pixie, a traitor perhaps, might have whispered it into her ear as she dozed off.
Previous to this most recent practice, she had always left some for us and though it took the better part of a human hour to finally dislodge, it was well worth it for its sweetness left our entire being euphoric.
You see no one remembers how it all started but long ago pixies became highly sensitized to human sperm and just as those strange looking herbal cigarettes induce in humans hours of laughter and giggling, so this final trickle of nectar affects us similarly; sometimes -- depending on the intensity of the passion the two have for one another, its rapture prevails for days after feeding. Unfortunately for our colony, the practice contained a Hook which eventually became an addiction. We must have it or we'll starve for it contains the source of our magic dust and energy.
I watched as Trista's elevation dropped. With an obstinacy all her own, dealing with her wasn't easy. But I persisted in my pleadings. You see, I understood, for I too was fatigued - as it had been forever since we neither of us had had any nourishment. I knew if we acted in haste, we would overlook the man's ending, thus missing out on all that was good.
If only we were boys, I thought, things would be simpler. But females have complicated digestive needs and our feeding habits became restricted centuries ago whilst living in the land of the Celts. It was then, on the verge of extermination, that our queen delivered her directive, that we search each year for humans; one man, one woman - from whom we might acquire the distillation of their all in the form of a loving male's seminal fluid.
Pixie girls, especially the very young, commonly err on the side of yielding to their unspeakable cravings. Trista was one. Conceding to her emotions, she had in the past, drifted to couplings devoid of love; where the male or female sought fulfillment in selfishness.
The flooding from such trysts quite naturally made her ill, confining her to some dank thicket under the tiger lilies which covered the bogs until her system cleared itself of the foul piths she had consumed so ravenously.
Now on the mend, I was charged by Queen Wade with teaching her the means to a healthy life so tonight she had followed me to where lovers spent themselves; to where the sperm which we harkened after would nourish us like Ambrosia from the gods of Classical Antiquity.
Since that long ago time our colony has thrived, while others have vanished into the ether.
Search we did, continuously and his little apartment was one of our favorite haunts. The male was young, perhaps twenty-seven human years. He was strong and handsome, we thought, despite the natural revulsion of all pixies to rounded ears. Yuk! So loathsome.
Aphrodisiacal meant one thing to a pixie and one thing only: pointed ears. Humans are obviously not sexy -- but since they impart our food supply we need to be near enough to partake but far enough away to maintain a healthy pixie sanity. Even Larissa understood that. We didn't feed with her though because she insisted on ingesting the male's final precious discharge.
Anyway, that aside, it had been so long since we had eaten and these two, this man and woman, always coupled in near darkness, there being but one candle next to the bed. It was a dangerous thing for us for flying too close might mean singeing our wings.
"Be careful Trista," I warned on more than one occasion as she neared th