FicWad

My magician of lights and sound ran his hands through my hair, tangling into the dark brown curls threaded with whiskey-honey color. It curls and tumbles down my back like countless acrobats, filling out dark ringlets tinged with gold. He set his hands on my bare shoulders, smudging the dark paint that slid over my shoulders, painted on by him earlier in the evening. I put my head on his hand, his perfect hands that were shaped like a spell casters, all long fingers and knobs for knuckles. They were made for wide gestures and rapid movements. I loved his hands. He stroked my neck and petted my hair gently.

When I was young, he had loved my hair. He had petted me, loved touching me, like I was a child or a pet. Now, I would gladly be a pet or a child for him. I would beg, cry, or crawl at his feet. I'd wear his collar. Whatever he wanted. I would be a slut, a whore, a virgin for sale.

I loved a man who had loved my mother long before I had been born, before she had met my father. They had fucked in the very bed I now slept in, on cotton sheets as smooth as silk. There were often nights that I fucked my hand, wishing that he would fuck me so hard that I screamed, until my eyes crossed and I couldn't walk for a week.

"You look like your mother," he turned me and made me rise. My porcelain reflection glimmered in his eyes as he painted my lips red, a shameless red.

"Now I do, I look all dolled up like the Goddess of Magdalene."

He shook his head, "No. You look like she did every day of her life…" He didn't continue for a moment, "Like a leather fairy."

"I'm not dressed yet. And I don't have any wings."

"You don't need wings," he smiled at me, a flickering fae thing.

My breath hitched. He knelt between my legs. A pair of red and white stockings were drawn up my legs, almost innocent looking. "I would be my mother for you," I whispered, parting my legs so that he could settle them.

The look he gave me made me think he wanted to take me over his knee. I wanted him to, so badly. "I could be whatever you wanted me to be." He snapped the red leather skirt around my waist.

"You're going to make them moan," he told me, the zipper purred up my side. "Make them cry, make them want to fuck you on the stage and claim you as theirs alone." He smoothed the skirt over my hips, the hollow of my pelvis, and the smoothness of my stomach. "They will dream about fucking you in front of them all." My breath shuddered, hitched, my chest rose, lowered. I couldn't focus; I felt dizzy, flying, falling, dying, living, all of them and an inexplicable feeling that was none at all. His voice sounded entranced, as though he had dreamt it all, craved it all, and needed it all.

"Sir?" I whispered.

His voice was hoarse, "Achaiah… the show is about to start."

My world had shrunk to my lungs, fighting for breath, my ears thudding with the pressure of my blood, the want that had seeped into my skin, the throb between my legs. I hit the stage with a scream that shook through the building. My entire body trembled as they screamed back at me. Ghosts pulled out of the walls, gathered in my throat. I fucked the crowd with my words. I pulled them into my body and soul. They fucked me with their love.

"Fuck me," I roared, "Claim me." I thrust my arms out, a parody of Jesus Christ, in a leather dress, with gypsy hair. "I am yours," I whispered to them and knelt in front of them. The lights flared and dropped. I crawled off of the stage, too shaken to walk. Shaking too hard to stand.

The ghosts writhed around inside of me, taunting and tempting me. In his room, I felt him, my magician. He was hard and desperate and wanting. I crawled to him. He had his hand on his cock, on my bed, trying to ignore that I had arrived. He was beautiful and pale, covered with a thin sheen of sweat, his lovely cock hard and waiting.

I crawled up to him, swatted his hand away. I sank down onto him with a sigh. It hurt, ached, but I had wanted to be fucked after the show. He… wasn't who I'd expected, but who I would have dreamt about anyways. "You've wanted me ever since I started to look like my mother."

"No," he growled, bucking into me, faster and harder than I'd expected. I cried out softly, voice breaking through the air. "Since you started looking like you."

I wondered if this is what it felt like for my mother and I moved on him quickly. "She lost her music because you took her ghosts," I whispered, leaning over him as I moved. "But you would die if you took mine. It hurts so good," my head fell back. "I'm such a slut."

"Yes," he hissed. He felt so amazing in me. I moaned softly, falling over him and my hair spread across his chest.

"I should punish you," he growled, "For everything you've done to me."

"Yes," I moaned. The thought made me move still faster on him. He rolled me onto my back and pinned me to the bed, fucking me hard and fast. "Yes," I made a soft sound. "Please, more." I fought against his hands. He hadn't taken my submission as a gift, he would have to earn it, and he'd have to fight me for it.

He fucked me harder, faster, until I was grunting with pained pleasure with every thrust, until I nearly screamed. I wanted the entire world to hear me, to hear the thump of the headboard against the wall, until everyone knew I was getting fucked. "Come for me, little slut," he whispered against my ear. My senses seemed to explode for a moment.

When I came back to myself, he made me lick my come off of his fingertips. "I want to keep you to myself," he whispered softly against my ear, "I don't want to share you with the crowd that feeds off of your energy."

"You can't keep me," I told him, rolling over him, straddling his stomach. My hair tangled around me, fae-like and wild. I was sore and wanted nothing more than to lie beside him, cuddling. Finally, he undressed me.

"Yes, I can." He looked at me intensely. I felt his look from the tips of my toes to the tips of my hair.

I still managed to give him one look before I crawled off of him. "You tried to keep my mother, remember?"

His breath hitched and he looked at me as if I had no heart.

They say fairies have no souls. They say queens can't have them.