Under a Spell and Over the Moon

Robin lifted her eyes from me and looked to the tiny lights bobbing playfully around her curvaceous hips and began to move her lips. I dreamed that she did not speak words, but sounds; the sound of a gentle breeze as it rustles leaves and grasses. The multitude of tiny, dancing lights responded to Robin's murmurings and gathered in a tight grouping before her as if they were directed by Robin's sounds. The lights became still and glowed with a greater intensity as Robin stooped and reached her hands into this silver aura and straightened up, producing a wooden chalice from within the gathered cluster of lights.

I heard no words, but in my dream-filled mind I understood that these tiny lights had girdled the earth in search of a rare and mystical flower. Selecting only the pollen from the morning blooms, they returned with their precious harvest to mix the enchanted ingredient into a potion. Robin Goodfellow was pleased with their distant travels and the results of their foraging efforts ranging across the world. Robin held the wooden chalice before the fluttering lights as vapors of sweet, intoxicating magic wafted from their midst into the chalice. The lights twinkled with an effervescent excitement as they parted and Robin Goodfellow stepped toward me as I lay on my bed. I had no fear in this dream, only pleasant curiosities as to what was happening under the midnight moon within the shadows of this old grove.

As Robin Goodfellow floated toward me, I enjoyed a relaxed feeling of being locked in my sweet dream as a bemused, helpless mortal camped under the stars. I longed for Robin to come closer. She stepped toward me with slow, seductive steps that made her breasts sway behind her flowing, reddish brown hair. She held her chalice with both hands as her gown of silver moonbeams and shining bobbles of starlight played across her semi-nude body. Miss Goodfellow beamed with her familiar, charming and graceful smile as she stopped next to my sleeping bag.

I returned her smile, feeling that this was the best dream I've ever had. I looked up at the tall woman standing over me, holding her wooden bowl as she locked onto my eyes in a mesmerizing stare. She held my attention with her eyes as she bent at the waist, allowing her smooth, white breasts to part her red locks and show themselves to me. My eyes widened at the sight of her perfect, round and beautiful orbs and at that moment of my saucer-eyed stare, she poured the bowl's liquor into my eyes.

For an instant my vision became dark and filled with flying specks of colored lights, only to have the darkness chased away by a sunrise and a sky washed with many vibrant hues. I blinked a time or two and the colors before my eyes faded away and my vision returned to look about the dream world around my camp. I was happy to have not lost my crazy dream; I wanted to keep this dream alive.

After Robin had bathed my eyes with her potion, my vision changed and I saw that the tiny, dancing lights were revealed to be diminutive female forms, like small human ladies -- only they had wings. My eyes had been opened in this dream by her mystical elixir and I was given the power to see that I was surrounded by another world.

More than a dozen of these feminine sprites hovered and darted around me like moths around a porch light. They were animated, making sounds in a language that seemed to be based in the cadence of a babbling mountain brook. I was delighted to see these creatures and listen to their papery wings as they twitched and buzzed in the moonlight. I was excited to be dreaming about finding myself encamped in a magical, fairy-filled forest. I noticed that Robin Goodfellow had withdrawn back into the dappled silver light of the moonshadows, watching the frenzied flying ladies swarm around me. Robin moved her lips, yet I heard no words, only the sounds of the enchanted forest as she gave permission to the host of excited fairies to swoop in close to me.

With an animated flurry of thin and tiny wings all around me, my body and clothing were pelted by fast-working pairs of fairy fingers and soft buffets of minor magic strokes which made my body jump and twitch inside the cloud of jostling wings and a blur of colorful, translucent clad feminine bodies. In an instant, I found myself stripped of my bedclothes.

The cloud of sprites was pulsing with excitement as I lay naked before them; I was willing to travel through this magical realm of my dream without my clothes. As dreams often do, it was taking a bizarre twist in a fun and mildly kinky direction. My intuition told me; go with it Monty and enjoy this dreamland journey.

The flock of fairies babbled in tones of warbling waters, waiting for direction of permission from Robin Goodfellow who was standing in the shadows. Robin gave them a signal and with a rush they descended on me and began to explore my body, paying particular attention to my masculine attributes. Maybe I was under some pixie spell, or maybe it was just too much fun to object; either way, I lay buck naked on my bedding while I dreamed I was gone over by a whirring-winged horde of thrilled little lady creatures. They jostled; bumped and flipped one another through the air as they competed to touch my stubbled cheeks, mess with my hair and they especially enjoyed dipping down to touch their hands to my nuts and penis. I liked the tickling of their wings against my stiffening cock.

The fairy ladies buzzed and crackled at the sight of my growing erection. Some of the bolder sprites opened their gowns woven from strands of rainbow light and flew in and straddled me, pressing their tiny vaginas against my risen shaft of mortal flesh. One would wrap her legs around my cock and slide along its length, only to be brushed off by a sister fairy that took her place atop my pulsing, red globe and balanced her pussy on my tip before being replaced by another flying sister eager to try her erotic fun with a mortal man. The dainty ladies of light were all over me.

I was tickled, trampled and tenderly tormented by the many cherubs delighted to be given permission by Miss Goodfellow to dance around my face, chest and loins. My enraptured attention was drawn to the concentration of hot blood flowing to my male member. The playful creatures had begun to dance in circles around my man pole, flicking it with their wings as they flirted and flitted about using their small hands to stroke me as they passed in a continuous circuitous whirl, delivering a growing erotic sensation to my skyward-pointing penis.

While some of the twittering tinies played in my hair or caressed my nipples, others made a game of pleasuring my penis, bringing it to a heated, high pressure point of intense, boiling desire. The gang was mirthful as they teased my balls and tantalized my arching pinnacle, sweeping me from bemused dreamer to a lustful man filled with seething loins. My balls tightened as my desire heated into a blue flame.

The fairies knew what they were doing to me and they enjoyed fanning the flames of my mortal desires, riding me and flirting with my smoldering balls. I began to gasp as I struggled under their mischievous efforts, trying to control my urge to quench my flaming rod by dousing it into one of those tightly closed little pussies that were taunting me. I could feel the hot magma swell within me, hot and steamy, ready to erupt in an explosion of hot sperm, cascading down upon the ring of fantasy feminine forms gathered upon my hips and stomach.

I was certain that my dream, which began with a delighted discovery of these fantastical flying lady creatures, was about to end in a wet dream. I was close to climax. There was no let up on the sensual play being focused on my cock. I sipped in a couple of shallow, quick breaths, anticipating an explosive sexual release in a flash of sticky semen. The building sensation was irresistible as the tiny ladies mounted me and petted my pecker. I was brought to the edge of my eruption when Miss Goodfellow signaled her flock of sprites and they stopped and drew back from me.

I watched in anguish as they faded into the midnight shadows. They were a host of naughty, wicked fairies to deny a man his cum-uppance in his moment of greatest need. I ached for release of the high-strung sexual tension they had wound tightly into my testicles and my throbbing spire of desire by their taunting erotic dancing around my cock. I was more than disappointed to see them depart. I needed to finish. I would just have to finish myself...

I awoke with the first rays of the morning sun filtering down through the magnificent boughs. The air was brisk and my mind was sharp-edged as I had great recall of my vivid dream from last night. The last thing I remember in my dream was that I was about to masturbate after being sexually aroused, teased and tormented up to the point of ejaculation by a horde of small, brightly dressed winged females in translucent gowns. At the last moment they flew away into the night and I was left looking at Miss Goodfellow, Mr. Kelly's assistant from Kelly, Alioto & Theseus. Miss Goodfellow stood before me in a gown that rippled with light like the seabed beneath shallow waters in a tropical lagoon. Her breasts were visible, surrounded by her gorgeous red hair and she made a small kiss into the night air and said, "Sweet midsummer night's dreams Mr. Oberon," as she smiled in a strange, knowing smile and disappeared into the trunk of a large cedar tree at the edge of camp.

I must have ceased dreaming and fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep right after that.

In the breaking light of day, I lingered in my bag remembering the delightful time I had in last night's dream. The pleasant memories stirred me to think about consummating the act of gratification. My usual morning stiffness was pushing against my underwear. A quick toss-off here upon my new land might be in order. I could use the sweet release.

I reached under my loose sweats to wrap my fingers around my warming cock, only to find that I was not wearing any underpants. Strange, I know I wore them to bed. I found my boxers outside my bag. I scooped them off the ground; apparently I did not have a wet dream - thought I remember getting damn close.

I noticed that my clothes were ill-fitting, from socks to sweatpants and my shirt was on backwards. I must have really thrashed around in my sleep during that vivid dream about fairy sex. How else could one explain not being dressed the same way in the morning as when they went to bed? My restless, tantalizing sexual dream must have disoriented my bed clothes, there was no other explanation.

My early morning stiffness would usually get top priority in a warm, sudsy shower before everything else. But my disheveled clothing was a distraction and there was no warm shower to be had. I dropped my cock and in exchange, I went searching for some fresh socks. I decided I should get dressed properly and undo the bothersome feel of my togs, starting with my shirt. How did my underwear come off while I remained in my sweatpants and how did my shirt get twisted around backwards last night? It was a strange midsummer night's dream out here in this old and enchanting forest.

Besides, breakfast was to be followed by a day of exploration on my piece of paradise. Adventure was calling loud enough to distract me from my boner. I chose to let my boner idle while I attended to the complexities of a camp breakfast, though I could not completely ignore the beckoning of my pesky, warm-blooded half-fallen timber. I thought I might enjoy a wank in the woods a little later. Last night's dream sure had planted some fertile seeds of desire for fantasy fairy sex in my imagination. My loins were primed, whether I found a fairy to fuck or not.

I walked the few paces to the babbling brook to fetch some water to clean up after my morning meal. As I squatted to dip into the stream, I paused to listen to the sound of the rushing water. As I listened I was brought back to my dream of last night. I remembered those dainty, frolicking feminine fairies chattering in a language that sounded like the flowing waters of this brook. A closer listen to the brook's sound made me believe that I could begin to understand some of the words. I laughed at myself; I thought I heard my name, "Oberon. Oh Oberon. Come take a look in my forest. Come explore my canyon. Oberon, come hither."

Was I really thinking that I could hear and understand fairy tongues? What was I, a newly minted millionaire going crazy while all alone out in the old forest after a single midsummer's night? Yet I listened a bit longer, since I was alone and far from any judging eyes. If I wanted to listen to a spritely gurgle of a pristine stream and find inspiration, what's the harm?

I submerged my face and got an invigorating slap from the bracing waters. I returned to camp with a clean and clear head and packed up my gear and stowed it out of reach from marauding bears.

Then I thought, what the hell? I returned to the stony bank to listen to the fluid fairy tongues murmuring sweet morning songs to me, a mortal man camped on the threshold of their enchanted forest. The stream's waters sounded like music as it dashed over the stones in its bed. I was charmed by the melody of this fluid and lively dance.

My mind and soul began to dance in step with the enchanting melody of the waters. I lost myself in the moment as I was swept away in thought and haunting memory of last night's dream. I heard sweet fairy voices calling to me. I heard giggles amongst the gurgles as the tiny voices beckoned me to follow the stream up into the old forest to its source. I was enchanted by the beauty and mystery of my newly acquired woodland enclave. I was here to explore its hidden mysteries.

With my boots laced tight, I picked my way over boulders split by the roots of large trees, working my way up slope into the small canyon that cradled my singing stream. I scrambled and clambered over black boulders carpeted with thick, green moss. The scent of cedar and other evergreens folded into the dappled light. The shadowed air seemed to have a soft melody embedded just above my subconscious level which drew me onward with a magnetic sense of wonder. The boulder field became steep and I had to pick my way up the rocky slope next to a cascade of frothy white rivulets that skipped down between the rocks beside my ascent.

I pulled myself upward and slid on my belly across a large stone at the brow of the slope. I had reached the top of the slope. My morning of exploration up the trackless and steep stony mountainside had brought me to the edge of a beautiful glade. I laid flat on my stomach on top of the stone and looked across a delightful glen enclosed on three sides by stone walls of columnar basalt. The ancient lava flows had cooled and made a dark wall of stone palisades that surrounded a level forest floor. This secretive place tucked beneath dark stone cliffs was covered in soft grass and a profusion of blooming plants with delicate white and pink flowers. A shaft of bright sunlight fed the flowers that grew between towering trees that rose like the walls of an ancient cathedral, rooted on top of the basaltic ramparts.

I was stunned by the beauty of this hidden forest meadow. I stared for a moment, wondering if it was real or if I was somehow back into my fairyland dream of last night. I then scrambled off of my stone perch to step into the sunlit, flower-filled glade. Water gushed from a cleft in the stone cliff, feeding the meandering stream that flowed across the center of the glade before it poured over the edge and rushed merrily down slope and through the canyon and past my camp.

I crossed the bright green patch of ground toward the source of water splashing out of the high, natural stone wall at the far end of this brilliant garden glade. I waded through knee-high flowers while trying to not trample on the fragrant blooms. The sweet scent of the flowers rose into the glittering sunlight like intoxicating vapors, making my steps feel heavy as I crossed this plot of paradise. I was feeling sleepy and lazy in the sunlight, I struggled against the urge to lie down and take a little nap right then and there. With legs of lead, I managed to reach my goal and planted myself among the feathery ferns growing at the base of the stone precipice, eager to slake my thirst and take a drink from the flowing fountain of crystalline waters pooling beside my resting spot.

I was overcome with lethargy. I expected a splash in the face from this cold, spring water would revive me. I was thirsty too. I just wanted a little momentary rest in the shaded ferns; a couple of good gulps of this pure water is all I needed to shake off this sense of weighted limbs and eyelids. A pause and a drink of water is all that I would require to be revived and ready to further explore my lovely land.

I cupped my hand, extending it into the clear pool fed from the fractured rock. I brought a handful to my lips. I was surprised. The water tasted like ale. It had an effervescent sweetness that I had never experienced nor even heard of in a mountain stream. Rather than being jolted by the unexpected discovery of its pleasant taste, or even curious; my reaction was one of pure enjoyment, an overriding euphoria -- nothing else.

I basked in the enjoyment of my discovery and dipped my hand back into my cool source of refreshment and lapped up more of it, letting it fill my throat and fill my head with rapturous thoughts of sleep. After several sips I was drunk with contentment. I wanted nothing other than to fall into a dreamy sleep. I cared nothing for the world or the future. If there was ever such a thing as a magic spell, this is what it would feel like; I was certain.

I splashed my face with a handful of water and leaned my shoulders back against the stone face, stretched out my legs and surrendered to the irresistible downward pull and the deep sleeping spell cast upon my eyes.

It was dusk when the deep sleep fell from my eyes. I awoke with a startle, realizing I had slept through the morning, afternoon and early evening. There was a brilliant twilight glow in the western sky and Venus was shining overhead.

Why was I not back at my camp? I asked myself with a sense of disappointed disorientation. I should have already cleaned up after my supper and readied my bed for the night. I was confused as to why I was still sitting in this hollow at the head of the canyon. What had happened to me?

I planned a quick dip of my head under the spout of water next to me, using the cold, bracing fluids to shock me fully awake. Then I needed to head back down the rocky slope with what little light was left and set up my camp for the night. I rolled to my right to dip my face in the spring, or at least I wanted to roll to my right, but my arms didn't respond. I tried to lift my legs to stand, but they too were unresponsive. A bolt of fear shot down my spine; I had become paralyzed in a secluded forest enclave. I was going to die here. Nobody would find my bones for years.

My eyes were wide with panic as I turned my head from side to side, searching for some way to save my life and escape my slow, inevitable death all alone. In my panic, my eyes played a trick on me; I saw the stars filter through the trees boughs and fly around in the shadowed glade before me.

I remembered these tiny, dancing stars from my dream last night. I relaxed with the thought that I was not paralyzed after all, I was just dreaming. This was last night's dream all over again. It struck me as strange to begin to dream about my dream from last night. Can one have a dream within a dream? It felt very real to me, not at all dreamlike; but it was much too strange for me to accept that I was awake and paralyzed. Everything was too odd to be anything but a dream I reasoned. I worked logically through this dream sequence to convince myself that this was a dream. It confounded me to use logic under these circumstances since my experience has always been that my dreams were never logical.