Youth and Beauty

The old prostitute propped her arms against the head of the couch. She raised her gaze up and eyed the harridan in her vanity mirror. Behind her, her Tuesday regular pumped against her bottom. His cock slid in and out of her moist sex, and his pounding made her tits jiggle. The sheets crackled as she shifted forward and back, the stiff crepe neither abrasive nor completely comfortable against her bare skin.

"Oh god, oh god," her customer chanted. He'd been coming like this, cumming like this, every Tuesday for the last three years. She braced herself as his thrusts sped up. The man could go on for a good long while yet, but today, she'd had about enough of watching her wrinkled skin bounce. She clenched her cunt around him, rolled the muscles in a little squeeze maneuver, and sent him right over the edge. "Oh god, oh GOD!"

Experience paid. Thankfully, so did her Tuesday regular. He sagged against her for a few breaths, adding his hundred and a half pounds to the weight her elbows supported, and then rolled off and out of her. His body shone pale white in the candle glow, all bones and joints and only a few scattered patches of red hair. His name was Joe, if she remembered correctly, but she probably didn't.

Joe tucked his willy back into a pair of rough trousers and grinned at her. She tossed him a kindly enough smile and waited for the coin he fished out of his purse. It tinkled to her dresser, shining for a moment in the big vanity mirror. After he slid out her boudoir door, she continued to stare at her reflection.

Bags. Her eyes hung with them, sagging over cheeks that had looked full and pink in her youth. Now they sunk inward, speaking of long years and unforgiving living. What she wouldn't trade for that pink-cheeked face again.

She sighed and shifted position, dangling her legs over the side of the couch and rolling the kinks out of her shoulders. Warm water waited in the pitcher on the bedside table, and she poured it into a flowered bowl, dipped in a tattered washrag and began to bathe the sticky from her sex.

She sighed again and watched the shadows while she worked. One of them shifted with more than the flicker of the candles. Good. The prostitute ignored her hidden visitor and stroked the rag across her pussy, laving each fold until she felt clean again.

While she worked her eyes followed the intruder. It flitted from wall to wall, behind the dresser, under the vanity, even under the bed. She smiled and sighed and finished washing.

She crossed to the vanity then, aware it watched her and unconcerned. As it happened, she needed the little bugger, and today was as good a day as any for her plans. It was Tuesday, if she remembered correctly.

She ran her fingers over Joe's coins and counted. He'd paid more than he should, as usual. Still, the money piling in her coffers wouldn't buy back her beauty. She pried open the top drawer a crack and eyed the black book inside. No. Money would do nothing for her wrinkles.

"What I wouldn't give to have my youth back, to spend it again with the advantage of lessons learned." She spoke as if to her reflection.

"What then?" A small voice asked. "What would you trade?"

She blinked and looked around the room, her eyes landing everywhere but the corner where she'd last seen the devil lurking. "Who's that?" She called, let her voice tremble. "Who's there?"

"Guess." It came again, louder and on the move.

Her eyes snapped to the mirror just in time to see the fairy slip behind it. "You." She gasped and clutched her chest. "Not you again."

"I thought," it whined. "That you might have missed me."

"Hardly. Your tricks, I can live without."

"Even now? Even when my tricks could bring you back to this?"

Her reflection shifted. The face from her memories returned, and her youth smiled out from the vanity glass, perfect, pretty and pink again.

"Just look at her," the fairy whispered. Its tiny wings buzzed and brattled a counterpoint. "She is beautiful."

"Yes, I was," she said. "Among other things. But your gifts always have a price attached."

"All things have a price," it said.

"Perhaps."

They stared at one another for a second before she sighed. It would be nice. What could it hurt to consider? The fairy leaned in, hopped a step closer and rubbed its hands together.

"Yes," it said. "What could it hurt?"

"That depends on the cost." She knew better than to believe a word it said. Fairy deals never worked in the favor of the human involved. Still, she watched the image in the vanity mirror, herself twenty years prior, and she sighed again.

"Oh nothing much," the fairy said. Emboldened, it fluttered to the room's center, hovering just over her shoulder.

In her mirror, its form shifted. The little bugger changed and lengthened. Its wings dissolved and its body swelled until a man slightly taller than herself stood behind her. She didn't look directly at it. She'd had enough of fairy spells to know that much. But in the mirror, she met a pair of emerald green eyes. She saw the long, silver hair and the ripple of lean muscle and strong limbs. She felt her sex contract shamelessly. Fairies didn't much care for clothes.

"I—you would give me back my youth in exchange for a tumble?" It wouldn't. She knew as much. There would be a trick to it, and some way the little fiend could wiggle out of its portion of the bargain. Still, it wanted a freebie, and looking at the long curl of its cock peeking at her in the mirror, she was tempted to give it one.

"Its been a very long time," the fairy said.

"Yes, it has."

The last time she'd been young and stupid. The fairy had promised her fame and fortune, and when she'd sent its candied seed spilling, had bolted without so much as a thank you. Fame and fortune, well, she'd certainly earned a reputation and a little gold. Prostitution, however, had not been what her young self had in mind.

"Come now." It lifted a soft hand to stroke her shoulder. The touch sent heat flaring across her skin, and her nipples stood at attention for the first time in ages. "Forgive and forget?"

The old prostitute didn't know what game it played at, but she knew the pulsing in her pussy would be well served by the fairy's staff. She remembered that much very clearly.

She sighed and let the devil take her in its arms.

Silken lips kissed her neck. The fairy lifted her easily and swung her back around to face the couch. It lay her there gently, on her back for once, and stroked long fingers up and down her body until the fires burned from her toes to her trembling lips.

"So lovely," it whispered, and she knew it saw her as she used to be. Its magic let the creature woo her as an illusion, as the beauty she had been when it first tricked her.

She moaned as the lips found her breasts. The fey tongue rolled across her nipple and she arched her back into sensations she had almost lost to time. Her body sizzled with each touch, and as the creatures hot mouth covered her breasts, its hands slid lower, one finger slipped between her lips and wiggled over her clit.

"Oh!" She gasped for real that time. The bastard might be the devil, but he knew exactly how to touch her. Her old hips wiggled for more and she pressed up into his hand.

He sucked her nipple into his mouth. She squeaked and his fingers explored her folds, stroking and rubbing against her clit. He licked her other breast, scraped his teeth lightly over the nipple and then pinched it hard enough that her pussy contracted in a spasm.

She lost track of the plan for a moment. Her body arched and gyrated under his touch and the pleasure took her mind back to the first time they'd made love, to the time he tossed her to the wolves and ruined her life.

She sighed and growled for more. His fingers rubbed and rubbed at her pussy, his thumb concentrating on her clit and tracing a circle that built and built into the first waves of an orgasm, the first orgasm she'd had in—hell, she couldn't remember the last one.

As it broke, the fairy slid down and dipped his head to her cunt. He lapped at her pleasure while she howled and rocked her hips through the spasms. She thought briefly, that it might kill her, that the shock of sensation would be too much, but the fairy pressed his hands against her thighs and licked softly. Her orgasm rolled over and down until she simply lay there shuddering as he drank.

"So lovely," he repeated. He straddled her, kneeling over her pussy and letting his cock rest against her snatch.

She watched it move, forward and back, rubbing against her wet lips and making her moan all over again. The fairy groaned and tilted his hips up and down, pressing its shaft against her with his hands and rolling his green eyes up.

He moved like that for a moment, rubbing outside and building his own pleasure, then he pulled further back, and his hands guided the dripping head between her lips, pressed the fat thing into her opening and drove the shaft inside with one thrust.

The prostitute reached toward the bedside table, still watching him. He arched his back and moved his hips, driving in and pulling out while her pussy clenched and devoured as much of him as she could take. He felt delicious, silky and full and stretching her like she hadn't been—oh whatever. It felt like heaven, fairy fucking, and she wished for a second that she could let him finish.

He was beautiful like this, hands gripping her hips and lips moving, speaking secret fairy words of lust and pleasure. Her fingers found the handle of the pitcher. She lifted the clay vessel and kept her eyes on her fairy fuck.

He pounded away, thrusting deeper and deeper and chanting now, loud enough but in a language only his kind understood. The prostitute wound her legs around his waist. She locked her feet behind his back and rolled her hips along with his rhythm, moving together and letting each beat take his cock farther inside her.

He moaned and fucked her harder.

It was all an illusion. She reminded herself as she raised the jug. The bastard had tricked her once before, and it owed her a different life. She had the money now. But her eyes had bags. She pulled with her legs and he jerked forward. His eyes flew wide, but she swung the jug fast, before his body could react.

The pitcher slammed into his skull, and he wavered. She brought it down again, and again, and his illusion fell away. His body shrank, even as she hammered her weapon against it. The lovely cock vanished from her cunt. It never pulled out, never finished. The fairy returned to its natural size and shape just in time to die.

When it stopped twitching, she dropped the pitcher. It shattered against the floor. The prostitute reached one finger out and lifted a crumpled wing. She pulled gently until it popped from the socket and then turned it in the light. Fairy powder shimmered and reflected against her sheets.

She stood and returned to the vanity. The drawer scraped open and she lifted the book, setting it on the surface and flipping to the instructions. She squinted at them once before pulling out a glass vial. Her eyes flicked from the jar to the book and back. Her finger tapped the spell's title, printed in red ink against the thick parchment: Youth and Beauty.

She carried the vial to her couch and gathered the fairy dust carefully. She scooped it from her sheets, tapped the limp wings over the opening, and filled the vial to the top. Youth and beauty, who would have guessed a little fairy dust would be the one ingredient needed for her heart's desire? The book, had been worth the gold she'd paid, the favor she'd had to offer in return.

The fairy owed her a life. She had the money saved, but without her youth, what good would it have been? She smiled and stroked the thing's tiny body. It was a shame, a waste, but—her jaw tightened—the little bastard had put her here hadn't he? This fairy owed her. She sighed. And now she had her fresh start. It sparkled inside the glass and promised more than any fairy tick could ever deliver. Everything had a price attached.