Sam the Christmas Fairy Ch. 03bySelena_Kitt©
We don’t sleep, you know. Fairies, I mean. We don’t eat, either, in any traditional sense, although we do kind of rejuvenate ourselves at our spring revival, but that’s a whole other story. Anyway, being up at four in the morning is nothing for us. We’re up all the time. Fateful moments don’t just happen during the day, you know. In fact, quite a lot of them happen just after the bars close, if you know what I mean. Busy time of “day” for us, between two and three in the morning, and during the holidays, it’s ten times worse.
The good news is that I don’t have to avert any accidents for drunks or their possible victims tonight. The Voice has sent me somewhere else. I was loathe to leave Anna and her new Beau. No, that’s not a euphemism, that’s his name. Beau. The way they were looking at each other, I thought for sure, if I just hung around a little longer, I’d get to see… well, anyway, I didn’t.
It’s four in the morning, and Henry McCormick is snoring in his bed, and his wife, Irene, is sleeping soundly in her own bed across the hall. They haven’t slept in the same bed in five years, since the last kid moved out to college. I’ve pretty much done everything I can to amuse myself tonight, including freaking out the family dog, at least until he started barking so wildly he threatened to wake the whole house. I tried the TV, but can you believe these people don’t have cable? There’s absolutely nothing on regular TV at four a.m.
Henry’s alarm is due to go off at four-thirty, and I could just turn it off. It would be that simple, except that Irene McCormick has an internal clock that wakes her up at five, and she’s bound to notice that her husband isn’t up and about. That still wouldn’t kill enough time. I check on Henry. He’s snoring loudly, his arm thrown over his head. The sheet he’s got pulled over him is tented in the groin area and I settle myself gently down on the tip of his cock, chin in hand, thinking. It’s a little wet on the sheet where I’m sitting and I wiggle myself there, hearing him groan. Can he feel me in his sleep? I wonder. The thought makes me shiver.
I’m still sitting there, just thinking, when Henry shifts in his sleep, snorts, and reaches for his cock. He nearly catches me, too, when he wraps his hand around the shaft, and I yelp, flying toward the ceiling just in time! He starts moving his hand up and down under the sheet, his breath coming faster in the dark. Fascinated, I float downward, giving him a little push to pull the sheet off so I can see.
“Oh god, Irene,” he whispers. “Suck it, yeah!”
That decides me. It isn’t gonna be easy, but I’m determined. It’s actually a little easier because Irene is still sleeping, curled up and clutching her pillow. I concentrate hard, closing my eyes tight, my whole body vibrating with my effort to give her a “push.” I can hear Henry pumping faster, groaning softly. For a while, I’m sure I won’t be successful, and then I hear the toilet flush across the hall.
The door snicks open, and there’s Irene in a white nightgown like a ghost in the doorway. She’s hearing what I’m hearing, the sound of Henry masturbating and calling her name. I perch myself on the headboard, watching her creep silently across the carpet in bare feet, stopping next to the bed.
“Oh yeah, suck it, Irene!” Henry is thrusting up into his own hand, and his eyes fly open in the dark when he feels his wife’s mouth sliding down over the head of his cock. “Oh my god! Irene!”
“Shhhhh…” She takes him all the way into her throat and he groans. It isn’t long before he’s grabbing her hair and thrusting up hard with gasping little grunts.
“Fuck!” His hand squeezes her breast, shoving her down onto his cock. “I’m gonna cum!”
I lean forward on my perch, wanting to watch, but to my surprise, Irene is swallowing and swallowing, and I don’t get to see a thing until she’s licking her lips and looking up at him. Damn! That didn’t kill nearly enough time.
I’m about to give her another little push, when she says, “I think it’s my turn, big guy.” And Henry is on her like a shot, rolling her over on the bed and lifting her nightgown, sinking his face between her legs, forcing his tongue between that fuzzy, fleshy cleft.
I didn’t have to worry about time. The sun is coming up, and Henry is cumming again, this time buried up inside that pink cleft as Irene rocks on top of him, before either of them even think about the time. I watch it all from my perch, and find that I have my hand pressed over the sexless mound between my legs when Irene gasps out that it’s after six!
“Shit, I’m late!” Henry reaches for the phone, still panting, and dials work. There’s no answer, of course.
“I’ll get your lunch ready,” Irene offers. It’s something she hasn’t done in years. She’s doing a lot of things today that she hasn’t done in years, and the thought makes her smile. Wrapping herself in a robe, she sets off to the kitchen, turning on the little countertop TV and humming as she takes out the bread and lunchmeat.
“Henry!” Irene’s scream brings him out of the shower, still wrapped in a towel. I am perched on top of the TV, but neither of them sees me, their stunned faces staring at the screen.
“I would have been at work—” Henry states the obvious as they watch the factory, whose gates had opened for him every morning at six for the past fifteen years, blazing in the early morning light, thick black smoke wafting through the air above what’s left of the building after the explosion.
I give a satisfied sigh, thinking I might go back and check on Anna and Beau, when The Voice sends another call. No rest for the unweary… off I go!
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