The Fertility Sprites

At 38, Rosie had just had a fourth miscarriage.

After the last one, she and Paul had been through the entire battery of investigations and treatments cold, hard cash could buy, before their gynaecologist had told them firmly that their only option was adoption.

"But I want Paul's baby," Rosie had sobbed into Samantha's shoulder after the appointment. "Paul's and mine. Like everyone else. Is that so wrong?"

"Of course not," Samantha had soothed, stroking her older sister's blonde hair.

With fifteen years between them, Rosie had been like a second mother to Samantha, who hero-worshipped her big sister. She would have done anything for her and had thought long and hard over the past couple of years about how she could help. She'd taken a deep breath and said, "What about surrogacy? I could carry a baby for you."

Rosie shook her head. "It's sweet of you, but it's no good. The doctors say my eggs aren't viable."

"What about my eggs?" Samantha said. "We're sisters, we have lots of genes in common. Everyone says we look alike. If we used one of my eggs it would be as if it were yours."

"No," said Rosie, with finality. "It wouldn't. And, honestly, Sam, I couldn't watch as my younger, prettier sister carried my husband's baby. What if he decided he wanted you instead? It's not an option." And she had ignored the doctors' advice on the likely effects of a fourth miscarriage on her mental and physical health and gone right ahead and conceived again.

Samantha had thought her ravings about Paul paranoid, crazy talk but on the night of Rosie's fourth miscarriage, as she lay in bed in the dark, her mind racing, she heard the door creak open and felt a weight settle on the mattress. "Rosie?" she whispered.

"No," said her brother-in-law's voice, and his naked body slid beneath the quilt and between her legs. Samantha always slept naked and his hands were on her breasts before she knew it. His tongue forced its way into her mouth and she felt his hard-on nudging urgently at her labia.

"Get the fuck off me!" she whispered forcefully, kneeing him in the groin.

Paul wheezed and rolled off her.

"Jesus, Samantha, was that really necessary? I just thought -"

"You thought what?" repeated Samantha, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I don't think thought had much to do with it."

He dropped his head into his hands and said, with infinite sadness, "I thought if you were actually carrying our baby - if it was a fait accompli - she would eventually accept it."

Samantha sighed and put her arms around him, ignoring the tightening of her nipples and the wetness between her legs. "She wouldn't," she said, briskly. "But she would divorce your sorry, cheating ass." She kissed him on the forehead and bundled him back off to his wife.

. . .

A week later, Rosie was still dissolving into tears several times a day. Samantha and Paul held whispered conversations about what to do, whether she needed to be assessed by a psychiatrist, jumping apart guiltily when Rosie entered a room so that she looked from one to the other with increasing suspicion.

"You were so right," Paul told Samantha. "She wouldn't just have divorced me. She'd've cut my fucking dick off."

Samantha gave him a watery smile and turned away.

. . .

Paul and Samantha still hadn't reached a conclusion on how Rosie should be handled when the funfair rolled into town. When they were younger, Rosie and Samantha had adored the fair, from coconut shies to blood-curdling rides, from dodgy palmists to dodgem cars. Samantha nagged at Rosie all day until she gracelessly consented to go with her.

They wandered from stall to stall, eating candy floss and popcorn, carrying a ridiculously enormous plush tiger Rosie had won with her prowess at darts. Rosie was smiling for the first time since the miscarriage and Samantha was beginning to feel the stirrings of optimism, when Rosie cried, "Look!" She was pointing at a grubby-looking tent with a sign outside saying, "Fortune Teller and Wise Woman." Samantha felt cold.

"I really don't think that's a good idea," she said, linking her arm through Rosie's and trying to steer her away.

"Why not?" asked Rosie, refusing to budge. She was trying to sound bright, but a single tear rolled down her cheek.

"You know why not," Samantha said, gently. "I don't see how any good can come of it."

"And yet," Rosie snapped, bitterly, "you think good can come of conspiring with Paul to have me sectioned." She shook off Samantha's arm, dropped the huge soft toy and stomped into the tent.

Samantha sat down, resting her back on the tiger, and closed her eyes.

. . .

Rosie emerged twenty-five minutes later, looking peaceful.

"I'm fine," she said. "We just talked. The woman lost a child herself. It was quite cathartic."

Samantha rose and hugged her. "I'm glad," she whispered, and hoisted the tiger in her arms.

Rosie took it from her and put it back down on the grass.

"Your turn," she said.

"Mine?" said Samantha, laughing nervously. "I don't think so."

"She wants to talk to you," Rosie insisted, giving Samantha a little push. Defeated, Samantha opened the tent flap.

The interior of the tent looked much as she would have expected: lit by flickering candle light, draped with filmy scarves, clouds of incense smoke hanging in the air, a table in the centre covered by a cloth fringed by dangling metal discs - but the woman seated behind the table defied her expectations. She did not have big gold, hoop earrings and black curly hair nor did she talk in an exotic accent. She was just an elderly lady with a rigid perm, faux pearls and a cashmere twinset.

"Take a seat, Samantha," she said with no pseudo-mystic preamble.

Samantha sat.

"You must be very worried about Rosie," said the wise woman. Her grandmotherly demeanour invited confidences.

"Yes," said Samantha. "She's so desperate for a baby and she'd be such a great mum. She was to me. I don't know what to do, and neither does Paul. I don't know where we go from here." She had started to cry during this little speech, fat tears rolling down her cheeks and into her mouth.

"Rosie is worried about you and Paul," the old lady said. "You offered to have a baby with him."

"Yes," sobbed Samantha. "I don't fancy him. I just wanted to help. I'll do anything."

"Hmmm, perhaps," said the old woman. "But I think he 'fancies' you, as you put it."

Samantha swallowed her sobs, staring.

"If it's true that you would do anything to help Rosie I may be able to help," the wise woman said. "But it won't be an easy ride for you. Not at all. And Rosie is likely to lose interest in Paul altogether. You might well have to fuck him while she is pregnant, to hold them together."

Samantha gulped. She wasn't sure whether she was more taken aback by this woman thinking she might have a solution to Rosie's infertility, or by her use of the word 'fuck'.

"I'll do anything," she repeated.

The old woman levered herself gingerly to her feet and hobbled behind a beaded curtain behind her. She returned with a tiny phial of gold liquid and a small wooden box with holes peppering its surface. When she placed it on the table, the box rattled and rocked, shifting of its own accord. Samantha stared at the box and then at the old woman, a tiny smile now quirking the corners of her mouth.

The woman ignored her expression. "You need to get Rosie to drink the liquid in this bottle," she said. "Under no circumstances should you tell her it's a fertility draught. She is a level-headed woman and she will have no faith."

Samantha raised a sceptical eyebrow. "And the box?"

"Ah yes, the box. That is for you. Be very careful -"

"Don't feed it after midnight? Don't let it get wet?" mocked Samantha. "Is it a gremlin?"

The old woman scowled.

"Very well," she said, picking up the box and the bottle and turning back towards the curtain.

Samantha felt a sudden leaping in her belly, as if she herself was pregnant and the baby was shifting inside her for the first time. It was, she thought, an omen.

"OK, OK," she said. "I'm sorry: I'll take it. What do I do?"

The old woman gave her an appraising look. "You just have to let them do whatever they want," she said. Then without warning she darted forward and ripped Samantha's shirt open. Her braless breasts, full and pert, bounced free as Samantha gasped and tried to pull the lapels back together. The old woman smiled. "Oh, they are going to love you."

. . .

Samantha had stuffed the phial and the box into her enormous handbag and smuggled them into the house without a word to Rosie.

Now, she sat on her bed thinking hard. The woman was clearly a freak. She opened the palm of her hand, looking at the little bottle she held. To say she was nervous about administering the contents to her sister was a huge understatement. She pulled out the stopper, put her finger over the neck and tilted it. She examined the drop on the tip of her finger and licked it tentatively. It tasted, she thought, like mead. She waited for a few moments and nothing happened. No doubt it was all a scam, she thought, although in fairness the woman must be running at a loss as the box and bottle had to be worth more than the £7 Samantha had paid her for her 'fortune'. She shrugged, closed her hand over the bottle again and went downstairs.

When Rosie announced she fancied Ovaltine, her go-to comfort drink, Samantha immediately volunteered to make it. Rosie was talking animatedly to Paul about the fair, the rides and the wise woman.

"What did she say to you?" Paul asked Samantha, curiously.

"She said I'd die tragically young from consumption," Samantha replied and he grinned.

"OK, don't tell me."

When the milk was simmering, Samantha poured it into the mug and then added most of the contents of the phial, leaving just a tiny trace in case, she told herself glumly, it was required for later analysis. She stirred thoroughly and bore the mug through to her sister.

"Thank you, sweetie," said Rosie, smiling at her. "What would I do without you?"

. . .

Samantha was woken at three o'clock by the rhythmic banging of Paul and Rosie's headboard against their bedroom wall. Rosie had confided that she hadn't felt like having sex since her positive pregnancy test so this, at any rate, was progress. Less a fertility drug, thought Samantha as Rosie began to cry out in orgasm, than an aphrodisiac. Either way, it was a bargain.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a scrabbling noise from under the bed. The box! She leaned over and groped until her fingers found the shifting wooden casket and pulled it out from beneath the bed. She sat, naked and cross-legged on the white sheet, and very slowly opened the box. Crammed inside were five tiny creatures.

Samantha switched on the bedside light and peered at them. Not gremlins, she thought, although they gave little squeaks of protest at the intrusion of light. They were vaguely humanoid, tiny, pale creatures who looked like they'd lived in the dark all their life. All five could have nestled comfortably in the palm of one of her hands. They had lumpy, wizened little faces, disproportionately long, knobbly limbs and webbed hands and feet with sharp, barbed nails. And attached to their shoulder blades were paper thin, veiny wings. They were looking curiously back at Samantha, chattering. She lifted the box towards her face, smiling, and as the box reached the level of her breasts, the chattering became more animated. One of the sprites pointed at her breasts and all five stood on tiptoes to get a better look. Suddenly, two of the tiny creatures spread their wings and leapt from the box, extending their sharp little claws and reaching out for her tits. Samantha gave a little shriek as the barbs of their nails sank into her areolae and dropped the box. The creatures inside squealed angrily but Samantha was more concerned with the ones on her chest. She went to brush them away, but they were securely attached and could not be dislodged. She peered down at them in distaste and together they opened their little mouths, revealing rows of tiny razor-sharp teeth, and latched on to her nipples.

Samantha gasped and fell back on her pillows as the banging of the headboard in the next room resumed. The creatures sucked hungrily on her breasts, pulling as much of her soft flesh into their tiny mouths as they could. She was about to attempt to push them off again when she realised that the sensation was pleasurable. She had always loved having her nipples sucked and however tiny their mouths, the creatures were exerting powerful suction. She put her hands behind her head and surrendered herself to pleasure, her pussy beginning to juice. The three sprites from the box were pulling themselves onto the rim, and as she moaned in arousal they jumped lightly onto her belly and crept up to take a closer look at her face. She opened her eyes, which had closed in ecstasy and looked them over. Between their legs they had tiny penises and scrotums, she saw, which now were swollen and rearing up against their bellies. She smiled at the sight and they chattered to each other before, by common consent, making their way back down her body.

She was writhing and moaning at the tingling in her nipples when she felt a pricking in her groin. One of the sprites had sunk his little claws into her and was now sucking on her clitoris. She sucked in her breath in shock and bucked beneath his ministrations. The two remaining sprites were pulling back her labia, running their tongues along their length. Samantha was losing control. She arched her back and squeezed her eyes shut. In the next room, Rosie was reaching her own crescendo. Just as she began to cry out, the two sprites crawled inside Samantha's sopping pussy and she came explosively, thrashing about on the bed.

If she'd thought the little creatures would stop now she had climaxed she was wrong. The sprites simply traded positions, the ones who'd sucked her nipples burrowing into her cunt and rolling around, humming and causing delicious vibrations inside; the one who'd sucked her clit ceding to one who'd emerged from her pussy and, with the other, crawling up to set to work on her nipples.

Samantha rolled around, overloaded with sensation, trying to prise them from her sensitive flesh, but their little barbed claws were sunk in deep and she couldn't remove them. They forced her mercilessly towards another orgasm, and another, and another - until Samantha slipped into an exhausted sleep in which she came repeatedly until morning, when the creatures, sated at last, fluttered back into their box and pulled down the lid to shut out the morning light.

. . .

Samantha buttoned up her shirt gingerly over her inflamed nipples and made her way downstairs on shaky legs. Rosie and Paul were already eating breakfast at the kitchen table. Paul looked exhausted, but Rosie was full of beans, humming as she bustled around the kitchen and smiling radiantly.

Samantha and Paul exchanged a meaningful look behind Rosie's back. "Good night?" Samantha mouthed. Her brother-in-law shrugged, rubbing his tired eyes.

Rosie was still off work sick and once Paul had kissed her goodbye and departed for the office, Rosie brewed two more mugs of tea and the sisters curled up together on the lounge sofa.

"What a night!" Rosie breathed, still grinning.

"Hmmmm," said Samantha. "I couldn't help hearing you two going at it like teenagers."

"Twice," added Rosie, smugly. "And then I had the most incredible dream. A hooded creature was fucking me in a forest. It had a huge cock - I could almost feel it in the back of my throat - and it came gallons, deep in my womb. When I woke, I was in the middle of my third orgasm of the night!"

Samantha stared at her. "Rosie!" she gasped. Her sister had never shared anything like this before.

Rosie laughed at her appalled face. "I'm sorry, Sam," she said. "But it was incredible. Come on, let's nip down the high street for a spot of window shopping."

When Samantha went upstairs for her bag, the box was rocking violently on the floor. She carefully eased it open and peered in at the five ugly little faces, flapping their bat ears at her. "Sssssshhhh," she implored them, putting her finger to her lips. As she slackened her hold on the box, the creatures, in concert, thrust the box fully open and took off. One by one, giggling, they plunged down her shirt front and took up position, their little barbs sinking into her soft flesh. She gasped and gave a little sob, bracing herself for the assault on her tender erogenous zones, but it didn't come. The creatures on her breasts and clit just snuggled peacefully against her and the ones in her pussy curled up quietly and were still.

They remained quiescent as the two women shopped. It was only when they sat down in a cafe for a break that the sprites awoke and began again to suck. Samantha wriggled in her seat and Rosie gave her a curious look. "Wedgie," Samantha said, "Excuse me while I sort it out," and she hobbled to the loo. Locked in a cubicle, she seized the creature on her clit and tugged. Quick as lightning it twisted its ugly little head, hissed loudly and sank its pointed teeth into the fleshy mound at the base of her thumb. Samantha shrieked and snatched her hand away, watching as the blood welled up and ran down her wrist. The sprite glared at her and lowered its head, resuming sucking with enthusiasm. Samantha leaned forward, hands on the cistern, and gave herself over to the sensation, shuddering as she came.

. . .

Two weeks later, Rosie announced her pregnancy. Samantha, by this time drained and pale from the round-the-clock assault on her body yet with breasts bigger than ever, reacted with little enthusiasm. Rosie, misinterpreting her lassitude, hugged her and said, "Don't worry, darling. It's going to term this time. I can feel it."

Scans came and went and the foetus thrived, a little larger than average for dates but giving no cause for concern. It was active with a strong heartbeat and its mother glowed in pregnancy. She bustled around, preparing a nursery and researching classes, while her sister faded, enduring orgasm after orgasm at the hands of the fae.

Paul, too, was suffering. Worried about the baby, Rosie had banished him from the bedroom after her 12 week scan. As the months passed he became more and more despondent and their arguments about sex resounded through the house.

One morning, as Rosie was out at a breastfeeding class, Samantha found him packing a bag, tears streaming down his face. "I can't stand it, Sam," he said. "She acts like I repulse her."

"But, Paul, you can't go! What about the baby?"

"I know. I'm a heel, but I just can't cope any more without sex."

The wise woman's words echoed in Samantha's head: "Rosie is likely to lose interest in Paul altogether. You might well have to fuck him while she is pregnant, to hold them together."

Samantha took his face in her hands and kissed him with infinite tenderness. His hands found her waist and she stiffened as his left hand burrowed beneath her top and crept up towards her breast, but the creature suckling there detached itself and crawled round her body to her back so when she cupped her breast in his hand he found only soft titflesh and a swollen sensitive nipple.

"Your tits are bigger," he muttered into her hair.

She took his hand and led him up to her bedroom. As he turned his back to undress, the creatures fluttered down and crawled beneath the bed to their box. Paul lay on the bed and Samantha's skinny frame straddled him, guiding his thick penis into her swollen pussy. She rode him slowly, rolling her hips, and he gazed at her engorged breasts, bouncing on her ribby torso. After his enforced celibacy he couldn't last long and came inside her after only a few minutes, apologising over and over for not making her cum. But Samantha had had enough orgasms in the past few months not to care if she never had another. She lay on top of him, his softening cock slipping from her pussy, and nuzzled his neck.