The gilded cage swung gently from its chain, suspended above a vanity cluttered with arcane cosmetics and half-melted candles.
Inside, Lemmy Wink—a foot tall fairy with iridescent wings and a perpetually flustered expression—squirmed.
She crossed her tiny legs.
Then uncrossed them.
Then crossed them tighter.
"Nnngh..."
A velvet-lined drawer nearby slid open with a creak. Several pairs of glowing eyes peered out.
"What's wrong with her?" whispered the Silk Blindfold, its fabric rippling with amusement.
"Look at her legs," giggled the Feather Duster, its plume quivering. "She's doing the wiggle!"
"Oh my~" The Enchanted Collar's tiny bell jingled. "Does the little bug need to go potty?"
Lemmy's face flushed a deep crimson.
"SH-SHUT UP! I'm a FAIRY! We don't—I mean—it's NATURAL to—"
"To what?" The Paddle leaned out of the drawer, its flat surface somehow conveying a shit-eating grin. "Squat in a bush like a forest animal?"
The toys erupted into snickers and cackles.
"She's gonna pee in the cage!"
"Mistress's prized fairy—fertilizing the boudoir!"
"DISGUSTING!"
"I AM NOT!" Lemmy shrieked, wings buzzing furiously even as she clenched everything. "I just need—if someone would just LET ME OUT for five—"
The golden cage suddenly shuddered.
Its bars rattled.
Two enormous googly eyes—magically adhered to the cage's ornate top—went wide with horror.
Gilderoy's voice boomed—surprisingly deep for a cage.
"I am a MASTERWORK containment vessel, crafted by the Artificer Morvain himself! I have housed DEMON PRINCES! VAMPIRE LORDS! The ARCHDUCHESS OF THE SCREAMING VOID!"
The googly eyes somehow narrowed.
"I will NOT be DEFECATED IN!"
Lemmy's wings drooped. "I-I wasn't going to—"
"RIDING CROP!" Gilderoy bellowed, his bars rattling with authority. "YOU! Take her to the lavatory! IMMEDIATELY!"
From the shadows a long, leather riding crop slowly rose from a metal hook.
It moved with an unsettling smoothness—no legs, no wings—just gliding through the air with predatory grace. Its tip flexed once.
Twice.
"Ahhhh," Sir Welton's voice was crisp, aristocratic, and dripping with barely concealed delight. "The little fairy requires... escort to the bathroom hmm, does she?"
Lemmy's eyes went wide.
Then wider.
"NOT HIM!"
She pressed herself against the far side of the cage, tiny hands gripping the bars.
"ANYONE BUT HIM! The Blindfold! The Duster! I'll take the PADDLE for fuck's sake—"
"Tempting," a thorn flogger Paddle muttered.
"PLEASE, GILDEROY!" Lemmy begged, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "He's going to—he ALWAYS—"
But Sir Welton was already gliding toward the cage, his leather gleaming in the candlelight.
"I accept this task," he announced formally, though his tip quivered with anticipation. "The fairy shall be escorted to the facilities... safely."
He said "safely" the way a fox says "henhouse."
"I shall be nothing but professional."
"LIAR!" Lemmy shrieked. "YOU SWATTED ME FORTY SEVEN TIMES LAST—"
"Disciplinary corrections," Sir Welton interrupted smoothly. "You were dawdling."
Gilderoy's door swung open with a click.
"Out, fairy. And so help me, if you relieve yourself before reaching the lavatory, I will request Mistress Six turn you into a CHAMBER POT."
Lemmy whimpered, tiny legs still pressed together, as she fluttered out of the cage on trembling wings.
Sir Welton positioned himself beside her—far too close.
"This way, little one. Quickly now."
Fwip.
His tip flicked against her rear.
"EEP! I'M GOING, I'M GOING!"
Sir Welton glided down the corridor with Lemmy fluttering desperately behind him, her tiny thighs pressed together, wings beating erratically.
"Th-the bathroom is the OTHER WAY!" she squeaked.
"Patience, little one."
Fwip.
"OW! STOP THAT!"
"Then keep up."
Sir Welton led her not to the porcelain facilities, but to a moon-drenched window shelf in the living room. There, nestled among dusty tomes and dried herbs, sat a large ceramic pot.
Inside it—a magnificent Pitcher Plant.
Its bulbous body was a deep purple-green, veined with crimson. The opening at its top gaped invitingly, slick with nectar.
Lemmy blinked.
Then—against all odds—she let out a breath of relief.
"Oh thank the Grove... a plant!"
Her wings relaxed slightly. This she could work with. Fairies used plants all the time back home. It was natural. Dignified, even.
Sir Welton hovered beside her, his leather gleaming smugly.
"Here you are, madam. Your plant boudoir." His tip gestured gracefully toward the pitcher's opening. "See? I'm not such a bad guy."
Lemmy shot him a suspicious glare, but her bladder screamed louder than her paranoia.
"...Fine. Just—turn around!"
"Of course, madam. Privacy."
Sir Welton rotated a polite forty-five degrees.
Lemmy fluttered down onto the rim of Duchess Gulpetia, her tiny feet finding purchase on the slick edge. The plant's interior was warm, humid, and smelled surprisingly sweet—like overripe fruit and honey.
"Okay... okay..."
She positioned herself over the opening and squatted.
Her face scrunched with effort.
"Nnnngh..."
She began to push—
SCHLP.
Vines.
Vines erupted from inside the pitcher, coiling around Lemmy's thighs, her waist, her tiny wrists.
"EEEEEEE! IT'S ALIVE!"
The Pitcher Plant let out a low, rumbling purr—a vibration that traveled up through Lemmy's entire body.
"Shhhhh, little morsel," a wet, gurgling voice cooed from within the plant. "Duchess only wishes to help~"
Before Lemmy could scream again, something warm and slick pressed against her backside.
A tongue.
Long, textured, and eager.
It circled her anus slowly—teasingly—before pressing flat and lapping.
"Wh-WHAT ARE YOU—nnnngh!"
Lemmy's protest died in her throat. Her body, already primed to release, betrayed her completely.
She pushed harder—involuntarily now—her tiny face contorting into something caught between horror and shameful bliss.
Her eyes rolled in her head half-lidded, and a loose expression came over her face.
Her mouth hung open.
"Haaahh... oh Grove... oh no... oh noooo..."
The Duchess's tongue worked in slow, deliberate circles, coaxing Lemmy's body to give up its payload.
And give it did.
Lemmy's "fertilizer" dropped directly onto the waiting tongue, and Duchess Gulpetia moaned with satisfaction, her vines tightening affectionately around the fairy's trembling form.
"Yesssss... good little fairy... so nutritious~"
The tongue didn't stop.
It kept lapping—slurping—cleaning Lemmy's rear with obscene thoroughness, each stroke sending involuntary shivers through her tiny body.
"S-stop... I'm... I'm done..." Lemmy whimpered, but her voice had no strength.
The plant ignored her.
SLRRRP. SLRRRP. SLRRRP.
"Duchess requires all of it, little one~"
The relentless tongue, the vibrating purr, the vines holding her firmly in place—it was too much.
Lemmy's overstimulated body surrendered completely.
A high-pitched whine escaped her lips as her bladder finally released, a stream of hot fairy piss splashing directly into the Duchess's eager maw.
"OHHHHH~" Duchess Gulpetia shuddered with pleasure, her entire form rippling. "So sweet... Mistress Six feeds you well, little one~"
Lemmy could only twitch, her wings fluttering weakly, her expression utterly ruined—a mixture of relief, shame, and something dangerously close to pleasure.
"Haahh... hahh... hahh..."
Sir Welton grinned as he observed, throwing out the occasional smack on Lemmys ass.
The Riding Crop had, of course, rotated back around approximately three seconds into the ordeal.
He watched with what could only be described as professional appreciation.
"Excellent form, madam," he commented dryly. "Truly, a natural at this."
"Fwip!"
"F-fuck... you..." Lemmy managed weakly.
"Perhaps later. For now—" Fwip. "—we should return you to Gilderoy before Mistress arrives home."
Sir Welton scanned Lemmy to check her status.
CharacterStatus Lemmy Wink Drained / Embarrassed / Twitching.
ConditionDetail: Bladder Empty
Bowels: Empty
Dignity: Obliterated