It's Always Time

by Oblimo

  She hugged his finger closer. "I know," she sighed and shivered for a second. Then she perked up. "And yes, I want to know."

  He pried his finger away and pulled a grubby, folded piece of printer paper out of a jacket pocket. "I'm going to get one of these," he said, handing it over.

  Galatea's face crinkled in confusion as she unfolded the paper. She stared, and stared, and stared, and then leapt into the foot well of the rear seat. "Where is it?" she grunted. Dee treated his car like a purse. Maps, empty cans, CDs, and more detritus flew high in Galatea's frantic search. "I know I saw one here somewhere!"

  "What's wrong?" Dee stomped on the accelerator. "I'll try to get home as fast as possi—"

  "No!" Galatea screamed, and then: "Yes! Yes. Got it. Yes!"

  She lugged a plastic water bottle, a taller and wider than her pint-sized form, back into the passenger seat. She wrenched off the white bottle cap, crammed her unhinged jaw over the mouth of the bottle, and plopped down onto her back. Dee found the onramp to the highway at last and gunned for it. "Hang on, honey," he said, watching the plastic bottle crunch and accordion down as she sucked it dry.

  The crumpled, empty bottle fell away from her face. She wobbled up. A smidge taller than twelve inches high, she had plumped from voluptuous to positively zaftig, a figurine of a fertility goddess carved of mint jelly, the swells of her breasts and hips as wide as she was tall. "Okay," she gulped, "okay. Okay…Wahhh!" She cried like a lawn sprinkler. Tears squirted in curved trajectories all around her.

  Dee's car roared onto the highway. "Honey?"

  "That's so romantic!" Galatea sobbed, spilling over onto her back. Saccharine, green water rained down inside Dee's car.

  "Galatea, it's not that big a deal. I just thought you'd appreciate it."

  She undulated up and over to hunker on all fours. "I love it," she groaned, starting a deliberate, rippling crawl toward Dee's crotch. She had lost much of her water weight but she was still so stacked it looked like her tits and hips were creeping along and her arms were moving just for show. "It's also," she panted, "the hottest fucking thing I've ever fucking heard in my entire fucking life."

  "Uh," said Dee, checking the rearview mirror and shifting uncomfortably as Galatea oozed over the emergency break between the two front seats, "you've said that already. Uh. Remember? Galatea?"

  "Nooo," she cooed, flowing into Dee's lap like a heavy, hungry cat, her outline swallowed by the shadows beneath the steering column, "this tops that by like a fucking mile." Dee felt hundreds of questing, urgent fingers slip over his belt, into his pants, behind the elastic band of briefs, and wrap snuggly around his dick. The fingers squeezed a pulsing rhythm. His hands jerked on the wheel and the car swerved. "Why the Hell are you still wearing pants?" Galatea said.

  Dee tried slow the car down but felt thick rubbery bands bind his foot tight to the accelerator. "Oh, no," Galatea chuckled from the darkness below the steering column. "You're going to make sure you keep moving as fast as you can." Dee's belt flew into the back seat. The top button of his jeans, trailing thin shreds of denim, soon followed. "And I'm going to make sure you keep cumming as hard and as fast and as much as you can."

  The long, narrow fingers encircling his manhood braided together into flexed, snaky ropes. "I think I'll start you off with a quickie," Galatea said as more ropes threaded into position, wedging the fly of his jean open and ripping his briefs in half. "I'm gunna need a vitamin Dee pick-me-up for what I've got planned."

  Dee concentrated on the dark highway ahead. The braids twisted over him, their knots clicking out a quiet percussion. The rhythm sounded familiar and he did his best to act terrified. "Not the Nest of Twenty Rattlesnakes Technique!" he improvised.

  "The very same!" reveled Galatea, her impression of a vaudevillian villainess pure perfection. "What the Twenty Rattlers lack in subtlety—" Dee's lap began to purr like a snare drum "—they make up for in speed."

  "Do your worst," Dee said, laughing as the bumping, tickling, rippling percussion droned on, faster and faster, "but I'll n-never reveal the location of the hidden…" A dark green tendril uncoiled and drifted over the dashboard. "Uh," Dee gulped, "r-rebel…base…" The tendril popped the cover off the electric cigarette lighter next to the radio. "Oh fuck," he managed before the pointed tip of the tendril dipped into the socket.

  "And that," said Galatea from the darkness of the driver's side foot well half-a-minute later, "is what the Nest of Twenty Electric Eels Technique feels like." Her lips smacked. "God, what a rush. Nanogasming is so much better than Nyquil. I'm never ever going this long without a fix of vitamin Dee again. Now we can get started."

  Dee heard a metallic sigh. He toggled on the overhead light, keeping one shaky hand on the wheel. A cloudy green, moony face the size and shape of a silver dollar peered up from between his legs. "Hey, Dee," said the green fairy with Galatea's voice. She slicked a loose curl back into the gooey, vibrant mop of hair she wore like a crown of moss. "Long time no see."

  "Hi, Fée," said Dee. "Galatea let you out?"

  She crept up into his lap. "I am Galatea, dumb ass," she said, dragonfly wings buzzing. "I don't have to let myself out. I'm here all the time." She squat crossed legged before his cock, gazing up at its swollen head. "Man," she said, "déjà fucking vu."

  "Yeah," Dee said, distracted by another car speeding up to pass them on the right, "but when you're on the surface, things really start getting weird."

  "Hmph," Fée Galatea said and stood to lean over Dee's dick, one arm draped over its head, her perky tits cool against the corona of his glans. "Does this feel weird?" She spread her legs wide to squeeze his shaft between his knees.

  "It feels wild," Dee said, catching glimpses of her while he drove.

  Fée Galatea rested her chin on head of Dee's cock, and breathed deep, her eyes heavy lidded, smile dreamy. "That smell. When I was really small and pressed up against you like this, that smell—the smell of, of you—seemed to fill the world. It—oh, God." She nipped at at his meatus, the slit on the head of his dick. It was wider than her mouth. The car swerved. "It makes me want to bite something." She nipped again.

  "Stop!" Dee begged. "Stop, it's too sensitive. And your teeth are kind of sharp." Galatea squeezed her knees tighter. "Wow, you're really firm," Dee said, adding with a smile, "almost solid. It's different. I like it. How are you doing it?"

  "Nanomek density," Fée Galatea said. "When I'm bigger—ooh, that smell makes it so hard to think, I just wanna squeeze and squeeze…Hey, watch the road! Anyway, when I'm bigger, the replicating nanomek has to spread out more. When I'm this tiny, the nanomek's much more packed together. I can do all sorts of stuff when I'm pint-sized. Or…" She stood in his lap and measured the girth of Dee's dick with her hands. Keeping her hands the same distance apart, she moved them down over her hips. There was plenty of room to spare. "Or maybe not," she muttered.

  She took a slow, cleansing breath, pushed her arms out and flexed deep at the knees in a fluid, balletic grand plie. She grew a few inches as she completed the graceful move, her arms and legs stretching, breasts and hips swelling, and the mop of her hair thickening. She measured Dee's girth again, and this time each hand landed squarely on her thighs. "Ooh," she said, giving her own thighs a rough squeeze, "much better. Yes, I can do all sorts of stuff when I'm quart-sized."

  "Like what?"

  "Let's find out," Fée Galatea said, stepping back after giving his glans a final nibble. She wedged herself into the steering column. Her pert derriere, as round, wide, and green as a Granny Smith apple, covered the VW emblem in the dead center of the steering wheel. She hooked her elbows around the outer bends of the wheel, her gauzy wings buzzing across Dee's wrists. "Alley-oop!" she said, swinging her shapely legs up and wide like a gymnast practicing on rings. The Volkswagen's horn beeped and she had a quick giggle fit, her teensy toes wiggling in the air.

  Her legs swung out and she locked ankles behind the head of Dee's dick. "You know," she said, cinching his dick cl
oser, "I spent the ride to SRU hiding behind you, watching the back of your neck. Just staring at your neck–the whole trip—right where those last few curls of your hair brush against your bare skin, thinking about how your neck moved beneath my hands when I held you, when you fucked me, remembering how strong…It made me so hot. But not wet. The other hot, like—ooh, how do you explain this to a man? Like really, really itchy."

  Her legs crossing, she aimed and angled Dee's cock at her crotch. "It started like a little tickle against my clit." She rocked her hips up. Ignoring the beeping horn, she clamped her legs down on either side of Dee's shaft and thrust herself onto him. The head of Dee's dick scrunched against her sex and even her bellybutton. "But it got intense and moved in deep. And I mean deep. Imagine a prickly itch inside you, deep in the middle of you, that just went on and on and you knew you could never scratch. But, God, am I gunna scratch it now."

  Her arms locked around the steering wheel, Fée Galatea began to belly dance, head titled, moving to a sensuous beat only she could hear, rolling her lower body over Dee's primed glans in slow, constant oscillation. Soon she was greased from tummy to ass in his precum. "You're awfully quiet, Dee," she said, head rocking and never meeting his gaze, her smile distant but wicked. "I bet you’re itching now too; itching to wrap a, mm, big hand around me and just ram me down." She rolled around his dick faster. "And I could take it all in, too." She tipped her hips up even higher and ground her fleshy ass around and around the tip of his cock. "I want to take it all in. Sure, I could stretch, I could grow, but I want it tight." She swiveled down and smeared her pussy around the slit of his meatus. "I think, I think I even want it to hurt. Anything to scratch that damn itch. It's itching so hard and, ah, deep now, Dee, it's like a, a burning wire running from my clit into my cunt and up between my tits. I want you in me so bad, Dee. I need you to fill me, to fuck me, and I want to feel it hard and tight and right now—but don't you take your fucking hands off that fucking wheel!"

  Her upper two wings, so sheer and gentle against his wrists until now, lashed out and around his hands, strong as nylon. Her entrapping wings gave just enough to let him steer, but if he moved so much as an inch away from the wheel they clapped down like irons. "This is my ride," Fée Galatea snarled, humping even faster. "Just me and Mine. All Mine. You wanna drive? Drive the fucking car." A leg kicked out and stomped on his knee, forcing his foot and the accelerator pedal beneath it to the floor. "But drive it fast."

  Dee's teeth grit together so hard it sounded like kernels of corn popping in his mouth. "Pygmalion."

  Fée Galatea's wings and legs released him even before he uttered the third syllable of the safe word. "You want to stop?" she asked, disappointed but kind.

  Dee shook his head with whiplash violence. "No," he said, teeth clenched, "Hell, no. Fuck, no. I just don't want to die." His passion ebbed a tiny bit, permitting him more complex thought. "You're turning me on so much I can't see straight. Although it would be a great death, and I'd have bragging rights in Heaven for centuries, I don't want our relationship to end after only four days."

  "I need it bad," Fée Galatea admitted. "I mean I need it bad and I need to be bad, but I want you to feel good. Do you have any ideas?"

  "How about I pull over and we pretend I'm about to die in a ten car pileup? You can fuck me to death when I'm ninety five, I promise."

  "You mean we're only going to fuck twenty-four-seven for a lousy seventy years? I won't even make it through half my Techniques!"

  "I'll take that as a 'yes'," Dee said. He squinted through the windshield. "That off-ramp has a rest-stop. And I think this neighborhood has the kind of place we're looking for, for this," he said, waving the rumpled, tear stained piece of paper.

  "Then you've got a deal. Wait a minute," she said, excited, "if it's just pretend, does that mean I get to be even nastier?"

  "Oh, yeah."

  "Awesome. Pull over, solid boy. Right now. I can feel that damn itch behind my damn eyes."

  Fée Galatea hopped into the driver's foot well, watching Dee watch the road. "C'mon, c'mon," she said, snuggling up to Dee's cock. "Mine's raring to go and I don't want…to…" Her voice grew more pensive with each word "…lose…his…interest…" She buried her face against the side of Dee's glans, muffling her babbling cry, "Oh my God it smells so good and it's so fucking big!" She smeared her mouth and her flushed cheeks over it until her face was painted in precum. "So good," she muttered mindlessly, "so good."

  Dee pulled the Volkswagen into the darkest corner of the rest stop. He jerked up the handle of the emergency break hard enough to crack its plastic cover. He stared at her, never saying a word.

  "You’re as silent as the grave," Fée Galatea wondered up at him. "This is going to be the greatest fuck I've ever had."

  Dee reached for her.

  "Nuh-uh," she said. "You keep your hands—" a wing stretched out to snag his hand "—on the damn wheel." Her wing wrestled his hand back onto the steering column. "Don't make me have to tie you down," she said, wing unwinding. "See if you can keep your hands to yourself."

  Dee nodded and grabbed the wheel, hands placed at nine and three o'clock, knuckles crunching. Fée Galatea scrabbled up to stand in his lap. She vaulted up and over and passed his dick in a wild game of leapfrog, her tiny feet plunking down into his wiry pubic hair. "Nice shirt," she taunted, reaching for the lowest shirt button. "Lose it." She had to squat for leverage, her ass sliding against his shaft, angling it down, and tore at the yellow fabric.

  The white plastic button bounced off the windshield. She pulled herself up to the next shirt button leaving a trail of little, green finger-paint handprints. She grabbed with both hands, planted a foot against his chest, and wrenched the second button free. A sharp knee pressed into his sternum as she knelt to yank his shirttails out of his pants. She gathered each shirttail in her hands and rent the shirt in twain, scattering the remaining buttons and revealing Dee's undershirt, now spotted with sweat. She sat down on Dee's belly in a huff. "I love wearing your tees," she said, leaning close, "especially after you've already worn 'em." She held up two fingers and they merged, the conjoined edge gleaming like a shard of green glass. "But this one's got to go," she sighed, and sliced the shirt open in a single sweep. She gathered the split undershirt, ready to wrest it off his shoulders, but froze, finger-blade dulling. "No, wait." She pressed her cheek against his slick chest, drinking in his scent. "Oh, yes," she said, curling up like a cat. "Oh, God," she sighed, wrapping herself tight in the two halves of the undershirt. "Oh my God, oh my God," she gasped, snuggling in as close as she could. "Dee, Dee, you're everywhere, you're every…" She shuddered, let go of the undershirt and pressed her fists to her temples. "I came, Dee," she whimpered, "I came, just being with you like this made me cum. Oh, Dee," she sobbed, "you can't imagine, you can't imagine how incredible this is. I want to feel like this forever."

  Dee wanted to tell her he knew exactly how it felt ["…cumming and cumming…"], but the force necessary to break through the crushing, silent fury of his need to have her would probably rip the steering column right out of the dashboard.

  Fée Galatea tucked herself in, trembling. After few moments, her uncontrolled movements took up a steady rhythm. "Can't sit still," she said, rolling onto her stomach, pelvis pumping, one hand wrapped in the undershirt to keep herself nestled into his chest. She reached between her legs with the other hand and plunged her fingers deep into her sex. "Deeper," she said, and her pulsating, flexible fingers obeyed. "Deeper," she commanded, humping against Dee's chest to ram her hand in further. "God damn it. No good, it's no good. Gotta fuck." She glared up at him. "Gotta fuck you." She rolled onto her back, her spider-silk sticky wings pinioned under his arms. "Fuck me, Dee," she implored, straining then buckling as she masturbated, "please, please fuck me, Dee. Dee, why won't you fuck me?"

  Heart pounding, eyes squeezed shut against stinging sweat, Dee locked his elbows and kept clutching at the steering wheel, fighting the impulse to try and tw
ist it into a pretzel. Tiny hands clawed handfuls of hair on either side of Dee's neck. Fée Galatea kicked out and swung up, back curving, until her legs pressed hard over his ears, her feet hooked together behind his head, and her pussy smashed into his mouth. "If you're not gunna fuck you are gunna eat," she growled.

  Her nectar was so tart that a single droplet against his tongue made Dee's eyes water and nose run. Fée Galatea let go of Dee's hair and clamped her legs tighter around his head. She arched high, throwing her arms out in a swan dive, only to plop supine and upside down against Dee's chest and stomach. "Eat me, damn it," she said, pressing her miniature mound into his mouth hard enough to cram her apple-sized ass between his lips before launching another nibbling, pawing assault on the head of his dick.

  Dee lanced his tongue into her cunt. The searing sour-sweet flavor of concentrated Galatea overwhelmed every other sensation. His arms jerked, his hands itching to cradle her little ass so he could suckle her in earnest. His fingertips were just clearing the steering column when he snarled, curled his fists around the wheel again, and stabbed his tongue into her as far as he could. He felt the flesh of her jellied hips spread and compress against his lips to accommodate the invasion.

  Fée Galatea shrieked, "Yes!" She pushed up with her hands lost in his pubic hair, bucking and grinding to take his tongue in deeper. "Yes! Harder. Deeper. Yes! Yes." She rode his tongue and Dee was lost in the taste of her. "No," she said, head shaking, "no, damn it. Fuck! Not deep enough. Not big enough. I need Mine. I need Mine in me right fucking now."

  She slipped out Dee's mouth, leaving his tongue coated and lips gummy with potent green honey, and rolled into his lap before bounding on all fours back up Dee's stomach to position her steamy sex above his cock. Dee felt tension gather in her arms and legs. "Mine," Fée Galatea said, "all of Mine. Now!"

  She thrust herself down and sat up on the head of his dick. She compressed his glans between her thighs to give her purchase. Her thrumming wings blurred the air to aid her balance. Her hands seized his open shirt to give her traction. "Don't you dare let go of that wheel," she said, tugging on the yellow shirttails like they were reigns on a thoroughbred.