“Are you sure this is the path, Pete?” Assumpta bit back her finest Irish obscenities as brambles ripped another hole in her green tights. Admittedly, if she had to become a fairy for her best friend’s summer art project, a punk one in a shredded dress was more her style, though a pixie would have been more appropriate for prancing around Cornwall and suited her short black hair better.

“No,” Peter admitted, holding the next branch back as she passed. Somehow his pink costume had escaped any damage, but his makeup had smudged after an hour of walking in the woods. “Sorry, I should have brought a map, but it looked so easy. I heard traffic, so we must be close to a road. Maybe we can get a lift.”

Minutes later, they stumbled across a sun-dappled clearing. A single overgrown track led out.

“Well, it’s a road of sorts.” Assumpta sat on some moss-covered rocks, retying the green laces of her Doc Martens — the black leather all she wore that didn’t match her eyes. “This costume is ruined. Look at my wings! Did you get enough photos for your portfolio?”

“Yeah.” Peter sat next to her and sighed, looking down over his pink tights to the matching laces of his Docs, idly tapping his toes together. “Don’t worry about the dress. This was their final outing, anyway. I shouldn’t have been so careful with mine — I like the bad fairy look.”

“‘Bad fairy’?”

He played with the hem of his skirt. “You know, all sweetness and flowers around other fairies, then sneaking away to get ravished by a cave full of trolls every Friday night.”

Assumpta gaped at him. “Where did that come from?”

“Just one of my recurring fantasies.”

“I want to hear these fantasies in more detail!”

“Really? I imagined you’d be more into butch fairies ravishing the femme ones.”

“The tattoo above my tits says ‘queer’, not ‘gay’, and I’m not always the domme. In fact—” She stopped, listening. “Someone’s coming!”

The distant rumble of an engine and wheels bumping over rutted ground grew louder, and then a new sound joined in.

“Is that an—”

“—ice cream van?!” Peter finished for her as, with that unmistakable jingle, a van with a giant plastic cone on the roof came into view and, on seeing two fairies perched in the middle of the glade, slammed on the brakes.

“What’s it doing here?”

“I haven’t a clue.” He stood up. “May as well take advantage, though.”

They closed the remaining distance and rapped on the service window. After some swearing inside, it slid open, revealing the moustachioed face of a salesman.

“Er, yes?” His London accent sounded as confused as they were. “What can I get you, girls?”

“Hey!” Peter pouted under his glitter and mascara. “Who are you calling a girl?”

The man blinked. “OK, what can I get you, boys, then?”

Assumpta scowled. “Who are you calling a boy? I’m even wearing a dress today!”

“Oh! Sorry, but your hair ain’t any longer, and, er...”

“These?” She cupped her breasts that had never needed a bra, then raised her arms, showing the silky tufts of her pits. “Or these?”

“Both. Not that there’s anything wrong with those, of course. How about… fairies? Is that safe?”

“Yes!” Peter beamed. “Two 99s, please.”

“Right, two 99s.” He started rummaging around.

“Should we ask him where we are?” Peter whispered.

“I don’t know. Do you think it’s stolen?”

“Who steals an ice cream van?”

“No idea, but— Fuck!” Assumpta recognised the approaching roar of Harleys. “Bikers!”

The two friends backed away as a high-speed mudslide of black metal bore down on their position. They spun as chrome, beards, and deafening, revving engines surrounded them, until the lead biker turned his key, dismounted, and raised a bare, brown arm to signal the rest to do the same. They saw a patch reading ‘PRESIDENT’ on his sleeveless leather jacket as it flopped back against his hairy and heavily tattooed chest.

“Baz,” he called out to the van behind them, freeing short-cropped, salt and pepper hair from his helmet. “Why’re there two fairies here?”

“Dunno, Frank. They want 99s.”

“Maybe it’s a trap from the Wolves,” suggested the biker beside him, stroking the grey stripe in his full facial hair and then flicking his dark blond locks over his shoulders. The patch on the jacket framing his bulging stomach indicated he was vice president. “Pogs, Doughnut — check the bushes.”

Two younger men, one skinny with a mohawk and sculpted beard, the other massive and sporting a ginger mane and goatee, dismounted and spread out amongst the trees.

“They don’t look like Wolves, Brian,” Frank said. “Who hired you, girls?”

“Peter’s not a girl,” Assumpta said.

“But you are? Shame. So, which club paid you?”

“No one paid us! We were out walking—”

“Dressed like that?”

“F-for my arts degree.” Peter wiggled his camera, suppressing the urge to run.

“Ah, Falmouth students?” They nodded. “Can I see?”

Frank flicked through the photos as the younger bikers returned, shaking their heads, their ‘PROSPECT’ patches more legible up close.

“Art students,” Frank told them, examining the camera, “from Falmouth.”  

“And the DMs?” asked Pogs. “Do fairies wear boots?”

“There’s a whole song about it, dickhead!” yelled Brian.

“Shouldn’t it be pixies for Cornwall?” another biker piped up.

“‘Fairy’ is what I got called at school,” Peter said quietly.

“Bloke called me a fairy once,” came the Mancunian accent of a pale, bald biker with a white handlebar moustache and ink extending to his neck — the ‘SGT-AT-ARMS’ according to his patch. Like Frank, he had the physique of a retired heavyweight boxer. Unlike Frank, who looked like he won every match unscathed, this one looked like he fought every match with his face and lost.

“How did that go, Liam?”

“He ran head-first into my fist. Clumsy prick.”

Everyone sniggered.

Frank handed the camera back. “Fine, I believe you. Now, flutter on, fairies.”

“Wait, why are you here with a stolen ice cream van?” Assumpta countered.

“We didn’t steal it. You’ve been watching too much Sons of Anarchy.”

“Can you really watch too much Charlie Hunnam?” Peter asked dreamily.

“What was all that about Wolves earlier?” Assumpta pressed on. “Or did you mean the animal?”

“Nah, the White Wolves are Nazi shitstains who’ve taken a dislike to us Grizzlies.”

“Grizzlies?”

They turned as one to show the backs of their jackets. Except for the blank ones of the prospects, they were identical. Under gothic script reading ‘Grizzly Bears MC’, roared a bear on a rainbow background with entwined male symbols at the bottom.

“Gay bikers?”

“That’s us. Today’s our AGM. We always have a picnic.”

“Really? A leather bears’ picnic? Or orgy?”

Frank grinned. “Same thing.”

“Um, excuse me...” Peter bit his lip, trying to look the big bear in the eye.

“Yes?”

Peter cleared his throat. “Is there some kind of... initiation we can go through to come to your ‘picnic’?”

“We don’t usually allow outsiders.” He scratched his beard and exchanged raised eyebrows with his vice president. “Then again, we’ve never come across woodland fairies before. Would you like one?”

“Yes, please.” It came out as a whisper.

“Initiation’s sounds are your thing, Liam. Want to take it from here?”

“With pleasure.” The more thuggish-looking of the three leaders cracked his knuckles. “I warn you, it will be humiliating.”

Peter gulped, but his skirt twitched with movement underneath. “Can Assumpta just watch? I’m not sure—”

“Hey, don’t leave me out! As long as you boys don’t mind...” She waved her hand towards her crotch.

“Today, you’re both genderless, hairy fuck-fairies.” Liam placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “Fuck off or kneel.”

Exchanging final, silent confirmation, they knelt side by side.

“No. Back-to-back.”

Hearts pounding, they obeyed, fingers meshing behind them for reassurance.

“So, you wanted 99s, did you?”

“Um, yes?” Peter answered apprehensively.

“Doughnut, get the ice cream.”

“Er, just the two?”

“Bring everything out. It should be the proper, traditional Cornish stuff made with clotted cream; none of that bland Mr Whippy crap. We’ll all have some.”

Kneeling on leaves and twigs surrounded by leering, leather-clad men had been intimidating. Once they were all eating 99s, though, Peter couldn’t help laughing.

“What? A man’s not allowed to enjoy ice cream?” Brian lowered his cone threateningly, the effect undermined by the milky droplets clinging to his whiskers.

“He’s just jealous,” Liam told him, handing him a tub. “Here, give him some.”

Brian took the offering and moved closer. “Open wide, little fairy.”

Nervously, Peter obeyed, and watched him dig the scoop in. With a flick of the wrist, the ball fell straight into his mouth. Though delicious, the cold hurt his teeth until it started to melt, dribbling down his neck. Above, Brian smirked, dropped the container, and unbuckled his belt.

“Say ‘ah’.”

Immediately, he shoved his semi-flaccid member into the freezing slop within.

“Lads, you’ve got to try this!” he yelled, licking his 99 whilst using his free hand to hold Peter’s head down. “It’s like nothing else!”

Liam came forward to stand over Assumpta, carrying another tub and rubbing his crotch. She wondered if he was a bank manager the rest of the year.

“You game?”

“Fill me.”

She yawned wide for her treat. Somehow, her ruby lips remained spotless right up to the instant hard dick squelched inside and began mashing the dense contents into slime that oozed from the corners of her mouth. A wet crunch behind her signalled Brian deciding that ice cream went better on his cock than in his mouth and smashing the rest of his cone into Peter’s face, while all around, unzipping flies drowned out birdsong.

“Hear that, lads?” Liam called, thrusting noisily in and out of Assumpta’s throat. “That’s the gluck of the Irish!”

The laughter that followed encouraged him as he sneered at her mascara-streaked face. “Tell me, why didn’t you dress as a leprechaun?”

He got two middle fingers for that. His derisive laugh turned into a yell as Assumpta reminded him that pissing off someone with their teeth around your cock is a bad idea, and he hastily retreated.

“I’ve got other fuckholes, too, you know!” Assumpta called after expelling drool-diluted cream over the front of her dress. The material clung to her tits, their subtle mounds more obvious now that her nipples stood erect from the combination of frozen dairy and arousal.

“That so, little fairy?” Frank approached.

“It is if I’m not too femme for you.”

“I was married to a woman for twenty years; I think I can remember how they work.” He released his swelling brown length from his tight leather pants. “If I’m not too much for you?”

Assumpta turned and presented her green-clad butt in answer. He tore the nylon like paper, exposing her panties, and ran his thumb over the damp patch until he hit a hard spot.

“What’s this?” he asked, tugging the cotton down to reveal an emerald jewel between pert, dimpled cheeks. “Only one of these fuckholes is unoccupied!”

“Easy choice, then.” She bent lower, her glistening pussy lips poking through her curls.

“You want in on the fun?” Brian asked Peter, vacating the younger man’s mouth to allow him to answer.

“Y-yes.” He got on all fours, smiling bashfully at Assumpta; a smile returned for a fraction of a second until the president began pounding her.

“Is this as good as your troll-fairy fantasy?” she got out between gasps.

“Better. I never considered ice cream.”

Behind him, Brian lifted Peter’s skirt and ripped away the pink wrapping.

“Hey, I found fairy treasure!” he said when he encountered the rose-tinted crystal base of his butt plug. Gently, he tugged it out, dropping it on the ground. “At least we know you’re both clean back there. Now, where’s the lube?”

“Just use ice cream!” someone shouted.

“Oh, God!” Peter said when the bikers cheered that suggestion. “Will that even work?”

“Let’s find out.” Brian took a handful from the nearest tub and slapped it in Peter’s crack, making him squeal in shock. A warm finger rubbed the cool substance around his star and pushed inside, meeting his backward thrust.

“Needy little fuck-fairy, eh?” the older man chuckled as his digit slid in with no resistance. “Let’s try two.” He worked his middle finger in, twisting to spread the dairy lube. “You want a third?”

“No,” Peter blushed as pink as his dress. “Just fuck me.”

“Gladly! Prospect, bring that box over; he’s going to need something to bite.”

Both prospects had stripped down to leather harness and thong combos, awaiting instructions. Pogs was the first to react.

“You ordered 99s, right, fairy? I do apologise. We forgot the Flakes.”

Six sticks of flaky milk chocolate crammed into Peter’s mouth. The younger biker gave his smeared cheek an encouraging pat and stepped away again.

“Ready?” Brian rubbed his thickness in a fresh handful of icy goo, awaiting an answer. Peter mumbled affirmatively, then sprayed chocolate crumbs in a muffled scream as cock stretched his sphincter and coated his insides with frozen lube. Brian held still, reaching between his wings to pull his hair.

“All good?” he growled. An appreciative moan accompanied a nod. “Alright then.”

A stream of ice cream melted onto his shaft as he withdrew. Then he began mercilessly fucking dessert up Peter’s butt, his hairy belly brushing the top of his cheeks and shaking with each impact. Molten chocolate running out over his chin, the pink fairy faced the macho audience, feeling more humiliated and turned on than he’d ever been.

Boots crunched the leaves before him, their owner’s identity obscured by his fog of pain-tears. An avalanche of semi-frozen dairy poured over his face, transforming it into a featureless, off-white mask. In the centre, the river of chocolatey saliva flowing from his shocked mouth made a perfect target for his anonymous pleasurer-tormentor to shove his dick into. Gooey ropes of drool and dessert bridged Peter’s lips and the tip when it pulled out moments later.

Meanwhile, next to him, Assumpta gagged joyfully on her own serving of chocolate and cock, the remains of a half-eaten 99 stuck to her fringe. Pinching her nipples through her clothes with one hand, she shoved her hairy cunt back to meet Frank so enthusiastically that he came first.

“Here,” he said, shoving his subordinates aside, “taste your friend.” Still blind, Peter lapped up cunt-cream and man-cream from his twitching shaft, soon aided by Assumpta. This spectacle took Brian over the edge, erupting inside his boy-fairy. Seeing Assumpta unoccupied, he rubbed her face in her friend’s crack, where she greedily slurped up the salty-sweet mixture leaking out.

With the leaders sated, events devolved into a cum- and ice cream-lubed free-for-all. Though never neglecting Assumpta, Peter proved the most popular, disappearing under heaving, hirsute man-flesh. Dainty dresses tore, hanging like streamers, and the pungent aroma of semen merged with that of leather, sweat, and cream that permeated the air.

Gradually, the pace slowed as each club member had their way, leaving only Pogs and Doughnut unsatisfied. They stood wanking near the students who lay panting, covered in soggy cones, sweet dairy, cheap chocolate, and jizz.

“You OK?” Assumpta asked, crawling over to Peter.

“Fucked out,” he managed, blowing cum-bubbles with every breath, “but otherwise, never better. You?”

“Cumtastic, though I’d have liked some dyke bikers as well. Can we handle those two?”

“We’ve got this far.” He pushed himself up. “What are you waiting for?”

“They only get sloppy seconds,” Frank explained.

“We’re both far beyond sloppy.” Assumpta ran her fingers through her gloop-styled hair.

“Go on then, boys, finish this.”

The two started wrestling over who got to fuck Peter.

“For fuck’s sake! Pete’s arse is probably looser than my cunt by now! Just fuck me from behind!”

Pogs gave the chunky Doughnut a vicious look, but lubed up with the mess on her back and slid into her star with ease. Grinning smugly, Doughnut shoved Peter’s head into the sludge mixed with woodland debris on the ground and invaded his hole.

“Wait!” Baz came hurrying over before either prospect climaxed, making them grimace as they held back.

“What now?” Assumpta asked.

“We forgot the hundreds and thousands.” He upturned the jars in each hand, and they shut their eyes as tiny multi-coloured sugar balls coated them.

“You know how this needs to end, boys,” Liam’s voice came from close by, and immediately sticky dicks pressed against fairy lips. Peter wiped his eyes and opened them to Pogs’ leering face, the prospects having swapped partners for the final face-fucking.

Breaking first, Pogs pulled out of Peter with a pop. Doughnut pressed their heads together, and they opened their mouths just in time for the first jet of cum to splatter onto their joined cheeks. Pogs squirted out a couple more before Doughnut roared, scoring a direct hit on Assumpta’s upper lip as Pogs hit the bottom one. While Pogs squeezed out his last dribbles, Doughnut sprayed his thicker spunk over both fairies’ faces, dissolving the sprinkles into rainbow swirls. When the wilting cocks withdrew, the two friends licked each other clean, and Frank started clapping, the whole club joining in the ovation.

Leaning forehead to forehead where they were, an approaching rumble reached their ears, inaudible to the Grizzlies. Even through her post-orgasmic haze, Assumpta recognised it.

“Hey, are you expecting anyone else?”

“No.” Frank was still smiling.

“Well, bikes are heading this way.”

He stared at her, listening, then said, “Run!”

“Law-abiding citizens, my arse!” she muttered as assault rifles materialised from the ice cream van. She scrambled to her feet, dragging her reluctant friend from his bed of leaves. Learning who would win the fight between Bears and Wolves could wait as, naked but for tattered wings and boots, the two fairies melted back into the woods from whence they came.