The Tale of Jarmara the Wicked Sex Poppet    Listen closely children whilst I tell you the tale of Jarmara the wicked Sex Poppet

The Tale of Jarmara the Wicked Sex Poppet    Listen closely children whilst I tell you the tale of Jarmara the wicked Sex Poppet

The Tale of Jarmara the Wicked Sex Poppet

Listen closely children whilst I tell you the tale of Jarmara the wicked Sex

Poppet. For someday you will be grown and when you are quite Old Enough to Know

Better, you may find yourself possessed of a poppet like Jarmara (tho never

quite so wicked I hope!). And then you may remember this tale and know what to

do.

Where did Jarmara come from? There was no tag on his side seam to tell country

of origin. In fact Jarmara was quite cleverly made and had no apparent side seam

at all. There are some who say he was an evol demon conjured by an impetuous

blond sorceress who was at least as wicked as he, and subsequently trapped

inside a frail body fashioned from rosin and ashes. There are others who say he

was quite an ordinary rag doll inadvertently given to a brilliant but autistic

witch child named Poppy who called him Ragbag and dragged him by one wrist into

the fantasy world she inhabited; a world so violently lovely it infused him with

unholy life. Perhaps the origins of Jarmara are best left to moulder in the haze

of mythology.

Since his origins are unclear, we cannot say for sure when his tale begins,

where it ends, or if it is over even now. But if we are to tell this in

something like a linear fashion we must begin somewhere, and so we will begin

with this:

There was once a lovely faerie named Maerwyn ni Homolka. Like most faeries she

did not interact with what we know as The World well, but went her own path,

stopping to pick up sparklies and weep over crushed flowers, usually wearing as

little clothing as possible considering the weather. One evening Maerwyn left

her domed cottage by the lake and wound her way down to the water's edge.

Looking surreptitiously about, she threw three bright copper pennies into the

water and proceeded to whisper a plea to Yemanja. We do not know what this plea

was, but we may make our guesses considering the outcome.

The moon was full and bright that night, and Maerwyn could not resist Her

beckoning. Finding a niche in some rocks near the water, she began a quiet

ritual that culminated in the offering of her own moonblood, marked upon the

rock to fix the rite. Once it was fully dark and she was satisfied that no mere

humans were about, she emerged from her niche and went off to dance in the

woods.

Shortly after this, Maerwyn's acquaintances began to notice she wasn't

frequenting her usual haunts. When asked what she was up to, she would smile a

slightly crooked small smile and claim she was very busy binding a spell. This

was in the fall of the year, and Maerwyn's acquaintances were quite busy

themselves preparing for the Feast of the Harvested Souls held at the end of

Octembre, so they paid her little mind. It was during this time that she was

first seen with Jarmara but no one could ever agree on a date or be certain it

was Jarmara at all, for he was a shape-shifting poppet who at times wore

different faces for obscure reasons of his own. Maerwyn herself later claimed to

have found him, being dragged by one wrist and then left in a corner by an

immoral diabolic hag; but Maerwyn, being a faerie, could not always be relied

upon to remember such things with any accuracy. The Feast of the Harvested Souls

came and went, and Maerwyn finished binding her spell. Soon Maerwyn began

showing up again, though at the most unpredictable times and ways, often with

Jarmara on her arm. The inhabitants of the small town of Union Penny, on the

edge of the Wylde Wood that Maerwyn called home, became used to the poppet and

soon accepted him as one of their own.

Jarmara was in the habit of using his afternoons - for it was afternoon by the

time he and Maerwyn tumbled out of whatever fur-lined nest they had been rutting

in the night before - to go off to darker corners of the forest to meditate. At

least that is what he told Maerwyn, peering out at her as he did from beneath

his smoky brows to see if she believed it, and of course, being only a faerie,

she did.

One afternoon following Jarmara's departure, Maerwyn began rummaging through her

store of herbs and simples in search of a special root she intended to use for

purposes of her own. To her dismay, her last bit of root had been so gnawed by

burrowing velvet moles as to become unusable. Sighing, she wrapped a length of

filmy fabric around her and set off for Union Penny to see if the crone at the

corner herbalist had any more in stock.

Maerwyn was in luck; a fresh shipment had arrived from Byzantium a few days

previously. Humming happily to herself, the faerie set off down the road that

led back to her beloved woods. Suddenly, her reverie was broken by a familiar

voice. Softly turning a corner, Maerwyn found herself beneath the open window of

one of Union Penny's less reputable drinking establishments, the Rose and Crown.

With a fluid motion, she cast a shadow glamour over herself before standing on

tiptoe to peer in the window. And there at a booth in the corner sat Jarmara! It

was his voice she had heard. On either side of him was a young and silly sylph,

each quite tipsy and in obvious awe of the boastful poppet. So this was the

style of meditation he preferred, was it? Setting her pretty mouth in a firm

line, Maerwyn slipped silently back to the herbalist, her head full of plans.

Jarmara returned around dusk, feeling quite emboldened by having enraptured two

sylphs that day, as well as the extra serving of hobnoberry wine he had

celebrated with. He was convinced his tale-telling abilities were second to

none, and foresaw no trouble persuading Maerwyn as to his day's activities. He

strode boldly into the low, round barrow she most often called home and greeted

her with a saucy kiss. The faerie returned it as if nothing was amiss. "So how

went your meditations today, my love?" she inquired innocently.

Warming to his subject, Jarmara launched into an elaborate account of his

supposed reflections. He was so busy inventing little details that he failed to

notice Maerwyn pacing around him in a deliberate counter-clockwise fashion,

trailing bits of faerie dust from her rosy fingertips. She timed it so that her

circle was completed as his tale reached its high point, closing it so that she

was on the outside, facing him.

"There's just one bit you forgot to mention, dear," she said when he finally

stopped for breath; "the sylphs." And with that she blew a handful of a

curiously scented herb over the startled poppet and clapped her hands three

times. From Jarmara's point of view, everything in the room suddenly mushroomed

to more than ten times its normal size. This transformation so overwhelmed him

he was knocked to the ground and lay trembling with fear.

A huge object suddenly descended towards him from the sky, and he struggled to

get to his feet and out of the way. He was horrified to discover he could move

neither arms nor legs; but that was nothing to the terror he felt on realizing

the gigantic object was a very familiar-looking right hand! He was scooped out

of the circle, carried some forty feet into the air, and transferred

unceremoniously into the waiting, upturned left palm.

He found himself sprawled on his back, looking up into the face of a giantess.

Yet this was his faerie beloved, Maerwyn! Waves of misgiving and confusion

washed through him. He now thoroughly regretted that last flagon of wine; the

circumstances alone were enough to make his head spin. His whole body

reverberated as she parted her two-foot wide lips and spoke to him:

"You have been a most wicked poppet indeed, little Jarmara. My business took me

to see the crone herbalist in Union Penny today.. imagine my surprise when I

heard your voice drifting out the open window of the Rose and Crown! That was

most arrogant of you," she shook her head sadly, which set up a strong gust of

wind that blew across his trembling belly, "two sylphs. I'm afraid I shall have

to teach you a lesson. Lucky for me the crone had in a fresh supply of some of

her rarer herbs, hm?"

"You needn't bother struggling," she continued. "You see, not only have I shrunk

you to one twelfth your former size, I have turned you into an actual poppet as

well. Your arms and legs are stuffed with ladystraw now; quite useless I assure

you." She grasped his left leg between her right thumb and forefinger and

waggled it back and forth to prove the point. "Though for the punishment I have

in mind, I left certain parts of you as they were," she giggled devilishly.

"There are a few more items I need from the forest though. It's obvious I can't

trust you alone, so I shall just have to take you with me," she finished. With

that, the enormous faerie laid the helpless Jarmara in her lap. She had removed

the sheer sarong she wore into town upon returning home, so he found himself

pillowed between bare white fifteen-foot long thighs. She had dumped him off her

palm rather carelessly, so that one arm was thrown above his head, and his left

leg folded back across his chest. Despite some discomfort, he found he was glad

of the privacy the position afforded. For despite having shared Maerwyn's bed on

a nightly basis, Jarmara was now embarrassed to find himself aroused by the

sight of her immense breasts hanging over him like pale twin moons.

Maerwyn took up a length of silken floss from a basket on the floor. Grasping

Jarmara by the hips, she lifted his bottom up and slid one end of the floss

underneath him. She smiled as she unfolded his leg, catching sight of his tiny

secret. Setting him back down, she tied the string around his waist. Lifting the

other end - and the helpless poppet with it - she looped it around the garland

of flowers she wore around her neck. This left Jarmara dangling like a pendant

between her breasts, which were more than twice his height. Since he no longer

had the ability to hold himself upright, he was bent double, his arms hanging

loosely above his upside-down head.

"Well, I can't say you'll be comfortable, but at least now I'll know where you

are," the faerie smirked. With that she strapped her knife around her waist,

took a candle lantern in one hand and set out into the twilight woods. Maerwyn's

breasts were large, round, and widely spaced. Jarmara had always enjoyed how

they jounced when she walked, before. But now he was nearly crushed by their

jiggling. They knocked against his fragile stuffed body, leaving him beaten and

dazed. In addition, the sight of the ground rushing by some thirty-five feet

below gave him such vertigo he kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut during the

entire trip.

It was only when the rollicking ride had come to an end, and the warmth of

Maerwyn's cabin permeated his frail, limp body that Jarmara dared open his eyes.

The enormous faerie was reclining on her favorite moss-covered hassock, her new

plaything lax against her chest. Jarmara found he was almost able to drift off,

riding the slow rise and fall of her breathing. After what she had just put him

through, he was grateful for the momentary respite.

Jarmara's rest was interrupted by the voice of the monumental faerie. From where

he lay curled on her, it was as if the earth itself was speaking to him. Her

dulcet tones reverberated through his tiny frame, rattling amongst his stuffing.

"Now that I've had a chance to catch my breath, I think it's time we got on with

the evening's activities, don't you dear?" she cooed. "I've so much planned for

you!" Jarmara trembled to think. He already regretted having ever visited the

Rose and Crown.

Maerwyn sat up then, catching the little doll as he swung away from her chest.

She unwound the floss from her garland of flowers, then untied the end that held

Jarmara about the waist.

"I'm afraid I can't trust you with your freedom though, my pet," she sighed. Her

warm breath blew across him like the advent of a summer thunderstorm. "Even

though you have no bones, I know what a clever little demon you can be." As she

spoke, the faerie was arranging the helpless poppet across her left palm again.

She pillowed his head against the base of her yard-long middle finger. Raising

his tiny arms above him, she bound his wrists with a piece of the floss,

wrapping the other end round her lovely digit.

She lifted his legs up next. If he still had knees, they would have been pressed

to his chest. She secured another bit of silk to one ankle. This she then

threaded between her ring and little fingers, bringing the other end out betwixt

index and middle. His right ankle was then bound in the same fashion to the

other end. The poor poppet was now lashed to her hand, open to whatever

indignities she might care to visit upon him.

"Mm, I rather enjoy seeing you like that, my sweet," she purred. "Just right for

what I have in mind. I'm not exactly sure," she continued, "how your

transformation has affected your nervous system. So to be sure you are fully

able to feel, I think I shall have to apply a bit of this."

Jarmara recognized the pottery vessel she brought out as containing an unguent

the two of them had enjoyed on previous occasions. She dipped the tip of her

right pinkie into the jar, then proceeded to rub the ointment onto Jarmara in

the most sensitive places. She tried to be gentle, but from his viewpoint it

felt as if he was being trounced with an enormous sausage. The ointment had the

effect of instantly bringing a warm tingle wherever it was applied, and Jarmara

found himself reacting to it exactly as he had when he and Maerwyn used it

together.

"Yes, I thought as much," murmured the wicked faerie, gazing at him intently.

She proceeded to caress herself with more of the preparation, with her eyes

fixed on Jarmara all the while.

"They say that turnabout is fair play, pet," said Maerwyn, her voice throaty.

"So I think it's about time I did to you what you've been doing to me. Only

first," she paused "I believe I'll restore your voice. Only because I want to

hear you moan, understand?" she said sharply. "Any words out of you and I'll

have to resort to stricter measures." The miniature doll could not nod in

assent. He pleaded mutely with his eyes, hoping the giantess would understand he

agreed. Taking up a bit of broomstraw, she pried open his jaws and brushed away

a bit of the magical herb that had become lodged there. Jarmara gasped and

coughed a little; he had not realized the powder had taken his breath as well as

his voice.

Maerwyn eyed him with a sinful glint in her eye. "Let's see if you can take as

well as give, shall we little man?" She picked up a night-blooming white adijah

flower from beside her on the hassock; this had been the object of her earlier

excursion. The stem of this flower was, to Maerwyn, barely thicker than a hair.

However, it was tough and fleshy, and the end of the stem oozed a thick milky

sap where it had been plucked.

She dipped this end into the ointment jar, covering it with the slick, oily

substance. Jarmara watched her actions with a mixture of apprehension and hidden

desire. Her intent seemed clear enough, yet he could not quite believe she

intended to use him so cruelly. However, as her right hand lowered over him, the

flower grasped firmly between her thumb and index finger, it was apparent the

little doll had no choice but to submit to the wicked faerie's perverse desires.

On the way though, another idea seized Maerwyn. "As I recall, this ointment has

a pleasant cinniander nut flavor," she purred. "Open wide now - I want to see

you lick every bit off the stem." With that, she pressed the flower's jade stalk

against the poppet's small quivering mouth. Jarmara obediently began to suck the

stem. He wondered if Maerwyn knew that adijah sap was both narcotic and mildly

hallucinogenic. Few bothered with it since so many of the rare blossoms were

required to produce an effect that it was hardly worth the trouble. Yet at his

present size, the fluid from one single adijah stem was the equivalent of the

juice from a thousand blooms. Still, he sucked and licked on the stalk as if his

very life depended on it - for to the best of his knowledge, it did. As he

swallowed, he felt the slow, ordered derangement of all his senses begin.

Presently, Maerwyn grew tired of this game and returned to her original idea.

Since Jarmara had polished the end of the cane so well with his tiny tongue, she

was obliged to dip it into the unguent once again - though she wished to teach

the wicked poppet a lesson he would never forget, she had no desire to mutilate

him.

True to her promise, Maerwyn had left some parts of his anatomy untransformed.

His diminutive penis was achingly erect, had been ever since the immense faerie

had caressed him with the ointment. This time, she stroked the stem gently over

his genitalia before pressing it against his small tight anus.

Jarmara cried out as the stalk slid inside. The sensation was at once painful

and intensely pleasurable. Maerwyn used the flower lovingly on her miniature

captive, being careful not to penetrate him too deeply, yet thrusting it in over

and over again. This, combined with the adijah juice's effects, soon drove

Jarmara to the peak of frenzy. He cried out again as he lost control, climaxing

all over himself.

"Oh dear, look what's happened," tittered Maerwyn. "I guess now I'll have to

clean you up," she continued, lowering her head over the little prisoner on her

outstretched hand. Extending her huge pink tongue, the enormous faerie ran the

tip over Jarmara's tiny groin and belly, lapping up the droplets of his creamy

seed. The pressure of the large warm wet tongue was more than the poppet could

resist; within moments he was aroused again.

"All this activity has made me pretty horny too, my pet," the faerie purred

huskily. "You've had your fun; now it's time for mine. I won't be able to hear

you moan though, and besides," she giggled, "you may not come up for air for

awhile. So let's just put that bit of herb back for now, shall we?" With that

she again parted his little mouth with the broomstraw, dropping the exotic

ground leaf onto his tongue.

Between the dynamic orgasm he had just experienced and the effects of the sap he

had ingested, Jarmara hardly noticed that his breath had stopped again. He was

in an erotic haze, overwhelmed by the sensations engulfing his frail physique.

Whatever further plans his gigantic captor had in mind would only prolong the

delicious torture. Maerwyn rolled onto her back. Dipping her right hand into the

ointment jar, she rubbed a generous handful on all her most sensitive spots.

Leaving her right hand to knead her massive breasts, she lowered the other -

with the lilliputian doll still tied helplessly to it - towards her massive,

heaving mound. She began to pleasure herself. Jarmara was able to verify her

level of arousement; her yard-long labia were drenched in womanly moisture.

Maerwyn pressed her hand against her huge delicious pussy, sliding her middle

finger inside the steamy opening. Jarmara's face was ground against the upper

wall of her cunny. It was indeed good that he had had his breath stopped again,

for her juices were flowing freely, smearing over his raised arms, his ragdoll

face, even the little feet that were bound on either side of his head.

The pose he was folded into meant that his tiny erect cock was perfectly

positioned to rub back and forth over the giantess' pulsating clitoris. It

almost seemed to him that he could twitch his hips a little, thrusting himself

against the throbbing pillow of flesh. This only added to her delirium. She

pressed harder, wriggling her fingers ever faster as she neared the peak of her

pleasure. He felt her moans and sighs more than heard them; they caused the

massive cavern he was being slid in and out of to vibrate passionately.

Maerwyn was now on the verge of a violent orgasm. She bucked and shuddered, then

tensed. The heel of her palm - and Jarmara's miniature genitals - ground against

her delicate bud with incredible pressure, while the tip of her middle finger

fluttered spasmodically deep inside her vagina, fiercely shaking the pint-sized

toy as well. The walls of her gigantic pussy tightened, crushing the fragile

poppet into her hand. The pressure continued to build; if Jarmara had been able

to breathe, the air would have been forced from his lungs. Finally, Maerwyn

broke through with a scream that would have deafened her minuscule plaything had

he not been shrouded in acres of sensual pink flesh. An ocean of spicy thick

cream washed over him as her waterway of love contracted rhythmically again and

again. Her enormous clit was pulsing to the same sensual cadence. The throbbing

motion against his little hard-on was more than Jarmara could stand; he climaxed

again, spurting his own juices into the warm liquid that surrounded him. His

entire body shuddered with the intensity of the erotic peak, leaving him sodden

and limp against her palm.

After a long while, Maerwyn lazily withdrew her hand from where it was nestled

between her softly rounded thighs. Her petite poppet seemed to be straining

against his bonds, so she took pity on him. The silken bonds would be impossible

to untie now, so she groped for her knife. Carefully inserting the point between

his wrists, she slit up and away, letting his tired arms at last fall free. She

severed the floss that held his ankles the same way; had he not been reduced to

a mere stuffed toy Jarmara would have felt like one anyway, after having been

held so tightly for so long. The huge faerie again poked out several feet of

warm pink tongue and idly bathed her tiny captive. It seemed to her he responded

slightly to her ministrations; stopping, she looked at him curiously.

"Little toy," she asked inquiringly, "are you moving by yourself?" His pathetic

glance reminded her that his mouth was still stopped with her magic herb, so

once again the broomstraw came into play. "It's alright, you can talk," she

reassured him. "I've done with you - for now," she finished mischievously.

Jarmara was still abashed in the presence of the enormous faerie, but he

gathered his courage to respond to her. "I - I think, my dear, that perhaps the

quantities of adijah flower juice I swallowed may be counteracting the herb you

gave me." He looked shyly up into her large beautiful face, peering down at him

from four yards away. He fervently hoped this information would not anger the

lovely giantess, who after all was still nearly twelve times his size.

"Is that so? ..Oh well," she sighed. "Even if that's true, the herbalist got in

a very large shipment of what I need - I can always shrink you again. But it's

late now," she continued, "and I'm very tired. I think it's time we got some

sleep. I guess I'll just have to see how you behave from now on before I decide

how to deal with you."

With an effort, Jarmara found he could bend his legs a little, enough to fall to

his knees. "Please love," he begged, "I promise I'll be good from now on. You

can keep me as your toy if you want; I don't mind." Jarmara blushed as he

admitted this. He had not fully realized it was true until the words were out of

his mouth. "Just - keep me close to you?"

A slow sly smile crept across Maerwyn's lips. "Well, I think we can arrange

that." Grasping her little doll around his middle, she lifted him off her palm

as she rolled onto her back. Opening her legs, she nestled him between her pussy

lips. Though still quite wet, they were warm and soft. And her clit made a

perfect pillow for his small tired head. "Sleep well, my pet," she said, lifting

her own downy quilt from the floor near her hassock.

Jarmara sighed contentedly as the thick living blankets closed around him.

Whatever size he was by morning, he knew he would never leave his faerie

mistress again.

 

The Tale of Jarmara the Wicked Sex Poppet    Listen closely children whilst I tell you the tale of Jarmara the wicked Sex Poppet

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The Tale of Jarmara the Wicked Sex Poppet    Listen closely children whilst I tell you the tale of Jarmara the wicked Sex Poppet