The Garden of Light and Darkness - part9

She looks around with a triumphant smile. The crowd is in the process of pulling off their panties and tossing them aside. Normally, this is something men would enjoy seeing, but context trumps everything, and I know full well that danger is afoot.

“Which is just as well, because now I’m as desperate as a pregnant horse.”

The world goes dark as if in a sack, for at that moment, I find myself in an inverted sack, in the form of being under a spread-out woman’s garment. The darkness lifts with the fabric, revealing a nut-brown woman’s sex hovering disturbingly close.

“Randgrid… what is… what are you doing?”

“Shut your damn mouth!”

Shortly after, a stream hits me right between the eyes. I cry out and turn my cheek. Her hands come down and sharply turn my face back.

“You have to watch. Don’t touch. Or it’s the knife, you know.”

The stream returns, forceful and continuous. The warmth hits between my eyes, over my nose, and onto my lips, running down my cheeks on both sides, and it just keeps going. I groan and close my eyes, simply taking in what seems to last an eternity. The stream behaves chaotically, hitting unpredictable spots, and each time it does, I let out a whimper in surprise.

“YEEES,” Randgrid hisses. “Now you finally know your place, you little… little provocateur.”

The trickle slows and becomes intermittent. Just when I think it’s over, a few final spurts hit my face. I slam the back of my head against the ground in resignation and lie there. Her sex is still there.

“Clean it.”

I don’t understand what she means and must have hesitated too long, because I receive a hefty slap with the flat of her hand. Thus spurred, I lift my head toward her and let my lips and mouth do their work. I’m already stunned, so it happens outside of myself. My senses are on pause, if I’m even capable of taking them in. All I register is the taste of an older woman’s arousal.

The dress rises and falls as Randgrid stands up. The medieval shoe must have been kicked off, because the entire sole of her bare foot is placed on my forehead and stays there.

“My Ginnregin is far greater than yours, Light Elf.”

Something else has risen too. I only become aware of it through the girls’ mocking taunts. Randgrid puts her shoe back on, turns, and strides away. It’s Berit who takes over. Hierarchy rules here too, with me placed at the very bottom.

“Shouldn’t have challenged me, you cunt.”

“Sorry, then.”

Transparent finery is lifted and transformed into the clarity of night, except here, rounded hips loom from above. For the second time in a day, I see Berit’s smooth, bulging lips. True to tradition, she doesn’t hesitate, and I’m subjected to what must be a vengeful shower for her. I notice it stings over the many wounds I’ve received from slaps across my face. Insistent waiting makes me taste apricot.

Berit places her foot on my head.

“I’m stronger and braver than you, Øyvind. Always have been.”

With that point hammered in, she turns and takes her place in the waiting chain, where the last bottle is passed around. I can safely say my pride is already running on empty. It’s the silver-crowned fairy who takes her place. The warmth in my already stinging cheeks grows as I’m in intimate proximity to someone of her caliber. Beauty worship is my foremost trait and my downfall, because I’m a slave to every form of beauty on this earth and beyond. The punishment is swift and detached, as I expected, except the first wayward stream misses entirely and hits beside my head. Then I’m drenched.

In this strange state of humiliation and primal sensuality, my thoughts sail on an unrelenting breeze. Again, it strikes me how almost the exact same physical act can be perceived and IS different, depending on the context it’s part of. My mother’s tongue and my tongue have been in the same place tonight, but she was the dominant one where I am the submissive. That’s how I take in the faint taste of freshwater fish.

As a victim, I’m abandoned, but not before an oddly long foot—everything seems long on the beautiful—is placed on my forehead, with the words:

“I am more beloved and loved than you, you wretch.”

The yellow fairy takes over. The fabric doesn’t swirl around her ankles for long before it’s pushed up past her hips.

“If you weren’t mentally unstable before, you will be after this.”

“Well, you were right that I…”

I have to squeeze my mouth and eyes shut as she relieves herself. It’s getting seriously wet under the back of my head. The conclusion happens in spurts. I understand she’s mockingly taking her time. She even lets out a brief “Ah” as I lift my head to meet her, tasting sour lemon. Foot on forehead, as usual.

“I’m more popular and have far more friends than you, you vermin from Trantøy.”

I whisper an insult back, but she doesn’t catch it as she proudly strides away.

The moon creature with wings takes over. Her slanted eyes observe me curiously and mischievously, as if I’m some hitherto unseen natural phenomenon or object. Ethereal, elven fabric is lifted, and I find myself under the egg-hatching center, or the sex of an elf. The slit is longer than the others, I note.

“Shouldn’t have tried to run,” she says.

“I’m… not running now.”

“No, now we’ve overcome you.”

The stream punctuates her words, as I’m marked… by what? Some chaotic female power, where all traces of civilization, idiotic sense, and curtailed reason have always been absent. Here I am trapped, and I’ll admit I like it. I can never be humiliated enough, never dominate enough. More of everything is what I want, as long as it’s something. I declared myself for chaos, and chaos heard. But I don’t think chaos can understand. The moon fairy laughs as involuntary gasps escape my lips at the final wetting. She gets the expected kisses. What does the moon taste like? Now I know. Like sweetening honeydew.

Dominating foot on forehead.

“I’m more of a hunter than you and belong to the great forests in ways you don’t.”

“That’s probably true.”

It’s Kajsa’s turn. In my head, I’ve understood it, but emotionally, it still sends a shock. That it would come to this between us. Now she can take revenge for all the moments of insensitivity and my constant blunders. I don’t care what they were. If the world is incomprehensible, women are doubly so. I’m enveloped in a pink sack that’s then lifted, revealing the milky-white, full skin only found in Nordic-Germanic women. Now only Nordic women are truly women. All others come, at best, in second place.

“I’m sorry about this,” she says.

“No, you’re not,” says Berit.

Fascinating to see how her inner lips bulge out, forming fleshy butterfly wings of their own kind. A blonde stripe above, now observed up close. The shower that follows overtakes any observation for a while. Strange that she does this, she who doesn’t have a dominant bone in her body. It’s the collective acting through her. Through Eros, one receives power, like the moon reflects the sun’s light.

“Are you okay?”

Considerate as always.

“Yeah, sure.”

She brings it to a close. Waits passively until I reach forward. The taste is of an apple orchard. The foot of my chosen one, or rather my object of love, weighs heavily on my forehead. I’m somewhat curious about what she’ll say.

“I’m deeper and more profound than you.”

“You are.”

She was always the intuitive, sensitive type. Kajsa pulls away. Line takes her friend’s place. The knowing expression shows only too well that she understands the significance of what’s happening, and that this sets a kind of period to the night’s struggle and events. Hovering over me, the brunette’s hips settle into place. I want to hold them, but that’s been forbidden, and could lead to Randgrid coming with the knife.

“Not so big now, are you, Transtøy?”

Line really knows her wordplay, she who beat me at my own game with Møyvind.

“Not at all.”

The sex lowering ever closer is interesting. The lips are vaguely asymmetrical in a way often seen in porn, because it’s attractive to men. And if men like it, I like it twice as much. But now the dams burst, and I’m not man enough to escape. The cascade from above stings down my cheeks and marks my forehead. She comes to a conclusion, lowering herself demandingly closer. She reminds me of plum juice, rich and full on the tongue. After I’ve been at it for a while, she rises satisfied into an upright position, standing astride like a dangerous giantess. Her foot finds its place on my forehead.

“I’m sharper and more present than you, my little light friend.”

Even I have my limits. The humiliation makes me squeeze my eyes shut again.

“Alright, then.”

When I open my eyes, it’s the half-masked butterfly fairy standing there astride.

“I’m the best! I’m worthy!” she mimics in a mock male voice, before her natural tone in a light girlish voice takes over. “Let’s see who’s to be pitied now, you fool.”

She lowers her hips and takes revenge for my declarations by sending a hissing stream right in my face. I can’t recall making half of them. The butterfly fairy makes sure to be as close as possible, finally reaping what she’s after—my helpless cry. Every time I think it’s over, another spurt comes. I don’t need to lift my head this time. Unsurprisingly, she tastes like tropical nectar, a delight to all hummingbirds. For me, the delight is rather mixed. Only now do I notice she’s wearing the light, intricate shoes of butterflies, which firmly press against my forehead.

“My colors are stronger, and I’m more deeply valued than you, Mysalv.”

“I… I…”

Her laughter trills, echoed everywhere. I have to turn my cheek in embarrassment, finding it now as wet below as above. I’m already lying in a sloshing pool that’s hit my head, hair, and upper chest.

Then it’s the star-speckled blue fairy’s turn. She approaches like a flickering blue glow in the night, her dress already half-raised. She’s practical in addition to everything else.

“How do you feel? Has the defeat sunk in yet?”

“No.”

The garment flares out like a tent, and I have a new sex above me in the half-darkness. It looks relatively closed, with folds tucked into each other. A sex was, after all, the ultimate mystery to begin with. The origin of all things, never fully explored or conquered in the strange season and rhythm of its petals. But there’s nothing strange about what hits, because the message is unmistakable. She manages to miss a bit, as she can’t see me under her dress. Once I’ve ensured she’s done, I wearily lift my neck. The full, tart taste of pear meets my mouth briefly, and then the darkness lifts as she stands upright again. Her heel presses lightly on my sore nose, then shifts to my forehead.

“I’m wiser in the ways of the world and more far-traveling than you, you insolent firefly.”

She’s realized the connection between me and the fireflies that vanished. So interesting. Now it feels like the light on my tail is about to be extinguished, submerged as I am in an incomprehensible pool of humiliation. I can’t take any more. My psyche and senses were overwhelmed long ago.

“Please…” I gasp. “It’s too much… give me a break…”

“It’s part of the punishment, little elf friend,” comes from the highest purple-clad authority. “Continue, girls.”

My mother’s second sex partner comes marching forward. The rainbow fairy, whose hairpin I stole and whom I called a thrall. True, she was, like me, deemed unworthy and bent over Randgrid’s lap earlier tonight, but here she is dominant and knows it. Bare feet are planted on either side of my head, and she squats down. Pink finery short enough that it doesn’t need much lifting. Her lips are as large as Randgrid’s, spread out like butterfly wings. I now understand what fairy wings mean. It’s the most basic and primal symbol of a vagina. No wonder it fascinated me. No wonder it drove me mad. The stream’s impact takes the last shred of sanity in its splash over trembling nerves. My senses, which haven’t had a break, surge and release. I understand what’s happening, but I can’t stop it. My frustrated scream vanishes in an involuntary moan. The rainbow fairy jerks back, and the stream stops.

“What… Ugh… Gross!”

The laughter has already reached its climax as she turns accusingly toward the onlookers, inadvertently showing me the glistening splatters sprayed along the full length of her back and, to top it all, hanging from her fairy wings.

“Enjoy your victory tonight, girl, for now you’ve surpassed all your sisters,” says Randgrid.

“Imagine him getting turned on by this!” someone in the group says.

“What a perv!”

“All men want to be humiliated,” I hear Randgrid say. “It’s their secret desire.”

I just want to hide my blushing face in my hands, but I can’t because of all the mess.

“Finish what you were doing,” Randgrid orders.

The rainbow fairy lowers herself again. She has to concentrate for a long time to manage. Finally, a spurt comes, then another, followed by a drizzle of humiliation. Once I’ve ensured she’s done, I give the required attention. She tastes of honey and light flower pollen. A decent choice to climax to, though I have no preferences in this overwhelming array. Her dripping wet foot from the pool she stepped in is wiped off in my already soaked hair.

“I’m more sensual and know how to dress better than you, you… you filthy mess.”

“Didn’t mean to,” I whisper.

Her bare feet drag through untainted grass. At that conclusion, she turns on her heel. Even at the last moment, I can see her tentatively touching her back as she rejoins her fellow creatures or sisters. My vision has started to tilt severely, and if I don’t focus, it feels like the figures are stretched in height, their limbs placed at illogical angles. Their appearance forms dark images in the void that’s emerged between the crooked joints of their spindly legs. Multifaceted eyes observe in the night. I don’t want to think about what they see. I have enough with my own madness without partaking in everyone else’s. Besides, I know enough. Now the girls have reached a higher form of madness than me, because women always have that capacity. It’s with horror I realize that anything could happen if I move and break this… this ritual.

Randgrid snaps her fingers. As if in a stage play, for that’s what this is, the green fairy steps forward. The one who enchanted me at the start of the day with a spell that’s lasted until this moment, and whom I caught halfway inside a cupboard. Now she can take revenge for the offense and the threat of broken fingers. Short skirt up around round hips, awaiting the shower to come.

“I don’t know where you’re from, but I doubt this happens there. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so full of yourself!”

“But I’m not th…”

Full hits are much worse when they just keep coming. Foaming spray rises from my face, where nerves quiver to a burning constant. The overload of sensations, ongoing for so long, makes me whimper. The force of the stream ensures it’s truly over when it’s over, and she hovers expectantly. It’s the taste of currants that reaches my lips. She hesitates a bit with placing her foot, I notice, as it’s hard to find a spot that isn’t soiled. Finally, she sets her bare foot over my eyes.

“I’m free in ways you can never be, Light Elf. Free and boldest!”

That’s my most important domain, my highest value. Now they’ve taken that too. Sunk me to true subordination. Where they rise, I sink, a perversion of Fortuna’s wheel of fate.

White colors almost like cotton balls signal the clover fairy’s approach. She’s direct and quick like her totem animal and is over me soon enough. I can see her smiling as wholeheartedly as only young girls can. Nothing seems to faze them. Why would it? None of life’s thorns have touched them. To be held back is to be torn by one’s own thorn.

“Hey,” she says, displaying a pearly row of teeth so radiant and perfect.

“Hey.”

Shortly after, the urination ricochets off my mouth before the torrent settles into a steadier pace. Even submerged in the deepest humiliation, when I think it can’t get worse, I’m continually surprised. She laughs, of course. Why wouldn’t she? For her, life is just a game, and I’m, at best, a battered playground. The finale is me lifting my head, and it spins like a circus because she tastes like cotton candy. Now her heel, smooth without a hint of roughness, is placed right on my mouth.

“I’m more determined than you, you bright fool, and get everything I want,” she declares and runs off laughing, to be greeted with congratulations from her sisters.

“Just one more,” says Randgrid. “You don’t get to die of shame just yet.”

The empress in purple whispers encouraging words in the ear of the rose fairy, who soon approaches, tripping lightly. She takes her place like the others, but the result is delayed. The garment is held lifted, and I look into a compact sex that might mean she’s a virgin. That’s all there is.

“Oh! I can’t do it.”

“Just take your time,” someone says.

We wait together for a while. I’m vaguely aware of the drops still dripping off me. Everything is starting to feel cold.

“Maybe if I close my ey…”

The splash comes short and sharp. Nervousness takes over, and she pinches off. I have to cooperate and turn my cheek to let her finish. It happens in several spurting, hissing stages. I lift myself and kiss her too. It feels wrong to do it, but I do it anyway. Raspberry is the taste attached to the tight folds. The rose fairy looks at me with a mix of contempt and disgust as she considers where to place her foot. I can’t be bothered to wait and make the decision for her. I grab her ankle and turn my cheek, where she lets her small toes rest for a moment.

“I’m more desired than you lying there and am guarded by invincible forces.”

“Be glad for that,” I say. She leaves, and I’m left to the aftershocks or a final emotional collapse. A few drops still drip. I lie in multiple layers of wet pools. A pool within a pool within a pool, here in the wet grass. Where various women have battered me, it stings fiercely, but everything stings, and everything has succumbed to muck and mess. And… my reaction is the worst. The laughter from the night’s cicadas rises, as something else rises once again. Why do I feel this way? What’s wrong with me? I’m… I’m chemically marked and sprayed by the insects. Now they own me in the most fundamental way imaginable.

The night is perhaps just a great shadow, but in the twilight’s coolness, a new, stronger shadow emerges. It’s Randgrid standing there. Something soft hits me hard in the face. A towel.

“Wipe yourself off and thank me and my girls. We’ve done you a great service.”

I let the frayed cloth rub off the worst and utter the words I so reluctantly want to say:

“Thank you… Fairy Godmother and fairies, for what you did for me.”

“YOU’RE WELCOME, ØYVIND!” the fairies shout.

“Get to the shower. Then you’ll return here. You have ten minutes,” says Randgrid.

I stand to run, my erection pointing out into the void. It doesn’t work, and I fall.

“What a loser!”

“Could he be more pathetic?”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve seen!”

Another attempt. It doesn’t work either. The lawn is too slippery. I run, fall, and run again, my penis slapping against my stomach each time. The gales of laughter follow me as I stumble to find my footing, and with the towel flapping behind, I break into a sprint with countless seven-league strides.

The garden, rooms, and hallways pass in fleeting glimpses rather than anything coherent. I find myself in the house’s largest bathroom. The shower cubicle itself, built in such transparent armored glass that it’s almost invisible, is more spacious than many of the studio apartments of the poor and unfortunate. I step inside, and from the menu that pops up before my eyes, I select the quick five-minute program with maximum comfortable temperature. The 3D scan of my body happens in moments, and the spray heads adjust accordingly. The cascade hits from all directions, including below. Since I chose it from the options, the water is mixed with soap foam, but I still have to help with my hands. The layers formed over my facial skin disappear. In the fog-free mirror on one wall, I see how the makeup runs the same way, clearly revealing the wounds. My nose is red and swollen. My cheeks are marked with blue and black bruises.

It’s only now that I can think. I could grab some clothes, maybe some food from the fridge, and flee into the forest. There, I could stay until I was sure Randgrid and her devilish female gang had left the scene. What she’s done to me is beyond any comprehension. More than that, it’s stripped me of all dignity, made me peer into an abyss of terror. As an alternative, I could storm into my mother’s bedroom, tell her everything, and beg for her protection. At the very least, she manages security services, where men with Maglite batons and target-seeking automatic pistols put an end to even the toughest violent criminals. Knowing her, she’d probably just have me thrown out on my head.

Instincts scream for flight, but I’m ultimately ruled by my head and Mercury’s quicksilver gift. I simply have to find out what’s on the other side, and I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t. The worst is probably over now, and I’ve played her game, passed all the trials. The balance can tip upward and place me at a height I’ve never reached before. Besides… part of me liked what happened. Not the mortal fear that gripped me at one point. It was in the submission that I found something of myself. The thought is thought. I’ve made up my mind, and once that happens, I never waver.

The nozzles shift from spraying to blowing a fierce hot air. I dry in record time. In the meantime, I study the holo-display:

Øyvind Tranøy

Status: House resident

Contact: Viewing display

Processing requested tracking service

Present at residence: 20 individuals

Individual tracking: Unavailable

Individual analysis: Unavailable

Group analysis: 5 children, 13 minors, 2 adults

Gender ratio: 19 females, 1 male

Situation analysis: Unavailable

Administrative rights: Limited

View more about administrative rights here.

No hope of finding out where people are, given my limited access to the security system. For all I know, they’re waiting in ambush when I step out the veranda door, ready to finish the job. An impulse, one all men know from time to time, makes me cup my hand under my balls and juggle them up and down, just to feel they’re still there. I’m not marked by Randgrid’s insane SS knife. The soiled towel is tossed into the cleaning system via a chute, and a new, dry one drops from a hatch. I can’t imagine someone as prominent as Randgrid holding onto things. Better hurry before she goes berserk. The towel is wrapped around my waist, and I set off on my return journey.

The gods wander in the night, and I, expecting everything, including violent attack or something new and insane, never cease to be surprised. In the living room, the large window to the garden is covered with colorless, gray creatures and their scattered wings. Night moths, which, through the practical presence of the Norwegian language, can only live up to their own name. Strange, because there’s no lighting here to attract them. Even we, the well-off, save on electricity with auto-functions. No light to attract… except me. I know I shouldn’t, but compulsions make me count. Thirteen, and sure enough, one of the dusk’s moths is far larger than the others. The power of the fairy order is so great that they’ve projected, beyond rational knowledge, their presence all the way here, and it’s impossible to doubt that their crossed and bent antennae take in things both known and unknown. What do they understand about me? Too much, because I don’t understand it myself.