<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>Fairy on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/tags/fairy/</link><description>Recent content in Fairy on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Fri, 29 Oct 2021 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="/tags/fairy/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>A Favor for Danny Boy</title><link>/stories/2021/10/29/a-favor-for-danny-boy/</link><pubDate>Fri, 29 Oct 2021 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2021/10/29/a-favor-for-danny-boy/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;It takes a lot to surprise me, but having a six-foot tall leprechaun dressed in a green baseball hat, green running shoes, green sweatpants, and a white Notre Dame sweatshirt ring my doorbell did it. He didn’t look like a leprechaun, but I knew that’s what he was. I’d recognize Danny Boy anywhere. Especially since the stylized, fists-up little man on the Notre Dame sweatshirt wasn’t the true Notre Dame logo. Instead, it was a fairly accurate portrayal of the Danny Boy who had visited me in the middle of the night a few years ago.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>The Closet Fairy</title><link>/stories/2017/05/07/the-closet-fairy/</link><pubDate>Sun, 07 May 2017 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2017/05/07/the-closet-fairy/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;“Rebecca! What is this?”&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Sprawled on her bed, Beck glanced up from her tablet. Mrs. Henderson stood at her bedroom door, gazing at the room with horror in her eyes.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;“Are any of your clothes actually put away?” she asked, gesturing toward the clothing heaped around the room.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;“It’s ok, Mrs. H.,” Becky said calmly. “I know where most of it is.”&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;“That’s not the point,” Mrs. Henderson replied. “Clothing should be neatly folded and put in your dresser, or neatly hanging in your closet. It shouldn’t be dumped onto a chair, and it certainly shouldn’t be dumped on the floor. The closet fairy is not going to like this one bit.”&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Among The Missing 13</title><link>/stories/2007/12/19/among-the-missing-13/</link><pubDate>Wed, 19 Dec 2007 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2007/12/19/among-the-missing-13/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 13 - Final&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Ann had lost track of time and the number of orgasms that she had experienced.  She only knew that she was tired and that her body could not stand much more of this.  Her nipples, pussy and ass were sore from the pounding, stretching and shocks that they had received.  Then, she heard a noise.  Perhaps she was imagining things, perhaps she was so exhausted that she wanted to hear someone else.  Perhaps and then it stopped.  The pistons and shocks and everything else just stopped.  It took her a moment to realise this, as she was expecting something else and that this was only a pause while the frame switched onto another program of events.  But that was not the case and, moments later, relief flooded through her as she felt her bonds being undone and the intruders removed from her abused sex and ass.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>