Evergreen Forest Ch. 15

And she loved it.

She loved them.

She knew it because they told her she did. She knew it because the flowers smelled so good, because her body felt so good. She knew it because she was just so horny, and so desperate, and in front of her were two massive, swollen cocks. Her mouth watered at the sight.

"Poor little girl," Cernuum cooed, kneeling before her. The penis bobbed and throbbed as he straddled her belly. She stared at it like a starving woman would stare at a three-course dinner. "You know what you want. Just take it."

"You know it's true," hissed Callosum in her ear. His warm breath fell upon her face, sweet and vanilla-scented. "You know we know best. You know how we make you feel."

She whimpered, straining to reach the cock with her lips. They made her feel so good. Whatever they told her had to be yes. It felt so good to say yes. She gasped from the futile exertion, and more of the flowers' scent entered her, reminding her just how good it felt. Good to obey. Good to belong to the fey. So nice, so sexy, so everything.

"Take it," they cooed in unison. She struggled harder towards the dryad's manhood, her face hot and sweaty from the effort, her bright red hair a tangled mess. "Take your place. Earn your fucking. Don't you want it?"

"Please . . . " she gasped, her head falling back into the ferns, " . . . oh, please, just let me..."

"Begging?" Cernuum giggled. "Oh, yes, beg for it. Beg for our touch." He rose up, his cock right above her head. She stared up at it, her mouth wide open. "You know you want it. So earn it. Worship it, human."

"Oh, I'm sure she will."

Cernuum gave a start so dramatic, his head shot up and caught Callosum—who had been leaning over him to watch—right upside the jaw. Both dryads swore in unison, then spun around. Yilra squinted, struggling to focus. That was an accent she knew. A . . .

Five men stood there on the path. Human men, all fair-skinned, wearing simple metal plate suits of armor, all helmetless. Their leader was a tall fellow with blond hair and watery green eyes. A sword and several strange-looking devices hung from his belt. For a moment, Yilra squinted, thinking she recognized one of them—but then another puff of perfume came out from her bouquet prison and the only thing she could think about was getting those damn vines to touch her pussy just once dear GODS—

"What's this?" Cernuum snorted. "More humans? We don't need any more, thanks. Come by later and mind your own business."

"That's a human wench," the armored man said. Yilra didn't make out much of what he said next—it all came off so distant, like he was speaking from the other side of a tunnel through a mountain. "...to us and we might let you live, greenthumbs."

"Oh, that's rich." Callosum stepped forward. His voice seemed to fade out again for Yilra as another burst of gas caught her in the face and sent her back into straining to find a way to get off it felt so good please oh PLEASE— " . . . ours."

"The slut belongs to those who know how to use her," the armored man said. Yilra squinted. Her mind suddenly hit upon it: This was Josem, an infamous highwayman-turned-Chosen warrior. The Chosen were . . . they were in the fores . . . the frrrrrmmm yes did they have cocks oh please anything anyone but NOW NOW NOW—

The screeching of metal on metal jolted Yilra back to her mind as the Chosen drew her weapons. She suddenly realized two things, both equally important:

First, she was about to be fought over. Whoever won would own her body and her mind, even as her soul would be cast away within minutes by these wonderful flowers. She had no fight left.

Second, and probably more importantly, actually, she'd just realized she could squirm her pinkie finger enough to stroke the outermost folds of her labia.

She ran the finger over immediately. Yes. Yes. Adrenaline gave her extra strength, and she managed to force the finger even further, all the way just inside. She started touching herself with that one finger, gasping from the effort and pleasure it brought her. It was such small pleasure, but even this little helping exploded inside her, making her squeal in sheer glee. It was worth it. Anything was worth this.

As she continued to pleasure herself, it suddenly occurred to the Toxin Ranger that orgasming while under the effects of these flowers would likely have some serious long-term side effoh there came the scent again yes yes YES YES—

"Yilra!"

Nipper's voice didn't even slow Yilra's efforts down. Actually, the voice just made her picture the catgirl naked, and that lesbian thought didn't even bother her anymore. Why had she had such bigoted views to begin with? How could she, when Nipper was so . . . mmm . . .

"Yilra!" A hand grabbed her by the wrist. She mewled in protest—and found herself face-to-face with two bright green cat's eyes.

She blinked. If this was a hallucination, it was a very disappointing one. She tried to will the hallucination to go down on her at once, but it remained stubbornly in place.

Only for a second. Then she felt herself being yanked out of the flowerbed. The vines ripped away like they were nothing—just strands of creeper, easily broken.

"C'mon!" the hallucination yelled. Yilra squinted. The world was so . . . swirly. She giggled. Her laugh felt like it was being forced past cotton balls. Everything was so . . . swirly . . .

She swooned. Soft, strong hands grasped her by the torso and picked her up, tucking her under one arm.

She heard men yelling something. A shape lurched in front of them. The hallucination dove forward, hissing.

Yilra blinked. The blink felt like it took hours, and when her eyes opened again, she was being carried along at breakneck speeds. The shape was gone.

She noticed that her fingers were twitching, even as the rest of her felt like it was caught in clouds. The poison was neural. Its effects hit the brain first, and left other regions the quickest once it was . . . She became conscious of those fingers still toying with her clit. To her surprise, she quickly pulled them out. What was she doing? What was—

Nipper whirled around, causing Yilra's whole world to spin. The raven-haired catgirl swung something large behind them. Yilra heard an impact, and a grunt.

"Nipper," Yilra mumbled.

"Come on!" Nipper cried. Her dark ears were flat against her hair. She gripped Yilra's legless body in both arms again and dove to the side. They went tumbling off the edge of the path, and together, they fell into the voice.

It was strange how quickly toxins could wear off, Yilra reflected. Granted, her body was well-fortified, but there was nothing like brisk activity to sweat out fey magic. Except, perhaps, for a system shock. As she saw the ground zooming up towards them, she gave one heavy-lidded blink. Nipper had lost her grip on her waist. Yilra was about to hit the rocks headfirst, and things were suddenly very, very clear for her.

At the last second, Nipper grabbed her around the waist, and there was a terrific jolt. Yilra's head spun. Her mind spun.

Where were they? How had they escaped? What had she . . . had she orgasmed under the feys' influence? Why was Nipper covered in that yellow stuff? And why were Nipper's legs suddenly shaking like they were—

Oh. Right.

They had been taken over the edge of a small cliff. Nipper had held Yilra and absorbed the brunt of the fall herself.

"Catgirls are resilient against falls?" she asked, rubbing her eyes with one hand—careful not to get any of her juices in them.

Nipper was still holding Yilra. For the time being, Yilra didn't really mind that. It wasn't even sexual—there was just something very comforting about it right now. Actually, sex had very quickly gone from her sole life goal to the very furthest thing from her mind. She shuddered, remembering the dryads' hands on her. Their taunts.

"Uh, yeah." Nipper looked at her, biting her lip. "Are you . . . okay?" She set Yilra down on the ground and offered one of Yilra's crutches.

"I am unbelievably un-okay." Yilra accepted the wooden crutch, willing the eagle's claw at the base to dig into the stone, giving her purchase. With Nipper's help, the legless ranger rose up to lean between the crutch and Nipper's shoulder. "I . . . Nipper, I can't even wrap my head around this. I've been assaulted twice today, and it's just not, you know, clicking." She waved a hand. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

"It's harder with fey magic." Nipper visibly swallowed. For the first time, Yilra realized that the catgirl's eyes were red and puffy. "I . . . mind magic does things to you, when it comes to emotions. You—" She twitched, and briefly ran her hands over her own body, as if needing to assure herself it was still there. "The memories settle after a while, I've heard."

"Great." Yilra kept her voice low, both out of consideration for the catgirl's clearly fragile state and the skirmish she could still hear up above. "What's all the pollen on you? That's what it is, right?"

"Dryad workings. I said, they're dioecius dryads. They combine the males' and females' magics to make new toy—um, slaves." Nipper gave another twitch. There was a look in her eye Yilra couldn't quite place. Like she was trying very hard not to scratch a bad mosquito bite. Yilra had a feeling she could guess roughly what the pollen magic involved.

"Alright." She squeezed Nipper's shoulder. "Listen. Here's what we need to do. We need to find my other crutch. You aren't gonna get anywhere lugging me around like a sack of potatoes."

"I don't know where it is. This forest is crawling with soldiers and dryads." Nipper's eyes widened. "Where did all these humans come from?"

Yilra noted some specks of blood on the end of her crutch, as well as on the catgirl's nude form—particularly around the hands. "They're the Chosen. It's a radical religious group. They have . . . unique views on the place of women, I hear."

"They have lust sprites serving them."

"The Conversion. Some sort of hypnotic trick they use to make creatures hot for obedience." Yilra grimaced. "They probably want to get through this forest. Normally, I'd be rallying the more cooperative fey to help fight them, but gods remembered, the Evergreen is a mess right now. We've gotta get out of here." She frowned at the eagle-taloned stick supporting her left side. "Where is my crutch?"

"I don't know!" Nipper whimpered. "I tried, Yilra, but I can't—"

"Wasn't talking to you." Yilra felt her mind entered by a sudden keen awareness. She twitched her head. "That way. Let's go. Once my legs are back, we have to get to my cabin."

"Okay."

There was a pause.

"Um . . ." Nipper coughed. "I'm gonna have to carry you again."

"Right." Yilra felt her face heat up slightly, but she managed to crack a smile. "Just try not to bump my forehead against your boobs quite so much this time."

Nipper went beet red.

~~~~

"There!" Yilra grinned. Not even her current state could reduce the triumph at seeing her other crutch stuck deep in the muddy creek water between two rocks. And she was tied to Nipper's back by a pair of silk pink brassieres they'd found in the branches of an old fir. That was a testament to how triumphant this made her feel.

She was tied so that her back was against Nipper's—mainly because Nipper had been uncomfortable having Yilra's breasts pressed against her the whole time. Yilra had been, too, but she hadn't been planning on saying anything about it. She couldn't see Nipper's expression now, but there was distinct reluctance in the catgirl's voice. "In the middle of the river?"

The creek wound perpendicular to the main road, running beneath via a large stone pipe. Nipper had expressed certainty that this was the fey-warded road—the "safe" road. Yilra didn't have the tools to check.

"Yes. Right in front of you." Yilra paused, feeling Nipper cringe slightly. "Oh, don't tell me you're afraid of a little water."

"I am terrified of a lot of water! That's a river! Do you know how many catgirls drown in these things?"

"It's a creek, and no, but I'm guessing zero."

"It happens!"

"Look, Nipper." Yilra wished she could see Nipper's face. She couldn't tell how serious this was. "I hate to rush you, but we're kind of in a—what?" Nipper had gone stiff as a board. Yilra's ranger instincts kept her from speaking aloud, but she tapped Nipper's shoulder curiously. What is it? It was doubtful Nipper knew Ranger Tap, but hopefully she'd get the gist.

"I hear something," Nipper whispered. "Armored folk. Heavy breath. Smell sweat."

"Fuck." Yilra's mind raced. "We have to hide."

"There's nowhere to go."

"Under the bridge!"

Nipper was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her tone was reproachful. "That is a gutter, Yilra."

"We can't fight these people right now! Just get in there!"

"It is a glorified drainpipe, Yilra."

"Nipper, I'm serious!" Yilra's fey-induced calm was rapidly being punctured by fear. She'd heard stories. She would not be . . . "I'm not going to be taken again! Please!"

Nipper had already started running at 'again'. The catgirl dove into the water. It wasn't that cold to Yilra, but the water was still startling. It helped a little. Made Yilra feel more awake. She wasn't sure what it would do to Nipper's pollen, though—probably nothing good. Nevertheless, in seconds, Nipper was crouched in the pipe, Yilra propped against the side, both crutches clutched in the catgirl's arms.

"We really need to get some clothes," Yilra groused, feeling the water rushing past her. Her crutches would not let her crouch, so she was basically just submerged up to her chin.

Nipper made a motion for quiet. In a second, Yilra knew why—she could hear clanking sounds approaching. Rather quickly. She swallowed and bit her tongue.

" . . . can't be long now," someone was saying up above. His voice echoed into the pipe very distinctly. "I don't know what's keeping Josem, though."

"Josem's a needy sort." Laughter. "He'll be back once he's gotten either a good slut or a good fight."

Yilra's eyes narrowed. That had almost been her. These people were disgusting.

She noticed that Nipper, curled up against the pipe side, had gone oddly stiff. The catgirl's eyes were wide. Yilra shot her a questioning look, but there was no response.

"They say you shouldn't go off alone in these woods," said the first voice. "They pick off stragglers."

"Josem won't be going alone. And any whore who tries to take him will be in for a little surprise." More laughter.

Nipper had begun to shake. Yilra reached out a hand and touched the catgirl's shoulder. Was she reacting to the Chosen? Nipper cringed away from Yilra's touch, letting out a startled mew. The sound reverberated through the pipe. Yilra quickly withdrew her hand, but kept a wary eye on her companion. Was it just her, or was that pollen glowing slightly?

"Maybe." The first voice sounded skeptical. "But there are menfey in these parts, too."

"Really? Let the faggots try and stop us. They can take it in the ass just as well."

"Well, yes. The Conversion works on just about any of them." Yilra looked up, blinking. This was more information on the Conversion than she'd ever heard before. She'd thought it was just the term for some general hypnosis. "The squelches can wrap around a dick just as well, as long as it's not inside someone else at the time. But the male fey're better fighters, of course."

"Of course."

Yilra heard another mew. She looked back down, and her jaw dropped. Nipper was running one of her hands over her tits, her eyeballs rolled up into the back of her skull. Both nipples were pert and proud upon the pale breasts. The catgirl was shivering all over. She seemed to be mouthing words to herself.

"Nipper!" Yilra hissed, as quietly as possible. Nipper took no notice. Her other hand was reaching up over her knees, moving as sluggishly as if it were on strings.

"We need him back, though." The voices sounded like they were directly above. Yilra didn't dare reach out to touch Nipper again—any external sensation seemed to make her give . . . sounds, and they couldn't risk it right now. "He volunteered to be the first to help execute the plan."

"We'll have someone else go instead if he's not back soon."

To Yilra's horror, Nipper started sliding her fingers between her thighs. The scent of vanilla filled the air. Her plush lips kept moving, whispering something just barely inaudible.

"Sir, he was the only man who volunteered. Everybody's nervous in these woods."

"Only man?" A pause. "Ah, of course. We could use her, but I doubt she has the wit for deception."

"With all respect, sir, wit isn't exactly what a woman needs to be of use."

As the men above laughed, Yilra watched as Nipper started to thrust against herself. Her legs were quivering, barely holding her up even with her back braced against the wall. The words were turning into half-whispers, half-moans. Yilra strained her ears. " . . . kittyslut . . ." Nipper gasped. "Pussy . . . our pet p-pussy . . . "

"Snap out of it!" Yilra hissed, as loud as she dared. The little squishing noises were very audible to her, but hopefully not to those up above.

The voices sounded like they were passing by, but Yilra could still hear footsteps. Evidently there were quite a few men following the speakers. She stared at Nipper. To her shock, her eyes were immediately drawn to the catgirl's crotch.

No. It couldn't be. Even in this situation, even with the cool water running over her labia, was she getting . . . aroused? She tried to look away, but a little voice in her head told her to keep looking. You need to keep an eye on her, it assured her. Make sure she doesn't get too loud.

Deep down, she knew she didn't need the excuse. Nipper's smell was intoxicating. She bit her lip as Nipper's words started to get louder. "B-be ours," the catgirl moaned, sliding three fingers into her cunt. "Touch yourself. Feel us. Feel good. Nnn..."

The dryads' pollen. It was some sort of mental link. The water was causing it to react in some way, accelerate, sink in faster. The dryads were overloading Nipper with stimulus. "Nipper," she whispered, "fight it! Don't let them—"

Nipper let out a sharp moan, her back arching slightly as she started to speed up her attentions. She opened one eye, giving Yilra a despairing look. "S-so horny," she whispered, and Yilra knew she was just parroting what the voices told her now. "Need more. Need us. Need to beg us for more. Need to come to us, come for us, cum, kitty, cuUUUM!" Her voice raised to a squeaky pitch as she came to a not-nearly-quiet-enough orgasm.

A few seconds went by. Yilra dared to hope that was that, but of course, Nipper promptly began touching herself once again. Fey didn't run out of energy from cumming. It just made them want more.

It was accelerating. Yilra had to do something—anything to quiet her.

A voice—the same voice that told her to do nothing, the same voice that smelled like sweet, sweet vanilla—told her to smother Yilra's moans with her own mouth. She swallowed. Half the reason she was able to resist that impulse was her rational mind telling her it would only get noisier from there. The other half , and, shamefully, the more influential one, was the simple fact that she couldn't even reach. She breathed in, inhaling the delicious smell. She wanted Nipper. The little catgirl looked so sexy, so adorable, so needy. Surely it would be a mercy to help her. Surely it would be what Nipper wanted. Yilra's mouth had suddenly gone very dry.

Nipper was gasping from the orgasm, gasping out fragments of commands and temptations, still fingering herself frantically, when the pipe suddenly got very dark.