Evergreen Forest Ch. 17

He had to fuck her. Once he fucked her, she would . . . she would be his. That was how it worked. His. His slut.

"So, boy . . ." she winked coyly, "what is it you want from me?"

He stared up at her. He felt his head pounding again. He couldn't tell with his bloody eye—was she five meters up, or inches away? He could smell sweet vanilla. He could almost taste it. Her green eyes sank into him, filling him with the urge to obey, to tell her what she wanted to hear.

But a whore's first wish was always to serve her master. And that meant what she wanted to hear was really what he wanted to say.

"You," he whispered. "Fuck me. Fuck me." His fingers sped up. The orgasm was building again, and this time, he was letting it rise. That was what she wanted. He ran his fingers over his head, letting out a small moan. What he wanted. "You . . . Suck me, you little slut. You think you're so smart, so hot, but you're mine, you're mine, you're—aaaAAAUGH!" Euphoria pumped through him at a hundred miles a second as he came. His hips bucked violently, and he lost his footing to the spasms. The world was spinning again, so he screwed his eye shut. For a moment, all the pain was gone. All there was was the pleasure.

He opened his eyes. He was suspended above the canopy, lying on his back. He could see the soldiers down on the ground, but only by their little candle-like torches. They were so . . . little.

He looked across, towards his feet. A gorgeous young woman—not his dryad—was approaching. She looked up at him with dark eyes, her Eastern features filling him with a hunger for that which he chose not to understand. The two little horns atop her head meant nothing to him. All that mattered were those lush, red lips.

She climbed between his legs, navigating the vines and branches with the ease of a spider. The lust sprite smiled up at him with wide, hungry eyes. "You want sucky-sucky?" She giggled.

Above her loomed the shadowy shape of the dryad. She smirked at him, those green orbs blazing with emerald fire, and gave a little nod.

He stared at the sprite, with his two working eyes, and nodded. He closed his eyes as the lips went to work, and as the pleasure began to build again, he allowed himself to slip back into blissful ignorance. He didn't care that the dryad was laughing at him. He didn't care that he could hear them all laughing at him, just their first and easiest catch of the evening.

The whore was sucking his cock. All was as it was meant to be.

~~~~

"You realize we've already lost four men," Josem said to his captain, grimacing.

"Weak-willed fools," Vrolesk said, waving a hand. "Or the infirm, too distracted by their injuries to resist. We're better off without them." He chuckled. "We've already captured nearly twenty of the little sprites. Four fewer men just means more whore to go around."

"We've only captured sprites so far. Doesn't that worry you? Not a single dryad has been caught yet."

Vrolesk eyes glittered as he watched one of the sprites writhing at the feet of one of his officers. "Leave it to me."

~~~~

"We're here!" sang the glory dryad. The fey woman dropped to the ground, electric blue hair falling around her as slow as a blanket of feathers. She turned to her companions, spreading her arms wide and beaming at them. "The hole of our cruel kindred, loves."

Nipper looked around with wide eyes. She had spent most today horny, terrified, ashamed, or a mix of all three. And still, the only words she could manage were, "Shiny . . ."

The orchid dryads' lair was strewn with bright blooms of the expected variety. It was also strewn with enough wealth to make a baron go red. Bejeweled necklaces and sword scabbards dangled from branches. A collection of silver hairpins had been jabbed into a large mound of moss in a circle formation. Pearls and diamonds seemed to rain down from the dark canopy, glittering in what little sunlight shone down upon them. In a nearby pond, Nipper could swear the entire sandy floor was covered in gold and copper coins.

"So where's Snatch?" Yilra asked, making her way forward on her crutches.

The glory dryad shrugged. "Beats me. This is just the opening hall, lass. I can keep their prickles and traps from snaring you—a real shame, if you ask me, because this one," she poked one of several oddly phallic-shaped flowers, "really is a delight. I can keep them off you, like I said, but as for where our wayward babe's at . . ."

"'Wayward babe'? Calystegia, you'd better not be getting ideas." Yilra scowled at the dryad. "We're taking Snatch and we're getting out of here. He's not going to be your—"

"What I think you're missing," Calystegia said, leaning over and picking up a painted clay urn, "is just what a dryad does to folks." She shot a glance towards Nipper. "You wanna explain, hon?"

Nipper gave a start. She did not want to be spoken to right now, not with her own mind in such a twirl. She looked between Yilra and the glory dryad, biting her lip. "Uh . . . well, most dryads are, uh, girls."

"Couple hints I can give you as to that," the dryad said, smirking. "I mean, there's the odd boy among us, but they still have all the parts, of course. As they say, it's a world for men's eyes."

Yilra bit her lip. Nipper remembered that the Toxin Ranger had only recently realized she was bisexual. In a very graphic, very hard-to-forget manner.

"But some dryads are different," Nipper said. "Dioecius dryads split between two different forms—usually one that looks like a girl and one that looks like a boy, though there've been weirder ones. Like, this one variety has one form looking like a girl and one form looking pretty much like a tentacled tree." The catgirl half-giggled, remembering one incident in particular with an unlucky human couple. Then she remembered she wasn't supposed to find these things funny anymore, and the giggle turned chalky in her throat. "A-anyways, a dioecius dryad has a special way of combining one form's essence with the essence of the other form. They need a host, though."

"And they have Snatch as one."

"Snatch. They nearly had me." Nipper swallowed. "They probably have Anna. When the first dryad takes you, you don't notice anything different. But the seeds are there."

"But that means you need to screw two dryads to get that effect." Yilra frowned. "A male and a female. So you—"

"No," Nipper said hurriedly. "I only, uh, got touched by a 'female'. But dryads are bound to their plants, right, Calystegia? The males' plants were all over back there."

"After the intimate touch of one dryad," Calystegia said, seeming slightly less amused now, "just being close to the other dryads' sacred plants can be enough, with time." She crossed her arms over her breasts. Yilra seemed to relax slightly at the decrease in visuals. "So your 'Snatch'—ha—has had time. He's been with a female and a male, I'm willing to bet my left tit. And he's been marinating in the center of the dryads' power for hours now. That does things to you."

Nipper leaned over and parted a leafy curtain. Behind it was a small space walled in by hanging vines. A big, pillowy bed of moss lay in the center. A wooden box with carvings of nude wifwolves sat next to the bed. Atop the box was a small pile of leaf-wrapped cakes.

Yilra walked over and peered in. "What is this? Some brainwashing room for new captives?"

"I think it's Crypta's bedroom," Nipper said. She let the curtain fall back.

"Crypta's?"

"The orchids' leader," Calystegia said with a scowl. "A mean little tart. Has some fancy ideas about humans and Low Fey. What makes you think this is where she sleeps, though?"

Nipper closed her eyes, feeling her cheeks heating up. Because I spent who-knows-how-long being covered in pollen by her, and I remember her eating those cakes while she did it. And feeding me one. They tasted like strawberries. "I'm going to try smelling for the grumpy one—Snatch, I mean."

"Shouldn't be too hard." Yilra smirked. "I don't think he showers oft—"

"Quiet, Yilra!" Nipper screwed up her face as she worked the spell. Transferring her sight and, what the hell, taste nerves, she focused on her little nose, imbuing it with innate, well-honed catgirl magic. She always loved the sensation—it felt like she'd gained a brand-new sense. This was why people thought catgirls could smell just like normal cats. She could smell the strawberry filling in the cakes, the vanilla—gods, that smooth scent was almost acrid in here—the rustlings of sweet-scented walnut leaves, and . . . there. There it was. Those were the smells of her companions.

The glory dryad, of course, was filled with the waxy smell of morning glories, mixed with just a little musk from a fey's arousal. Nipper guessed she hadn't been idle while watching Nipper and Yilra . . . Nipper felt her face grow hotter.

Yilra smelled bitter, mainly. There was the salty sweaty smell humans always had, and the smell of her prior orgasms, and the smell of vanilla from when the dryads had captured her. But mostly? It was bitter. Plants and toxins and antitoxins from dozens, no, hundreds of sources. Yilra was suffused with the stuff.

"Hey, I found where they put our stuff!" Nipper heard someone call. She wasn't sure who was speaking—her senses were becoming more and more centered around smell. She could almost . . .

Snatch smelled salty and sweaty, too. Humans. But he also smelled of freshly turned dirt, of seawater, of chalky stone and lantern oil. It was amazing how many smells were on him. Vanilla, from his captors, had all but swallowed up the smells of dungeon delving, of cattle, of munitions, but nothing could be concealed from Nipper now. And there was the smell, very faint, of death. Blood and murder, yes, but also something more rotten. Had Snatch been very close to corpses recently? Nipper shuddered at the thought. Undead, probably.

Wait. Was that . . .? No. No, it couldn't be.

Nipper's eyes opened. She pointed down a dusty path just as a set of black robes caught her full in the face. "Mmf!"

She took the robes off her face and stared at them, confused. Oh. These were hers! She couldn't help but grin. She'd missed these. They were a bit torn, but still mostly intact. She decided to keep the coat for now.

"He's that way," she said, remembering, and repeated the pointing gesture. Yilra was already taking off.

Nipper and Calystegia hurried after. "So," Nipper said, "the cure for the pollen. Are you gonna . . . I mean, the infusion, will be still be . . ."

"On the genitals?" Yilra coughed. "Yes. Though it's likely he'll be catatonic by now. He, uh, he probably won't even feel it!"

"Oh." Nipper felt a brief twinge in her gut. It took her a moment to recognize it as jealousy.

The emotion caught her totally off-guard, and she was momentarily at a loss. She stopped in place. You love Anna, Nipper. What's this about? She fingers you once and you forget all about Anna? Maybe they were right about catgirls, if that's all the loyalty you can muster! She shook herself.

"Here?" Yilra asked, rounding a large tree trunk. She stopped short. "Oh."

"What?" Calystegia circled around after to see what Yilra was looking at. She pursed her lips. "Mm."

"What? What?" Nipper ran after them. She froze in place. "Oh."

"Well," Calystegia said, "there's good news and bad news."

~~~~ ~~~~

The spring water was cool, and sweet. It tasted a little like vanilla. But, well, so did the world.

He smiled, drinking deeply. The grass around him shimmered, caught in perpetual moonlight. The woods were dark all around. If he tried to walk into them, he knew, he'd just be turned back around. That was how it worked in this forest. Why bother trying to walk away from it?

"Mm . . . Identities are just exhausting, aren't they, darling boy?" He stood up quickly and turned around.

She hadn't been there before.

Pale gray hair cascaded down colorless skin. Silver eyes shone without eyes or pupils, crinkled slightly with mirth. Her form was sumptuous and full, but slender at the same time—an unbalanced figure that only seemed to work because she didn't even seem to be fully 'there'.

Her hair pooled around her feet like a cloak. She smiled at him. "Hi."

"What . . ." He rubbed his eyes. He felt tired. His mind was growing faint.

This was in his head. His world was growing faint. "What."

She had glided in right next to him, leaning on his unclad shoulder. Her feet didn't touch the ground. "Poor boy," she cooed. She brushed his cheek with a hand. Her hand was cold, and tingled pleasantly against his flesh. "So much life. So much . . . anger."

He realized he was leaning into her touch. It felt cold. But it felt good, too. Something told him that that didn't mean it was safe. He edged away. "Get away from me."

She giggled. "Oh, you are feisty. I can see why it has taken so long." But she glided away again.

"So . . . what?" He blinked.

"Heh." She reached down and began to touch herself. There was no subtlety to her movements, no shame or seduction. It was as casual as water over pebbles. He watched as her fingers slid in and out, in and out. "You don't want to think about such things, do you?" Her tone turned babying. "Isn't it easier just to . . . watch . . . and . . . relax?"

Her words echoed in his head.

He was in his head. Her words echoed in his world.

He rubbed his forehead, confused. "N-no," he managed. "I . . . What's going on?"

She kept smiling at him. There was something hungry in her smile. Enticing, but predatory. He suddenly had the sense that her teeth were very sharp behind those pale lips. "The dryads have you, darling boy. Mm." Her fingers danced over her clit. Like water over pebbles. "Crypta, your new mistress—she's going to make you hers. Utterly. Totally."

Her heavy-lidded eyes cast downward towards the pool. He followed her gaze as images appeared: Crypta, surrounded by a mass of lust sprites, riding him mercilessly. His body bathed in the attentions of her hordes of fey, breasts pressed against him, five tongues running over his erect member. He stared hungrily, smelling the vanilla in the air. His cock was hard. It seemed so nice. So wonderful.

"Yes," he heard her breathing in his ear. He could sense her lust—could hear it, could feel it. "So nice. So natural to give into it, isn't it? You fight. Like pebbles over water. You slide down, and you try to hold on . . ."

The images changed to more familiar scenes. He saw himself being led to the nymphs by Esca, his eyes glazed over. Had he really looked like that? They'd had him all along. They'd just been playing with him. He saw Anna coming towards him, winning him, claiming him with her juices. Each of the nymphs using him in turn.

"You try," she continued, giggling again, "but it's just so hard, isn't it? Your cock . . ." Her hand grazed over it, tickling the head. It twitched eagerly. "It's just so hard, isn't it?"

"Yyyyes . . ." he whispered, staring into the images. The lust sprites had surrounded and bound him, now. They were teasing him. He watched himself give into them. He hadn't planned to escape, he realized. Fucking their brains out hadn't been a plan. It was luck. Or was it? Before his dazed eyes, he watched the images progress into fantasy. Watched himself be slowly teased, taken, made to suit them. There was no end to it. He could have had that. Pure love. Pure lust. Was it so wrong?

He shivered, feeling the fingers touching his cock more confidently this time. They wrapped it in those cold, insubstantial fingers, stroking it softly as the images changed again. It tingled pleasurably. "You escape. You fight. But it's just pebbles. Mm. The water doesn't even slow down. And it just gets harder, doesn't it?"

He was facing off against Crypta, now. Gods, but he'd been out of his depth. Like pebbles under water. She was like a goddess. And soon he would be hers? He watched her overcome him, watched himself give in and breathe in that vanilla musk . . .

"No," he whispered. The hand left his penis. He forced his gaze away from the pool and found himself staring into her gray eyes. She looked like an alien creature. "What's going on?"

She just kept smiling. "You've only ever cared about yourself. You can only stand for what others tell you to stand for, because you cut out your own heart long ago."

"No." Was that him? That couldn't be him. But who was he?"

"Miserable," she said, beaming. "An ascetic-turned-thief-turned-adventurer-turned-thief-again." She leaned in. "Without her, you're nothing. So be nothing with me. I saved you for me."

"Why?" His voice wasn't even a whisper now. He wanted to forget this. He didn't want to know it, didn't want to remember it.

She was very close to him, her lips mere inches away. Her fingers were no longer between her legs—they were trickling with transparent juices, trickling closer and closer to his cock. "You'll be hers," she whispered back. "Completely. They'll wipe away who you used to be. All you'll know will be what they want you to know. And it's too much to resist, because once your stubbornness is gone, there's nothing in you to hold them back." She leaned closer. "You can't stop them any more than you can stop these little fingers." The fingers touched his cock again, this time slick with her juices. His cock responded desperately, throbbing with lust. She cooed at it. "Your lust is flowing through you like water over pebbles, isn't it? Isn't it?"

She gave his cock a squeeze. Almost by pure reflex, he grunted out, "Yes."

Her smile widened. She kept stroking him, kept squeezing his cock. "So much fighting. I see succubi. Ghouls. Nymphs. Elves. And a young druidess?" She winked. It was like half of the sun winking out. He was relieved when the eye returned—and also somehow emptier still.

"What?" He only barely remembered what she was talking about, but the last part decidedly sounded wrong. "I don't . . . no."

"You don't know? Mm." That seemed to make her disturbingly happy. Her eyes half-closed from that happiness, and she let out a little squeak of pleasure. "That's . . . very good. Forget it all, darling boy."

"N-no, I mean—" She gave his cock another squeeze, and his objections died. He felt himself sagging against her. Leaning towards her waiting embrace. He was ready to cum. His cock felt so good. It was tingling, almost half-asleep, lazy and horny and ready to burst with pleasure.

"Memories are exhausting," she cooed in his ear, as he slipped into her cold arms. She kissed him gently on the lips. "Identity is impossible. Nothing becomes, darling boy. Isn't that right?"

Her left arm was wrapped around his waist, fingers still touching his cock, as she lowered him into the grass. She giggled, apparently finding something hilarious.

He realized she was waiting for an answer. Yes. Whatever she wanted to hear. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes, please."

She grinned.

Her teeth were very sharp.

Seeing this, something in Snatch rebelled. He jerked from her arms, careening backwards.

He flailed helplessly for a moment, unbalanced, before falling backwards into the pool. For a moment, he was surrounded by frigid water. For the first time, Snatch felt fully awake again.

The next moment, he was lying in an empty basin. He looked around, blinking blearily. Was it just him, or was the color of the place becoming . . . less?

The place was his mind. His mind was becoming less.

He was becoming less.

She stood at the edge of the basin, looking down on him with a disappointed pout. He felt a tiny spark of memory flicker back. "You're a . . . a . . ."

"A Gray Wraith," she said, sadly. She walked towards him. He crabwalked backwards to the other edge of the waterless pond, frantic to escape her tingling fingers.