Honeydew Heist Ch. 01

Nicole's Note: This story opens with maledom, but the next chapter will mix things up a little bit. ;)

In the real world, consensual nonconsent requires deep trust, as well as much more setup than the fantasy we play with here bothers with. Keep in mind that it is a fantasy. I'm sure the dryads and plantgirls will make that easy enough. ;)

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Nevyn knew he shouldn't get carried away showing off his collection. This was a crowded pub, and anything could happen if the door opened at the wrong time and a breeze sent the wrong item up into the air. But it wasn't always easy.

"Oh, my!" The barmaid's blue eyes were as wide as saucers as she bent down to stare at the case's contents. "There are so many colors!"

Nevyn suppressed a smile and, with a wise nod, tried not to stare at her tits. Leaning over like that, she didn't make it easy. "Yes, well, one in my line of work does tend to accrue the marked variety, doesn't he?" He plucked up a colorful red lily that seemed to glisten, as if still bearing the morning's dew. "They're magicked to last. Those that I need to, at any rate."

She blinked up at him. She had rather lovely eyes, he had to admit—bottomless blue, the kind you only found in deep oceans or very expensive pigments derived from extinct beetles. "Really? I'd think you'd need 'em all, well, fresh." She bounced on her toes slightly, pigtails bobbing with the motion. Her breasts, bounteous and ill-contained by her tight bodice and low round neckline, were no more still. "As a cunning man."

He smirked. He set the lily back and pulled out a dry, crackled green leaf. "Some of them. Some of them are better dried out."

"Ooh, like herbs!" She nodded, smiling again. "That makes sense. So your magic's like cooking, sort of."

"Sort of," he agreed, chuckling. "I hear that a lot. It's not magic, though. Just knowledge." He set the little leaf back into the case and, with a flourish, closed it back up. "Though the average highwayman won't know the difference. Especially with a puff of battertooth seeds in his face."

She giggled. "Ooh, really?" She took a step closer, batting her eyelashes. "Do you have anything...meddlesome in there, then?"

"For a mettlesome maid?" He shrugged, as casually as if dislodging a leaf that had fallen on his slim shoulders. Nevyn wasn't a physically intimidating man, and he enjoyed that, a little; being overlooked by people he didn't care for was a useful skill. He knew his deep steel-blue eyes got him the attention he wanted, when he wanted it. Plus, he'd once escaped from a bounty hunter by slipping his little hands through the restraints, so that was useful enough. "I should think I have a few... more wicked plants." He beamed at her. "But you wouldn't want to see anything of that nature. I primarily use such things only in self-defense." This was true. "And never for pleasure." This was not.

"Oh, of course not." Her voice oozed with sensuality as she took another little step closer, her posture demure, submissive—but in the manner of one who knew such posture would melt most men into putty in her claws. "I can't imagine I would. Why..." She put a hand to her breast in mock shock. "To be made all sleepy and hypnotized? Put under your spell?"

"Not a spell," he said, smirking, as he shouldered the case. But he didn't pull away. The bar was busy, but he didn't mind being a little forward in public. He liked where this was heading—and he was pretty sure he could build on it. "Oh, no mistake, it would be lovely to have magic. But I like my methods." He cupped her chin. "Magic is so... costly. With herbs and spices, it's easier to get in and out."

"In and out!" She giggled. "What a way to put it. You mustn't bring that attitude to the Rose Dawn."

"Is that really tomorrow?" He made a show of looking around, as if he hadn't noticed the pink paper over the windows, the ribbons and paper loop-de-loops of red and white hues hanging from the ceiling lights, flooding the room with a rosy glow. Half the tables were crowded with couples, men and women staring into each other's eyes in helpless adoration. Half the bar's staff were already enjoying some 'holiday time off'. Nobody cared. It was too close to the Rose Dawn to worry about getting drinks on time.

Embarrassing, he couldn't help but think, even if it was cute to see the couple near him—a handsome young fellow and a person with frizzy red hair and bright brown eyes—holding hands and mumbling and stammering like they'd just met. "Goodness! How the months fly."

"Uh-huh." She bit her lip. "It's easy to forget about, I'll bet, when you're so important. No doubt already tied down to someone."

"Oh, to the contrary." He casually strode around the tables, weaving his way to the back area—a part of the inn he could tell was less busy. She was following him, and he grinned inwardly. "Quite unattached, my dear."

"Oh?" This barmaid clearly had a lot of practice squeezing things of great volume into tight spaces, and she fit a lot of emotion and implication into that single syllable.

"Why, yes." He took her hand, running a finger over the back of it with a little half-smile. "But don't get any ideas. I'm very much... wedded to that."

She giggled, allowing him to lead her towards a dark corner. This area of the bar had a lot of quiet, private booths, he noticed, and he had a feeling he knew why. Not all towns celebrated the Rose Dawn as enthusiastically as the village of Rain's Rise. He always liked to come to a town that did this time of year. Everyone was always so romantic, so lovey-dovey, so sentimental.

It made for more of a challenge.

"Wedded, you say?" She kept giggling, and leaned in daringly to kiss him on the cheek. "You know not what you say, m'lord. One can't be wed to such things. Unless..." She pouted. "Is there truly no romance in your heart?"

"Not quite." He settled into the booth. She bounced in next to him, and again, he found his eyes drawn to those jiggling tits. He swallowed. Focus. Work before pleasure. And workwas pleasure. "I... suppose I enjoy the chase. But to be caught..." He stroked her hair as she wriggled in next to him. So warm and soft. "A delight I must forever deny myself."

"Oh?" She smirked. Her fingers played along her cleavage, and his breath caught as she toyed with the dress's delicate white lace. "That sounds like a simply awful kind of self-denial. Is that m'lord's taste?"

He wrapped an arm around her. "Not quite." He kissed her cheek. "But... well, I do enjoy the risk involved."

"Is that why you came to Rain's Rise?" she murmured, wriggling even closer. Her eyes were like twin aurorae, blue light in the dimly-lit booth. Her dimples turned those blue orbs into azure crescent moons. "The danger? You should know how... romantic the girls of this village can be."

"Well, naturally." He tugged gently on one of her pigtails, and was delighted to see her eyelids flutter, to feel her squirm, to hear her gasp and sigh softly. "I should know. But you aren't interested in that, are you?"

"Mm... maybe..." She wrapped an arm around him and cuddled to his chest, climbing up into his lap. Her tits were right in front of him, now. Impossible to ignore. Especially bouncing free of her dress. "For... the right man..."

He licked his lips.Focus. This is going too fast. Stay on target. "In truth," he purred, moving to take back the initiative, kissing her neck tenderly, savoring her tiny little whines and mewls as she rocked in his lap, "I'm a little bit of an explorer. I've heard Rain's Rise has a particular... patron fey..."

"Oh?" Her voice strained as she clearly struggled to keep her composure. Nevyn grinned and decided to make it harder, grasping her pert rear and rocking her in time, letting her grind on his lap. Her panties were quickly running out of use to them both. "I-I... um..."

"I'm so curious," he cooed. "I've met many dryads, you see..."

"U-Uh-huh," she panted, fumbling for words. "Y-Yeah, um..."

"Rain's Rise," he said sweetly, flashing her a charming smile, "is famous for its honeydew melons, isn't it?"

She stared down at him. Her lower lip quivered. "Y. Yuh. Yes." She squirmed on his lap. He shifted slightly, clutching her tighter. She was... this wasn't her first lapdance. She was good. She was playing the game, and she knew how to play.

But Nevyn wasn't losing control yet. Even if her breasts bounced so nicely when she wriggled like that... "Famous for itssweet, juicy melons," he purred. His fingers stroked over her quivering lips, and with his thumb, he brushed away a tiny drop of drool.

Her eyelids fluttered. "Uh-huhhh..."

"Do you, by any chance..." He blinked in total innocence, stroking her hair with one hand... and guiding her head downward for a kiss as he rocked her faster, seeing her chest rising and falling in great heaves, feeling her heart racing, pounding against his chest, hearing her quickening, high-pitched breaths. "... have a honeydew dryad in the area? Perhaps..." He gave her a tiny, teasing kiss, feeling the breath slipping from her open mouth in helpless silent gasps as she struggled to contain her pleasure. "... perhaps a patron fey of the village?"

"Mm. Nn." She giggled, so obviously desperate to contain herself, desperate to keep her wits together, desperate. Desperate. "Um. Not, um..."

"Not supposed to say?" he cooed, kissing her again. Tiny kisses. Teasing kisses. Tempting kisses. Her eyes were glazing over with lust as he rocked her, as she held herself on the edge.

He couldn't help but grin. Oh, how easily she'd given herself away earlier, and how easily she gave herself away now, holding herself on the edge with all her will when sheshould have been using that will to realize just what he was doing to her.

"Nnuh?" She squirmed happily. "Kinda..."

"I could be trouble." He squeezed her hip, eliciting a whine, and slowed her rocking. There was the faintest resistance as she tried to keep moving, and he saw her eyes widen, her cheeks going bright red with forbidden lust. "I could be adanger to her. Not from around here."

Nevyn wasn't a hypnotist or mind reader, but he was very, very good at pinpointing secret needs.

"Uh-huh," she whimpered. "Not. Supposed. Secret." She was desperately trying to rock faster, now, but she was so, so horny, and weak, and Nevyn knew exactly what she needed and would not give it to her. Not for free.

"But you can trust me, can't you?" he cooed. He kissed her softly, slightly, hearing her plaintively whining for more. "I wouldn't do anything untoward. I'd never." He played with her dress, sliding it up so his free hand could caress her waist—stay away from her tits, a little longer, a little longer... "And I'm so curious. Maybe we could..." his voice lowered to a whisper, "pay her a visit together?"

She giggled at the kisses, clearly trying to stay nonchalant with the last of her wits. "We're... n-not supposed to, um... go to the hill this close to the Rose Dawn."

And he smiled triumphantly. But she didn't know what she'd said, and so he pressed on, purring with the cadence of a cat surrounded by songbirds deciding which one to pluck from the air first, "Because they're soromantic, mm?"

"Mm. Mm-hm." She nodded weakly, clearly relieved he wasn't asking her more difficult questions. Perhaps because she was too horny to think as much as anything else, at this point. "R-Romantic. R-Risky for... for us... this t-time of year..."

"Aww." He kissed her neck. "Then you'd best stay away."

"Ooh. Uh-huh." Her head bobbed thoughtlessly as she stared into his steely eyes. "S-Stay... with you."

Her breaths were coming out quicker. Her expression was glazed, wide-eyed, brainless with her bimbo need.

"Of course you will," he cooed, candy sweet, as he peppered her neck and cheek with little kisses to scatter her thoughts and help her forget all about what she'd inadvertently revealed. He already had what he needed. His work here was done.

Now it was time for pleasure.

"And," he said, smirking as he saw her whimpering and squirming and rocking so deliciously, sweetly helpless in his lap, "fortunately for both of us... I do seem to have a spare hour."

And her eyes widened further as he kept rocking her, ever-so- sweet, and listened to her whine... and his spare hand roamned down to toy with her bouncing breasts as he took her in a deep, mind-melting kiss.

His own breath caught, and he bit his lip to contain a sigh of delight as he allowed his gaze to roam downwards and, at long last, allowed himself to stare. Stare at the bouncy tits.

Bouncy.

Bouncy.

Bouncy...

~ ~ ~ ~

Honeydew maids were insanely difficult to find. Nevyn had spent the whole last year searching for this one.

The honeydew melons themselves were fairly useless for his work. A dryad's fresh melons were incredibly potent, but honeydew didn't dry well, like some other fruits did. You could candy slices, but they didn't keep much potency, and a cunning man looked for...

He hopped up over some crawling nurselilies, eyes narrowed. A cunning man looked for plants that could provide more unique benefits. Benefits that would last.

Besides, the melons weren't even in season yet. The flowers, however, would be beginning to blossom, if they were being kept by a sufficiently satisfied honeydew dryad. And patron fey were always well-taken care of.

The flowers, if dried, could be crumbled and mixed into a poultice effective against a number of ailments. It was a very valuable medicinal ingredient no doubt going to total waste without any cunning folk around to take advantage.

Cunning folk weren't mages. Nevyn actually didn't think much of magic. It was such an investment, such a pain, such an... emotional thing. He liked being able to dabble and experiment. His experimentations with that sweet barmaid, for instance, had gone on for two hours, and he'd been able to feel her out and determine exactly what she did and didn't like. He was good at improvising on the fly. Who needed a hypnotic script, or, for that matter, drugs? People made bad enough decisions all on their own.

She didn't realize, he was sure, that she'd told him where the dryad was. It had been a slip—a ditzy little slip, the kind someone like her made when they were being edged mercilessly and longed to change the subject but lacked the words to do so. A bit of a mean trick, to be sure. A little oily. But cunning folk had a bad reputation already.

Nevyn actually saw himself as fairly principled, as these things went.

He sighed, ducking under some hanging ivy. He was starting to spot a few honeydew vines, as well as a surprising quantity of some sort of tomato plant. He was getting close.

He didn't have any wicked plans, anyways. He played dirty, but he wasn't playing for keeps. It was just a rather useful herb, and he knew the townsfolk wouldn't let him take it for free, and he didn't really want to pay.

Besides, this dryad was hoarding. The town didn't need every little melon blossom! He rolled his eyes. Honestly, he was doing them a favor by helping them with the inevitable surplus. Patron dryads always provided a surplus, and it always led to trouble.

It tended to attract thieves, for one.

The hill was steep enough that Nevyn repeatedly had to check himself from stumbling back. He could see the village down below, hanging like a shadow beneath the hill. The hill itself was lush and verdant in spite of its steep incline—usually a good indication that some powerful fey called it home.

He couldn't help but wonder what the story was here. Every patron fey had one—the tale of how they became attached to a settlement. Some fey came to it naturally; hobs and kobs and the like were instinctively drawn to construction, and orchard dryads, too, found mortal patronage appealing. But honeydew dryads were harder to pin down. Very romantic, but shy.

He bit his lip. He'd have to be careful about that.

He wasn't worried about losing, of course—Nevyn was a natural dominant, and it had been years since anyone had brought him to any... lower level. He had a strong will, and he wasn't exactly harmless if cornered.

But, he thought with a grimace, honeydew dryads were needy. In fact, from what he'd been told, a honeydew dryad could go from stranger to hopeless infatuation in the blink of an eye.

He'd feel a little bad if it got that far. And it would get him the kind of reputation among fey he couldn't really afford. There was a carefully-drawn line between capricious and mean, after all. And his seductions could... well, they could dance the line.

Could he justify using herbs? Nevyn sniffed contemptuously. Only if she tried something first. If he used it first, he was just a creep. If she used her magic first, though... well, that was just self-defense. If she wanted to play her hand, there wasn't anything wrong with playing his.

Cunning folk had to think about such things, especially cunning folk like him who were willing to make a little trouble. It made the difference between being put in the stocks for the next few days and being put in the power of a pair of fleece sprites for the next few winters.

As he came to more level ground, to the intense relief of his aching legs, Nevyn noticed a sweet smell delicately riding the breeze. He sniffed, and nodded.

Nevyn dropped to his knees and unshouldered his case, fiddling the straps until it clicked open. He quickly drew out his mask—a beautiful piece of wood and cloth and feathers, decorated to resemble a vividly-painted blue jay—and tied it on.

The clean scent of bitter herbs met him as he breathed in newly filtered air. The mask rose up, its form spiking around and above his eyes so that someone looking at him from straight ahead might briefly believe him to have feathers rather than hair. This was one of many traditional cunning folk masks, and marked him indisputably as a practitioner. It was seen as good manners to identify your abilities to targets so they knew what they were getting into.

"Oh, must you?" sighed a soft, wispy voice from behind him. "I quite liked your other face, you know."

Nevyn went stiff.

Granted, the mask did tend to hinder one's awareness a tad.

TO BE CONTINUED...