In the Domain of the Dryad

Örek wore a look of mistrust as he stepped onto the river bank. Besides that, he wore nothing at all, and lingered naked and dripping on the shore with water pooling about his feet. The air was thick and humid, and warm enough for him to stand bare and wet before the elements without feeling so much as a chill.

He was a towering, rosy skinned man, broad across the shoulders, thick of limb, and stocky. He was a wandering mercenary and was well muscled from hard living. But just as battle and hardship had made him strong, the spoils of countless wars had made him thick about the waist, and this made him all the more imposing to behold. His green eyes were wary and resolute, and he was clean shaven with closecropped blonde hair sitting atop his thick brow.

He shook his limbs and broad head, flinging away excess water and framing his brutal form in a momentary halo of crystal droplets. The rigorous movement was as much to keep warm as to dry himself—a holdover from his upbringing in the frigid north— but here in the heat of the forest the gesture was pointless. Nonetheless, Örek saw no reason to resist the whims of instinct.

Now that he was scrubbed clean, he took up his loincloth and cinched it about himself. He was no less ample between his legs than about the waist and at the shoulders, and the small strip of leather did little to contain him. Viewed from the side, he was as good as naked, but he didn't care. He'd fashion himself a new garment before returning to civilization.

For the moment, he was less concerned with modesty than with the sense of being watched that had been mounting over the last few days.

He'd entered the vast wood with Karkulian Tribesmen hard on his heels, and had succeeded in losing them in the overgrowth. But the attentions of the Tribesmen had been replaced by those of something else—something nameless and elusive, but that Örek's barbarian intuition assured him was there lurking just out of sight. It made no sound nor gave any sign of its presence, but the feeling of its eyes upon him was unmistakable.

He scanned the wall of trees that rose up before him opposite the riverbank. It was an impenetrable mass of plant life replete with hanging vines and interwoven branches. It was a wonder that the ground could sustain so dense a growth of trees, even in these humid climes, and the unnatural agglomeration of greenery only increased his mistrust of the sylvan maze.

This made the task before him all the more imposing, and he grimaced as he considered what he must do next—sleep.

He'd been travelling for days without rest—too wary of what lay just out of sight to let his guard down. But just as it had afforded him an opportunity to refresh himself, this river also offered a chance to rest his eyes in relative safety.

Before, he'd been surrounded on all sides by the press of the forest, and had been vulnerable to ambush. But here on the river bank, there was less chance of being taken unawares by his unseen watcher. So, he lay down in the sand, head resting on his rucksack and sword in hand, and let his eyes grow heavy with long awaited sleep.

As darkness descended, his head filled at first with visions of battle—conquests both lived and imagined, and he smiled a little as he let his reveries ease him into slumber. As he came closer to unconsciousness, his imaginings turned to conquests of a different kind, and his sleepy smile widened.

His mind's eye saw a procession of past lovers go by one at a time, each one marking a chapter in his storied life. Lean, hard muscled women of his native tribe warming him between furs in the yurts of his adolescence; well fed city girls with wide hips, thick thighs, and full breasts that bounced and rocked as they rode him; and sun-bronzed beauties from southern climes who would dip their heads between his legs as he took his ease in shady palm groves.

When sleep finally took him, he was thrusting into a fondly remembered tavern wench. Her dress was hiked up over her full, pale buttocks, and she rested her elbows on a table where tankards lay strewn about in puddles of spilled ale. Loose strands of red hair had fallen out from beneath her bonnet, and her face was turned back towards him, wearing a bewildered look of pleasure and abandon. The memory became a dream then, and all at once he could hear her moans and feel her thighs in his rough hands.

He was right there with her—feeling her and fucking her—and perhaps it was because of the vividness of his dream that he did not at first notice when real hands began roving over his sleeping form.

###

He awoke to the sound of giggling. High pitched and gleeful, it floated into his reverie and dissolved his tavern wench at the moment of climax. A wave of frustration and confusion washed over him, and Örek's eyes snapped open.

The moment they did, the giggling turned to startled cry, and the form that was hunched over him leaped back. Örek both felt and heard a soft thwack, and looked down to see his fully erect member slap against his stomach as the interloper's hand pulled away. It had been fondling him, he realized, and he wondered for a moment how much of the sensation of the past minutes had been dreamed and how much had been real.

All once the stupor of sleep lifted and Örek leaped to his feet.

At that, his visitor let out another cry, this time of glee more than surprise, and stepped back into a ray of sunlight.

It was a woman, but unlike any Örek had ever laid eyes on. She was small in stature and slight of build, with narrow shoulders and lean limbs. Her face was elfin and full of mischief, with deep, dark eyes set above dimpled cheeks that were split by a broad smile. Her hair was cropped short like his own, her ears pointed, and her neck thin and elegant. She was naked, save for tangles of greenery that wound about her hips and chest, and there were leaves in her tousled hair.

But the plant life that adorned her was no haphazard jumble of undergrowth. As he took her measure, Örek realized that the girl was wreathed in living vines that twisted and snaked about her, moving by their own power and weaving themselves into ever-changing patterns. And the leaves in her hair were as jewels, glimmering in the light and changing color from green to red and back again, as if with the seasons.

She was no mere human—no tribal waif or feral girl. She was something else—something that was as much a part of the forest as any tree or shoot, and even now Örek realized that her pale skin gave back green light where the sun struck it.

"No matter who you are, or what." He grunted. "You'll soon wish you'd never snuck up on—"

As he spoke, he reached for the scabbard clutched in his left hand, but stopped short when he realized that it was empty. He looked down, amazed. He'd been disarmed for the first time in his life, and the fact struck him dumb.

Just then there was another tittering laugh, and Örek's eyes darted up to where his sword glinted in the girl's hand. She laughed again, this time more deeply and with relish, and at the same moment she tossed his sword into the deepest part of the river, where it disappeared with an unceremonious plunk.

As he stood there, staring stupidly, the girl held her other hand aloft and showed him his pilfered loincloth. She giggled again and waved it at him like a city girl's kerchief. At that, the humiliated barbarian came fully back to life.

Blood rushed to his face, his brow bunched up, and his lips curled back in a snarl. His heart pounded in his ears and his vision narrowed.

"No-one" he bellowed, taking a step towards her, "takes Örek's sword! No-one takes Örek's clothes! And no-one damn well sneaks up on Örek and gets away with it!"

His only answer was another maddening peal of high-pitched laughter, and before he could take another step, the girl turned about and darted off into the forest.

The barbarian roared in frustration and plunged after her, stark naked, blood pumping to his cheeks and between his legs. He didn't ask himself whether a mere loincloth was really worth giving chase over—let alone one that did such a poor job of covering him. He'd been slighted. He'd been robbed, and that was all that mattered. He would catch this thieving Nymph if he had to chase her to the edge of the earth!

She had a moment's head start, but he was quick for his size and accustomed to long pursuits. He crashed into the undergrowth and set off running, his thick trunk breaking off branches as he barreled along, and his feet landing deftly amongst roots and stones.

He could hear her laughing ahead of him, and could see her silhouette against the greenery. She followed a narrow trail through the trees—one that afforded just enough room for her to flee and for him to follow, and as Örek ran he wondered how he hadn't noticed the path before.

But he had little time for such considerations, and put on a fresh burst of speed as he realized that he'd begun to gain on her. He could scarcely believe it. He'd expected a long chase—a test of his endurance— yet her nimble form was indeed closer now.

The girl glanced back at him, dark eyes glimmering and cheeks dimpled by her unbroken smile. Her laughter was just as loud and derisive as ever, and she seemed unperturbed that he was closing the distance. If he didn't know better, he might have thought she was slowing deliberately.

He roared, and redoubled his efforts, and suddenly she was within reach.

He could see her short hair bobbing with her movement, and could hear her quick breathing as she raced away from him. He even had the impression of a faint, floral scent wafting off of her, and his nostrils flared as he reached out for her.

She looked back again, and her eyes went wide as she realized how close he was to her now. At the same moment his hand closed on the tangle of vines that encircled her trunk, and she shrieked with surprise as he heaved back and tore away the living garment.

She leaped into the air and spun about, so that the vines and leaves unwound from about her like yarn, and landed soundlessly without missing a step.

Örek cast the greenery aside without a thought and carried on with his frantic pursuit. He'd glimpsed the girl's lean trunk and bare, high breasts as she spun, and the sight stirred the barbarian to new heights of exertion and arousal.

Her laughter still echoed through the forest, and had lost none of its glee, though it was clear now that she was straining to stay ahead of her pursuer. Her backwards glances still bore looks of mischief, even anticipation, and though Örek was hard on her heels, he was growing even more certain that it was only because she allowed it to be so.

The thought was maddening.

His legs burned, and his lungs too. He was breathing hard, and was beginning to feel a leaden weight set in to his limbs. Even the cock bouncing between his legs seemed to grow heavy, though it remained as stiff as when he'd awoken.

If he didn't catch her soon, he realized, he wouldn't catch her at all. Soon he'd have no strength left in his pumping limbs, and when that happened, no amount of furor or frustration would suffice to carry him ahead.

An image flashed through his mind then—an image of him lying facedown and spent on the forest floor while his quarry dashed off into the distance forever, tittering and whooping in her triumph. His heart pumped harder, his limbs burned more fiercely, and his breath grew ragged. He reached inside himself, deep down, and found the last of his strength. He drew it up, clutched it tight, and hurled it into a final, monumental effort!

The distance between him and the Nymph disappeared. It was suddenly as if she was running backwards, so quickly did he overtake her, and when next she chanced a look over her shoulder it was just in time to see Örek leap towards her one final time!

She squealed with glee and shock, mouth falling open and eyes fairly popping from her head. Until that moment, it had been she who led the chase, but all at once their places had switched, and now it was she who grew desperate to outpace her pursuer.

The Forest Nymph leaped forward in a frantic gambit, and so did Örek. She kept her footing, though taken off guard, and Örek fell flat on his face with a roar of exertion. But as he did, he stretched out his arms, and at the last moment his hands found the bundle of greenery that hung about the girl's hips.

These came away just as easily as the others, and for a moment it seemed as if his quarry might finally have made good her escape. But as the branches, vines, and leaves fell away, leaving her naked from head to foot, they tangled about her ankles, and she fell forwards with a cry.

Örek wasted no time, and pulled himself forwards on his knees and elbows, thrusting out a hand and taking her by her slender calf. She was a spirit of the forest, not wholly human, and yet the warmth and give of her flesh was human enough.

His huge hand was big enough to fully encircle her delicate limb, and he pulled her towards him with little effort.

The Nymph kicked and flailed, laughing all the while, even though she'd clearly lost her game. Again, Örek had the distinct impression that this was the outcome she'd hoped for, in spite of the struggle that she continued to put up.

She was naked now, lying on her stomach, arms outstretched and reaching for something to hold onto, her free leg scrabbling against the forest floor. Her thighs were spread well apart in her struggle, and Örek had a full, stirring view of what lay between them. Beneath her plump buttocks lay lips that no longer had a leafy shroud to conceal them. Her sex was bare and bald, and glistened with arousal.

The sight filled his limbs with fresh strength, and his cock with fresh blood, and he reached out with his other hand, taking hold of her free leg. Indeed, it was clear that her struggle was pantomime and nothing more. She looked back at him now, the fire in her eyes having given way to something else— something more intense—and she raised her buttocks a little as she let him pull her across the forest floor towards him.

He came to his knees, ignoring the smarting pain of his fall, the whole of his attention on the lean, lithe body that he held in his grasp. He kept one hand on her calf as he reached the other up to rest on the crease of her hip, and he eased her up onto her hands and knees. Even with his hand so low on her pelvis, he could feel the rise and fall of her heaving breath. Her skin was warm and damp with perspiration. A thick aroma of undergrowth and nectar filled his nostrils, and his arousal found delirious new heights as he drank in the sight and smell of his conquest.

He ran his hand from her calf up her thigh to her right buttock, and took his other hand from her hipbone and placed it on her left. He took her upraised seat in a hard grip, squeezing, kneading, and spreading to give himself a good look at her cleft and the smaller hole above it.

She trembled in his grip and sighed as he spread her cheeks. There was relish the sounds she made—the mischief was gone, but the enjoyment was still very much there. He slid his right hand up from her buttock, along the small of her back, past her narrow waist, and then around her ribcage to rest on one of her modest breasts. She gasped as he squeezed her warm flesh and drew his thumb across a hardening nipple. She didn't look back now, but Örek could tell by the sounds she made that the look on her face must be one of delight.

He leaned over her, felt the warmth radiating from her, and trembled with his own excitement. He took her other breast in hand, feeling its softness and the way it fit perfectly in his palm. His breathing was quick and heavy as he brought his hips forward, and his whole body came alive as he felt the tip of his erection start to push through into her warmth and wetness—

Until suddenly he could push no more!

He thrust forward with his hips, letting out a grunt of confusion and trying to pull the girl onto him. But he found that he could not move her an inch. The head of his was cock pressed maddeningly against her labia, but he could thrust no further.

He looked down, rage welling up beneath his ribs, and saw that she'd lifted her hands behind her and was holding his hips at bay with her narrow arms.

"Wha—" He started. "Damn you girl, I'll—"

All at once he was flying backwards through the air, eyes wide with surprise as they stared up at the forest canopy. He grunted in pain and shock as he crashed to the ground, and was vaguely aware of the way his erection slapped once again against his stomach.

The air left him, and he lay there gasping for a moment before he found the strength to try to rise. When he did, it was too late.

The Forest Nymph appeared over him, standing between his splayed legs with a heel on his stomach. And by the gods she was strong! Not only had she held back his eager hips and then flung him backwards through the air, but now she held him in place with nothing but a foot on his stomach. He could feel that to struggle would be futile, and so he did not, but rather stared up at her in bewilderment.

Her hands were on her hips, and her high breasts thrust out in arrogance. Her dark eyes were narrowed haughtily, and she smiled down at him without her former glee, but instead with condescending amusement.

Örek looked up and down her lean body. She was petite, with narrow hips and slight limbs, and delicate features made even more so by the dimples in her cheeks and her close-cropped hair. But the power she exuded now was a counterpoint to all of her delicacy, and the mighty barbarian felt suddenly helpless.

"You did well enough today, oh clumsy one." Said the Nymph in high, laughing tones. She took her foot from his stomach as she spoke, and lowered herself to the ground.

"Well enough that I shall let you leave my forest alive." She was positioning herself overtop of him now, knees on either side of his waist, hands on his broad chest. Her touch was light, and yet he could feel the strength in it. Oh, how he'd misjudged her!

"But I would have something from you first." She finished, leaning back, and sitting on his cock.

She kept it outside her for the moment, flattening it between her sex and his stomach, and Örek felt himself surge towards climax from that alone. When she began to move, sliding up and down the length of his shaft where it lay flat, he was certain that he would last but a moment longer, and grabbed desperately for her hips so that he could lift her up and slide into her.

But she only laughed and pinned his mighty arms at his sides, overpowering him effortlessly with limbs less than half the size of his own.

"Be still, brute." She said, and lifted her hips in her own good time. Örek strained and groaned, and flexed is cock so that it lifted up and bobbed in the air, as if reaching for the slit that lay less than a hand's breadth from its tip.

He felt veins stand out on his forehead as he struggled, felt his abdomen tense and his heart pound. But for all his efforts, he could not bring himself any closer to her. He was beginning to think he'd go mad with frustration, when finally the girl laughed, shook her head in pity, and slid down onto him.

Örek groaned in surprise and relief as he felt her envelop him. The sensation was made all the more intense by the desperate chase and the struggle that led up to it. Even before she started to move her hips, the feeling had him reeling. She was just sitting there with her soft buttocks resting on his thighs and her labia spread around the base of his member, but the feeling of being inside her was so strong that it washed from between his legs in waves that tingled all the way out to his extremities.