Intrepid Pawns Ch. 14

"Alright," Trys said, straightening as the yarn was fully concealed, "it's time to go. We shouldn't tarry around the entrance too long. Ia, you'd better go first."

"You got it!" Ia bobbed her head and sprang inside, her bare feet padding soundlessly against the dusty stone.

And the others followed.

~ ~ ~ ~

The walls didn't stay gray stone for long.

Yathi chewed her inner cheek, her breaths coming in shallow. Tingles ran up and down her body as she crept forward, following after Ia. Normally, Yathi would be the one to scout ahead, but Ia was the one with the immunity.

And Yathi was the one every single Thriae would make a beeline for.

She tried to suppress a leap in her heart as they started to see the first signs that this mountain was no longer just a mine. Stalactites visibly dripping with watered-down honey. A faint golden light in the distance.

And worst of all, the hum.

Ia was the first to call attention to it. Yathi had enhanced her touch as well as sight, and had Mew dampen her sense of taste as well, but even without Ia's newly-enhanced hearing, it wasn't long before that horrible hum sent vibrations through her whole body. She could feel it in the stone.

The endless, droning buzzing of a Thriae Hive. Not as severe as the deliberate mind-melting buzz of a Thriae's wings up close, but no less petrifying for someone struggling with a Stage One addiction to honey.

This was the Hive. The center of it all. There were, no doubt, scores—hundreds, even—of Thriae in this mountain. An endless swarm of beautiful, sweet blonde bimbos only too eager to bear Yathi to the ground and turn her into a bubbly bimbo just like them.

But not just like them. Not even just like the wretched, brainless honey sprites who no doubt numbered in the hundreds or thousands here, the mortals and fey who had been corrupted into little more than giggling, horny, honey-drenched sluts for the Thriae's every whim.

Because Yathi was different. And they would never let her go if they caught her again.

And, she thought, swallowing as she noticed the walls starting to shift from gray stone to a golden sheen, she would never let them.

"Is it wax?" she heard Brist whisper.

"No." Trys shook her head. "It's honey. Crystallized like amber. If you lick it, it will be as sweet and dangerous as anything in here."

"Mm..." Mew nodded, slipping her arm into Yathi's. Yathi didn't object. She felt pathetically grateful for the contact—pathetically grateful to wonderful, beautiful Mew, who was at least warm and soft and here to take care of her. Much as she wanted to resist that, right now, she needed it. Needed someone to hold her close and stop her shivering. "Then we'd best not be licking anything in here!"

"Th-There's a fork up ahead." Brist pointed unnecessarily, several sunstones glimmering as they spun around his head. The crystal mage was a bit red-faced, but from what Yathi could tell, that was because he'd enhanced his sense of temperature. A weird choice. Maybe it helped with his magic or something. "It's hard to sense the Thriae, because they... they, um..."

"'Cause fey don't have souls, silly," Ia said. She'd come back to walk next to Brist, a playful grin on her face. Yathi wished she'd just focus on scouting.

"Right." Brist coughed shallowly. Even that small noise made Yathi flinch, though, which caused Mew to clutch her tighter. "But I'm pretty sure there are more down the right path. The left path feels emptier."

"Then we go left." Trys's expression was resolute, fearless. Yathi could see her golden eyes glinting, though, as she looked over the golden walls of the Hive.

And she could see the way Trys was regulating her breathing, and knew their self-declared leader was falling back on those meditative tricks she hadn't gotten to teach Yathi.

Yathi squirmed in Mew's halfway hug and tried not to doubt herself as the band of knights—plus their druidess accomplice—made their way into the Thriae Hive at last.

~ ~ ~ ~

Thriae doors were really remarkable constructs, Brist reflected, running a finger curiously over the smooth surface. He'd expected the double-doors that now blocked their path to be sticky, as the walls and floors were. But the amber they were constructed of—a burnt orange-gold—seemed to be perfectly fossilized, as smooth as steel.

It was pleasantly warm, too.

"What lies beyond?" Trys murmured, and he gave a start as he realized she was right behind him. "Can you see?"

Brist bit his lip and pulled his hand away, turning to face her. She was rather close. "No. These walls and doors are too much... like crystal. Crystal vision can't cut through crystal. It's a rule."

Yathi stepped up, frowning, and placed a hand on the door. She blinked. "It's vibrating."

"Is it?" Brist turned and touched the door again, resting his palm on it. So warm. He didn't feel any special vibrations. He looked the door over. "Maybe it's a spell. We should be careful."

The double doors were a beautiful, twisted design, almost a sculpture in their tortuous complexity. Twisting bars of amber entwined around each other, forming elaborate spirals and braids—all abstract, but reminiscent of a great tangled knot. A pair of knockers hung at the center. He was fairly sure they were meant to serve as doorknobs.

This was the first door they'd come to. Trys was hoping it was a dwelling, where they could capture a lone warrior or drone. On either side of the hallway they'd ventured down were little endless alcoves. Each alcove was about the size of a closet, and obscured only by thin, diaphanous curtains. The few the band had examined had been empty, and Ia was quite sure that the rest of them were, too—at least, she didn't hear anyone.

Brist wished they'd had time to check every one.

He glanced back at Trys. "Do you know anything about this?" He gestured to the door.

Trys's eyes darted over the design, her mouth tight. "No. I never made it into the Hive before. But isn't everything in the Hive vibrating?"

Yathi nodded, but she seemed unsure. She took her hand away. "Brist, can't you... I don't know... make a hole in it, or a crack, or something?"

"I don't think it's locked."

She shot him an annoyed look. "I mean so you can look through."

"Oh." Brist felt his face flushing. Hearing Mew giggling, and seeing Ia's slight smile, he sorely regretted making himself more sensitive to heat. He coughed. "Right. Sure. I can do that. Just watch my back."

He dropped to his knees and leaned against the door. The crystal mage took two deep breaths, then rested both hands on the door. He decided to put the hole right below the door handles, like a keyhole, just in case a Thriae noticed them.

He closed his eyes and focused.

The heat was distracting, but it also helped him slip into the spell. He fixated on the properties of the amber. His heart seemed to thrum in his chest as he hummed softly. His mind centered.

For a moment, he drifted, enjoying the warmth, the soft vibrations around him. He hummed, briefly not minding how hot it was around him, content to bask in the glow as the amber seemed almost to melt around him, those strange tendrils wrapping around his arms, pulling him closer, closer to that soft, sweet, comforting warmth...

He swallowed, forcing the comfort out, and cut a tiny hole in the door. He pulled back, breathing heavily as the spell faded.

A tiny little keyhole had appeared in the surprisingly thick door. He glanced back with a weary smile at his team, who seemed quite unaware of the difficulty he'd just had. "Who wants a peek?"

"You first," Yathi said, folding her arms uncomfortably. Ia's head was tilting to the side, a frown on her face.

Brist shrugged and pressed his eye against the hole in the door.

And instantly, the crystal mage knight knew that he had made a mistake.

The first thing he noticed, of course, was the lovely, soothing warmth that reached his head as he rested it against the door. It seemed to pulsate in waves, like a radiant furnace, and he let out a soft sigh—perhaps loud enough only for Ia to hear. Oh. That felt... nice. He felt warm. Cozy. Squishy.

Then his vision adjusted to staring through the false keyhole, and he saw what lay beyond.

It didn't look much like a bedchamber, though there were plentiful soft places to sit. They sort of reminded him of the lentil beds popular in the Northern Reach, or perhaps the decadent slime-filled 'goo beds' he'd heard some nobles enjoyed. They shone in the chamber's bright light as if made from solid gold, but the way their occupants wriggled within told him that they were as soft and squishy as molten honey.

The light came from two vast pools of glowing honey. It was very, very warm in this room, like a sauna, but those pools were like communal baths, or hot springs. The honey roiled and rippled, thick as molasses. It looked so heavy and viscous, one could surely drown in that honey... if drowning were possible in Thriae mead. Brist didn't know if it was.

But it seemed unlikely. And it seemed even more unlikely that the chamber's current occupants would let you.

It was impossible to count the mead sprites. They dipped above and below the surface of the mead vat—most with hair as gold as sunsets, eyes as radiant as the vats themselves—moaning and groping each other, and themselves. Men and women of all shapes and sizes, most once human, now reduced to squealing, honey-addicted playthings, more fey than mortal.

There were a couple of elves, Brist noticed, swallowing. And was that woman with the brilliant green hair a catgirl? Was that whimpering boy with the curling horns a satyr?

The mead sprites were pathetic, wanton, and overwhelmingly happy. It dripped from the room like a poisonous gas. They weren't just happy, they were orgasmic. They moaned, whimpered, begged and giggled like idiot bimbos as they licked and sucked and fucked one another, as they drank of the mead, as they came and came and came.

He watched, very glad that the others couldn't see how bright red his cheeks were turning, as two blondes grabbed hold of the satyr, who could only cry and beg as they started tickling his cock, licking all over his body, licking up the honey they were all totally bathed in. He could only giggle, cry out, plead, come, come, come—

But Brist forced his eyes away, even as the man's squeals of humiliating, degrading pleasure rang in his ears—and he didn't question how he could hear them, didn't question how easily sound seeped into him through the warm, comfortable honeydoor—because his eyes had found the real concern.

There were Thriae in here, too. Seven of them, that he counted. His mouth watered as his eyes sought out each one in turn, ogling them, admiring their gorgeous, delectable figures as they lounged back. They were practically begging to be stared at. Admired. Presenting themselves for any unknown onlooker.

Three lay in each other's arms in one of the honeybeds. Brist watched as they clutched each other, grasped at each other, nearly as wanton and needy as the sprites down below. Their lips smacked as they kissed lips, breasts, pussies—never more than kisses, but gods, with such plump, luscious golden lips, who needed more than kisses? Each had breasts that heaved and strained against tight-fitting black leather corsets, and their short skirts did nothing to conceal their wide, generous hips, their dripping pussies, their shapely thighs covered only in delicate fishnet stockings—

Brist swallowed. His gaze traveled to the next Thriae, who was sitting beside one of the pools. She seemed to be acting almost as a lifeguard.

A very, very naughty lifeguard.

As he watched, she cooed down at the squirming, thrashing satyr, "Aw, is that nice, cutie?" Her eyes were especially big, and they glimmered with mirth as the satyr struggled to speak. He could only giggle and gasp and whine. The other sprites seemed to be noticing his anguish, and more were swimming over, like sharks seizing on a kill. His whimpers and cries rose a full octave.

The Thriae smiled slyly, kicking her feet in the vat playfully. She was wearing a two-piece swimsuit—bright blue lingerie, basically—and her long, wavy hair bounced down to her tiny waist and swayed down to her knees as she bent over. "Now, now, cutiepie," she teased, "it's, like, super important to say thank you! Why aren't you being more grateful?" She brought one bare foot to rest on his forehead as he squealed and begged wordlessly, clearly barely able to breathe. "Gosh-golly, if you're gonna be sooooo naughty..."

Brist tore his gaze away, heart thudding in his chest, as he heard the satyr get pushed under—and the splashes of the other sprites descending down after him.

He needed to look away. He didn't know how much time had passed, but he knew he'd been looking too long. Couldn't the others see that he was caught up? Couldn't Ia hear his heavy breathing? Couldn't Trys see his flushed face?

He bit his lip as his eyes settled on the fifth Thriae, and the pleasant, warm static in his head crackled and flowed, smoothing over his worries. If the others weren't stopping him... surely he hadn't been looking so long, right? Surely he'd only been watching for a second or two. And that meant he was fine

He was fine.

He felt fine.

The fifth Thriae was also the closest. She sat in a honeybed alone, facing the door. She was a gorgeous strawberry blonde—the iconic image of a Thriae, the classic honeyed harlot, with an especially pronounced pair of hips that rocked with every thrust as she fucked herself.

Her tongue lolled out as she moaned and gasped, eyelids fluttering. Her sounds were almost animalistic. Almost mindless. She was fucking herself with her right hand, as with her left, she groped her breast—totally naked, like the rest of her—and pinched her dark nipple. Honey trickled out as she bit her lip and whined, convulsing in an orgasm. Behind her, her wasp wings fluttered weakly.

Brist stared at her, breathless. He knew, if he'd still had a sense of smell, he'd be practically brainwashed by the overpowering smell of Thriae arousal. He'd be totally enrapt by her pussy, her legs spread wide to present it to him as she panted and grunted and moaned. He'd be basically drooling, just like she was, as her nipples squirted out another little stream of delicious, addictive honey.

She looked brainless. Mindless. Brist couldn't even tell what she was looking at that had her fucking herself silly like this, but he couldn't believe anyone could be so... so dumb. So horny. So wonderfully, sweetly, brainlessly horny.

But she made it look so easy.

Brist watched her come once. Twice. Three times. It felt so easy to watch. To sink into the sight of the brainless slut. To imagine her seeing him, and realizing she could fuck him instead of her fingers—realizing how hard he was, how happy and obedient he would be if she just cooed to him and spred her arms—or pounced on him, overwhelmed him with kisses, with her taste, her hot, tight, slick pussy—

The thought made him feel so nice. So sweet and soft and squishy. So... warm...

Finally, his gaze drifted to the sixth Thriae, and he saw someone even dumber.

This Thriae was also coming, though it wasn't from her own attentions. She was bouncing on top of a squealing, screaming mead sprite—a man who had once been an elf, but who was now a living sex toy for this blonde bombshell.

She was curvier than the others, with a less narrow waist. Her form was, in general, softer, and she was a bit shorter. But her eyes were bright and filled with glee as she giggled. "That's it!" she squeaked down at her captive. "Come! Come! Fill me up, stud!"

The elf cried out, overwhelmed in his adoration as he bucked helplessly upwards, trapped beneath her in the honeybed. All he could do was obey.

The shortstack—by Thriae standards, anyways—tittered, wriggling atop him. She held his shoulders down as he tried to rise. "Nuh-uh!" she cooed. Her breasts bounced wildly, barely contained and not especially well-concealed by her thin, translucent white t-shirt. Her slightly curly blonde hair bounced, too. All she wore below was a short red skirt. "Like, you're gonna stay right there, sweetie!"

She bounced up and down. Brist watched, eyes wide, thoughts jiggling about helplessly, as her tits practically bounced free of the shirt altogether. She beamed, reached down, and hugged the helpless man to her chest—and started bathing him in kisses. "And—mwah—you're gonna, like—mwah—be suuuuch a good—mwah—good, goooood boy!" She pulled back, gigging. "Like, okay, baby?"

Trapped in her cleavage and overwhelmed by her kisses, it was all the boytoy could do, it seemed, to whimper, squirm, and obey.

The bimbo beegirl smirked. "Like, I thought so!" she purred, and Brist shivered as that voice seemed to trickle right into his ear, as if he was the one being cuddled. He could almost feel the warm embrace... almost feel his cock throbbing as the warm, slick cunt milked it endlessly, making him so big, and so obedient—

And helplessly, obediently, he let his vision drift to the seventh Thriae.

He regretted this instantly.

This Thriae was different. Instantly, he could tell that she was the most dangerous of the lot. She lounged back confidently in her honeybed, her gorgeous hourglass figure arched backward, thrusting her massive, heaving tits out for Brist's helpless admiration. Her long platinum-blonde hair spilled straight down her shoulders like a silver waterfall. Her heavy eyelids were a dusk gold as she smiled smugly down at her two playthings.

A man and a woman. They looked tiny next to her statuesque figure—she had to be at least six feet—and they clung to her so helplessly, they might as well have been kittens clinging to their mother.

And they were whimpering. Whining. Mewling.

As they suckled at her tits.

Brist watched in fascination, quivering, as she stroked their hair. Her touches were long, sensuous, as delicate and dainty as her long, slender fingers, the nails painted a bright blue. Unlike the rest of the Thriae, she wore a long, pretty white dress—almost a wedding gown—and was doing nothing to satisfy her whimpering toys' need. The man's cock was massive, hard and quivering as he faintly humped her knee. The woman's cunt was dripping juices down her legs as she straddled the Thriae's thigh and rubbed.

But mostly, they just sucked. Like good pets. Like good playthings. Like... like...

"Goooood babies," the Thriae was cooing, and Brist heard them whimper in bliss, and he realized they were close, so close to coming. "Mommy's taking good care of you, now. That's right, baby. Drink up. Feels so goooood..."

"Brist?"

Brist swallowed, as the Thriae's voice echoed in his ear, so close, so gentle. He felt so warm and soft and squishy. So needy. So good. He stroked faintly, humping his hand, biting his lip to hold in a moan.

"Brist?"

The new voice was closer, now. Not as close as the shortstack bimbo's giggling and degradation, though. Not as close as the mommy Thriae's praise and encouragement. His fingers sped in in their soft squeezes.

"Brist!"

He moaned softly. Not as close as the brainless Thriae's gasps and coos of wordless bliss. Not as close as the lifeguard Thriae's teasing and scolding, telling him to be grateful. Not as close as the three lovers' soft, sweet, wet kisses on his—

"Brist!" As the new voice came out as a hiss, a hand grabbed him by his long, curly bleached-white hair and yanked him away from the door.

Brist went careening back, and his whole world spun—as if he'd been whirled around a hundred times in a blindfold and just had the blindfold removed. He fell on his ass on the warm, smooth, sticky floor, and blinked up with wide eyes at... his team.