Kinktober 2020 - Day 04

{Trying something different with this one. We're in third person omniscient instead of first person. Quinn does feature, but not until the end. I'd also like to say that Ewan and Quinn are from different kingdoms, and served different kings. I tried to make it kind of obvious, but as the author everything is obvious to me, and I'm not sure if one line about a king's feelings about magic is enough to convey what I meant to everyone else.}

He'd never been in the Endless Wood before. Not surprising, as it was forbidden. But, when one's liege requested a pixie for his menagerie, you went into the Wood looking for one. That's what aging Champions were for, after all. Sir Ewan had repeated that to himself as he stood at the edge of the wood, he'd muttered it to himself as he wandered further into the darkness of the trees, he'd whispered it under his breath as he hid behind a tree from what he assumed was a troll.

No matter how brave his majesty believed him to be, Ewan was well aware of his limitations, and the near certainty of his death in the wood. As the king's champion, he had no property of his own, no family, and his only friends had mostly been injured or pushed to insanity after their last campaign against a horde of goblins. He'd taken the task of procuring a faerie knowing it was suicide, but unwilling to balk at the chance to become a legend post mortem.

The bards always sang about brave knights disappearing into the Endless Wood on some quest, never to be seen again. Maybe it was romantic, but Ewan was too jaded to feel the same. He just didn't want his name to be forgotten. Years dedicated to the battlefield had taken any hope he had of extending his family tree, leaving him grey at the temples, with scars over most of his body. He'd seen the way the ladies at court looked at him with either pity or fear.

It was fine, though, he'd wanted for nothing in his youth, and only recently found himself lonely at court. His majesty was still sending small platoons to test his neighbor's borders, but he'd largely disbanded his troops. There were guards for the palace, and of course he kept a small standing army, but the duties for his champion changed dramatically in the relative peace. No longer was Ewan the head general of a vast army, now he was meant to oversee the castle guard, to duel for the entertainment of the court, and to go fetch magical creatures from the horribly cursed forest.

Ewan let out a sigh, this was the third time he'd seen this huge tree with the strange leaning posture. He was going in circles, probably due to no fault of his own. The Endless Wood was known for being a maze; the land shifting under your feet until you were helplessly lost. The kindest death here would probably be starvation.

It was time for a rest, Ewan removed the pack from his back, leaning his sword against the tree and sat heavily among the huge root system. He drank from his water skin and closed his eyes, he'd been walking for hours and found himself exhausted, despite wearing only his chainmail beneath his tunic and breeches. He'd sleep a little now, while the sun was high in the sky, since he'd need to be on alert at night.

The tree seemed to cradle him as he leaned back against it, relaxing his head and allowing his body to get heavy. He'd keep an ear open to any creature's approach, but otherwise he surrendered to sleep.

~~

Ewan found himself in a deep darkness; the restful dreamscape that was nothing but the comfort of heavy limbs that need not be lifted. He was aware of the warmth of the dapples of sunlight on his skin, and the breeze in his hair. He could hear birds chirping somewhere, and the drone of bugs in the glow of the golden afternoon.

He drifted into unconsciousness again, unaware of his body as his brain shut down completely. When he became aware of his body again, there was a weight in his lap. Being no fool, he stayed still, eyes closed as he assessed the situation.

No matter how deeply he slept, Ewan was always able to wake at the slightest sound. Years of sleeping rough had trained him to be a light sleeper in that regard. So if there was a weight in his lap, he would have heard the creature approaching him. But he didn't. So what could it be?

The weight was shifting against him rhythmically, pressing against his groin, then rolling back over his thighs. It felt nice, but not like the motions of any animal he could imagine. He slowly cracked his eyes open, and sucked in a sharp breath at what he saw.

There was a woman-or, something woman shaped-in his lap. Her skin was dark, and swirled with lighter shades of brown and gold. The streaks whorled across the generous arch of her ass as it worked against his lap. The sight of the curves pressed tightly to his hips, combined with a roll of her pelvis pressed a moan from his chest.

She looked over her shoulder at him, long tendrils of leafy hair obscuring her top half and part of her face. Dark brown eyes, long green lashes, a small shy smile. He couldn't figure out where she had come from, or what she was, for that matter. She definitely looked like a woman, and when he tentatively ran a hand around the swell of her thigh where it braced her beside his own it felt warm, but the smoothness was inhuman.

She felt like she'd been sanded, buffed, and polished, and the way the golden swirls in her skin reflected the light struck the champion as a familiar sight. While he still puzzled over how she had been able to find her perch without waking him, she rolled her upper body back against his chest.

Her curves were generous, and though she was tall, she fit nicely against him. Ewan looked over her shoulder, down her front. He could see past her heavy breasts-nipples soft and plush-down the softness of her belly that shifted with the muscles beneath as she worked her hips in small circles, all the way to the thick inviting cushion of her labia.

The brown eyes were turned on him, watching carefully as he took in the shapes of her body. She could see the hunger in his expression, and the hardness growing beneath her confirmed her suspicions. His hands had lifted to hover over her thighs when she'd leaned back, but now she grabbed them and placed them on her breasts.

He let out a groan, hiding his mouth against her shoulder to stifle his sounds as he drank in the sight of his hands overflowing with her bosom. She made no sound as he twisted her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers until they were tight and pointed, only her body's reactions gave away any sign of her pleasure.

Suddenly she sat up, his hands trailed down around her sides to frame her hips. She lifted off of his lap, hips flicking up and rippling the bountiful planes of her ass and thighs. Before he had time to react, she'd stood and spun around, crouching back down over his lap, her tits hovering before his face.

He gripped her, not too tightly, around the rip cage, thumbs framing the underside of her breasts. She rolled her body, pressing his face into the soft give of her bust before the motion slid down her spine and into her hips, pinning him beneath her again.

His cock throbbed in his pants as she rocked against him, the sight of her open-mouth expression paired with the soft brush of her breasts against his face with every roll of her body down into his lap had him throwing his head back. He didn't want to miss anything, so he kept his eyes open, despite how his lids felt weighted.

The torture continued; the woman made no attempt to untie his breeches, and though she seemed to be enjoying herself, he felt no wetness when she pressed hard into his lap. She made no sound, and he did his best to smother his; a task that became more difficult as he could feel precum wetting the front of his smallclothes.

He began to wonder what her goal was. She apparently had no intentions of riding him properly, and he had no desire to force himself on her, but his balls began to ache with the desire to cum. Ewan gripped her hips, probably too hard, and thrust up against her. Her hands came down to clutch his shoulders for stability, and her face twisted into what could be pain or could be extreme pleasure.

He tried to rein it in a bit, to be less rough on her bare skin, since he still had on all of his clothes-including his belt. It was the feeling of her hips rocking down to meet his next couple of thrusts that had him cumming in his pants, the thick warmth spreading as they continued moving against each other.

Exhaustion swept over him with the wave of his orgasm and Ewan went lax beneath the dark lady. His eyes closed and he felt the weight leave his lap after a few heavy breaths. His breathing was evening out, though, and he didn't have the strength to see where she went.

~~

When Ewan opened his eyes again, it was because he heard the crunch of footsteps approaching him. The light had faded to late afternoon, the cold cum in his pants sent a wave of embarrassed heat to his face as he stood and looked into the gloomy darkness of the wood.

From between the trees came a woman-definitely a woman, not just woman shaped-dressed in cloak, apron, and dress. She carried a basket full of the green sprigs of many different kinds of plants. Her eyebrows raised in surprise when she saw him.

"Who are you?" She asked, not quite rudely, but it was not meant to be a friendly greeting.

"I'm Sir Ewan, on business for my liege." Ewan replied, re-strapping his sword to his belt and slinging his pack over his shoulder.

"What sort of business?" The woman was more suspicious now, mouth pressed to a tight line, brow furrowed.

"Nothing to worry yourself about," Ewan would never admit he found the king's task a bit humiliating. To say the words out loud 'I'm here to catch a fairy' just wasn't something he thought he could manage while also hyper aware of the thick congealed puddle in his pants. "Who are you?" He asked instead.

"I'm Quinn. The Witch of the Wood." While the woman wasn't very tall, she seemed to loom a bit as she introduced herself.

Ewan knew better than to challenge such a person. Hell, he'd avoided magicians entirely for most of his life. It was part of why he'd pledged allegiance to King Harald; he was the only king who refused to keep a court magician. Now, he found he may need to rely on one if he was going to have any hope of escaping the Wood.

"A pleasure," he bowed, playing it safe. The Endless Wood was technically the Witch's property-as much as it could be anyone's-and if he treated her as one would when visiting a foreign dignitary, maybe he could broker a peaceful agreement that could end with him returning to his king.

The witch eyed him, lingering on what must be a wet spot on the front of his pants. Her gaze met his, then flicked to the tree he'd been leaning against, and back to his with a sharp little smirk to set it off.

"Did you have a restful stop, Sir Ewan?"

He flushed, he could feel the heat in his face. He, a grown man, made to flush before a woman who looked young enough to be his daughter. She stepped closer to him, smile gleaming in the fading light. Her eyes seemed to glow as she looked at him, looked through him. He felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Well, come along then," she said when he only stood there staring at her. She turned away from him with a swish of her skirts.

He stumbled over the roots of the leaning tree before finding his footing and following the petite figure.

"Where are we going?" He found he was struggling to keep up with her smaller strides; as if the ground passed more quickly under her feet.

"Back to mine." She glanced over her shoulder at him, down at his crotch, and back to his face. "I thought you might want to clean up. And you can stay the night, if you'd like." Then she had turned away from him again.

"I couldn't. I don't have any way to pay you. I have nothing of value." He tried not to put the idea in her mind that she might invoke some terrible cost for a night's lodging. He'd heard of terrible deeds performed by witches, especially those holding titles as lofty as Wicked Witch of the Wood.

She only laughed a little. "Don't worry. You've nothing I want that will cause you any harm." She threw a glance at him over her shoulder than made his skin break out in goose flesh.

~~

It wasn't long before he could hear the sounds of a brook, and then they were in the clearing. The witch's cottage stood untouched by overgrowth. Recently mended thatch in places, but an overall welcoming demeanor, if a bit slouched. She led him around the side closest to the water, leaving her basket on the porch before grabbing a bar of soap and a towel.

He took them and dropped his pack on the porch. She motioned with her head to the creek and he went down the bank to strip and wash. He emerged feeling much better. He was forced to walk back to the house in only his tunic and boots; his belt, the towel, and his wet-but clean-pants clutched in his hand. He stealthily approached his pack on the porch and dug out a pair of hose.

Ewan had barely slid them over his hips when he heard the witch behind him.

"She came out to you, didn't she?"

He turned and saw her leaning against the wall, arms crossed and a smug knowing smile lifting her cheeks.

"Who?" Ewan wanted to say he was playing dumb, but he really wasn't sure if he'd dreamed the woman shaped creature he'd experienced earlier.

"The dryad." The witch looked at him expectantly. He kept his expression blank, she huffed in exasperation. "The dryad who teased you to completion without even removing your breeches?"

Ewan could feel how red his face was at her words. She laughed at him.

"It's alright. The tree is nice for napping on, leaning and covered in moss as it is. You're not the first, and you won't be the last, to have a very pleasant nap beneath its branches." The witch winked at him and motioned for him to come inside. "Come along, I've got supper ready. Once we eat we can bed down, but I've only got one mattress, so I hope you don't snore." Her eyes flashed and the door swung shut behind her.

Ewan stood in the growing darkness at the edge of the porch. This was not how he imagined his time in the Endless Wood would go. He'd still not seen a fairy, but the uncertainty about whether he'd ever make it out of the wood was palpable.