The Mango Tree Pt. 01

Content warnings: ~minotaur, naga, attempted non-con, puns

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Many years ago, in the days of the Three Crowned Kings, there lived an ascetic with snow-white hair on the slopes of the Nilamalai. She practiced fearsome austerities there in an ashram she'd built, or perhaps found. She was so old she could no longer remember, nor her own name for that matter. The ashram lay on a forested terrace next to a white waterfall. Crumbling redbrick steps led up to a forest meadow and down to a plunge pool frequented by yakshini nymphs and serpent-like naginis.

The old sage had lived there alone for many centuries. She ate withered roots and fallen fruit and drank the morning dew. She harmed no living thing, and was harmed by none. Her ashram served as a place of rest for every kind of bird and beast. Even tigers, jaguars, and wild gaur oxen lived there together in peace, and the elements themselves conspired to spare her refuge from fires and storms.

The pool below the waterfall lay at the heart of a charming grove filled with flowering trees bearing mangos, black plums, jackfruit, and figs. The banks were lined with soft rushes and fruit-bearing bushes, and the mirror-like water was adorned with pink kamala lotuses and night-blooming nilotpalas. Spotted deer and antelope were always to be seen there, along with cranes and songbirds and every kind of waterfowl.

Between the stair and the pool, firmly rooted, grew

an especially magnificent mango tree. It stood over a hundred feet tall, presiding over all the other trees with its broad, regal crown. By some enchantment or special grace, it bore both green and ripe mangos all through the year. Every day, the hermit would leave the grounds of her ashram and climb down to the old tree with offerings of flower petals, fruit, and water.

One day, when she came to perform her customary service, she found an adorable, black-skinned baby girl nestled in the roots. The girl had piercing amber eyes flecked with gold, and she was delightedly playing with a cluster of fragrant white mango flowers. The ascetic took her to her ashram and called her Amramanjari.

She made inquiries through her occasional visitors, but no one ever claimed the little girl, and in the end she raised her as if she were her own flesh and blood. She taught her to read and write and all the branches the learning proper to an ascetic. The beasts of the ashram each taught her their particular arts, and though she seldom spoke when she was young, the birds taught her to sing wordlessly with unutterable sweetness.

As she grew older, Manjari's mother sent her to be fostered first by the herdsmen of the mountain pastures and then by the brave huntsmen who still dared to ply their dangerous business in the treacherous, demon-haunted forest. When she returned to the ashram, she had grown into a fine young woman. She was clever and brave, and well-versed in the practical arts. And she was temperate and prudent as well, except when it came to full-breasted yakshinis and fine-waisted naginis.

I'm her twentieth year, in the waning days of the monsoon, the kurinji flowers bloomed, blanketing the high pastures in purple and blue for the first time in twelve years. The sage announced that she was going on a pilgrimage. She prepared her meager belongings for the journey and then turned to instruct her daughter.

"Manjari," she said, "you know that you are as dear to me as life itself. You must take care to protect yourself from the vicious creatures that inhabit this forest while I am away."

"Of course, Amma."

"You are not to leave the ashram grounds for any reason. Now I know the blood of youth runs hot," she said with a bushy white eyebrow raised and a wrinkled palm squeezing each of her daughter's shoulders.

"Ugh, Amma!"

"But you are not to go anywhere outside the grounds. Not even down to the pool." She squeezed hard and released her, gazing into her eyes with deep affection. "Not for any reason," she added pointedly.

Manjari bobbed her head noncommittally. She bowed to her mother with hands cupped in reverence as she doddered off. She waited until she was sure she was quite sure her mother was gone and then flitted off down to the pool.

The sage was right to be worried. The valley had once been densely peopled, but fratricidal wars had emptied the towns and driven off the cultivators. In their place came fearsome rakshasas. Perhaps they'd been drawn by the rivers of blood shed in the fields, or the darkness of the milkwood forest that slowly reclaimed the valley. They seized every human they came upon, slaying the lucky with horns and claws, the unlucky with dagger-like teeth. A fortunate handful escaped with most of their skin still attached, and their tales of horror helped discourage interlopers. Between the hermitage and the few holdout villages along the great river, the forest hosted only birds, beasts, and nighstalking, blood-drinking rakshasas.

Now among the demons, there were three who excelled all the others in strength and wickedness. They were great friends and fellow hunters. The eldest was called Vadhakapungava. He went about with a form like a man, but of giant proportions. He had the head of a wild gaur bull, and the strength, surly temper, and dull wits to match. Despite his great strength, he was perpetually frustrated. The rakshasi women would not deign to touch him, who had neither charm nor beauty. Like all his kind he could take any form he pleased, but he lacked the wit to choose one more pleasing to the female eye. The water-born yakshinis of the springs and pools were happy enough to show off their bodies and mutual love play, but they were far too slippery for him and would melt away effortlessly at his approach, so that they served him about as well as a mirage in a desert.

The others were the twins, of whom more hereafter. But they were off on one of their murderous jaunts when the hermit set out on her pilgrimage.

Vadhaka was bathing in a deep basin in the foothills to escape the heat, none too pleased with the passing of the rains. As the wheel would have it, he'd chosen a pool claimed by a pair of unusually salacious and mischievous yakshinis, Ratipriya and her cousin Kamini. They were appalled by his ugliness and offended by the filth of his body, and resolved to punish him for trespassing in their home. They waited until he submerged himself all the way down to his pale muzzle and took their places on the bank, striking appropriately sexy tribhanga poses.

Up, up out of the water rose his ashy gray forehead, his brown-black head, and his mountainous shoulders. He blinked, cleared the water from his eyes, and met with the intoxicating vision of their all but naked bodies. They had lotus petal eyes under dark, curved lashes, and their jasmine-white teeth flashed in the morning sun. Garlands of orange and yellow flowers adorned their necks, and beaded necklaces hung down between naked, alarmingly heavy breasts. Sheer, wet silk clung to their wide hips and lovely thighs, clasped with superfluous golden ornaments around their narrow waists.

As may well be imagined, the sight of their moonlike faces and faultless curves drove the bull-demon half-mad with lust. He sprang from the water in a single leap, scattering droplets of shining water from his horns, his body, and his rapidly stiffening cock.

The barefooted yakshinis giggled and fled on foot. They led him ever upward, through brambles and dense thickets of bamboo, always careful to stay just out of reach. Even when he was blinded by stinging sweat or obscuring foliage, the tinkling of their arm bangles and ankle bracelets led the way.

As he was struggling across a particularly deep pool, bleeding from a thousand little cuts and pinioned with thorns, his lust beginning to meld seamlessly into pure, violent rage, they paused to tease him a little more.

"Oh, such as strong, handsome man," said Priya from the bank as he slipped and struggled for footing in the muck, up to his nostrils in pond water.

"But whatever will he do when he catches us?" inquired Kami, and off they both went laughing gaily.

The nymphs led him on in this fashion for hours. He was a hot, torn, tangled mess on the very edge of exhaustion by the time they happened upon the pool below the ashram. Sweat poured in rivulets between the rippling muscles of his shoulders and chest, torturing the crisscross cuts in his flesh as he struggled to draw breath. He plunged immediately into the pool, desperate for relief from the heat and pain.

When he lifted his head again out of the water he was greeted with a most enraging sight. Dozens of yakshinis, each one as lovely as his tormentors, were crowded about near the far banks of the basin eating juicy, tart kalakai fruits and, despite the season, mangos. A beautiful, dark-skinned human with wavy black hair was floating in the water. White and red beauty streaks had been painted on her breasts by an uneven hand, and each arm was wrapped around a water nymph's shoulders. She enjoyed the nectar of one's lips while receiving love bites to the neck from the other. Two more held her knees almost to her chest and supported her in the water. A sky-blue, diamond-backed nagini, kept afloat by her undulating tail, had a pair of beckoning fingers inside her and a tongue swirling over her clit.

The bull-headed demon roared in frustration, lowering his head below his shoulders and pawing at the ground. Like a pack of flies shooed off a carcass, the yakshinis took off in an instant. The serpent woman hesitated, looking back and forth between her lover and the demon. Then she, too, dove into the deep water, leaving the young woman to face the beast alone.

Vadhaka fell down onto his long, massive arms, supporting himself on his knuckles like an ape. He snorted, twisted his horns threateningly, and charged. Manjari had already skittered like a monkey high up into the old mango tree, naked and unarmed. She figured he would veer off before contact, but instead he butted his thick head straight into the trunk and almost knocked her off. She lost her footing but caught the next branch as she fell and hauled herself back up before he could take advantage.

He roared and scraped his horns against the bark before stumbling back. With the active chase over and the scarlet-clad nymphs out of sight, his weariness started to overtake his anger. He snorted and circled below his prey, too dazed and listless to do any more for the moment.

The notes of an unfamiliar lullaby sprang unbidden into Manjari's mind. Seeing the demon's exhaustion, and with no better prospect, she began to sing them with the mournful voice of a whistling thrush. The dark bull looked up at her, perched on the balls of her feet with her arms stretched up to grasp the branches for support. Her knees were spread wide, her still-swollen inner lips were exposed, and her painted, muskmelon breasts were thrust forward by the arch in her back. Even this ravishing sight failed to stir him from his torpor, and the fire seemed to go out of his eyes. He listened to her sweet, droning song and his lids grew heavy and his legs grew weak. Soon he was drowsing on a bed of moss and shrubs.

The girl waited until he was completely still and snoring heavily, then carefully slid down the trunk. She crept past him too quietly for human ears to hear, but not too quietly for him. He stirred and gazed at her peacefully with big, brown eyes. She was frozen with fear, but he made no move to attack her. She was too far from the trunk and his arms were too long to risk a sudden bolt for the tree, so she started humming the lullaby and backing away as slowly as she dared.

He stood and followed, but made no attempt to close the distance. She kept up the song, terrified that it would fail her. But somehow she always knew just in time how to carry it forward, and it never failed to entrance him. She led him step by step up the old brick stairs toward the ashram. The ancient steps, hardly equal to bearing the hermit and her daughter, finally collapsed under his immense weight. He slid, fell, and tumbled violently down to the base of the hill. She took off running for the ashram as fast as her legs would carry her and hid herself in the hut.

⁂

Manjari awoke the next morning to the gentle caress of delicate fingers on her forehead. The two guilty yakshinis were beside her, curly-haired Priya lying next to her, Kami playing a charming melody on a seven-stringed veena.

"She's awake!"

Priya regarded her with a soft, apologetic expression. Manjari prevented herself with difficulty from slapping her stupid, sexy face. Though her own was pinched in anger, she made no hostile movement and the nymph planted a kiss on the corner of her mouth before withdrawing with laughter out of striking range.

"You dumb...!" The girl looked about, making sure no birds or small animals were close enough to hear. "You dumb sluts!" she whispered. "What were you thinking?!"

"We brought peace offerings."

Kami set aside her instrument and opened a banana leaf parcel, revealing an assortment of village confections, payasam pudding in a dish, sweet limes, lowland oranges, and a ripe mango. Manjari was still angry, but not enough to refuse rice pudding.

Priya knelt behind her and massaged between her shoulder blades while she ate. Kami picked stray leaves from Manjari's hair and, when she was finished with her grooming, moved on to caress her naked outer thighs. The human finished eating and glared at her, but she broke the tension by picking a gooey fleck of rice from the girl's lip.

"Who let you two in here, anyway?"

"You did, lovely." Kami's nails trailed onward to her inner thigh. The nymph, true to her name, was looking excited. Manjari found it hard not to reciprocate, especially with her amazing tits in her face. Whether by nature or art, yakshinis' breasts always float, weightless and perfectly rounded, as if halfway submerged in water.

"That was like two years ago," she objected. Her tone lacked its usual pleasing modulation, as she was somewhat distracted by Priya's lips on her neck.

"Can't rescind an invitation once given," came a low, sibilant voice from the doorway.

Nilambuja was leaning against the post, her slitted yellow eyes cast down even as she spoke. She glanced up for a moment, met Manjari's gaze, and turned away in shame. But she'd chosen a good time to seek forgiveness.

"Nila..." The nagini had stayed with her longer than anyone else, and she wasn't the one who'd put her in danger. Manjari gave her a sympathetic look. "Why don't you come finish what you started yesterday?"

Nila lowered her pale blue torso until it lay almost perpendicular to the floor and glided over. She was still too embarrassed to make eye contact, but she was grateful for the opportunity to redeem herself without receiving a tongue-lashing. The eye-like, heat-sensing depressions on either side of her nose burned with growing intensity as she came face to face with Manjari's aroused pussy, and the pit viper woman quickly forgot her shame. Half-mesmerized, she flicked out her forked tongue and drank in the girl's taste and scent together.

The reckless yakshinis, as intended, were burning visibly with envy to see their prize snatched away. Served them right, trying to get themselves a reward in the guise of punishment. Manjari lay back on Priya's pillowy, sandalwood-scented breasts and closed her eyes. The curly-haired nymph swallowed her pride and salvaged what she could, staking a claim to Manjari's lips before her cousin realized what she was doing. This left poor Kami, always eager to play but difficult to satisfy, with the least fulfilling tasks.

Least, but better than nothing. She did her best to sate herself playing with her tongue, lips, and teeth on Manjari's breasts and her hand on her belly. Fortunately for her, Nila was not a greedy lover. The nagini made no objection when Kami's hand worked its way down to Manjari's clit, where it drew featherlight circles in cooperation with Nila's encircling tongue.

The serpent girl curled her broad tail around, giving her fellow worker both a seat and a source of friction. The nymph straddled her, pressing her clit against her yielding scales. With slight movements of her hips, she put the soft keels of Nila's scales to a most excellent use.

Kami's well-practiced finger and Nila's exploring tongue quickly brought Manjari up and further up, to a remarkably nice place. She ground against Nila's jaw with increasing forcefulness until her orgasm crested, then fell still in her usual fashion. She silently enjoyed the blissful waves of pleasure that washed over her body as she came on Nila's pretty face and fingers. She let them both continue playing with her clit while she continued to cum, until the stimulation on her over-sensitized clit became more than she could take and she pushed them gently away.

Manjari was now in a much more forgiving mood, and so the cousins' punishment proved short-lived. She fingered Nila to a few well-deserved orgasms while her nub calmed down, then let Priya get her off with her mouth. She even relented and put Kami out of her misery with her fingers while the serpent handled Priya's needs with her tongue.

At some point she must have drifted off, because she awoke from a nap as the big spoon to a sleeping Priya's little. Kami sat cross-legged beside her playing with her hair with one hand and stealing laddoos from her parcel with the other. Nila, her tail looped in a great circle around all three of them, was noodling on the veena. To judge by the light it was almost midday.

"Ugh, why didn't you guys wait for me outside the ashram? Do you know how much trouble I'm going to get in when Amma comes back? There are literal rats here that will rat me out."

"I'm sorry." The nagini let her fingers fall still on the strings. "We just didn't feel safe with that guy still sitting out there."

"What guy?"

"That rakshasa bull."

If Manjari still had anything in her mouth she would have spit it out. She scrambled to her feet, awakening Priya in the process, and popped her head around the doorway. Sure enough, there he was, a mountain of brown-black flesh roasting in the midday sun. He was facing away looking out over the valley, his shoulders hunched, his muscle-bound dorsal ridge extending like a jagged mountain spur almost to the small of his back.

"Fuck." She spun back into the room. "Why the fuck did you not tell he was still here?!"

"I figured you knew. He was there all afternoon yesterday too."

Manjari had simply gone to sleep after her ordeal, trusting in the ashram to protect her. She peeped again around the edge of the door. He was just sitting there, unmoving apart from the occasional flick of his tail.

"Hey, you!!"

The bull-headed demon stood, tall as a palm tree, and turned to face the leaf hut. She almost laughed aloud at the sight of his comically dangly testicles but managed to regain her composure.

"What are you doing here?!"

He lowered his head beneath his shoulders, the way she'd seen buffalo do after losing a fight for dominance. He kept it there and made no further answer.

She didn't feel like conducting this whole conversation at the top of her lungs, so she risked flitting over to a sturdy banyan about halfway between them. She poked her head out and addressed him from behind the trunk.

"What do you want from me?"

He kept his head low. The terrace shook as he fell to his knees and stretched out both savagely-clawed hands with palms upward.

"What? Like, be my servant?"

He dipped his long neck even lower and held it there in a submissive posture. She looked at the black-horn claws sprouting around his fingertips. Old clotted blood was crusted around his nails and greasy fat from slain animals streaked his forearms.