The Milkmaid's Well

Nicole's Note: This story is from an amab man's point of view and contains fantasy nc (with some brainwashing), some ageplay themes, tease and denial, tickling, and everything else listed in the tags. Real-life con-noncon requires a lot of trust, safewords, and other things a fantasy can fudge a little. Enjoy the kink responsibly, and enjoy the story!

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Jack was being lowered down into a pit of terrifying darkness.

Jack was pretty sure he was dreaming, though, so it was okay.

He could tell it was a dream because he was looking down at himself from up above. He—or the other him—lay in a large wooden basket, head and feet sticking out. Jack studied himself. He was a small man, with dusky skin and particularly thick lashes that always got in his eyes. His hair was a brilliant, fiery red, and almost shoulder-length. He wasn't particularly strong, but he wasn't particularly weak, either, and his body was what most would consider 'tightly formed'.

I should really be wearing more clothes, Jack thought, shaking his head disapprovingly. It's cold down here.

He watched his other self slowly descend into the well.

And then his other self was waking up, and Jack was no longer looking down from above—he was seeing from his own eyes again. The basket had reached the bottom of the shaft.

He sat up—and found himself gazing up into the eyes of a golden-haired angel. Bull horns protruded from her head, and her breasts were enormous.

Such that he found he was already being smothered by them.

"Good boy," he heard her coo, stroking his hair.

And then she started to tickle him. He squeaked, but she held him tightly against her tits as her fingers danced over his form, under his arms. He tried to pull his arms in, squeaking with giggles, but hands spread them wide and mercilessly continued the attentions.

"Gitchy-gitchy-goo!" the holstaur sang in his ear, before licking him. He squealed and wept and giggled, thrashing helplessly, begging for mercy—

~~~~

"Come on, then! Wakey-wakey!"

His eyes shot open.

Jack lay on the grassy floor of the Greatest, Darkest Forest, his hands and feet bound by tangling, knotted ferns. Pale young women with red hair and bright green eyes surrounded him, giggling like mad as they ran ticklish ferns and fiddleheads over his nude form.

He shrieked as the ferns ran over his toes, and he thrashed in vain, lost in helpless giggles. "G-girls!" he managed. "Girls, p-please! P-Please!"

They at last relented, though not before one of them decided to get cute and sit down in his lap, pinning his cock against his belly. The redhead beamed at him, dimples rising up against her eyes. Her eyelashes fluttered demurely, as if she had no idea why he was so dreadfully red-faced.

"Sorry, Jackie," sang another one of the fern dryads, kissing him on the cheek as she got up and undid his bindings on his left hand. "But it's time to get up! You told us to wake you up just after sunrise, remember? You've got that quest to get on."

Jack blinked blearily up at her, wiping away some tears from laughter with his free hand. "Well, thank you," he said, beaming up at them. Despite his embarrassment, the druid couldn't exactly deny his delight at being awoken by a band of beautiful fey. "But what did I do to deserve this kind of agony?"

The dryad sitting atop him covered a giggle, smirking down at him. "Widdle Jackie-boy's cock was twitching!" she cooed, reaching down and pinching his cheeks. She knew how that annoyed him. "You were having a nice dream. We decided to make it about us!"

"Did it work?" asked another dryad, fixing her hair as she rose to her feet. With her toes, she delicately drew the binding plants from his right hand.

"Well..." He flexed his hands, giving the dryad atop him a coy grin. "Afraid not. Maybe you just, like, weren't making me feel enough."

"Ooh!" She put a hand to her red lips in astonishment. "Naughty!" She leaned in with a feral grin.

Her hand snaked down and gripped his cock tightly, causing him to gasp. "One of these days, some fey's gonna get tired of this cute li'l druid's attitude," she husked in his ear, before kissing him on the cheek. "And then she's gonna have him all to herself!"

He reached up his newly free hand and drew a simple spiral in the small of her back.

The dryad went rigid the second his fingers touched her skin. As they completed the first spiral, she began quivering. "O-oh," she managed. "You... you cheeky l-little..."

"What is it?" he asked innocently, continuing the Fey Spiral. He barely suppressed a giggle at the look on her face.

"I c-can't..." Her face was growing very red as his finger continued to stroke. "You're j-just trying to g-get me to..." Around and around and... "I'm not g-gonna..." Around and around and around... "... oh... ohhhh...

"Wicked little druid!" With a half-annoyed, half-delighted growl, she rose up, allowing his cock to spring to full erection, and impaled herself upon it. "OOoh!"

He beamed and closed his eyes, using his hands to help her bounce.

One of these days, maybe, his cockiness would see him punished.

But it wouldn't be a fern dryad to do it.

~~~~

Jack set out for the town about an hour later. It would have been earlier, but a few other dryads had understandably decided they needed to become involved, and... well. He was red-faced, and a bit sticky-haired, by the time he finally got walking.

He was such a bimbo sometimes. Just couldn't help himself. He knew he should feel bad about getting distracted, but he couldn't stop giggling as he remembered the look on the teasing dryad's face. He would have to find time to play with Marattii on the way back, that was for sure.

And because of the late start, it was early afternoon by the time he finally arrived at the small town of Crown.

The first thing Jack noticed was the hum, and he tried to ignore that. He tried to avoid even looking in the direction of the ley well, though he knew it was up there somewhere. Even at a distance, the ley well made his head buzz and his stomach churn. He didn't like to think of what it would do if he went a little bit closer.

Crown was a nice little village. Very... pastoral. About the cliché for a town in the Greatest, Darkest Forest, a forest that sometimes felt straight out of a fairy tale—as opposed to the Evergreen, which often seemed like something out of an extremely bawdy ballad. Or a horror story, depending. The houses were old and badly in need of long-term fixes, but patches to the thatched roofs and poles to help crumbling walls keep standing made do.

All in all, as he rode down the hill, Jack guessed Crown had perhaps sixty residents—at a high estimate. As a druid, Jack believed it was important to always take one's time, to find time to stop and kiss the rose hamadryads. But this visit wasn't for pleasure, and he was not currently feeling very well. He made a beeline for the longhouse.

The Lacratian Continent was peppered with scores—hundreds, maybe—of little villages, and most of them lacked a governing external body. As such, most could be expected to be run by a local council or chief, though occasionally villages banded together for mutual contact and connection. Crown was one of the more independent villages, but it was also the center of trade for the region due to its close connection to the ley lines. "Poison Crown, and you poison the rivers," as the locals said.

The longhouse was a, well, long house, roofed by spelled bark rather than thatch. The interior was lined with hammocks, bore several fireplaces, and had a narrow catwalk winding around the walls up above accessible by ladders.

Seated on the floor before Jack were the people he assumed to be the councilmembers. There were two very tall and broad men he took to be brothers, a very short and very old woman who reminded him of a woodcarving in the simplicity of her features, three children marked with the Signs of Old Eyes (a trio of painted eyes along each child's forehead), and a strikingly fair-skinned young woman smoking a cigar.

They looked up as he tapped his cudgel on the entranceway. "Ah!" exclaimed the young woman, springing to her feet. She set a mug of something white and frothing and probably alcoholic to the side, her eyes bright with relief. "So he is coming!"

"Slow feet," rumbled one of the brothers. "Trouble with the fern dryads, boy?"

Jack gave his best, most friendly smile to cover for the redness of his cheeks, brushing a bit of stickiness from his hair. "S-Sorry about the hour. It's a long ways from, like, where I was when I got the message."

"No, no, you mustn't worry!" The young woman clasped his hands in hers with a bright smile. Her eyes were a milky blue, contrasting sharply with her freckled face and bright red hair. Her hands were soft, but gripped his tightly. "Thank you for coming, druid! I am Meela, the Eyes of this council." She gestured with her cigar to the rest. "They are Bruul and Gunder, the Hands," gesturing to the brothers, "Aki, Belimen and Sars, the Voices," gesturing to the children, "and Old Woman Era, the Mind."

"I'm Jack."

"What a lovely name!" She giggled. "It's good you arrived here today. We were starting to worry."

"Aye!" The young boy named Sars scowled up at him. "Meela has been very worried!"

"Oh, well..." Meela adjusted her hair, pulling her hands back from Jack's at last. "Let's just say we really need your help."

"What's the problem?" He followed her back to the sit-down.

"Nothing terrible," Meela said, shrugging. "But best to be dealt with!"

"Some catgirls are causing all sorts of mischief," little Aki piped up. "Harrying shepherds, spooking cows. And they won't talk to us!"

"Is that all?" Jack raised his eyebrows at Meela. "That seems, like, not a lot for calling a druid for."

"A third-circle druid." Old Woman Era snorted. "If you'd been higher, it'd be different."

Jack laughed nervously, trying not to bite his lip in front of them.

Fair enough. He wasn't exactly high-tier. Still... "So you just want me to, um, like, talk to them?"

There was a short silence.

One of the brothers leaned in, eyes narrowed. "Look..."

"Yes!" Meela beamed. "That's all!" She patted the councilmember on the shoulder. "Nothing to worry about, really."

"They're acting funny," the brother muttered.

"Hush, Gunder," Bruul said with a sigh. "No more of this nonsense."

Jack glanced at Gunder. The man was completely shaven save for his eyebrows, and had what one might call a rather flat head and flat, squarish features. He was scowling down at his bowl. "Gunder, is there something... more I should know?" he asked politely.

Gunder chewed his inner lip.

"I think that's all!" Meela said, her grin almost manically wide as she stared down Gunder.

"Sorry about my brother," Bruul said, shaking his head with a smile. He took a sip from his mug and shrugged. "He has a habit of assuming the worst of things, and he hasn't been eating well of late. I think he must have skipped breakfast. That always makes him gloomier."

"Yes," said Old Woman Era, staring balefully down at her own empty mug, "with all these troubles, some villagers aren't taking care of themselves proper. Don't worry yourself of it, druid. I'm sure it will be settled when your work is done."

Jack frowned, looking first at Gunder, then at the three children, who also seemed perplexed. But Era, Bruul and Meela seemed quite certain.

"If there's something he noticed," Jack said at last, "I should... probably hear about it. Is there, Gunder?"

There was a long pause.

Gunder looked up at Jack and grimaced.

"He didn't get anything to drink this morning," Belimen piped up. Belimen was the youngest of the Old Eyes. "That puts him in a bad mood."

"Belimen," Old Woman Era scolded.

"It's what the fairies said!" Belimen protested. "I'm just saying what they said! Really!"

"Yeah," Gunder's voice was a low grumble, "that's probably it. Just a bad mood. But I never known catgirls to refuse to talk to the Old Eyes before. So... maybe not."

There was a long silence.

Catgirls refusing to talk to 'Old Eyes' was a bit unusual, Jack had to admit. Children marked with the paints signifying their precocious council status were meant specifically to serve as ambassadors to the fey world—fey always liked children, after all, and would almost never do anything to harm them. In a village with a ley well, it was doubly important to stay on the fey's good sides.

Jack had known a few catgirls over the years. His good friend Lim was like an eccentric aunt to the young druids-in-training, and always brought them strange presents and had the best disturbing stories. Gunder wasn't wrong. It was strange.

Meela finally broke the silence with a cautious smile towards Jack. "Would you like anything for lunch? One of our hunters caught a boar yesterday! A young one, but it's good meat."

Jack's stomach rumbled a little, but he smiled and shook his head gallantly. "No, Miss, I should be going. It seems I have a clowder of catgirls to take care of!"

~~~~

The town of Crown was surrounded on all sides by forest and hills—a common place to build settlements, as the hills would ideally hinder mortal invasion while offering escape from forest fey, and the forest would offer a place to flee if you preferred to chance the forest fey rather than the invaders.

He knew that the ley well lay atop the tallest hill, so for now, he decided to stick to the forests. He had a feeling the catgirls would come to him no matter where he went, and he... really didn't want to go near the well.

And it was so that he found himself making camp that night beneath tall, emerald-leafed sugar maples.

It hadn't been a very successful search. Jack hadn't seen any fey—no catgirls, no fairies, not even a fern dryad to keep him warm tonight. He was a bit sad about it, though admittedly, the last thing he needed right now was another distraction. The buzz from the well still hovered, everpresent, ever-unwanted.

Jack smiled down at the mossy ground. "A favor?" he said to thin air, and slipped into the World Base.

The world around him was immersed in life, of course. The darkness rustled with living winds, the leaves above blossomed in glorious glowing veins, and all around he could sense the heartbeats of all sorts of little beasts. Nothing large enough to be a threat. And no fey.

In the distance, he felt an unpleasant buzzing, and couldn't help but glance to the northeast. There, behind the verdant swirl of the forest, he felt the ley well—a faraway maelstrom of collecting energies. It unnerved him, and he quickly turned back to his task.

Of course, all life was beautiful, but one didn't generally want to sleep on it all. Bowing, he carefully 'asked' the grubs and worms and spiders beneath the leaves and moss to make their way off to other parts of the wood, 'requested' the moss to grow larger and fluffier, and 'persuaded' the water to recede, giving him a nice, dry, mossy bed.

He set down his bag to serve as a pillow. There. He had officially made camp.

With a happy sigh, the druid lay back against the moss.

He hoped he had even better dreams tonight.

~~~~

Jack's eyes shot open.

"Someone there?" he heard himself call out.

His heart was pounding. He had definitely heard something moving.

Or... had it just been a dream?

He grimaced, rubbing his head as he looked around. He had to have been asleep for... what, an hour? More? The forest was abuzz with the chirpings and croakings and whistles of life, and on any other night he would welcome this, welcome the hum of the mosquitoes and the chirrups of the potoos that ate the mosquitoes.

But tonight felt... different.

He hugged his belly, whimpering as his head buzzed unpleasantly. Tonight he was sleeping near a ley well. And there were no giggling fern dryads to keep his mind off it. Not even one.

That was what had woken him up, the young druid realized, biting his lip hard. That horrible, horrible buzzing. He needed a companion, or a good meal, or a nice game of mesmerjill—anything to distract him a little!

A drink would do me good, he thought, his lower lip quivering. Reaching into his bag/pillow, he drew out his trusty skin of emptiness, a wineskin enchanted to... well, he didn't fully understand the science of it, but it kept his drinks cool, and he'd left something with an extra kick in this one. Mulled peach wine from an orchard dryad's collection.

Things would be just peachy in a second, he thought, giggling a little. He already felt a little better. He popped the cap off the wineskin and took a swig.

A second later, he spat out the contents with a shriek. WHAT.

He stared at the wineskin in betrayal. When... when did I put milk in this thing?

Then, in anger, Who stole my wine?!

Jack was on his feet in moments, bag hefted over his shoulder. The taste of the milk lingered on his tongue as he scanned the darkness. It was... sweet. Very creamy, almost like cream. A bit spicy, like a rompope, but... no, there was something about it he didn't like.

Or, rather, he really liked it. He spat again, trying to clear his head of a momentary haze. There was something very unusual about that—

He heard a giggle from the trees, abruptly cut off as if somebody had covered her mouth. He spun around as something almost like a squirrel—but not quite a squirrel—sprang down from a branch and into darkness.

It definitely wasn't a squirrel. Not even dire squirrels grew that big.

But only one other creature climbed like that.

A catgirl.

Or a troll chipmunk. He paused, about to take off.

Troll chipmunks weren't indigenous to this region.

He took off at a run.

Jack raced after the vanishing silhouette. "Hey!" he shouted. "Hey, I just—" He ducked under a low-ganging branch. "Hey, I just wanna talk!"

Only a giggle answered him. Whoever she was, this catgirl was quick. He made out her curvy form from above, and he couldn't help but admire her form against the moonlight.

She raced from branch to branch, brachiating with the ease of a bird in the air. She was going to lose him at this rate—or worse, lead him into trouble of some sort. The last thing Jack needed was to get sidetrekked for a few nights with an alraune or something.

Jack took a deep breath as he ran and tried to summon the World Base to him. He touched it only briefly, however—only long enough to ask another favor.

As his foot landed on a large root, that root suddenly rocketed upwards, sending him flying into the air. Jack soared, heart pounding—he didn't really like heights—and managed to grab onto a branch about ten feet up.

Please, he thought, and the branch obligingly swung him forward after his quarry. He flew a short ways, and for a moment, he was falling in darkness.

Then another branch caught him and launched him again.

Wow, he thought, marveling at his success. He'd only occasionally been able to get the trees to be so helpful in the past. I hate this.

As a fourth branch wrapped delicately around his torso and tossed him forward, he saw the silhouette of the catgirl stop, turning to stare at him. Her green eyes shone in astonishment, and her mouth hung open.

He collided with her with a cry, and they both went tumbling off of her branch.

They had only been fifteen feet up luckily, and catgirls always landed on their feet. He clung to her shoulder as they tumbled into a mass of dead leaves—and grubs, and spiders, and worms, and mud—and went rolling down into a small creek.