The Woods Behind Cascadia Home Ch. 01

INTRODUCTION:

Meet Ziffy!

It was Tom Alden, retired electrician from Beaverton, Oregon, that discovered the the long-kept secrets of the woods behind the Cascadia Home Retirement Community. Situated in the Cascade Mountains, near Corvalis, Cascadia Home was formerly known as "Roslov Manor." It was built by Yuri Roslov (an immigrant from Kamchatka), beginning construction in 1878.

Landing in Portland in 1865, Yuri started out as a simple logger. And through hard work, and determination, he soon had his own operation by 1870. Two-years later, he had his own lumber mill. One mill turned into two, then three, whereupon he began to invest in every lucrative industry west of the Mississippi River: gold and silver mines, cattle, breweries, vineyards, and so-forth. And by 1880, Yuri had become one of the wealthiest men in Oregon—if not the entire Pacific Northwest. That same year, while his mansion was still being constructed, Yuri took his wife and children on a tour of Europe. While this was a vacation meant for leisure, he also had another purpose in mind.

Yuri had a penchant for the occult, arcane, folklore, and myth. While this was well-known to all that knew him personally, what they didn't know was that he was also a devout believer in these things. And when in London, he used his connections to find a man that claimed to be a sorcerer, from whom he acquired a small, magic box. The box, itself, wasn't much to look at: about the size of a snuff-box, tarnished bronze, with no flourishes nor decorations to speak of. Yet, it could be easily carried in a coat pocket. And this suited Yuri just fine, although he paid a small fortune for it. After all, enchanted items don't come cheap!

He was told by the sorcerer, that taking this box into a forest, and saying, "bhailiú" (the Irish-Gaelic word that means to gather, or collect), the box would do so. And then buring the box, in a new location of his choice, would release the spirits to inhabit that location. However, it had to be one of the forests that was, of course, inhabited by such magical creatures for them to be collected. And, not all of them were. However, Yuri had a good notion of where to start...

Leaving his family in London to enjoy the museums, theatres, and other attractions for monied-visitors to Victoria's Realm, he took a train to Scotland, and then a coach to the villages of the Highlands. He did the same in Strasbourg, Germany, heading out for a small village called, Wolfach, deep in the Black Forest. He would do this throughout Europe: Marseilles, Athens, Naples, St. Petersburg, Vienna, Seville... Until, two-years later, after an extended vacation, they would return home, to Oregon, to a completed mansion. But, the secret of what Yuri had done to the forest surrounding the estate would die with him thirty-five years later...

A century later, the Roslov's would abandon the old estate—for more modern, lavish homes, dotted all over the globe—leaving it in a trust for the Catholic Charities of Northern Oregon. This was, naturally, a business decision, being that the family was Russian Orthodox, and not Catholic. However, they knew that going with the Church of Rome, for this, would ensure that their ancestral property would be put to good use, by an organization that had the money to do so. And they were right... It took some time, but the mansion was converted to a modern facility with all the amenities like satellite television and high-speed WiFi, as well as a state-of-the-art medical facility. And this is where Tom Alden found himself, at 65-years-old, newly retired, and ready for the slow-paced lifestyle of living in the country.

Why am I telling you all of this?

Well, I just wanted to get the "background" of this fantastical tale out of the way. I mean, why stand on pretense? Oh, sure... I could given it to you, bit-by-bit, as the story unfolded, but there are plenty of other mysteries, surprises, and plot-twists to come, anyway!

And, oh... I almost forgot... as to Yuri's motivation for collecting all these forest-spirits for his own estate (and, by-the-way, the "sorcerer" was no charlatan, and all he promised was quite real): Yuri was an incorrigible satyriasis (the male-version of a "nymphomaniac"); the man would fuck anything that moved. So, presumably, with all the nymphs, dryads, and other similar creatures—now inhabiting the forests on his property—Yuri died a happy man. After all, he worked hard for it; he earned it...

And let me apologize to you (the reader) for breaking the "forth-wall". I'll try not to do it, again...

***

Tom woke up every morning at 4:30am, as was his habit for the past forty-three years. And as anybody who has ever worked in the construction trades know, being up before dawn is pretty much a given. He, then, immediately, headed for the coffee-maker in the kitchen of his modest, one-bedroom cottage. True, having one of the few outlaying—and very private—cottages on the grounds was much more expensive than just a simple room in the converted mansion (he was told his cottage was the butler's quarters up until the 1970's). But Tom could afford it, seeing that he made a good living before he retired, had a generous pension, and made the right investments, as to make sure his "golden-years" were quite comfortable.

After a hitch in the navy as an Electrician's Mate, he returned to his native Portland, and promptly got a union job in his chosen trade. He considered himself one pretty lucky guy, being one of those that seemed to have made all-the-right-moves/at-the-right-time, and seemed to avoid any life-changing disaster when times got tough. But this was not because he was especially savvy or smart, it was just blind-ass luck, he reckoned. However, he never married, nor had a family; he was a life-long bachelor. But once again, this was not by any plan, or design; just the random chaos of the Universe. So, after coffee, breakfast, and a shower, he thought about heading to the rec-room, and flirting with the eligible biddies that would surely be there—trolling for cock. But, "Nah," he thought, and headed for the woods, and a nice leisurely stroll through nature's splendor.

Tom went as far as he dared without getting lost. Although he prided himself on his sense-of-direction, a man, after all, has to know his limitations. It was then that he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. At first, the adrenaline hit, and his heart began to race. It was the typical "fight-or-flight" response (exacerbated by the hyper-vigilance he had began to experienced after some pretty scary encounters, due to frequenting places of vice and indulgence in foreign ports). Yet, upon focusing on the source, he saw it was a young girl frolicking about. But, she was... naked?!

"Child," he called to her, "are you okay?"

Even as he asked, he knew the question was stupid. She seemed to be having a lot of fun, dancing about. She didn't even look dirty, or disheveled. She looked vibrant, healthy, and in good spirits.

Her response was to laugh, playfully, directly at him, making eye contact, and beckoning him to follow her with a wave of her arm, as she turned and went deeper into the woods.

"What the fuck," Tom muttered the question to no one, incredulously, as he began to set out in the direction the girl had retreated.

He followed in that direction, but saw no sign of her. He had gone through the forest, at a rapid pace, for more than a few minutes, and knew he was surely lost. And he was about to give up his pursuit, and do his best to find his way back, when the naked girl popped out from behind a tree. He jumped back, startled, but quickly calmed himself.

"Greetings, elder-man," she said, cheerfully, with a tinkling in her voice that made it seem as if tiny bells chimed in her throat with every word, "I am, Xypnise. Call me 'Ziffy,' for short... Yuri always did."

Yuri, he recalled... he had read the history of Cascadia Home on their website, and knew that the place was built by Yuri Roslov in the 19th-century. But how could a teenage girl?.. The question died in his mind as he finally noticed the girl's pointed ears and up-turned eyebrows. Logically, he knew it was impossible. Yet, that same logic was leading him to the only "possible" conclusion: elves were real!

"I'm not an elf," she told him, quite matter-of-factly, sounding as if she was almost insulted, "I am a wood-nymph! And you can call me, 'Ziffy'!"

"Sorry, Ziffy," he replied, his words were monotone from shock as he realized the girl had just read his mind. And then his brow furrowed as he asked, "How old are you," thinking she didn't look any older than eighteen.

"Not a day over three-thousand-twenty-two," she announced, proudly. But then amended in a wavering, uncertain, voice, "Although, I did lose count a couple-hundred winters ago..."

"'Xypnise,'" he pondered, "that sounds Greek."

"It is," she confirmed, seeming quite proud that the mortal knew something of etymology, "I come from a forest not far from the Kingdom of Thrace!"

"Well, how do you know English, then?"

"I'm not speaking English, silly," she told him, coquettishly, with a flirtatious wave of fingers, "You just hear it that way. You know... mythical, magical being, and all... duh?.."

Tom laughed, uproariously, at her turn of phrase (or, at least, what she intended him to hear), and then admitted, "I'm sorry, Ziffy, but I've just met a 'being' I thought to be nothing but the creation of folklore. It's a bit much to take in. Sorry if I'm a bit curious," he concluded. Well, curious, and surprised with himself that he was so easily accepting this situation. But then again, he reckoned, the odds of meeting a delusional, naked teenage girl or a 3000-year-old wood-nymph, out in the middle of nowhere, were probably not all that dissimilar—especially considering that there were no national parks nor campgrounds anywhere near Cascadia Home.

"Well, I'm growing tired of all these question," she told him, with no hint of exasperation, but with a tone that was almost lurid, and then asked, just as luridly, if not more blatantly lurid, "Are you gonna' fuck me, or what?"

Ziffy didn't wait for a reply as she went to her knees in front of him, and started to undo his trousers. Within a few seconds, she had freed his rigid manhood, and was holding it in her soft hand, looking upon it hungrily. To which, Tom was in somewhat of a daze, watching the beautiful, young-looking girl go about her carnal business. And she was beautiful, with her tawny hair, and large, light brown eyes.

Ziffy was bronze skinned, and of petite proportions, no more than five-feet tall. The swell of her breasts were barely noticeable, yet she had very dark and pronounced nipples. She had no pubic hair, nor was there any sign of follicles for such in that region as if she shaved herself. So, it didn't come as a surprise, as he would find out later, that most of the Fae races (faeries, elves, dryads, nymphs, pixies, and the like) didn't grow bodily hair at all.

Tom groaned pruriently, as she ran her tongue along the underside of his rigid shaft as she looked up at him lustfully, and said, "Oh, yes, a nice thick one," the wood-nymph purred, after her tongue had completed its languid journey, "It's been so long since I've had some human-cock! And you humans are my preference... perhaps it's because you're mortal," she pondered, as she stroked his length, "and your lives are so short. You all seem to fuck like its your last time," with this she plunged her warm, wet mouth over his throbbing meat, and began to suck, working it both orally and manually.

"Oh, shit," Tom murmured in between his own salacious mewlings, "this isn't real... this can't be happening..."

"Oh, but it is, Thomas," Ziffy informed him, as she paused her workings, just long enough to reply. And it was then, even through his carnal haze, he realized that he never told her his name. This was yet another few points in favor of faeries and magic being real, over delusional teenage girls wandering naked in the wilderness. And as time would pass, he would always think it peculiar, while she insisted that he call her by her nickname, she would never refer to him as just, "Tom."

"Enough of this," Ziffy declare, as she abruptly stopped sucking him off, and got to her feet, "I don't want you to cum so soon, and I need it inside me," she told him, as she turned, bent over, and braced herself against a tree, "Now, fuck me!"

Tom had never been one of those "blue-pill" men. Even at his age, he seemed to get a hard-on every time the wind shifted direction. True, he no longer had the stamina of his youth, but had no problem with getting an erection—even when only slightly aroused. Consequently, Tom only pause to get his pants all the way off before positioning himself right behind the nymph's delicious little rump.

He couldn't believe the wetness, the heat, and the taut grip of Ziffy's inflamed sex as he slowly pushed inside her. It was as if she was a young virgin, with a scorching fever, pouring out a torrent of girl-cum. He had never felt a pussy this good! And despite all of his years of experience in carnal matters, all of his control he had acquired, he thought he might shoot his wad before he got all the way inside her.

And he did...

Before Tom could get control over himself, he flooded the beautiful nymph with his seed. It was shooting out in powerful jets, saturating her depths, and filling her womb. He felt ashamed of himself for being a "one-pump-chump." But, much to his surprise, his cock didn't go limp after the gratifying release! It stayed just as swollen and rigid as he began to furiously thrust at her magical fuck-tunnel.

Upon feeling his jism flooding her insides, Ziffy felt her own orgasm overwhelm her, and grow, as he began to hammer her dripping snatch with wild abandon, as she unabashedly cried out, "OH, FUCK, YES! Fuck me, Thomas! Cum in me, again!"

Thomas did his best to oblige her as morning waned into afternoon, and afternoon became early-evening. He took her in every position imaginable on the forest floor. And when his battered manhood did need a rest, he would go down on her, savoring the most delectable pussy he ever tasted! He had heard of pussy-juice being referred to as "nectar," and had used the term, himself, many times... but this was the real-deal! She was so musky and sweet that he could get enough of it! Lapping, sucking, and gently nibbling, at her engorged clit, he relished the feel of her slight frame buck and spasm under his unrelenting tongue as she climaxed again-and-again.

The nymph laid her self on her back splaying her legs wide in carnal invitation. And Tom took hold of his burgeoning rod, accepting that invitation, aiming it at her hot cunt that dripped her own juices, as well as a goodly amount of his own spunk. Once again, as he head done so many times that day, he plunged into her tight, sopping box. He fucked her hard as he moaned his bliss, and she bleated and brayed with his every thrust. She pumped her hips in perfect rhythm to match him, making his pounding of her abused sex even more intense. And as she writhed, in what seemed a perpetual orgasm, he fired-off another load of his molten man-batter inside her twitching tunnel.

Tom sat back, exhausted, and trying to catch his breath. His cock was now beginning to droop and shrink. He was tired, and thought he could take no more. But Ziffy was not yet done as she rose, and took his limp tool into her hungered maw. It took a few moments, but his manhood sprung to life, as she ravenously worked him with mouth and hand. And she continued to do so for quite some time, with a seemingly endless vigor. But this time, she did not stop to mount him, she just kept going until yet another load of his cum filled her mouth, that she swallowed greedily.

Ziffy came countless times, that day, and he lost count for himself after six-times. Tom hadn't fucked like that in over thirty-years. Yet, somehow, this insatiable fae-girl inspired him, and lent him a stamina he though not possible in his advanced age. Maybe it was the magic she possessed, he though, but he didn't know, nor did he really care. And when he saw the sun through the trees creeping nearer to the horizon, as they both lay naked on the soft earth, he asked her, "Do you wanna' come back to my place, Ziffy? We can go-on like this, all night!"

"How I'd love to, Thomas," she answered, honestly, with a hint of melancholy in her reply, "But I can't leave the forest. I am bound to it by ancient, and very powerful, magics! And whilst there is plenty of room for all of us, here—"

"'All of us,'" Tom interrupted, sounding a little more than surprised.

"Yes, Thomas," she replied, with a plaintive look in her eye that begged his patience and silence, "there is about eighty-seven of us here, and of many races. We were all brought here by Yuri, almost 130-years ago. And, here we stay."