Mistress Amber, Ch. 3

 

Chapter 3: Birds and Bees, Part 1

 

Amber paces. Narglarn grimaces. Thynelleph stands by the door, cool as can be.

The Queen of Maids, one of the most jaw-droppingly beautiful entities I’ve ever laid eyes on, possesses as well the capacity to be the most terrifying. Somehow, without saying anything, by doing nothing more than walking back and forth in front of the doorway to her balcony, she’s far scarier than any of the actual violence I’ve witnessed.

‘You’re becoming a nuisance,’ she says at length, stopping midstride. Amber turns towards the doors, to that vista of smoke and sordidness. Anthexxia, one of the bleak cities. A transdimensional “spaceship” of sorts, built of magic. Our shared prison, as I understand it. ‘Scratch that. You were already a nuisance, but now you’re becoming an annoyance. How can you cause me trouble so consistently?’

I am, at least, growing as a person. Growing as an inhabitant of this strange and sensual realm, with its rules and customs that go outside of my comfort zone time and again. I know, most importantly, to stay quiet until explicitly asked to speak.

‘What do I do with you, Peter? Even put into service, you find a way to upset the balance of things. Should I simply give Anabella the chance to eat you properly, and rid myself of your obnoxiousness? I doubt mother would care. Your little virgin stories are hardly going to carry that much weight.’

The shame and the fear and the doubt all fight for a way to get at me, scrambling among themselves, leaving me for the most part placid, neutral. I could get offended by Amber, or scared of her threats, or ashamed that yes, I’ve fucked-up again, but…none of it’s productive.

Lasyrrix’s concerns about the “outside” world suddenly make a great deal more sense. It’s so much simpler, and less tempting, inside my room. It was complicated on Earth, with how people interact, but here? Anthexxia is a maze of tripwires and trapdoors, everything laced in the most tempting of sweets and offerings.

‘Well, boy?’ Amber says. ‘Do you have anything to say for yourself?’

‘I’ll accept whichever punishment you think is most fitting, Mistress. It’s my fault, and mine alone. I make no excuses.’

The succubus snorts. ‘Oh, how noble. You’d take their punishments as well?’ She moves with supernatural celerity, one moment beside the door and the next stood before me, statuesque and peerlessly perfect. A mind-numbingly alluring succubus, made all the more appealing for her lacy frilly French maid outfit. ‘Thynelleph had a job. Narglarn had a job. It’s all well and good to act as though you, the measly little maggot, were entirely responsible, but each of them’ – Amber makes certain to stare at one woman and then the other, her gilded gaze searing especially bright for a moment, cowing even the black-plated warrior – ‘should’ve known better. What are your excuses, pets?’

‘I got carried away by lust, Mistress,’ the black orc says, head bowed in reverence. ‘I presumed permission to use the boy for sexual relief, as part of his making amends, but I didn’t think.’

Amber rolls her golden gaze and shifts to the nightmare. ‘And you, Elle?’

‘I underestimated the trouble he could cause in such a short span of time. I was careless in my duties, Mistress.’

The succubus focusses on me. Her heart-shaped face, hair the colour of her namesake but living and energised, matching her eyes, colouring her long lashes and neat brows, is effortlessly intimidating. Voluptuous lips and a glamorous gorgeousness capable of killing without a weapon, or at least silencing all hopeful voices with but a moment’s attention.

‘My judgement is as follows,’ Amber says voice an orchestra of opulence, soul-tinglingly sensual. Her burning eyes don’t leave me. ‘Narglarn, for your overt lack of forethought – you know how your body works better than anyone – I hereby put Peter’s repayment efforts on hold until such a time that I feel you’re worthy. I will discuss terms as to how you’ll make it up to me later. Dismissed.’

The black orc, so much larger and bulkier than the shorter and soft-bodied succubus, nonetheless bows her head in shame and accepts the outcome. ‘Forgive me, Mistress. I’ll do better.’

‘Yes, yes.’ Amber waves a beautiful hand, and sighs. Still she stares at me, as if I’m the real sticking point. As if my judgement must come last because she’s still working out the details. ‘Thynelleph?’

‘Yes, Mistress?’

‘For your uncharacteristic carelessness, I’ll have you uncharacteristically act as the harem’s dedicated on-call submissive for the next three months. Unrestricted access, whenever one of the girls asks for it. You will, also, be stricken from Peter’s contract until such a time.’

‘Wait, what?’ I say, alarm bells going off. ‘But Mistress, that means–’

‘Silence,’ the succubus says, not even raising her voice. She doesn’t have to. Her glare brightens, the arcane fire of those amber eyes momentarily becoming blinding. ‘Is that clear, Thynelleph?’

The nightmare woman grunts firmly, but nods. ‘If I must, Mistress.’

‘Good. See that you do. Dismissed.’

I turn to the warrior, who gives me a funny look. A strange smirk. She winks, and then promptly takes her leave. Thynelleph’s odd behaviour – carelessness for one, and then whatever this is – would prompt endless circles of conspiratorial notions, if not for Amber’s sustained gaze.

‘You. How to deal with you?’

‘Mistress?’

‘You’re rather lucky, Peter.’

I blink at her. ‘Lucky?’

Amber smiles, lips like lunar crescents, smouldering purple – lacquered, painted – at odds with her ashen blue flesh. She sits herself down beside me, and gives my thigh a pat. From just a touch, the coruscation of ecstasy, invisible bolts of lurid lightning leaping from her taloned fingertips to my exposed skin, I’m left halfway to full erection.

‘Elle is a warrior without equal, and always reliable. I mean that last bit, silly as it might sound right now. Always reliable. So what, pray tell, does it mean when she’s been careless?’

Thankfully Amber leaves my leg alone, or else thought might come strenuously. Her presence, the honeyed brimstone of her demonic body, paired with its engulfing heat, is a lot to cope with, but my faculties aren’t completely waylaid.

‘That she did what she did…intentionally?’

The Queen of Maids smiles warmly. ‘Quite so. And, I imagine, she’ll find herself a fair bit richer for it. It’s unlike Elle to scheme, but money is money, and she’s one of the rare ladies in my harem who isn’t the head of some tribe or cultural group, with a passive income to rely on. Unlike, for instance, Jezzana, who happens to be a Queen of the Amazons.’

I choke on spit, facing one of the two worst-case scenarios. Engulfed by Anabella, or broken-in by the Amazonian bully. The two, of the eight, who bring with them troublesome concerns. I don’t want to be eaten, and I certainly don’t want to be at the mercy of the savage bitch who seems to detest me.

‘It’s okay,’ Amber says, patting my shoulder. That voice, so dark and delicious, sensual and slutty without hinting at all at weakness or submission, manages to soothe without trying. All she does, without effort. ‘For three months, you’re down to four, when as I said, you need a majority. I’ll simply talk to Tytana, and we’ll have that number up to where it needs to be. Don’t you worry your sweet little head, Peter.’

‘Really? You’d do that for me? I thought I’d fucked-up?’

‘With the addictive cum? Of course not. The moment you stepped through my door, that was negated.’ Amber’s smile becomes a grin, becomes…worrisome. ‘But having said that, you did go outside the hierarchy of things. You did fuck up by threatening – permanence be damned – to usurp my authority with an addiction to the lowly orc.’ She giggles sweetly. ‘I’d completely forgotten that, in fact, so thank you for reminding me. You can choke on Jezz’s cock, you annoying little bastard. That should just about make amends.’

Beautiful to baleful in a single sentence.

‘Please. Please, Mistress, I’ll do anything.’

The succubus is on her feet in a heartbeat, her heart-tipped tail casually prodding at my sternum, suggestive of tremendous strength. ‘Yes, you will. You’ll make amends for causing me extra headache. Consider the good this does: I don’t have to worry about Jezz’s machinations, and you might learn that I do not fuck around.’ For just a moment her voice is death and destruction, the end of the line. Her eyes blaze so brightly that they might as well be stars, leaving iris-ring imprints on the world. And then all is peace, and perfect beauty. All is calm and simple. ‘Out of my sight, sweet cheeks. Behave yourself, and I might be convinced to bring Tytana into things in a month’s time. But not a day sooner. Will Jezz have a collar around that throat by such a time, I wonder?’

She dismisses me, leaving me shaking. The Queen of Maids laughs, not a hint of sympathy about her. My fate, in her hands, is a dangerous thing. The harem, as well, are clearly capable of the very worst kind of tricks and lies.

I…I’m fucked. Literally.

 

I’m crying by the time it rolls around, the day of reckoning. Morning arrives after a night of sleeplessness, dreading the arrival of the dusky Amazoness and her wicked demands. The knock comes at the appropriate moment and I briefly contemplate leaping from the balcony, as if the palace’s magic wouldn’t catch me long before the sweet short finale.

It’ll be her, it’ll be her, it’ll be–

But it’s not her. It’s not Jezzana at all. Not unless she’s suddenly grown an extra pair of legs, and a smile that could trick the brain into thinking a hundred broken bones are just the tiniest of scratches.

Alannah is the sweetest thing in the world. The greatest sight imaginable. The dryad, of that wild variety – a kind of centauress, her lower half some sylvan elk or other – looks at me with the utmost sympathy.

And the very first thing she utters, in seeing my tears, is, ‘Oh, sweetheart.’

I don’t get the best of looks at her, vision smeared and blurred. Tiredness rocks me, the consequences of a fearful night. But the violet-skinned dryad, elven in her beauty, with a pair of breasts that could likely crush my skull between them, hurriedly embraces me and engulfs me with her warm, sweet-smelling body. Honey and forests, that smell after rain, sweet earthy wilderness and potent cock-tingling feminine musk.

I can’t hold her back, can’t risk anything. In the tiredness, all is threatening, the brain searching for tigers that may or may not exist. Alannah hugs me all the same, one hand stroking down the ditch of my spine and the other playfully mussing up my hair, fingers weaving their way across my scalp.

‘What’s the matter, sweetie? Did I scare you?’

I can’t manage anything sane or sensible. Just stuttering, changing the words midway through their failed enunciation. The dryad shuts the door and lowers herself down, bringing me with her, holding me tight against the lustrous yielding flesh of her upper body, those curves motherly beyond reason. I find myself resting against the pillowy mounds of her monumental chest, the golden leaf bra surprisingly soft against my skin.

And little by little, my sobbing slows and ceases. Little by little, I find myself relaxing, my pulse slowing.

‘There,’ Alannah says, syrup-sweet, soft and soothing. ‘It’s okay. You’re safe. All’s going to be well. I’ve got you, honey. I’ve got you.’

I sheepishly glance up, a mote of shame creeping in. The dryad smiles beautifully, her eyes these pools of golden autumn, eyebrows wispy and the same colour as her hair, spun gold long and luscious, its flow disturbed only by the great pair of proud antlers that protrude from about her temples.

But the anxiety, despite her gorgeousness, her kindliness, is too strong.

‘You don’t have to pretend,’ I say. ‘I can’t escape. If you’re planning to defile me then I’ll hate you less if you just do it.’

Alannah’s eyes widen in affectionate bemusement. ‘Pardon me, young man! By the Great Mother, why would you think I’d be so crude?’ she says, voice like nectar, the sweetest and fresh of wild springs. It has some motherly intonation, warm and engulfing, but lacks the salaciousness so common here. ‘I thought I was being rather kind, trading your help with my woodlands for being your chaperone. Has something happened?’

Something is effortlessly trustworthy, in the way the dryad behaves. Enough that I spill the beans, explaining my worries about Jezzana and the situation with Amber. She stays quiet until I’m done, wiping my eyes whenever I sniffle and sob. Everything about her is calming, welcoming, soft as silk.

And at the end, the dryad sighs. ‘That is quite the pickle, isn’t it? I’m not sure quite where to begin, sweetie, but I will say that in my presence you’re not at risk of anything. I genuinely only wanted your help with my daughters and the hives, nothing more. For the sake of honesty I’ll add that, of course, I’m not opposed to anything naughtier occurring, but I would never do anything you didn’t previously consent to. I’d find no joy in things, otherwise, and likely struggle with the guilt for eons.’

The admittance does nothing in either direction. Troubled as I am, it doesn’t matter what Alannah will do – she’s not the problem – and it doesn’t exactly get me worked up to hear that consensual acts are on the table when my real worry is Jezzana.

‘Thank you for being kind, but it doesn’t change anything. Sorry.’

She pats my head sweetly. ‘I don’t have any real power, honey. It’s a miracle they’ve even allowed me my stretch of woodlands, given that I was brought here as little more than a sex slave, same as all other things. Without Amber, I’d be nothing, so I can’t exactly disobey here judgement.’

I sigh. ‘Thank you anyway.’

‘But…that’s not to say I can’t do anything,’ Alannah says. I glance up and find her thoughtful, smile becoming a smirk. ‘What are your thoughts on, say, modifying yourself a little bit? Not outwardly, but structurally.’

‘Structurally? Meaning what?’

The dryad, despite being such a font of kindness, manages to actually appear mischievous. ‘I produce two types of nectar, sweetie. My breasts feed the dryads of my Arbour, and could nourish a legion. My cock can feed, but is mostly used to impregnate. I could…hm.’ She pauses, and swiftly wets her luscious purple lips. ‘How opposed are you to the idea of consuming my semen, honey?’

I sigh aloud, but smile nonetheless. For a minute, I’d actually thought she was different. That this creature might be after something more. But no, one way or another, they want to get their loads inside of me.

‘No thanks,’ I say, a little curt. ‘Let’s just get the day over with.’

Alannah chuckles. ‘That likely sounded bad, but okay. Breastmilk? I can’t do as much, unfortunately, but it might make you sturdy enough to at least not worry about Jezzana. Alternatively I could ask one of the Queens, but…they’re in a bit of an awkward situation right now.’

‘Milk…milk would be okay? When you say “sturdy enough”, what do you mean?’

‘Well, you’re scared of her overpowering you, aren’t you? Or being hurt by her? I can’t change Amber’s judgement – if you’re going to have to do what Jezz wants, then that’s the way of things – but I can ensure that you only do what Jezz wants. Semen would likely allow you to make Jezz do what you want, but I understand the reticence.’ Her eyes momentarily grow hooded, shifty. ‘Plus perhaps I’d best not garnering…the less said of that, the better.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing, sweetheart. Just silly thoughts. I shouldn’t have offered my seed – but my milk will do well enough, I’m sure.’

Right…

‘And the Queens? The bees and the hornets, are they?’

Alannah nods. ‘Their milk, mixed with mine, could give you a particularly suitable degree of strength and durability, but…like I said, their situation is awkward right now. Perhaps we’ll do my milk for the moment, and theirs later? Though I would like a favour, if possible. I was only going to ask you to help with the drones, but now this situation has broken out with the Queens, and my needs have shifted. I’ll help regardless, but I’d really appreciate if you’d assist me.’

‘What’s the problem, exactly?’

Alannah actually blushes.

 

I don’t fully understand exactly how it works.

So Anthexxia is a bleak city, an interdimensional colony ship of sorts. And it, like the many other bleak cities, is capable of leaping through time and space. But Anthexxia also contains dimensions, sub-realms. Most of them are boring. Storehouses that take up a single room but supply an entire city block. Others…well, others are like the Arbour.

Alannah’s Arbour, which can be accessed through what amounts to a park in the southern quadrant of the penultimate level of Anthexxia.

It’s not really a park. It’s a square, with some black-petalled flowers. Foliage doesn’t really grow properly here, in this demon-forged expanse. And built into a tree made of volcanic rock is an archway leading to nowhere. At least, that is, until the dryad runs her fingers across the rune-inscribed stones and opens the verdant portal leading to her little patch of heaven. Something which, as I understand it, represents the kind of luxury that being beholden to Amber allows her.

You don’t get shit here without sucking demon dick now and then.

The Arbour is a forest with pools of silvery water, and all manner of vibrant greenery. Its “roof” is vines intermingling, golden sunlight slipping through the winding weave of interlocking boughs, its floor a plush carpet of grass. Beautiful flowers, birdsong – actual birds, rather than bird-people – and insect life. Its borders are indistinct, so far as I can see, and all is centred on the stone tree which is mirrored here, into which the portal is etched. From the central clearing are corridors of trees, of all colours, expanding out beyond the horizon. Homes, both in hollowed trunks and suspended from branches, hint at a seemingly endless quantity of beautiful nymphs – dryads?

The dryads are how I imagine them to be, a mixture of the two varieties. The more human kind and the “wild” variety, whose bodies are deer-like and in the grander cases – such as Alannah herself – elk-like. Beautiful creatures, one and all, nymphic in quality. The least of them look like curvy girls in their late teens, while the most of them seem to be fully-developed adult women of exceptional appeal, and a smaller quantity – though more common than the teenager ones – of the finest voluptuous MILFs, though not one comes anywhere near Alannah’s glamorousness.

My mental image of bees and hornets was completely off, however. Monster girls, obviously. Why didn’t I assume that? I don’t know which I prefer, but I’ve only seen the drones. I mean, I’ve not exactly only seen the drones, but I don’t think I’m seeing the Queens at their best. Or maybe I am? I guess it depends on my state of arousal.

‘Get pregnant, you tart. You slut, you–ugh–whore.’

‘Yes! Breed me, Mistress. Ooh. Aah.’

Schlick-schlack-schlick. Schlick-schlack-schlick.

Well…I can see why the Queens are indisposed, “wrestling” as they are on the edge of the central grasses. The hornet queen is currently in the process of being completely and utterly ploughed by the bee queen, whose cock I can only describe as some insecquine hybrid, at least from the fact that she’s got a sheath of sorts. The head, naturally, is plunged deep into the hornet queen. Both are drop-dead gorgeous, glistening with sweat, periodically switching between slinging dominant or submissive dirty talk at one another and gorging on each other’s faces.

All the while on one side of the clearing are the bees, of at least three varieties, and on the other are hornets, with maybe the same number of subtypes. And not one of them, in either group, looks at all happy. Not angry, as such, just…desperately in need of a good screwing. Kind of similar to how I feel, most of the time.

‘Put your–mhm–cute thriae babies in me,’ the hornet queen howls, her black-and-yellow striped legs, thick and womanly, twitching and straining up in the air. ‘You’re so–aah–beautiful, Mistress. You’re–ooh–entitled to my body whenever you see fit.’

‘Ughn. Good girl, good little whore. This is a real sting, isn’t it? Ugh. You’re only good for–guh–popping out juveniles!’

Schlick-schlack-schlick. Schlick-schlack-schlick.

Alannah nudges my arm. ‘So…they can’t actually breed. The way it works, their children are guaranteed to be both vespid and thriae, so nothing happens.’ She sighs, and gestures with an elegant finger. ‘The thriae have workers, who are exclusively female, and the vespids have drones, who are exclusively shemale. Which is reversed with thriae guardians, and vespid praetors. And that third caste, princesses or nobles, can be female, futanari, or shemale.’

At a glance, there’s not a huge amount of difference between the various types. In both species the “lower” caste, workers and drones, are the physically smallest, but worker thriae – bees, really – are voluptuous while vespid drones tend to have fat backsides but smaller chests, and quite sizeable cocks. Many are erect, of course, given that haze of sexual deprivation which hangs over the two groups. Insecquine is the word, again. They’re black and glossy, with noticeable sheaths. Not quite horse-like, but that descriptor comes to mind, with their almost-flat flared heads. Though the presence of blunt nubs and bumps along the sides of their shafts distorts the image somewhat.

‘So…why would you think I could help here?’ I say, to the sound of passionate and lurid lovemaking. ‘What can I do?’

Alannah sighs sweetly. ‘The problem is this, Peter: the Queens are meant to tell everyone else what to do, particularly who to do.’ She smiles, caught between faint humour and sympathetic sadness. ‘They’re such obedient things, but their monarchs are too busy rutting pointlessly. I’m really rather worried.’

As she talks, as the continually sloppy sordidness echoes across the clearing in the background, I notice a small group of dryads approaching. Of the ten, two are centauresses like Alannah, and look very much like her except for one possessing silver hair and the other a reddish bronze. On the back of each is a more mature-looking dryad of the bipedal variety, one tall and muscular in her curvaceousness, the other shorter – still tall compared to me, admittedly – but particularly fill-figured. The rest of the gang are of those younger though still plentifully womanly varieties.

‘Is this human here to help, mother?’ the bronze-haired wild dryad says. Her eyes are the spitting image of Alannah’s, autumn gold in pleasant contrast with her flowing hair, which is bedecked by leaves. No antlers on this daughter, though. ‘We’ve tried offering ourselves to both species, but they smell the forest on us, and consider us family.’

The silver-haired daughter rolls her eyes. This one, with her antlers quite similar to Alannah’s, is noticeably bulkier, though every bit as feminine. ‘Shar, you make it sound so hopeless. I still say, father, that we should take them by force. At least sate the silly thing’s appetites until their rulers come to their senses.’ Her gaze, vibrant green, narrows as she beholds the ongoing rutting. ‘No pussy can be that good, can it?’

‘My daughters,’ Alannah says, smiling. ‘Sharlaya and Vindrelleth.’ Shar, the bronze-haired, does a little bow, while Vindrelleth simply nods sternly at me. ‘And atop their backs the nectar queens Lamithan and Ashenath, who lead the nymphic dryads which make up most of our number.’

One of whom drops down, flowers springing up in her wake. Shit, she must be like seven-foot high, and…yep, that’s a cock. Is that how nectar queens work, then? Though this one doesn’t seem to be a futanari. The tall creature, her skin pale green and her body creeping in places with ever-shifting leaves of gold, has electric blue hair and lips, and eyes like silver pools shimmering in moonlight.

The other stays seated, seeming vaguely deferential to the taller, more muscular nectar queen. In fact, when I glance at her, the autumn-haired nymph shies away, avoiding my gaze in favour of staring off into the distance. A weird hierarchy, of sorts?

‘If I may, Your Ladyship,’ she says, stepping ahead of the two sisters. ‘A human may prove useful. If they don’t smell the forest on him, he might relieve their needs. Could we use him for such a purpose?’

Use me. Useful. Relieve needs. ‘Uh…’

Alannah strokes my arm. ‘Peter’s not a servant but a guest, Lamithan. I would not offer him on his behalf.’ But saying that, she looks at me all the same.

Ah, peer pressure.

‘I’m a virgin,’ I blurt out, to silence. ‘It’s not as if I…I want to help but…you’re massively overstating my capacities here. How many of the, um, girl ones are there?’

‘Any efforts would require complete attention to both tribes,’ Lamithan says. ‘No half measures. Why would you so cruelly exclude the futanaris and shemales? Are humans so savage?’

‘Lami,’ Alannah says, softly. ‘He’s not from our world, and he’s inexperienced. He means no ill, and treats me with no revulsion.’ She talks with effortless grace, causing the other nectar queen to relax somewhat. ‘But you are right, of course. Until such a time as the Queens tire of one another, the needs of their tribes will need attending to, and as they do not treat us dryads as potential mates, we cannot offer them relief.’

‘I do sympathise, okay?’ I say, turning to both dryads. ‘But man, I have a schedule. I need to churn out stories for Lady Lasyrrix or I’ll have outlived my use. I didn’t imagine I’d be having my first proper sexual experiences in what amounts to a huge orgy, but…I’ve already played with a black orc’s dick and liked it, so it’d be rich for me to deny you my aid.’ I sigh, and glance over at the troubled tribes. They are, without exception, incredibly hot. Dicks and all. Jesus Christ though, it’d take a week. Three, maybe. ‘I don’t have enough time, unless you can fix that.’

The wild nectar queen and the nymphic speaker look at one another for a long moment, and say at once, to that background chorus of schlick-schlack-schlick, ‘Could we use the Mirror?’

The Mirror of Echoes is more of a pool of what appears to be liquid silver, swirling as if alive. On the southern side of the clearing is an avenue of trees leading into the core expanse of the dryads, one third of the realm, the other two thirds split between the thriae and vespids with their great hives. The dryad homes, beyond those smaller hollowed-out trunks and treehouses, are here a series of larger and larger ancient oaks, all set around a singular gigantic article. And within the grandest of trees, that which Alannah and her two daughters call home, is a marble-lined pool containing the Mirror.

‘It does what?’ I say.

‘It creates “echoes”,’ Alannah says, looking all the more jaw-droppingly perfect in the floating lights inside the vast arcane oak. Her daughters, as well, are every bit as resplendent as their mother. Father? ‘Step into the pool, and it can create copies. Temporary things, but extensions of your mind. Duplicates. The ordinary use of it is in times of famine or war, when many hands are needed, but it will serve our purpose well. If you’re willing, of course.’

‘What’s the downside?’

‘There isn’t one as such,’ Lamithan says. ‘Only that while the Mirror is active, you’ll be only dimly aware of your duplicates, but when the effect ends, you’ll absorb the sum-total of their memories. In this situation, it might be something of a shock to the system.’

As I stare at her, not so much irked by her ease of saying such a thing, but the fact that I’m in this situation at all – I know I could deny them, but Alannah has been good to me – I catch movement in my periphery. The sifting of something golden, and…following that, the fertile sagging of a pair of the most magnificent breasts.

‘Woah.’

Alannah smiles, confident as can be. ‘I did promise you a boon, sweetheart. If you drink my nectar, you’ll be stronger, sturdier, in all ways. Let this be a sign of our trust, going forwards. I am a woman of my word.’

Oh, shit. They’re enormous. That same purplish shade as her flesh, each larger than my head, drooping faintly with gravity and their generous voluminousness. Large areolae with faint bumps across them, wide and fairly short nipples which seem to already be glistening. Alannah holds the golden brassiere in each of her beautiful hands, elegantly cupping the sides of her monumental mammaries.

And nobody bats a fucking eye! Nobody cares. Her daughters aren’t the least embarrassed by the fact that their mother – father, as well? I need to ask – has exposed her heavenly sweater puppies to the world. Nobody. Bats. An. Eye.

But am I really going to do this? Am I really going to get breastfed before duplicating myself to lose my virginity across one hundred different selves, all to – let’s be honest here – make an actually beneficial alliance in this gloomy fucking place?

Fuck it. Fuck it all.

‘I just…drink?’

Alannah nods, smiling sweetly. ‘Yes, just nurse on me. One and then the other would be best, to ensure you get plenty. Don’t stop until I say so.’

I stare at her eyes, and then at her tits, and then at her face again. ‘Okay.’

And still, nobody comments. To the dryads, this is just normal, I guess? Sure, the addition of a human is likely odd, but even so, nobody seems to mind. I just wander over to Alannah and stand up on tiptoes – given her height, and my relative shortness – and then just…

…apply my mouth to the matronly nectar queen’s beautiful bosom.

‘There,’ Alannah says, soft as can be. Her voice is as silken as her flesh, every bit as warm and welcoming. ‘Good boy. Grow powerful. Let me infuse you.’

What is awkward at first rapidly becomes natural. I lean into her, engulf my face in cushioning breast. Her body is so hot, so fragrant with wilderness and sweet things. The firmness of a nipple, gently captured between my lips, teeth out of the way, at first seems weird. I don’t want to make this sexual, don’t want to act the sexual adult that I am and instead want to view this as some noble gift, some queen of the forest rewarding me in a peculiar fashion.

But when she says, ‘You may touch them, of course. It might be easier to milk me that way,’ I completely lose it. My cock is hard in an instant, and I sink my fingers into the delicate deliciousness of her hugely healthy chest.

‘Mhm.’

Schlup. Slurp.

As I start to use my tongue, and massage her mouth-captured mammary, I’m rewarded with something that transcends milk. My eyes go wide as a deep sense of satisfaction burns through me, a rich chill that emboldens the soul. Something like warm heavy cream spurts out, laced with fruity flavours and something that the brain considers the personification of nature’s bounty.

An energy courses down into my bones, inducing a sense of lightness, of weightlessness. And then Alannah shudders, and groans. ‘Good boy,’ she says. ‘Mummy’s good…whoops.’

‘Mother!’ Sharlaya shouts. ‘Father!’ Vindrelleth yelps. Both at the same moment.

‘I…might take my leave,’ Lamithan says, sounding a touch flustered. The quiet nectar queen – Ashenath? – blushes brightly, and looks away.

And suddenly I’m aware that while the initial process might have been completely normal – didn’t Alannah mention something about feeding the dryads, after all? – this part of the act is clearly going off script.

When the others have scampered away, leaving me alone with the wild nectar queen, she begins stroking my hair. ‘Sorry for the awkwardness. I’ve never had–mhm–a human do this. Nor a man half so cute as you are, Peter. Go on, honey. Drink deep of me. Accept me into your body.’

God, what a perversely perfect notion.

My mouth is flooded with Alannah, and then my stomach in turn. Her breastmilk infuses, empowers, enhances. It’s like dialling everything up to eleven, making the world pulse with a liveliness it didn’t before possess. There’s no fullness, despite the quantity of rich cream her beautiful body produces. No sense of discomfort, or growing fat with her deliciousness.

The dryad, the wild nectar queen, slowly strokes my head and shivers, making soft sighs and sweet sounds. ‘Very good. Yes. Mhm. Drink up. Grow strong.’

Something else is changing, too. I break her rule, stop before I’m told, and glance down. I was already hard, but…woah.

‘Sweetie, I didn’t say to stop,’ Alannah says, cupping that unattended breast and brushing its sticky nipple against my cheek. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘My dick. It’s…it’s doubled in size.’

She giggles softly. ‘Well, that’s a lovely side-effect, isn’t it?’ The dryad tugs on my hair, urging me back. ‘Come on, Peter. We’re not done yet. I don’t want to leave myself–I mean, yourself, without the full effect.’

‘You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?’ I say, glancing up at her. The motherly dryad queen is blushing, though on her violet it comes out bluish. ‘Holy shit.’

‘I’m so sorry. You trusted me, and I’ve betrayed that trust.’ She sighs deeply, and shakes her head. ‘Yes, I’m enjoying this. I don’t usually get intimacy of this sort. Amber…well, I shouldn’t say.’

‘She’s mean to you?’

The dryad blushes deeper. ‘I really mustn’t. But it’s not what you think, and let’s leave it at that.’

I’ve already accepted that I barely understand this place, but I’m starting to realise that I barely understand Amber and her harem, as well. Alannah, for instance, is odd. The way she watches me, almost shy, seems at odds with the fact that she’s this antlered demigoddess of the forest, clearly magically mighty and physically powerful.

But she’s also, undoubtedly, the person I’ve felt safest with here. Excessively so, even, given that she wants something and yet is in no apparent rush to get it.

‘Do…do you want to fuck me, Alannah?’ I say, taking a step back. Her fingers trail through my hair, and slip away. I find myself looking upon the nectar queen in a starkly different light.

Where Lamithan is nymphic, bipedal, vaguely clad in living foliage, Alannah’s wild elements are for the most part contained within her lower body. That deer-elk quadrupedal base, coated in a layer of finely fluffy fur, spotted here and there with creamy dots, is just a little bit intimidating. I can’t pretend, after my playing around with Narglarn – for all the trouble it caused – that I’m so opposed to the idea of these dickgirls and shemales and futanaris, but…

…Alannah must be hung. Like a horse, I imagine? And her pussy – horse pussy? – would be, well, around the back? It’s not at the front, that’s for sure.

‘I don’t want you to think I had intentions,’ Alannah says. ‘Or that I’ve been nice to lure you in, or anything like that, but yes. Yes, Peter. You’re very handsome, and honestly, I’m quite attracted to your inexperience.’

If she weren’t an eight-foot-tall dryad centauress, I’d be smitten. That she is doesn’t make me the least unhappy, but just a little wary. Okay, plenty wary. Like any moment now the mask will slip and she’ll command me to kneel and act the same as Amber, or Jezzana, or every other set of eyes in this realm of smut and sex. I’m meat, and I don’t want Alannah to see me in that way. I don’t want her to just–

‘I appreciate that my body may be a little strange for your tastes, but if you would like to mount me – especially given the lengths you’re going to for the sake of my Arbour – then I will happily guide you through your first time.’

Does one of my eyes twitch, or do I imagine it? No way. No fucking way.

‘You don’t want to, um, use your dick?’

The nectar queen smirks, and wets her lips. ‘I would, of course, but I get to do so plenty. It’s rare that anyone wants to take me like a female, sweetie. Perhaps it’s the antlers, or the impressiveness of my male genitals, or my status as the goddess of these woodlands, but…I like to be a woman sometimes, as well. And I feel this might be a little less troublesome than simply throwing yourself into the approaching orgy?’

‘I don’t know what to say?’

Alannah pivots, hoofs clopping against the smooth wooden floor, marked by the rings of this great hollowed-out tree. She turns her rear to me, that cute tuft of a tail trembling in anticipation. Beneath it is a violet donut, smooth yet taut, and beneath that…

‘Woah.’

The smell hits me first, different than the rest of her. Fragrant, musky, intensely sweet. Some weird fusion of things, womanly and manly at once, suggestive both of a womb that could birth an army and a cock that could impregnate the entirety of Anthexxia. It makes me salivate, both sides of it. Induces in my feeble ape brain this powerful notion of desire, that this entity is the pinnacle of allure.

Her body perhaps suits being a futanari more than a biped’s, given the extra space. Between her rear legs hangs a set of four enormous testicles, like melons in a smooth indigo leathery sack, and I’m sure if I angled my head appropriately I’d get a good look at the doubtless mighty member – likely erect – that extends out before them.

But above her balls, and beneath her arsehole, is an exquisitely attractive pussy. A horse pussy, maybe, but a wild dryad’s pussy all the same. Very neat, turned upside-down relative to what I’d expect, and ridiculously human-like. Her skin, beneath her fur, is that same shade of purplish-violet as her upper body, carrying all the way around to her snatch. Her neat outer lips are puffy and swollen, but hints of the interior – pinkish, pale – peeks through all the same. Fitting the upside-down nature of her lady parts the hood, with its captive pearl, is at – from my perspective – the bottom, rather than the top.

‘How far did you get with girls, back on Earth?’ Alannah says, turning back to smile at me. No shyness now, no shame. Proud, and why shouldn’t she be? Fucking hell. ‘I’m sensitive but I’m sturdy, so there’s no risk of hurting me. I don’t want to rush this for you, so please, explore my body at your own pace. There’s no wrong approach here, sweetie.’

I don’t know what to say, so I act. Slowly, gingerly, I put both hands on her plush haunches. On that soft fur, silken and lovely like velvet. It so neatly fades away around her sensual parts, but given the way it sends electrical bolts of ecstasy across my skin as her furry shape engulfs my fingers I’m not sure I’d mind if it were less clear-cut.

Alannah is smiling back at me, ever so slightly naughty. I meet her eyes and blush, only deepening the look of satisfaction. Just a little while ago I was accepting that, for the sake of this beautiful dryad, I’d have to involve myself in an orgy of wasp and bee girls, and lose my virginity that way, but…this is a lot nicer. As hot as those insectoid ladies are, dicked or dickless, this is much more at my pace. At least for the time being.

‘Touch away, honey. I mean it.’

‘You’re incredibly beautiful,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I want to, I’m just a bit…awestruck?’

‘That’s okay. I’ve sealed up the entrance, anyway, so we won’t be interrupted. I’m flattered, honestly. I was worried you’d be displeased.’

‘No way. Your body’s incredible. I’m a little nervous, admittedly, but you’re a thousand times hotter than any human girl I ever had a crush on.’

Alannah giggles sweetly, and winks at me. ‘Dryad pussy is famous in every dimension it exists, so you’re doubly lucky. Why don’t you touch it? It’s yours to explore, Peter.’

I am being cowardly, aren’t I? Here’s this gorgeous goddess of the woods and apparently, she’s going to let me do exactly what I want to her beautiful body, and I’m delaying. Playing with her – admittedly amazingly snuggly and soft – fur instead of getting fingers, and then my cock inside of her perfect pussy.

‘Okay. I will. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ she says, voice like clouds, like merciful drizzle, like a tickling at that part of me which wants to be nurtured and loved and held. ‘It’s yours, sweetie. Your first time. Do as you will.’

A lump of anxieties blossoms in my throat, difficult to push away. It grows harder to swallow as my fingers slowly but surely leave behind her fur in favour of her flesh, silken to the touch, hotter and hotter as I drag my fingertips towards her sweetest sanctum. The puffy swell of her outer folds pulsates with need, parting slightly to reveal such pale perfection within, and a richer smell of honeyed womanliness.

‘It’s so hot,’ I say.

Alannah nods, and chuckles. ‘Yes. It’s rather in need, sweetie. Ooh.’

She trembles as I run an index finger down the middle of her opening, and does this strange thing which results in a deep blush. As if on reflex, the gorgeous goddess dips forwards onto her front legs and, while her rear end lowers somewhat in the process, seems to present.

And God, I’m not sure anything has ever been quite so arousing.

‘Um…’

The dryad chuckles. ‘A reflex, sweetie. You do want to mount me, don’t you?’

I’ve never been this nervous before. Even with Narglarn, with her huge black orc dick, the atmosphere seemed less tense. Here, with Alannah, I’m hard as rock – twice as hard, being twice as big all of a sudden – and raring to go, but she’s just so impressively attractive. Her fertile smells, her heat and humidity.

‘Can…can I taste you?’

She trembles, soft as silk. ‘That would be wonderful, yes. Please do.’

I’m going to eat pussy. Going to eat some dryad centauress’s horse pussy. Well, all righty. Okay. Great. A prelude to losing my virginity, which is in turn a prelude to an orgy of sorts with a whole host of bee and wasp monster girls.

With Alannah’s forward slant, it’s a simple enough thing to lean down a bit and have her warm womanhood heat my face, tingling my skin with the sensual stink of her overtly-in-need snatch. All of it is perfect, all of it provokes such quantities of saliva and such a perverse hunger in me, before unfelt. I’ve never been this close to a woman’s coochie. Never imagined I’d be so close to one so inhumanly attractive.

With my fingers on those puffy outer lips I gently part her folds, revealing the pale pink beyond the impressive indigo. They glisten sweetly, her honeyed tang thickening as I grow closer, as I inch close to the point that my nose brushes against the top – the bottom? On a human, at least – part of her pussy.

And there I hesitate, breathing irregularly, heart in my throat. All I have to do is stick out my tongue, taste the wild dryad, and it seems insurmountable. A thing requiring a courage that I, feeling far too old to be a virgin – fucking toxic masculine bullshit from Earth, worsened here for how easy sex is to come by – cannot seem to find.

‘Go on, honey,’ Alannah says. Motherly, calm, guiding. ‘It’s not scary. It’s not dirty. It’s just a part of a woman’s body, like your cock is part of yours. Or, well, mine, but–’

‘It’s not that,’ I say, speaking low, cutting her off. ‘It’s just nerves. I…don’t want to disappoint you, really.’

‘Peter, do you realise how sensitive I am? Dryads are nymphs, even we wild ones. And nymphs handle everything from the largest of cocks to the smallest, because otherwise we’d not reproduce. I’d explain the bigger picture, but just know that fact. Take your time, and if you don’t want to do this, then please stop, but don’t delay out of fear of something that won’t come to pass.’ Her voice is magic, ever so lovely. Velvet on the eardrums, warmth and welcoming snugness. Like being draped in the oratory equivalent of a blanket on a rainy day, all cosy and calming. ‘I just want to help you, and this seems like an–ooh.’

This taste. Holy shit, this taste.

Mlep.

A single stroke of my tongue, and I’m bug-eyed. What the hell?

‘Woah.’

‘Sweetheart…you like?’

I have to go for a second. Mlap. A third. Mlup. A fourth and fifth and sixth. ‘Mhm-hm.’

Before I know it I’m using my hands to support myself, holding onto the rear of her back legs at the thigh, and stuffing my face with dryad snatch. Coating my tongue in something like syrup, sweet and faintly salty, divinely delicious and unmistakably womanly, sexual, sensual. Like tasting fertility itself, abundant and moreish.

‘Ooh. That’s it, sweetie. Good boy. Mhm.’

Alannah groans softly and shudders as I sloppily begin to eat, munching away, tongue going at full length inside of her inhuman illicitness. She squirts a little, splatters my face with glistening glory, and I stroke her thighs, slurp and suckle, nursing on those fat appealing folds and jamming my tastebuds as deep as they’ll go into the perfect paradise presented by those pale pink inner lips.

Schlup. Slurp. Schlap.

‘Mhm-mhm. Mumph.’

It’s Narglarn, all over again. All my anxieties melting away in the face of monstrously magnificent genitalia. All this time I’ve been curious but dreading things, and now…now I’ve got this banquet. Alannah’s just the start, isn’t she? What…what if I’ve seen it all the wrong way?

‘Ooh. Sweetie. Good–mhm–boy.’

The dryad pushes back, grinding her heavy hips against me, smothering my face in the fiery folds of her futanari pussy. I roll my tongue about, ravenous and clumsy, completely unskilled, but neither of us care. Each of us, clearly in need, simply make the most of it. My face, soaked in sloppiness. Alannah’s perfect animalistic coochie, at the mercy of some virgin human’s hungers.

Slup. Shlep. Schlap.

‘Mhm. Mhm.’

I moan into her lower mouth, moving my hands about. I want more of her body, want to experience more of this wonderful wild creature’s heavenly contours. My fingers find the outer folds while I greedily gulp down her juices, the honeyed sweetness and abundant femininity an ambrosia of its own, but the moment I send them further down, to appreciate more of her, all of her, the dryad tenses up and pulls forwards.

‘No, honey. Not those.’

Out of reach of my fingers, her enormous testicles sway and shiver. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset–’

‘Don’t misunderstand,’ Alannah says, sweet but strained. Desiring, but denying herself? ‘I can’t go into it, and I can tend to you all you want, but the reverse isn’t true. I…I’m sorry. Use my womanhood, Peter, and enjoy it. Mount me, of course, but my manhood is off-limits. Balls included.’

‘Why?’

She sighs. ‘Peter…’

‘Sorry. You said. I shouldn’t be asking.’

The dryad shakes her head, golden mane shuddering. ‘I want to. Please trust me, I do. But there are rules and I cannot break them.’

‘Addictive loads?’

‘Oh, nothing so vulgar. But…the less said, the better. I would be in a lot of trouble, either way. That’s as much as I can tell you.’ She glances back at me, torso surprisingly limber. The nectar queen smiles weakly. ‘Please. Enjoy my body. I’d rather like to feel your cock, in fact. If you’re ready to mount me.’

Inched back from her wet womanliness, I both am and distinctly am not. The tightness of that lurid love-hole, the way those folds shift their velvety vigour about, suggests a danger that my dick might have a bit of trouble with. There’s also the very real notion that, beyond my own needs, I don’t want to leave the delicious dryad unsatisfied.

‘Let me know when you’re done cumming, and I’ll mount you,’ I say, licking my lips, lavishing in her lusty juices. ‘I want to make sure you’re happy, too, Alannah.’

She giggles gloriously. ‘Oh, I’m very easy, sweetie. I did say about my sensitivity, after all. And you’ll be surprised at what my milk has done to your vigour, Peter.’ Alannah bats her eyelashes at me, smiles alluringly. ‘Go on, handsome. Mount me. Give us both what we so badly crave.’

It’s all she has to say, somehow. I believe her, or trust her enough, or perhaps I’m just too aroused. Without words I push down my trousers, free my enjoyable erection. Twice as big as it was, and I can’t quite get over that detail. Far better suited to mounting monster girls!

My strength surprises me, allowing me to rest my hands atop her haunches – she dips down as best she can, but our size difference is greatly to my detriment – and hoist myself up, in some fluid motion managing to aim my member at her most enticing of entrances. Alannah smiles sweetly at me, chews on her bottom lip, and I allow my weight to carry me forwards. To slip the tip of my engorged endowment between those inviting inner folds, and for the first time in my life experience pussy.

Dryad centauress pussy, that is. Which I can only imagine is some of the finest in existence.

‘Ughn. Shit.’

It’s so wet and sticky and slippery, like velvet that warps and shifts and pulsates, slowly sucking down on my shaft. Losing my grip I manage to hilt myself, producing at first a low moan from the motherly dryad and then a faint giggle.

‘Allow me,’ Alannah says, and with a sparkle of her eyes, I find that the base of the hollowed oak has a greatly useful step to stand upon. ‘Don’t be ashamed. Humans are hardly the smallest of creatures in this place.’

I blush, all the same, wary of my height. Wary of the fact that I feel quite silly, needing what amounts to a step-up stool to slam myself into the salacious sloppiness of her supernaturally sublime snatch. But it does, of course, make things dramatically easier.

‘Thank you,’ I say, smirking. ‘For everything.’

Alannah smiles widely, warmly. ‘You’re welcome, sweetie. Go as fast or as slow as you like. I can handle it all.’

‘Preference?’

‘I…I wouldn’t mind some slow affection today. Maybe when we know each other better–’

‘This isn’t a one-off?’ I must look stupid, bug-eyed, because she chuckles. ‘Why’s that funny?’

‘Peter, the inhabitants of this world may be more promiscuous than you’re used to, but that doesn’t mean anything is meaningless. I want you inside me. You. There’s a reason that I’m craving, after all. Most people don’t, well, tickle my fancy.’

‘But I–ugh–do?’ I say, sliding inwards. Schlick. ‘Oh, fuck.’ She grips down, squelches, squirms her muscular innards. ‘Woah.’

Alannah giggles again, a gorgeous sound to match her gorgeous features. ‘Of course. The whole harem are quite human-friendly. Not all succubi look like Amber, after all. Plenty are–ooh–more monstrous, more bestial…’

She trails off as I begin to find my pace, producing an ear-tingling spine-rippling schlick-schlack, schlick-schlack. Her heat is fiery, divine. The slickness, wetness, coats my cock in something that seems to make the pleasure receptors on it hum and sing, happy as can be without instantly driving me to orgasm. Like…I don’t know quite how to make sense of it. All the luxuries of that nearing-climax sensation, without the awareness of the rapid build-up of incoming release.

‘Ughn. You’re…this is amazing.’

‘Mhm. Glad you think so. It’s–aah–good for me, too. I particularly like your tip. If we get time I’d quite like to get acquainted with your manhood afterwards.’

The dick-starved dryad is in so many ways the perfect introduction to the intimate happenings that are soon to befall me. At least this way, at least knowing that I can do simple sweet stuff with her – more than once! – the rest seems less bad. And I definitely feel a great deal stronger, healthier, with her milky nectar having infused my bones.

Schlick-schlack. Schlick-schlack.

We moan as one, my gentle thrusting ideal. I want to relish this womanhood, to bask in it, to fucking live in it. It’s like putting my prick in some heavenly haven, all silk and clouds. Even the suction and grip is somehow gentle, not at all loose – tight as a vice – but as enjoyable a journey as the destination will be.

Dryad horse pussy is a thing of beauty.

The way her body trembles fills me with pride, this sense that this gorgeous goddess of the forests is, somehow, enjoying my mere human self. In this moment, for the duration of this profoundly perfect act, she’s my woman. I’m taking her, riding her, mounting her.

And her body is hungry for me. The loveliness of those lower lips grips and sucks about my shaft, slurping away, hot and humid and ever so sticky. I go slowly, but deeply, making sure to feel out as much of her as I can with my length. My sensitive head, in particular, keeps reaching this place where her innards are so magical and tight that I keep shivering and shaking, straining away, dimly aware that my balls are…well, they feel almost purposeful. As if something is calling them to action of the most sordid and sensual form.

Schlick-schlack. Schlick-schlack.

‘You’re so – ugh – tight,’ I say, hilting myself and stroking her flanks. The dryad twitches, quakes, as I run my fingers through her fur. ‘I love being inside you. It’s…it’s so…right.’

When she looks back at me, her smile suggesting a surfacing sluttiness, I’m hit by this strange notion. This deep, primal, carnal drive. This is sex, and this is fun, and this is wonderful, but it’s like we’re mating. Even hilted in her, balls deep, my crotch jammed into hers and basking in such humid happiness, it’s like her body is kissing mine. Kissing mine, sucking mine, and craving the contents of my nuts.

I…I think I want to get her pregnant.

‘Of course it’s right, honey,’ Alannah says, eyes possessing a dangerous dirtiness to them. ‘This is life. We’re alive. We rut, because that’s what our instincts call for us to do. But I am ever so glad to be your–aah–first.’

That look in her eyes fills me with perverse thoughts. I don’t just want to breed her, I want her to carry my children. Want to make her fat with my…foals? Want to make her mine, to claim her, to own this beautiful body.

‘Ughn.’

Schlick-schlack. Schlick-schlack.

I start to thrust again, possessed of this newfound force. Strange, and guilty, because she’s been so nice and this feels so lusty, too filthy, but it’s there all the same. Schlick-schlack. Schlick-schlack. And my balls begin to thwap and thwack against her profoundly pretty pussy, their heaviness enhanced by her milk, loud and sloppy as they slam against her. Schlick-schlack. Schlick-schlack.

‘Aah. Good boy. Take me. Make me into your–mhm–woman.’

And it’s all I can think about. All I can consider here, this primal passion, this undercurrent of urgency. Need. Want. Take. Need. Want. Take.

But as I continue to pump into her, it’s strangely tiring. Not overtly so, but enough that I feel my fingers loosening their grip, and my pace slowing. Like something is happening, something strange, some transferal of energy or other.

‘You can–mhm–lean on me, if you want,’ Alannah says, noticing the shift. ‘Grind your hips about and lay comfortably. I really don’t mind. It’ll get me off, all the same.’

‘R-eally?’

She nods, smiles. ‘Go on. I’m very comfortable, I’m sure you’ve realised.’

I’m a little wary of crushing her cute deer tail as I lower myself down, throwing my arms around her flanks in some grand embracing hug. God, she’s ever so soft. Her doe fur, eliciting such ecstasy across my skin, swallows up my fingers and the side of my face I rest atop her back. She smells so sweet, so earthy, so wild and free. Nature in the form of a goddess creature, some avatar of the primal and beautiful.

Schlick-schlick-schlick.

It takes getting used to, to twist myself about in such a fashion that I can faintly thrust, but it’s relaxing and energising, like using her body as a kind of bed while also making good use of her lovely lust-hole. Only a few inches of my dick leave at any moment, but it does enough for us both. The dryad shivers and trembles, her sloppy snatch coating my crotch in endless squirts of her delicious feminine nectar, and slowly but surely I grow aware of that approaching, distant-seeming eruption.

I tremble faintly, realising the magnitude of it. This…this is going to be special.

‘Ooh. You’re such a good boy,’ Alannah says, sighing sweetly. ‘The girls are going to – mhm – love spending time with you.’

‘Amber’s–ugh–harem?’

Schlick-schlick-schlick.

The dryad chuckles. ‘I meant the thriae and vespids, but–mhm–the others, too.’ She turns to me, at least into my periphery, and her flexibility is such that she can pat my head, stroke my hair with lovely long fingers. ‘They scare you, don’t they?’

‘A bit,’ I say. ‘Especially–ughn–Jezzana.’

Alannah continues to play with my hair as I gyrate and shift, milking myself into her beautiful baby-maker. ‘Jezz isn’t that bad. She’s…all bark. No bite.’

‘She already hurt me. Tripped me.’

‘That’s bark, trust me. Ooh. She’s…do you want to know a secret?’

I nod, and gasp. ‘Y-eah?’

‘Jezz hasn’t actually had much experience with men,’ the dryad says. ‘Not in the way that–aah–you two will share. She might think that she’ll break you, but–ooh–that’s a mask. She has to be tough, for her people, but that’s where it ends. Alone, with you? You might be–mhm–pleasantly surprised.’

Such seems, of course, impossible. But Alannah is safe, isn’t she? Why trick me? Thynelleph did, of course, but I still don’t fully grasp that. Why would the dryad grant me strength, make me powerful, and then lie about this? Why not just lie when I was weak, make the Amazoness have an easier time?

‘So what you’re saying is–’

The sudden clench does me in. I grunt, whine, and erupt. ‘Guh. Fuck.’ Holy shit, it’s like my balls are emptying of every single load I’ve ever shot. A ridiculous release, exploding from the tip of my cock down my shaft and becoming some sublime shiver rippling out from my groin to consume my whole body, to make all well with the world. Who is Jezz? What’s Amber? Where is anything?

There’s just smiling, and peace, and the slurping sucking folds of the most heavenly spot in the entirety of time and space, which so hungrily gorges on my glans and sucks on my shaft and begs my balls to feed it every last wriggling white soldier.

‘Ooh. Sweetie. Yes!’

The dryad bucks and whines, throwing her head back, hair golden and wild as she twists her neck this way and that. Her body rattles with risqué relief, and her perfect pussy squirts and sprays all over my crotch, soaking me in her sweet juices. The release is resplendent, filling me with such pride and power, this primal primate notion that she’s my woman, that I’m claiming her, that I’m dominating her.

The nectar queen’s horse pussy, sucking and slurping on the entirety of my length, hilted as I am in her depths, pulls an enormous eruption out of my loins. My sperm, leaving my body, seem blessed. The luckiest human swimmers in all the world, to line the loveliness of Alannah of the Ancient Grove. But at the same time, I’m very dimly aware of something. Something that doesn’t make sense.

A sensation that passes. One thing impacting another. Merging. Fusing?

But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is this bliss, and the relaxation that comes from resting against her her soft snuggly spine. Sleep, it seems, might come on with some force. ‘Thank you so much,’ is all I manage to say, eyes shutting.

The only thing that stops me is Alannah’s backwards reaching hand, patting my cheek. ‘Sweetie. Darling. My daughters are at the door. We’d best get you duplicated. Do you think you’re ready?’

Energised with her milk, and possessing something of a loyalty to the motherly creature – she’s certainly plied me with honey – I perk up at the thought. Straighten up, processing her question. Am I ready? Am I really?

I have no fucking clue, but I am absolutely going to try.