Free Story: VORE

VORE: Voluptuous Orgasmic Rapturous Ends
A Smuthunter Story


“The Deep Forest is no place to travel alone.”

            The words of the wise, which were also the words of the tiresome, came to Harold’s mind as he stood at a crossroads with his friends Pitt and Lance, “Well lads here we are, the white stone road a mile back, and now we’re face to face with a daunting choice, left or right?”

            Each of them was armed with a blade, at least one dagger, and Pitt, who was the muscle of the trio, also carried a bow and a quiver or arrows. They had no time for armor, save for Lance, who wore thick leather, and each man carried a pack laden with supplies. None of them were strangers to danger, and while this was the deepest they had gone into the Deep Forest, it was not their first time on adventure under its boughs.

“Rumor tells of a manor house deep in the thorn dome, and I think that’s south of us, so left, but I doubt there’s anything left to find, at least based on the stories.” Harold spoke his thoughts, as the other two patiently dealt with his tendency for being long winded. “I mean, how many adventurers, surely not as lucky or handsome as we three, I know, but how many adventurers have dared Courles Manor? Sure not a lot of them come back, but enough do, and with enough gold to make me think that particular vein of fortune has been tapped. So I think we should go right, and travel north to finally be the ones to reopen the passage to the Lost Valley and retrieve the gems of the Lamia Queen. Everyone else who ended up there, before the entrance closed, fell prey to her cunning and got lured there by bewitched traitors in the first place, but we know the truth, we can take her.”

By that same token, it seemed like bewitched traitors had brought a lot of warm bodies to their wicked, monstrous mistresses of evil, if the stories can be believed. Harold, on the other hand, thought it was an easy and often replicated excuse for weakness, failure, and bloody crimes of greed.

            A hundred years ago, a witch had cast a terrible spell that allowed a banished and cursed woman back from the land of the Others, and of the Fairies. Her return destroyed her homeland, and killed all who lived there, turning their bodies to plant spores that re-seeded the lands and created a massive forest where once there had been open fields and valleys. It hemmed in other kingdoms, and swallowed all but the most ancient and well traveled roads, for true roads, with true names, could not be enchanted by the other side, or by any magic. But while the roads endured, the new forest allowed the darker things in the old forests and lost places to grow stronger. Now, the Deep Forest had spread into the new one, and darkness reigned in its shadows.

            Rumor said that the Deep Forest was the nexus of this cursed woman and the fiendish witch’s power, and that the plants were alive, and all safe passage was an illusion. But to reach the haunts of old, the legendary places of treasure, and lost power and fortune, any would-be heroes, or in Harold and company’s case, treasure hunters, had to at least skirt the center.

The Temple of the Spider Priestess, long thought to hold all manner of magical arms and armor, the aforementioned Manor house, and even the lost entrance to the underlands where night and day were determined by the magma that flowed through the ceiling were all lost save for passages through the heart of the Deep Forest.

            “I’m tired of arguing with you Harold, the last man to know where the opening was got executed for being a servant of dark magic and for wanting to lure more people into some cave in the ground, and some monster that lived there.” Pitt crossed his arms, and Harold shook his head. It was the same old argument from Pitt, who really wanted himself a magical sword and had no interest in the Lamia Queen’s priceless jewelry or much of anything.

            “I’m with Harold on this one, it’s like I said back at the inn, girls like jewels, and I like girls, so,” Lance put his hands on his hips, ”the vote stands. Right, and forward to snake ladies, giant jewels, and secret underground worlds.”

            “Fuuuuuuuuuuuck, fine,” Pitt fell in behind the other two, “I’ll bring up the rear, just don’t get us lost in here Harold, I don’t want a sticker bush to shove a thorn through my skull and drink my blood because you too a wrong step.”

            The three young men marched on.

Pitt and the Pendulous

            After their brief argument, Pitt fell in behind his friends as they started their northward march through the forest. The place was alive and he’d felt eyes on him ever since they left the white stone road, and not the eyes of animals.

Flowers that bloomed wholly out of season seemed to follow him, watching them, and he thought he saw them blinking. Scents and smells that were unnatural, not the fragrance of a flower, but a sweet, tantalizing musk, assaulted his nose, and he thought that in older times, before travelers learned to take certain precautions, that the pungent, inviting sweetness in the air would be enough to lead him off the trail, as it had so many before him.

They marched for a time, for a long, slightly uphill hour, and while the path was clear, at time the earth underfoot was still loose and dusty, and jagged branches and sharp, creeping thorny vines crossed the path, tugged, scratching, and tearing at them.

“Do you hear that?” At first Pitt thought it was the wind, but nothing moved, and he didn’t feel any kind of change in the air.

“Sounds like the wind,” Harold’s cocksure response and his cocksure attitude made Pitt knot his hands into fists, and as the wind, or whatever it was whistled down the path and all around him, he realized just how tired he was of Harold’s bravado and how tired he was of pretending that Lance was his friend and not just Harold’s lackey.

“It’s not the wind you stupid fuck,” the sound whistled around him, whispered round him, growing louder and stronger, and it sounded like a song when he focused on it. It was a music his mood and his body wanted to dance to, and it carried him past Lance with a sturdy shove.

Lance toppled into the brush with a loud, “Hey dickhead!”

Harold turned around at the commotion and the wind, the music, continued to play as Pitt’s fist continued the dance, striking Harold in the mouth. “I’m tired of you, you pompous, rotten asshole.”

“And I’m tired of you, you dim witted, stubborn… do you hear that?” Harold touched his bloody nose and looked around, “It sounds like the wind but… but…”

Pitt had drawn his sword as the wind music grew louder and louder, and all he could think of was finally, after all these years, finally putting an end to the burdensome ‘friendship’ of Harold and his lackey.

Pitt snarled and rushed along with the jaunty, heart pumping sound of the flute that made his mind and body dance, not with blind fury, but with well considered and well earned rage.

But Lance grabbed his arm from behind and they started to struggle. The two men were a tangle of swearing, snarling, grasping and punching, and Pitt felt Harold trying to grab hold of him, but he and Lance fell deep into the brush and rolled down the slight incline off the trail.

They stood together, still grappling, Lance’s hand around Pitt’s wrist, sword still in hand, and struggled together, blindly smashing each other into trees, stumbling recklessly down the incline until Lance fell and Pitt knelt on his chest, sword raised, murder in his eyes, and the song of the flute in his heart.

The large piece of deadfall Harold swung at Pitt’s head snapped on impact with a loud crack, and Pitt dropped his sword, then fell sideways off of Lance, and down the long, tumbling incline, and out of sight.

The blow didn’t knock Pitt senseless, but if it hadn’t started his ears ringing, the tumble all the way down might have. When he finally stopped rolling, and falling, and stood up, he couldn’t see his friends, or where he’d fallen from. More so, the wind… no, it had been music, it had been a flute playing the most irresistible music, was gone.

But strangely, Pitt hadn’t regretted what he’d done. No, the sweet, haunting song he’d heard on the wind had simply stirred free everything that had been building up for far too long. Harold was an idiot, Lance was his lackey, and now Pitt was lost in a forest of death because they’d talked him into going on their stupidest adventure yet.

He realized he’d been bewitched.

He was smarter than Harold by a great distance but he didn’t run his mouth all the time so people assumed he was dull, or dim, or slow, and if this first brush with beguiling sorcery was enough to lead to this, then there’d never been any hope for the grand adventure in looting.

“Hello there.”

Pitt wheeled around, his hand moving to his empty scabbard, then just as quickly to his dagger, and he found himself staring at nothing.

“Come closer human,” the voice was soft and honey sweet and seemed to have its own echo, or vibration like a musical instrument.

He backed away from the tree line, and hazarded a glance over his shoulder. It hadn’t been one, long, steep fall, it had been a series of drops, and rolls, and there was no way to climb up the cliff, because he had to face facts that he’d fallen down a cliff, with any kind of speed.

“Forest woman, were you the one playing the flute?” He slid his pack off his shoulders and saw that his bow and all his arrows had snapped on the way down.

“Music? Did it happen to sound like the wind?” The voice, the soft, bubbly voice, it was less of an echo and more of a bubble, laughed and was closer, but he couldn’t see anyone or anything near him. “No, that wasn’t me, but I know who it was, and you should be glad you’re here with me, and not with her. Come and see, and I will show you why it couldn’t be me. And doesn’t the forest smell so sweet today?”

“I… I wouldn’t know… at least not just how sweet, but if you know how to get back to the flute player, or back to the crossroads…” His dagger seemed a paltry thing, but he trusted himself to its point and its edge. “I’d be happy to leave you in peace.”

“You cannot smell how sweet the day is? Oh but what a shame. And believe me, you do not want to go back to the flute player, she is a terrifying and wicked creature, and not sweet at all. You know human, the forest’s greatest treasure is in its sweet scents. But tell me, can you no taste the sweetness on your tongue as you catch you breath? Can you now seem to notice the sweetness in my voice as it tickles your tongue already stranger? You’re breathing so hard, breathing in such mouthfuls of the sweet, sweet air, it’s like you’re drinking it in now. Tell me, can you not taste is so? Can you not drink me in?”

Pitt heard a strange, soft squishing sound as she spoke, and then started to notice that the air was not only fragrant, but that it was truly sweet. It tasted like every breath had a touch of honey, or maybe not honey but of sweet tree sap or syrup. And it wasn’t so much that he couldn’t smell the sweet fragrances, it was that he and his former friends had sniffed an elixir to deaden one’s sense of smell to the most insidious effects of the forest’s luring scents.

“Do my words not taste sweet to your stranger? Do you not long for more of my voice?” Pitt took a deep breath in as she spoke, he couldn’t help it as he was still breathing hard, and felt something inside him, a deep, desperate, hunger that ached for more of the faint but potent sweetness that was on the tip of his tongue.

“I’d rather not…” he tested his will against the cooing sweetness that he didn’t just hear, but taste, a sweetness that made her words stick in his mind, and make his hunger cling to his tongue. “Not…” he had to think quickly. “Not… lose sight of… where… where I fell from.”

The soft, sweet stickiness made thinking slow and more challenging than it should be.

“Oh, I see.” Her sweet tasting voice cooed out to him again. “I can come out to you then.” And with that, he saw a woman, or near enough to one, jiggle and sway out of the tree line, to stand just within the shade, and away from what little direct sunlight shone down on Pitt. “And now you can see me, such as I am, and see how sweet I am, and how I am certainly not the flute player.”

She stood no more than five feet tall and she raised her hands up, hands, that like the whole of her naked body, jiggled and seemed to drip and roll with the same golden slime that made up the whole of her being. Even her hair was the same amber ooze.

“As you can see,” she wiggled her fingers, and Pitt noticed that at least two of them always seemed stuck together, “I couldn’t possibly do the fingering to play a flute.” She laughed then, and her whole body jiggled, especially her immense, truly immense, breasts. “And when I breathe out, I’d gum it all up.”

He also saw, barely, as his gaze was drawn to and held by those golden tits that were each the size of a respectable pumpkin, that her gooey body also seemed to have something like a skeleton. He saw lines of something darker than her golden, soft, jiggling mass, that had the shape of a skeleton, though it looked like the pieces that were her ‘ribs’ were on the outside.

But her body was so fluid, and strange, and her enormous tits were so… so… captivating… that he had no idea if her flesh was simply thinner there, or even what her shape really and truly was or could be.

Even her face, which was round, with plump lips, large eyes that seemed to have different shades of amber to them, and her small upturned nose, seemed to be changing, or if not changing, then not wholly still or stable. And like her breasts, the proportions of her face were all wrong. Her eyes especially seemed too big, while her mouth and nose were too small.

“I…” he stared at her as she swayed and jiggled right up to the edge of the shadows, watching her breasts shimmer and bounce as she stepped closer and closer. “I see…” the sweetness he was breathing in was getting stronger, more delicious, and it was starting to gnaw at him. He licked his lips as he stared at her massive, jiggling amber breasts, wondering what her… no… he knew…. He was tasting the sweet honey of her flesh, such as it was. “I see that.”

“And do you,” she mimed blowing him a kiss, “taste that?”

He felt a wave of dizzying sweetness flood his mouth as he breathed in, and he couldn’t help but follow her a step, and then another, and then another, as she seemed to slide backward, her huge breasts starting to sway even more now, and not just jiggle.

The sight of them was dizzying, and hypnotic, and as he stared at her massive, swaying breasts he started to see different shades of amber in her. He was captivated by the jiggling, swirling colors within her breasts as he stood at the very edge of the light, one foot in the deeper dark of the trees. His mouth was agape while he stared at her breasts, breathing in her sweetness, so close to her that he could reach out to touch…

And he stopped when he realized he’d followed her mindlessly, only because in that moment the sun shone through and caught his eye, breaking the spell of her breasts. He blinked and the shimmering, swirling colors within her undulating, jiggling tits faded back into their singular translucent amber color, and he tried to step away, only to find that his foot, the one in the shadows, was stuck in something…

He looked down and saw that her leg ended in a mass of slime that had wrapped around his foot and his ankle. She had stepped on his foot when he’d entered the shadows, and now he was literally caught inside her.

“Let… go…” as he spoke she exhaled a huge breath, and the cloud of her sweetness, overcame him with huger and need. Pitt’s mouth was watering, and he was suddenly drunk. But luckily for him, being drunk was something he’d had some experience with, just like fighting.

He thrust his dagger into her stomach with all his might, so hard that not only the blade, but his hand passed fully through her body and out the other side. She giggled and her body pulsed and shifted around him.

He’d fallen into her with what he’d hoped was a killing thrust. He’d fallen into the darkness, his face sinking into her massive breasts, the softness of her body gave way to him as his face disappeared onto her cleavage, before the mass of her breasts smothered his head, while her arms engulfed him and pulled him to the ground.

Unlike his would-be murderous tussle with Lance, this time he was the one pinned to the ground, but instead of a sword raised above him, all he could see was two massive, swirling, amber and honey colored breasts swinging before his eyes.

In the moment her breasts had engulfed his head, he felt the soft, pliable surface tension of her form. It didn’t fill his mouth or his ears or nose, she didn’t start to suffocate him by spilling down his thought, the more he’d struggled with her, the more her body gave way and molded itself around him until his was pinned down between her legs, breathing hard, and breathing in more of her sweetness as she also held both his arms down by his wrists.

“So strong, and so proud. So powerful and so mean, I knew I liked you.” Her voice bubbled and echoed with the same strange, reverberating softness, and now her words were touched with a cruel, but genuine mirth.

“Now just lie still, and breathe deep. You’re no good to me as you are, fighting and thrashing. Just be still now, the more you fight, the more you’ll tire yourself out. Now just…” she felt solid on top of him, firm, like a human, and he felt her push her hips down on him as she let out a long, deep sigh, “relax.”

This time, he felt a delicate mist descend on his face, and while he tried to will himself not to breathe in through his mouth, his body, and the nagging, potent hunger betrayed him. This time he tasted little drops of sweetness, like honey, or tree syrup, and he stared up at her swaying, shimmering, jiggling breasts, unable to see anything else, because they were simply too large to see around, and too full to see through.

“That’s it. You’re already starting to feel how drained you are from the struggle, and you’re realizing now, like all humans do, that you don’t want to fight me. You don’t want to resist, you like what is happening, and all you want to just stare at them. Just watch they sway, watching them swing, follow them with your eyes, your heavy eyes, and just relax. I have you now, just accept that you are caught in my sweetness, caught staring and unable to look away.”

As Pitt felt himself starting to cooperate with the slime girl on top of him, it naturally made him need to resist more. He tried to find some purchase to push against her, but her grip on his wrists was too strong… and when he tried to buck his hips, she let out a little giggle and moan of pleasure, before he felt the shape of her hips and her mass shift, forcing him back down to the ground.

And all of that made her massive, still swaying, breasts jiggle all the more.

“And now you’re feeling the strength draining from you as you keep watching them sway. As they swing back and forth, keeping you enthralled, you feel your will and your strength draining away, and calming you down. You want to be calm; you want to be peaceful and relaxed. You want to just stare at them, watching them. They’re so beautiful, so enthralling, and so big, and relaxing… so let them sooth your tiring mind. Let them sooth you, and just accept that they’re draining more of your strength with every swing and sway.”

It was getting harder and harder to deny that her massive tits, and the intoxicating sweetness were overwhelming him and draining his will to resist. He felt his grip on his dagger finally loosen, and when it fell from his hand, he felt his whole body shudder with a wave of relaxation.

It was also getting him harder, being pinned under her as her body rubbed against his, vibrating so softly that he didn’t realize it at first. Now, as his cock pressed against his trousers while he stared helpless up at those swaying, hypnotic, pendulous breasts, enthralling by the swirling shades of honey in them, he couldn’t deny a certain ecstasy was beginning to cloud his senses and drain his resolve.

He moaned as he felt the shape of her hands mold into cuffs around his wrists as little tendrils of her tickled his inner forearms. It made him squirm and buck ever so slightly into her and he felt a strange, new sensation as his trousers dissolved under her, until his exposed cock was swallowed up by her.

He moaned and closed his eyes in sudden ecstasy, until she moaned and whispered to him, “You cannot look away, you must keep watching them sway.”

Pitt’s eyes opened at her command and he stared at her pendulous, massive breasts as they continued to swing back and forth in front of his eyes, the swirling colors inside them continuing to stupefy and enthrall him. They were getting closer and closer now with every swing, closer and closer until he felt new hands caressing his face as her whole body shifted, and a full, large, sticky nipple was pressed to his lips.

He had no choice but to latch on and start to suck, drinking down sticky, warm honey that gushed into his mouth.

“There now, so much better, so much more relaxed and content.”

“Mmmm…” he monae, “Muh…. Muuuuuhhhhh…”

Those hands, from the second set of arms she had grown continued to caress his face, “More? Do you want more of my sweetness?”

He nodded weakly, feeling the indistinguishable perfection of his cock being inside her, feeling the pulsing, stroking, sucking, fucking that was happening to him all at once.

“Not yet,” her nipple was right above his mouth, dripping honey on his lips, and he couldn’t see the strange elongation of her body, nor could he look down to see what was happening below his waste. All he could do was stare, transfixed and enthralled by her swaying breasts, and whimpering for more of her addictive sweetness.

When he came, his hips shot up more violently than when he’d tried to wrestle her off of him, and as they shot up, she slid under him, moaning with her own pleasure as he exploded inside her.

His moan was cut short as she shoved her nipple in his mouth and he started to suck again. And as he drank her in, he felt soft, slimy tendrils slide up his cheeks and into his ears. The wet, probing sensation made his hips buck and his back arch, and he felt her pressing into him, like tongues in his ears, then like something more… flowing into him, feeling a heaviness in his head, making everything warm and wonderful.

The sweetness gushing from her nipple was overpowering, and as he sucked and drank, he felt a warm, oozing stickiness covering his face, as she gently rolled the two of them over, so he was on top of her… sinking down into her as she cocooned him with her body. The smoothness of her skin was gone, replaced with stickiness clinging to him, pulling him in, and binding him to her.

Pitt didn’t know when it ended for him, but by the time she had started to absorb him, after unlocking the key to his being through his seed, he’d been rendered numb by her honey, lost in the sweetness, and unaware even that he’d stopped feeling her body around his at all.

When he was on top of her, it was only to use gravity to let him sink slowly into her mass. It was easier for her to absorb him, to devour him that way. Just like it was easier to enjoy a human that was docile, and entranced. Their pleasure, their bliss, the essence of them, both in body and spirit, was much sweeter and stronger when they weren’t afraid. And it was easier to extract their minds, as she absorb his psychic energy through the tentacles she’d slid into his ears, when they were full of pleasure, and not pain and fear.

She stood up and shifted, letting the debris of what he’d been wearing and carrying fall through her and out of her, then stretched and started picking her old bones out of her form and shifting the new ones she’d taken into place.

Without bones, it was much harder to keep a form for more than a few moments, and she didn’t want to go back to being a puddle that could sometimes look like a girl. The humans had gotten wiser… not by much, but enough to demand more from her, and the other predators of the forest.

            She had all of Pitt’s memories, and as she thought about his other two companions, she laughed. If the flute player didn’t get them, someone else would, and there was no reason for her to travel up the cliff and after them, not when she could sleep and finish digesting her meal.

Harold of Doom

“He’s gone…” Lance looked down into the expanse of trees and the steep slope punctuated by a few near vertical drops. Lance picked up Pitt’s sword and leaned against a tree. “He tried to kill me and he’s…”

“Better him than you my friend.” Harold dropped the piece of branch he’d broken on his friend’s head. “What do you think, press on or go back?”

He watched Lance slide the blade into his belt then gingerly touch the bruises on his face, and predictably said, “What do you think?”

“I say we press on. We’re smarter, stronger willed, and more determined than Pitt was. And part of me wants to go after him, but…”

Harold didn’t need to say it, neither one of them wanted to leave the path and go into the deeper forest, especially if they’d lose the better part of the day looking for a corpse. So, they walked on along the northward path towards the entrance, so Harold believed, to the lost valley and the gems of the Lamia Queen.

They pressed on well into the coming dark, stopping only briefly for their most basic needs, and because the path was clear and strong even in the fading light. When they could go on no further, Harold drew out from his pack the three carved stakes of warding that would shield them from wickedness as long as they stayed on the path as their lights burned.

He gave them over to Lance to hammer into the ground in a triangle on the path, and then took one of their lit torches and set the tappers of the stakes ablaze. They started to burn, slowly, very slowly, casting off a blue light that made Harold feel both protected, and revitalized. These were rare treasures, items of great power, but they were his secret to surviving the forest, and had been worth the cost.

They made a small fire in the center of the road, ate, drank, and agreed to take turns on watch. And once Lance, who agreed to take the second watch, was fast asleep, Harold set aside all notions of staying awake until the deeper dark, and closed his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” a feminine voice softly whispered almost directly into Harold’s ear. “There are dangerous things about, you should be watching for them.”

He sat bolt upright, fumbled the sword that was across his lap, picked it up, then spun about with the blade raised as he realized the gentle blue flames and the campfire blurred and ruined his night vision.

“I’d ask you, rather than show yourself, to depart and leave us in peace.” Sensing that she was close, whomever she was, he didn’t feel the need to shout, as he knew that it would only bring more unwanted attention. They said that in the Deep Forest, pruning one danger only revealed a garden of misery.

“But you’ve come so far and traveled so wisely, would you not care to look upon me, safe as you are? So few travel these paths, and too few keep their wits about them enough to appreciate my grandeur.”

Her voice was haughty, but delicate and teasing. He knew the voice, as he had long been the object of female affection, and in his status he was often perused by ladies who would feign coyness or bravado, or as this creature was doing with the charm of her voice, both.

“The light that keeps you from preying up us, alas blinds me to what lies beyond its glow. And I’d rather not see you, than risk being eaten by you. I bid you farewell and goodnight, lady of this stretch of wood, and by the laws of the road, I renounce your presence and your advances.”

Some creatures were bound to such rules, others… not so much… but it was worth a try.

“Oh, but what of your friend, who is sleeping so deeply? Whose eyes were so heavy they closed as he set his heavy head down to just finally sleep. He has traveled so far, just like you, and you’re just as tired as he, tired from a long day, a red day full of chaos, bloodshed, and loss. Your heart is tired, your mind is tiring, and your body is so weak, if you would just recognize it. It’s why you’ve wandered off the path, isn’t it?”

It was too dark, and too bright for Harold to see, but he’d been certain they’d set up camp on the road, for though it was not much more than a battered footpath due to disuse and lack of maintenance, it was still a road, known and true.

“Yes,” the fluttering, hauntingly soft voice spoke to him as he strained his eyes and his worried mind to see proof of her lies, and to calm the hammer of fear in his heart. “Your mind is so tired, weary and tired now, and you’re losing track of what you remember, wondering, did I wander astray? Did my friend fail me? You think these thoughts over and over, fast as lighting, every through hammering in your tired mind, making your senses dull with worry. Weariness is washing over you from head to toe, you cannot think clearly now, you can only try and turn the tides of fear, fear so strong it’s draining your already spent emotional will. You’re so tired now, so tired, you feel like you must rest. You’re so tired now, your body wants to crumble down into deep sleep.”

Her words, soft as the deepest darkest night, sparkled I his mind like stars, and he felt his body getting heavier, as the lulling, musical lilt of her voice pushed into his mind, making him feel everything she said.

He blinked, and the tip of his sword fell to the dirt, the handle barely still in his grip. “No,” he shook his head, “the light burns bright, it shields me from your enchantments. You words have no power over me!”

He spoke the words with a hushed determination that lent strength to their truth, and as he spoke he felt the cloud of her influence lifting off his mind, and felt the weariness her haunting voice has cast over him fall from his shoulders.

“This is true, and as you have been honest with me, so I have been honest with you. All I said was true, you did leave the road, at least your poor squire Lance did.” She mocked him, but sweetly, though no matter how soft her voice was, and it was soft as a lover’s caress, he still felt a malicious satisfaction in her words. And worst still, what she had spoken made his blood run cold.

“I am no knight, and he is not my squire, but tell me, how do you know his name? Did you follow us so long? Are all the roots and branches your spies? Truth for truth, tell me so.” He growled out his demand.

“Why not turn around and see for yourself, brave, foolish, Harold.”

Her voice came from in front of him, from the other side of the glowing blue light, and so he turned away from him, not wholly, just a quick turn of the head to see…

Lance stood there, upright, his shoulders slumped, his body loose as though it were fast asleep, and in his hand he held the extinguished third stake, and attached to his face, covering his head entirely, was a purple flower bud that was the end of a long twisting vine that came up from the ground. Faster than he thought possible, he lunged for his friend, slashed through the vine with one fell swing, and then tried to grab hold of Lance to pull him close, but when the vine was cut, Lance’s body collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Harold reached for the dropped stake, his only hope, and as he did he heard the rustle of branches above him, and a deep, dark, lavender colored boot stepped on it.

She was tall, as tall as the largest man he’d seen, and on this side of the light, where his eyes could see more clearly, he could not help but gasp at her beauty. Her booted feet, or the ends of her legs, he knew not if they were actually boots, or a fashioned part of her, came up to her knees, and from her knees up save for long elbow length gloves of the same color, she was naked, her deep, dark, violet skin radiant in the reflected light.

She looked down at him, a wicked smile across her narrow lips, her eyes glowing green in the dark, framed by her sharp, narrow features. It was not the face of a person, it was too long, and too angular, and too perfectly symmetrical. It reminded him of a sculptor capturing a likeness, the character of a face, not a face itself, and he rose to his feet with this sword still in hand.

The creature shook her head and put her hand to her chest, and he saw two things at that moment. The first was that her green hair was not hair, but vines, vines that stretched up into the trees somewhere, and the second was that her breasts were immense. They looked like two, large, swollen berries that were ripe to bursting, each one the size of a melon, both jutting out perfectly from her chest.

“There,” she cupper her tits as he stumbled backwards with his sword between him and her, “I have gotten what I wanted, only for you to see me. For what is the beauty of a flower in bloom if no eyes can cherish it? And what good is a flower if no bee buzzes along to bathe in its pollen and carry it away?”

There was something dizzying about her form and figure, and he found himself staring at her breasts, rapt by the gentle caress of her hands. “And while you are no bee, you are a man, and your eyes do draw you to me, as you are meant to, just as I am meant to attract you. My shape, my form, it is as irresistible to you, as though you were a bee, and now that you have seen me, we shall see what becomes of you.”

Again Harold shook his head and found a moment of clarity. His sword would serve him well enough, but fire was the foe to all plant creatures. All he had to do was… step back… grab a torch…

Her hands toyed with her massive, swollen breasts and while Harold did take another step back, he found that he could not look away from her chest. They were perfect. They were, like the rest of her, too perfect, and they were too large, or so he would have thought if he could have thought. But he stared at them, truly transfixed by their, irresistible, grotesque beauty.

They were the same violet as the rest of her skin, but with darker nipples and areolas, and as he stared at her, he started to see, thin, spidery, thin, pale veins of florescent green. There was something primal about her beauty, or what it did to him, something that transcended logic and reason, and spoke only to his most base desires.

“Am I not beautiful, Harold?” Her voice floated out to him, whisper soft and delicate, and he wanted to tear his gaze from her breasts, but he couldn’t convince himself to. “Am I not what you need? Do you not feel it, staring at my breasts, my little bee, that this is your nature? The man’s eyes are drawn to the woman’s breasts, it is in your nature, and mine are the most perfect for luring you closer. Do you not see that now Harold? Do you not see how what I say speaks to your nature?”

She squeezed her breasts ever so delicately, and he watched them give way, not like flesh, but like ripe fruit, and as she cupped them and pushed them together, it made her soft, sleepy words, heavier and sweeter in his mind. He was truly captivated by the unnatural perfection of her breasts, and as she rolled them slowly, squeezing softly, showing him how ripe they were… there was no other way to describe them, they were ripe, and full, and luscious and… and his mouth watered… he wanted desperately to jus turn his head, but something in the base of his skull just wouldn’t let him look away.

“Come to me, feel them draw you in little bee. Come to me, come closer, you want a closer look. So beautiful, so perfect, so primal. Come closer now. Closer and closer.”

She continued to caress herself, accentuating the otherworldly, grotesquely beautiful and hypnotic quality of her breasts, and as he took a helpless, shuffling step forward, she floated towards him ever so slightly, not taking a step, but moving by the long vines of her “hair”, making him feel as though he’d taken a larger step.

Inside his head, the shape and color of her breasts, the too perfect, too strange and alien beauty of them, the same undeniable, primal perfection that made him powerless, also horrified him. His dimming, diminishing inner voice and sense of self, could only watch in terror as the rest of his body followed his cock, which had swollen to a painful fullness and thickness.

And while his cock was straining against his breaches, reaching out towards the plant women as though it were a drowning man hoping for salvation, he knew the truth… that she was the waves were pulling him down.

Still, the undeniable allure of her breasts, the enthralling, hypnotic beauty of them started to ebb away at his terror. As he took another step towards her, helpless to resist the beautiful pull, and the gentle, whisper of her voice, saying “closer and closer” over and over again, his fear started to dim, or burn itself out.

He felt hands on his face, caressing him, then sliding to the back of his head, and he stared forward as her tits rose to eye level with him. He stared at her nipples and licked his lips involuntarily, and as they got closer and closer, he felt his body jerk, like waking from a dream suddenly, but it was not to step backwards…

No… his mouth lurched towards her nipple, and his sword fell from his hand, as he brought both hands up to squeeze her breast. He’d expected them to be full of, he didn’t know what, juice, ambrosia, something he could drink, but as he squeezed her massive tit in his hands, desperately sucking, she stroked his head and cooed to him.

“I know what you want, and it will not come from my breasts. My breasts are like the outer petals of the flower, and the color, and I have what you desire little man… my lost little bee. Are you hungry for me? Are you ready to taste me?”

She peeled him away from her tit, and all he could do was stare at them, devoid of thought, aching with pent up primal arousal, his mind wholly docile and subjugated by her breasts.

He couldn’t speak, he could barely grunt out a needful, desperate sound that was almost a yes. Slowly, her hair lifted her up and up off the ground, and he followed her tis up and up until her spread legs were in front of his face, and her slit, less like a human woman’s vagina, and more like another flower that was blooming for him, dripping with sweet wetness, so fragrant and so close that even the sense dulling elixir couldn’t keep it from filling his nose, flooding him and intoxicating him even more.

He licked her slit, softly at first, and tasting her, tasting the sweetness, the indescribable sweetness, he grabbed her hips and pressed his face into it, moaning with orgasmic relief as he thunderously came in his trousers from her taste…

Broken Lance

            Lance watched in awestruck horror as Harold’s head disappeared between the plant woman’s legs, and then stared, petrified as she expanded out to swallow up his body into her. Her stomach expanded out, becoming transparent, her legs disappearing as her lower body became a massive, round, translucent berry. But the horror continued as her upper body submerged into the berry, like the inner stem or core of a fruit.

In all of the flickering light Lance could see inside the translucent, purple orb, and saw clearly that the upper body, which was still whole, moved Harold’s comatose shape, until her lips latched on to his cock. The last thing Lance saw, before he scooped up a few key items and ran, was her lips bobbing up and down on Harold’s cock, and his body shuddering inside the orb, diminishing and shrinking into itself more and more with every shudder.

One moment he’d drifted off to sleep, knowing he’d have to be wary, not trusting Harold, who was too trusting in his acquired magical charms and his own sense of invincibility, to keep his watch and wake him on time. And the next moment, he was peeling a large nightshade flower off of his head, and watching as Harold staggered towards he plant woman. He’d tried to avert his gaze, but upon seeing her breasts, had felt himself trapped, lost, and helplessly drawn to them. But his body was numb, tingling painfully as it woke, up, as though it were a leg that had been pinched while sitting too long.

He barely heard her voice, but he felt it, and felt like a part of her was inside of him, and the more she spoke, the more the echo of her voice made it grow. But then her slit swallowed Harold up, and she folded into herself, turning into a massive, translucent nightshade berry… and that broke the many spells that she had cast upon Lance in so many ways.

He grabbed his pack, which included his sword belt he’d thought to buckle through the straps in case of an emergency just like this, Pitt’s sword that he’d held on to since it was a finer blade than his own, and a torch that he lit in the fire, then started to run back from whence he came.

He did not see behind him, that as Harold’s essence was drained out of his cock, a new berry started to grow. And when Harold was no more, the new berry, which was as large now as the other, fell from the vines, imploded on itself, and revealed a new nightshade woman. This one not bound by her vines of hair, and started to follow after Lance down the path.

But she would not be how he met his fate.

The first torch burned itself down low just before midnight, and in the deepest black, sill on the path, Lance had to cobble together a new one out of a thick branch, the sleeves of his shirt, and the lard he’d brought along for cooking. It was a messy, desperate process done before the torch burned to nothing, and he told himself he only needed to make it to dawn, or until the pre-dawn could help him on his way.

Exhaustion washed over him suddenly, so did thirst and hunger, and he felt the tremor of his adrenaline fading. He’d gone for hours, running on fear, forcing his body forward, but now as he heard the wind blowing, he felt his body starting to fail him.

Lance stumbled on the path, then dropped down to his knees, sword in one hand, tip down into the dirt, helping him stay upright, torch dropped on the hard packed earth as he yawned, and blinked, and tried to tell himself no, the whispered messages on the wind were wrong, he couldn’t just clos his eyes for a moment.

But as he said no out loud, and tried to force himself back to this feet, the music on the wind, the gentle, ethereal notes of a flute made him start to sway on his knees. The music was gentle and melodic, and it was all around him, but when he closed his eyes he saw Pitt fall off of him and disappear over the edge of the cliff, and then he saw his best friend’s body and soul consumed by that monstrous plant woman.

The music was soft, as soft as cottonseeds on a breeze, and it buffeted him gently, teasing him with its alluring touch, but the fear and the anger of everything that had befallen him and his friends since the entered the heart of the forest flooded through him, powering him forward. Those feelings, and tenacity, carried Lance to his feet, and into long, desperate strides down the trail. Still, the music swirled around him, working against him now, blowing against him like a strong wind, and Lance felt the music pushing against his body.

It was still gentle, still soft as a lullaby, but there was force to it now, a will and a physicality to it, pushing him, buffeting him, and slowing him down. Everything was getting heavier and heavier, and Lance recalled with sharp clarity as Pitt’s sword banged against his leg, that Pitt had claimed to have heard the wind earlier, before madness took him.

Lance bit his lip and put his shoulder into it, walking along the road, wishing he knew any traveling songs he could sing, but none seemed appropriate. With every step the music was growing stronger, and while it pushed against him even harder now, becoming actual wind that made his torch flutter, the sound of it grew softer, and more intoxicatingly haunting.

All he could do was keep striding forward, and sometimes it felt like the wind had wrapped around him, pushing against him, speeding him on his way, before stopping and pushing against him. Sometimes as he kept walking, his world narrowed down to taking the next step, the music also felt like it was pulling on him too, and when it pushed on his back, or pulled on his front, with every step he took, the song fell in time with his own steps, and his journey became a dance, one he was too tired not to lose himself in.

And as he strode ever onward, mindlessly following the music, Lance started to hum along with the tune. He didn’t realize he was doing it, just as he didn’t realize he was walking in time with it, and as he walked, the wind buffeted him ever so slightly, and so focused on walking forward, of following the dance, he didn’t notice the moment he stepped off the path.

The song he heard on his lips, the wind easing him to step into the trees to shield himself, all of it beguiled his exhausted, led him further and further from the path. And once he left the path, the wind blew him easily, guiding him with the softest nudge, and not till his torch burned low, did Lance realized he’d lost the path entirely. He woke from his dreamy dance to see that his torch was naught but glowing embers, and that he was lost beyond hope.

As he stopped, the music, the wind, did too.

“No matter what you may think, if you hear a song enough times, you do develop a feeling for it. If not a fondness, then at least a relationship to it. I find that the songs I truly hate, all have a tune that could be something I love. Songs don’t get stuck in our heads if they aren’t catchy, don’t you think?”

Lance stabbed his sword into the dirt, dropped his pack, and raised the failing torch high, “I think your music drove my friend to madness, and I think you’ve forced me from my path, and brought me to you. And I doubt it is only to play me another tune.”

“Oh, but it is,” at the edge of the light, he saw a pale, woman with long black hair cascading down her naked shoulders and across her massive breasts. Her eyes were purple, and as he stared into them, he felt his vision begin to fog, seeing her eyes seem to divide and divide again, until eight eyes stared at him from two sockets. “All I wish is for someone to appreciate how much I’ve been practicing. Your, ahem, friend appreciated it, I could see it in how quickly it took hold of him, and I’m sorry, but I do better when I play for an audience of one, and all wish is to play for you now.”

He took a step back and brandished his blade as he saw she had not one, but two sets of arms, the upper, holding a simple wooden flute, and the lower squeezing her human head sized breasts as she added, “And if you enjoy my music, then perhaps we can share in other pleasurable things.”

“For you maybe, but I’d rather not be devoured!” And as he advanced a few steps towards her, brandishing sword and torch, she stepped fully out of the dark, revealing, four, long, spider legs. From the waist up she was a woman, and even her front legs seemed more human like, but it was still the front of a an arachnid-like body.

She didn’t answer him, instead she started to play her flute, while staring deep into his eyes. The music did not sound like the wind this time, it sounded only like music… deeply sensual, compelling music that made him want to sway with her, as her human upper body did, all while her lower hands toyed with her massive tits in time with the song.

He felt a flush of heat between his legs, and his vision started to blur. Her hypnotic sway, and the entrancing motion of her tits was no safer for him to look at than her glowing, beguiling eyes… eyes that seemed to make the strands of her song solid… entangling him… wrapping around his mind and…

“The previous owner of this little flute, or is it a recorder? Do you know the difference? Well, I call it a flue, but he played it quite well, and I did enjoy listening to him. He thought he could charm me and the denizens of the Deep Forest with it, but as he lured me to him with his sweet playing, he found himself the enchanted one.”

As she spoke, her lower arms hefted and emphasized her enormous breasts, and Lance felt his eyelids getting heavier and heavier as he watched their beguiling, compelling motion in her hands. It reminded him of lying helpless on the ground, staring at the plant woman’s breasts, powerless to break his gaze from their hypnotic…

He turned and fled with his smoldering torch leading the way. Behind him he heard a titter of laughter, and he ran in silence, keenly aware that the music had stopped.

But it was dark, and getting darker, and he felt threads of sticky silk clinging to him from behind, pulling him back, slowing him down, and he thrashed against them, pushing forward, blindly…

His heart was beating in his ears, he was panting, and his strides hit the ground hard, but underneath all of it, part of him started to recognize the haunting, melody of the flute reaching out to him…

He pushed himself forward further, and faster, running face first into a sticky web that crossed his path. But he was no fool. Exhausted as he was, Lance’s mind was still sharp, sharp enough at least even as the flute’s sticky song started to cocoon his awareness again, and he forced the torch to light the web.

As it burned and started to give way, he tripped and fell, and pulled himself back up to his feet, but he was turned around and he couldn’t tell if the strands of webbing that clung to him were in his mind or real, and he dropped his sword to pull the webbing from his eyes as he tried to keep moving, swinging the torch around him, trying to fend off anything and everything that would come too close.

As he tore the webbing from his face the sight before him, catching the dying flame on alabaster skin and obsidian black hair, was the flute playing spider-creature, her upper body still swaying to the music she played, her hands still rolling her breasts in time with the song, eyes dancing as they stared into his. This time they did not divide, just two brilliant orbs of purple starlight piercing his fragile psyche.

The shock of her sudden appearance, that she was so close to him, startled his already addled mind, and so powerful was the force of her stare deep into his eyes, it was like a physical blow that dazed him. And that was how his body started to sway with hers, back and forth with the music, and her body.

He danced with her in their own way, swaying in time with the song she played, and she swayed her way closer and closer to him, his eyes held by hers, his mind tangled up in the stickiness of the song, and the webs of music that bound his thoughts, and cocooned his reflexes.

Her hands tore easily through his garb, ripping the tattered remains of his shift from his, and then his trousers, all while she played her flute. Then, delicately, and slowly the music changed into an even slower, sensual and haunting tune. One that eased his body down… down… he fell back onto a web of sticky silk, half reclined, eyes fluttering in dreamy sweetness, and bone tired exhaustion.

She moved on top of him, his cock smothered between her massive breasts, and he stared into her eyes as she continued to play her flute. Lance’s eyes closed, just a blinking, fluttering moment of surrender to exhaustion, and when he opened them again, the flute was gone, and it was now her upper hands working as she tit fucked him. What her other hands were doing, he could not see.

“My breasts, which serve no purpose but to draw the eye and help me to seduce and beguile the mind of my prey, fascinated him as he played. And slowly, he became so enthralled that he could no longer play his music, then I spoke to him as I speak to you now, soft words cocooning him in desire and putting his cares into a deep sleep as he stared and listened to me. Long have I, and all of my sisters, the children of the great queen in her temple, known these secrets, knowing the power of our bodies, and our beauty, and out voices. And I thought, if this flute was magic unto itself, then how could it carry my voice, my entangling, silky webs of will out into the world. And you are the first to hear me play these tunes, the first to be enthralled by my beauty, and soothed, beast that you are, by my music.”

Lance felt strangely flattered and honored by her attention, and the teasing, flattering, personal revelations and inner thoughts. The sound of her voice was as haunting and irresistible as the music, and has her breasts worked his cock, he felt nothing but warm, throbbing, desperate pleasure.

“Sing my song, it is in your mind, it is all you think, it is all you are.” She spoke the words, and it sounded like a singing, though it wasn’t, and he could not deny her. Nor would he want to deny her anything.

He was broken, wholly and completely mentally broken, and he started to hum the song she had been playing, and the more he hummed, the stronger the pleasure of his cock being between her tits became. He looked down and saw those massive breasts fucking him, moving with the music, continuing the dance. Her tits danced with his cock, and his cock, like his voice followed her lead.

He was in harmony with her, bound to her, entangled in her in body, and mind, and even his soul was trapped in her web. He closed his eyes again, and felt himself falling into a cocoon of softness. When he opened his eyes again she was once again playing her flute, using her lower arms again to squeeze her tits together to fuck his cock.

As the music started to reach its climax, so did he… and as the music hit a crescendo, he let out a deep, gasping sigh, but it was barely a release, barely an orgasm.

And the music continued, the humming continued, and the dance continued. His cock barely responded to the orgasm, staying hard as her tits continued to work his cock, milking him slowly. Each release felt desperately incomplete, but stronger than the last, and then she took the flute from her lips, smiled, showing two large fangs, and stared deep into his eyes as he finally, fully, and completely came.

He shuddered in pleasure and relief as the music left him. He realized, vaguely, that he was fully cocooned in her webs, save for his head and his cock, but as she scooped a glob of his cum from between her breasts and licked it off her fingers, he was too permeated with sexual pleasure to care.

As her lips brushed his neck and her fangs pierced his flesh, that orgasmic bliss she had inflicted on him was what she tasted as she started to drain his body and soul until he crumbled to dust.