The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Choosing to heighten her sense of touch had been a bad idea—a very, very bad idea. But when she’d chosen it, Yathi hadn’t counted on being trapped in such close quarters.

Or on how soft and smooth Ia’s skin felt.

Yathi could feel Ia’s shallow breaths on her neck as the two knights huddled in the alcove, crammed behind the curtain. She prayed that the curtain wasn’t as easy to see through for those without her currently enhanced eyesight.

She turned, biting her lip, trying not to focus too much on how her lips almost grazed Ia’s as she mouthed, Where are the others?

Ia blinked at her. She leaned in slightly, and with her touch as sensitized as it was, Yathi shivered as Ia whispered in her ear, “I saw Mew and Trys run down further.”

Yathi swallowed. She hadn’t had many dealings with Ia, but the junior knight was exceptionally pretty, with her thick lashes and large dark eyes, her compact, muscular build, and the heat that radiated between the two of them. She hadn’t noticed that before. Ia didn’t worry much about looking pretty, with her hair cut so short, but even that was sort of cute—a kind of effortless beauty, casual, messy…

Yathi quickly tore herself back to staring out through the curtain, praying that the red in her cheeks wasn’t as luminescent in the darkness as it felt like it must be. Her heart was racing. Even with her sense of taste and scent both dampened to be almost nil, just knowing that they were in the middle of a Thriae Hive—that every wall and floor around them would be as sticky-sweet as Yathi could ever wish, could melt her mind away into sticky sap, if only she would kneel and lick like a good girl—

The mead addict’s knees felt like jelly at the thought. Yathi also knew, biting her lip, that the only thing separating her from all the honey a silly slut like her could ever think to drink would be the tiniest of cries for attention, the littlest of leans past the curtain, to let herself be discovered and captured and brainwashed at last. And that temptation was absolute torture right now.

She was horny—helplessly, brainlessly horny, and totally without her adorable catgirl admirer/mistress/lover to keep her ‘managed.’ Yathi felt her cheeks burning even hotter at the fact that she was already missing Mew, the catgirl who had used her, manipulated her, begun to brainwash her. The fact that she was thinking of Mew as the ‘adorable catgirl,’ as a ‘lover.’ The word honeycow still echoed in her head, reminding her of Mew’s wickedness.

But she was so, so horny, and she thanked the heavens above that Ia had decided to mute her sense of smell, too, despite her inoculation against the honey. That meant Ia might not immediately notice how unspeakably, delicious wet Yathi was, rendered unable to smell the faint scent of Yathi’s honey-tinged juices.

The knight couldn’t notice how horny Yathi was. Tease her for it. Maybe slip a hand right down Yathi’s tight leather pants, feel that slickness, giggle and give her a kiss on the neck and tell her she was a naughty girl… or, worse, a good girl for being so silly and horny, and there would be more kisses, and maybe a finger or two would slip inside—or Ia would pull her hand out and ease her knee between Yathi’s legs, wordlessly inviting her to start humping like a wifwolf in heat, mewling like the needy, honey-drunk slut she was. Kept right on the edge by her effortlessly beautiful colleague—

Yathi was panting as, again, she snapped out of the daydream. She covered her own mouth and forced herself to breathe slower, barely containing a whimper of shame.

She hated herself in that brief moment.

All her life, Yathi had judged—no, despised—those who couldn’t manage their needs. She had lived her life at the whims of people like that, cursed by beauty that others had the nerve to describe as a blessing. She remembered well her childhood best friends, so close when they were young, all to lose their minds over her, to break into feuding over her beauty and over who deserved her and who loved her most. Jenette, Tilah, even sweet, quiet Nessam—all gone one-by-one from close friends to would-be suitors, as they grew up and began to recognize Yathi’s ‘uncommon’ beauty.

She remembered, too, the time when some cruel pranks had ended with her being tied half-naked to the Enterprise billboard—physically unharmed, but socially humiliated, only to be discovered that morning by her mentor, who would fail to conceal his erection even as he helped her down.

And she remembered each of her coworkers and superiors, who all teased and harassed her at every opportunity. As if it was her fault she looked as she did, as if she’d not spent her every waking moment looking for ways to be uglier: dyeing her hair, cutting it in the sloppiest of ways, never washing it. As if she hadn’t sought out the ugliest armors imaginable (which, of course, conspired to look svelte and form-fitting on her). As if she’d not become a scout, the job that required squatting in mud and filth and camouflaging oneself in leaves and dirt (but somehow, on her, it always looked distinctive and flattering, showing off her plump lips and thick lashes and pretty brown eyes and dimpled cheeks). And still, her fellow knights made jokes about who she’d sucked off to get her position.

And Yathi hated all of them for it. She didn’t like hating so many people, but she did.

And now she could barely breathe, she realized, because she knew her breaths would come out labored and throaty, steeped in lust at the mere thought of the knight sharing this cramped closet with her getting even a little bit mischievous.

But Ia never would, Yathi told herself firmly. Ia was a pervert—all those inoculated were, in her experience—but she was a dignified colleague nonetheless, and would never act without Yathi’s consent.

So all Yathi had to do was not consent. Not rub up against Ia. Not wordlessly beg with her eyes, whisper the words.

But there was nothing else Yathi could think about doing. Nothing but making Ia fuck and tease and toy with her like a slut deserved.

And so it was almost with a sense of joyful relief that Yathi saw the door open, and the Thriae emerged.

But as she gazed upon the seven honeyed harlots from her most absurd, indulgent wet dreams, those ‘plump lips’ of hers parting in wonder, Yathi felt her thighs rubbing together in anticipation. And her heart was racing faster than ever.

Trys bit her lip, squinting as best she could through the curtain. Luckily, it appeared to be fairly translucent, and with her enhanced eyesight, she could see quite well.

All too well.

The statuesque blonde bombshell of a knight was currently a little bit cramped—the little alcove she had ducked into was almost too short for her, and since there was a decent-sized crack between tapestry and ceiling, she had to duck her head in case a Thriae happened to glance over and wonder at the thick golden locks just barely visible above the hanging curtain. At least the curtain reached all the way to the floor.

It didn’t help that she hadn’t been the only one to duck into this alcove. Trys was built virtually like the archetypical Thriae herself—nearly six feet tall, with breasts literally the size of honeydew melons, a waist like a gourd’s stem, and curvy hips to match the chest. She was extremely fit, but it wasn’t doing her a lot of good right now—normally her breasts were bound tightly, almost painfully to her chest to allow for exertion, but some unknown catgirl or Thriae or vine dryad had taken those wrappings away long ago, no doubt confused at why Trys would ever want to cover her bounty. She had to cup her breasts just to run now, which was impractical as it was embarrassing.

But she could have handled it had she not been forced to cram herself into the little alcove with Morrowii—‘Mew,’ to her friends. And lovers. And captive playthings. The line between the three seemed, to Trys, to be awfully blurred.

But now Trys was trapped with the very catgirl who had brought her to her knees and made her low like a helpless holstaur at the mere whisper, the mere breath, ‘Honeycow.’

And worse, she barely fit in here.

She watched as the Thriae emerged, one-by-one, her heart pounding—barely keeping her breathing in check. Years of meditative exercises had all been meant to prepare Trys for the moment she would encounter the bearers of that sweet, addictive honey again, but those years had never been meant for such exquisite challenge—Trys thanked the gods for Mew’s scent-dampening magic, even though she knew it was only barely enough.

Barely enough for such delectable temptation.

The first to emerge was difficult enough. She was of average height for a Thriae warrior—meaning roughly the height of a human man, or taller, if one counted the wasp-like wings that fluttered behind her. She was dressed in what appeared to be a blue two-piece swimsuit—the kind that left almost nothing to the imagination, and yet still enticed the onlooker to imagine what she might look like without. She had long, wavy blonde hair, and an expression of curiosity as she strolled out of the vat chamber. She carried a pole that, with her lifeguard-aesthetic, could almost be taken for a pool skimmer—but the loops of red ribbon at the end were, Trys sensed, designed for heavier targets than pool detritus.

Even with her almost totally dulled sense of smell, Trys swore she could smell the sweetness of the woman that came next. She was, truly, barely a woman—or was a ‘woman’ in the basest, most animalistic sense of the word. She had strawberry blonde hair that curled up from her shoulders, and large bedroom eyes that darted around, not with the seeker’s curiosity, but with a hunter’s instincts. Her hips were exceptionally wide, and she seemed to taste the air with her tongue, a smile playing across her lips as she followed the lifeguard.

She was, Trys could tell, positively drenched in lust. She glowed with exertion, and the eyes in her heavy-lidded gaze were as much narrowed from suspicion as from exhaustion. She was totally naked save for a basic, pale slip that concealed nothing and suggested everything.

Trys was still watching her hips swing back and forth as her eyes were drawn to the next three. It was hard to see them as individuals—dressed in identical black corsets, short skirts, and fishnet stockings, these three fey were draped over each other, kissing and groping eagerly. Strands of saliva stretched between two of them as they pulled back from their extremely sloppy makeouts, giggling, and one chirped, “I don’t, like, see anyone, Evadne!”

“Well, I heard something.” Evadne was smiling slyly, her eyes darting from curtain to curtain. Trys’s heart nearly stopped as the fey’s eyes settled briefly on her alcove. “Maybe it’d be easier to hear if you sillies could put the kissies on break for a moment, don’t you think, Siproites?”

“Mm…” Siproites sighed, batting her eyelashes, and kissed her partner once more before pulling back. Her voice was slurred and positively dripping with love as she stroked the other Thriae’s golden locks. “Okay, dearest, we should probab—mm!!” The third fishnet Thriae saw her chance and took it, moving in to steal a kiss. At first, Siproites seemed to struggle… but she didn’t fight it that hard. Soon, their lips were smacking against each other as noisily and lewdly as ever, and Siproites was moaning happily, and her original kisser was now kissing between their necks as if nothing had changed. But they kept walking.

Trys heard Mew breathing heavily, and inwardly, Trys shared the feeling. The wide-hipped harlot was walking past them, and the scent was thick enough to make out, even through her dampened senses—the sweet, sweet smell of honey. Apparently, this breathtaking creature was so horny, so imbued with lust, that even Mew’s magic could not block the smell of her sex. Trys’s eyelids fluttered involuntarily.

But then the Thriae passed, and as the sixth Triae emerged, Trys realized she could still smell it. Still smell that impossibly delicious, sugary scent. It hadn’t dropped at all in intensity. She blinked in confusion.

The sixth was a good, brief distraction from the mystery, unfortunately, and Trys felt the moment of curiosity slipping right out of her slippy-sweet mind as she stared, open-mouthed, at the debauchery.

She was short for a Thriae—a shortstack by any measure, curvy and plump in all the right places, and much shorter than Trys. But she still radiated a kind of power that made Trys’s knees weak—made her long to bring herself down to her level.

Her blonde hair was done in an elegant bouffant, ever so-slightly curly and down to her shoulders. She was dressed in naught but a plain white t-shirt and knee-length maroon skirt. She was exceptionally beautiful, in the manner of a goblin maid or gingerbread witch, with an easy, confident smile that made Trys feel like this Thriae knew everything in the world, and that she should just kneel before her, since this gorgeous creature certainly knew best in every possible way.

But it was neither her appearance nor her smile that made Trys’s breath catch.

It was the human man she was leading along with her, tugged on by his cock, as if it were the short leash of an especially ill-behaved dog… though not that short, Trys realized. The human—the mead sprite—was swaying, practically drooling, his eyes glazed over in the honey haze as his Mistress pulled him forward, occasionally giving his cock a little squeeze. He was so massive, and clearly so sensitive, that Trys could see a little precum dribbling out every time.

Despite herself, Trys licked her lips, staring at the cock, imagining what it would be like to take it inside her—to take that poor, needy mead sprite and fuck his brains out. To fuck her own brains out. What it would be like to taste his sweet, drugged cum and fall under his spell—under the Thriae’s spell—

“Hestia,” complained Evadne, “I told you to leave your toys inside! Like, we might be able to find some new toys here, and he’s gonna have us all distracted if you keep him around!”

Hestia blinked big eyes up at Evadne, then up at the man. She stroked his cock with one finger of the hand not pulling him along. “Would you like me to stop, love?” Trys heard her murmur.

The sprite moaned and shook his head, wordless, apparently totally beyond speech.

The smell of honey was as strong as ever, and Yathi couldn’t understand why. She frowned, trying to manage both her panic and her breathing. What was going on? Did the Thriae truly smell that sweet?

She could barely keep her focus together, keep from rubbing her thighs together, as the seventh Thriae emerged. This one was, Trys sensed instantly, the leader.

The mistress, one could even say.

She was statuesque—the fey ideal, her platinum blonde hair spilling down to her narrow waist. Her half-lowered eyelids were a dusky gold, a match for her golden lips, which parted in a soft coo of delight as she reached forward—her long nails painted a pretty blue—to touch the boytoy’s chin, caress his cheek. She gently guided his moaning mouth down, easing his head down into her cleavage. “Ooh… Evadne, you can’t possibly expect us to leave all of our toys behind. Suppose…” She thrust out her chest with a soft gasp as the man started to suckle at her teat, sucking right through her beautiful, diaphanous white wedding dress. “… s-suppose another Thriae were to come alone and steal then away from us.”

“Yeah,” mumbled one of the fishnet Thriae, “like one o’ our, um… mmmwah… cute girlfriends!”

Trys was so lost in the unspeakably lewd display, she almost didn’t notice until too late that she was leaning against the curtain slightly. She quickly pulled back—and bumped Mew.

Mew made a tiny squeak. Luckily, the little sound was covered by the leader’s next words, but Trys’s eyes widened as she suddenly connected the dots.

“It’s not like this one could resist,” the leader of the clique murmured, stroking the man’s hair as the Hestia stroked his cock. “Could you, baby?”

Trys turned and stared, wide-eyed, at Mew—the catgirl was bright red, sucking desperately on her fingers to muffle her little mewls and moans, her other hand shoved right up her skirt and down her panties as she silently fingered herself. Her eyes were wild, dizzy, half-closed. The catgirl was fucking herself silly.

Moaning and suckling, the man could only whine and whimper his agreement.

And, Trys realized, taking a deep breath of the tainted air, the source of the smell wasn’t the Thriae at all. It was the mead addicted catgirl. Her arousal.

Mew, Trys realized with a creeping dread, had never turned off her own sense of smell. The stupid, wanton slut. She glared down at the catgirl.

The catgirl stared at Trys’s tits.

Her fingers popped out of her mouth. Out from between those plump, luscious, suckling lips.

And she leaned in, starting to purr.

“None of them can resist,” Trys dimly heard the leader cooing, as the man’s suckling sounds grew louder.

“Of course not!” Hestia giggled. Trys heard the wet sounds of the fey’s stroking speeding up, and the man’s moans rose. “Poor, horny darlings. I honestly haven’t the faintest idea what they’d do without us!”

Finding herself between a cat and a sticky place, Trys had a feeling she might be about to find out.

“Goooood boy,” cooed Primme.

“Goooooood!” agreed Emberli with a soft giggle. “You’re doing so well! Not long now, no, no, not long at all!”

Brist panted and bit his lip so hard it nearly broke skin to hold in his cries of tormented ecstasy. The worst part was, he couldn’t tell if the sprites even understood exactly what his struggle was.

Because every time he made a pathetic sound, or looked at them imploringly, or mouthed the words please—or even bit his lip like this—they seemed to take it as a plea for more.

“Aww!” Primme beamed and leaned in, and before he could do a thing about it, she’d planted a bright red lipstick mark on his cheek—one of many, many marks. “Poor thing!” she whispered mischievously. “Y’know, Emberli, like, I don’t think this boy’s ever been… pampered before!”

“Oh, reeeeally?” There were conspiratorial smirks, barely contained giggles.

The one blessing Brist had was that the sprites knew how to keep quiet. They took advantage of every word spoken outside, every cry from whoever was being pleasured—he hadn’t been able to look and see what was going on—to cover their own wickedness. They whispered ever-so-intimately in his ears, or to each other, their voices as soft as misty morning breath.

His one blessing was how quiet they had been. Very quiet, as they had made him take off his robes—threatening to cry if he objected—wrapped their warm, slick fingers around his cock, and began to pump up and down as they guided him to sit back on the bed while they cuddled up on either side, sandwiching him between their sexy, soft, enticing, indulgent mead sprite bodies.

Mead sprites. Not even Thriae—mere mead sprites. Brist barely held in a whimper. Mere mead sprites had subdued him so, so easily. But what choice had he had? If they called out, he’d have been caught instantly. Caught like a fly in honey. He could either swim out, and be caught by the wasps above… or swim deeper.

Deeper.

That made it sound like he was submitting. But he wasn’t, Brist told himself desperately, squirming as Emberli kissed his neck with merciless sweetness, as their soft, gentle fingers ran up and down his sensitive length. He was just buying time. Buying time to escape. As soon as the Thriae were gone, he could escape these, too.

He just had to wait until the Thriae were definitely gone.

So it was such a shame that he was too overwhelmed with stimulation to really focus on what was going on outside. It was such a shame that all he could find himself doing was continuing to sink deeper and deeper into the sweet, deceptively heavy honey-daze of two mead sprites who had their prey in their sights. There was nothing sweeter.

“Feels gooood, huh?” teased Primme, tickling under his chin.

“Nnn… please…” Brist flushed at how meek and pathetic he sounded, but he didn’t dare speak clearer, lest the Thriae overhear.

But he should have known that this would backfire. Maybe, a dark, wicked part of him—a part of him that had a voice somewhere between Ia’s throaty purr and a Thriae’s honeyed lilt—had known it wouldn’t work. Maybe that was why he’d said it. Maybe he wanted it to backfire.

Or maybe he was just so dumb from lust that it didn’t occur to him to stop himself.

Nonetheless, his plea just made his tormentors giggle. And then Emberli leaned in close, and he shivered as her lips brushed his ear as she cooed, “Aww… do you not want this, cutie?”

“I think he doesn’t,” breathed Primme’s voice in his other ear. “I think he doesn’t want us pumping him like this at all!” A kiss. A nibble at his earlobe. “Isn’t that right?”

Brist trembled, and for a moment, he found himself struggling to respond. Their fingers stroked up and down his cock with such grace, such gentle, loving, sensuous motion, he could almost just let himself sink deeper and deeper down. His eyelids felt so heavy. They were bringing him closer and closer to orgasm, but somehow, he just felt sleepier and sleepier.

Wasn’t that better, just melting into oozey obedience and sleep so he couldn’t make any unwanted noises? He struggled to think of an argument.

So it was with tremendous willpower that he forced himself to nod in agreement. Yes. That was right. He didn’t want them pumping him like that at all.

It didn’t sound right. It felt so good, and it was so easy to just do what felt good. But Brist’s mind rebelled against his libido, and for once, it won a total victory. He nodded again, more vigorously, staring at Amberli in desperate need.

But Amberli wasn’t there anymore. The warmth she had pressed against him was gone. Brist blinked stupidly at where she’d been for a moment as the hands stopped their stroking.

Then he felt himself being forcibly turned to face Primme. And she beamed at him. “Okay!” she bubbled, kissing him on the lips briefly. Her eyes sparked like fireworks. “I knew it wasn’t enough pampering for such a good boy.”

“Mm.” Brist kept nodding dizzily, feeling dazed from the sheer sweetness of the sprite’s kiss. “Nn… enough…” he blinked. “I-I mean, n-nnn—”

He fell dead silent. This was for two reasons.

One, because a busty silhouette had just appeared behind the curtain leading into this room, and he had realized the Thriae were right outside the entrance.

Two, because he had looked down and spotted Amberli kneeling between his legs, grinning up at him, his cock mere inches from her plump, ruby lips.

She licked her lips and batted her eyelashes winningly.

Primme started gently kissing and sucking at his neck, all-too-noisily.

Brist’s heart started to race.

Yathi watched the advancing Thriae with rising dread—and rising desire. The scout could barely control her breathing as the animalistic, wide-hipped Thriae being called ‘Nycteis’ crept closer, watching the sinfully gorgeous creature with wide eyes.

Nycteis was sniffing the air, licking her lips. The Thriae had an expression like a cat studying a birdbath—concerned, not with the water, but with a viable target to spring upon. Her every motion dripped with lust, from her swaying hips, to her fluttering slip, to the way her hands traced over her curves idly, as if showing off to Yathi and Yathi alone.

And Yathi could almost smell her. She knew the scent—that so distant, so faint smell of sweet honey and musk, that intoxicating cocktail of sugar and venom that would spell Yathi’s delectable undoing if only she leaned in a little bit closer. She could see the lower part of Nycteis’s dress was ruined, could see by the way Nycteis’s thighs rubbed together with every motion that she was totally, unspeakably horny.

Just like Yathi. Practically an animal in heat. A brainless, mindless slut.

Only this slut, Yathi knew, covering her mouth in her desperation to control her panting, would own her the second she saw her.

“Nycteis, sweetie,” called Evadne, “like, what’re you looking at?”

“Mm…” Nycteis smiled slyly. She was staring right at Yathi’s and Ia’s alcove. The wasp girl’s antennae twitched and appeared to buzz. “Smells… good out here.” Her voice was almost a moan, almost a coo, like it had been whispered right into Yathi’s ear, just for Yathi. She licked her lips, and instinctively, Yathi did, too.

Yathi’s mind was dripping and melting into sticky honey every second she stared at Nycteis. She knew that. But she loved it. She clamped her hand tightly over her mouth to keep from moaning aloud as the Thriae idly traced a finger over her breast and around a nipple—so easily visible through the see-through slip.

She knew they were there. She had to. Yathi’s eyes half-closed in ecstasy at the thought. She was going to tell everyone, and Yathi would be dragged out—would be forced to her knees—Nycteis would hold her down, pin her to the floor, fuck her brains out, fuck them right into goo and make them drip down Yathi’s thighs, make Yathi her depraved, mindless slut—

Yathi only realized she was leaning in when Ia grabbed her hand and squeezed. Yathi’s breath caught, and just in time, she pulled back.

The harlot pinched a nipple idly, pouting, and turned to rejoin her group. She hadn’t seen them at all.

This was small comfort, though, as the next Thriae to pass by were the three fishnet-stockinged lovers. They were so delectably wrapped up in each other, Yathi stared in open longing. Oh, gods, that looked so hot. They could barely walk and talk for needing to cling and kiss and grope and grind. Lick and stroke. Gasp. Moan.

“Evadne,” murmured one of them, “should we be—mm—checking the kissing booths?”

Despite all the humiliations of this last week, Yathi felt her face go red and hot as embers when she heard the purpose of the room she and Ia were in.

Ia gave her hand another squeeze.

“Yeah…” slurred Siproites, “like, maybe you just heard… mwah… some warrior and drone, l-like, going at it.” She giggled and wriggled as one of her partners ran a hand up her stocking and under her short black skirt. “L-Like a couple of—mm—sil—silly sl-sluts!” Her eyes closed as she was seized in a passionate kiss by the other Thriae.

They had stopped walking, Yathi noticed uncomfortably. On the bright side, the sheer wanton noisiness of their lovemaking made it easy to cover the sounds of her heavy breathing.

On the other, her inability to control her breathing wasn’t going to get any better while these three were on display for her. She could see the honey dripping, dripping, dripping down their legs, the sticky honey from their kisses. She could practically taste it in the air, and Yathi felt herself trembling as Siproites shifted especially close to her. She could see the way the wanton Thriae was writhing in the grasp of her two passionate lovers…

And then Yathi felt it.

A gentle, tender caress along her side. A second hand, on her other side, stroking down to rest on her hip.

Yathi tried to turn around, lower lip quivering, but Ia held her, held her steady as those hands groped her ass.

“I-Ia,” she squeaked, as Siproites thankfully covered her word with a loud moan.

“Shh.” Ia kissed her neck. “Shh…”

“B-But…”

“Shhh.” Kiss. Kiss.

They needed to be quiet, Yathi knew, fear fluttering past her affront and confusion as she watched the three Thriae pause in their affections.

“Ooh, good idea!” Evadne giggled. “Let’s start checking them!” Yathi watched her bounce past, returning to the first alcove closest to the door. “I hope it was a coupla horny honeys. We can punish them for, like, being all noisy even though everyone knows that this is, like, totes our fave vat chamber!”

Ia’s hands were very smooth, and her fingers were slender enough that they easily slipped under even Yathi’s tight, form-fitting leather. Ia caressed Yathi’s midriff with both hands, fingertips gliding delicately over the sensitive skin.

Yathi wanted to object, but what could she do? She bit her lip hard, trying to ignore how… nice Ia’s touches felt. How gentle. Protective.

Protective. Yathi’s lips half-parted at the thought, unconsciously, as Ia’s hands started to glide the other direction—down, down over her hips, groping Yathi’s bubble butt without shame. Protective.

Dully, she realized she wasn’t thinking about honey anymore. She was thinking about Ia. Ia, gorgeous, tough, unbreakable Ia. Unlike Yathi, Ia couldn’t be compelled. Couldn’t be made to salivate and beg for honey. Ia was taking care of her. Ia had less training than Yathi—Yathi outranked her easily in terms of seniority—but Yathi found her resolve melting a little at the thought.

Ia was just… just helping her. Just helping distract her from her thirst.

And it felt so nice. Yathi barely kept herself from squirming even more as Ia’s fingers stroked playful spirals along Yathi’s skin, groped her ass, cupped her cheeks and squeezed admiringly.

Ia was just distracting her. Like the hand-holding. Yathi nodded to herself, feeling a deep sense of rightness as she stood there and let the junior knight feel her up. She was just being taken care of.

She wasn’t objecting anymore. She wasn’t even really trying to hide her squirming. She watched dimly as the three lovers finally passed by, apparently deciding to start at the beginning rather than checking the alcove they were currently in front of, and her relief was mixed with an easy kind of bliss.

Ia would take care of her. She even smiled dimly, squirming in Ia’s capable hands, finding herself… loving the feeling of being taken care of. Being held. Helpless and safe.

And Ia wasn’t going to try anything, Yathi reminded herself, letting her self-control drip away a little more. Letting herself… just… relax. Ia was just taking care of her. Keeping her nice and distracted.

That was why Ia was groping her so greedily. Why the fingers were slipping under Yathi’s pants and between Yathi’s legs. Yathi’s lips parted in delight, and she only vaguely registered the Thriae going through the alcove to their left. She gasped as the first delicate touches began their dainty dance along her slick pussy lips.

“Pretty.” Ia giggled in her ear. Yathi squirmed and wiggled happily. “Pretty girl.”

Yathi was nodding as the first finger slipped inside her, her face plastered with a dumb beatific beam. The lovely Evadne came to stand right before their alcove, a finger to her lips, a sly smile creeping across them. Ia’s touches felt so good. So nice. So safe.

It took Yathi a long moment, with her thoughts all molten as it was, to understand what Ia’s words meant.

When she finally did, she blinked. Her smile faded. “W-Wha—”

“Shhhh.” Kiss. Kiss. “Quiet, pretty girl. Quiet now.”

Yathi stared out at the approaching Thriae as Ia kissed and fingered her. She struggled to think of what to do.

Struggled to understand why she suddenly had a bad feeling about this.

But it was being a little smothered by all the good, good feelings Ia was filling her with.

The Thriae were checking the alcoves. At least they were being slow about it—Hestia seemed to want to make a big production out of each one, complete with dramatic gasps, exclamations of, “I wonder who could be behind this curtain?” as if she was presenting a stage magic trick, and pouting when there was nothing. They’d only gotten through three alcoves so far, and it was clear that the maternal leader appeared to be getting bored. Even Evadne was looking a bit distracted.

If Trys was lucky, Hestia’s insistence on spectacle would lead to the Thriae clique all getting bored before they reached an alcove with any hapless humans in it.

But today, Trys was unlucky for other reasons.

“Mew,” Trys whispered softly, as Mew leaned in, licking her lips, “hold on. S-Stay focused!”

The catgirl’s expression was dreamy, her eyes flowing honey, her smile as sweet as syrup. Despite herself, Trys couldn’t help but lick her lips, tasting Mew’s honey-tainted breath.

Mew was very, very beautiful, in the way only fey could be. And in the way only a horny fey could, her very proximity was intoxicating. Her pheromones might not be in effect, but her lusty gaze, her warm, curvy body, her breasts visibly flushed—

And all she had to do, Trys knew, biting her lip, was whisper a single word—a single suggestion—and they would both be lost. Her nipples tingled at the mere thought.

She could feel the catgirl’s tail, tickling her leg, and also knew exactly what Mew could do with it. No matter the risk, Trys had to act, and fast. If one was caught, everyone would be caught.

Trys had no choice.

Mew’s lips were parting, and wickedness gleamed in her golden-green eyes, eyes that spoke of intent, of promise. Trys could already almost hear the word.

Honeycow.

Honeycow.

Honeycow.

Those plump red lips were parting ever-so slowly, with visible glee, visibly savoring the word—

Trys had no choice, she told herself, as she seized the catgirl in a passionate kiss.

Mew instantly swooned into the taller woman’s arms. Trys wrapped her arms around the catgirl, praying that Mew would be able to keep from moaning aloud, trying to smother the catgirl with pure love.

Give Mew what she wanted. Keep her occupied. Keep her mouth occupied.

Mew was purring louder, cuddling and snuggling into Trys’s embrace, as she returned the kiss. A little giggle passed between them.

Trys realized she was giggling, too.

And looking into Mew’s eyes, she had the distinct feeling that this was exactly what the evil little kitten had been planning all along.

Now that Mew had what she wanted, the catgirl appeared to be determined to cement her victory. She hopped up into the air, and suddenly the catgirl was cradled in Trys’s unthinking arms, legs wrapped tightly around Trys’s waist. Trys’s cheeks burned red-hot. Mew purred and mewled and wriggled.

Mew was taunting her. Teasing her. Trys couldn’t help herself—not when Mew tasted so good. She allowed her tongue to toy with Mew’s—Mew’s so rough and nimble, just like its owner—and clutched at Mew, entwining her fingers in Mew’s thick hair. She couldn’t get enough of Mew’s lips, Mew’s close embrace.

Mew’s sweet, sweet taste.

She shoved Mew against the wall, thoughts of the Thriae almost gone from her mind. She was kissing roughly; she needed more kissing. More of Mew. Her hands slipped down and groped Mew’s pert rear, and Mew gave a tiny squeal into the kiss as Trys’s finger slipped between Mew’s legs.

After so many years of denial, Trys needed this. Needed to taste this sweetness. Needed to fuck this horny slut’s brains out. She smiled into the kiss as Mew’s eyes widened slightly, as Trys’s fingers started to slip inside, as her thumb played along Mew’s clit.

“What’s wrong, candykitty?” she cooed, pulling back briefly. She licked Mew’s lips. Everything about Mew was sweet as honey. Mew was a mead addict, like her, and her lips were like a spoonful of wine to a drunk—just enough to get Trys buzzing with need for more.

Mew tried to speak—or maybe just to cry out—but Trys put a finger on her lips. A finger dripping with Mew’s own juices.

Mew’s eyes crossed as the catgirl stared at the finger. Helplessly, she started licking. Trys giggled, relaxing her pressure—then shoved her harder against the wall, slipping the finger inside the catgirl’s mouth. All Mew could do was suck and moan like the wanton bimbo she was. “That’s right,” Trys whispered, as Mew’s purring rose all around her. “Just remember to breeeathe, kitten. That’s it.”

As Mew sucked, Trys slowly pulled her finger in and out, letting Mew’s lips smack lewdly, letting Mew’s head appear to bob. Mew would suckle anything, Trys realized with sadistic delight. Oh, it was punishment time, she thought, slipping her other hand back into Mew’s pants.

Trys used the rhythm of her fingering of both holes to ease Mew into the breathing she wanted. “In and out,” she whispered, smiling slyly. She licked her lips, pumping her fingers in and out. In and out. “In… and out.”

Mew’s eyelids fluttered. She was mewling as she sucked, pleasure overwhelming her completely—until all she seemed to have left was her need for more. Trys giggled as she watched the catgirl’s breathing settle into a tortured, steady rhythm.

“That’s it,” she whispered, as Mew’s eyelids sank lower and lower. “There’s our candykitty. So sleepy. In and out.” She was breathing slowly, too, but she could control it. She knew how to meditate. Silly, silly Mew didn’t. And Mew was slipping deeper and deeper and… “and deeper,” she murmured, kissing Mew on the cheek, “and deeeeper,” kissing Mew’s neck, “and deeeeeeeper,” as she pulled her finger out of Mew’s mouth. Mew’s lips remained parted as she swayed in Trys’s arms, eyes almost totally shut.

She was breathing slowly, now, in time with Trys’s edging. Trys beamed and leaned in close. “We’re gonna behave, now, aren’t we?” she cooed.

“Uh… huh…” Mew was still bobbing up and down slightly, but now not due to her wriggling but due to the steady fingerfucking she was receiving.

“And you’re gonna be nice to me,” Trys added, smirking. She licked her lips. “And only kiss me when I ask you to kiss me. Only play with me…” She rubbed her legs together unconsciously. “when I want you to play with me.”

“Play when you want. Kisses when you want. Ooh.” Mew smiled dimly and nodded.

Trys couldn’t believe how hot this was. She’d hypnotized the catgirl with her breathing exercises. She couldn’t help leaning in closer, craving one last kiss on those plump, suckling lips. But she hesitated, knowing just how important this last part was—even in the part of her mind that had almost totally forgotten where they were, she knew she needed to do this.

“And…” she bit her lip. “You’re gonna forget all about a word, kitty. All about a word, candykitty, okay?”

“Y-You mean…” Mew yawned adorably, then blinked up at Trys with a sweet smile. “Honeycow?”

Trys’s heart topped.

“Um.” She swallowed. Mew was suddenly very, very close with those pretty lips. “Yes, I—I mean—”

“Honeycow?” Mew pressed, giggling, leaning in closer. Trys suddenly became very conscious that the catgirl, pinned against the wall as she was, was still totally wrapped around her upper body. “Honeycow? You mean honeycow, little honeycow?”

“S-Stop,” Trys whined, and her voice sounded so pathetic, then, as her knees started to quake. She couldn’t hold Mew up any longer.

She wasn’t weak. And Mew wasn’t that big.

But her tits were so, so heavy with honey.

And Mew was only too happy to help Trys lie down so she could fasten her lips to a nipple. Trys, still fingering the catgirl, felt Lim’s own fingers slipping down her pants, felt Lim’s hungry lips smacking and suckling just where they belonged.

She wanted to cry out. She wanted to mewl, to wail, to scream.

But as she saw Mew’s fingers dripping with honey above her head, it was all Trys could do to part her lips and let Mew give her something sweet to taste in return for the endless, delectable bounty she was now going to take.

From her… honeycow.

It was a good thing the finger muffled her screams, too, and that her own tits muffled Mew’s, as they fingered each other to mutual exquisite climaxes, quivering in each other’s arms.

Because if she hadn’t been muffled, Trys wouldn’t have been able to hear Evadne saying, “Oh, poo. Let’s just get back to our lovelies before someone else moves in.”

“Yeah,” remarked Hestia, “like, if there’s anyone out there, the honeydoor will suck them in soon enough.”

And they were all giggling as the door slammed shut behind them.

Trys had gotten lucky.

Very, she thought, wriggling beneath Mew as she came and came and came, as Mew sucked and nursed and drank her fill, as the pair fingered each other into helpless, squirming bliss, very lucky.