INTREPID PAWNS, CHAPTER 9
“Oh, darn.” Eumeni tutted, grinning, as the last man sank to his knees, staring at them in pure adoration. She gave her bare breasts a little bounce together with her hands. “Was that... too hard? Poor boys.”
The other three Thriae giggled at their triumph. The seven men knelt before them, eyes glazed over, lost in the Thriae’s bodies. And why shouldn’t they be? Eumeni smirked, running her hands over her frame, guiding the men’s eyes along. It was important to keep them engaged. It made it so much easier to break them later. Her hands caressed the outer curves of her bountiful bust, ran over her impossibly thin waist, and ended on her wide hips. She grinned mischievously, noticing one of the knights trembling. He was clearly younger than the rest, but lanky, muscular, with short red hair and a cute, feminine face.
Ooh. She blinked heavy lids, suddenly intrigued. That wasn’t a boy at all.
She walked over to him, hips swaying. The other Thriae followed her lead, picking out knights to nurse, to push between their legs, to kiss into drugged submission. But Eumeni smiled down at the red-haired knight.
The knight stared up at her, eyes wide, lips quivering.
The Thriae hadn’t even needed to deploy their wing hum to break this lot. The knights had been overconfident, striking with only seven against a band of four. Silly humans. All it had taken was a little stalling, a little hypnosis, a little time to let the pheromones sink in...
“Hi, pretty girl,” Eumeni cooed. The red-haired knight bit her lip. Her breasts weren’t even large enough to necessitate a brassiere, but fey had a sense for these things. Oh, how tasty. There weren’t nearly enough girl knights to play with. “Want us to make you beautiful?”
The woman bit her lip harder. Eumeni smirked, leaning down. “Aw, sweetie—”
“No!” The woman sprang up, gripping a dagger she’d been hiding under her knee. Eumeni’s eyes widened, and she recoiled, the knife skidding over her armored corset.
Thriae didn’t generally worry much about balance. Their hourglass figures defied gravity, but physics was more seen as a thing mortals worried about. But sometimes, gravity did catch up to them.
Eumeni fell onto her ass.
“Wings!” she hollered, as she heard the red-haired woman bolting. But the other Thriae were too slow to understand—too busy milking their men, letting them suckle, sitting on their faces and getting eaten out. A couple of them started to hum their wings, but too late. The woman was gone.
“Oops, Eumeni.” A Thriae soldier with a man pressed to each breast, eagerly suckling, blinked down at her. “Looks like one gets away.”
Eumeni’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, no.” She took off into the air, grinning wickedly. “You all take these cuties back to the hive. Make sure they’re kept nice and full. I’m gonna go teach that silly girl a lesson.”
And she took off into the forest as the Thriae behind her laughed.
The girl was easy enough to catch—she didn’t know these woods, and Eumeni did. Eumeni flew after her, lazily, giggling as the woman realized she was being followed and ran faster.
“Faster, honey!” Eumeni sang, as her wings produced that deliciously irresistible hum. “Gonna have to go faster!”
The woman was stumbling. Eumeni beamed; she really was fighting Eumeni’s power. She had a strong will indeed.
It made it extra-delicious when she fell on her face in the mud.
Eumeni alighted beside the fallen mortal, taking a moment to savor the conquest before nonchalantly rolling her over onto her back. The knight struggled faintly as Eumeni petted her hair, soothed her... and guided the tranced knight toward her breast.
“No,” the knight whimpered, but her lips were already panting in longing. Her body knew what her mind needed.
Eumeni giggled. “Silly girl,” she cooed, easing the knight to her bosom. The knight began to suckle as soon as her lips touched the nipple. Eumeni stroked her hair, encouraging her, as her other hand dipped down between the knight’s legs, tugging the belt away. “We’re gonna make you nice and sweet, okay?”
The knight whined, but continued to suckle, filling herself with the irresistible toxin.
Eumeni’s wings started to beat again as she cradled the knight in her lap, bearing them away. “Don’t worry, honey,” she cooed, kissing her on he forehead. “We’re going back to the Hive.”
“Mm...”
“That’s right!” Eumeni said delightedly. “And our Queen is gonna make you so, so pretty...”
Three years later...
The Western Evergreen was always a little bit quiet, compared to the rest of the forest—the catgirls liked it that way. But right now, there was dead silence. Not even the constant thrum of the insects could be heard. The Western Evergreen was as quiet as a wraith’s footstep.
A tall, muscular figure emerged from the leafy canopy. She glanced from side to side, then leaped to another branch. Her head was bound up in rags, and only a pair of golden eyes were visible. A sword-shaped bundle of cloth was strapped to her back. She scrambled down the vast tree trunk, constantly glancing around—as if at any point she expected something to spring out and ensnare her.
Halfway down, she came to a hollow. The hollow had once belonged to a bee hive, but was now empty save for the lingering smell of wax. The smell of honey was there, too, but she knew that this wasn’t from any bees.
She crawled inside.
Inside were two figures, crouched amid the musty hollow. One had very dark umber skin and frizzy white hair. He was young, currently dressed in a set of pale robes. Jangling crystals hung from his sash and from around his neck—the only crystals he’d been able to recover since his capture by catgirls.
The other was one of the catgirls who’d captured him—a cute, freckled woman with shoulder-length brown hair. She was naked, and like the climber, her eyes glinted gold. She had a rosy glow to her pale face. Judging by the crystal mage’s blushing, the climber had a feeling she’d missed something.
“Welcome back, Trys,” the catgirl said sweetly. Everything she did was sweet, especially where Trys was concerned.
The climber reached up and tugged off the wrappings. Honey-blonde hair spilled out. Her expression was grave, beestung lips curved downwards in an uneasy frown. The Silver Knight wound the wrappings over her shoulders for later use and nodded to both of them. “Mew. Brist. It doesn’t look good.”
“Did you... did you find Ia? Or Yathi?” Brist bit his lip.
“No. Nor Yathi.” Trys rubbed her eyes. “We’ll have to go further from the shelter. That means we go as a group.” She stared wearily at Mew. “What can you tell us about the forest right now?”
“The Thriae are by to visit,” Mew chirped. “They promised we could have everyone except the hot one. Well.” She batted her eyelashes at Trys. “The other hot one.”
Mew was absolutely enamored of Trys. Trys knew why—like Trys, Mew was a mead addict, lost in Stage One, where she constantly craved a drink of that forbidden ambrosia, Thriae honey. Unlike Trys, Mew was fully and willingly enslaved to that craving. Fey generally weren’t interested in fighting their desires, making them often easy pickings for Thriae.
It seemed the catgirl druids here were quite friendly to the Thriae passing through right now. Most of them were likely a little addicted, but Mew was one who had overindulged. Or been made to overindulge. Probably a little of both.
Trys had come by her addiction rather differently, of course. As knight, Trys had been tasked with defending the city from the Thriae invasion. All it had taken was one bad day. A few bad hours in the grasp of a sweet temptress who knew just how to break Trys. A few minutes in the arms of the most terrible Thriae of all.
She touched her hair, remembering, and bit her lip.
“Y-Yes, well.” She cleared her throat. “Do you know any... weaknesses? There must be something.”
Mew giggled, sidling over to lean her head against Trys. Trys knew she just wanted to smell Trys deeper—Trys always smelled of Thriae honey, now. If fact, it was her pussy that had made Mew so very agreeable to everything Trys wanted. Unfortunately, it also made Mew a complete idiot. “We always have honey,” she cooed in Trys’s ear. “Even when the Thriae aren’t around. Always. Mm.”
She started planting kisses along Trys’s neck, licking her, tasting her.
Trys rolled her eyes. “We’ll have to retrieve Ia first. She’s probably closer, and since she’s mead-immune, she’ll be easier to get out without... long-term baggage.”
Brist frowned. “Yathi will know their weaknesses, if anyone does. Since it looks like Mew here,” he gestured to the catgirl dismissively, “either doesn’t know the details or doesn’t feel like sharing.”
“He cums fast,” Mew whispered in Trys’s ear. “He came three times before I even started sucking.”
Brist bit his lip and wrung his hands together ashamedly.
“Not Yathi.” Trys shook her head. “We’ll see if we can get her after, but she’ll be under lock and key. They’ll never give her up.”
“All the more reason to get her out as soon as possible,” Brist pressed. “With how hot she is, there’s no way they won’t be trying to totally melt her mind. She’ll be lost if we wait longer. You... you saw how I was.”
“Tickle-tickle!” Mew sang, grinning mischievously at Brist. Brist colored.
“Can we n-not have commentary from the drunk catgirl?” he grumbled.
“He’s right, you know.” Mew’s hand drifted towards Trys’s legs, but Trys batted her away—with difficulty. Mew did feel very good pressed against her. And she smelled very, very good. “That Yathi is the sexiest thing we’ve ever seen. We can’t get enough of it.” She nibbled on Trys’s earlobe. “I dunno why. Something about her. Not natural.”
“Hm.” Trys bit her lip. She would have to broach this subject carefully “Brist, if they’re brainwashing her that thoroughly, she might not want us to free her. And I know it’s easy to forget, with that skintight armor of hers, but Yathi can be dangerous. We’ve been on a couple missions before. She’s like a cornered badger when you mess with her. She might not be safe to try to free. We’ll have an easier shot with Ia on board.”
Brist shook his head. “Ia will be fine for a while, though. Every minute we waste, it’s going to get harder and harder to free Yathi!” He rapped his knuckles on his palm. “And if the Thriae get ahold of her, she’s done. She’ll enter Stage Two, no doubt about it—maybe even Stage Three. Do you really want her to get turned into a mead sprite?”
“Brist, we’ve already lost people.”
“And I don’t want to lose anymore!”
“Well, we’re going to have to!” Trys snapped. She tried to ignore Mew’s cute little whines as the druidess ran a finger around her nipple, idly teasing her. It was reducing her gravitas a little. She tried to moderate her tone, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “Possibly. We’re possibly going to have to. You need to accept that, Brist.” She hesitated, then sighed, crossing her legs to assume a calmer stance. “We have to finish the mission, or the city is finished.”
Brist considered this, in the manner one might consider a hunk of meat on one’s plate that had far too much cartilage for anyone’s liking.
“It was a bad plan from the start,” he muttered. “Okino was a fool.”
“Yeah, he was. But we aren’t using his plan.”
“Huh?”
Trys glanced suspiciously at Mew, who giggled and planted a little kiss on her nose. She turned back to Brist. “Okino’s plan was to get to the hive, infiltrate it like a dungeon, and kill the leader. I tried to tell him, but he never listened—Thriae don’t work like that. Even if we killed the Queen, they’d just pick a new one, and be madder than ever for it.”
She tapped her knife on the floor of the hollow. “Thriae are mean. They’re mean, hateful creatures who delight in capturing those weaker than them. But they don’t usually strike for no reason. This hive was content to ignore us for decades, before... someone upset it.”
It went against every rule in the code of her order to criticize the city in any way. To suggest that the company might be to blame for any of this would be too far. But she and Brist both knew that ugly truth that hung between them.
Brist seemed to be having trouble with another pat of her argument, though. “Wait, are you... are you suggesting we reason with them?”
Trys gave a short laugh. “I’m... I’m suggesting we reason with one of them” She bit her lip. “The Thriae are human in many ways, but they’re still fey. They live in the present. Whoever’s leading this attack right now, the current queen, is holding a grudge—but if we replace her, and manage to smooth things over with the new leadership...”
“So we’re still killing the old queen.”
“No. We’re choosing a new one.” Trys’s eyes narrowed. “And we don’t need Yathi for that, Brist. This is bigger than both of us. This is about the city.” She crossed her legs, trying to keep her tone level, even though, after the last couple of days, she was feeling anything but. “We might be able to save her. Might. But I’m not prepared to gamble everything by making our first rescue attempt on the most heavily-guarded—”
“Oh, Yathi isn’t guarded,” Mew said.
Trys blinked. She turned to Mew in time to earn a kiss on the lips. “Wh—mm!”
“Nope!” Mew said happily, wrapping her arms around Trys. “When you made the vine dryad be a good girl for you, she scared the kitties and honeys away. Yathi’s aaaall by herself right now. Well, mostly. Close to.” Trys was so taken aback, she didn’t resist as Mew kissed her again, holding her close. The catgirl pulled back, beaming. “Let’s get Yathi! She’s super yummy, isn’t she?”
Trys hesitated.
They needed Ia. Needed her immunity to mind control, needed her fighting talents.
But Yathi could be saved.
“Okay,” she said hesitantly. “While she’s unguarded. But if we see even a single Thriae there, we’re going back for Ia.”
“Ia will be fine,” Brist said confidently. “They can’t do anything to her. She’s probably annoying their pants off even as we speak.”
I am a good slut. Ia babbled incoherently as the runerod buzzed endlessly inside her. A good slut obeys. She was past words, of course. So far past words. A good slut is dumb and silly and empty. Her mouth hung open as endless nonsense—mixed in with the odd cogent phrase like ‘good slut’—spilled from her lips.
Her body, hypersensitized by the catgirl’s magic, wasn’t just being drowned in pleasure. It was like she was at the bottom of a well of sand, being slowly crushed by the weight of... of feeling so, so good.
But despite it all, despite the triggers, despite her crushing longing to see her Mistress again, Ia squirmed. Not just in pleasure, but in the beginnings of a plan.
Ia’s feet were bare, and pulled apart by the vines that currently suspended her in the air. But Ia’s legs were toned, muscular from days spent running and leaping and climbing from cradle to, well, this was a sort of cradle, she supposed. Or a noose. From cradle to noose.
Every time she tugged at the vines, they tightened. If she tugged too hard, it would tighten enough to hurt, and then she’d have to wait for Mistress to return to save her.
But Ia had fortunately worked that out earlier, and had refrained from tugging. And she was more flexible than most would guess.
Instead of trying to pull her legs together, Ia bit her lip and spread her legs wider, as wide as she could manage.
To her relief, the vines didn’t tighten further. Instead, they went slack.
She began trying to twist her feet around the vines.
I am a silly bimbo. She screamed and burbled in pleasure as orgasm seeped through her mind like water through a drenched sponge.
It took her around a minute to loop one of the vines between her big toe and her littler toe. But she grinned.
Her toes were also a lot nimbler than most would guess.
Silly bimbos just wanna suck and fuck and giggle for Mistress.
Still, it took her another thirty minutes of brainless babbling to get a leg free.
Silly bimbos just wanna make Mistress happy.
It took her ten more minutes of babbling mantras—because she had to babble, because they would suspect something if she didn’t babble, because it felt so good to repeat how Mistress loves me and wants me to be the best bimbo I can be—before she| managed to get an arm free.
From there, it only took an hour of frantic masturbating and chanting before she managed to send herself tumbling to the ground.
For a moment, Ia lay in the grass, eyes wide.
With trembling fingers, she pulled the runerod out and threw it as far away from herself as she could physically manage in her condition. That was still pretty far, and her heart sank as she saw it flying away into the brush.
Ia rose to her feet, shuddering, and looked around. No sign of anyone.
She stumbled over to where her clothes had been unceremoniously dropped and started tugging on her trousers and shirt. She had to find the others. She’d wasted too much time already.
Yathi didn’t need to think anymore.
The interior of a pitcher dryad’s gigantic pitcher plant was drenched in sloshing, sSlipping liquid pleasure. The slippery ambrosia that clung to the sides formed a veritable ocean in the bulbous base of the plant, and Yathi had been dropped straight down.
Merely touching the tip of a finger to the nectar was enough to cause orgasm. Yathi had been immersed.
The pleasure wasn’t more intense, exactly, than the sensation of submitting to the Thriae, of being licked by a catgirl. It was more... consuming. Constant. Yathi simply had no room to think. She was too busy cumming, and cumming, and cumming. She was too busy being totally and wonderfully happy to even consider another emotion.
She couldn’t breathe. She didn’t need to. The plant saw to her every, every need, and all she had to do was drink and stroke and moan. Her moans seemed to make the plant happy. And she wanted everyone to be as happy as she was.
She heard a squirming and a squealing up above. She didn’t care. She just beamed vacantly into the sea of nectar. Nothing mattered. She hoped that the catgirls or Thriae sent someone down soon to play with her, though. She wanted someone to share this bliss with.
“Yathi?”
“Mm-hmmmm...” Yathi rolled around in the nectar, spreading her legs wide, an idiotic smile on her face.
“Yathi!” A hand gripped hers. Yathi stared through the golden-green haze.
She tried to speak—to greet Trys, so strong and pretty and looking so very much like a Thriae in this light—but just swallowed more nectar. With some difficulty, using Trys’s hand as an anchor, she pulled her head clear of the slippery drink. “Oh, h-hi, Trys,” she burbled, kissing Trys’s hand. “C-Come cum with me!”
Trys was flushed. She looked hot. Very hot. “Yathi, we have to go,” she whispered. She was dangling in midair, her whole body tense.
Yathi smiled absently, noticing that the hand she was kissing was covered with a glove. She giggled. “What’s this?” she cooed, tugging at the glove. She wrapped her hands around Trys’s arm and started kissing it as well.
“Y-Yathi, no—” Trys’s eyes widened.
Her jaw dropped.
The warrior started to convulse. Yathi giggled, watching the same expressions and sounds of bliss escaping dear, sweet Trys that Yathi had given when she’d first arrived here.
Yathi pulled Trys to her, planting loving kisses all over her, pulling her deeper and deeper into the nectar—deeper and deeper into the pitcher’s ecstasy. Trys started to clutch her in turn, and Yathi felt her resistance ebbing, felt her growing increasingly eager for the kisses...
They started to rise up. Yathi blinked, but wrapped herself around Trys tighter, determined to bring Trys around to her way of thinking. Trys seemed easily persuaded. Yathi was hurriedly fumbling to strip away Trys’s clothes, but the brawny blonde was still holding Yathi too tightly.
As they exited the nectar, Yathi felt a moment of clarity.
She hated it.
“H-Hey!” she protested, squirming. But Trys held on. “No! I wanna go back!”
Trys was lost in her, lost in the embrace. Yathi struggled desperately, but it felt so good to let Trys kiss her, especially since Trys also had a lot of the nectar on her now...
Light flooded into her world, momentarily blinding her. She felt gloved hands gripping her, tugging her onto some sort of platform. She lay there, whining. She desperately wanted to be returned to the nectar, but she felt so horribly weak. She just lay still, shivered in the cold, and accepted Trys’s kisses for a while.
Slowly, dimly, she became aware of the sounds around her. She heard a man she recognized—oh, it was Brist, who had been so sweet to fuck her earlier—talking in a fretting, worried tone. Trys, of course, was just moaning against her, though she seemed to be trying to speak. Hee! Yathi wouldn’t have that, not while she could still kiss the words away.
She also heard licking, and screaming. Little purring sounds. How nice.
Thought trickled back into Yathi like dew dripping from leaves, as the toxins of the nectar started to break down under the harsh glare of the morning sun flickering through the trees. Trys started to squirm more, clearly starting to fight it off.
The third worst moment of Yathi’s life was when she started to want to fight it off, too. It was a cold, clammy feeling, but she finally seized on it. She did not want this. All her life... but no.
Grimacing, she pulled away from the mead addict’s sweet kisses. Yathi was just as far along as Trys in the addiction, and she knew that Trys was facing the same struggle she was. If Trys could resist the urges, so could Yathi.
Couldn’t she?
They extricated themselves from the slick embrace as the nectar’s effects finally faded a minute or two later. She blinked blearily up at the lot of them. Brist was wringing his hands together, eying her like one might eye a baby bird that had fallen into a vat of pitcher nectar and turned into a sex-crazed myna harpy. Trys looked exhausted and was already putting her own clothes back on. Luckily, the nectar wasn’t like honey—where Thriae mead became sticky if not reapplied constantly, clinging unbearably to the body and eventually sinking into the victim to taint their mind, pitcher nectar rapidly evaporated when exposed to sunlight.
And behind her, a familiar heart-shaped face—the dusky bronze-skinned, copper-haired face of the pitcher dryad—was screwed up in exquisite agony as a freckled catgirl licked her out with gusto.
“That’s enough, Mew,” Trys said softly.
There was a pause. Mew kept licking.
“Mew?”
“Mm! Yes!” The catgirl rose up from between the dryad’s legs. Her eyes met Yathi’s, and her face split into a wide grin. The catgirl had beautiful, gleaming, honey-tinged green eyes. She sprang between Yathi and Trys and sat there, visibly buzzing with excitement, as if they were about to dissolve into a delicious threesome. Yathi bit her lip.
“How...” Yathi shuddered. “How long was I out?”
Trys tugged off her gloves, evidently knitted from leafy tendrils. “A long time. We’re all lucky they put you here, and not in something more contained, like a limpet trap.” She stooped to recover her sword bundle, swinging it over her shoulder. “They probably just needed a holding cell while they decided on what to do with you, if Mew’s right.”
“No cell more effective than a pitcher plant,” Yathi muttered. “But... also easy ’nough to recover from. Yeah. Lucky.”
She tried to avoid the temptation to lean over the side of the pitcher they were next to, to gaze down into that shimmering golden-green concoction. She knew if she looked over the edge, she would most assuredly jump down. Only a small part of her wanted that.
“Brist came up with the rescue technique,” Trys said, climbing to her feet. She reached down and helped Yathi up as well. “And it had to be me, because...”
“Because you could heft a grown elk and Brist couldn’t airlift a garden gnome.” With a weak smile, Yathi punched Brist lightly in the arm. “I’m not wary of you, Trys. I’m... glad of the rescue.”
“Great.” Trys bit her lip. Mew bounced up alongside them, remaining between them with an unwavering eager expression. “So... Yathi. We’re being hunted by catgirl druidesses.”
“You mean like this catgirl druidess?” Yathi gestured to Mew. Mew cooed and fawned.
“Yes. She’s... she’s, um...”
“A meadchaser.” Yathi peered into Mew’s slightly glazed eyes. “You can tell by the eye color and the smell, Trys. She’s like y... like us. Maybe a bit more eager, judging by the, ah, smell and behavior, but less heavily dosed than you, judging by the hair color.”
“Sometimes they don’t make physical changes.” Trys swallowed. “That’s a bit of a misnomer. After all, you have to be at least as addicted as I am, and your hair’s still dark, isn’t it?”
Yathi considered this, scowling. “Damn well better be, after the coin I paid to dye it.” She reached up to run a hand through her hair.
Brist blinked. “Wait, you... are you a natural blonde?”
He and Trys exchanged looks. Scandalized, almost.
“Ugh.” Yathi scowled between Trys and Brist. “Can you all try not to do this now? I am and I’m not. It’s twisted. Complicated. Anyway, you’re saying the physical changes are by choice. So she or I could be further along.”
“They make changes when it suits them. Usually, it does. But sometimes they’re already... enamored of how someone looks before, or... or they want them to be recognizable.”
“What’d you look like before?” Yathi asked curiously.
“Um. Shorter hair. Can we get back on-topic?”
“Right. Sure.” Yathi waved a hand dismissively. Her mind was racing as she bobbed her head from side to side, weighing the evidence she could think of. “So we’re being hunted by catgirls. I’m guessing they’re working with the Thriae, at least loosely. The Thriae don’t control them—that’s plain to see—but there’s no fucking way they’ve not fucked each other at least a little. Fey are every bit as easy to honey up as mortals, give or take a sip, which means the catgirls’ve gotta be addicted—which means they probably have some sort of alternative supply. A substitute for Thriae mead close enough to stave off the cravings.”
“That exists?”
“Don’t get excited, Trys,” she murmured, chewing her inner cheek. “The substitutes are way worse, in most all cases. A ginger dryad would be the least rough of all of them, and the aftereffects of loving a ginger dryad are unpleasant.” She clapped her hands together. “Let me see... barring monsters (and if it’s a monster, we’re fucked, ’cause I’ll never guess it) the best ‘substitutes’ for a mead addiction are ginger dryads, which are rare as all hell nowadays, honey tree hamadryads, which are mostly only found in the Northern Isles, maple dryads, which... oh! No, wait, I’ve got it. I got it now.”
“What?”
“Somewhere in these woods, they got a honeysuckle patch.” Yathi rubbed her hands together, growing increasingly excited—she hoped this was because of the opportunity, and not because of the intense cravings she was currently fighting off. “It’s perfect. Catgirls love it. And if we can get to the patch—ooh, I’ll bet we can negotiate. We can force them to back off!”
She started to scramble down the rope she’d noticed tied to a nearby tree branch, but Trys grabbed her arm. “Wait. Yathi. Slow down.”
Yathi turned to Trys. “No.” She grabbed the rope.
“Yathi—we don’t even know where it is! And we need to find Ia!”
“I can find it. And Ia can handle herself.” Yathi started to climb down.
She heard Trys yelling after her, but tuned the warrior out.
Trys wasn’t in charge of this group. Okino was as good as dead. And this was the Evergreen. Yathi knew it. She had absolutely zero qualms with mutiny at this point, for everyone’s good.
Her boots hit the ground.
“Yathi!” she heard Trys yell. Trys sounded almost panicked.
Yathi rolled her eyes. Get over it, Trys.
She looked up, waiting for the others to follow—
“Ooh. Well, hiiii, there,” thrummed a familiar high-pitched voice. Yathi’s breath choked itself down as none other than Kentri stepped into view, wings fluttering almost gently behind her. The hourglass-figured blonde flashed Yathi a smug smile. “And where might you be going, sweetie?”
Every time you submit, you grow weaker.
Okino moaned and squirmed in helpless bliss as the Thriae down below eagerly sucked him off, her honey-blonde locks flowing around her and his cock like molten gold. All the while, she held his eyes in a heavy-lidded gaze. Her expression was clouded in lust and pleasure, and it poured into him like... like...
Like the pitcher of mead she had emptied down his throat earlier. He whimpered, lost in adoration. “P-Please... please...”
“Mm?” She batted her eyelashes up at him. Just this flirtatious gesture was enough to make him release, and he cried out in pleasure as she eagerly licked and sucked and swallowed.
Those eyes said it all. Nothing he begged for mattered. Only she mattered. He was hers, now. Hers alone.
“P-Please,” he whined, biting his lip, “please, I c-can’t... we have to...”
She giggled and pulled off, running her tongue over his cock and lavishing him with affection. “Have to what, sweetie?” she cooed.
At the sound of her lovely, melodic voice ringing in his ears, he went limp. All that escaped him was a tiny squeak.
The trouble was, he didn’t really want to fight.
With every submission, he grew weaker. But it felt so good to be weak. Felt so good to submit, to obey. He was wasting his time trying to resist Kuolema—he could never resist such a perfect, beautiful creature. He was being so silly trying to resist Ytheri—no one could resist Ytheri, and no one ever wanted to. And it was so very, very foolish to try to resist... resist...
“W-What’s your name?” he asked absently, as her tongue started to lick up and down his cock.
She paused, blinking.
“Minixi,” she said, smiling. She licked him slowly, her tongue swirling around his tip.
He bit his lip. It was so, so easy to... submit...
Okino sank. Okino sank deep, deep beneath the heavy honey waves. He could do nothing but stare at Minixi in adoration. He gave in. He’d already lost this round—lost it the second she’d gotten him to taste her, if not the second she’d noticed he was there. He welcomed yet another surrender. With every submission, he grew weaker.
She kept slowing swirling her tongue, but every now and then, she stopped. Examined him. Resumed licking. He accepted her endless teasing with nothing but whimpers and wordless pleas. Minixi would do whatever she wanted to him, and he would love it, because he was hers. Sometimes, things were very simple.
Like him.
“We don’t want to stay here.”
Okino blinked. He stared into the Thriae’s eyes, and realized Minixi had spoken. And she was serious.
“What?” he managed, hips bucking slightly.
She smiled. Minixi pulled off his cock, replacing her tongue with a single finger to gently stroke him. He quivered, held unbearably on the edge. “We don’t want to stay here, silly boy,” she cooed. “We need to escape before Ytheri brainwashes both of us!”
“Ah-ah?”
“You think I wanna stay here?” she giggled. “Ytheri’s a human. I’d rather be, like, dead than let a human break me. Plus, I think she’s, like, gonna try to use me to break you—like a lust sprite, all eager and needy! Hee! Um, no thanks.” Her eyes gleamed as she stared into his. “We both know I can break you just fine by making you break. Isn’t that right, honey?” She spiraled her finger around his tip.
“Y-Yes, Minixi,” he gasped.
She brightened. “Great! So, your name’s Okino.” She tapped his cock slightly, giggling as a little precum dribbled out. “And this is your bimbo cock.”
“W-What—“
“I’m gonna have to fuck your bimbo cock now and then,” she continued happily, continuing to stroke it, “’cause it’s a dumb, horny bimbo, isn’t it? And dumb bimbos are, like, useless if they don’t get fucked niiiice and often, aren’t they?”
She kept running her finger over the glans until he stammered his agreement.
When he did—and it didn’t take long—she beamed. “Good boy!” she cooed. “See? Bimbo boys can be nice and obedient if you keep their bimbo cocks in line. Your bimbo cock needs to only cum for me, so I’m gonna keep it nice and dumb and happy, like you. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
She leaned in and planted a tiny kiss on the tip. He felt her delicately lapping up the precum, and she gave a satisfied sigh. Oh, gods, it felt so good...
“Yes, Minixi,” he managed. “Oh, yes. S-Sounds... nice...”
“Yes indeed.” She smiled wider. “Your bimbo cock is very dumb and silly, but we need to keep it even dumber and sillier than you so it can’t control you too much. So we’ve been teaching it a very valuable lesson. Wanna guess what that is?”
Okino didn’t need to guess. He stared into Minixi’s eyes and knew exactly what she wanted him to say.
“T-That when I feel horny, I should... ask you for help.”
“That’s right!” She seemed genuinely delighted. “And I’ll make sure to fuck your bimbo cock’s brains out whenever you do ask, so my sweet bimbo boy stays a niiiice, sweet bimbo for me.”
She rose to her feet, at last releasing his cock. He gave a little sigh of mixed relief and disappointment as the teasing ended without conclusion.
She held out a hand. Without thinking, he took hers, and she yanked him to her feet. And pulled him close.
“But first,” she cooed, and her plush, cocksucking lips plumped up for a kiss, “let’s just make sure that Stage Two addiction is niiiice and set in.”
And as she seized him in one-last mind-melting kiss, she brushed her thigh up ever-so-slightly against his cock, and an orgasm consumed his mind once more.