The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Were this a tale of a lesser man, one yet unconsigned to a cause as noble as our dear Vendric, dear reader, perhaps we would have just seen its ignoble conclusion. Seduced, as a maiden upon her wedding night, brought to heel by the suckling Venus-glove of a goblin, having yet to taste the sumptuous delights the vast, green globe has to offer! To think that but a single soul ought to feel love’s sweet sting snuffed out thusly.

And yet, dear reader, this was not to be! No, for the moment dear Vendric, kind, pure-hearted Vendric shut his eyes, so touched were they by the sweet dew of Hypnos, the door fell from its cold-iron hinges, splintering in pained acquiescence to the insistent—yet never unreasonable!—boot of our dear journeyman’s protector!

His betrothed—oh, how keenly she wished to be his betrothed!—sputtered, gasped, fell from her ill-gotten throne, and collapsed upon the floor, splayed out like a foal, fresh-slick from its mother’s womb! Her protests fell upon metaphorically deaf ears! Her fists thumped as a child’s against a well-mortared dike! Her shrill, discordant shrieking was heard, and summarily ignored!

Indeed, dear reader, wise, sagacious reader, for Vendric was destined for greatness, one yet unseen by the eyes of mortal men! A greatness yet unfelt by seven-score-seven hands, lips, manhoods! To have the trailing, meandering saga of his life find its epilogue in a tavern but a half-day’s journey from the vaunted walls and arches of the capital city of man would be a misstep fit for dirges.

And Vendric, dear reader, was destined for epics.

He awoke, blearily, bent at the waist over someone’s shoulder. Face pressed against someone’s back, Vendric blinked before smearing a less-than-respectable amount of drool into the corner of his mouth. Had he been asleep? Clearly. But what was going on now? The steady bounce of his gut against their shoulder seemed to suggest that his...assailant? His captor? Rescuer? Whatever they were, they were keeping a steady clip as the pair made their collective way out of...well, judging by the heckling, Vendric surmised it was the tavern. The tavern! Yes, the tavern! Why was- Who was-

“I beg your pardon!” He finally sputtered, pressing a hand to the small of his captor—yes, he’d decided that this unknown assailant was assuredly his captor—before thumping his now balled-up fist against it. Given that his captor was apparently clad in armor, proper metal armor, this turned out to be a less than effective course of action.

But then, so was tossing empty mugs at them, as some of the rowdier patrons of the tavern had taken to doing. “Help!” Clearly their attempts to aggress whosoever had taken him hostage were a show of solidarity! He had but to implore their aid, and surely the earnest if not rough-around-the-edges soldiery would spring into action!

“Bloody tree-fucker! Getcher beak outta here!”

“Gottan iron piece for ya if ya give me knob a pat!”

“Sod off to yer mound!”

So there was that. It seemed as if Vendric was on his own, but that was hardly the most pressing matter. As the heckling crowd fell quiet, muffled behind the tavern’s front door, Vendric scrambled in vain against the impressively stoic figure’s grip, trying to get a better look at their face. He’d not expect the militia inside to opt for metaphor, nor poetic license in their jeering, which meant that his mysterious abducter was...

Vendric’s eyes went wide as his previously assured position over the metal-clad snatcher’s shoulder was swapped out for being tossed down ass-first into the mud. Not a moment after his unceremonious upheaval, a similarly sudden hand thrust its way into his face, sending him flopping back in shock. Now thoroughly splattered with mud and, apparently, nude, Vendric did his best to straighten up and finally put eyes on his...whatever they were.

Long, pointed nose below two glittering, green eyes. A mop of unruly, sun-blonde hair, and a smile wide enough to shock, dazzle, or terrify, depending on one’s temperament. And pure, pale, unblemished skin, with nary a wrinkle to be seen.

She was Fae.

“Master Vendric, it is such a pleasure to finally meet you,” she finally announced, speaking just a bit too quickly and a bit too loudly. Her hand pushed yet more insistently into his face, only abating in its course when he brought up his own to intercept it. Of course, she shook it wildly at that, nearly wreching his arm from its socket and crushing his fingers in her grip.

“In fact,” she continued, relinquishing her grasp and thrusting her finger smugly into the air, “it is such a consummate pleasure atop the pomp with which such a meeting occurs that I am compelled—” She swooned, dipping impressively low in the etched armor she wore, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. “Nay, yet graver than mere compulsion! This is destiny, yes, destiny that I heed!”

She straightened before a stunned-silent Vendric, producing from apparently nowhere a perfectly clean white shift, folded in her hands. Bent at the waist—and yet with impeccable posture—she presented it to him.

“It is by destiny’s implacable command that I humbly offer you something to wear.”

Vendric blinked at her. She did not return it.

“So you aren’t nude while I explain the terms of my indenturement,” she explained.

He blinked at her once more before looking down at himself and subsequently giving what could be described generously as a girlish shriek. He grabbed at the proffered garment, hastily pulling it over his head. As soon as it left her hands, the Fae straightened to her full height once more, looking down at Vendric with a distressingly wide smile upon her face. He did his best not to meet her gaze, though given her attentiveness, this was not as simple as it would perhaps sound.

Finally, though, he hid his shame, stumbled to his feet, and leveled an indignant finger at her. “Where to begin!” Vendric spat, so blind with rage and humiliation as to glare at a Fae. “Who in the seven hells do you think you are—”

“Valentina vin Vasilia,” she answered immediately. After a pause, she leaned in with a wink and a swoop of one finger. “Viti Vendric!”

His shoulders sagged, his eyes rolled, and Vendric groaned. “That’s hardly what I meant. What possessed you to barge into the tavern—a human-occupied tavern, no less—stomp up to my room, and carry me out from...from...”

Vendric blinked, the ire bleeding from his words as he realized that the last memories he had before waking over “Valentina’s” shoulder were muddied at best. He turned from her, if only slightly, and brought his fingertip to his lips, tapping them in thought.

And so the pair stood in silence for a moment. Before Valentina eventually spoke.

“Though I’m loath to hurry the Archimedean wonder that is your mind, Master Vendric, I find that my well-traveled tongue has just the explanation you require.” He spared her a glance, and she continued. First, she widened her stance and thrust one hand heavenward, as if proclaiming some great, divine truth.

“Lo! My charge, appointed by the Seelie Court and thusly rendered upon mine imperfect flesh! Vendric Wilstead, Journeyman, Scholar, Lover!” She squatted down, both fists clenched, teeth a-grit in righteous consternation. “Waylaid by a she-beast seeking to snuff the flame of his boyhood love! I found you, Master Vendric, beneath a goblin maiden, her sex suckling upon the ever-generous crown of your manhood!”

She straightened once more, arms spread wide. “Though the she-devil protested, her pleas for clemency went unanswered, for mine is a mission just and true! Your seed, your lusty, cream-pale seed dripped betwixt verdant thighs, and though you slept, sated, as a king is sated in the arms of his queen, I knew!” She winked once more, tapping the side of her nose. “I knew, Master Vendric, that but one taste of the world beyond the cities of men would satisfy you not! Thusly, it is with such noble purpose that I plucked you from that den of monogamous evil and delivered you into the common clay of the earth!”

She stomped a boot, and it sent a splash of mud up, staining Vendric’s shift. Valentina glanced down and amended her statement with a smile.

“Mud of the earth!” She bowed, deep, and with a flourish of her armored hand that could be described only as “ostentatious,” continued. “And thus we find the Edda of your journey yet unpenned. Having bested—or, perhaps, been happily bested by—yon maiden Gwynevyv, there is but one path homeward, and that, dear, noble Master Vendric, i—”

“Please, please, just stop for a moment!” Vendric finally sputtered, pressing his palms flat against her breastplate. Her enthusiasm stilled to silence immediately, and Vendric was thankful for it. Had a damnably fierce headache thanks to her nattering now, and he needed to think. “Homeward?” He furrowed his brow, tapping his chin in thought. Valentina, mute, nodded. And that would mean, of course, that...

“My father hired you, then?” Another nod, this time followed by a sigh from Vendric. Leave it to father to hire an Emissary of the Seelie Court to bring him home.

It was no secret—to Vendric, at least—that his father disapproved of his proposed subject for his study. How many times had he offered “patronage” to his son in exchange for the safety of a thesis contained within the capital’s walls? How desperate had his pleas turned before they’d hardened to Draconian ultimatums?

And now, it seemed, those ultimatums had come to fruition. A Fae, sent to escort him home. Vendric could fault his father for a great many things, but unfortunately, hollow threats were not one of them. In the mud, Vendric adjusted his stance, morose, and stared at Valentina’s boots.

“I expect there’s not much point in putting up a fight, then.” Rapier, sheathed upon her hip, promised reprisal if he attempted to run, surely. It killed him to acquiesce, but with a glance to the towering spires of the capital in the distance, looming in the sky, though they were days away, he sighed once more.

“Fine, then. Off to see father, I suppose.” He held out his hands. “I expect you’ll be using manacles on me. Here, put them on.” Eyes shut, awaiting his fate, Vendric stood in the muck.

Valentina pushed something into his hands.

Vendric opened his eyes, looked down, and saw...his pen and manuscript.

“Manacles, iron or otherwise, glib Master Vendric, often impair the muse’s aim,” Valentina said, nodding. Arms crossed over her chest, she walked past her charge towards—Oh, dear—two horses, saddlebags laden with what, Vendric couldn’t tell. What he could see, however, is that one had some manner of...desk affixed to it. A flat surface, at least, propped up by three rods jutting out from the saddle, reins attached to either side of it. Blinking at the sight before him, Vendric couldn’t do much but listen as Valentina continued.

“Wrought by mine clumsy hands, I can offer naught but this scrimshaw facsimile of a scholar’s study. Hup!” She squatted down in a plié—shocking, given the apparent weight of her armor—before leaping into the air and landing atop one of the horse’s saddles, seated in an instant. “My talents lie dormant in spheres yet further celestial than a ranger’s keen eye for distance, but it’s my estimation that we’ve less than a day’s ride to the next city! Half-a-day if we’re to press our lusty steeds to the pace they surely long to meet!”

Vendric was more or less stunned silent by all this.

He shook his head, cleared the shock from his thouhts, and finally spoke. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait—” He sputtered, walking briskly to...his horse? Was he to ride it?

“Waiting, reticent Master Vendric!”

“No, hush! My father—” He’d ridden a horse before, just not in a shift. His manhood wasn’t liable to thank him for the rough hop up into the saddle, but he didn’t have much of an alternative. “He hired you, yes? What—” Vendric shook his head, this time in an effort to steady his frantic questions. He couldn’t. “What?”

“Ah! As the kind, warm sun casts its rays upon the verdant earth, allow this humble servant to elucidate the circumstances by which our happy meeting occurred.” Valentina spread her arms wide once more, holding her horse’s reins apparently unnecessary as it began to canter forward. “Your father approached me, knowing I swore allegiance to the Queen of the Seelie Court, and explained himself. His son, his only son, possessed of a great and terrible purpose. He’d set out to chronicle the world’s creatures. At first, I scoffed. I admit it, though it brings no small pock of shame upon my character!”

“And yet, I was compelled to hear him out. He continued.” Valentina lolled back in her saddle, affecting the boneless melancholy of the heartbroken. “’My boy, my darling boy! He’s to travel the world, and for what?! To share the bed of monsters and half-men?!’” Straightening up, she flicked her hand into the air. “I needed not one word more than that.” She nodded, resolute, and soon both her horse and his had made their way onto the sun-dappled dirt road of the forest. “Noble is a father’s wish to see his son return home safe. Nobler still is the son’s wish to find romance wherever he might find it! I was so taken—”

“Wait, to find romance?” Vendric urged his steed forward, leaning closer. He must have misheard her. There was no possible way she had been so thoroughly misled. “Val- What’s your name again?”

“Valentina, amnesic Master Vendric.”

“Valentina,” he began again, fearful of what her answer could be. “What do you think I’m doing here?”

The question, it seemed, was a laughable one. Valentina shook her head and chuckled. “Oh, to jest, to laugh, to live. Master Vendric! Though the courts of man shy from the passion shared by husband and wife, the Seelie aren’t so pusillanimous as to blanche at something like that!” She looked over her shoulder and fixed bemused eyes upon him.

“You’re aiming to fuck every type of monster there is!”

Vendric felt his blood run cold and his face go pale.

“Now, certainly, there are perhaps more traditionally noble endeavors!” Valentina admitted, turning her attention once more to the forest road. “But as Fae, as proper Seelie Fae, I knew you were a man of principles the instant I heard your father’s wailing lament. And to think that both father and son would be so keenly attuned! Son, reluctant to take a bride before he’d seen all there is to see! Father, aiming to support his son’s journey, no matter the cost! I told your father, your sweet, generous father—”

She turned to Vendric, eyes fierce, finger thrust in his face. “’Fear not, oh, Patro Maltrankvila! I’ll see your son returned to your arms, or I’ll see my funeral-mound stacked high atop my corpse!’ And that was that.” Her ire cooled immediately. “And though your exploits fled from mine inquisitive nose, I found you eventually. And how I found you, oh, prolific Master Vendric! I expect you’ll keep your notes private, but I hope to one day see them published!”

The notion of his exploits, intimate or otherwise, published for general consumption caused Vendric’s cheeks to finally flush cherry-red. No, that wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all. Vendric sucked in a breath, inhaling and filling his lungs with the sweet, wholesome air of the forest, and. Held it for a moment. Before exhaling in a ragged sigh.

So now he had a one-woman retinue—Seelie, no less—apparently aiming to escort him around the world. For the sole purpose of having him lay with every type of woman they could find.

He had a headache already. Could’ve just been from riding horseback without any attempt to protect his manhood, though. He should really do something about that.

“Valentina—”

“Yes, Master Vendric?”

“Please let me finish. Valentina, I’m to assume that you have provisions and such packed for us?”

“Oh, indubitably!” Valentina gave a saddlebag a pat, casting a wink back at Vendric. “Though a lesser man might collapse at the strain levied ’pon your noble groin, I’ve glutted our bags with enough lembas to feed an army!”

Lembas. Wonderful. He felt bloated already. “And you’ve packed clothing, as well?” He shifted in his seat and immediately regretted it. “Such as a codpiece for when I’m riding, perhaps?”

His guide looked over her shoulder at that, expression notably blank. “Oh. I freely admit, I’d assumed you would want the instrument of your passion unfettered by cold, unfeeling leather, Master Vendric, but—” Valentina stilled her horse with a sharp tug at its reins and hopped off. She opened a saddlebag, fished about within for a moment, and plucked a pair of trousers from it. “Should you so desire, I have attire appropriate for riding. Would you like to put it on?”

He’d already gotten off his horse before she had even finished her sentence. “I should think so. Thank you.”

She offered them with a wide smile. “Then let it be so! Ought I stand guard against vagabonds or vagrants that seek to cause your manhood harm? Or would you rather I fix my hawk’s eye upon the very same manhood that jealous, petty men undoubtedly—”

“Just keep watch, thank you!” Vendric called, stumbling behind a tree and feeling suddenly, acutely bare. He wasn’t afforded much privacy by the shift, nor by the tree he ducked behind, but it was enough that he could pause and piece together his scattered thoughts. After all he’d learned, it’d take some time. He called around the tree, voice wavering with his mental exhaustion. “Valentina!”

“Yes, Master Vendric!”

“I require a moment’s rest! I’m to be—” Could he just give her orders? She was calling him “master,” after all. “I’m to be left alone until I return. Do you understand?”

“As the hound heeds her master’s call, so too shall this humble Fae—”

“Yes, good, thank you, Valentina!”

Fucking Fae.

Hand touched to his temple, Vendric shook his head. He’d heard of misunderstandings between Fae and humans before, but to think that he’d wound up in the middle of one. It was still a matter of debate whether this was to be counted as fortune or folly, but at the very least, he was assured protection from his father’s machinations for the time being. Assuming, of course, that he’d opted for one sellsword as opposed to many.

But then a Fae’s services were seldom measured in coin. Vendric leaned back against the tree, slowly sinking down until he sat at its base. No, the Seelie took many things in payment, but physical riches were seldom a fee they charged. Perhaps father had opted to forget a word or two, its memory plucked from his mind, and arranged to have a mercenary band seek Vendric out, parallel to Valentina’s own misguided efforts.

He inhaled once more throuh his nose, the sigh that followed wearier than it was stressed. At least his turmoil reared its head in a pleasant locale. Sun pleasantly blotted by the forest’s canopy, the scent of wildflowers carried on the air. Vendric shut his eyes, breathed deep of the crisp, cool air of the forest, and sighed once more.

So she saw him tasked with the mission to plough every kind of woman he could, hm? His chest rose and fell with near-silent laughter. There were worse misconceptions to have. At least he would return home with some stories to tell once the request his father made had come to light.

He sniffed. Glanced over his shoulder, around the tree, at her. Valentina had apparently managed to scale one of the trees, armor or no, and watched from her perch in the branches. What was that armor of hers made of, anyway? He’d seen city guards clad in plate mail that didn’t look half as heavy as hers, but somehow she managed to prance about like a jester in it. And climb trees, apparently. Her eyes caught his before she looked away.

Well, she wasn’t hurting anybody, he admitted, facing forward once more. Even if her exuberance may’ve caused a headache or two, Valentina was earnest, at least.

The panic began to settle, soothed by careful consideration of his situation. There was nothing so foreign that it could not be categorized, after all, and Vendric prided himself on his ability to parse what others might call incomprehensible. He smiled, breathing in deep once more. There must’ve been a clearing somewhere, because the scent of flowers was...Perhaps not overpowering, but its presence was insistent. Like vanilla and spices. Sugary. Mellifluous.

He was supposed to be getting dressed, wasn’t he? Right, right. He rose from his seat, looking around the trunk to see that Valentina...was watching him from her perch.

That wouldn’t do. He began to walk away from the tree he’d chosen, no longer finding it suitably wide enough to hide him from his escort’s attentive eyes. No, Vendric needed privacy, and that meant, on occasion, wandering a bit further than usual.

Wandering towards, say, the scent of lilacs and allspice. That delicate perfume on the air perplexed him. It wasn’t quite an amalgam of scents, more one cohesive odor, but there were so many different similar aromas that could be counted within it. He would’ve found the apparent complexities a bit frustrating—a puzzle proving to be difficult to suss out—but it was just a flower’s scent. There was no need to be frustrated.

Maybe if he got closer to it.

Yes, that was it. If he could just find the flower producing it, lean in, drink deep of its aroma, he’d- Little light-headed for a moment, there. He’d be able to identify it for certain. He looked over his shoulder and saw nothing but trees, Valentina and their horses nowhere to be seen. He could just follow his footprints back. There was nothing to worry about. Vendric faced forward again and continued.

It may have been his imagination, but he swore for a moment that he could see it, hanging like heat-haze in the cool, forest air. Scintillating flecks of gold, suspended save at the breeze’s behest. A cloud shimmered towards him, and with a quiet gasp, Vendric let it wash over him.

Cinnamon and rosebuds. It was like everything, all at once. He felt a bit unsteady on his feet, but that wasn’t enough to halt him. No, if anything, it gave him further cause to pursue the source. So he persisted. The pollen—for it must have been pollen—surely meant he was on the right path. All he had to do was follow that glittering haze, thicker and thicker, until he found its source.

Vendric giggled, unprompted. The air felt pleasantly cool against his skin. Better than some mud-stained shift. He took it off and discarded it. Ooh, that felt nice. Yes, sweat had begun to sheen his body, but the forest air cooled him at once. He looked down. Body looked to be coated with the pollen. Looked yellow. Skin looked yellow.

His head was a bit sluggish- No, his mind was a bit sluggish, but if Vendric really cared to, he could focus it for a moment.

But why would he want to? There wasn’t really much point to it, honestly. What was so important that he had to screw his thoughts to the sticking point and bind them in unhappy servitude? His cock was hard? He didn’t have to think about that, he could just reach down and feel it. The trees were thinning? Again, one glance confirmed it. No need to dwell. The flowers-

The flowers! The flowers, they were there, a vast, multicolored sea of them! Little balls of white and gold, petals turned inward as to render each blossom a perfect sphere! And every so often, there’d be a puff of pollen from one, sending its charge up, up, up into the air. If he’d been following a plume of the stuff towards the source, it seemed as if the source itself was a thick, heady cloud of pollen.

Perfect.

Smiling as he stroked himself, Vendric strode forward into the

pollen

and filled his lungs with it

it was divine. all he could really do was laugh in unreasonable glee, flopping back into the flowers and pumping at his erection. they saw fit to reward his appreciation with a steady salvo of puff-puff-puffs of pollen, and soon vendric was coated in the stuff. felt incredible on his cock. maybe he could grab a flower and use it to stroke himself?

no that would mean hed have to pluck the flower and he couldnt do that

so he contented himself with his lazy self-pleasure, absolutely lost in the mist-haze of pollen. so lost was he in the stroke-pump-stroke of his fist around his pre-slicked cock that he scarcely noticed the sound of one, two bodies moving through the vast sea of white and gold.

And voices, angelically feminine, girlish. Even as far gone as he was, Vendric could still hear them, though he could not quite understand them.

“Ooh, look here! We have another discerning eye!”

“Right, his eye’s caught your attention.”

“You know what I mean! Here.” The voices were right beside him now, and there was a rustle of the flowers right next to his chest as someone sat down. “Do you like how the flowers smell, darling?”

Vendric nodded. The closer voice giggled.

“Oooh, he’s precious! Look, such an eager little fellow!” Vendric fucked his hand and kept stroking himself before- before a soft, smooth, warm hand stilled his. Moved it gently away from his manhood, reluctant though his acquiescence may have been, and. Oh.

oh

began to stroke him in his stead. Slow, languid. The blue of the sky above was suddenly blocked by the smiling face of a maiden. Peerless in her beauty, blue eyes twinkling with her smile, vividly blonde hair framing her heart-shaped face as a halo as she looked down at him. “Do you like the flowers, darling?”

Vendric nodded loopily. Her smile grew wider, though she looked up and away from him. “See! He’s a connoisseur.” A crown of flowers adorned her head. She shifted slightly, sitting back on her heels and resting Vendric’s head into her lap, and it occurred to him that

no, wait, no, it didn’t

because whenever a thought began to stir in the happy fugue of his mind, she’d pump his cock and send the inkling fleeing. “Oh, please can we have a little fun with this one? You never want to keep any of them.”

“I don’t want to keep them,” explained the drawling second voice, “because their wives will come calling if we keep the husbands giggling like loons and stroking themselves.”

“But he’s not stroking himself,” stated the first innocently. Punctuated by a twist of her grip around his shaft, Vendric groaned in agreement. Or possibly just groaned. It was difficult enough to think, much less agree. “I am.”

The voices giggled in unison, the second dipping into an appreciative purr, rumbling right into Vendric’s ear now. “Got me there,” she murmured.

“So let’s have a bit of fun with him! Look, there’s no ring on his finger!” A hand took one of his and raised it up. He couldn’t manage but a weak flop of his wrist, and even then it was thanks to her manipulation thereof. “See?”

There was silence for a moment. Consideration, perhaps. The first voice pressed her advantage. “We just play a game or two with him—have him chase us, maybe!—and then we set him out. No harm done! Oh, please, Chrysia, it’s been so long since I’ve had a man chase me!”

The silence stretched on after the first’s appeal to sympathy, and ultimately, “Chrysia” answered. “No harm done. But, you have to promise me, Aspria!” She was serious. Sounded serious, at least. “May your breasts sag and your womb go barren...if you allow him to catch you.”

Aspria squealed with delight, clapping her hands. The motion drew her grip from Vendric’s cock, but there was such a fog of pollen in the air that he didn’t seem to realize it. Merely tasting its scent was a pleasure, a visceral, raw, real one. Aspria eased his head from her lap and rose to her smooth, graceful feet.

Vendric’s hand went to his groin immediately, pumping clumsily in the wake of her leisurely stimulation. Half-lidded eyes met his, eyelids similarly drooping. These ones, though, hazel with speckles of gold within, belonged to a more...mature beauty. She was far from maternal, should her smirk have provided evidence one way or another, but her breasts, each capped with delicate rosebud pink, wobbled as she looked him over. His judgment of character more than compromised, Vendric wasn’t entirely sure which of the two he preferred, but at least he wouldn’t find it necessary to worry over the unseen specifics. He couldn’t tell much, but even Vendric could see she was far from malicious.

At least, that’s what Vendric believed, but as soon as she reached down to still his hand once more, the self-stimulating laid low by but a hand on his wrist, the addled scholar had his doubts. After all, who but a villain would deny a man his quest for relief in such-

Wild, honey-blonde waves cascaded around both her face and his. Chrysia pursed her lips and blew, and soon the self-satisfied glint of her eyes was obscured by a thin, pink haze.

If the pollen had guided him towards Elysian stupor, the trailing plume of her affection robbed him of all but the desire—the need, the throbbing, twitching need—to be inside her. Vendric grunted and lurched forward, groping where Chrysia’d been a moment ago. She tittered, springing to her feet as Vendric staggered to his, and soon.

Soon he was panting, grunting and every so often giving a twitch forward with his hips as his cock bulged and drooled with need. He turned his attention, bleary, towards...them. Perfect. Perfect in every way, he realized, two maidens with flawless hourglass figures, smooth, clear skin, their paleness belying their halcyon lives frolicking in the sun amidst flowers.

Flowers that continued to color the air with their scent. Flowers that looped in bands around their heads, hung low in loops from their neck. Flowers that ultimately paled in the face of the rosy pink of their kisses. One of them—Chrysia, Aspria, whoever—brought her hand to her lips, pursed them, and blew a kiss to Vendric.

He groaned in need as it trailed through the air, looping and mystifying, before his breath hitched in his throat. Normally a kiss on the cheek would send Vendric flushed, but this one had lazily planted itself upon the tip of his cock.

And earned a splurt of seed for its efforts, Vendric’s appreciation arcing through the air and just barely missing the giggling maidens’ feet. He staggered forward. Had to have them.

They, naturally, fled.

Though they didn’t want to be caught—the ease with which they eluded his sluggish hands demonstrated it rather clearly—the maidens. No, the...the nymphs? They were too perfect to be merely human. So wonderfully perfect...

Distracting, too, apparently. The nymphs dodged Vendric’s every oafish attempt to capture them, rewarding each clumsy swipe with a musical giggle and a kiss, blown across their silk-smooth palms and dizzying him with each powder-soft caress against his cock, his belly, his neck, jaw, lips.

Oh, he couldn’t carry on much longer. Vendric’s determined stagger slowed over his pursuit to a mindless shuffle, more giving chase to earn more of those prick-pleasing blown kisses. Eventually, he found it difficult to so much as keep his balance, swaying on his feet, eyelids drooping, jaw similarly slack, arms limp at his sides. He’d lost track of them in his struggle to keep standing. It came as no surprise when one of them stepped around from behind him, though, hips swaying from side to side with each measured step.

Then the second joined her, and Vendric couldn’t manage anything more than the intent to rumble his approval at the sight of her bare buttocks, round, pert, firm, yet with an undeniable softness to them. Oh, he could tell from just a look, and-

And the pink powder-puff that heralded a blown kiss crashed upon his face, dissipating with a sigh. Even through the fading rose of their affection, though, his attention settled upon her derriere. Then, when she turned to face him, to the tantalizing delta of her thighs. To the smooth, hairless mound of her sex.

Puff. Another kiss, another gentle rock to the side on unsteady feet.

Puff-puff-puff. A salvo of smooches, peppered upon his body, coaxing dreamy giggles from an otherwise unresponsive mind.

“Well, darling.” One finally spoke. All that Vendric managed in response was a momentary raise of his eyebrows. “You’ve quested long and hard, but it comes time to rest.”

“He nearly got us once or twice!”

“Only because you were lollygagging. Now, my sweetness...”

They crooned to him in unison, the harmony of their voices enough to blot his mind out in decadent pink.

“Rest.”

He was so stiff. So hard, so achingly hard.

“Rest.”

One smooth, insistent, commanding, the other, squealing and moaning like a whore. One message, irresistible.

“Rest.”

The world began to fade as he came, splattering his seed in powerful shots that streaked across the flower-tops, staining them off-white...before a single slender finger dragged up the underside of his length, pointing the cum-belching tip at Vendric himself.

“Rest.”

He didn’t care that soon he was painted white in his own spilt seed. That he was sinking back to rest, ensorcelled by the twin beauties. He felt warm. Drowsy. So far removed from worry that he could do nothing but

rest.

When he awoke, it was upon the coarse fabric of a bed-roll, and the air smelled of naught but loam and smoke. The loud pop of a campfire chased the last remnants of drowsiness from his mind, and soon Vendric found the energy to sit up. He was wearing something. But what?

A glance confirmed that it wasn’t anything more unusual than a pair of trousers, a codpiece...

...and the mud-stained shift Valentina’d given him when they had set out.

“To stir from Sleep’s familiar embrace is, at best, a necessity, Master Vendric!” Though he couldn’t see her, Valentina’s voice refused to be ignored, not least of which by confused and vaguely cross scholars. “At worst, I fear it’s to be unwillingly wrenched from the scant visions of paradise our dreams afford us. By my estimation, Master Vendric, your waking’s one of the latter!”

He sat there. Silent for a moment. Before answering. “I think you may be onto something, Valentina. What happened.”

The clearing she’d apparently spirited him away to was notably lacking in flowers, regardless of hue. Their horses hung their heads in silent anticipation, more keen to rest than listen to the nattering of Fae. Amidst the relative calm of their chosen campsite, Valentina’s voice carried as thunder. “There are but three dignities afforded to the virgin-maiden, each her loyal aegis in times of need! The chief amongst them is, of course...!”

She offered a palm to Vendric.

He frowned at her. It deepened.

“I’m afraid I don’t—”

“Privacy, Master Vendric!” She answered, her smile looking not a touch less genuine for his apparent lack of patience. “And though I’m hardly fool enough to think you a blushing farmer’s daughter, I saw fit to employ that very same discretion at your attempts to clothe yourself!”

“...to a point! For you see, Master Vendric,” Valentina’s enthusiasm seemed to wane—a mistake, surely—replaced by stern pragmatism. “An hour, certainly. I’ve found myself grappling with the nuance of pagentry for a sun’s day, personally. But two? And a half-hour more?” She straightened up, heels clicking together smartly. “The curtain’s to be drawn back if it’s feared the maiden behind it is missing, and lo! You weren’t anywhere to be found!”

She seemed, for a moment, gravely serious. Then she cocked her head to the side, crossed her arms, and tapped the pointed tip of her nose. “Begging your pardon, Master Vendric, but it’s with no small admission of obfuscation that I request an amendment to my previous claim.”

Vendric was far too tired for this.

“Because while it’s true you weren’t by the horses, I did find you laying out in a field of wildflowers a hop, skip, and a jump away. Carried as a babe at its mother’s teat, you found your way back to the road, and it was during your brief respite that I laid out camp!”

Vendric had since laid back down and rolled away from Valentina.

“I should think, Master Vendric, that your adventures betwixt poppies and petals, yet unseen by Seelie eyes, are the perfect foundation upon which an analysis of...some manner of woman might be erected!” Valentina, apparently, ensured her master’s receipt of her message by squatting down beside him and speaking just a touch louder.

As she posited why, how, and what had occurred, Vendric sighed. It was going to be a long journey, home or otherwise.