The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I commit to paper words I will not say.

The Bolano Woods have no merit besides their own menace. They contain no valuable ores, and the timbers are rotted and overgrown. What herbs grow in the dark shade are not desired by alchemists. At least, not openly—certain flowers are used in grim potions and can be quietly exchanged in inn alcoves.

So I was there for the adventure. For all its dark reputation the Woods is not the certain death of the upper cliffs or the known labyrinths. With a sword, newly enchanted, oiled, and treated, and my own arm, an adventurer such as myself can stroll in confidence. And so I did, until encountering a clutch of horse-sized spiders sheltering in a burrow.

I should have taken my chances with the spiders.

Fleeing, I lost track of any direction and went deep into Bolano. The woods themselves lost a sense of individual trees. They climbed over each other, root over root, a tangle of weathered knots. The sun was first lost behind primeval foliage, and, shortly afterwards, down behind the horizon. There was no hope of a fire. I could not even find a horizontal patch to rest, in the boiling network of limbs along the forest floor.

Eight of the Nine help me. I was happy to see the Dryad.

“Humanity in the deep,” she said, from between two trunks.

From the outset I should’ve been worried. Dryads have too much reason to hate us. I held a blade. But this Dryad spoke—coyly. In a throaty whisper that carried between the woods. And she moved towards me without fear or hesitation.

“You stink,” the Dryad said. She ticked off on her fingers. “Of metal. Of humanity. And of fear and weariness.”

“My Lady,” I said. I was uncertain what to say, and this was as good a line as any.

Her eyes lit up.

I do not mean that figuratively. They were banked with a fire.

“My lady!” she breathed.

I was not sure what to make of this reaction.

It was not said falsely. Like all dryads she was clothed by the trees, wrapped in a shift that could have been a clever, dun and green dress, or could have been the leaves themselves. Underneath she was—lush. The forest spirit had tits. Wench tits. Large and heavy boobs that curved out of her forest dress. I was surprised. I am a man. I was not properly on my guard. It had been a long day.

“Come along, my lord,” she said.

“I am not a lord,” I said, but followed.

“A knight, perhaps?” Truly, the sway of her rear was welcome as well.

In retrospect I wonder—did I scent the pink blossoms, already? I am not a man given to fucking the embodiment of nature. Or following, like a newborn, known monsters into their glades.

It does not matter.

“Only in hope,” I said. I threw another “My lady.” onto the pile. I saw her shudder, pleased.

Odd.

“My—” and she paused, uncertain. “...glade.” She pointed, to an inset pavilion, hidden inside a circle of impenetrable oaks.

Here, certainly, I should have fled. This is where I went from a naif, to a fool.

First, this dryad pointed to a harsh facsimile of a cabin. Her massive tree, survivor of thousands of years, had two carved-out windows glowing with yellow light, and an actual, functional door. She had placed a door, a wooden door, in her own tree. Akin, in hindsight, to cutting off a toe.

Second, she pointed with—a wand.

I find the wand difficult to describe. Overall my impression is that it was ridiculous. Pink. Pink in the heart of the forest.. Pink and brass, with a small red inlay ruby in the middle. And with a tiny crown on the peak. I write it again, wasting the ink. A small crown.

“Come in! We shall warm you,” the Dryad said. “My name is Trish!”

Trish the Dryad led me inside.

“Your wand,” I said. The interior comforted my disquiet. At the time I thought it because it was far more woodsy. There was hardly any room, just a nook inside of a tree. Just the two of us. I must have already been affected—I must have. I had climbed inside an enclosed space with a wild animals, although this beast had supple curves.

“My—wand,” her response was unexpected. “Yes..” Despite clutching it tightly she seemed puzzled to have it acknowledged, and surprised to hold it. She held it up.

There was a soft glow inside that ancient oak. It came from the wand. Yellow and pink. Together, almost a white light. Almost. But no. It was pink.

“I—found it,” Trish said, furrowing her ivy brow. “Yes. Not long ago, by what was a roadside. There were many of your kind, rotted and ruined. Except... her hand.”

“Her hand, my Lady?”

“It was still—” Trish blinked. I took a covert look around, having some of my sense intact. Behind her, still unfurling, on a loose vine there were—pink flowers. “Pink...”

I reached and picked one of them. I believe I recall a soft spray of pollen. A pink mist, filling our small space. A flower, inside of a tree. Magic to the core. My throat was suddenly dry.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Trish said. She seemed relieved to move past discussion of the wand she held so tightly. “They are strange, even to me. And I know every kind of leaf, everything that dew drops on. Except these. They—they fill your head with—”

And suddenly—they did.

Rough, broken images. Ones thrust into my mind. And not unwelcome, because they were of me roughly taking this buxom nymph from behind. Plumbing a surprising softness in what should have been a tough, bark interior.

I took another surprised breath. That made matters worse. I heard, somewhere, a very feminine giggle. Not at all the whisper in the woods it should’ve been. It was—girlish..

“You know, I have lived in this tree for so many seasons,” Trish said. She drew near me, while my erection continued to grow. In my head I was nailing her, so to speak, to her own tree, discovering she had a delightful squeak. “And I never had—ambition. I don’t even have the words. I lived to observe local squirrels. But now.. Sir Knight?”

My eyes flew open. Where and when was I? “Yes, my—my lady?” I croaked. I should have drawn my sword. But the air smelled of honey and strawberries. No. Why lie, to myself? The flowers, disturbed, cast a soft mist across the interior. It smelled like the juncture between a woman’s legs.

It smelled like wet pussy in there.

“Your—females. The ones nearest to greatness. The ones in taffeta and lace. They wear gowns and jewels. And oil their hair and powder their faces. They are nearly worshipped. I don’t have the words for them. But you must. You must. Tell me.” Her face was right in front of mine, intent. We were both lit by the glow from the wand, breathing in a familiar, welcome stink.

“You mean—you must mean—“ my head spun. “You must mean a... princess.”

By the Ninth, the wand flared.

“A princess,” she tested out the words. I would swear, before the court, that her lips acquired a pink gloss, right there and then. At least it felt that way, as she kissed me.

The Dryad was not a good kisser. Her main goal was distraction. Her hands pulled down my breeches, finding a cock that was straining to be noticed. I have never been that hard. It was desperate to penetrate, keening in the sex-scented air. I sagged, and she broke the kiss.

“Princess,” she said again. “With ballrooms and knights. And feasts and dances. And—”

Her grip faltered only for a second. I was utterly helpless. Some dim awareness told me I was being milked. “No—not a single—I am of the trees, not great halls of slaughtered timbers!” Her hand increased its urgency. It was not unpleasant. “Why am I yearning for—”

I groaned. A milky spurt of my seed leapt forth and hit the nymph in her pink-lipped face. “Oh!” More and more poured out of me. An unnatural eruption of cum. I was thoroughly spent. It pooled on the ground, on her face, on her hand.

Her face licked at it, and lost its confusion.

It turned eager.

“I like this sap,” she said. “It’s—new.”

Spent, my head was clearer. So I noticed that vines had started to work their way up the sides of my hands. I roughly pulled them free. “How—dare—”

“Can you produce more?” the Dryad said, still licking my seed clean. Her lips were now a definite, glossy pink. “Oh, you should relax, sir Knight! My first knight!”

“I am—not a knight—and I am not YOUR knight, my lady.” I intended it sarcastically, but her eyes continued to glow, and it emerged pathetic. I pulled myself up, including my pants, and stepped outside. The scent of the pink flowers followed me out. As did Trish. There was still rivulets of myself in her hair. I do not know how I produced that much.

“I did not give you permission to leave, my knight,” she said, and crossed her arms underneath her impressive tits. Even then, I felt a compulsion to stay. “Sharing a princesses’ bed is a duty as much as a delight.”

I resorted to violence. The strangeness of it all overcame me. I was humiliated in a way I cannot describe. I drew my sword. I swung it at her neck. I was exhausted, confused.

She held up the wand without turning her head. My sword struck it. Struck it, and shattered. She did not seem to mind that I had tried to kill her. It wasn’t even clear she had noticed.

I turned and ran.

Many days later I emerged from the woods, bloodied and tired. And despite the many encounters, only this one, with the Princess-Nymph, kept running through my head. Waking me, with an ache in my dick.

In my flight, I somehow picked one of the pink flowers. It still smells like the bedroom, and her.

I returned.

This time I traveled with companions. Zia, who I trusted the most. Vice-captain of the kingdom’s mage cadre, and as often as I looked, I had not seen her smile. Parra who I knew not at all, but was a competent healer and herbalist. And Carre, who I knew from reputation as an efficient killer. His mission was to stay directly behind me and glare at my back.

We were sponsored by the Kingdom. Poor on funds and loose-lipped on drink I had introduced my shriveled pink flower to the local chemists. The smallest fragment of a petal, dipped in alcohol, produced a pink potion swiftly known as the finest aphrodisiac known to magic and science.

Overnight an export industry was born, and the local birth rate was anticipated to swell.

For my trouble I received five silver coins.

But I had only returned with a few, and the users needed more. Much more.

“I don’t know the way,” I told my party. But this was a lie. The trees seemed to bend as I approached them. The Bolano Woods, known for at least regular growls and hisses in the undergrowth, was serene. Not a single giant spider. And my legs took me straight towards my dryad.

“It’s okay!” Parra said, flashing me a warm smile. She wore pure white and the cap and star of the healer corps. Of all of them, she was most interested in the actual mission. The pink flowers not only aroused, they healed. They did many things. A glass had evidently retrieved Zia’s captain from the brink of death, and grew her bust to sizable proportions. “We’ll find it!”

“We should be seeing tracks,” Carre said, from behind me, and two paces to the left. So he could run me through without changing his stance. I was not trusted. “We should be seeing—something.. Hearing anything.”

Carre’s sister had joined one of the early expeditions into the undergrowth. Dozens of the kingdom’s adventurers had sallied. Moderate-to-low danger, incredible reward. A reward that advertised itself, popping with pink color against the green and brown of the forest.

No one had returned.

“Stay silent,” Zia said. She walked behind all of us. “We’re getting near. No one draws or strikes until I signal.”

I opened my mouth to make our first joke as a party. I never got the chance. The trees, tired of being coy, bent backwards from the path. Branches groaned to part. And before us stood a manor house.

I have never been inside a country estate, being, ultimately, a poor kind of would-be knight. But I had seen them, guarded a few, from a distance. And at first, my eyes unable to cope, I thought that one was plucked and planted inside the thicket of the forest. Only slowly did I realize—this was no house of wood. This was a wood made house.

The gables and colonnades were shaped out of the living oak—stretched, the bark made paper-thin by some unnatural process. Windows appeared at intervals, just a touch wavy. And it was large. A proud manor, if locked in shadow.

“Welcome!” My dryad said. She waited on the top of a long staircase. Trish. Flanked by—people. Knights, like myself, in tarnished and patchwork armor. “My knight! And so many guests!”

I opened my mouth, only to have a cloth stuffed across it. A white, silk handkerchief soaked in a stinking camphor. Zia’s doing, and the other three had already pulled it taut across their mouths and nose.

I saw why a moment later—the house was garlanded, brocaded, and decorated with pink flowers. In their hundreds.

“Come in!” Trish said, undisturbed by the mask. “Come inside! I’ve been learning so much about hospitality!”

I did not recognize the knights. Or the maids, or the servants. But Carre did. “Sister!” he roared, and drew his blade.

I had been preoccupied with the building. The wrongness of it scraped at my head. The staircase, especially, was real, live wood bent at severe angles. Dark sap oozed from the warped boards. And with the general lavender overlay, it looked like... but I digress. The people had gentle smiles, and seemed nonthreatening. In fact they seemed half-asleep, until Carre rounded on one of the maids.

The falseness revealed itself. There were no knights, no maids, no servants. These were adventurers, mostly clothed in scraps of their traveling clothes. A mossy-green surcoat had been placed over top—and, for the maids, what seemed to be a bed of sugar-white flowers.

Carre’s sister had swollen, puffy lips. She looked at her brother with puzzled disinterest.

“Monster!” Carre shouted. Trish tilted her head. She had the wand tucked into the front of a tunic. It was roughly dyed with purple and cherry, and showed a lot of green-tinted leg. Zia, I noticed, was eyeing the wand. “Hand her over!”

“You’re welcome to her!” Trish said, chuckling. Her voice had lost none of its power. My spine tickled.. “Take as many as you please. They arrive, they start to harvest the flowers, they stay. All they do is breed and sniff. Terrible as the help..”

“What did you—”

Carre’s sister giggled. She rubbed at her brother’s arm. “It’s trueeeeeee,” she said, her voice slurred. “Oh my gawwwwdddddd.”

This was Alci, the third blade of the Crimson Knife. I recognized her now. Drool dripped between her plush lips. She shifted her surcoat, to reveal a growing set of breasts.

“None of them bothered with your masks,” Trish said, voice haughty with disdain. “They show up, stick their noses into a flower, and sniff. Then they copulate with each other until they collapse.”

“Feels good,” Alci said. “Real.... real... good.” Her voice trailed off.

“I’ve been trying to put them to work, create something for export,” Trish said. She led our party onwards, into this carnival of a grand estate. A blackened branch had grown out from the ceiling, straight down, ending in a gnarl of roots. It took me some time to recognize it as an attempt at a chandelier.

The next room was—pink.

It was overwhelming with flowers, and I couldn’t help but smell it.. Instantly my prick came to full mast. I could sense—no, smell—the two girls at my side responding, as well. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I could just sense—blood flowing, just like mine, between the legs. A slurry of pink spores made the room hard to see. In the center was a vat of flowers, enough to purchase the Kingdom, pounded into a dust.

A few humans were, somewhat, at work. Dully scooping carnation dust into small wooden flasks.

Another two were having sex.

I am no virgin. But I was—shaken by it. It would’ve been better if they were rolling on the floor, or piled into a corner. No. A man stood. A woman was bent at the waist, her hands on the wall. They thrust at each other, in the middle of all.

Parra gasped. Her hands flew to her camphor-stuffed mouth. I felt—dizzy. The healer’s body nearly glowed, in my sight. I could gather her skirts up, huffing vasts draughts of pink, and sink my manhood deep inside of her. I could gather her tits in my hands, and push—

A slender gust of wind cleared my thoughts. Zia’s doing, although she seemed spent to even raise a trickle of breeze. She looked shaken.

“They’re so—big—” Parra said, shaking her head.

And not fully human. The girl had a pair of furred ears, and the nub of a furred nail, poking out of her expanded backside. The male, also, had lost the flat face of a normal face. It grew horizontally, the makings of a muzzle. He had new canines bared.

Trish shrugged. She gave the male a rub on the back. “You’ll trade for it, won’t you? I know the King sent you,” she said. “Human males grow much bigger sex organs. Females—well, even I know what mammalian estrus looks like. You can smell their intent, can’t you? Their breasts swell and then swell again. It cures all disease, it heals all wounds. This one grew back a finger. And look, they’re becoming even more. Even better.”

“Amazing,” Parra said, “No. Unreal. The Queen herself has—” she trailed off, having said too much. Her childless state was well known.

Despite the royal gossip, and the emerging snout, I was struck more by the sex organ Trish had mentioned. My own throbbed and cursed. The man had added enormous heft to his own. Inch after inch disappeared inside the partially equine girl. Her eyes had rolled back into her head. Words fail me. I have been carnal in my life. It is a brief moment. Whereas the—animals—in front of me, gave every impression they intended to fuck all day.

“Are they still human?” Zia asked. Her voice attempted to be unconcerned, and failed.

“Oh, I don’t care about THAT,” Trish said. She giggled. We had asked a stupid question that she did not care about.

We emerged. I risked a wipe across my too-warm face. The handkerchief was stained utterly pink. And at some point we had shed both Carre and Parra. Only Zia and I remained in what was, I very slowly recognized, a throne room.

Or at least, that was what the tree was growing. A throne. Made out of more glossy limbs, a garland of the biggest pink flowers decorating the rim and the still-forming arms. Trish moved to stand in front of it, uncertain.

“All these affairs of state!” she said, and chuckled again. “I thought it was all going to be pretty dresses, and night-time balls, and love affairs! We had our first masquerade, but it got so very wet and so very risque. I had to discipline every human I have. Do you like my dress?”

“Very much,” Zia said, standing forwards. “And especially the wand. An accessory of note. May I take a look at it?”

Trish held it up.

She twisted it back and forth. There was no natural light in that growing kingdom. The sun was elsewhere. Light shone from—the flowers? That couldn’t be right, but they were hard to look at, the glare reflecting in my eyes.

Zia tried to step forwards, hand extended, and couldn’t.

“No, I believe you may not,” Trish said. She turned to me. “Apologies. I wanted to have a private word with my knight, first. My first knight. And... it knows what you intend, I’m afraid.”

I knew what was asked of me. My eyes burned with sweat and light, and I could still scent the glorious stink of the pink flowers inside my head. I could just barely hear Zia grunting, behind me.

“My Lady,” I told her. And she favored me, her knight, with a sunny smile. At her acquiescence I took her left arm, the one not holding the wand. I risked a look backwards. Zia had been restrained around both ankles by a length of vine. A dull swamp green thing, heavy and twisting, and seemingly immune to the incantations Zia was hurling with fading force.

I followed Trish to the back. And—recognized the space. I had been there before. It was little more than an alcove, and, although high off the forest floor, it was still covered in rough and aged bark. The original heart of the tree. Where I had been milked, before.

“I know what you’re wondering, Sir Knight,” Trish said, when it was just us.

With the door closed I could barely hear Zia’s cries. I slumped against the wall. At no point during the ordeal did I ever draw my sword, or even seriously consider pulling it. “Are the flowers from the wand? Or a coincidence? I do not know myself. When I close my eyes, and try to think, I see instead a world of dances, and banquets, and trysts in the moon light. Often you are part of them.”

“I enjoy banquets,” I managed. I flinched as Zia’s cry was cut off. But I was also very hard, very hard indeed. There were no pink flowers in the little room, but it didn’t matter. Trish gently peeled the useless handkerchief from my face.

“I’m changing too,” Trish said, shyly. “I tease you humans. But either I am becoming more like them, or they are becoming more like me. Look.”

And she bent over, turning. The dryad hiked up her tunic, and spread her legs. In between, for my knightly review, was a well-formed little pussy. Inside was a deep, inviting pink. I swallowed..

“I’ve been saving it for someone special, Sir Knight,’ Trish told me.

“Every day it gets wetter and deeper. And—needy. I’m starting to understand why you humans spend so much time there. Do you have more sap for me?”

“It isn’t—sap,” I told her. I pulled my breeches down. Her skin was—not human. Not warm and soft. It was waxy, hot, different. But pliable enough. And I could see her glisten, at the center of my attention. No part of me was able to stop, or able to think. I was a vessel for the depositing of seed.

“Oh, I know, but... it’s.. nice to be a plant, still. Sometimes,” Trish said. But she let out a very human-ish sigh when I plunged into her. She never lost her grip on the wand. I wondered if she had seen my interest in standing behind a cunt, and losing myself in it.

Her new slit had a keen grip. I came in a short period of time. And so did she—losing herself in my rough thrusts. And as she shuddered, overcome, the wand fell from her hand, and clattered on the ground.

In a thrice Trish straightened, and turned. She was still unsteady, and shivering. My sperm leaked from between her legs.

“Sir Knight,” she said, urgently. “Strike me down. Quickly. As quickly as you can. While I am still a mere plant.”

“I—” I had just emptied, and was utterly befuddled. But I was wholly unable to resist her command. If she had told me to turn the blade on myself, I believe I would have obeyed. I pulled out my blade and held it in front of me.

“Fast. Now, I feel—the pink, I feel it,” Trish’s eyes turned to the wand, still on the ground. She bit her own lip. It was a human gesture, and, somehow, gave me the strength to try. I wound back as much as I could, in the enclosed space, and cut at her exposed torso.

The blade shattered.

It felt like I had hit the oldest oak in the forest. The sword did not crack, either, as if merely overstressed. It shattered. Metal pieces rained around me, in a delicate reflected shade of pink.

Trish sighed, and my heart broke, to disappoint her. She knelt and picked up the wand.

“It was—worth a try,” Trish said. “Very well. You have been loyal, Sir Knight. I apologize for—the disorder. I know it is not worthy of a Kingdom. When you return—when you return—” She uselessly rubbed a shattered edge against her arm. It did not make a mark.

She turned from me. “Just go.”

I went. Outside, Zia was roughly stripped, and the vine was buried deep inside of her cunt.

I am ashamed by my weak, pitiful attempts to help. By which I mean I took a few faltering steps towards her, and then came to a halt. Perhaps I said something like “no”.

To her credit, Zia was still fighting. A long, wet vine hovered in front of her face, eager to explore her mouth. She turned her mouth this way and that, denying it. But from the peach pink of her lips, she was already succumbing. Her mask was long discarded. As were nearly all of her clothes—she still wore her leather leggings, but they were shredded and sliced.

Whatever weak resistance she could manage was clearly a waste of time. Doughy tendrils wrapped around her legs. Not to keep her from struggling—that was clearly long ago. To hold her in place so the long, phallic vine penetrating her from behind could act freely. I could see wet pink flowers along the rope, and Zia startled whenever one of the growths slid inside of her. Her dusky skin was bright with her sweat, or with some sort of fluid.

“Zia!” I said, stupidly. My own cock was still out, as I had not managed to pull up my own pants. Her eyes turned towards mine, but without recognition. The vine made an obscene sound as it plumbed her cunt. I couldn’t see where the vines led to, but there were many lying around, with others calmly coiled around her tits.

As I watched, another vine inserted itself up the plug of her ass. Zia opened her mouth, to moan, and the waiting, patient vine slid into her throat.

She shuddered. I feel that it was in pleasure. I do hope so.

It was too much for me, especially when the first clump of—something—traveled down the emerald vine, pumped directly into her waiting snatch. Some sort of pink fluid.

The scent of it reached for me. I turned and, leaving behind the finest Incanter in the mage cadre, fled.

Directly into the flower processing room. And Parra, her mask off. Kneeling.

“Parra!” I said. “Zia is—I think we can run. We should run. Warn the.... Parra?”

“Yes?” she said.

After Zia this was an improvement. And she was clothed, somewhat. Just the suplice, as I grew used to the pink haze. Just a long strip of cloth around her neck, showcasing the biggest, most mouth-watering set of tits I had seen. Even larger than Trish’s.

“Parra, where’s your mask?” I asked.

“Oh,” she said, distant. “I took it off. I have to get pink flowers, you know. For the Queen. She tried some and, she told me, she fucked the King so hard he must’ve knocked her up. And then she fucked the chambermaid, the guards, the stableboy, and the stableboy’s horse. She told me.”

“Parra, lets go,” I said. I took hold of her hand, intending to drag her out. But there was—more of her than there should have been.. Her flesh was changing, reshaping, almost as I stood there. Becoming more sensual. She was grinding her ass into a flower-strewn floor.

I looked at her more closely. She had already grown long, incisor front teeth. And her blonde curls were turning a dun brown. Her nose twitched.

“I was a virgin, that’s why they sent me,” she said. “I am not tempted by the pleasures of skin and mound. I am... I am a virgin. A re-flowered virgin. Isn’t that funny?”

I picked her up, conscious of the pink dust coating her skin, her unnatural heat, her twitching. She giggled at my efforts, patting the back of my neck.

We clung that way to the front hall, where Carre was somewhere in a mound of men and women.

Or so I suppose.

I can not say for certain. But I did spot his sister. She was sucking on a cock, one that had to be lying near the bottom of a flowing fountain of an orgy. Men and women that I vaguely recognized, from past times in the pub. When they had hard bodies and coarse laughs. Now they sported silky new skin, enlarged bodies, and soft minds. The men appeared to be on the bottom, their prongs upwards, so that they could thrust and be thrust onto.

Above them, in a wreath, the pink flowers shook their dust. Pollen urged them all on.

Parra climbed down off me, throwing her suplice off, and revealing her massive new rear end. She had identified a free cock in the crowd, and threw herself onto it.

I was left alone.

I turned, hesitant. She was there, at the edge of everything. The Wand held tight in both hands. No mark at all where my finest sword had hit her. I had swung with all my strength. She arched an eyebrow at me.

“My Princess,” I said, trembling.

She smiled. “Go,” she urged me.

I had been told to leave, and I clung to that. I nearly fell down the leaking staircase. The oaks parted to let me go. Later in my breastplate, I found a full bag of pink flowers, enough to make my fortune a hundred times over. Enough to reduce an entire Kingdom to lust-filled frenzy. To change them. To change me.

By the Eight of the Nine, I returned with it.

My ninth trip. I shared the carriage with a number of gifts. One of them tried to suck my cock.

I was too distracted, too nervous, to give her my full attention, and my manhood was badly faded, at any rate. She was a farmer’s girl from one of the outlying villages. Or had been—the pink flowers made ideas like farming quaint and obsolete.

Her own transformation was still ongoing—she had the bountiful, overflowing bosom, the taut new body, and the endless enthusiasm for men.

But not the latter stages, where she swelled with new life. Her body amusing itself with new directions. Hooves, wings, vines, snout, spores, muzzle. Feeding off the sun, or the grass on the ground, or from the milk and sap of our other citizens.

I barely registered cumming in her mouth. It was a slight drizzle. One of my last, I was certain.. I did notice a certain sucker-cup quality to her tongue. Maybe she would take to the ocean. There were worse fates for our citizens.

Much worse.

The new kingdom reached to the edge of the woods, now. Lights flickered at all hours of night. Even from a distance there was a pink tinge to the air. The taste settled on my tongue, dully familiar.

I still tried to maintain a base humanity. Despite the ever-present rut the flowers encouraged. I could feel, sometimes, my thoughts slip away. I’ve caught myself dozing, more and more, in the sun. I am most excited when naked, in the sunlight. I am certain that it is my eventual destiny to become a plant. Perhaps a flowering plant.

A well-deserved fate.

Once she finds me worthy of it.

The Prince met me at the entrance. Our former Prince. After the King and Queen and most of the kingdom had fallen to pink debauchery, he had led a magnificent resistance. Clad in fire, ashes spread over their nose, they had taken up torches coated with pitch and thrown themselves at the wood. They burned much. Apparently reaching even to the forest’s heart, to the Princess herself.

She bore no ill will.

The Prince turned to escort us. In a way, he was still our Prince. No one would begrudge him his new, leathery form. His draconic snout. Generally we envied his massive frame, his well-known cock. As ever, he was taciturn.

“You are late,” he said. “For the Grand Ball.”

“I apologize,” I said. That was my function. I apologized. I had carried our surrender, once the Prince had faltered. And then apologized again, when the Princess said that she had missed our resistance. Said that she missed the serried ranks of our knights. And now again.

I wore evening dress. It was loose and heavy on my shrunken form. My invitation had been borne by one of her newest inventions, a harpy. She had wild eyes, and a coat of downy feathers, and had enjoyed herself with the remaining guards. I run the Kingdom, such as it is. There is little to run. We are animals, minerals, and plants. No central authority has ever needed to regulate our breeding. We do it without Kings.

But there is still room for a Princess.

The New City reached far from the original tree. Every time, I am amazed that there are humans, and dwarves, and elves, trying to live and stay themselves in this pink Kingdom. The dwarves wear elaborate breathing apparatuses. The elves trust to sustained incantations. The humans—most seem not to care, rubbing at themselves, eager to see what they become. What their pleasurable metamorphosis reveals.

The dwarves especially—perhaps they had told themselves this was no different from mining in the dark, avoiding the scent of poisonous gas. They tended to become mottled mushrooms, close to the streets. Pink-capped near-statues that shook when you approached, and sprayed a cloak of pink spores. But there was definitely profit at hand.

We reached the castle.

It was far removed from the grotesque tree. There were stones, now. The Parii, to the east, had brought rocks in quantity, cementing them in with a mortar supposed to be their new secretions. They had done it as a nation, wiping out the white stones of their famous quarries, in exchange for a whiff of how good a new body could feel. Their reward was ponderous, enormous bodies apparently crystalline as well, although they could cum just by having their gems rubbed.

The tree cover, also, was gone. The trees had been cut down. When I had seen this, on my fifth or so visit, I had known that the dryad I had met truly was gone.

Her replacement waited for me by the grand staircase.

She was clothed in pink, of course. Fine cloths and silks from far lands. A candy-colored bodice, with drifting silk veils to each side. Pink thigh-highs of some fabric I did not know, and never would. Gloves, and separate folds of fabric on each shoulder.

“My knight,” she said, warmly. I risked just one glance at her wand. It glowed a little more, each time.

“My lady,” I said, bowing formally. My coat nearly touched the ground. We were about the same height, now.

“You need must apologize once more, my knight, if you are not too tired,” Trish said. “There is a device, placed among your luggage. It is supposed to blow up.”

I felt a sudden weariness. I had not thought to check. I was—I yearned for the release of the sun, for water... the clothes I wore felt like a joke. “I, of course, apologize, although I think I have mostly brought amusement to you, Princess.”

“True,” Trish said. She nodded her head towards her Court Mage. Zia.

Parra and Carre I had never seen again, at least not knowingly. Parra could’ve been many of the fertile attendants holding swollen bellies, Carre could have been any of the dripping, fierce warriors endowed with new spikes or claws.

But Zia was always there. She wore long robes. They discretely hid the vines that followed her around, disappearing up between her thighs. When she spoke, it was laced with moans and sighs. “I’ll... umm... handle it... my princess,” the mage said. As usual, she was sweating. She smiled at me, and I tried to smile back.

“Come with me,” the Princess told me.

I followed her. Behind me, my presents stumbled out of the carriage, bewildered and needy. As much pink dust as they had inhaled, the Kingdom was at another remove. They approached the guardians on hands and knees, eager for their first taste of their legendary members.

I had a sense of forgetting something. But that was nearly all the time, these days.

“Do you remember when you swung your sword at me?” Trish said.

“Every time. And apologize yet again—” she cut me off with a gesture. Her presence was like traveling near the sun. It stripped rational thought. I welcomed it. My shrunken cock was excited—we always fucked, her and I. My nipples ached to be touched. Wench tits, I had once thought, about her. Now we both had a pair..

“No need. But I won’t ask you again. I have—we have—I have decided. I lived hundreds of years in a single tree. Every day the same. And now—I am excited to see tomorrow. I am excited to see what happens next.”

“I am pleased for you, princess,” I said. I concentrated on speaking. My tongue had recently started its transformation. It was rough, hard to move. “And you have done miracles.”

“Miracles are my trade,” the Princess said. And she was right. We walked through new stone halls, past people that were new types of people. And she was right..

I had wondered if there was any society to be made out of these lustful, pink-inflected bodies. And yes, everyone copulated freely, and the passages were sticky with discharge. But they were—more than beasts, if less than human. And there would soon be more. There were so many swollen bellies...

“Ah!” the Prince approached, holding a struggling elf in tow. One in fine clothing, with white-blonde hair, and a pinched, furious expression. “Ambassador, I commend you! Your gift was masterful. In years past, exactly what I would have wanted.”

“You have guaranteed war,” the Ambassador barked. “You bring down the shining hordes of—”

She cut him off. After all, the Grand Ball was very soon. The Princess gently waved her wand. I watched the brief, impressive transformation unfold. I had been right—the Princess was learning about winged beasts. The ambassador burst forth with feathers, before collapsing in a pool of fluid. As usual, he’d cum, overwhelmed with the pleasure of a new body.

I envied him. I discreetly touched at my own cock. Soon it would be a juncture, I could tell. Would I be green and pliable, or brown and wooden? Soon I would know...

“My Knight,” Princess Trish held out her hand. I escorted her, honored. And soon enough we arrived.

The Grand Ballroom, populated by beings in their hundreds, all of them in their finest. Here was the last refuge of the trees—the columns were oak, hung with pink flowers, each strung with colored lights. The massive chandelier I had seen growing, long ago, stretched its branches over all of us, casting a garish kind of light.

There were centaurs and scaled women and calm plant girls—I stared at them—and hairy, tusked men and lamias with their hair up. I saw piggish girls with their tits barely concealed. There were tall girls with rabbit ears and short ones with long, furry tails. There were even humans, if massively pregnant—with something or another.

A tinkle of music carried across the assembled ranks—gnomish players, their instruments betraying their nerves.

And they danced. Like no dance I had seen—more foreplay than waltz. Caressing each other, feeling each other out. Eyes promising and evaluating. But still—this was more than just general orgy. For now.

I had once told my liege that something monstrous was being grown, in here.

I no longer believe that.

Something new was being born.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Trish said, into my ear. “They are all fertile, you know. Their seed spreads from one to the other, finding purchase everywhere. Do you remember when I called your spray, sap?”

“Of course, my lady,” I told her. She took hold of my member, stroking it through my muddy, crusty pants. To my shame, I had spotted a muddy bank, on the way to the Ball. I had stopped the carriage to soak in the light and the soil. It had made us late. I told this to Trish, apologizing once more. Her hand stroked my cock. I apologized for its short length.

“No harm done,” she said. I groaned, spurting in her palm. My remaining cum spattered on the balcony. I could feel myself shrivel, down to a slight nub. The Ball attendees, watching us, cheered. “I hear you have a present for me, my knight.”

“I do.. But—I left it—” My voice cracked, as girlish as her own.

A servant approached at Trish’s glance. Of course she had thought of everything. I dripped into her hand, onto the floor.

“No need to worry. Or apologize. Here, I will open it.” She worked the wrapping as I struggled to reassemble—humanity. Even as I was unabashed to have cum on her nice, clean floor. My thoughts moved so slowly.

She took it out, in front of the assembled masses. The new subjects. There was a gasp. And I wondered—were these people? Were these the future? Or were they... I struggled to find the word, lost in my taxed, shrinking mind.

Were they puppets?

Trish had the wand tucked in her sash. I could grab it, even though my thumbs had faded, the palms of my hands becoming heavy and splintered.

“A crown,” Trish breathed. She held it up.

It had belonged to the Queen, who could no longer wear it. It really was magnificent. Alit with jewels of all colors. Golden. It would reflect the pink well.

“Please allow me,” I said, and grasped it, even with the remnants of my fingers. The forest loomed in my vision, and I welcomed it. Already I must dictate these memoirs to a servant, one of the few that can write. Perhaps the next reader can heed a warning I can no longer say. I will just tell the story—tell of my former cock, still dripping freely. My immobile face, my blackened toes, surrounded by so many beings, all of them ready to birth new life.

I laid the crown on her head.

“My Queen,” I said. I meant it sincerely.