Ivy knew she should not have strayed from the path, but at the time, it had seemed like she’d had no choice. The sounds of raised voices up ahead had clearly been a confrontation between the soldiers of the king and those of the church, and such an argument was not a safe place for anyone from an undeclared village to find herself in, even if it were not to escalate into a fight. So she had turned off the path - only for a moment, she had told herself, until she had passed the angry, sword-wielding forces - and begun to trek through the woods, clutching her pack closer to herself. But then, just as she had started to contemplate returning to the trail, a chorus of howls had sounded off to her right, and she had fled deeper into the woods instead, away from the pack of wolves. Then she had taken a tumble down a small but substantial enough slope she hadn’t realised was there, disorienting her further; then she’d heard the distinct scraping sounds of a bear marking its territory - a noise she had only heard once before, but, having heard it, would never forget - and so, by the time she finally felt safe to return to the trail, she had become completely lost, a fact that she had only unwillingly accepted after walking for what she could have sworn was the right direction for another quarter of an hour. Really, she shouldn’t have been making this journey alone, but her sister’s smothering insistence on finding a nice young man to guide her back to their parents’ house had activated a stubborn streak within Ivy, and so she’d set off the next morning with little more than a by-your-leave.

Trying to gain control over her steadily rising panic, running her hands through her long, bronze-toned hair, Ivy tried to work out which vague direction she should be going. It was past noon by now, so the sun was pointed… northwest, at this time of year. She’d needed to head practically due east from her sister’s village, she believed, so if she set on that trajectory now… she should end up somewhere nearabouts home, right? And perhaps she’d find the beginnings of the river - the small stream, really - that ran through her village, and she could follow that downstream? Somewhat convincing herself that this was a sensible - or at least the best - plan, Ivy set off in her chosen direction.

She was so focused on keeping hold of her emotions and maintaining a steady heading - hardly easy, given how dense and wild the forest was getting this far from the trail - that she almost completely missed hearing her voice. It took several seconds for Ivy to realise that she was hearing another young woman’s voice; several seconds more to reason that this stranger might know the way home; and then several more, as she was set on her way towards the sound of her voice - and away from where she believed home to be, although who knew at this point - that the stranger sounded like she was… in pain? That was surely it; Ivy could barely think of anything else that those quiet whimpers and moans and grunts could mean. Although as she got closer, she realised that the sounds weren’t actually quiet so much as muffled, by distance and by the dampening effect of the foliage; the woman was further away than she’d thought. Still, at this point, Ivy could barely help but follow, even as she moved further and further from the course she’d set for herself, pushing heedlessly through bushes and bracken, hiking up her skirts to cross a small stream flowing eastward, until she spotted the telltale brightness of a clearing up ahead, until she pushed through to see-

In the centre of this clearing stood a throne. It was carved out of some dark wood; while it had clearly once been intricately detailed and polished to perfection, time and the elements had worn those away, until now only the faintest hints remained, obscured by decay and cracking and lichen and moss. The structure of the throne was so old, Ivy almost wondered how it was still standing, let alone supporting its occupants: the timbers seemed like they would be rotted away to the extent that a stiff breeze could crack them in twain; its structure seemingly mostly made of the plants and fungi that had reclaimed it, sat as it had been for so long in the cold and the damp. Yet stand it did, and not just stand, but support the weights of the two women atop it, one upon the lap of the other.

Ivy’s gaze was first drawn to the woman on the other’s lap. She was the source of the noise, and, upon seeing her, was very clearly not in pain. Rather, her slack mouth, rolling eyes, blissful expression, and rocking motions showed that she was experiencing great pleasure, even if the fact that her lover’s hands were crawling over her chest and between her legs hadn’t given it away. She had dark skin and hair, and was entirely naked, the only modesty afforded her being when her lover briefly pinched at a nipple or placed her whole hand against her vulva. She was letting out a mixture of whines, pleas, and half-swallowed curses, as though she could hardly believe she was being driven to such language, in a never-ending torrent, whimpering and grinding back against the other woman, but seemingly unable to find release.

The other woman… Upon fully comprehending her, Ivy found it near-impossible to draw her eyes away. She appeared almost ethereal, with pale white skin and equally pale hair spilling over her shoulders and those of her lover. She wore a carved wooden diadem around her head, but was otherwise as naked as the woman on her lap. Her bearing was perfectly calm and collected, as though sitting on a half-rotted throne in the middle of nowhere, pleasuring another woman, was a perfectly ordinary task, and indeed one expected of her; the only indication of emotion that she gave was a slight gleam of happiness, or perhaps pride, as she admired the dark-haired woman atop her.

The brunette was growing more frantic, chasing her lover’s fingers, pushing against her, and as her face screwed up, Ivy again began to revise her assessment of whether she was in pain; perhaps she was being pleasured, but it seemed to be nearing unbearable for her as she still failed to climax. Straining her ears, as best as she could while remaining hidden - and feeling increasingly guilty about this bout of voyeurism - Ivy could just make out the brunette’s words, which had now become just a babble of “please please please please…” and her lover bent her head to whisper something into her ear, and the brunette bit her lip and allowed her to continue, and the white-haired woman smiled and straightened up again, and-

Her hair fell away from her ear, exposing the delicate point that it came to. Despite her now fervent desire to remain hidden, Ivy let out a quiet gasp, which to her sounded like an explosion in her ears, as she realised that the white-haired woman was not human at all. The fae’s head snapped up, looking for the source of the sound, hands still expertly pleasuring the human on her lap, and she locked eyes directly with Ivy.

Ivy’s initial instinct was to scream and run, or failing that, to fall to her hands and knees and apologise profusely, but as she met the fae’s gaze, something washed over her, and she found herself stuck to the spot, caught mid-turn. It was not as though she changed her mind, but rather that her panic-stricken mind had become trapped in a body outside of her control. The fae tilted her head, a slight smile coming to her lips, and then she lifted a hand from the brunette’s chest and crooked a finger at Ivy. She found herself stumbling forward, towards the throne, to stand several feet before the two women in the sunlight. The fae pressed a finger against her lips, then returned her focus to the human on her lap. Ivy was frozen in place, drinking this scene in; the other human briefly locked eyes with her, and again she found herself wanting to cringe away in embarrassment, but even if she could have, she realised that the brunette was too far gone to feel any emotion other than the desperation she was so clearly experiencing as she thrust herself against the fae. Her breathing was becoming more ragged, taking in deep gasps as though she was struggling to inhale; tears were rolling down her face, which was slowly turning red; yet any movement she made, when she was allowed that freedom, was to push herself closer to the fae, chasing her hands and her attention further and further. And then, finally, the fae leaned over again, and whispered, just loud enough for the sound to barely reach Ivy’s ears, “Come for me, little one, and be mine.”

The brunette jerked and convulsed in her lap, her voice coming out as a staccato “Ah-ah-ah-ah!”, an almost involuntary series of grunts as though air was being forced out of her as she shook and trembled with pleasure for what seemed like minutes upon minutes of one long climax. Something was clearly happening to her, something beyond her orgasm, and Ivy wasn’t sure what, but found herself looking on almost with dread as the brunette seemed to give and give of herself, and Ivy wanted to flee, or grab the other human, or just demand answers, or something, but instead found herself completely helpless as the brunette finally stilled, giving one long gasping sigh, before slumping, completely still, against the fae’s bare chest. Her eyes were open, but clearly sightless; a cold chill ran through Ivy as she realised that she didn’t know if the other human was even breathing, let alone aware to any degree. The fae, for her part, merely sighed happily, planting a kiss against an unreactive cheek, before casually, callously, pushing on the brunette’s shoulders, allowing her body to fall off her lap and lie slumped between her legs at the base of the throne, staring blankly upwards.

As soon as the brunette was off her lap, the fae seemed to stop paying attention to her altogether, as though she no longer existed. Instead, the full force of her gaze was now upon Ivy as she met her gaze and crooked a finger. It was a small, subtle, almost offhand gesture, but Ivy could feel the force of the command reverberate through her, and she was powerless to disobey. It was almost as if it were a force of nature moving her body, as if it were inevitable as gravity that Ivy would, at the fae’s command, dump her pack off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground, then shed her clothes in the same manner - smoothly, mechanically, thoughtlessly, until she was standing bare before the throne. As soon as she removed each article, it vanished from her mind; had she thought and been able to look, she would have realised they had all vanished from the forest floor as well. Despite the growing terror in her mind, her body walked ineffably forward, towards the fae, whose body looked sinfully beautiful, and who Ivy wanted to hold and never let go of and, at the same time, run screaming from and never look back. She stepped over the slumped form of the brunette, planting herself on the fae’s lap, eyes still locked on hers. As the white-haired woman ran a hand up her body, Ivy’s entire focus became this woman - her eyes locked to hers, her touch upon her skin. Even this simple touch sent pleasure coursing through her, waves of fire and ice that terrified and delighted her at the same time. And then the fae gently ran a finger - just one - across Ivy’s labia, and she knew her fate was sealed.

The fae was completely silent as she began to work at Ivy’s body; as she toyed with her breasts, mouthed at her neck, and curled her fingers inside her, driving her rapidly towards heights of pleasure Ivy had only achieved perhaps once or twice, and then far, far beyond, without any sign of release. Ivy was moaning and squirming and gushing against her queen, making enough noise for the both of them as each new motion of the fae’s hands brought her greater pleasure. Gone were thoughts of getting home; worries of being heard; concern for the other human whose head was just behind Ivy’s body; all that mattered was the pleasure, the euphoria, that Ivy’s lover - her queen - her Mistress - was bringing her. The fae drove her body onwards, and Ivy knew that she would have to give of herself - give her energy, her autonomy, her very life-force - in order to sustain this pleasure, and give she did. The pleasure was the only thing she could think of; the only thing she was aware of, as pleas began spilling from her lips, her voice distorted almost beyond recognition with lust and need and exhaustion, and once again, the queen whispered, “Come for me, little one, and be mine.”

Ivy’s cry of release began as a scream and then quickly degenerated into a rasping gurgle as pleasure beyond pleasure flooded every inch of her body, her mind, her soul, even as she knew she was giving them away to the queen. It felt like an eternity she spent there, and then it was over, and she slumped lifelessly against her Mistress’ chest.

As before, the fae pressed a kiss to Ivy’s cheek, before effortlessly pushing her body off her lap, allowing her to fall over the brunette at their feet. Her weight made the brunette fall with her, so that Ivy was lying down on the forest floor, staring skywards with the brunette atop her.

Ivy was not dead, but she was not quite alive, either. She did not have the vocabulary to describe what state she was in, even if her mind had been active. It was as though she were in stasis: her senses functioned, her body remained healthy; but her eyes did not blink, her lungs and heart did not function, her mind was empty of thoughts, of all but a primal awareness. The other human against her was in the same state, her body warm, but unmoving.

A rushing sound eventually came from somewhere behind her, in front of the throne. The queen, who had not moved since removing Ivy from her lap, addressed its source as footsteps approached the three of them. She spoke in a language Ivy had never heard before, but which she now knew instinctively. “My consort. I am glad to see you are well.” Her voice was formal, but held a clear fondness - not that Ivy was truly capable of processing that information.

The consort stepped forward, moving barely into Ivy’s peripheral vision. She was a tall fae woman, with skin and hair as dark as the night, clad in silvery armour with a pinkish undertone. “I see you have been busy, my Lady,” she replied in the same language, a subtle wry undertone to her voice. Her armour appeared to ripple, then disappeared, leaving her naked like the others in the clearing, exposing her defined, muscular form. The sword she was carrying remained at her side.

“I have indeed,” the queen replied. “I believe they will be a delight to have serving us.”

“I am sure your instincts serve you well. It is getting late. Shall we depart?”

“We shall.”

The queen alit from the throne, taking her consort’s arm in one hand, and gesturing with the other for the collapsed humans to follow them. The brunette half-stood, half-rose, as if pulled by strings, into a standing position, Ivy following suit. With an impulse to animate them, the signs of life returned to their bodies, although their minds were still absent, leaving them as little more than puppets, moving at Her Majesty’s will. The queen moved her hand in a circle, and another rushing noise was heard through the clearing; a door of sorts formed in the air, showing a landscape that Ivy could not yet comprehend even if her mind were intact. The queen and her consort walked through the door to Faerie, and their pretty human puppets followed, moved by a will not their own, never to return.