“There's no need to hold on so tightly, my darling.” The voice filtered up to him like the sweetest sugar water, sultry and pure and slippery as quicksilver. “Won't you just let go and trust Myrme to catch you?”

Fenn let out a nervous laugh and clutched tighter at the juniper root holding him suspended above the conical pit of smooth, silver sand he’d nearly walked right into. “I, ah, I think I'd be given cause to regret that, Miss!” he called down.

“Oh? And why is that, darling boy?”

“Well, I...” Fenn felt his cheeks reddening, and he stole a wary look downward.

A beautiful girl smiled up at him from the very center of the pit. She was immersed to her hips within that silver sand, but nothing about her motions or manner made him think this was a problem for her. Her hair shimmered like spun metal, done up in an elegant beaded style with luscious locks trailing down to her shoulders like rivulets of rainwater. Her long elfin ears curved forward in a manner almost reminiscent of a beetle’s horns. And her body…

Fenn really didn’t mean to, but it was impossible not to notice that her beautiful blue gown yielded as much as it covered. It clung to her buxom body as though painted on, and her massive breasts pushed the gown out nearly past its breaking point, descending like flawless teardrops to squish over her arms as she visibly strained to hold them up above the sand.

Those weighty breasts seemed to impede the fey much more than the sand ever could.

“Only,” he added, quickly tearing his gaze away before she could catch his eye, “I've heard spritelions do sometimes take to eating people, Miss.”

“Oh?” Her tinkling laugh made his ears heat up. “Have you, my sweet? Have you really? What silly rumors get spread around by mortals these days~”

Fenn squirmed and tightened his grip. Her voice was nice to listen to, but he knew he needed to be very careful right now. The juniper tree that had saved him was a sign, a reminder from his patron saint: Better to die of thirst on your feet than drown on your knees in sugarwater. “Well, it's, ah... it might've been a tavern tale, Miss, if you take my meaning. The man was deep in his drink, and mayhap they caught a glimpse of you with some, ah, companion, and they, ah, misinterpreted it, right? And then came back to the tavern and started sharing nonsense.”

“Oh, that's quite impossible, darling.” Her voice trailed up to him, slow and sultry. Like fingers tracing up his leg. “Nobody would catch a glimpse of me and decide to leave. No one says no to me~”

Fenn felt his cheeks reddening. He shook himself, trying to brush the voice off him, but it clung. “Well, that's... all the more reason for me to be careful, isn't it, Miss?”

“Mm-hm?” He felt her hum vibrating in his mind. “Was it being careful when you stumbled right into the pit?” he heard Myrme call sweetly. “T’was plain in view, my darling. Was it careful of you to not look down where you were going?”

Look down. That word seemed to echo mercilessly in his head. He swallowed, fighting off the urge. “Well, Miss, you've… in my defense, you’ve placed yourself a little unkindly, I think.”

“Have I?”

“Well, yes. Your little pit, it’s right next to the deepest part of the stream. It’s hard to look where you’re going when you’ve just spotted water.” He tried to reach for the upper part of the branch, to pull himself up. The plant shifted ominously. He stayed put.

“Oh, my. You wouldn't want to drink from that little stream.” The spritelion's musical laughter coiled around his head as he squirmed. “Believe me, darling. Terrible things lurk in the deep places.”

The spritelion’s tone remained light and playful, but power beyond her own trickled from those last words. Fenn found he believed her.

“E-Even so,” he said, “it's hard to look where you're going or even think straight when there's a clean drink right in front of you!”

There was a pause.

“Is that so?”

Fenn nodded to himself. “You get awfully thirstsome... ah, thirsty, out in the desert. It plays tricks on your head after a while.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“This is a desert now?”

“Miss, you've been down there a good sight too long, I think!”

“Hm.” She seemed to be weighing this, but the musicality was returning to her voice in a way that made him uneasy. “Well, I don't get many visitors nowadays, I'm afraid. But that's quite interesting.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, it is, darling.” Fenn shivered; the trickling sweetness was back in full force. “You poor thing. You must be so thirsty after such a difficult journey.”

Fenn hesitated, then nodded. “Right. So I'd… I’d just appreciate being let back up so I can...”

“Look at me, sweet boy.”

Again he felt that voice wrapping around him, but now it was on his neck, touching his chin. His grip tightened as her exquisite voice trickled into his ears. “I—I, h-ha—”

“Look at Myrme, darling boy. Just a glance can't hurt, can it~?”

Seduction laced around her voice like vines on a trellis. She made it sound so harmless, made him feel so silly for even worrying about it. There… wasn't any danger, was there?

Just a glance. That wasn’t so bad. And she was awfully pretty, and…

… and he'd already looked at her once, and he'd been... fine…

… and she was so pretty...

… just a glance…

He snapped out of the trance. “I... n-no, I—”

“My milk is so sweet, Fenn. Can't you taste it on your tongue?”

Sweet.

Taste.

His heart started to race.

“So creamy and heavy. It can sustain you as long as you need it to! Just one little suckle, that's all it takes~”

Creamy.

“N-Now, ah—” Fenn’s whole body felt hot, even in the desert twilight. Her voice was wrapping around him tighter and tighter, pulling on him, and it would be so, so very easy to just look down...

Heavy…

“You can just latch on and suckle like a good boy,” Myrme sang. “Just a few gulps and you'll be fit to make it aaall the way to the mountains.” A pause. “There are still mountains there, right?”

Suckle.

Good boy.

“N-Now, Miss, I already—the nymphs at the oasis already made it clear to me what the consequences could be for, ah—” He was babbling. Fenn wasn't used to half as much attention from pretty girls as he'd been getting lately, and it was overwhelming even without the way her words wound tighter and tighter around him, and he was so thirsty...

“Just a taste. Just a glance.” It was like she was moaning right in his ear. He realized the walls of the conical pit were what were making her voice echo like this, but it was no use, he couldn’t shut out her sweet, hypnotic coos— “Wouldn't you like to see what you're missing, darling?”

“H-hha—” Fenn was pantring. Scattered Gods, he was so thirsty, and milk sounded so good right now... oh, and he remembered how good the nymphs’ milk had tasted… “N-No, I...”

“Just one glance couldn't hurt.”

Just one glance... couldn't hurt, could it?

“Just to see what you're missing~?”

Right. Right, yes, of course. He found himself smiling shyly. He could just… see what he was missing…

Wait, why was he...?

“My milk is so sweet, darling.” Her voice oozed sensuality, dripped with suggestion. She was almost moaning the words. Right in his ears, echoing, trickling… “And your mouth is so parched~”

He whimpered, swallowing what might as well have been sand. It would be so sweet... just a glance couldn't hurt, could it?

“Look at me, darling.”

He looked, and met two big glimmering copper eyes.

In the same breath, she bounced her breasts together, and his gaze became fastened helplessly to their massive, shimmering forms.

“Gooood boy,” she cooed. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her sultry lips savor the words. “Such a good boy for me! Isn't that so much better?”

“B-Better...” He was barely conscious of repeating the word. He squirmed, clinging as tight as he could to the trailing root… Her breasts were so vast, so full, and he could see her nipples... leaking...

“So much better!” the spritelion agreed. “Such a good darling boy! And, you know, since you’re being so very good for me…” She giggled. He shivered at the praise running over his mind. “Don’t you want a closer look?”

Closer look. He trembled as the echoes caressed his brain, stroked it like a kitten.

Closer look. It echoed insistently, endlessly.

You want a closer look.

Fenn gasped and wriggled as the suggestions pounded his weakening mind, slid into his head and pulsed their heat directly into him. Everything felt hot, molten, weak…

His cock twitched.

“No,” he whispered, staring hopelessly down at her soft, squishy tits. “I... I...”

“Oh, but boys just can't help it, can they?” Myrme cooed. She slowly squeezed her tits together… and let them fall. “A boy sees a massive, heaving pair of tits like this and his brain just goes all weak. His thoughts just start bouncing, impossible to keep up with.”

Twitch. Throb. No, no, he needed to—to look away—

“And that weakness starts to spread through his whole body,” Myrme teased. “Doesn't it, darling? It gets so hard to hang on to those silly, bouncy thoughts, doesn't it?”

Weakness.

Bouncy.

Hard to hang on…

“My breasts just… rise and fall. Bounce up and down. Squish together.” The words pulsed and throbbed in his head, and he moaned aloud, overwhelming tingles of pleasure spreading through his body. “Boys just can't think when a fat pair of tits is jiggling in front of them. Look at you. It must be so hard to keep hanging on my every word like this when you just want to stare at my breasts and get dumber and dumber~”

“N-Nnhh...”

Dumber. Dumber. Dumber.

“Poor boy,” Myrme whispered. Her voice was soft, but it seemed to echo right against his mind, gently stroking his mind like a kitten in her lap. “Poor, weak boy just can't look away from my big~”

*squeeze*

“bouncing~”

*squish*

“tits~”

*bounce~*

Fenn licked his lips. His grip was weakening by the second as her voice brushed over him over and over, tightening its grip. No, wait, he couldn't... he mustn't, this was...

“And you're so thirsty, aren't you?” Myrme purred. “It would just feel so good, so natural to curl up in my lap and suckle like a good boy.”

“I—” He tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry. Her milk would be so sweet, such a perfect way to quench his thirst... but… no, he couldn’t let himself think about how creamy and heavy and delectable it would be, how nice her pert nipple would feel between his lips…

“Shh. Just relax. Imagine my sweetness trickling onto your tongue, darling boy. You can’t say no to that~”

Fenn moaned softly. Her purrs resonated through his mind, his cock was throbbing, and it took all his will not to start stroking—he was barely holding on—barely holding onto his wits, barely holding onto the root—

“My nipple popping between your lips...” Her own lips gave a lewd, suggestive pop on the word. “My milk flowing down your throat, filling you with docile, obedient relief...”

He was panting. He could taste it.

“Squishing your face into my big, soft, pillowy breast. Lost to the softness as I bounce my tits around your pretty face, feeling your brains go squish, getting just a little bit worse with every bounce...”

One of his hands had left the branch. He couldn't consciously think about that. Couldn’t think about what it was doing now. Couldn't think about the nice, unthinking, fuzzy pleasure that was starting to fill him from down below...

“Imagine slaking your thirst,” Myrme cooed to him, her silky voice echoing all around like invisible spiderweb threads, entrapping him before he even recognized they were there, “on my thick... sweet... heavy cream…”

He whimpered and unconsciously bucked. Rubbed. Stroked. Gods, it felt so good…

“Getting addicted to me. Addicted to softness. Realizing Myrme always knows what's best for you, realizing no one says no to me~”

Rub. Rub. He was moaning, humping his hand with his one hand as he clutched desperately to the branch with the other, staring down stupidly at those big, bouncy tits...

“Imagine pressing against my thigh,” Myrme's voice murmured right in his ear. “Suckling and grinding and humping like a good boy. Showing Myrme how much smarter she is. Showing Myrme how your cock thinks for you. Letting Myrme keep you all nice and needy, never cumming, just trapped in that dumb adorable little cocktrance, just humping and grinding and suckling and ruining~”

“N-No,” he mewled, rubbing and grinding away, humping his hand through his trousers, he couldn't think, it all felt so good, had to resist...

“Your cock does aaall the thinking for you,” Myrme sang, pulling a face of mock-sympathy, “doesn't it? And it's just so stupid, such a silly, foolish thing. It's already defeated. You just don't know it yet, darling boy~”

“Nnhh—” He bucked, quivered, feeling the orgasm building, fuck, he needed more stimulation, he needed his trousers off—

“You don't know,” Myrme purred, giving a wicked smirk, “that you've already fallen~”

Already fallen.

Already fallen.

Fallen.

The suggestion pulsed, throbbed inside his head, and he felt everything going gooey.

Fallen.

“I already control your cock, sweet boy.” Myrme licked her lips. “You just don't know it yet. It's already decided this for you. Maybe that's why you stumbled into this pit. Your cock was already leading the way~”

Fallen.

“A-Aah—”

“Probably fantasizing about some pretty oasis nymphs wrapping their pretty lips around your poor, dumb dick and kissing you nice and full of sweet, gooey obedience~”

“N-No—s-stop—”

“And you think you’d be able to say no to me? To sweet, perfect Myrme, trying so hard to take care of a poor, helpless thing like you~?”

“p-please—” Rub. Rub. Faster. Faster. “i-i won'tt—”

The spritelion gazed up at him with naked desire—not merely physical lust, he realized now, but a desperate, intoxicated lust for control. Lust to prove a point.

Lust to make him hers.

“You know you can't resist it,” she said sweetly, lifting her breasts slowly until they left the ground and squished solely in her comparatively dainty hands. “You know my control is as inevitable as—”

Pump. Hump. Rub. Fuck, fuck, fuckkk—

“—gravity~” she cooed, and let the tits fall.

Fall.

Squish.

Bounce.

Fenn's grip went slack.

The next moment, he found himself violently tumbling down the slope. His whole world lurched as reality snapped back into place.

He wasted that split-second of flight in a panic scrambling for handholds that didn't exist. The sand was like water the way it slipped through his fingers, but it only tasted like water vapor when he breathed it in. It was like falling through thick, heavy fog.

And then he was in Myrme's arms, and she was smiling down at him like a cat that had just found the goldfish outside its bowl.

“There you are,” she cooed, running fingers through his hair. “Isn't that so much better, pet?”

He trembled. This close, Myrme’s voice washed over him like shimmering molten silver. Her luscious locks spilled across his shoulders as Myrme pulled him closer. “I—It's F-Fenn, actually, Miss—”

Myrme licked her lips, and his breath caught.

She pulled him in close. He tried to struggle, but she had all the leverage, and before he knew what was happening—

Her lips were on his.

Fenn's whole body went limp.

Fenn’s memory suddenly felt misty and full of puffing clouds, and suddenly Myrme’s lips were the very softest he’d ever felt on his skin. He moaned, helpless to escape her as her tongue slipped in, teasing the tip of his. She kissed him again and again. Her lips were plush and wet, leaving saliva with every long, passionate kiss.

Heat was rising around him. Fenn whimpered, feeling himself sinking into the sand—but it didn't feel like sand anymore, it felt thick and slippery and pulsed with a warmth he couldn't understand...

Myrme broke off the kiss with a wet pop, and Fenne found himself in a world of shimmering silver.

The silver sand had transformed, melted into something like molten glass—warm, but not hot, swirling in slow prismatic whirlpools down to the center, where gorgeous, intoxicating Myrme beamed triumphantly down at him.

“Didn't I tell you?” she asked, and Fenn moaned and tried too late to close his mouth as she slid two fingers inside. “You should never say no to me~”

Fenn tried to speak, but all that came out was babble around her fingers. The heat was overpowering, and he was so thirsty… sucking felt automatic, instinctive, and her fingers bore the faint traces of sweetness…

“Hm? What was that?” Myrme cocked her head sweetly to the side, blinking her innocence as she lifted one massive breast. “Is someone… thirsty~?”

Thirsty. Thirsty.

Squish…

“M-Miss—” he whimpered, squirming. He was still so hard, and everything felt so good—

Myrme's hand was on the back of his head. “Tell me what you want,” she cooed.

She gave her breast a squeeze.

Squish.

“P-Please,” he heard himself whisper. HIs cheeks went scorching hot as he realized what he'd said.

Myrme put a finger to her lips, as if curious. “Please what?”

The feeling of her lips lingered on his. Everything felt soft... warm... wet...

“Please,” he whimpered, “I-I'm so... thirsty...”

“And~?”

“Miss,” Fenn cried, ducking his head in embarrassment, staring hopelessly at her perfect, massive, full breasts, “I n-need—need to—”

“Drink.”

Myrme guided him in to suckle, and he latched on without thinking.

“Goooood boy.”

Good boy. The words caressed his naked mind. Good boy. Good boy. Good boy good boy goodboygoodboyggooodboyy...

He moaned and started to suck. Sweet nectar trickled onto his tongue, wonderful, aching relief for his parched throat, and he drank more eagerly, clinging to her. Weakness filled his full being, and it felt so good, so easy, so right and natural...

“Such a good boy for me~!” He heard Myrme laughing. Felt himself being guided through the warm molten glass to straddle one of her luscious thighs, felt himself instinctively humping. “Good boys drink as much as they like. Good boys hump Myrme's leg and ruin over and over and over again~”

Drink.

Hump.

Ruin.

Fenn squealed into Myrme's breast as he felt a shuddering almost-orgasm pulse through him. Molten pleasure filled him as he stopped humping and let the pleasure rock his helpless body, because Myrme had said to ruin, and he always wanted to do what a pretty girl like her said...

The pleasure scorched through him, and his thoughts went with it, and when he looked up at Myrme, his lips latched onto her breast and eagerly nursing, blinking up at her through bliss-fogged vision, she looked like an angel. The prettiest angel he’d ever seen.

“Good boy,” Myrme murmured, stroking his hair tenderly. He whimpered—even that phrase felt so wonderful—so wonderful he almost missed her next words— “And again, now~”

Her words were everything. Her words were his reality.

Pulsing, throbbing, buzzing pleasure erupted in him as he grinded unthinkingly into a second ruin. He trembled, forced into stillness, letting the ecstasy claim him, letting Myrme decide everything…

“Good boy. Just let the pleasure train you, darling.” Myrme giggled. “Good boys ruin their brains away for Myrme~”

He suckled obediently, docile, broken.

“Again. And again. And again.”

Again. He barely had to grind against her thigh to reach the third ruin. He felt so full of sweetness, but there was always more milk, he was stuck down here with her, it was so perfect, it was right where... right where...

“You're right where you belong now,” Myrme purred. She reached down and gently pulled him off her breast, batting her eyelashes. “Aren't you, sweetie?”

It took his lips a moment to manage the words.

Luckily, he knew exactly what he was meant to say.

“Yes, Miss,” he chirped obediently.

Myrme beamed and patted his cheek. “There's my good boy~!”

Myrme’s praise was like a soft, tender kiss right on the tip of his cock.

And ruining yet again from the words alone, Fenn mewled, nodding helplessly, and latched back onto her breast, and plunged back down into endless shimmering bliss.