Gretel's footsteps echoed up to him as though from deep water, bare feet crunching against needles and dead leaves, sinking into the soft, lush grass. Marise led him with practiced ease, ensuring he avoided every thistle, every briar, every loose stone.

Still, he struggled. Or tried to make himself struggle.

“I... buh... mmm…” His attempts to speak were easily muffled by the finger, and his attempts to stop sucking on her finger were easily quelled by more fingers, more traces of sweet cream.

Marise giggled. “Now, now. Such a sweet, confused boy! You mustn't worry about a thing, Gretel. I'm going to take good care of you~”

“Mm.” As another finger dripping with milk slipped past his lips, Gretel felt his struggles subsiding. “Mmm…”

“That's right, sweetie. I have you now~”

He trudged on in silence, staring helplessly at Marise’s big, soft tits.

It was just so hard to think. So hard to focus on the fact that he needed to think. And sucking was so easy. So natural. And he was still so dizzy from Esca’s play...

No, he couldn't. His mind rallied in the absence of Marise's words. He couldn't give in again, not this easy—not at all—

“Mm!” He pulled away from Marise's finger. His head spun from the effort. His hand lunged to the mark on his neck, and he prepared to raise a ward—

“We're here!” the holstaur announced. She turned to him, smiling sweetly, her tufted cow tail flicking with mischief.

“I—whuh?” Gretel looked around, briefly discombobulated enough for the spell to melt away from him. “Here?”

They had come to the edge of a pristine meadow. Starlight twinkled above, and Gretel dumbly realized it was nighttime. When had… that happened? Had it been nighttime when he'd first encountered Esca?

The clearing was lit by several glowing pools, each shining with the reflected night sky like a thousand fireflies caught in blue crystal. Next to one of the pools stood a slumping tent, orange heat dancing across the canvas from a nearby campfire.

Gretel felt his head unconsciously tilting. A meadow full of glowing pools seemed ordinary enough for a fey’s dwelling. The tent… less so. Without thinking, he looked at Marise, a question parting his lips.

Marise gave a guilty little shrug. “Oh, the last occupant... got a little lost themselves.”

“L-Lost?”

“Anyways,” she went on, ignoring him, “this is only a waystation. A little rest stop. You must be…” Her lashes fluttered low, and the next word came out as a sultry purr. “... exhausted.”

And the second she said the words, Gretel felt an ache filling his muscles, an intense, overwhelming weariness. At first, he wondered if it was a fey spell—but no, this felt too intense, too real.

It felt less like fatigue caused by a suggestion and more like… like fatigue that a suggestion had been making him ignore.

He licked dry lips. His head was swimming. “How… how long have we been, um…?”

A more important question flickered alight in his mind. If this was just a rest stop, how much further was Marise planning to take him?

Where were they going?

As Marise proceeded into the campsite, she turned to face him fully. Gretel forced himself to keep his eyes on hers, tried to wield his worries to shake his mind to full wakefulness—but this was no spell of sleep. This was the toll of a body on the brink of collapse. He needed to rest. “Well?” Marise prompted. “What are you waiting for, Gretel, darling”

“W-Where…” Gretel struggled for a moment before finding his tongue. “Where are we—”

“Surely you're tired,” she cooed, lashes fluttering. Her voice cut over his like a hot knife through pastry dough, and his voice flaked and gave way almost instantly.

“I’m—yes, but—”

"Surely you're hungry," she sang, swaying from side to side.

Gods, he was. He felt like he hadn’t eaten all day, felt like he was about to pass out. Had that been her plan all along? To wear him out? To walk him until he was ready to collapse right into her arms?

“N-No, I—”

“Surely you're,” she said sweetly, reaching up and slowly squeezing her massive tits together,

“thirsty~”

She let her tits fall. Bounce. Bounce.

Gretel's mouth was dry.

“No,” he croaked, wringing his hands, “I… I don’t, you see, I…”

She pressed in close, lashes fluttering. Her sweet scent descended even thicker around him, and instinct told him not to breathe in too deep, but she didn't make it easy. Not when her breasts were so... breathtaking. The way they gently rose and fell with her heavy breathing, squished against one another, formed such ample, generous cleavage...

“I think you are,” she said sweetly, her tone brooking no debate. “I think you need to be taken care of, poor boy. You may just be a little bit... confused.”

“N-No.” Gretel struggled to form a second syllable. None came to his tongue. He felt her fingertips graze his wrists, and just that brief, delicate contact made his head spin. “I'm… I’m, um…”

“... a sweet, silly boy,” she murmured, rising up on her tiptoes, and Gretel's whole body went still and stiff as her breasts jiggled and bounced, as her scent seemed to puff around him thicker than ever. “Just relax. Let me take care of you, sweet boy.”

Gretel's mind swam. He felt her gripping her wrists more tightly, and everything in him spun and swam at the sudden sense of being... captured. But he couldn't let it get to him. He mustn't let it get to him. He had to fight it. Had to hold on. He stayed very still and forced to the back of his mind, with all his mental might, the instinct to just… buck.

He stayed very still and watched her tits bounce.

“That's it.” Marise's voice just flowed too swiftly, too easily, water trickling in through the cracks to fill every available space, sweet river song. “Don't you see that I know best, sweet, silly boy? Just relax. Just take a deep breath...”

She leaned in closer. Her scent was everywhere, overpowering, overwhelming, inescapable. Gretel swayed away from her, then, trying to right himself, back towards her.

Her hand shot out and caught him around the waist. He let out a startled squeak. She held him there, practically in her arms, and smiled innocently up at him. “... and relax,” she cooed.

“W-wait,” he whimpered.

Her grip around his wrists tightened. Only... her hand wasn't on his wrists. So what was...

He finally managed to look down and saw the red silk cord her free hand was winding around them.

“What—” Panic filled him. He tried to jerk away, but she held him there. “S-Stop!”

“Shh. Shhh.” That terrifyingly calm, angelic smile remained as she pulled him closer to her, deeper into her warmth, her scent. “Just relax. Just let a pretty girl keep you safe.”

Pretty girls know best.

Gretel felt himself go limp, just for a moment. Then he forced himself back into action, twisting away, fumbling to access the knots around his own wrists—

He felt her hand on the back of his head.

And before his utter dread could translate into the adrenaline he needed to break the hold, the buxom holstaur shoved him facefirst into her soft, pillowy tits.

“MMMMF!” Gretel screamed, witlessly thrashing. He was too tired, too weak. “MMMMM!”

He could hear Marise laughing at him, her laugh musical and sweet, as sweet as the rest of her—and like the rest of her, filled with delectable poisons to addict and enslave. “Aww, do you have to pretend to not want this? That's okay, darling. I understand~”

“MMM!” But his struggles were slowing. He couldn't breathe. He was immersed in her softness, her pinkness, her warmth, and he'd been walking for so long he just wanted to collapse. All his body knew was that it had been walking who-knew-how-long to who-knew-where, and now... now there was a pillow to rest its head on. He felt that sinking feeling, the slow descending sense of of when the mind was approaching dream. Or perhaps already dreaming. He tried to force himself awake, but everything was so fuzzy and blurred, so soft and warm...

“Shush, silly boy~” Marise leaned in, her lips brushing his ear, and began giving wordless coos of encouragement. The fingers of one dainty hand ran through his hair with intimate care. She was bouncing her tits around his face with the other, making her scent rise around him, keeping him helplessly dizzy, hopelessly titdrunk, helpless, hopeless…

He could barely breathe.

And what little air he could get was her.

“Just relax,” she breathed. “You can't resist my tits. No boy can~“

”Mm... nnh!“

He felt Marise press up against him. Felt her soft, warm body squishing against his cock as she backed him up and pinned him against a mossy tree, and… that was that. His muscles went limp as she pressed in on him. His physical struggles were over. He was done.

But he could still fight on the mental front. He had to fight. No matter how soft, no matter how... easy...

.... all he had to do was not let her nurse him. That wasn't so hard, was it? He just had to not latch on to a nipple. Had to not suckle. Had to drink deep of her sweet milk until his brain was goo and his thoughts were soggy with pleasure. It was easy to not do something, wasn't it?

Of course it was. It was okay. He was still in control.

Then he felt her knee slip between his legs. Her thigh pressed against his hardness, and he felt her laughter at him before he even heard it. “Oh, my~“

His cheeks went red. “Mmmm!” he tried to object, but it was just more moaning, more whimpering, indistinguishable from any other pathetic noise he could make.

And as her leg brushed over his massive, kelpie-spelled cock, as his stupid, throbbing dick twitched and dribbled in his too-tight pants, there were a lot of pathetic noises threatening to escape him right now. He was panting, and there was simply no air but the air she’d corrupted.

He couldn't bear it. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, he was trapped, lost, helpless and immersed in softness, and her thigh was so warm, so smooth, and all he could think to do was...

He bucked.

Her laughter rose in pitch. It was not laughter of surprise, to his humiliation, but delight. “I knew it~”

“MMM!” he whined, trying frantically to force still his hips, but he knew it was too late. He had a horrible feeling that a mere glance down there would give away exactly what happening beneath those too-tight leggings, no matter how he tried to hide it. He felt sticky down there. Warm. Throbbing. Needy. His vision was starting to blur, his lungs starting to ache—

Marise took him by both cheeks and forced him up to meet her gaze. Gretel's lungs burned with relief. His cheeks burned for other reasons beneath her gentle but firm touch. “I knew you were enjoying this more than you admitted,” she said sweetly. “You like this, don't you?”

Gretel took in a deep breath, now only faintly registering the sweet chocolateyness to the air around him, thick and dizzying. It smelled nice. He wanted more. But he couldn’t… he mustn’t admit… “I... nnnno, no, I… don't...”

“Oh, wait, you’re right. Of course you don't~”

Gretel stared at her, practically trembling.

“Buck,” the holstaur said sweetly.

His hips jerked forward, and his tent slid tantalizingly right between her luscious thighs. His knees nearly buckled as he moaned with helpless pleasure. Briefly, he forgot his peril, forgot everything but how good it felt, how good she felt.

Then it came rushing back, and he looked back at the holstaur with terror. Don't look at her tits. Do not look at her tits. Not under any circumstances should you...

“You loooove this,” she cooed, a triumphant smile on her pretty face, as she took his face and forced his head back down towards her massive tits. She bounced on her toes. “Bounce-bounce-bounce, silly boy~”

Gretel's lips parted. He might have drooled. No. No. Not again. No, no, I can't...

But everything in him had turned to goo. He wasn’t thinking. Wasn’t resisting. Bounce. Bounce.

Bounce…

He felt a pressure around his wrists, and the next thing he knew, Marise was leading him by the silk cord like he was a puppy on a leash. She remained facing him as she backed into the clearing. Her hands were beneath her massive breasts, bouncing and jiggling them to a slow, inescapable rhythm.

“Bounce, bounce, bounce,” she cooed.

Gretel's lips fumbled. He tried hard to speak, because he knew he was supposed to say something, but what had he meant to say? The words felt gooey and insubstantial, each one like a dream that melted into nothing when he tried to remember it. Something… something had…

… had felt so important to say a moment ago, the moment before she’d… before her…

… before tits…

… bounce…

… bounce…

... bounce…

When his voice came to him, it was barely a slurred whimper.

“... bbounnncce...”