Happy Holly Daze
by GigglingGoblin
Lorelei's Note: This story continues where the Warm Welcome series left off, albeit with a bit of a timeskip. Content warning for nonconsent, mind control, and bad archaic modern English LISTEN I TRIED
Please remember that consensual nonconsent and hypnosis should always be practiced safely and ethically in the real world. :)
Gretel shivered. It was a harsh evening to be traveling this dark road alone. It was colder and harsher still knowing the warm, soft bed—and company—he'd left behind.
He'd finally made it out of the sorceress sorority's clutches. After months of being their good, docile little plaything, he'd finally mustered the will to... to...
He flushed, drawing his wizard's robes tighter around him. Okay, he'd finally admitted to Maye that he couldn't ever escape on his own and they'd happily sent him on his way—albeit with promises that he'd always be welcome back under their roof.
A welcome that would be hard to resist right now, he thought miserably, clutching his arms tight to his chest as the wind picked up and sent snowflakes swirling into his fluffy pink hair. He'd caught a glimpse of his reflection in a frozen pool earlier that day. With all the white in his hair, he might as well have aged twenty years.
He'd known it wouldn't be easy on the outside, when he’d left the Ivory Tower just two months ago. Gretel had never experienced a winter away from the safehaven within the Mage Tower. In the Tower, they were shielded from all dangers, including inclement weather.
And hunger, he thought, biting his lip as his stomach rumbled. He'd gotten a little too used to being fed regularly by Abril. Being held in her lap, or held down, or pinned with her in his lap while she popped delectable treats past his moaning parted lips, cooing praise and encouragement and silencing him with sweet kisses whenever he tried to protest—or, even better, by popping a nipple past his lips and encouraging him to suckle like a good boy, with Maye nearby teasing at how easily, how eagerly he obeyed...
He caught a whimper of longing threatening to escape and tore away from the memories. No, he needed to be out of there. He hadn't left the Tower just to get caught up in the affections of a few local witches. Again. For the third time.
Granted, he'd... learned a lot from that visit. He swallowed, patting his notebook, safely tucked in a pocket in his shorts under the robe. A lot about witches, witch sororities and their place in society—the way they supported (or sometimes harassed) the communities they set up shop near, the rules they tended to follow. And a lot about... well. Other things.
But things were different now. He straightened his stance, striding brashly through the snow. He wasn't some green wanderer anymore who'd never seen a pretty girl out in the wild. He'd faced the goblin maids, he'd faced the lamia, and he'd faced the sorority, and... well, he'd lost, but still!
He just had to find a way out of this snowstorm.
Gretel reached up and touched the silvery tattoo-like mark on his neck, wincing at its lingering sensitivity as he rallied a renewal for the abjuration magic currently keeping him from freezing to death horribly. It wasn't enough to keep him warm, but it did keep his blood flowing. But he couldn't keep his magic running continuously forever.
The Greatest, Darkest Forest wasn't such a bad place to be in a snowstorm, but it wasn't too wonderful, either. Even though he was protected from the worst of the wind, the forest’s oppressive darkness made it hard to find the path when its was so covered and snow. Part of him already worried he'd lost it.
Nevertheless, he stumbled on, forcing his way through the snow—already up to his ankles, even in the boots Claire had gifted him. There had to be a village up ahead. As long as he stayed on the road.
And yet the cold seeped in through his thin robes, danced pins and needles across his aching feet, made his fingers numb and clumsy. His teeth chattered, and he closed his eyes and felt the chill of his own eyelids.
There had to be... had to be...
Gretel blinked, staring up ahead.
Off in the distance, seemingly just off the path, a pair of glimmering blue lights shone through the flurrying snow.
Gretel blinked again, unsure if he was seeing things. But he wasn't that cold, was he?
He pinched his wrist just to be sure.
"Ow."
The spell was still keeping him from getting too numb. It couldn’t be delirium.
Gretel swallowed. He kept walking along the path, drawing nearer to the source of the glow. Was it... a house? With tinted windows, maybe? Maybe a Ranger outpost, though there was no record of one on the map Maye had given him. A Ranger outpost with hot cocoa and a warm fire. Oh, hot cocoa sounded wonderful right now. Rich and sweet with a touch of bitterness, just like Abril made it.
As he drew level with the lights on the path, he stopped, hesitating.
The shimmering lights looked normal enough, aside from being blue. They didn't bob or flicker or pulse, or pierce with unnatural brightness through the flurrying snow. They looked like lanterns.
Gretel bit his lip, then made a decision as he renewed the spell again. He'd take the chance. Anything to get out of this snow. If it wasn't a friendly face, he'd turn and hurry straight back.
It wasn't like the path offered any special protection here—if he was even still on the path. If fey wanted him, they could come and try to catch him wherever he went. Better to try to get indoors sooner.
Besides, what were the odds of running into temptresses on the open road four times in a row?
He stepped off the path and began trudging down the shallow hill, following the azure glow.
He kept his eyes on the lights the whole way. They were a pretty icy blue, like light shining from beneath a frozen lake. The longer he looked, the more sure he was that they did pulse—but only very slightly, a subtle, peaceful glimmer. It didn't worry him too much. They didn't seem dangerous.
They could be eyes, he thought dimly, stumbling a little. Eyes of some gigantic beast in the blizzard. He couldn’t know.
The snow was up to his knees now as he went further downhill. Maybe he was entering a snowbank. He wondered if he should turn back.
He kept walking, pushing his way through the crunching snow. His robes did absolutely nothing to protect him from the cold, and his legs felt numb and useless, like he was walking on thick, clunky stilts. He rubbed his cheek, and winced at how ice-cold it was.
He only barely remembered in time to renew the spell this time. His head swam. He needed to find shelter. A cottage, a cave, a hollow log, anything.
And just as he was thinking that, he began to hear something that made him stop in his deep tracks and listen.
Music. Sweet, angelic music.
A smile spread across his face.
There were women singing just up ahead, joined by the delicate songs of bells and stringed instruments. It was a song of comfort and safety, of shelter and welcome. It was a song of warmth. He sped up his pace, and finally came to the source of the two blue lights.
They did belong to lanterns, as it turned out, each hanging from a tall crooked red-and-white striped post. They stood alone in the forest.
He stumbled forward in a daze, eyes fixed on the lanterns. It certainly seemed like it was the flames that were blue, not the glass He searched his numbed memories for the spell to identify enchantments.
But the music was coming from up ahead, and now he could see new light—the warm orange glow of a fire.
He could barely keep one foot in front of the other. The snow was up to his hips, now, and as he renewed his spell, his head spun from the combination of physical exertion and magical exhaustion. His arms were wrapped tight around his chest, and his teeth were chattering uncontrollably.
He could smell the smoke now, and woven into it were other sweet scents that made his mouth water. Chocolate. Peppermint. Caramel. Cinnamon. Maple syrup.
He was so fixated on moving as quickly as he could towards the warmth, he only noticed too late that the snow was about to drop away. He shoved his way out of the snowbank—
—and spilled right into a grassy meadow with not a trace of snow within, tumbling onto his side.
For a moment, Gretel was too stunned to react. He lay there, feeling a comforting warmth just ahead of him.
He stared straight ahead at a beautiful purple crocus in full bloom.
“Oh, heavens!” exclaimed a dainty, high-pitched voice.
His eyes slowly traveled up.
A bonfire blazed in the center of the clearing. Its warmth met Gretel’s face like a hundred sunbeams, like a thousand soft sorority kisses, and he practically moaned with relief.
His eyes kept traveling, though, and he found himself meeting the gazes of four gorgeous fey women.
They were each quite short—about his height, with hair ranging from chestnut-brown to candy-red and rosy cedar-brown complexions. Their dark lips were plump and pouty, and they each had identical rosy-red noses and cheeks as if they were quite chilly. Pale speckles dappled their cheeks, arms, and chests.
Gretel stared. Each was dressed in a simple a-line dress, with a leafy green wreath nestled amid her shimmering brown locks. The outfits matched—fluffy white-trimmed pine-green dresses, backless and baring the shoulders, with long ruby-red stockings. The dresses were… very, very low-cut, and though they weren’t large by fey standards, they filled those dresses out very, very nicely, and eagerly bared their long, shapely legs.
Above their heads rose delicate antlers. They were fauns.
And they were all staring at him. Their eyes were a brilliant green, shining through the falling snow. They looked startled, blinking thick, lustrous lashes.
They beamed.
“Oh, my loves!” one of them exclaimed. Her brown curls bounced as she bobbed from heel to toe. “We have a guest!”
“A visitor!” breathed another, eyes wide and sparkling. “Oh, Cupid, see him shiver! He hath traveled long in this cruel weather!”
“Um, h-hi,” Gretel stammered, forcing his eyes off their chests to meet their inquisitive gazes. He struggled to his feet. “Sorry to… barge in like this. I was just…”
He was starting to register the rest of the clearing. Aside from the warm, cozy bonfire he was so grateful for, the strange fauns stood before a towering fir tree. It was beautifully decorated for the Solstice, with glimmering baubles—pink and blue, silver and gold, crimson and green—hanging from every branch. Some were glass, others glinted like metal. Red bows and ribbons dangled, too, blowing in the breeze, and at the top of the tree was a shimmering glass Solstice maiden. A light dusting of snow covered the tree. Gretel had never seen a Solstice tree so vast, nor one decorated so densely.
He realized he’d trailed off only when the fauns started giggling. He flushed. “Sorry. I’m, um, is it alright if I rest by your fire? My name is Gretel.” He added the last part as an afterthought, already inching closer to the blaze.
He didn’t know much about fauns. They were deergirls, beastfey. Beastfey were usually more approachable than other fey, weren’t they?
The next thing he knew, he was surrounded.
“Oh, forsooth!” agreed the first one who’d spoken, Cupid, beaming at him. Her green eyes sparkled dangerously. “We should be overjoyed to have such a handsome guest. Is it not so, Vixyn?”
“Oh, yes,” purred the second one who’d spoken. She was the tallest of them, just an inch above him, with striking little blue teardrop earrings that reminded him of icicles. “We are obligated to the cause of hospitality for weary travelers.”
“Oh. Okay.” He bit his lip. “Great.”
“And we cannot possibly send thee out into the wind and snow, can we?” A third giggled and bounced up close to him. Her hair was cut in a neat little bouffant, decorated with glittering snowflake-style hairpins. “Not until thou art, hum, well warmed up!”
“Right.” He nodded with a shy smile, taking a step back. They smelled very nice—a sort of minty chocolatey scent, plus a fragrance he couldn’t place. He’d learned to mistrust strange sweet-smelling women, but these four seemed friendly enough. Maybe just a little… flirty. But they were sharing their fire with him, so they couldn’t be so bad, could they? “Right, as I said, I… just need a minute.”
“Indeed,” agreed Cupid, batting her lashes up at him. “We must make thee comfortable! Prancer, you must at once fetch for our guest something to warm his weary, handsome frame!”
He bit his lip, unable to quite meet that fluttering gaze. “Th-That’s not necessary,” he stammered, but the giggly one was already bouncing off to the far end of the fire, and he was now left surrounded by just three beaming deergirls.
“Oh, but it is!” Cupid shook her head firmly. “And thou art hardly dressed for the winter! Donna, have we not anything more suitable?”
“Oh, yes, I should think so.” Donna was slightly curvy than the others, and her voice was warm and gentle, nurturing, almost, as she smiled up at him. “Thou needst only wait a flick and a wink, my sweet.”
She cupped his cheek, and he felt his whole face heating up before she turned and made her way off as well.
Now there were two of them. And Vixyn and Cupid didn’t seem to be going anywhere.
He gulped.
“Thou mayst have a seat,” Vixyn said sweetly, taking him by the arm. “The moss is soft and warm by the tree.”
“Th-That sounds nice,” he managed, “but I just—”
“Soft and warm,” Cupid agreed, hooking her arm in his other so they had him caught between them. They led him over. “Thou must be exhausted!”
“But I—”
“So tired,” Vixyn purred in his left ear.
“I, um…”
“So sleepy,” Cupid cooed in his right.
“I have to… I really…” But when they bade him sit, he sat, facing the tree towering above him. He blushed as they sat down on either side and nestled in close.
He needed very, very badly to get more assertive, and fast. But Cupid fluttered her lashes at him so innocently, those plump, kissable lips curving up in a smile so full of innocence and cheer. And Vixyn felt so nice pressing her curves against his other side…
“... have to… get moving…” he mumbled.
“Why so hurried?” Vixyn purred. Gretel turned and started into her shimmering green eyes, sparkling in the reflected light of the tree. She leaned in closer. “Is it not warm here?”
“Is it not soft here?” Cupid cooed, squeezing him tightly between them.
Their scent washed over him, and he could almost taste the mint chocolate melting on his tongue as he breathed it in slowly. Sandwiched between the two voluptuous fauns, it felt awfully rude to complain. They were just helping him, weren’t they?
He turned, and his eyes drifted from Cupid’s glowing eyes to her full lips, curved upwards and pouted out ever-so-slightly in a sly, inviting smile.
“Art thou not cold?” she whispered, reaching up and stroking a fingertip over his lips.
Her touch was so delicate.
His lips were so sensitive.
And as he felt Vixyn’s warm breath on his neck, grazing just over the sensitive sigil, he shivered.
“Oh, he is!” she exclaimed softly, her lips ever-so-slightly grazing his earlobe. “The poor thing! See how he shivereth in the chill night air!”
He whimpered, squirming between them. Cupid’s finger felt so nice and encouraging, and his lips longed to simply part. The thought echoed in his head in the seductive tones of the witches who had broken him so many times before…
Pretty girls know what’s best for you~
“I-I should… should be…”
“Ah, here it is!” Cupid brightened. Gretel craned his neck to see Prancer return in bouncing strides, clutching a steaming red mug of hot cocoa, topped with a graceful peak of whipped cream. Cupid took it from the bubbly faun and held it up to his lips. “Drink, my sweet! Drink!”
“B-But—” As his lips parted, Cupid’s smile widened, and she tilted the scarlet mug back.
And sweet puffs of whipped cream floated like clouds in the sky upon his tongue, borne on seas of sweet, rich, cinnamon-laced hot cocoa.
The heat of the cocoa—not too hot, not lukewarm, just right. The light coolness of the cream, so thick and heavy…
His lips parted wider, and he moaned softly stopped struggling. It was easier to just let Cupid serve him. They were just trying to help, weren’t they? Just harmless beastfey. Very pretty beastfey. Just giving him a… warm welcome…
“Good boy,” Vixyn purred in his ear. His lashes fluttered dizzily. “Doth thou see? Our only desire is to care for thee~” She kissed just below his ear, and he gasped and drank deeper. “Good. So good for us.”
“Thou needst only do as we say,” Cupid cooed, tilting the mug further back. “Everything we say. And is that not so wonderfully simple?”
“Oh, forsooth!” Prancer said, giggling as she reached down and started to slide her hands up the hem of his robes, caressing his cold legs with warmth. “Boys love simple, do they not?”
“B-But…” Gretel squirmed at the touches, but he couldn’t stop drinking. His eyelids were growing heavy. Simple.
“Simple.” Vixyn’s voice was a sibilant sigh laced with delicate promise. “Simple and silent. That is how a mortal boy should be, is it not?” She kissed wetly around his ear. “All he need do is lie still and be tended to. Is that not so easy?”
His head was sinking back against her chest as hhe drank deeper and deeper, guided to tilt further and further back by Cupid’s gentle touch. Vixyn’s chest was so soft, and as the three smiling fauns squeezed closer, Cupid’s breasts were right before his drowsy, half-closed eyes.
Simple.
Silent.
Prancer’s hands were pulling his robes up higher, now, slipping playfully between his legs. She giggled. “Ooh, so it seemeth! So easy indeed. Or rather…” She leaned in close and planted a wet kiss on his neck, right next to the sigil. “... it seemeth to be quite hard~”
Her soft, warm hand brushed his cock, and he let out a soft, helpless cry as sweet bubbling pleasure and embarrassment burst in his mind. “H-Hey!” he protested, reaching to cover himself.
The fauns were all laughing now, their sweet, musical laughter echoing around him. His head swam. Everything suddenly seemed so… glowy… their radiant smiles, so beautiful, so teasing, making his cheeks heat up as they drew nearer…
“What is wrong?” Cupid asked innocently, lowering the now-empty mug to the grass. She batted her eyelashes, and her eyes were so beautiful, but he couldn’t look away from her jiggling tits. “Why doth thou struggle?”
“Thou hast struggled long,” Vixyn purred in his ear, as her hand wrapped around him and hugged him close. He was nestled right in her cleavage, and as embarrassing as that was, strangely, all he could focus on was how soft and warm she felt beneath him. His head felt sluggish and heavy. “But thou art in no danger here. Seem we dangerous to thee?”
“Guh...” Gretel stared as Cupid reached up and cupped one breast. Squeezed it. Slowly let it fall. Bounce. Bounce.
“Well?” Vixyn laughed. “Surely thou art more than a match for three harmless little fauns.”
“B-Buh…” Gretel whimpered as Prancer’s fingers ran between his legs, delicately teasing, so close to his hard, twitching cock…
“He hathn’t any words!” Cupid cooed. She bounced closer, leaning down until her breasts were out of view… and those dark, fulsome lips filled his vision. “Be these questions too difficult for our silly boy? Ought we to ask thee easier ones?”
“I… b-buhhh…”
Those beautiful lips formed a seductive pout. “Would the sweet boy like a kiss?”
For a second, Gretel’s brain seemed to short-circuit. He stared in hopeless desire, admiring dizzily how her lips curved so elegantly at the bow…
… but… but wasn’t this a bad idea? They were… they were seducing him, they were…
“Oh, thou must kiss her,” Vixyn purred. Her lips traced up and along the nape of his neck. “Thou canst not resist.”
Those lips, so soft… probably so sweet…
“She hath mistletoe in her hair, silly boy!” Prancer giggled. “Thou needst the kiss.”
His every breath filled him with more of that sweetness. Weakened him. Drained him.
“‘Tis but one,” Cupid said sweetly, lashes fluttering. “What can be the harm?”
Gretel nodded dizzily. It made sense. She did have mistletoe in her hair. And he only had to do it once, and… just one kiss couldn’t hurt…
He wasn’t sure which of them initiated the kiss. He only knew that his lips met hers, and then the sweetness of mint flooded him as he sank into her touch. He was sandwiched between the three fauns, and even as he was vaguely conscious of Vixyn’s teasing whispers, of Prancer cutting fabric of some sort, all he could think about was Cupid.
Cupid was everything.
Her taste. Her scent. Her soft moans, the smacking of her luscious lips. He moaned helplessly as her tongue slid into his mouth, as she sucked daintily on his lower lip.
When she pulled back, he was in a daze. He swayed, sighing in soft, dreamy pleasure.
The next thing he knew, he’d been turned to face Prancer. She beamed. “My turn!” she bubbled.
He blinked stupidly. He couldn’t argue, could he? The mistletoe… she wore some too. Just one kiss. It made sense.
One more couldn’t hurt.
Prancer cooed happily as his lips met hers, and her kiss was hungry, devouring. Her tongue thrust into his mouth as the faun moaned, clutching him in her passion, fingers entwining in his hair and pulling him closer. Her lips were so plump and soft and sweet, and her green eyes shone inches from his own, flashing, swirling…
She finally pulled back with a grin. Gretel nearly swooned after her.
His head was swimming. He blinked slowly, struggling to wake, but…
… but he was already being turned to face Vixyn. The faun grinned wickedly. “Just one more?” she suggested, pouting.
“I… b-buh…”
Her eyes glimmered. “Doth thou not see? The mistletoe commandeth thee, sweet boy. ‘Tis not thy choice at all! So why fight it~?”
Gretel’s mind buzzed. He felt that compulsion, then, the mistletoe atop her head taking hold, taking root in his brain. He found himself nodding drowsily, leaning in…
…parting his lips obediently…
… his eyes already half-closing in anticipation…
He saw Vixyn’s grin widen.
And she leaned in and planted her lips right upon his sigil.
Gretel mewled and thrashed in overwhelmed pleasure, but she didn’t let go. If anything, her kiss deepened, and she clutched him close and captive.
The pleasure was unbearable, unspeakable. Gretel squirmed and gasped and babbled, his every half-protest dying with a lick, a smack of her lips, a moan vibrating against his skin. His protests dissolved into wordless pleas, but the other two fauns just giggled and beamed innocently, lashes fluttering, as Vixyn’s kiss went on, and on, and on…
It felt like it had been hours by the time she pulled away with a loud, indulgent, “Mmmwaah~!”
Gretel lay there in her arms, eyelids fluttering, still whimpering softly as the sensations lingered. He heard the fauns laughing, but couldn’t muster words.
Vixyn smirked down at him, eyes glowing. “Was that not wonderful?” she cooed, reaching down to stroke under his chin—and to keep his head from lolling.
Gretel drooled.
The fauns all giggled. They pressed in on him again, returning him to his place resting against Vixyn’s breasts as the other two fawned over him. Dimly, Gretel realized his robes were gone now. Prancer had snipped them away during his daze.
He was almost naked.
“Is this not perfect?” Prancer asked, bouncing with excitement. “‘Tis just what every silly mortal boy needeth!~”
“To be taken care of,” Cupid agreed. “To giveth up all his difficult decisions to pretty fey girls~” She smirked down at him, bouncing her tits right in his face. “Is that not right, sweet, adorable boy?”
Gretel struggled to speak, but the words seemed to melt on his tongue the second he thought of them. He was filled with sweet, gooey heat. It suffused his whole body, slowly dissolving his mind like sugar over a hot stove. This… this was bad. Right?
He tried to rise, but every muscle in his body had relaxed completely. His body was totally limp. All he could do was squirm pathetically.
He couldn’t get up.
He was helpless.
His eyes widened with the realization.
And he heard the jingling of bells approaching.
“I’m baaack, my darlings,” he heard Donna sing. Her soft, voluptuous heat settled down right next to him, and now he was totally surrounded. “Is our little guest ready to be decorated properly~?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Gretel spotted colorful, shimmering red ribbons, jingling silver bells…
… and an awful lot of mistletoe.
He whimpered.
“Now, now,” Donna murmured, as he squirmed against her touch, “thou mustn’t struggle, my sweet!”
“Yeah,” agreed Prancer, giggling, “how are we to dress thee if thou wrigglest like a little kitten at his bathtime? Here!” She forced his head to turn to face Donna. “I think this might help~”
Gretel met Donna’s eyes only briefly before his gaze dropped down to her chest.
Donna had pulled down her dress, and her massive breasts now poked out above, held up by the neckline. They were flawless, shimmering with many colors from the reflections cast by the Solstice tree above.
His eyes widened, and an involuntary whine escaped him.
“Oh, what a fine idea, Prancer,” Vixyn purred, stroking his hair. “Look how he craves it! A taste of the source~”
Gretel’s head swam. He felt too weak, too feeble, too sleepy and confused. What… what had been in that hot cocoa?
Where had they gotten the cream?
The voluptuous faun slowly groped and squeezed her breasts, and Gretel’s whole world went thick and oozing as he saw tiny beads of milk leaking from her perky nipples.
“Go on, then, my sweet little one,” Donna cooed, leaning in close, her scent—minty hot cocoa, so creamy and milky and sweet—flooding Gretel’s poor addicted lungs. “Drink.”
Oh.
Oh, it would taste so… so…
“N-Nn—” Gretel forced his lips shut and shook his head. His head sloshed and swirled with the rapid motion. His eyes fluttered.
He couldn’t give in, though. He couldn’t. No matter how his mouth watered, how his head swam at the thought of just leaning in, parting his lips, burying his face in Donna’s soft tits and suckling like a good boy...
Hearing Donna’s delighted laughter, Gretel realized his lips were parting involuntarily, and barely stopped himself in time. He whimpered, his impotent squirming only amusing the four pretty girls around him more.
It would be so easy. So easy to submit to their softness, their warmth, and it would feel so good to drown his cares in their pleasure. The thought of surrendering to their charms, of submitting to their superior control, of dosing himself deeper on that milk made his whole mind melt a little.
It would be so embarrassing. His heart quickened at the thought.
But he held on. Through sheer desperation, through the haze, his mouth remained shut.
And though Vixyn and Cupid seemed content to wait him out as they readied those pretty ribbons, Prancer seemed to be getting bored.
“Go on, silly boy,” she cooed, bouncing with excitement. “Do as thy, hum, nursemaid sayeth! Teehee!”
He shook his head weakly, much slower this time. He couldn’t. He mustn’t.
Prancer’s eyes sparkled. She looked up at Donna. “Oh, nurse, may I? May I… help him?”
He blinked up at them. What? Help him? Even in his dazed state of half-resistance, a creeping dread filled his heart.
Especially at that sly smile Donna gave. “Of course thou mayst, mine adorable scattered little slattern. The sweet boy needeth help remembering to breathe~”
Prancer’s face lit up.
Gretel squeaked nervously, eyes darting between the pair. “Mm?”
“Oh, worry not, sweet boy,” Vixyn hissed in his ear. “She is only going to make you more comfortable~”
“Would that be so bad?” Cupid cooed.
Gretel blinked dumbly. Make him comfortable? That… didn’t sound too bad, did it?
Prancer’s head dropped between his legs.
His eyes widened, and he started to squirm and limply thrash, but the fauns held him too tight. Pathetic whimpers spilled from his closed lips, wordless pleas that only fell on deaf ears.
And then a pair of plump cocksucking archaic-dialect-speaking bimbo lips touched his cock.
A shiver of delight raced through him.
Prancer’s antlers bobbed as she gave happy little sighs, her tongue lapping mercilessly between his legs—and over his sensitive cock through his undergarments.
Her finesse was indescribable, and Gretel’s cock was already so sensitive. He couldn’t bear it.
The other fauns cooed over him as he struggled. “So precious! Cupid gushed, stroking his hair. “Thou must love this~”
Prancer’s tongue was nimble and playful, teasing over his tip, stoking his arousal. It was exquisite torture. Gretel bit his tongue, whimpered, whined, pleading with his eyes at the other three. Prancer giggled.
He finally could take it no longer.
“Please!” Gretel mewled, hips bucking in hopeless need. “Please, just—MMMFF!”
Donna had immediately popped her nipple past his lips.
Gretel’s whole world went soft and blurry.
He tried not to lick. He did try.
He tried very, very hard. He, tried not to let himself indulge in even a drop of that sweet, rich, creamy ambrosia. For almost a whole second.
But there was already a drop of milk on his tongue.
And without thinking, he realized he had already begin to docilely suckle.
“Gooood,” cooed the sweet, echoing voices around him. He moaned and leaned in further, helpless to stop himself. He knew they were moving around him now—blurs of color out of the corners of his vision—but all he could focus on was squishing his face up against Donna’s breast and sucking obediently.
Suckling felt easy. Good. Natural. He needed to nurse. Needed more.
Needed to drug himself on her milk like a good boy.
He felt a tightening around his wrists, his arms and legs. He was being tied up, he realized numbly. Trussed up tighter than a roast chicken in bright red ribbons.
He kept sucking.
They were adorning his hair with tinsel and baubles, sprigs of mistletoe and sweet-smelling winter flowers. He was almost as decorated as the Solstice tree.
He kept sucking.
Donna stroked his hair lovingly, keeping him nice and deep under her spell. He moaned happily and suckled, docile as a kitten. Pretty girls knew best for him.
A length of time he couldn’t possibly measure passed him by, and he sank in a dumb, happy haze.
Their praise was a drug almost as sweet as Donna’s cream, their laughter more intoxicating than the cocoa. It felt so good to lie there in their arms and obey.
It came so naturally to him to be good, they whispered, and he couldn’t have disagreed even if he’d been able to speak.
The spell wasn’t complete, though. His mind was still intact, just blurred and weakened. Donna’s milk wasn’t as strong as the cocoa; whatever they’d put in that was starting to wear off. Awareness was trickling back in, cool waters to wash their sticky control away.
As they started tying the final bows in his hair, he could feel his mind starting to return.
And Gretel blushed as red as a poinsettia as he realized the state he was in.
He was a drooling mess, pressed tight up against Donna’s breast, still suckling a little despite himself. His robes and undergarments were gone. Instead, he had been delicately bound with brilliant shimmering red ribbon, his wrists and feet wrapped behind him to expose as much of his body as possible. Crimson and white flowers decorated his hair along with many sprigs of flowering mistletoe and red ribbon bows.
“Bh…” His head still felt soft and soggy with the drugged hot cocoa and sweet, addictive milk. He struggled to pull himself away, fought to form his lips into the right shapes for words.
“Oh, what was that, little one?” Donna batted her eyelashes down at him. With one hand, she slowly stroked his fluffy pink hair. “Doth thou have something to say? Oh, or doth thou simply want more?”
“Mnnn!” He whimpered and squirmed, shaking his head desperately as she tried to redirect her nipple towards his lips, slowly guiding his head to meet it.
“Oh, no, my love,” Cupid said with a giggle, patting Donna’s arm, “I believe he is only overjoyed at his new outfit!”
Gretel whined and squirmed harder. “N-No!” he managed, pushing himself away from Donna. “No, y-you can’t just—”
“Oh, he loveth this,” purred Vixyn, reaching down between his legs. “See, my loves!”
Gretel couldn’t bear to look; the humiliation was too much. His cock was fully exposed by the ribbons, erect and twitching. “I—” His voice was a pathetic squeak. “N-No, I—”
“Silly boys needeth be taken care of, as all ye can see!” Vixyn gave his cock a delicate stroke, drawing a hopeless happy moan from him. “Needeth be drowned in pleasure and given to sweet, pretty fey girls—who are so much more clever than any mortal boy—to be looked after!”
Gretel’s heart started to pound.
“Is that not what thou want?” Cupid cooed in his ear. “To be pampered and praised and owned as a silly boy ought to be?”
“N-No, no, I—” Vixyn’s hand wrapped around Gretel’s dripping, twitching cock, and his words broken into another useless moan as his hips bucked.
“Yes, that’s it,” Vixyn hissed. “Nice and dumb, as a mortal boy belongeth this time of year. Ready to be made a sweet gift for a sweeter mistress.”
“O-Ohh…” Gretel’s hips bucked again. He couldn’t stop himself.
“Happy and willing.”
The hand slowly stroked up.
“Eager and waiting.”
The hand slowly stroked down.
“Letting this precious little cock do all of thy thinking from now forth, because letting the brains be pumped from that pretty head of yours feeleth so easy, doth it not?”
“I—but I—” Gretel mewled as Prancer began planting teasing kisses upon the sigil on his neck, bubbles of pleasure popping in his head. “Buh… but…”
“Already so stupid.” Vixyn’s hand was so soft, so slender and delicate in its pumping of his cock. “So ready to surrender.”
Gretel’s mind swam in pools of sweet, addictive milk as he watched Donna slowly squeeze a breast, smelled her scent in the air, felt her heat. “Oh… n-no… no, I won’t—”
“Oh, sweet boy,” Cupid sang, and as he met her eyes, his breath caught. “Doth thou not see?” Her eyes were sparkling like green moons. “Thou hast mistletoe in thy hair~”
She seized him in a deep, passionate kiss on the lips, and Gretel simply melted.
He swooned back into their arms, drowning in the sounds of their girlish giggles, of Cupid’s plump lips smacking against his own, the smell of milk in the air, the taste of mint on her tongue. When the faun finally pulled away, he was drooling.
“Now, what was it thou wast saying?” she asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes. “Thou wished for us to let you go?”
Gretel stared at Donna’s tits.
He moaned and leaned in to needily suckle once more.
Their laughter filled his head in place of thoughts as they slowly eased him onto his back in the soft bed of wildflowers, gazing up into a shimmering galaxy of colorful stars and nebulae, flashing, sparking, glinting, dazzling. Vixyn’s pumping sped up, faster, faster—
“Good boy!”
“Such a good boy~”
“What a good, stupid boy~”
“Such a fine present he shall make!”
“Oh, what a joy to be able to give himself to another’s soft embrace!”
Vixyn’s voice descended close, right in his ear, sibilant and triumphant. “Now, cum, sweet boy! Cum yourself aaaall well and truly brainless.”
His eyes widened.
“CUM.”
And Gretel came. Gretel came, mewling and squealing, bucking helpless up into the air, gazing up into those galaxies of pure obedient pleasure. He barely noticed when Donna pulled away, so lost was he in the orgasm. His true addiction wasn’t to her milk, nor to the cocoa. It was to obedience. Obeying pretty girls.
He didn’t even think when Vixyn delicately exchanged her hand for his. He just kept pumping, smiling stupidly as each faun gave him a sweet goodbye-for-now kiss.
He stayed there, happily edging away beneath the Solstice tree, and waited for his next lucky Mistress to find him.
And as he pumped himself towards the next sweet orgasm, always just on the edge of the horizon, he could swear he heard that lovely music once more.
THE END?
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