Menielle flittered along the edges of the great silver fence, singing to himself in that buzzing hum the fairies most enjoyed. His head was immersed in happy little sparkly fog right now, thanks to Mistress Tricin, and so most of his mental processes were dedicated to thinking about the rules of obedience:

A good pet listens to Mistress Tricin.

A good pet lives to be told they are a good pet.

A good pet comes when they are told, and also cums when they are told.

A good pet listens and obeys.

A good pet laughs at Mistress Tricin's jokes.

A good pet...

He paused, blinking compound red eyes rapidly. Curly blue hair bounced around his head as he stopped mid-flight and hovered for a moment, purple wings humming behind him.

Another order came to mind. If anyone approaches, send three to the farmhouse to report; the rest of you, do whatever you can to stop them.

There was a young woman approaching the gates. She was pretty—plump and pale, with shoulder-length brown hair and hazel-green eyes, dressed in a flowing green robe made out of something shimmery and expensive. Menielle's eyes sparkled as he watched her. She had the most peculiar gait—the stumbling, struggling walk of a sleepwalker.

Or someone still shaking off the aftereffects of hypnosis.

Well, they couldn't have that, could they? He grinned and pointed up into the sky, sending tiny little bolts of light arcing up to signal the other fairies that he had found someone. Then he descended into a dive to investigate further. As he drew nearer, he realized she was talking to herself.

"Oh, brother..." she was mumbling, her voice haggard and uneven, "... what have you gotten yourself into? Crows and fey and enchanters..."

"Good evening, Madam!" Menielle chirruped, coming to hover in the air behind her. Put her between you and the gate. Trap her. Stop her. He vibrated his wings rapidly. "Where are you going, then?"

"Um..." She blinked at him. He grinned wickedly and vibrated his wings faster, driving the beautiful patterns into her pretty, tired eyes. "I... l-looking for..."

"For what?" Menielle teased, giggling. The fairy started to fly up and down, swooping back and forth, just far enough to make her head bob to follow his movements. "Looking for what, pretty girl?"

"I... um..." She blinked. "I..."

"Well?" He smirked, seeing her eyes starting to glaze once more. Such pretty eyes were meant to be glazed, he was sure. That was a rule of Mistress Tricin. "C'mon, sweetie, what is it?"

The woman's mouth opened, and she let out a soft whine.

And promptly blinked out of sight, without so much as a 'pop'.

Menielle stared at thin space, his jaw dropping. His expression screwed up in a disappointed pout. "Well. That's just rude!"

But the sourness faded quickly, thanks to some fervent edging. And after confirming that she had not simply turned invisible, he flew back into the air and returned, blissfully, to his mantras.

~~~~

Senya stared into the glass chamber, swallowing, and watched the nymph squirm.

"W-what did she do?" he whispered, as Ambrosia wriggled and giggled, tears streaming down her face.

Mommy's breath was hot in his ear, and Senya detected an impossibly rare note of rage buried beneath her creamy-sweet tone. "All fey follow the Primal Codes, and for all fey, those Codes vary. Nymphs can be quite naughty with how they bend the rules. But to harm a child... no, baby, that wouldn't do at all."

A child. Senya remembered Bobbin alluding to this. He realized he'd never asked just where that nymph was being kept. Stupid. Thoughtless. He'd been a dumb, thoughtless, absentminded...

He stopped himself. It probably wasn't a good idea to scold himself right now using words that he'd been trained to submit to.

Senya swallowed. "S-so what do we do?"

Senya wasn't a cruel person, by nature. Aside from the odd stone tossed at clustering ravens—none of which had ever done more than spook the noisy birds, anyways—he'd never hurt anything he didn't have to. Really, anything at all.

And as much as the holstaur's words made his blood run cold, a part of him couldn't abide torturing any living creature for so long. Ambrosia had to have been here for centuries. That couldn't be right.

But why were he and Mommy here now, then? Were they here to... release such a woman?

"Oh, that's quite simple." Mommy have a musical little giggle. "Do you trust me, baby boy?"

The answer came without thought, meek and compliant. "Yes, Mommy."

"Good boy." And for a moment, Senya shivered, overcome with the sudden feeling of delight that coursed through him at those words whispered in his ear.

Then he felt a shove, and he was sent sprawling into the room of ivy and glass.

His fall was cushioned by the crawling vines, and just as quickly, he was up to his feet, heart pounding. He whirled around, stunned.

There was no sign of the holstaur in the hallway.

"Ooh."

Senya's heart sank. He turned back to the center of the room.

The four scarecrows had noticed him. And they were smiling.

"U-um..." Senya's mind cast about for the right words. "Hi."

The scarecrows exchanged smug looks. Three of them abandoned their shrieking charge without a word and advanced on him, their narrow hips swaying. One sauntered to his left, and without thinking he edged right, not realizing until too late that she was cutting him off from the hallway.

"I'm—you—it's a—" His tongue fumbled for a solid few seconds as the scarecrows walked towards him, dark dresses trailing after them, twirling those paintbrushes in their delicate doll-like fingers. "I'm the Master of this Ranch, still," he finally managed, "and I... command you to stand down."

He put as much energy and command as he could into his voice, staring straight into the red button eyes of the nearest blonde monster girl just as she drew level with him.

Her response was to smile... and shove him roughly up against the ivy-covered wall.

He let out a squeak, struggling desperately. But she held him there like a cat pinning a mouse, one-handed, not even struggling as the brush spun in her free hand.

"L-let me go!" he sputtered, eyes following the paintbrush nervously. He'd seen what those did to the nymph. What could they do to a mortal like him?

"Silly mortal brat," cackled another one of the three, advancing and grabbing his left arm. She took it so easily, so casually, he almost didn't notice as she pinned it against the wall, holding him so his entire side and armpit were exposed. It was like his arm just... belonged to her. Like his whole body did.

And then he realized their game, and he started to struggle even more fiercely. They only laughed, as the third plucked his other arm away from his side, rendering his upper body totally exposed. "We know no 'master'," she said with a wicked grin. "We are created by Bobbin."

The first of the three nodded, her button eyes seeming to glitter on their own as she dipped her paintbrush into that torturous silver ink and twirled it before his eyes. "And she told us what we get to do to those little snacks that come down here!" she sang.

"N-no!" he whimpered, tears of sympathy and panic springing to his eyes as he heard the nymph wail. That would be him in a moment, and his heart was pounding. He couldn't look away from the first scarecrow's brush, dipped in that shimmering ink, as it slowly descended towards his side...

"Help..."

The scarecrows paused as the little murmur rose above the nymph's squealing and Senya's panicked whimpers. They seemed to exchange looks once again, then turned.

The paintbrush slowed in its spinning, and Senya managed to steal a glance at the speaker.

The first scarecrow stood before the nymph, as before, dabbling with her paintbrush. But her mouth hung open in entranced wonder as she stared at the holstaur's big, jiggling tits in front of her. That little whimper appeared to have been her last burst of resistance, for as Senya watched, a dumb smile was starting to flicker onto her face.

Senya couldn't see—the squealing nymph blocked his view—but he could tell from the scarecrow's little gasps and jerks that the holstaur had fingers between the scarecrow's legs. Mommy glanced back at the other three and flashed a sly grin. They stared at her, plainly shocked.

One hand still hard at its sticky task, the holstaur dove down and thrust her free hand into the mass of ivy.

It was like a jolt of lightning struck the scarecrows. They ran forward with wordless shouts.

Then Senya's ears popped.

And Mommy wrested from the ivy a brilliantly gleaming emerald the size of a horse's eye.

As she knelt there, gripping the Verdant Star, Senya felt a strange sense that everything about life had just fundamentally changed. Something had shifted. The wind had turned. The sun had come out from behind the clouds. Rain had begun to fall.

Something had changed. Something big. Something intangibly ancient. Something deadly.

The holstaur straightened and held up the gem with a grin. Several streaks of gold flawed its surface, Senya noticed, almost like the roots of a plant. The Star shed its light freely now, a lovely green shade that washed over Senya in rapturous glory.

He blinked.

Swayed a little.

The gem's glow was not harsh or unnerving. It didn't flash or spin or crush his will like a mouse in a serpent's coils. It was... calming. Like a sunset. Like a warm breeze.

That said, it was difficult to feel totally calm with these scarecrows advancing on Mommy with their paintbrushes, murder in their eyes.

Mommy cast Senya a guilty smile. "Forgive me, sweet Senya. I only wanted to make absolutely certain that they were not of the Will before I did anything too... rash."

"Of course we're not," the lead scarecrow hissed. "Bobbin made us. And she told us just what to do with you." She twirled the paintbrush menacingly, openly eying Mommy's chest. For a moment, Senya wondered just what would happen if the brush touched one of Mommy's teats, and his legs quaked a little—out of concern for the holstaur, and also out of arousal at the very image.

Mommy was staring at the gem thoughtfully. She glanced at Ambrosia, who was giggle-whimpering in clear erotic agony, then back at the gem. Her eyebrow rose as she side-eyed the scarecrows. "You might not be of the Will," she said, with a slow nod, "but there is so much more to this pretty little thing than bloodline. This pretty thing doesn't dance for blood, my darlings."

Her eyes glimmered green, tinged with gold. "This star dances for sweet, golden Ambrosia, doesn't it?"

The three scarecrows froze. Senya saw them tense, and notice one scarecrow's lower lip quivering. Her hand went to her mouth, and he saw that it, too, was shaking slightly.

As one, they took slow, halting steps forward. They were groaning softly. Pained groans. But they walked.

"You will serve your Mommy," the holstaur murmured, "or you will serve no one whatsoever. Isn't that right, my dears?"

"N-no," the lead scarecrow hissed, her expression monstrous in its rage. "You... will... not..."

Senya stared, heart pounding, at the lead scarecrow. He could tell it was taking all of Mommy's attention to manage the gem right now. The scarecrows were narrowly resisting, but they were getting closer and closer, and there were three of them, and that paintbrush was getting so, so close, and why couldn't he move—

And then their button eyes shattered.

A strange, horrid sound rang out, like a cross between breaking glass and grinding sandstone. And then a little sigh. And then silence.

The three scarecrows went limp and fell to the ground in a pile. Senya stared in shock at their blank, eyeless faces. They were transmuting before his eyes, their flesh turning pale and glassy, like porcelain dolls.

"Mm." Mommy giggled, running a hand over the gem in fascination. "Goodness. That was easier than a kitten, wasn't it, Senya, darling?"

Senya blinked. He looked up at the holstaur, slowly, unsurely. He already felt his heart settling, found that calm visiting him again. He nodded slightly. "Uh-huh."

The holstaur blinked, She glanced at the Verdant Star, at the one surviving scarecrow—who was still entranced by her task—and back at Senya, her head tilting to the side.

A sly smile drifted onto her angelic face.

"It looks like my sweet baby boy," she cooed mischievously, advancing on him with swaying hips and jiggling breasts, "is very taken with the Verdant Star."

Senya swallowed. He knew she was flirting with him—and knew how easily that could escalate—but he was too calm to be worried. Far too calm. He almost felt like he was back in the fleece sprites' pen again. Just the thought made his head loll a little... It would be so nice to be back there, back in a fey's warm arms, leaning into their soft breasts...

The nymph let out a desperate little shriek, startling him. He blinked at the nymph, noting the tears streaming down her face, then at the holstaur. He chewed his knuckle nervously. "Are we... are we going to free her, Mommy?"

Mommy giggled. "Oh, why would we do such a silly thing, baby?"

"Well..." Senya frowned. "I mean, she's a bad person, but... it seems like... a lot. What they were doing to her. Like... some kind of dark fairytale? And for no reason."

Mommy licked her lips. She leaned in close and took his chin in her fingers, almost like she was admiring a prized horse. She stroked his cheek. It felt so good when she touched him like that. "Baby, oh, my silly boy, of course there's a reason."

"There is?" Senya was having trouble thinking clearly. For now, he just went along with Mommy's prompts, knowing she would explain. As she spoke, his eyes settled once more on her massive, gorgeous breasts. Again, the naughty thought of the paintbrushes teased and tormented his mind, and his cock was rock-hard once more.

"The Verdant Star is just an ambient item on its own." The holstaur winked. "It emanates an aura of passivity and compliance towards fey imprisoned here, ensuring they cooperate. This aura was hijacked and rejiggered by the Masters to bestow control onto whoever bore the Star, and then onto their bloodline instead. They..." She trailed off.

Senya realized he was barely listening. He licked his lips, lost in the sight of her flushed breasts. It had been so long since he had suckled at his Mommy.

She gave a rueful, amused sigh. "It's, um... oh, how should I explain it for my baby boy?" She leaned forward and ran her finger over his cock, and Senya gasped at the tickling sensation. "When Ambrosia is being teased," she whispered, "it makes energy that lets the Master of the Ranch control the prisoners. She holds in all those nasty triggers, too, so it doesn't strain the Master's poor little willpower."

The words drifted and floated. Senya struggled to hold onto them, to comprehend. But he couldn't stop thinking about how badly he needed to lie in Mommy's arms and just relax. He licked his lips.

"So..." His tongue felt leaden. "So it lets me... control gem... when she's tickled."

The finger stroked up his shaft, and he gasped. "That's right, baby." Mommy giggled. "Only... not exactly. Because the second someone else touches the gem, that fragile little Will just... melts away." She tapped the head of his cock, and he felt a bit of precum drip out. "Just dribbles away like milk from Mommy's teat."

"Y-yes, Mommy."

"And that means the Master of the gem," Mommy whispered, and Senya felt a hand on the back of his head, "is whoever is holding the gem."

"Okay."

"And Senya?"

Senya looked up. Mommy smiled down at him, and he realized he was now cradled in her arms, his lips mere inches away from her nipple. "You're going to be Mommy's good boy forever, aren't you?"

Senya blinked.

He blinked.

He blinked.

"I..." This was wrong. He couldn't. I shouldn't. He. He couldn't. Couldn't.

"Bad girl," he managed, with the last of his will.

Mommy smirked and stroked his hair, guiding his quivering lips towards her tit. "Silly boy," she purred. "It doesn't work that way anymore."

His lips locked around her nipple. And he couldn't help it—the second he felt it pass between his lips, he began to suckle, his mind melting into docility almost immediately. Wonderful, perfect compliance. He whimpered as intense pleasure flooded his brain and what little fight remained melted into gooey honey. He was a good boy. He was Mommy's good boy.

"Although..." he heard Mommy musing, "... I wonder if we might like to give you some fun little triggers to play with." She petted his hair fondly. "Wouldn't that be—"

"Let him go, holstaur."

"Mm?" Mommy turned around, still holding Senya in her soft embrace.

Out of the corner of his eye, past the whimpering nymph, Senya saw the vent at last—cleverly concealed beneath all the crawling, invasive ivy. Valina was crawling out of it, eyes narrowed, a sword shimmering into existence in her left hand. "I said, let him go."

"Hello, Kitten. Oh..." Mommy put a finger to her lips in mock-disappointment. "Are we being a little bit of a brat tonight?"

"We are not keeping her like this," Valina hissed. The catgirl tossed her hair back, and some sand and straw shook from it. "Not even her. And you are not keeping him or that gem."

Mommy sounded amused. Senya, continuing to suckle, to fill himself with Mommy's wonderful, intoxicating milk, smiled inwardly, certain that Mommy would take care of everything. "Oh, Kitten, do you really think you can stop me?"

"You know what?" Kitten's hand shimmered, and a long, curved sword appeared in it. "I have been resisting that stupid thing for generations. And now all my triggers are gone. So yes, I may not be able to resist for long, but I am pretty damn sure I can hold out long enough to cut off your fucking ha—"

"Come to Mommy, Kitten," Mommy cooed.

There was a pause. "Wh... what?" Valina's tone was derisive, but there was an undertone of fear to it.

"Come to Mommy, Kitten," the holstaur repeated. Her voice trickled like poisoned honey, and even Senya trembled.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sword fall from Kitten's hand and dissolve into smoke. She fell to her hands and knees, eyes wide. "N-no," she gasped, clutching at herself. "You..."

"Come to Mommy, Kitten."

"Mommy!" Kitten squealed. And she began to crawl.

Senya felt himself being lowered to the ground. He was soon joined by Kitten in Mommy's lap. He loved the feel of her warm body pressed against his, and he moaned in greeting as her lips locked around Mommy's other nipple and started nursing. She drank with a hunger Senya couldn't believe. He suckled faster, worried that Mommy would love Kitten more if she drank more milk than he did. Impossible, of course. Mommy loved everyone so, so much.

"Such g-good boys and girls," Mommy whispered, petting Senya's and Kitten's hair. Milk flowed into Senya's mouth, and he felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier with every gulp. "Oh, I could almost stay here forever, couldn't I, darlings?"

They whined in unison. Oh, why not? Senya was lost in the sweetness of the milk, his mind melting into pure, pliant, docile obedience. He was a good boy. He needed to suckle. That was all that mattered.

"But," Mommy purred, rising to her feet. They rose with her. After a moment, Senya and Kitten reluctantly stopped suckling and pulled back, staring up with identical puppydog expressions. "But. I'm just too generous for my own good, really."