The more I learn of Ambrosia Ranch, Anya, the more I think I should regret. I don't know what I've gotten myself into. I should be terrified. I should be looking for a way out. But I can't shake this feeling... I think there's a part of me that thinks this might finally be something worthwhile I can do with my life.
And part of me is terrified of that other part of me.
Is this making sense? Probably not. Well, the good news is, I'm not going to be lonely. Nor will insomnia be an issue, I don't think. Nor am I likely to go hungry.
As I said before, I fear that I may be involved in something... well, evil. But these creatures are clearly dangerous, just as the hob said. Some of these women—these creatures seem harmless. Kind, even. Simple, often. But they are anything but.
Or maybe I'm simple for falling for them. Or a bit, heh, 'woolly-headed'.
"Where are we going?" Senya asked. The hob had led him off of the entrance path and into the fields. Now he could view a little bit more of the ranch, though the hedges and fences still made it hard to see too far. He could see the great orchard he'd spotted earlier, and further off, he could again see the fields of what seemed to be grapevines. And there was the old barn.
"To check on the sheep," Bobbin chirped. "They're easy-going. Lazy. Should be as good an introduction as any."
"Do...do you keep them in the barn?" Senya asked uncertainly. What did 'sheep' mean in this case? He'd already experienced what a 'cat' was around here.
"Oh, no." Bobbin took a sharp left, and Senya hurried after. Were they just heading to the back of the farmhouse? "We only keep one tenant in there."
Why didn't we just go through the farmhouse? he wondered. His curiosity was immediately answered by a hoarse squeal from the building, reminding him of Valina and Jerrod.
"So wh... whuh." Senya trailed off as they rounded the corner.
Built against the back of the farmhouse was a small pen. The fence wasn't tall—it was a basic wood fence, about the height of his chest, if that. The gate was a simple construction with a simple set of silver latches. Three in total, he noted. Aside from the silver, the pen was exceedingly mundane.
But inside the pen were four decidedly non-mundane women.
At first glance, they looked like human women. Yes, human women with impossibly perfect bodies and very curious costumes, but women, nonetheless. That was the first thing his cock acknowledged, anyways, because he could already feel it purring its approval.
On closer examination, there was nothing human about them. Each had a pair of curling ram's horns sprouting from her head. Their short platinum-blond hair was incredibly curly, and their arms, hips, breasts and ankles were covered in thick, fluffy wool.
Wool. It was wool. They were... sheep girls.
The four women lounged on the grass, looking utterly exhausted. They had thick, dark lashes, and their eyes were impossibly heavy-lidded—like just opening them enough to look at him and Bobbin was a task of near-overwhelming effort. Two of them lay together, with the back of one's head resting in the other's waist.
Their groins, he noticed with a pang, were not wooly at all. Indeed, their womanhoods were by far the most womanly things about them.
"Hey!" Bobbin barked. "Wake up, you lazies! Say hello to your new Master!"
Slowly, the sheep girls stirred. They looked up at Senya with exhausted smiles. The smiles grew wider, however, as they stared at him. They were positively beatific.
"A new master," breathed one.
"Ooh." The sheep girl whose head rested on another's waist wriggled slightly, beaming at him. "He's so handsome."
Senya jumped slightly as he felt Bobbin pat his ass again. "Go on," Bobbin whispered. "Say hi. They're harmless—they can't get past the fence, anyway."
Senya took a hesitant step forward. In truth, he was less concerned about these languid creatures hurting him than he was about his erection getting more easy to spot. "Wh-what are they?" he whispered back.
"Fleece sprites. Sleepy little darlings." The straw boss winked. "Just go say hello! They don't bite. Not even if you ask nicely." She seemed to pout slightly. Senya couldn't tell if she was joking.
He stepped up to the fence and leaned over. "Hello," he said politely. The fleece sprites beamed up at him. Was it just him, or were their eyes widening just a little? And were they... looking at his crotch? "My name is Senya. I'll be, erm, running this—"
One of them rose to her feet, and he lost focus of what he was saying. The fleece sprite moved towards him, swaying slightly as if still drunk from sleepiness, and placed her pale hands on the fence. She smiled dreamily at him. "Hi, Senya. I'm Angora. It's a pleasure to...to..." She paused and half-stifled a yawn. "...pleasure," she managed, the dazed smile returning.
She offered her hand to shake.
"S-sure." Senya took her hand. Her wool tickled his hand slightly. It was incredibly soft, and he marveled at the comfort. He could definitely believe that the ranch made a profit selling this wool, if that was what they did. He ran his fingers over the wool in mute wonder.
"Do you wanna...?" She proffered her shoulder for him. Senya blinked. It took him a moment to understand the offer.
"Sure," he heard himself repeat. He reached forward and ran his fingers through the wool. It was so soft. So silky. His fingers were practically buried in the stuff. It felt like being encased in solid clouds.
"Fleece sprites have the softest wool in the world," she murmured. "Do you like it?"
"Yeah," he breathed. He found himself yawning.
She smiled. "Sleepy?"
"A li'l," he said, and yawned again. Damn it. Her yawning was infectious, apparently.
She reached forward and stroked his cheek with her wrist. His eyelids fluttered. His whole head felt pleasantly abuzz, like the misty point between sleep and wakefulness where nothing felt fully real. She leaned forward, stroking the back of his head, and he felt his head drooping, dropping down and down and...
A blissful calm filled him as his cheek brushed her soft, fluffy breast. He let his head rest there, immersed in downy lethargy.
"Sleepy," she cooed sweetly from above him. He felt his eyelids slowly drifting close. "Don't worry. You can nap with us. I'm sleepy too. We can cuddle for...a while."
"Cuddle," he mumbled into her breasts. She was so soft. Cuddling with her had to be the most exquisite thing in the world, and he couldn't think of anything in the world he wanted more. Actually, he couldn't think of anything in the world he wanted at all. He just wanted to lie here in plush bliss. Cuddle with Angora.
She giggled. "Or maybe a bit more than cuddle," she said, and her voice had turned a little coy. He dimly felt her hand brush down his chest, down his belly, and settle at his crotch. He was surprised to feel her hand touch a rock-hard cock. It felt so good when she touched it. He desperately wanted her to touch it more, and he managed a little moan to tell her so.
"So sleepy," the fleece sprite soothed, stroking his hair with her free hand. He felt a smile settle onto his face, feeling perfectly immersed in her soft, luxurious, marvelously feminine body. "Why don't you let me help you in here and we can...?" Her words hung in the air, suggestive and sly, dripping with sensual promise.
"Yeah," he mumbled, after what felt like a minute. "Okay. We can..."
Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He didn't so much turn as roll his head, still resting in the fleece sprite's soft breasts, and half-open his eyes. He saw Bobbin looking down at him. She had a wry grin on her face. "Master?"
"Mm?" He gave her a dazed smile as he felt the fleece sprite stroking his hair with one hand. Her other was gently running along his clothed cock, as if reminding him of the pleasure she promised. He felt her wool tickle him through his trousers. "Mm..."
"Best not fall asleep here." She winked. "We'd be here all day."
"Mm." He snuggled deeper into the fleece sprite's breasts, eliciting a little giggle. "Fv mmr mmnts."
He felt the fleece sprite's fingers delicately working the lacing of his trousers.
"Ah, no." To Senya's surprise, he found himself hoisted by the ear out of the fleece sprite's arms. The Hob smirked at him, raising one eyebrow. "I'm allowed to disobey your orders if they're made under the influence, f-y-i."
"Wha...buh..." Senya shook his head. It felt like a fog was slowly lifting from his mind. Like he'd just been yanked out of bed at five in the...
His eyes widened. "Whoa."
"Like I said." Bobbin gestured back toward the pen, where Senya saw Angora lying back in the grass, as docile as could be. She opened one lazy eye and smiled at Senya, and he quickly looked away. "Lazy ladies. Fun to lie with when you have time—though your uncle always preferred pe...livestock easier to control 'during the act'—but we're doing a tour and they eat up time faster than a real sheep eats up grass."
"I...I..." Senya rubbed his eyes. "I was so tired. And...I just wanted to..." Go along with everything she said, his mind finished. He could feel his face reddening.
"Hm." Bobbin crossed her arms. "Their wool is magic. Keeps them in order, more or less, as long as you don't touch it too long. Comfortable as can be, but it sends you to sleep faster than a dissertation on dopterine civil rights." She gave a toothy grin. "Now, what's really interesting is when you shear that wool off. Whole other animal then. A lot more fun to handle."
"Huh." Senya glanced back at the pen again, and he instantly regretted it. Angora had been joined in her slumbers by another fleece sprite, and the two seemed to be very slowly, very gently eating each other out. He felt his cock hardening again at the sight.
"But—" Bobbin poked him in the chest, giving a sly grin. "—it's not shearing day yet, big boy, and we have a tour to get to. C'mon. I need to show you the orchard next." She tugged at his hand, then paused, glancing down toward his tented trousers. "Unless you really need some help down there." The hob licked her lips, then bared her sharp teeth at him.
Senya swallowed. "Uh, no. N-no. I'm fine. Let's go."
"Suit yourself." Bobbin shrugged. "In your own time." She led him away from the slumbering sprites, and off toward a tall circle of apple trees.
What will it be next? Senya wondered. He wasn't sure if his heart was pounding like this out of fear or excitement. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"Bobbin! Bobbin!" Senya turned, as did Bobbin, whose bushy eyebrows furrowed. Senya's heart skipped a beat.
At first, he thought three women were running towards them, and his first thought was, Oh, no, more fey. But as he looked closer, he realized just how wrong that was.
They looked human, to an extent—their faces were human, certainly, and they'd be quite attractive...save for their eyes. In place of eyes, the three creatures just had shiny silver buttons. It was extremely disturbing. They wore baggy, patchy clothes over very thin frames, causing their abnormally large breasts to tent the shirts almost alarmingly. The shirts and pants seemed to have been stuffed with straw to make them fit. Each wore a large straw hat.
They were scarecrows. Sexy, button-eyed scarecrows. With, he noticed, and his heart lurched again, weapons. Each had a sharp-looking scythe strapped to her back.
"What is it?" Bobbin snapped, looking annoyed.
"It's the stockman," the one in the lead said, stopping before the two of them. The three scarecrows bowed. "He is... still fucking the cat. Or... she's fucking him."
"Oh, for fuck's sake." Senya jumped at Bobbin's sudden vitriol. "He's going to overdo it. I keep telling him, a light touch is more effective with catgirls. Dangle balls in front of them and they'll lick; shove 'em in their mouth and they'll bite." She paused, apparently noticing Senya's pale face. "It's a figure of speech," she said. "Normal catgirls don't really care for balls. Now, there are transformation spells—" She stopped herself. "Not the point. Eighteen, why haven't you told him to stop?"
"He won't listen," 'Eighteen' said, pouting. Her movements seemed almost mechanical to Senya. Even her emotions seemed a bit wooden—like exaggerated puppets more than people. But she seemed flesh and blood.
"Of course he won't," Bobbin muttered. "Okay, Master, let's—no, fuck it." She turned to the scarecrow women. "Accompany Senya. He is our new Master, so show him all the respect you showed the last Master. Don't try to fuck him." She stole a smug look at Senya, who felt himself reddening. "He can't help himself."
"Wait, what?" Senya fidgeted. "You're just going to leave me with..." He looked nervously at the three button-eyed girls, who each gave him identical grins.
"Just for a few minutes," Bobbin said, already taking off. "Go check out the orchard! Don't stray! Follow the scarecrow's advice, but don't..." The rest of what she was yelling was lost as she vanished around the side of the farmhouse.
Senya stared after her for a moment. "Great," he said.
A slender, cloth-covered arm wrapped around his, hooking in the crook of his left elbow. "Never fear," said the scarecrow Bobbin had called 'Eighteen'.
"She knows what she's doing," said another, hooking her own arm into his right arm before he knew what was happening. The pair started to march him along. "We'll show you away."
Senya audibly gulped.
Their 'names', as it turned out, were Eighteen, Seven and Twelve. There were nineteen of the scarecrows in total on Ambrosia Ranch—at least, that was what they told him. True to Bobbin's order, they had refrained from coming onto him, though just being sandwiched and held between two of them was a bit difficult to take right now.
"Where do you come from?" he asked, as they led him up a steep pebble path.
"We are part of this place," Eighteen said happily. Her long, curly straw-blonde hair bounced slightly as she walked. "Oh, mind your step."
"Why?" Senya examined the path ahead. The path was steep, but it looked solid. "Is it unstable?"
"Oh, no." Seven giggled. Still holding his arm captive, she raised it to point at a shrub next to the path. "That's a special rosebush. She's, uh, tricky."
Senya eyed it skeptically, but kept his distance as he walked around it. "'She'?" he asked Eighteen, who was by far the most helpful of the three so far.
"A rose hamadryad," Eighteen said, giving the rosebush a sly grin. "She doesn't show herself often. Very shy."
As Senya passed by, he noticed some of the brambles starting to stir. The scarecrows quickened their pace, gathering tightly around him in a sort of protective phalanx. Their straw scratched and tickled against his skin.
"Is she..." He swallowed. "Controlled?"
"A funny thing," Seven said. "'Control'. Such a funny thing."
"It is meddlesome," Twelve said. "And ever-so-bothersome."
"The Ambrosia Ranch currently stands without a Master," Eighteen said. She cast Senya a strange look. "Until you have completed the process, all the fey here are in desperate want of discipline. They can resist us."
Senya stared at her button eyes. Her eyebrows and dimples were quite expressive, and right now, she looked either wistful or weary. "And what about you?"
"Bobbin—" Eighteen began.
"Eighteen," Seven said warningly.
Eighteen stopped, wincing. Senya frowned. He got the sense Eighteen had been about to say something helpful. "We... obey the one who keeps our magic," she said, smiling again. "You are our Master."
She leaned close and planted a little peck on his cheek.
"Eighteen," whined Seven. She didn't just sound disapproving—she sounded a bit jealous.
"What?" Eighteen laughed, pulling away from Senya's burning face. "That wasn't trying to fuck him! It was just a little affection!"
They were silent for a moment. Eighteen and Seven carefully steered Senya around a small tree with a large hornet nest hanging from its branch. Senya didn't ask about that.
"You know," Seven mused, "there's a lot of definitions of 'fuck'."
"That is true," Twelve said, nodding thoughtfully.
Senya looked between them nervously.
"Who can say which one the straw boss meant?" Seven asked.
"I think we know which one she meant," Eighteen said, frowning.
"Weell..." Senya gave a start as he felt Seven's fingers brushing over his crotch. "He is hard. Don't you want to feel it, Eighteen?"
"Hey!" Senya protested. They ignored him.
Eighteen hesitated. "We shouldn't."
"He's so hard, Eighteen," Seven cooed. "You know he wants it."
"A blowjob isn't fucking him," Twelve murmured. "Just imagine that big, hard, throbbing dick sliding between your lips."
Eighteen was starting to pant. Senya felt her squeezing his arm tightly. "I shouldn't," she said, but the conviction was fading fast.
"Wow!" Senya exclaimed loudly. "What a surprise! We're here already!" They came to a halt before the orchard. He flashed a wide, manic grin at his three escorts. "Doesn't time fly in good company? Guess we'd better check out the orchard, just like Bobbin said."
Eighteen looked equal parts relieved and disappointed. Twelve and Seven just pouted and sulked.
Senya looked up at the tall fruit trees. The fruits in the branches ranged from hot pink to pinkish-green in color. They looked somewhat like tomatoes or peaches, with shiny, translucent skin that seemed to glisten with moisture.
"What are those?" he asked, licking his lips. He hadn't eaten anything since they'd arrived here, he realized. "They look delicious."
"They are," Eighteen said, recovering her professionalism. She tugged Senya along. "They're prisoner fruits. You can try one if you like, but you might... regret it."
"You didn't have to tell him that," Seven whined.
"Why would I regret it?" Senya asked. "And why are they called 'prisoner fruit'?"
The scarecrows only giggled at this, exchanging knowing looks. Even Eighteen seemed content to leave him wondering, which filled Herne with a certain conviction: It was not a good idea to eat the fruits.
Not on the first day, anyways.
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Seven giggled, tugging on his arm. "Let's go in!"
Uncertainly, almost unwillingly, Senya made his way into the orchard.
It took him a moment to recognize that the orchard was not simply circular—it was a spiral. The trees grew tightly, and were interspersed here and there by curious rosebushes that prevented much vision beyond the rows—and forced the visitor to travel down the spiraling path presented toward the center. The rosebushes all had bright red buds, but none had yet opened.
"What are those?" he asked, wondering if he would again regret it.
"Ooh." Eighteen glanced over and smiled coyly. "Whorelip. Specially imported."
"They're not in season yet, though," Seven said. "Not for several months still. Still, best not go too close. They... have their own meddlesome agenda. Your thrice-great uncle's son planted them. A most unwise young man, who never did get to inherit much of anything. Best go around, Master."
Senya obeyed. Something in Seven's tone told him even she wasn't fully comfortable with the 'whorelip' plants.
As they walked, Senya gradually came to notice that the fruits were getting riper and riper the closer they got to the center. It was as though the soil was getting richer and richer, allowing the trees to produce more numerous, and more delicious, morsels. By the time they were on the final loop, the fruits were sunset red and positively bursting with juice. His mouth watered at the sight.
"You could try one," said a voice in his ear. He turned in surprise to see Eighteen, with a coy smile on her face. "There wouldn't be any harm in one," she said. The scarecrow pushed up her breasts slightly, in the same way lust sprites did when they didn't think the person would notice but didn't really care.
He looked at her warily. She was the closest thing he had to a friend among these three. If she was tricking him, he probably didn't stand a chance with the rest.
He looked at the other two, who beamed at him. Seven was already holding one of the heart-shaped fruits, which she had picked while walking, apparently. He'd been too distracted staring at the fruits to notice.
"Only a few bites," she murmured, holding it out to him in both hands. "Mustn't be greedy."
Senya stared at the glistening red flesh. Up close, it had a faint but enticing smell—something like a sweet cherry. He licked his lips unconsciously. If it smelled that good while the skin was unbroken...
He took the fruit from Seven, and was about to take a bite, when they finally rounded the corner and came to the center of the Ambrosia Ranch orchard.
Senya had not been sure what he was expecting to find at the center of the orchard. In hindsight, it had probably been something exactly like this.
At the center of the orchard was a small clearing, perhaps forty feet across, encircled by tall prisoner fruit trees. The grass was lush and interspersed with little red wildflowers. And at the very exact center of the clearing was an enormous, thick-stemmed flower. It bore massive pink petals the size of carpets. All around the base of the trunk slithered slender vines, some topped with their own little pink blooms. A spicy aroma like sugary cinnamon emanated from the plant, and the petals were coated in a thick, treacle-like liquid the color of a fresh white peach skin.
But none of that mattered when he noticed the woman inside the plant.
The catgirl had been demure and submissive, concealing her schemes through sheer eagerness to please. The fleece sprites had been passive and sly, seemingly too drowsy and dull to plot anything save when next to take a nap. This creature simply oozed sex, with no semblance of device. Her large, pert breasts were covered in the paleliquid. Her slim waist was complimented by wide, enticing hips. Her face was gorgeous, with big, emerald eyes, bright red lips, and naturally flushed cheeks—the blushing red against the pale green of the rest of her skin was striking. Long green hair poured around her heart-shaped face, wavy, as perfect as though she'd just styled it.
He could see nothing below her hips, as she was immersed snugly up to there in the middle of the flower. But nasty, suggestive watery sounds—squelchings and squishings—came from below. He could only imagine what was happening down there to put that wide, blissful smile on her face.
She looked down at him with an expression of delighted surprise. "Ooh! Does this one spy a man? Say, straw women! Who is this? Are the days of coldness past?"
There was only silence. Senya looked back and realized that the scarecrows were all keeping their distance. They looked slightly apprehensive. Following their lead, he stepped back as well.
"How, now!" The flower woman sounded disappointed. "You need not fear, sweet one! Brigitte is no foe of yours! Oh, no, she is—" Senya heard what sounded like a moan coming from behind him. "—loyal as can be!" the woman finished breathily.
Senya hesitated. He sniffed the air. It smelled nice here, at least. He looked questioningly at the scarecrows, but suddenly they were not meeting his gaze. Eighteen gave a little gesture to move forward. "Be careful," she whispered. "The alraune likes to play with her... she likes to play."
Senya studied the three. There was something off about their behavior.
"Bring her the fruit," advised Seven. There—was that a faintly concealed smirk? But it was gone too quick to tell. "That'll make her happy."
Senya hesitated. He turned around and locked eyes with the alraune, who beamed at him. "There! That wasn't so hard, was it?"
"What are you?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as polite as possible for such an impolite question.
Brigitte giggled. "Oh, I am an alraune. I have been here a long time, and it is thanks to me that the fruits around you ripen so easily!"
"You help them grow?"
"Mm. The prisoner fruits do so adore having an alraune around to pamper them." Was it just Senya's imagination, or did she bat her eyelashes on 'pamper'?
He took a hesitant step forward, keeping his eyes trained on her in case she tried anything. But she seemed content to twist and gyrate within the flower. The squelching sounds were quite loud, and almost a little bit annoying, but the looks of pleasure on her face when they happened had quite a different effect on Senya. He took another step and stopped—five yards seemed a safe distance. This alraune, 'Brigitte', seemed just as lazy as the weresheep, but one could never be too careful.
"My name is Senya," he said, sketching a slight bow—deep enough to be respectful, but shallow enough that he didn't have to break eye contact.
Brigitte's eyes crinkled in amusement. "Senya. And why are you here, Senya? Have they at last heeded my requests for a pet of my own? Oh, I have assured them that with a mortal plaything, the fruits could be ripe year-round..." She pouted. "And yet they continue to send me straw women and sprites. Paltry gifts for an alraune."
"You don't like fey?" Senya asked.
Her eyes sparkled. Her eyes were quite pretty, Senya thought. They seemed to contain multiple shades of green within them. The closer he looked, the more distinct shades he could make out. "Fey are fine and adorable, sweet one, but it is the shaft of plenty that I desire. The tongue of a wasp woman has its own savored sting, but I long for a man." She shifted, her lips parting in a near-silent moan as more squishy noises came from below. "Someone to lie here with me... locked perpetually within me, an eternal embrace... drowned in pleasure..."
Senya swallowed. His mouth was suddenly quite dry. He caught himself about to take a step forward, and stopped himself. Probably best to stay at least three yards away. "Well, I'm not a pet, I'm afraid," he said. Stay polite. Fey like politeness. For some reason, it felt important to be polite. He wanted this alraune creature to look on him favorably.
"Oh, no?" Brigitte's eyes half-closed. She had a slight smirk on her face.
"I'm sorry." Senya wasn't sure why he was apologizing. It just seemed appropriate. He didn't want to upset Brigitte, after all. "It's just... I'm actually the new Master."
That got her attention. Brigitte's eyebrows raised. Her eyes seemed to twinkle with newfound merriment at a joke Senya didn't fully get. But he kept watching her eyes, just in case they revealed something more. He was only two yards away. It was important to keep an eye on her at all times, so she didn't try anything. Otherwise, she might try to mind control him or something.
"The new Master," she breathed. A delighted smile spread across her face. "But of course. You are the nephew."
"You are destined to run this farm." Brigitte giggled. "To master us all. To hold us in your thrall, your whimpering playthings." At 'whimpering', her red lower lip jutted out in a seductive pout.
"Y-yes." Senya's mouth was dry. He was having trouble thinking clearly. Something about her eyes, her breathy, moaning tone... "I mean, um, more or less."
"More or less?" Brigitte laughed. "Oh, my sweet thing, how confusing." The smell of cinnamon began to get stronger. Probably because Senya was now only about a yard away from the base of the flower, and looking up at her, a few feet above, he could tell she was squirming and squelching about again. "So you are the one meant to hold absolute power over us. To dominate us. To use us as you will, we mere puppets in your grasp. We will do as you say—whatever you wish—and we can do naught but beg to obey."
"Yes," Senya croaked. He breathed in, and felt his heart flutter with a strange sense of delight. His head swam.
"My sweet boy." Brigitte smirked. "Take a nice, big bite of that sweet, juicy fruit you have so sweetly brought for me."
Almost of its own accord, Senya's arm raised the prisoner fruit to his mouth. He bit into it. Strange, sweet, spicy flavors burst on his tongue. He felt the juices dribble down his chin and onto his shirt. The delicious flesh of the fruit practically ran down his throat. His eyelids fluttered as he stared into the beautiful eyes of Brigitte the Alraune.
"Good pet," the alraune cooed down at him. "Gooood pet."
Senya stood there, a foot away from a seductive, voluptuous plant woman, juice from a strange fruit dribbling down his chin. A fruit he'd just bitten into. At her command. He stared up into her big, green eyes, currently half-closed in smugness, and swallowed. He felt the juicy, spicy flavors course down his throat.
He had a feeling he was in a bit of trouble right now.
"I..." He tried to glance down at the fruit, but the alraune's eyes held him captive. They were such pretty, twinkling eyes. Senya stared deep into them, trying to follow the sparkling, and forgot what he'd been about to say. "I..."
"Yes, my pet?" asked Brigitte, indulgently. She started to suck on one of her fingers, making a big show of licking all the juices off as she watched him.
"I'm... not actually a pet." Senya raised the prisoner fruit to his mouth, but stopped himself from taking a bite. He only wanted to smell it. He took a sniff, and inhaled the strong, sweet, spicy scents. They reminded him a little of cinnamon, and cloves, and...
"Oh, no?" Brigitte giggled.
"N... no." Senya spoke decisively. He was sure he wasn't. Quite sure.
"Did you enjoy the taste of my lovely fruit?" she asked him. Her eyes crinkled in mirth.
"Um... uh-huh?" Senya hesitated. "But, um—"
"Why don't you have another bite, then?" Her eyes filled his whole world. "If you so adore it."
It made sense. Her voice sounded so reasonable, so... encouraging. Senya found himself taking another bite. Again, the spicy, fruity flavors exploded on his tongue. What was it the scarecrows had called it? 'Prisoner fruit'? Senya wondered why they called it that. It certainly was delicious.
"Good pet," Brigitte said delightedly.
"Aw." Brigitte tutted sadly at him. "My dear pet must be famished. Ooh, and is he already taking another bite of that big, juicy, yummy fruit?"
"No, I'm—" Senya's next words were garbled as he took another bite of the alraune's fruit.
Lust was sinking into him, filling his every thought, every cell. His mind was full of colors he barely understood. He found himself taking another bite without even thinking about it. Then another. Then another. He moaned as he devoured the sloppy, juicy fruit, heedless of Brigitte's gleeful stare. It was delicious. It was the best thing he'd ever tasted. Better than apples. Better than sex.
"That's enough, pet," said Brigitte.
He stopped short. His mind slowly returned to reality, and he realized he had eaten almost half of the fruit. His whole head felt woozy as he stared into Brigitte's big, bright eyes. "I... why'd I..."
"You were hungry!" she said, giggling. "And my fruits taste so scrumptious, don't they, pet?" She reached up, caressing her big, round breasts.
"Y-yes." Senya found his eyes drawn to her breasts. He couldn't look away. Maybe 'better than sex' had been an exaggeration. With the right woman... or plant... with Brigitte... "But I... I'm not..."
"Yes, pet?" She squeezed her breasts together and bounced them slightly, beaming at him. "What is it?"
"I'm not a pet," he mumbled. "I'm... mister. I mean, Master."
"Oh, really?" She still didn't sound nearly as convinced as Senya would have liked. He bit his lip. But then her tone changed, and she suddenly sounded very accommodating. "Well, then, Master! A thousand apologies for the mixup!"
He stared up at her, head spinning, just a little. Her eyes were the picture of youthful innocence. "Um... it's okay. To be honest, I'm... n-not that good at it yet."
"No," she agreed, giggling. "But it's not your fault! It's so... hard." Her voice turned husky. "You can only imagine. Having to see me every day. Taste of my fruit. How hard it would get." One eyebrow arched.
He swallowed. His head was starting to feel fuzzy. "I feel... fuzzy."
She laughed. "Oh, I'm so glad you decided to visit me. I can tell you're going to make a wonderful Master."
"But..." He struggled. Something about this was wrong, he just knew it. He started to turn around, but a soft hand grasped his cheek.
He froze. He was right in front of Brigitte, a mere foot or two away. She smiled invitingly at him from up above. "Your will is mine, Master."
Something about that felt oddly double-edged to him, but he couldn't quite parse it right now. "I-I should..."
"Yes, tell me what you want," she whispered. "Tell me what you need. I exist to serve you. To bring you..." Her finger played over his lips, and he tasted sweetness when his tongue came out of its own accord to lick it. She giggled and withdrew, as if it tickled. "...pleasure."
His mouth was dry. He wanted to take another bite of the fruit, but he couldn't. Not while her eyes held him spellbound.
"So," she murmured, her voice low and sultry, dangerously filled with arousal, "what is it you need me to do to you, my Lord and Master? Say the word, and I shall beg to fulfill it for you."
"Um..." Senya's hand played over his trousers. He was still wearing them. That was a real nuisance right now; his big, hard cock longed to be free, to plunge into a wetter prison. "You... I want..."
"No, no." The alraune smirked, patting his head like a dog. "No, Master." Her eyes shone with an almost terrifying light. It drove into him like fire, searing with lust, with compulsion, with love and obedience and all sorts of wonderful, perfect things like that. "You must tell me what. You. Need."
Senya felt his thoughts sink into those eyes, now. Burned away by the fire. He felt his mind empty until only one thought remained.
His cock throbbed, and he heard himself whisper, "I... need... pleasure."
And she grinned. He found himself unbuckling his trousers before her. Her smile widened with delight as his cock sprang out. Dimly, he felt vines wrapping around his ankles, looping under his arms. Binding him. Securing him. Securing him for Brigitte's pleasure.
"I know you do," she cooed.
TO BE CONTINUED