Nicole's Note: This story is from an amab man's point of view and contains fantasy nc (with some brainwashing), tease and denial, tickling, embarrassment, fantastical misandry, some breathplay, and everything else listed in the tags.
Remember, real-life con-noncon requires a lot of trust, safewords, and other things a fantasy can fudge a little. Enjoy the kink responsibly, and enjoy the story!
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The air was sweet. Bryan Graves prodded the side of the path warily. Even through the thick, wooly scarf he wore over his lower face, the air was as sweet as anything he'd ever smelled or tasted.
This was dangerous.
The bounty hunter reached down to his locket and clicked it open, looking at the piece of parchment stuck within. Complete your contracts to save yourself and restore everything. You will retrieve the Silverbreath Lily from the Deep Evergreen and deliver it to the nymph enclave of the Maple Grove. Below the scrawl was a tiny, crudely scrawled out map he'd sketched, his best estimate of the location.
He was close. He could feel it. Bryan chewed his upper lip, taking a step back from the suspicious surface. The vines appeared to be growing over some sort of glen or den—a pit trap for the unwary wanderer, maybe. But those vines, dotted with cotton blossoms, weren't the source of the sweetness.
The source was the Deep Evergreen itself. This place was tainted, twisted, corrupted. Almost nobody had been this far in before and lived to speak of it with their own free tongue.
Bryan Graves wasn't just anyone, of course. He patted his back, checking that the twin daggers remained sheathed at his belt. He was the Contract Keeper, the Undying, a man who always got his mark—even if of late he was having a little trouble remembering why. He felt the two scars below his chin, grimacing.
He'd already been into the Deep Evergreen at least once before, he was sure. Faint, tingling memories buzzed at the back of his head—a tightness on his wrists and ankles, endless licking, sweet kisses, giggling and teasing, beautiful green eyes...
He shook his head. The memories faded, as they always did. For the last four or five years, they had faded. So many memories lost—so many failures he could never learn from.
He was determined not to lose the memories of this mission, and that meant he absolutely had to make it back out with that stupid damn flower.
Pollen wafted all around him as he took another step away from the vines, and he double-checked that his scarf, scratchy and tickly as it was, remained secure. It was the only reason he'd made it this far without succumbing to some perfumed sprite or corruptive blown kiss.
As he turned back to the faunpath he was following, Bryan Graves nearly jumped out of his skin. His hands shot down to his daggers.
He was not alone.
The fleece sprite smiled brightly at him. She had very pale skin, just the slightest shade of green—like lamb's ear leaves—and positively sparkling white curls bouncing down to her shoulders. She wore an impressively fluffy white crop top and a pair of equally fluffy boyshorts that rose up in the rear to show off her... impressive curves. Knee-high wool stockings complimented her shapely legs.
He tried to focus on her face, though, and not her delectable body. A pair of curled ram's horns rose from the sides of her head, and her ears were floppy, as snow-white as her hair. Her eyes, a bright neon green, were heavy-lidded between thick, dark lashes that fluttered coquettishly as he stared at her, open-mouthed.
Realizing he was staring, Bryan bit his lip and looked away.
She giggled. "Aw, rude much? I'm right here, cutie!"
Bryan's mind raced. He really just wanted to get out of here, before anything got... problematic. In the Deep Evergreen, even the mildest fey could be dangerous. But he couldn't just run—that could get him in worse trouble, especially if she sounded an alarm.
So Bryan looked the lone sprite dead in the eyes. "Yeah, I see you."
She beamed and clasped her hands, kicking a foot back bashfully—the very picture of the bubbly, lovestruck ditz. "That's wonderful! Of course you do. What's your name, sweetie?"
The Contract Keeper, he wanted to say, but he didn't want to invite questions. Many fey knew him by reputation, too, and he didn't want that kind of attention right now. He rarely wanted more attention. "Bryan," he said reluctantly.
"Aww." She smiled sweetly. "That's a cute name!"
"Maybe. It's mine." He glanced around, making sure they were still alone, before returning his gaze to her. He'd thought he heard a distant giggling, but that was an all-too-common part of the soundtrack of this forest. "I'm gonna be heading out. You should leave me be. Whatever you're offering..."
"Oh, I'm not offering anything."
This caught him a little off guard. Knowing it was too good to be true, his hand drifted over the knife at his belt. "Really?"
"Mm-mm." She shook her head, still smiling that sweet smile. She bounced a bit closer, and he stepped back to match, careful that he wasn't stepping off the path. He had to be careful not to forget where he was. "You look like you've got everything under control, sweetie. You don't need my help!"
Bryan swallowed, trying not to watch her too... indulgently. This fleece sprite was positively designed to distract, with her flattering crop top offering just enough cleavage to draw his gaze, with her wide hips swinging with every approaching step. She brushed her hair from her eyes, lashes fluttering, and he noticed she was wearing long, white silken gloves that ran up to her elbows.
"... great," he said finally, trying not to sound too skeptical or too disbelieving.
He didn't trust this as far as he could throw her. Even normal fey, even the good fey who cared about consent and boundaries, never passed up a chance to tempt someone into pleasure. A corrupted fey of the Deep Evergreen?
Especially one who dressed like that, whose every step closer seemed calculated to draw his attention deeper into the rhythmic swaying of her lovely ass, to the soft jiggling of her bountiful bosom...
"It's true!" she insisted, reaching down to adjust her crop top. "I'm sure you'll be fine! You don't have to worry about me, cutie!"
He swallowed and tore his gaze from her breasts back to her eyes as she beamed convincingly. Oh, gods, this cycle. He vaguely recalled this kind of encounter with a lamia once. He tried to focus on her forehead, but every time she batted her eyelashes, or thrust her chest out to emphasize a point, he couldn't help but let his attention be drawn to the movement.
Bryan Graves had, out of sheer necessity, cultivated a will of iron. He just didn't like to have to exert it while staring openly into a fleece sprite's cleavage.
"I believe you," he lied.
Bryan was used to fey trying to mess with him, and they always wanted to. He wasn't some fairy tale prince or anything, but he had an impressive, tall, lithe yet defined build, still quite fit in his early thirties. His golden brown hair, just long enough for some giggling catgirl to wind her fingers through, complimented deep brown eyes with slight specks of gold and black, and his dark stubbly beard, persistently resisting efforts to shave it, gave him a rugged quality that rose dryads found irresistible.
Or so he... vaguely recalled.
His plain dress never made a difference to them. Neither the drab leather armor nor the gray hooded cloak seemed to send the message that he wasn't here to serve as some fey bimbo's living sex toy. When fey gave him any attention at all, it was for one reason and one reason only.
But her eyes were wide as she insistently nodded. "I mean it, honey! I really do!" She put a finger to her pouty lips. "Why, I can't think of a single thing you need from me."
"Great." He nodded tersely, itching to get out of here.
"Mm." She smirked, tapping her lips thoughtfully. "In fact, sweetieboy, I was wondering... if I could have your scarf!"
This caught him off-guard, though only for a moment. "What?"
"Your scarf!" she cooed, skipping closer. He watched warily as her boobs bounced. Gods, that crop top... it concealed just enough to be tantalizing, to give some pretense at modesty, but not enough to actually deny him plenty of skin to ogle... "It's sooooo pretty, sweet boy! I want it." Her voice was playful, but bratty, insistent. Her smile was confident, as if she'd given him all the reason he needed.
Bryan put a hand on his scarf protectively. "It's... mine," he said, still confused but quickly regaining his certainty.
"But I want it!" She giggled, then gave an adorable pout. "Don't you know how risky it is, sweetie, to deny a pretty girl something she wants?"
He almost considered just giving it to her, on the off chance that this really was all she was after. But damn it, he actually needed this scarf. The fine silk was the only thing keeping the pollen out of his lungs. The air was sweet enough without him breathing in some wicked puff of pollen and getting addicted to some corrupted alraune's kisses.
Besides, the scarf was expensive. "Sorry. Be riskier to give it up."
"Are you sure?" She leaned in, her voice soft and breathy. "'Cause, like... a sweet boy like you reeeeally shouldn't be denying a pretty girl anything." She batted her eyelashes. "I might think you're teasing me."
He leaned back. There wasn't much room to run, with the path so ill-defined and at least one pit trap in the area. His hands were behind his back, gripping the hilts of the knives. Just in case.
He tried to distract himself from the increasingly sultry tone of voice, from the way her plush lips seemed to savor every word, by concentrating on her body language. He had to be ready if she leaned in any closer. Normal fleece sprite wool could render someone sleepy and dizzy after just a second or two of stroking. If she managed to catch him off-guard, and worst-case-scenario, tackle him...
Images fluttered through his mind at the thought. Unhelpful, tantalizing images.
"See," the fleece sprite went on, leaning back again, "a cutie like you should know how eeeeeasy~" she giggled, reaching up to give her breasts a squeeze and let her crop top bounce, "it can be to do eeeeverything a pretty girl tells him to do!"
He stiffened as she moved again, but it was just to adjust her hair, probably trying to draw his attention back to her pretty, unnaturally green eyes. "I'll take your word for it."
"Ooh, but I haven't even asked you to do anything yet!" she cooed. "I just said your scarf is pretty, and I figured you'd want to give it to me, since I want it." She reached back down, but it was just to adjust her crop top, to lower it so a little more cleavage drew Bryan's eyes deeper in as her sweet voice flowed further... "You seem like a sweet boy. I bet you're positively... ticklish to give it to me!"
She giggled again. Her giggling was starting to get on his nerves.
Her breasts bounced, squishing against one another like soft, warm pillows. Bounce. Bounce. Up and down. Up and... down...
"Bad bet." It was a struggle to get the words out. Bryan finally tore his gaze from her tits, realizing he'd been staring but dangerously unsure how long he'd been staring. Time seemed to melt away while he stared at them, sank into her cleavage, imagined those breasts jiggling right in front of his wide, captive eyes...
Her eyes sparkled and flashed as she beamed up at him. "Oooooh." Her coo was just the tiniest bit mocking. "Big tough guy, huh?" She batted her eyelashes. "Is that what we are, sweetie?"
She was so pretty. Her eyes, sparkling, almost glowing, drawing his gaze in... her fingertips, dancing over her soft, curvy body, and it was so easy to just follow her gaze down, down, back into her breasts as she squeeeezed them together...
"See, I dunno!" She winked. "Maybe you really are a bit tough guy. Or maybe..." She thrust her chest out with a breathy sigh, "...maybe you're just a silly, horny boy who likes to pretend so I'll tease him!"
He stared at her breasts, mouth open, eyes wide. Gods, the way they jiggled... bounced... her voice was so soothing, positively trickling into his ears as he sank deeper and deeper into her... into her... her power... her breasts' control...
"Is that it, sweetie?" she cooed. The sheepgirl giggled. Her tits jiggled. His thoughts jiggled and bounced and scattered. "Are we really just a nice, sweeeet..." Her voice dropped to a husky purr. "... silly boy?"
Bryan blinked rapidly. He felt so... so... breathless. Dizzy, even. Maybe even a little bit... a little bit...
No! Rallying his will, he tore his gaze away and took a step back. He determinedly stared to her side, trying to keep the gorgeous creature in his line of sight without looking directly at her. "Take another step and I'm going to have to draw steel."
"Ooh." She blinked, her eyes big and innocent and definitely not something he should look at directly. "Maybe not so sweet. Okay, lemon!" She shrugged, her smile carefree, almost oblivious to his threat—as if he'd merely told her he would hold his breath until she relented. "It just seems like you're trying soooo hard to pretend here!"
"No pretense." He gritted his teeth. Stop talking to her. "I gotta go."
But as he started to turn towards the road, the sheepgirl pranced right back into his path. "Oh, of course!" she agreed, her head bobbing in total agreement. "You'd better get out of here. Don't want to draw this out, do you?"
Had she just moved closer? Bryan's grip tightened on the dagger's hilts. It seemed like she was the same distance. But now she was in his way. He was not going to let her entrance him again, but it was incredibly risky to escalate this, and they both knew it. She was counting on it.
Counting on him hesitating.
And in that moment, her crop top seemed to sink down an inch more, and now it was absolutely scandalous, just pure, wanton temptation. He tried to focus on her shoulder as she giggled and bounced in place. Giggled and bounced. "No, no, we wouldn't," she went on indulgently, answering her own question, with a tone that made him flush—as if he'd been stumped, or entranced, and unable to answer. He'd been able to answer! He was deliberately ignoring her, damn it!
Or as much as he could ignore her when she was standing right in his way, with her chest bouncing like that. "Move," he growled.
And she moved.
Not out of the way, though. Oh, no, definitely not out of his field of vision.
The buxom sprite bounced her feet, giggling, eyes shining with delight.
She swayed her hips, rhythmic, sinfully slow, around and around like she was reeling in a catch.
She stroked and ran her hands over her chest, dainty gloved fingers running through the fluff of the crop top, one finger trailing a delicate line down into the inescapable, irresistible canyon of cleavage...
"S-Stop it!" he burst out, taking a step forward.
She just kept bouncing, her expression sly, confident. "Stop what, lemon drop?" she bubbled.
Bryan took a breath to steady himself. The sweet air made him instantly regret it. His head spun. Oh. Oh, this was having more of an effect than he'd... than he'd...
"S-Stop bouncing," he stammered.
"Stop bouncing?" she cooed, batting her eyelashes. Her feet went still. But her hands kept working, slowly bouncing her tits together, fondling, groping... "You mean like this, cutie?"
"Um. No." Bryan knew he was losing control. His eyes were being drawn helplessly back to her tits, and it was so, so hard to focus on anything when she looked so soft, her touches so tender, the bouncing so... so... hypnotic... inescapable... "I mean, yes! I mean, um... I mean..."
"Then like what?" she asked, her voice as pure and innocent as falling snow. "Like what, lemon? Ooh, if only I could guess!" She giggled. The giggling was becoming inescapable, too. No matter what he said, she giggled as if he'd said the funniest thing in the world to her. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. "Ooh, silly, horny boy, you're having so much trouble. See, this is what happens when you don't do what pretty girls say!"
He struggled to find words, but his tongue fumbled even as his lips parted. He barely held in a moan. The jiggling tits held his vision, now, and he was as captive as if he'd been smothered by them, watching as she gently caressed them, jiggled them, squeezed them. He could almost imagine his face buried between those tits, imagine his mind being squeeeezed with such luscious care, his thoughts going all soft and... and...
"It's just soooo hard to think about anything but the pretty girl," the fleece sprite cooed. "You get all... silly." Squish. Squeeze. Bounce. "And squishy." Squish. Squeeze. Bounce. "Until this big, strong man can't even look away, because they've gotten him all silly and bouncy-wouncy! And all that silly boy can do is drop deep-deep-deep and let his silly thoughts all just squish away!" She giggled. "Silly lemon drop."
"N-No..." He watched helplessly as the tits came closer. Dimly, he felt like that meant he was supposed to do something, but the cleavage drew his every ounce of attention, bounced away his thoughts, and he was panting for breath as they bounced-bounced-bounced—
"Yes," she cooed, reaching forward as she came to a stop. Her voice was so soft. So close. So intimate. "And before you know it, you're juuuust a sweeeet, siilly, horny boy—" as she sang the word, her silky gloved fingers tapped his bulge, and he heard himself give a pathetic whimper, "—and it feels so niiice to just submit and... ooh, and just do everything a pretty girl says!"
He stared at her breasts, feeling a soft, squishy feeling steadily filling his mind. Oh. Oh, it felt so good to watch them bounce. They were so big. So soft. And he was so... so...
As one hand caressed him through his pants and leather trousers, ever-so-sweetly, tiny volts of pleasure were sparkling in his mind. "Especially," she purred, as her other hand slipped from squeezing a breast to his chest, delicately stroking along his neck beneath the scarf, "when aaaall I want you to do is just be a good boy and let me take care of you!"
She leaned in close. Bryan stared, entranced, as her tits jiggled. "And, like... it kinda feels like you need that," she whispered.
She stroked along his clothed length. He whimpered. No. He needed to tear his eyes away, needed to... needed to fight... fight this pretty, pretty girl who was weaving her sugary-voiced web of words around her boy's poor, silly, horny brain...
"Aw, I know. This leather feels so uncomfortable, lemon drop!" She giggled. As she stroked his cock in long, languid motions, her other hand daintily started undoing the clasps of his armor, exposing more neckline, more skin to delicately tickle. "I bet a nice, silly, horny boy like you is really tired of his costume by now, huh? Tired of pretending to be all... rough and tough! Because deep down, you're... " She bounced in place, and his eyes helplessly followed her chest as it rose and fell. "... just my soft, squishy boy. Okay?"
All he wore beneath his leather vest and cloak was a simple white shirt, which her nimble gloved fingers were swiftly unbuttoning. Her silky touches and silkier voice sent shivers up and down his spine. He whimpered.
"Good boy," she cooed, nodding encouragingly. Her praise made his knees quake. No, no, he wasn't a good boy—that was to say, he needed to—needed—"See, silly boy, how easy it is to obey?" He could hear the smirk, even though he couldn't look away from her bouncing, jiggling, fragrant... "That's right! It's sooooo easy, Bryan! Just like you!"
Her fingers flitted over his chest as he felt his leather vest falling away, felt his shirt steadily coming undone, and he realized with a racing heart that he was about to be bare-chested for those delicate, dainty, playful fingers...
He tried to rally himself with that realization, even though it sent a fluttering thrill through his whole body. What might she do... when his trousers were off?
He had to resist. Had to look away. He bit his lip.
"Silly boy!" She bounced with excitement, the crop top rising up and down, and he could do was stare, practically drooling over them, so barely contained within their tight, scandalous crop top. He was about to be wearing less than her, he dimly realized, his cheeks burning in shame. "Horny boy!" Her breasts held him like magnets. He felt so soft, so obedient and squishy and submissive... "Aren't you excited to have something a little softer touching you than all this coarse leather?"
Her voice, a mere girlish whisper, sent his knees trembling. His lips parted as the breasts bounced, and bounced, and bounced. He was so horny. So silly.
He couldn't quite remember what he'd been thinking about. It was so easy to stare. So easy to obey the pretty lady. It was always easier to... to obey, pretty girls, wasn't it? He was pretty sure he'd heard that somewhere. And it felt so good now.
Distantly, Bryan knew he was standing before her, a grown man twice her size, practically drooling over her tits while her fingers danced over his half-naked body—stroking his chest, stroking him through his pants with the daintiest of fingertips, toying with him. His cheeks burned as she giggled, hearing that playful, delighted smugness at how easy he was falling for her.
But the humiliation didn't snap him out of it.
To his embarrassment, it just made his cock throb beneath her fingertips, drawing from her a coo, more praise, more teasing.
"Poor boy," she whispered sympathetically, leaning in even closer as his shirt slipped away, leaving his chest bare. Her fingertips grazed over his neck, and he realized that at some point, she must have changed gloves—the new glove felt fluffier, woolier, almost... scratchier?
No, not scratchy. He gulped.
Ticklish. Like a thousand fairies were caressing him, tickling his chest, running their fingers over his nipple, toward his underarm, and he'd never felt so sensitive.
"He just needs," she cooed, as her fluffy fingertips started to tickle over his underarms, along his sides, and her bouncing bosom came closer, closer, "a nice, fluffy hug!"
As her fingers tickled his underarm, a tiny giggle slipped past his lips, and he flinched.
The flinch drew him from her touch. And just for a moment, he was free again.
In an instant, it all came rushing back. His contract. His work. The consequences of failure. His eyes widened and he tore his gaze from her tits, lunged for his belt, drew his daggers and lashed out warningly.
She squeaked and leaped backwards. The fleece sprite suddenly looked wary. Bryan cut a wide arc in the air in front of him, his head spinning with equal parts fading trance and panic. And... something else. A sweet smell.
But she was keeping her distance. Relief and fear filled him in even measure as he realized how close he'd come to just giving in. He cautiously avoided her gaze as a smile slipped across her face. "Ticklish, are we?" she cooed.
And giggled. That same damnable, adorable giggle that seemed to echo from all around.
He glared at the spot above her head. "I'll be leaving, now. Thanks."
Not letting her quite outside his field of vision, Bryan took a step back.
And as his foot found leafy vines that broke away with barely any resistance, he remembered, too late, the pit trap.
His last sight of the surface was the gorgeous sheepgirl's smug smile widening, her eyes shining with pure, unconcealed glee. Her hand darted forward, grasping the end of his scarf.
Bryan Graves tumbled down, head over heels in midair, down to the bottom of a deep glen. The scarf slipped away from him like thread from a falling spool. The light was dimmer here, and as his eyes adjusted, he braced for impact.
And landed in a cloud of softness.
The wind left him briefly as he lay there, flat on his back, half-immersed in whatever he'd fallen into.
When his eyes opened, it was snowing. Fluff rained down on him, fluff he'd sent up in the air from his tumble.
He stared up, past the falling fluff, up at the hole he'd made in the vine covering for this... den. His head was spinning. When he tried to rise, everything swam, and he fell back down into the cloud of fluff almost immediately. His legs felt like they were made of rubber.
He felt so weak. Dazed. Not... sleepy, exactly. The fluff tickled, bothered him, but it also seemed to drain him of the will to stand. It was like he was drifting in a cloud, being gently spun, made dizzier and dizzier...
Bryan took a deep breath of sweet air, realizing his scarf was gone. His head swam. His thoughts felt airy, silly, weightless. Like his mind had been stuffed with cotton.
Or cotton candy. He felt nice. Dizzy. Sweet.
Knowing that the fleece sprite could start pursuing any moment, he mustered his will against the pleasurable feeling and climbed to his knees.
Instantly, he felt much, much clearer. Taking a deep breath of the sweet, perfumed air, he started to rise to his feet.
He heard a giggle from behind him.
A fluffy, gloved hand settled on his bare shoulder—his skin buzzed and tingled at the delicate contact—and gently pushed him right back down. Right back down to his knees.
His heart filling with dread, Bryan looked up.
Six fleece sprites almost identical to the first beamed at him, leaning over him. Hanging above him, six pairs of breasts bounced. Jiggled. Swayed. Barely contained within their tight, scandalous crop tops.
Bryan had fallen into a den of fluffy, sensitizing temptresses.
And as his captress—a gorgeous, busty redhead—kept him kneeling with one gentle, casual hand on his shoulder, they all started giggling in glee, and he saw the original fleece sprite appearing in the 'ceiling' up above, beaming down at him. Her eyes shone with pure delight. Pure triumph. His heart plummeted in humiliation as he realized he'd stumbled right where she wanted him.
And now she knew how ticklish he could be.
And as she started to descend, bouncing her tits for his captivated gaze once more, and he felt fingers starting to stroke and tickle all over his upper body, he struggled to rise, to settle his thoughts, to fight the fluffy cloud.
"What's the hurry?" he heard the sheepgirls cooing in his ears, fingers dancing over his sides, down towards his hardening cock. "Silly boy."
Bryan bit his lip.
Their lips tickled as they brushed against his ears, and he felt them trying to force him to lie back in the bed they had made for him, back in his fluff cloud, where he would be helpless to escape.
The first sprite descended, and with a smirk and a single fingertip on his chest, shoved him back into bed. "You'd better save your strength," she teased. Her voice echoed in his ears as he fell into soft, tickly fog, and he started to squirm, thrash, gasping as the sheepgirls' stroking started to get more deliberate. "Ooh, silly boy... we're gonna have so. Much. Fun!"
TO BE CONTINUED.