Pitt and the Pendulous

After their brief argument, Pitt fell in behind his friends as they started their northward march through the forest. The place was alive and he’d felt eyes on him ever since they left the white stone road, and not the eyes of animals.

Flowers that bloomed wholly out of season seemed to follow him, watching them, and he thought he saw them blinking. Scents and smells that were unnatural, not the fragrance of a flower, but a sweet, tantalizing musk, assaulted his nose, and he thought that in older times, before travelers learned to take certain precautions, that the pungent, inviting sweetness in the air would be enough to lead him off the trail, as it had so many before him.

They marched for a time, for a long, slightly uphill hour, and while the path was clear, at time the earth underfoot was still loose and dusty, and jagged branches and sharp, creeping thorny vines crossed the path, tugged, scratching, and tearing at them.

“Do you hear that?” At first Pitt thought it was the wind, but nothing moved, and he didn’t feel any kind of change in the air.

“Sounds like the wind,” Harold’s cocksure response and his cocksure attitude made Pitt knot his hands into fists, and as the wind, or whatever it was whistled down the path and all around him, he realized just how tired he was of Harold’s bravado and how tired he was of pretending that Lance was his friend and not just Harold’s lackey.

“It’s not the wind you stupid fuck,” the sound whistled around him, whispered round him, growing louder and stronger, and it sounded like a song when he focused on it. It was a music his mood and his body wanted to dance to, and it carried him past Lance with a sturdy shove.

Lance toppled into the brush with a loud, “Hey dickhead!”

Harold turned around at the commotion and the wind, the music, continued to play as Pitt’s fist continued the dance, striking Harold in the mouth. “I’m tired of you, you pompous, rotten asshole.”

“And I’m tired of you, you dim witted, stubborn… do you hear that?” Harold touched his bloody nose and looked around, “It sounds like the wind but… but…”

Pitt had drawn his sword as the wind music grew louder and louder, and all he could think of was finally, after all these years, finally putting an end to the burdensome ‘friendship’ of Harold and his lackey.

Pitt snarled and rushed along with the jaunty, heart pumping sound of the flute that made his mind and body dance, not with blind fury, but with well considered and well earned rage.

But Lance grabbed his arm from behind and they started to struggle. The two men were a tangle of swearing, snarling, grasping and punching, and Pitt felt Harold trying to grab hold of him, but he and Lance fell deep into the brush and rolled down the slight incline off the trail.

They stood together, still grappling, Lance’s hand around Pitt’s wrist, sword still in hand, and struggled together, blindly smashing each other into trees, stumbling recklessly down the incline until Lance fell and Pitt knelt on his chest, sword raised, murder in his eyes, and the song of the flute in his heart.

The large piece of deadfall Harold swung at Pitt’s head snapped on impact with a loud crack, and Pitt dropped his sword, then fell sideways off of Lance, and down the long, tumbling incline, and out of sight.

The blow didn’t knock Pitt senseless, but if it hadn’t started his ears ringing, the tumble all the way down might have. When he finally stopped rolling, and falling, and stood up, he couldn’t see his friends, or where he’d fallen from. More so, the wind… no, it had been music, it had been a flute playing the most irresistible music, was gone.

But strangely, Pitt hadn’t regretted what he’d done. No, the sweet, haunting song he’d heard on the wind had simply stirred free everything that had been building up for far too long. Harold was an idiot, Lance was his lackey, and now Pitt was lost in a forest of death because they’d talked him into going on their stupidest adventure yet.

He realized he’d been bewitched.

He was smarter than Harold by a great distance but he didn’t run his mouth all the time so people assumed he was dull, or dim, or slow, and if this first brush with beguiling sorcery was enough to lead to this, then there’d never been any hope for the grand adventure in looting.

“Hello there.”

Pitt wheeled around, his hand moving to his empty scabbard, then just as quickly to his dagger, and he found himself staring at nothing.

“Come closer human,” the voice was soft and honey sweet and seemed to have its own echo, or vibration like a musical instrument.

He backed away from the tree line, and hazarded a glance over his shoulder. It hadn’t been one, long, steep fall, it had been a series of drops, and rolls, and there was no way to climb up the cliff, because he had to face facts that he’d fallen down a cliff, with any kind of speed.

“Forest woman, were you the one playing the flute?” He slid his pack off his shoulders and saw that his bow and all his arrows had snapped on the way down.

“Music? Did it happen to sound like the wind?” The voice, the soft, bubbly voice, it was less of an echo and more of a bubble, laughed and was closer, but he couldn’t see anyone or anything near him. “No, that wasn’t me, but I know who it was, and you should be glad you’re here with me, and not with her. Come and see, and I will show you why it couldn’t be me. And doesn’t the forest smell so sweet today?”

“I… I wouldn’t know… at least not just how sweet, but if you know how to get back to the flute player, or back to the crossroads…” His dagger seemed a paltry thing, but he trusted himself to its point and its edge. “I’d be happy to leave you in peace.”

“You cannot smell how sweet the day is? Oh but what a shame. And believe me, you do not want to go back to the flute player, she is a terrifying and wicked creature, and not sweet at all. You know human, the forest’s greatest treasure is in its sweet scents. But tell me, can you no taste the sweetness on your tongue as you catch you breath? Can you now seem to notice the sweetness in my voice as it tickles your tongue already stranger? You’re breathing so hard, breathing in such mouthfuls of the sweet, sweet air, it’s like you’re drinking it in now. Tell me, can you not taste is so? Can you not drink me in?”

Pitt heard a strange, soft squishing sound as she spoke, and then started to notice that the air was not only fragrant, but that it was truly sweet. It tasted like every breath had a touch of honey, or maybe not honey but of sweet tree sap or syrup. And it wasn’t so much that he couldn’t smell the sweet fragrances, it was that he and his former friends had sniffed an elixir to deaden one’s sense of smell to the most insidious effects of the forest’s luring scents.

“Do my words not taste sweet to your stranger?  Do you not long for more of my voice?” Pitt took a deep breath in as she spoke, he couldn’t help it as he was still breathing hard, and felt something inside him, a deep, desperate, hunger that ached for more of the faint but potent sweetness that was on the tip of his tongue.

“I’d rather not…” he tested his will against the cooing sweetness that he didn’t just hear, but taste, a sweetness that made her words stick in his mind, and make his hunger cling to his tongue. “Not…” he had to think quickly. “Not… lose sight of… where… where I fell from.”

The soft, sweet stickiness made thinking slow and more challenging than it should be. 

“Oh, I see.” Her sweet tasting voice cooed out to him again. “I can come out to you then.” And with that, he saw a woman, or near enough to one, jiggle and sway out of the tree line, to stand just within the shade, and away from what little direct sunlight shone down on Pitt. “And now you can see me, such as I am, and see how sweet I am, and how I am certainly not the flute player.”

She stood no more than five feet tall and she raised her hands up, hands, that like the whole of her naked body, jiggled and seemed to drip and roll with the same golden slime that made up the whole of her being. Even her hair was the same amber ooze.

“As you can see,” she wiggled her fingers, and Pitt noticed that at least two of them always seemed stuck together, “I couldn’t possibly do the fingering to play a flute.” She laughed then, and her whole body jiggled, especially her immense, truly immense, breasts. “And when I breathe out, I’d gum it all up.”

He also saw, barely, as his gaze was drawn to and held by those golden tits that were each the size of a respectable pumpkin, that her gooey body also seemed to have something like a skeleton. He saw lines of something darker than her golden, soft, jiggling mass, that had the shape of a skeleton, though it looked like the pieces that were her ‘ribs’ were on the outside.

But her body was so fluid, and strange, and her enormous tits were so… so… captivating… that he had no idea if her flesh was simply thinner there, or even what her shape really and truly was or could be.

Even her face, which was round, with plump lips, large eyes that seemed to have different shades of amber to them, and her small upturned nose, seemed to be changing, or if not changing, then not wholly still or stable. And like her breasts, the proportions of her face were all wrong. Her eyes especially seemed too big, while her mouth and nose were too small.

“I…” he stared at her as she swayed and jiggled right up to the edge of the shadows, watching her breasts shimmer and bounce as she stepped closer and closer. “I see…” the sweetness he was breathing in was getting stronger, more delicious, and it was starting to gnaw at him. He licked his lips as he stared at her massive, jiggling amber breasts, wondering what her… no… he knew…. He was tasting the sweet honey of her flesh, such as it was. “I see that.”

“And do you,” she mimed blowing him a kiss, “taste that?”

He felt a wave of dizzying sweetness flood his mouth as he breathed in, and he couldn’t help but follow her a step, and then another, and then another, as she seemed to slide backward, her huge breasts starting to sway even more now, and not just jiggle.

The sight of them was dizzying, and hypnotic, and as he stared at her massive, swaying breasts he started to see different shades of amber in her. He was captivated by the jiggling, swirling colors within her breasts as he stood at the very edge of the light, one foot in the deeper dark of the trees. His mouth was agape while he stared at her breasts, breathing in her sweetness, so close to her that he could reach out to touch…

And he stopped when he realized he’d followed her mindlessly, only because in that moment the sun shone through and caught his eye, breaking the spell of her breasts. He blinked and the shimmering, swirling colors within her undulating, jiggling tits faded back into their singular translucent amber color, and he tried to step away, only to find that his foot, the one in the shadows, was stuck in something…

He looked down and saw that her leg ended in a mass of slime that had wrapped around his foot and his ankle. She had stepped on his foot when he’d entered the shadows, and now he was literally caught inside her.

“Let… go…” as he spoke she exhaled a huge breath, and the cloud of her sweetness, overcame him with huger and need. Pitt’s mouth was watering, and he was suddenly drunk. But luckily for him, being drunk was something he’d had some experience with, just like fighting.

He thrust his dagger into her stomach with all his might, so hard that not only the blade, but his hand passed fully through her body and out the other side. She giggled and her body pulsed and shifted around him.

He’d fallen into her with what he’d hoped was a killing thrust. He’d fallen into the darkness, his face sinking into her massive breasts, the softness of her body gave way to him as his face disappeared onto her cleavage, before the mass of her breasts smothered his head, while her arms engulfed him and pulled him to the ground.

Unlike his would-be murderous tussle with Lance, this time he was the one pinned to the ground, but instead of a sword raised above him, all he could see was two massive, swirling, amber and honey colored breasts swinging before his eyes.

In the moment her breasts had engulfed his head, he felt the soft, pliable surface tension of her form. It didn’t fill his mouth or his ears or nose, she didn’t start to suffocate him by spilling down his thought, the more he’d struggled with her, the more her body gave way and molded itself around him until his was pinned down between her legs, breathing hard, and breathing in more of her sweetness as she also held both his arms down by his wrists.

“So strong, and so proud. So powerful and so mean, I knew I liked you.” Her voice bubbled and echoed with the same strange, reverberating softness, and now her words were touched with a cruel, but genuine mirth.

“Now just lie still, and breathe deep. You’re no good to me as you are, fighting and thrashing. Just be still now, the more you fight, the more you’ll tire yourself out. Now just…” she felt solid on top of him, firm, like a human, and he felt her push her hips down on him as she let out a long, deep sigh, “relax.”

This time, he felt a delicate mist descend on his face, and while he tried to will himself not to breathe in through his mouth, his body, and the nagging, potent hunger betrayed him. This time he tasted little drops of sweetness, like honey, or tree syrup, and he stared up at her swaying, shimmering, jiggling breasts, unable to see anything else, because they were simply too large to see around, and too full to see through.

“That’s it. You’re already starting to feel how drained you are from the struggle, and you’re realizing now, like all humans do, that you don’t want to fight me. You don’t want to resist, you like what is happening, and all you want to just stare at them. Just watch they sway, watching them swing, follow them with your eyes, your heavy eyes, and just relax. I have you now, just accept that you are caught in my sweetness, caught staring and unable to look away.”

As Pitt felt himself starting to cooperate with the slime girl on top of him, it naturally made him need to resist more. He tried to find some purchase to push against her, but her grip on his wrists was too strong… and when he tried to buck his hips, she let out a little giggle and moan of pleasure, before he felt the shape of her hips and her mass shift, forcing him back down to the ground.

And all of that made her massive, still swaying, breasts jiggle all the more.

“And now you’re feeling the strength draining from you as you keep watching them sway. As they swing back and forth, keeping you enthralled, you feel your will and your strength draining away, and calming you down. You want to be calm; you want to be peaceful and relaxed. You want to just stare at them, watching them. They’re so beautiful, so enthralling, and so big, and relaxing… so let them sooth your tiring mind. Let them sooth you, and just accept that they’re draining more of your strength with every swing and sway.”

It was getting harder and harder to deny that her massive tits, and the intoxicating sweetness were overwhelming him and draining his will to resist. He felt his grip on his dagger finally loosen, and when it fell from his hand, he felt his whole body shudder with a wave of relaxation.

It was also getting him harder, being pinned under her as her body rubbed against his, vibrating so softly that he didn’t realize it at first. Now, as his cock pressed against his trousers while he stared helpless up at those swaying, hypnotic, pendulous breasts, enthralling by the swirling shades of honey in them, he couldn’t deny a certain ecstasy was beginning to cloud his senses and drain his resolve.

He moaned as he felt the shape of her hands mold into cuffs around his wrists as little tendrils of her tickled his inner forearms. It made him squirm and buck ever so slightly into her and he felt a strange, new sensation as his trousers dissolved under her, until his exposed cock was swallowed up by her.

He moaned and closed his eyes in sudden ecstasy, until she moaned and whispered to him, “You cannot look away, you must keep watching them sway.”

Pitt’s eyes opened at her command and he stared at her pendulous, massive breasts as they continued to swing back and forth in front of his eyes, the swirling colors inside them continuing to stupefy and enthrall him. They were getting closer and closer now with every swing, closer and closer until he felt new hands caressing his face as her whole body shifted, and a full, large, sticky nipple was pressed to his lips.

He had no choice but to latch on and start to suck, drinking down sticky, warm honey that gushed into his mouth.

“There now, so much better, so much more relaxed and content.”

“Mmmm…” he monae, “Muh…. Muuuuuhhhhh…”

Those hands, from the second set of arms she had grown continued to caress his face, “More? Do you want more of my sweetness?”

He nodded weakly, feeling the indistinguishable perfection of his cock being inside her, feeling the pulsing, stroking, sucking, fucking that was happening to him all at once.

“Not yet,” her nipple was right above his mouth, dripping honey on his lips, and he couldn’t see the strange elongation of her body, nor could he look down to see what was happening below his waste. All he could do was stare, transfixed and enthralled by her swaying breasts, and whimpering for more of her addictive sweetness.

When he came, his hips shot up more violently than when he’d tried to wrestle her off of him, and as they shot up, she slid under him, moaning with her own pleasure as he exploded inside her.

His moan was cut short as she shoved her nipple in his mouth and he started to suck again. And as he drank her in, he felt soft, slimy tendrils slide up his cheeks and into his ears. The wet, probing sensation made his hips buck and his back arch, and he felt her pressing into him, like tongues in his ears, then like something more… flowing into him, feeling a heaviness in his head, making everything warm and wonderful.

The sweetness gushing from her nipple was overpowering, and as he sucked and drank, he felt a warm, oozing stickiness covering his face, as she gently rolled the two of them over, so he was on top of her… sinking down into her as she cocooned him with her body. The smoothness of her skin was gone, replaced with stickiness clinging to him, pulling him in, and binding him to her.

Pitt didn’t know when it ended for him, but by the time she had started to absorb him, after unlocking the key to his being through his seed, he’d been rendered numb by her honey, lost in the sweetness, and unaware even that he’d stopped feeling her body around his at all.

When he was on top of her, it was only to use gravity to let him sink slowly into her mass. It was easier for her to absorb him, to devour him that way. Just like it was easier to enjoy a human that was docile, and entranced. Their pleasure, their bliss, the essence of them, both in body and spirit, was much sweeter and stronger when they weren’t afraid. And it was easier to extract their minds, as she absorb his psychic energy through the tentacles she’d slid into his ears, when they were full of pleasure, and not pain and fear.

She stood up and shifted, letting the debris of what he’d been wearing and carrying fall through her and out of her, then stretched and started picking her old bones out of her form and shifting the new ones she’d taken into place.

Without bones, it was much harder to keep a form for more than a few moments, and she didn’t want to go back to being a puddle that could sometimes look like a girl. The humans had gotten wiser… not by much, but enough to demand more from her, and the other predators of the forest.

She had all of Pitt’s memories, and as she thought about his other two companions, she laughed. If the flute player didn’t get them, someone else would, and there was no reason for her to travel up the cliff and after them, not when she could sleep and finish digesting her meal.