Harold of Doom

“He’s gone…” Lance looked down into the expanse of trees and the steep slope punctuated by a few near vertical drops. Lance picked up Pitt’s sword and leaned against a tree. “He tried to kill me and he’s…”

“Better him than you my friend.” Harold dropped the piece of branch he’d broken on his friend’s head. “What do you think, press on or go back?”

He watched Lance slide the blade into his belt then gingerly touch the bruises on his face, and predictably said, “What do you think?”

“I say we press on. We’re smarter, stronger willed, and more determined than Pitt was. And part of me wants to go after him, but…”

Harold didn’t need to say it, neither one of them wanted to leave the path and go into the deeper forest, especially if they’d lose the better part of the day looking for a corpse. So, they walked on along the northward path towards the entrance, so Harold believed, to the lost valley and the gems of the Lamia Queen.

They pressed on well into the coming dark, stopping only briefly for their most basic needs, and because the path was clear and strong even in the fading light. When they could go on no further, Harold drew out from his pack the three carved stakes of warding that would shield them from wickedness as long as they stayed on the path as their lights burned.

He gave them over to Lance to hammer into the ground in a triangle on the path, and then took one of their lit torches and set the tappers of the stakes ablaze. They started to burn, slowly, very slowly, casting off a blue light that made Harold feel both protected, and revitalized. These were rare treasures, items of great power, but they were his secret to surviving the forest, and had been worth the cost.

They made a small fire in the center of the road, ate, drank, and agreed to take turns on watch. And once Lance, who agreed to take the second watch, was fast asleep, Harold set aside all notions of staying awake until the deeper dark, and closed his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” a feminine voice softly whispered almost directly into Harold’s ear. “There are dangerous things about, you should be watching for them.”

He sat bolt upright, fumbled the sword that was across his lap, picked it up, then spun about with the blade raised as he realized the gentle blue flames and the campfire blurred and ruined his night vision.

“I’d ask you, rather than show yourself, to depart and leave us in peace.” Sensing that she was close, whomever she was, he didn’t feel the need to shout, as he knew that it would only bring more unwanted attention. They said that in the Deep Forest, pruning one danger only revealed a garden of misery.

“But you’ve come so far and traveled so wisely, would you not care to look upon me, safe as you are? So few travel these paths, and too few keep their wits about them enough to appreciate my grandeur.”

Her voice was haughty, but delicate and teasing. He knew the voice, as he had long been the object of female affection, and in his status he was often perused by ladies who would feign coyness or bravado, or as this creature was doing with the charm of her voice, both.

“The light that keeps you from preying up us, alas blinds me to what lies beyond its glow. And I’d rather not see you, than risk being eaten by you. I bid you farewell and goodnight, lady of this stretch of wood, and by the laws of the road, I renounce your presence and your advances.”

Some creatures were bound to such rules, others… not so much… but it was worth a try.

“Oh, but what of your friend, who is sleeping so deeply? Whose eyes were so heavy they closed as he set his heavy head down to just finally sleep. He has traveled so far, just like you, and you’re just as tired as he, tired from a long day, a red day full of chaos, bloodshed, and loss. Your heart is tired, your mind is tiring, and your body is so weak, if you would just recognize it. It’s why you’ve wandered off the path, isn’t it?”

It was too dark, and too bright for Harold to see, but he’d been certain they’d set up camp on the road, for though it was not much more than a battered footpath due to disuse and lack of maintenance, it was still a road, known and true.

“Yes,” the fluttering, hauntingly soft voice spoke to him as he strained his eyes and his worried mind to see proof of her lies, and to calm the hammer of fear in his heart. “Your mind is so tired, weary and tired now, and you’re losing track of what you remember, wondering, did I wander astray? Did my friend fail me? You think these thoughts over and over, fast as lighting, every through hammering in your tired mind, making your senses dull with worry. Weariness is washing over you from head to toe, you cannot think clearly now, you can only try and turn the tides of fear, fear so strong it’s draining your already spent emotional will. You’re so tired now, so tired, you feel like you must rest. You’re so tired now, your body wants to crumble down into deep sleep.”

Her words, soft as the deepest darkest night, sparkled I his mind like stars, and he felt his body getting heavier, as the lulling, musical lilt of her voice pushed into his mind, making him feel everything she said.

He blinked, and the tip of his sword fell to the dirt, the handle barely still in his grip. “No,” he shook his head, “the light burns bright, it shields me from your enchantments. You words have no power over me!”

He spoke the words with a hushed determination that lent strength to their truth, and as he spoke he felt the cloud of her influence lifting off his mind, and felt the weariness her haunting voice has cast over him fall from his shoulders.

“This is true, and as you have been honest with me, so I have been honest with you. All I said was true, you did leave the road, at least your poor squire Lance did.” She mocked him, but sweetly, though no matter how soft her voice was, and it was soft as a lover’s caress, he still felt a malicious satisfaction in her words. And worst still, what she had spoken made his blood run cold.

“I am no knight, and he is not my squire, but tell me, how do you know his name? Did you follow us so long? Are all the roots and branches your spies? Truth for truth, tell me so.” He growled out his demand.

“Why not turn around and see for yourself, brave, foolish, Harold.”

Her voice came from in front of him, from the other side of the glowing blue light, and so he turned away from him, not wholly, just a quick turn of the head to see…

Lance stood there, upright, his shoulders slumped, his body loose as though it were fast asleep, and in his hand he held the extinguished third stake, and attached to his face, covering his head entirely, was a purple flower bud that was the end of a long twisting vine that came up from the ground. Faster than he thought possible, he lunged for his friend, slashed through the vine with one fell swing, and then tried to grab hold of Lance to pull him close, but when the vine was cut, Lance’s body collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Harold reached for the dropped stake, his only hope, and as he did he heard the rustle of branches above him, and a deep, dark, lavender colored boot stepped on it.

She was tall, as tall as the largest man he’d seen, and on this side of the light, where his eyes could see more clearly, he could not help but gasp at her beauty. Her booted feet, or the ends of her legs, he knew not if they were actually boots, or a fashioned part of her, came up to her knees, and from her knees up save for long elbow length gloves of the same color, she was naked, her deep, dark, violet skin radiant in the reflected light.

She looked down at him, a wicked smile across her narrow lips, her eyes glowing green in the dark, framed by her sharp, narrow features. It was not the face of a person, it was too long, and too angular, and too perfectly symmetrical. It reminded him of a sculptor capturing a likeness, the character of a face, not a face itself, and he rose to his feet with this sword still in hand.

The creature shook her head and put her hand to her chest, and he saw two things at that moment. The first was that her green hair was not hair, but vines, vines that stretched up into the trees somewhere, and the second was that her breasts were immense. They looked like two, large, swollen berries that were ripe to bursting, each one the size of a melon, both jutting out perfectly from her chest.

“There,” she cupper her tits as he stumbled backwards with his sword between him and her, “I have gotten what I wanted, only for you to see me. For what is the beauty of a flower in bloom if no eyes can cherish it? And what good is a flower if no bee buzzes along to bathe in its pollen and carry it away?”

There was something dizzying about her form and figure, and he found himself staring at her breasts, rapt by the gentle caress of her hands. “And while you are no bee, you are a man, and your eyes do draw you to me, as you are meant to, just as I am meant to attract you. My shape, my form, it is as irresistible to you, as though you were a bee, and now that you have seen me, we shall see what becomes of you.”

Again Harold shook his head and found a moment of clarity. His sword would serve him well enough, but fire was the foe to all plant creatures. All he had to do was… step back… grab a torch…

Her hands toyed with her massive, swollen breasts and while Harold did take another step back, he found that he could not look away from her chest. They were perfect. They were, like the rest of her, too perfect, and they were too large, or so he would have thought if he could have thought. But he stared at them, truly transfixed by their, irresistible, grotesque beauty.

They were the same violet as the rest of her skin, but with darker nipples and areolas, and as he stared at her, he started to see, thin, spidery, thin, pale veins of florescent green. There was something primal about her beauty, or what it did to him, something that transcended logic and reason, and spoke only to his most base desires.

“Am I not beautiful, Harold?” Her voice floated out to him, whisper soft and delicate, and he wanted to tear his gaze from her breasts, but he couldn’t convince himself to. “Am I not what you need? Do you not feel it, staring at my breasts, my little bee, that this is your nature? The man’s eyes are drawn to the woman’s breasts, it is in your nature, and mine are the most perfect for luring you closer. Do you not see that now Harold? Do you not see how what I say speaks to your nature?”

She squeezed her breasts ever so delicately, and he watched them give way, not like flesh, but like ripe fruit, and as she cupped them and pushed them together, it made her soft, sleepy words, heavier and sweeter in his mind. He was truly captivated by the unnatural perfection of her breasts, and as she rolled them slowly, squeezing softly, showing him how ripe they were… there was no other way to describe them, they were ripe, and full, and luscious and… and his mouth watered… he wanted desperately to jus turn his head, but something in the base of his skull just wouldn’t let him look away.

“Come to me, feel them draw you in little bee. Come to me, come closer, you want a closer look. So beautiful, so perfect, so primal. Come closer now. Closer and closer.”

She continued to caress herself, accentuating the otherworldly, grotesquely beautiful and hypnotic quality of her breasts, and as he took a helpless, shuffling step forward, she floated towards him ever so slightly, not taking a step, but moving by the long vines of her “hair”, making him feel as though he’d taken a larger step.

Inside his head, the shape and color of her breasts, the too perfect, too strange and alien beauty of them, the same undeniable, primal perfection that made him powerless, also horrified him. His dimming, diminishing inner voice and sense of self, could only watch in terror as the rest of his body followed his cock, which had swollen to a painful fullness and thickness.

And while his cock was straining against his breaches, reaching out towards the plant women as though it were a drowning man hoping for salvation, he knew the truth… that she was the waves were pulling him down.

Still, the undeniable allure of her breasts, the enthralling, hypnotic beauty of them started to ebb away at his terror.  As he took another step towards her, helpless to resist the beautiful pull, and the gentle, whisper of her voice, saying “closer and closer” over and over again, his fear started to dim, or burn itself out.

He felt hands on his face, caressing him, then sliding to the back of his head, and he stared forward as her tits rose to eye level with him. He stared at her nipples and licked his lips involuntarily, and as they got closer and closer, he felt his body jerk, like waking from a dream suddenly, but it was not to step backwards…

No… his mouth lurched towards her nipple, and his sword fell from his hand, as he brought both hands up to squeeze her breast. He’d expected them to be full of, he didn’t know what, juice, ambrosia, something he could drink, but as he squeezed her massive tit in his hands, desperately sucking, she stroked his head and cooed to him.

“I know what you want, and it will not come from my breasts. My breasts are like the outer petals of the flower, and the color, and I have what you desire little man… my lost little bee. Are you hungry for me? Are you ready to taste me?”

She peeled him away from her tit, and all he could do was stare at them, devoid of thought, aching with pent up primal arousal, his mind wholly docile and subjugated by her breasts.

He couldn’t speak, he could barely grunt out a needful, desperate sound that was almost a yes. Slowly, her hair lifted her up and up off the ground, and he followed her tis up and up until her spread legs were in front of his face, and her slit, less like a human woman’s vagina, and more like another flower that was blooming for him, dripping with sweet wetness, so fragrant and so close that even the sense dulling elixir couldn’t keep it from filling his nose, flooding him and intoxicating him even more.

He licked her slit, softly at first, and tasting her, tasting the sweetness, the indescribable sweetness, he grabbed her hips and pressed his face into it, moaning with orgasmic relief as he thunderously came in his trousers from her taste…