Broken Lance

Lance watched in awestruck horror as Harold’s head disappeared between the plant woman’s legs, and then stared, petrified as she expanded out to swallow up his body into her. Her stomach expanded out, becoming transparent, her legs disappearing as her lower body became a massive, round, translucent berry. But the horror continued as her upper body submerged into the berry, like the inner stem or core of a fruit.

In all of the flickering light Lance could see inside the translucent, purple orb, and saw clearly that the upper body, which was still whole, moved Harold’s comatose shape, until her lips latched on to his cock. The last thing Lance saw, before he scooped up a few key items and ran, was her lips bobbing up and down on Harold’s cock, and his body shuddering inside the orb, diminishing and shrinking into itself more and more with every shudder.

One moment he’d drifted off to sleep, knowing he’d have to be wary, not trusting Harold, who was too trusting in his acquired magical charms and his own sense of invincibility, to keep his watch and wake him on time. And the next moment, he was peeling a large nightshade flower off of his head, and watching as Harold staggered towards he plant woman. He’d tried to avert his gaze, but upon seeing her breasts, had felt himself trapped, lost, and helplessly drawn to them. But his body was numb, tingling painfully as it woke, up, as though it were a leg that had been pinched while sitting too long.

He barely heard her voice, but he felt it, and felt like a part of her was inside of him, and the more she spoke, the more the echo of her voice made it grow. But then her slit swallowed Harold up, and she folded into herself, turning into a massive, translucent nightshade berry… and that broke the many spells that she had cast upon Lance in so many ways.

He grabbed his pack, which included his sword belt he’d thought to buckle through the straps in case of an emergency just like this, Pitt’s sword that he’d held on to since it was a finer blade than his own, and a torch that he lit in the fire, then started to run back from whence he came.

He did not see behind him, that as Harold’s essence was drained out of his cock, a new berry started to grow. And when Harold was no more, the new berry, which was as large now as the other, fell from the vines, imploded on itself, and revealed a new nightshade woman. This one not bound by her vines of hair, and started to follow after Lance down the path.

But she would not be how he met his fate.

The first torch burned itself down low just before midnight, and in the deepest black, sill on the path, Lance had to cobble together a new one out of a thick branch, the sleeves of his shirt, and the lard he’d brought along for cooking. It was a messy, desperate process done before the torch burned to nothing, and he told himself he only needed to make it to dawn, or until the pre-dawn could help him on his way.

Exhaustion washed over him suddenly, so did thirst and hunger, and he felt the tremor of his adrenaline fading. He’d gone for hours, running on fear, forcing his body forward, but now as he heard the wind blowing, he felt his body starting to fail him.

Lance stumbled on the path, then dropped down to his knees, sword in one hand, tip down into the dirt, helping him stay upright, torch dropped on the hard packed earth as he yawned, and blinked, and tried to tell himself no, the whispered messages on the wind were wrong, he couldn’t just clos his eyes for a moment.

But as he said no out loud, and tried to force himself back to this feet, the music on the wind, the gentle, ethereal notes of a flute made him start to sway on his knees. The music was gentle and melodic, and it was all around him, but when he closed his eyes he saw Pitt fall off of him and disappear over the edge of the cliff, and then he saw his best friend’s body and soul consumed by that monstrous plant woman.

The music was soft, as soft as cottonseeds on a breeze, and it buffeted him gently, teasing him with its alluring touch, but the fear and the anger of everything that had befallen him and his friends since the entered the heart of the forest flooded through him, powering him forward. Those feelings, and tenacity, carried Lance to his feet, and into long, desperate strides down the trail. Still, the music swirled around him, working against him now, blowing against him like a strong wind, and Lance felt the music pushing against his body.

It was still gentle, still soft as a lullaby, but there was force to it now, a will and a physicality to it, pushing him, buffeting him, and slowing him down. Everything was getting heavier and heavier, and Lance recalled with sharp clarity as Pitt’s sword banged against his leg, that Pitt had claimed to have heard the wind earlier, before madness took him.

Lance bit his lip and put his shoulder into it, walking along the road, wishing he knew any traveling songs he could sing, but none seemed appropriate. With every step the music was growing stronger, and while it pushed against him even harder now, becoming actual wind that made his torch flutter, the sound of it grew softer, and more intoxicatingly haunting.

All he could do was keep striding forward, and sometimes it felt like the wind had wrapped around him, pushing against him, speeding him on his way, before stopping and pushing against him. Sometimes as he kept walking, his world narrowed down to taking the next step, the music also felt like it was pulling on him too, and when it pushed on his back, or pulled on his front, with every step he took, the song fell in time with his own steps, and his journey became a dance, one he was too tired not to lose himself in.

And as he strode ever onward, mindlessly following the music, Lance started to hum along with the tune. He didn’t realize he was doing it, just as he didn’t realize he was walking in time with it, and as he walked, the wind buffeted him ever so slightly, and so focused on walking forward, of following the dance, he didn’t notice the moment he stepped off the path.

The song he heard on his lips, the wind easing him to step into the trees to shield himself, all of it beguiled his exhausted, led him further and further from the path. And once he left the path, the wind blew him easily, guiding him with the softest nudge, and not till his torch burned low, did Lance realized he’d lost the path entirely. He woke from his dreamy dance to see that his torch was naught but glowing embers, and that he was lost beyond hope.

As he stopped, the music, the wind, did too.

“No matter what you may think, if you hear a song enough times, you do develop a feeling for it. If not a fondness, then at least a relationship to it. I find that the songs I truly hate, all have a tune that could be something I love. Songs don’t get stuck in our heads if they aren’t catchy, don’t you think?”

Lance stabbed his sword into the dirt, dropped his pack, and raised the failing torch high, “I think your music drove my friend to madness, and I think you’ve forced me from my path, and brought me to you. And I doubt it is only to play me another tune.”

“Oh, but it is,” at the edge of the light, he saw a pale, woman with long black hair cascading down her naked shoulders and across her massive breasts. Her eyes were purple, and as he stared into them, he felt his vision begin to fog, seeing her eyes seem to divide and divide again, until eight eyes stared at him from two sockets. “All I wish is for someone to appreciate how much I’ve been practicing. Your, ahem, friend appreciated it, I could see it in how quickly it took hold of him, and I’m sorry, but I do better when I play for an audience of one, and all wish is to play for you now.”

He took a step back and brandished his blade as he saw she had not one, but two sets of arms, the upper, holding a simple wooden flute, and the lower squeezing her human head sized breasts as she added, “And if you enjoy my music, then perhaps we can share in other pleasurable things.”

“For you maybe, but I’d rather not be devoured!” And as he advanced a few steps towards her, brandishing sword and torch, she stepped fully out of the dark, revealing, four, long, spider legs. From the waist up she was a woman, and even her front legs seemed more human like, but it was still the front of a an arachnid-like body.

She didn’t answer him, instead she started to play her flute, while staring deep into his eyes. The music did not sound like the wind this time, it sounded only like music… deeply sensual, compelling music that made him want to sway with her, as her human upper body did, all while her lower hands toyed with her massive tits in time with the song.

He felt a flush of heat between his legs, and his vision started to blur. Her hypnotic sway, and the entrancing motion of her tits was no safer for him to look at than her glowing, beguiling eyes… eyes that seemed to make the strands of her song solid… entangling him… wrapping around his mind and…

“The previous owner of this little flute, or is it a recorder? Do you know the difference? Well, I call it a flue, but he played it quite well, and I did enjoy listening to him. He thought he could charm me and the denizens of the Deep Forest with it, but as he lured me to him with his sweet playing, he found himself the enchanted one.”

As she spoke, her lower arms hefted and emphasized her enormous breasts, and Lance felt his eyelids getting heavier and heavier as he watched their beguiling, compelling motion in her hands. It reminded him of lying helpless on the ground, staring at the plant woman’s breasts, powerless to break his gaze from their hypnotic…

He turned and fled with his smoldering torch leading the way. Behind him he heard a titter of laughter, and he ran in silence, keenly aware that the music had stopped.

But it was dark, and getting darker, and he felt threads of sticky silk clinging to him from behind, pulling him back, slowing him down, and he thrashed against them, pushing forward, blindly…

His heart was beating in his ears, he was panting, and his strides hit the ground hard, but underneath all of it, part of him started to recognize the haunting, melody of the flute reaching out to him…

He pushed himself forward further, and faster, running face first into a sticky web that crossed his path. But he was no fool. Exhausted as he was, Lance’s mind was still sharp, sharp enough at least even as the flute’s sticky song started to cocoon his awareness again, and he forced the torch to light the web.

As it burned and started to give way, he tripped and fell, and pulled himself back up to his feet, but he was turned around and he couldn’t tell if the strands of webbing that clung to him were in his mind or real, and he dropped his sword to pull the webbing from his eyes as he tried to keep moving, swinging the torch around him, trying to fend off anything and everything that would come too close.

As he tore the webbing from his face the sight before him, catching the dying flame on alabaster skin and obsidian black hair, was the flute playing spider-creature, her upper body still swaying to the music she played, her hands still rolling her breasts in time with the song, eyes dancing as they stared into his. This time they did not divide, just two brilliant orbs of purple starlight piercing his fragile psyche.

The shock of her sudden appearance, that she was so close to him, startled his already addled mind, and so powerful was the force of her stare deep into his eyes, it was like a physical blow that dazed him. And that was how his body started to sway with hers, back and forth with the music, and her body.

He danced with her in their own way, swaying in time with the song she played, and she swayed her way closer and closer to him, his eyes held by hers, his mind tangled up in the stickiness of the song, and the webs of music that bound his thoughts, and cocooned his reflexes.

Her hands tore easily through his garb, ripping the tattered remains of his shift from his, and then his trousers, all while she played her flute. Then, delicately, and slowly the music changed into an even slower, sensual and haunting tune. One that eased his body down… down… he fell back onto a web of sticky silk, half reclined, eyes fluttering in dreamy sweetness, and bone tired exhaustion.

She moved on top of him, his cock smothered between her massive breasts, and he stared into her eyes as she continued to play her flute. Lance’s eyes closed, just a blinking, fluttering moment of surrender to exhaustion, and when he opened them again, the flute was gone, and it was now her upper hands working as she tit fucked him. What her other hands were doing, he could not see.

“My breasts, which serve no purpose but to draw the eye and help me to seduce and beguile the mind of my prey, fascinated him as he played. And slowly, he became so enthralled that he could no longer play his music, then I spoke to him as I speak to you now, soft words cocooning him in desire and putting his cares into a deep sleep as he stared and listened to me. Long have I, and all of my sisters, the children of the great queen in her temple, known these secrets, knowing the power of our bodies, and our beauty, and out voices. And I thought, if this flute was magic unto itself, then how could it carry my voice, my entangling, silky webs of will out into the world. And you are the first to hear me play these tunes, the first to be enthralled by my beauty, and soothed, beast that you are, by my music.”

Lance felt strangely flattered and honored by her attention, and the teasing, flattering, personal revelations and inner thoughts. The sound of her voice was as haunting and irresistible as the music, and has her breasts worked his cock, he felt nothing but warm, throbbing, desperate pleasure.

“Sing my song, it is in your mind, it is all you think, it is all you are.” She spoke the words, and it sounded like a singing, though it wasn’t, and he could not deny her. Nor would he want to deny her anything.

He was broken, wholly and completely mentally broken, and he started to hum the song she had been playing, and the more he hummed, the stronger the pleasure of his cock being between her tits became. He looked down and saw those massive breasts fucking him, moving with the music, continuing the dance. Her tits danced with his cock, and his cock, like his voice followed her lead.

He was in harmony with her, bound to her, entangled in her in body, and mind, and even his soul was trapped in her web. He closed his eyes again, and felt himself falling into a cocoon of softness. When he opened his eyes again she was once again playing her flute, using her lower arms again to squeeze her tits together to fuck his cock.

As the music started to reach its climax, so did he… and as the music hit a crescendo, he let out a deep, gasping sigh, but it was barely a release, barely an orgasm.

And the music continued, the humming continued, and the dance continued. His cock barely responded to the orgasm, staying hard as her tits continued to work his cock, milking him slowly. Each release felt desperately incomplete, but stronger than the last, and then she took the flute from her lips, smiled, showing two large fangs, and stared deep into his eyes as he finally, fully, and completely came.

He shuddered in pleasure and relief as the music left him. He realized, vaguely, that he was fully cocooned in her webs, save for his head and his cock, but as she scooped a glob of his cum from between her breasts and licked it off her fingers, he was too permeated with sexual pleasure to care.

As her lips brushed his neck and her fangs pierced his flesh, that orgasmic bliss she had inflicted on him was what she tasted as she started to drain his body and soul until he crumbled to dust.