Trapped in the Thicket

My hunger but a distant memory, I murmur a pleasant response, concreting the sensation of her kiss in my hazy mind before it too fades to ether.

"I agree," she says, smiling quiet and sincere in the afterglow. Eyes laced to me, "But that's just one need sated, and I fear it's gone and awoken so many others."

Lifting her staff, Cereza traces an idle figure in the air, and the rose vines turn towards her whim. Unwinding from my chest, they tangle around me, removing the bow slung around my chest and my empty quiver, depositing them carelessly to the ground as they go. The vines at my neck dawdle lazily upwards, stroking at my cheeks, while those around my torso undo the trusses of my jerkin with an easy proficiency and an utter lack of hurry, despite the hasty breaths that have me panting like a dog in heat.

"If I am Cereza the witch," she says, "then you must be something too. Rien the...?"

"S-soldier," I say.

"I see," she says, nodding. "Wars are not just for story books, then?"

Gaze finding her face, I observe as her quiet eyes watch the progress of disrobing, as her vines tenderly shake my jerkin open, baring my full breasts to the forest, the sky, and Cereza's inquisitive attentions. Now free of restraint, my breasts sag downwards, their slate-colored nipples stiffening in the cold air, begging for her touch, her taste, anything.

Cereza takes a step to me, lifting her staff and pressing it against the taut muscles of my abdomen. "Then I suppose I have your soldier's life to thank, for providing me the treat of this firm stomach to enjoy."

I groan, and the reverberation inside my chest squeezes harder down on the pressure in my loins.

"Ex-soldier," I admit, after a moment's pause. "I deserted, last night."

Her staff traces upwards, between my breasts. The vines circle inward, imbuing my flesh with the satisfying warmth of her magic. Though they appear thorned, there is no sharpness to their touch, only the teasing of their warm caress upon my already burning skin. Circling around my sensitive nipples, the vines urge my painfully tender peaks erect with their embrace. I cry out.

A giggle finds Cereza. "May I undress you, Rien the soldier?"

I fight against the confused fog of my passions boiling from within. "H-haven't you already?"

"Not entirely," she says.

Tracing the hard curve of her staff down over my belly button, she snags its crook in inside my belt. The vines obey, undoing the brass buckle in gradual motion. She is distracted, I think, as I find enough flex in my fingers to clench my hands into fists. The vines trace demonstrative patterns over the thick flesh of my waist, and the curve of my hips. Though the illusionary thorns do not cut me, their scraping touch brings a ticklish urge across my skin. I whimper as the vines tuck into my trousers, gripping on either side and urging downwards, as if politely requesting their assistance in the matter. My trousers spill down over my hips, pooling around the ankles of my boots, and now, I am bared to her in full.

Cereza touches a finger to her lower lip, pulling it thoughtlessly down and exposing her teeth as she observes the thick mane of white pubic hair that obscures my cunt. I swallow, suddenly self-conscious, wishing for the ability to look away.

"You'll do no such thing." She corrects my unspoken desire with an instructive pinch upon my earlobe. Folding a finger under my chin, Cereza turns my head to ensure our eyes meet. "Shall I touch you, Rien the soldier? I admit I want to, very badly; I might even say I need it. Do you?"

"Yes," I say. "Please, I do."

Her nose wrinkles with gratification. "That's the second time you've said please. If you do it again, I fear I'll develop a taste for it."

Stepping close, Cereza pillows her ear atop my breast. The tower of her hat flops into my face, and I close my eyes. Her breath flows easily against the damp skin between my breasts. She traces a between us, finding abundant thatch of my pubic hair, coarse and springy beneath her touch. The pointed tug of my skin when a few of my curly hairs sneak beneath her short fingernails tears a gasp from me, a sharp pressure of air that futilely begs for more. I find enough slack in the binds around my hips to thrust myself forward, compressing the thickness of my pubic mound beneath her palm. She pulls away, and I moan with disappointment.

"Be patient, Rien," she says. "Wonderful things require we act in delicate ways."

Her fingertips trace along my skin, finding the clenching muscles of my thighs, hard from training drills and long hikes through wilds just such as these—

—though perhaps not just such as these.

She drifts her touch inwards, between my legs. At the first, lightest touch I realize how terribly wet I've become, a slickness that's coated the inside of my thighs. A groan shakes out of me. I bite down on my lip.

A single bead of sweat breaks down my lower back and rolls over the swell of my clenching ass. Cereza's fingernails trace tender patterns across the crinkled skin of my yearning labia, and my inner core flexes with painful response. My head swims with need, echoing the angry, impatient clench of my cunt. Delicacy? Delicacy can go plough! Who ever heard of a delicate fuck, anyway?

With that thought, Cereza steps away. My heart itself whimpers, pained in its part in creating the treacherous, needy thoughts that seemed to separate her from me. Abandoned, even the burning fire can't hope to warm my dripping cone—left alone, it is frozen, barren. My eyes brim with the tears of my need.

Lifting her hand, Cereza examines the thin, squiggly line of one of my pubic hairs, caught beneath her fingernail. She smiles, placing her fingers against her nose and inhaling sharply of my scent.

"Such a miraculous smell." She sighs, and fresh roses blossom in her cheeks. "You are an interesting being, two souls in one body."

"A-a half-elf, you mean?"

Surprised by my adroit turn of phrase, Cereza emits a chirping laugh. "Is that what you're called? A fascinating rarity, I think!"

"Common," I say, the ruefulness of my heritage overwhelming my lust. "All too common."

"Well," Cereza says, her face softening in reflection of my dour turn of mood. "Perhaps 'half-eves' are common, but Rien the half-elf is a different matter." I've some mind to contest the point, but, she steps to my, lifting my gaze with her palm against my cheek. "You've shared all manner of special things with me, Rien the soldier, Rien the half-elf. Shall I share something with you in return?"

Snapped back into her moment, the troubles of my past wash away. My heart thrums, and my breasts lift with the heavy swells of my breath as my heart thrums along to the secretive promise of her offer. "Pl—"

Standing on her toes, Cereza silences me with an affectionate kiss to my jaw. "Now, now," she says, stepping away, her staff held again behind her back with both hands. "I warned you against saying that word a third time. Threes Bring Terrible Things; that's a thicket curse, and thicket curses are baleful things indeed."

Doffing her hat, she reveals a spriggy shock of short, unkempt hair, red as a swarm of fire bugs. She places the hat upon the wide rock near the fire, then reaches up to undo the small metal clasp, shaped as a leaf, that holds her cloak around her neck. She steps away from it, and the patchwork fabric spills from her body like a waterfall, stroking its way down her slender body and spilling onto the ground around her feet.

A sharp pop interrupts her display, as the fire finds an untouched bit of smoldering log to feast on and consume. I spare no glance to it, nor to the rabbit in front of me, I have no eyes for anything but she.

Beneath, she wears a simple white shift dress, which covers only to about her thighs. Her breasts are small buds, suggesting the recent ending of adolescence, and a not-particularly-effective puberty, a tale her baby-fat cheeks and slender, freckle-peppered shoulders corroborate nicely. Rubbing fingertips against the slender crook of her elbow, Cereza touches a glance at the grass beneath her. "You've seen something few've had the pleasure of."

"You're beautiful," I say.

"You are kind to say so." It's her that's unable to meet my gaze, now, and so she toes one of her leather moccasins at the dirt between us, saying. Her palm rests against her flat belly, and moves slowly down her body. "But there's one more secret we glade witches have..."

My rapacious eyes follow the motion of her smooth hand down her nymphic body, heart beating, hungrier by the moment. Swallowing, eyes clouded by lust, I nearly miss the unexpected bulge that seems to form when she closes her hand, bunching the simple fabric of her shift around her crotch.

I startle, my whole body jerking in response. "You've a—"

Cereza's eyes go wide in response to my surprise. Reacting to her confusion, the vines constricting around my chest and neck. I choke! She squats to the ground, fumbling in the grass for her staff. My hands twitch, struggling against their bonds in a vain attempt to reach my neck and strip away these other shackles that see fit to suffocate me. The pressure on my neck heightens until the bones of my spine seem to creak. My eyes bulge, my vision dims.

At the last moment, Cereza stands, thrusting out her staff and shouting a word of release. The vines slack around my body. I feel as if I could shake them free. I could free myself, escape, possibly even snatch up that rabbit in the doing of.

Instead, I look to Cereza, staff still held aloft, other hand wrapped plaintively around her shift at the waist. My tongue rolls against the inside my lips. I take a few testing breaths. I do not attempt to shake free the bonds—in truth, I've no idea if I even could, or if I'd want to...

Releasing her grip on her shift, Cereza smears her wrist against her face, swiping away what tears have sprung up in her distraction. I'm well aware it's uncouth to stare, but nothing about my upbringing ever trained me to be "couth" in the first place. So, body recovered, my mind's first instinct is to look towards what Cereza so pertinently kept hidden.

The small tent that's grown in her shift is obvious, now that she devotes no hand to hiding it. In the white fabric, a small, wet spot grows.

"You've a—"

She pauses in the wiping of her eyes to interrupt me. "I am a glade witch."

"And glade witches possess—"

With a certain measure of surliness, she says, "This one certainly does."

Taking a pause for breath, she lowers her staff. "I'll free you, Rien, with my apologies. I'd no intent to hurt you I only—I only wanted to have a little game."

"Tighten them again," I say.

Looking up, Cereza blinks at me through the pools of her tears. "Pardon?"

"We haven't finished our game," I say.

A smile, buoyant, finds Cereza's face. "You are a rarity, aren't you?"

Lifting her staff, she draws a slow circle in the air, and her vines pull around me once more. Again, I am shackled tight. The vines at my back correct my posture, pushing me into a proud stance that lifts my chin and lofts my breasts.

Cautiously, she asks. "Are you comfortable?"

A pox upon my head; somehow... I am.

And so is she—or that's how it seems to my simple eyes. After setting her staff on the ground, Cereza rises again from kneeling, and this time her shift rises with her, its simple material bunched up on either side by her fists. Her dress hesitates, but for a mere moment, as it tickles over the edge of her bulge, then, with a shy tug, she springs free.

It is a somewhat precious phallus, which is something I'd only thing because I sense the owner of it would not bridle at my diminutive description. It is no large thing, her cock, but that gives it a kind of unique air. It is pretty, unintimidating, nestled in a bank of fiery pubic hair, downy and soft as a feather bed.

I spare a glance at Cereza's face. As soon as I look, she finds reason to place her gaze anywhere but upon mine, up into the trees, it goes, counting the birds, or the curves on every leaf. Her soft leather shoes curl against the ground. Her knuckles are white with tension at her sides.

It is pale as she is, though its head burns with crimson need. As I watch, it seems to tremble. With an upward twitch of her shaft, the bead of moisture budding from Cereza's slit spills over, desperately reaching towards the ground like a strand of spider silk.

"You're beautiful," I say.

Looking back to me, she releases grip on he clothing so she can fuss both hands through her mussed hair in evident embarrassment. Her shift drapes over her cock, hiding it from sight, at least for the moment. But in that moment, she tiptoes back across the ground, to me. As she touches a finger to my lips, the vines around my bared chest apply a warning pressure.

"Shush," she says. "You've said it twice now, and I've already warned you about threes."

Taking fistfuls of my hair, she drags me into another kiss. I reply with all the passion my bound body is capable of. Her small form folds into my burly one. She spears out her tongue, closing her eyes and claiming my mouth for her own. Her hips arc upwards, spearing the slippery head of her cock against my thighs. My pussy trembles with the proximity. I groan out, scraping my teeth against her invading tongue. She lunges upwards again, seeking, seeking, seeking—

"Enough!" Spewing frustration into the air as she breaks our kiss, Cereza storms in plodding steps towards the fire, clenching her fists as she paces. "This will not work! This will not work at all!"

I open my mouth to—what, I'm not sure. To apologize for my height? To suggest she lay me down? To order her to march back over here and slam that beautiful cock into my aching, wandering, wanting cunt?

Before I do any of these things, however, she grips the large sitting rock from beside the fire, squatting, and lifts it into the air as if it were just a sack of child's toys. Bracing the rock—a boulder, in my eyes—against her stomach, Cereza returns, step by waddling step, and deposits it at my feet with such alacrity that, for a moment, I'm afraid I might've lost a few of my toes in the bargain.

But no, she has good aim, this glade witch. Clapping the dust from her hands, Cereza clears her throat. "There now," she says, stepping up onto the rock, leveling us nearly face to face. Her fingers twine behind my neck. "That makes up the difference quite nicely, wouldn't you say?"

I speak my reply in the form of a lust-soaked growl.

Cereza shares with me a canny grin that morphs into a subtler smile. Her voice is soft as a whisper in the closeness, high-pitched and clear, putting shame to my gruff, surly one. I nearly blush from the sound of it alone.

She draws me close as she can. "Now then, Rien the soldier, Rien the rarity," she says, eyes flashing with quiet wit quickly subsumed by something else—a certain tenderness that fringes the aspect of her face. "In taking you, I suppose I'll also be giving you something, so to speak." In frets her lower lip between her teeth. She hesitates. "Do you understand?"

My mind batters around the inside of my skull, sick of waiting, sick of puzzles, sick of games!

My mind is impatient—and that's saying nothing of my long-tortured cunt—but my heart is open wide to this precarious creature, who bears this strange capacity of shyness, of vulnerability, even as she still holds me, quite bound. Whispering my breath against her face, I say, "I do."

"Wonderful," Cereza replies.

Hands still around my neck, Cereza guides her hips against mine. I find enough slack in my legs to part them for comfort; but only slightly—a little discomfort can be a pleasant thing, in proceedings such as this. We share a twinned gasp the first time her small cock slides between the dripping wetness that's coated my legs seemingly from thighs to knees. Frozen by her vines, I can only rest my nose against the top of her head and inhale the pure, clean scent of her hair as she attempts to guide herself, without hands, directionless, into me.

Her nails pierce furrows into my neck as she thrusts between my legs. I groan with each stab that swipes across my lips, and she seems to shiver each bristly brush of my pubic hair, matted down by the flow of my excitement, over her sensitive shaft.

I begin to whimper, much less impressively than the groaning, when the spongy, giving pressure of her thrusting head starts to find the slick, wanting folds of my lips. With each near miss, my knuckles tense a little harder, and my nipples seem to swell with pain, brushing against the downy-soft material of her shift with each moment of her body, until that alone might drive me insane.

The next time her cock head swipes aimlessly across my clit and splits my lips wide, but misses my cunt by a country mile, I burst into an anguished shout. "Just fuck me, Cereza, please!"

Going as rigid as I am, Cereza freezes. She pauses in her panting to look up at my, eyes wide and worried, but when she takes in my own expression, frantic, dripping with need, she spools her mouth out into an easy grin. "That's three times," she says.

The next strike hits home, and I cry out the trees.

What she lacks in experience, she makes up for with enthusiasm. Each strike of her hips brings stinging impact to my flesh that I fear will leave me red and raw for days. I said she was small? She certainly does not seem so now, plunging herself into me with voracious hunger, filling the throbbing tunnel of my body with her perilous appetite to go deeper, and deeper, and deeper still.

My insides sop with their need, so wet am I she fairly glides into me. But there's nothing gliding in how she bottoms out with a percussive slap of flesh joining flesh. The vines she's laced around my bottom constrict, amplifying Cereza's thrusts with a forward yank of my hips into hers. Each time she hits her full extension within me draws a wistful moan from her, and a needful cry from me. The trees around us rattle their leaves as whatever small wildlife near us abandon their voyeurism and flee the tidal wave they sense is brewing.

If I could move my arms, I would grab her around her twiggy body and crush her to me. Instead, all I can do is clench my cunt, ripple and tighten the walls around her to give her pleasure as best as I'm able.

For her, for her, everything for her.

Her huffing breath spills down the slopes of my breasts. Her nails dig painful rivets along the skin of my neck. The staccato beat of her body into mine reaches its apex. Her scent fills my nose. Clinging vines tilt my jaw upward with a forcible jerk, giving her head the space to nuzzle deeper against my bobbing throat. Her teeth find my shoulder blade and bite down into skin, seeking the hard bone beneath. She grunts like a rutting animal, and even that sound is pristine, spilling over her lips and against my sweating flesh.

"Rien," she gasps, her lips swabbing each word into my sweat-damp skin. "I'm going to—I must—"

"Please!" I shout. "Please!"

She unleashes herself, filling me further, as if such a thing were even possible. She is magnificent, and I a wretch, groaning with painful denial as the surge of her spunk seems to stretch my body to bursting. The pang of tension her explosive burst tears out of my pulsing pussy reaches all the way into the pit of my stomach, and my well-fucked cunt clenches around her invasion, silently shouting for more of this exaggerated, inexperienced, completely inelegant use. It's not over, it can't be over—Cereza's cock may be satisfied, but my cunt is not.

Cereza hesitates for only a flutter in the wake of her magnificent outflow, she does not stop. Hips moving on instinct, she continues her fuck of my paralyzed form. I feel the mess of her output squelch from me with each continued thrust. I snivel, sniffle, and moan with discomfort, trapped beneath the new ferocity she brings to this post-orgasmic plough, and she beats her body into mine until her aimless battering draws a painful half-climax from the shuddering, spasmodic clenching of my cunt. The sticky slap of our joining hips fills the glade and she forces me through the inferior orgasm she wrenches out of me, small and feeble without a guiding hand against my clit, and yet somehow unbearable. With her eager, fucking use she tears from my body a climax as all-consuming and powerful as a blustering gale, bracing as a sock in the gut, and laced with raw yearning for more, somehow worse than if I hadn't had anything at all.