Barking Up the Right Tree: A Short Erotica
The glow of the fire only seemed to accentuate heaving forms and flushed cheeks, its crackling drowned out by the music being played and the conversation of the forest inhabitants. The summer solstice was coming to an end, with the fall equinox just around the corner. This would be one of the last warm nights for a long while. A full moon, clear skies, and a light breeze made it feel almost magical.
Mir played a few notes on his pan flute, happy that the sound came out right. Taking up his stool, he sat on it to make sure he could control his breathing while sitting down. The scent of apples and grapes were in the air, with freshly poured wine being passed around in a skin. Small reddish-purple threads trickled down chins and cheeks, occasionally dropping onto the ground.
Holding up a hand, Mir shook his head and continued to play on his flute. The dancers would be arriving soon. It had taken him many summers to get this front row spot, he wasn't going to lose it. Licking his lips in anticipation, he found himself crossing his legs as his body began to buzz. Spirits appeared to not need to be ingested to feel their effects.
Suppressing a nervous giggle, he saw the bark of the trees around them begin to ripple. Twists and knots in the wood formed faces that began to push their way through. A translucent film covered them for a moment, before peeling off their skin and snapping back to the tree. Shoulders, chest, torsos, waists, and finally legs came free of the tree, shaking off the bark and wood shavings.
Before too long, the meadow was filled with various naked women, their hair the color and style of their respective trees: wavy and reddish brown for maple, short and spiked for pine, long green braids for rowan, although many had faded to yellow when the chill and dryness had filled the air. Most of their skin was dark brown, with swirls of texture and color where their barks had warped and changed with the tears passed. Like their hair, the color of their nipples also reflected the change of the season. As well as being hard and pointed.
"Mir!" The voice drew him out of his staring, and he closed his mouth, working his jaw like he'd made it sore with the flute playing, even giving it a few rubs and moans of discomfort.
"Focus, if you go slack jawed now, we're going to be thrown off!" The lute player strummed the strings of his instruments, producing an in tune and harmonious wave of notes that made Mir's hair stand on end. Although he was sure the sight of the nymphs did not help matters. He was grateful for his hair below his waist being so long. It hid his sheath well.
Once they had arranged themselves again, they rehearsed again, the soft melody filling the forest. The nymphs took note, a few whispering to the one next to them, occasionally pointing to the group of musicians before they turned into a huddle (showing rather round buttocks) away from the satyrs. A tall willowy one even had to bend over to hear properly, something all the satyrs seemed to suddenly have a need to cross their legs in response to.
Mir looked to the others, who were nodding in agreement. He looked back and forth between them all, wondering how much he was out of the loop. Trying to hide his frown, he looked over his shoulder at the nymphs. They were laughing and nodding at their own conversation, before separating.
"Alright," The drummer gave a few taps. "Let's run through this again."
Mir was glad he had something else to focus on.
When the meadow had filled with fae and other members of the forest, they started a fire, roasting various fruits and nuts. More wine was served in everything from acorns to actual tree stumps, the volume seeming to have the same effect on the people who drank it. Those who could fly were now grounded, stumbling into or leaning on people who were near them.
The conversation slurred and slowed, with demands of songs filling the air. At least, that's what Mir inferred.
They began, with the opening notes overpowering the conversation and drawing attention. The nymphs made their way to the center of the crowd, pushing or gliding through the people like they did the trees. Their faces were stoic and unmoving as they took positions in front of the musicians.
The red headed maple had taken up the spot in front of him. Her body shivered in the light breeze that stirred the air around them. When she turned to look at him, he could see her erect nipples in her silhouette. Nervously, he licked his lips and brought the flute up to his mouth. For a moment, he thought he saw the flicker of a mischievous smile when the light of the fire danced over her face.
Then, they began to move, holding up their arms and swaying side to side. It was a simple movement, following the gentle notes of the melody. There were a few wolf whistles and lewd remarks, but they were a tradition.
Each girl began to move as the instruments were played, following the rhythms of the musician who played them. Mir tried to not swallow when he saw Maple was following his flute, her body gyrating and twisting around, hair streaming behind her.
Then, the music came to a stop, a pregnant silence following. Slowly, the nymphs each turned, before walking up to the musician their dance had been imitating. Maple stopped in front of him, her legs apart, hands on her wide hips as her eyes scanned him up and down. The tip of her tongue came through her lips.
In challenge, Mir held up his flute and began to play. The first note squeaked out, but the melody that followed was a lot more controlled. His nymph began to dance, slowly trailing her hands down her breasts and torso, pausing before she touched the space between her legs. The eyes on them were unblinking, the talking having died down.
Then, she leaned forward, reaching for him. Her feet seemed glued to the ground, hands opening and closing on empty air, pulling and climbing with an invisible rope. But she didn't step closer, only bent over, standing on the balls of her feet.
