Author's Note: This continues on from the events of my stories The Dryad's Lair and The Dryad's Potion, but should be readable as a stand-alone story. Also, Merry Christmas to my beloved degenerate friends who love stuck fetish.
Agnos the dryad hummed a happy little tune to herself as she put the finishing touches on her work.
The construction had once been a natural tangle of tree-roots, left exposed when an embankment along the forest path had collapsed. Over the years, the two largest roots had wound around each other, leaving a gap that almost looked big enough for a slim humanoid to slip through, but was actually too small to fit shoulders or hips.
With her coaxing, the roots had strained apart just enough to fit a smaller person. It was sized just right for a satyr woman, in fact. On the other side of the embankment, she'd woven a little illusion, a sparkling, glinting gold coin to entice just such a young woman to lean through the gap. The weight of the lured satyr's body would trigger the roots to return to their original position, trapping her for Agnos to come collect later.
"This should teach those silly bitches," she muttered, reaching into her fine willow-tendril dress to pull out a vial of her latest experimental potion. She needed to be careful with this one; it was stronger than any of her previous versions of her heat potion, and was even strong enough to affect her, even though as a dryad she was typically immune to the effects of her own plant-based concoctions.
She had tasted some of the first batch while brewing to be sure it didn't taste too strong and, to her chagrin, had spent several hours fucking herself on the nearest appropriately-shaped plant before she'd had the presence of mind to brew an antidote. She couldn't entirely regret the incident, though; the orgasms had been fantastic. She would have considered marketing the potion for...personal use, if it weren't so much more valuable as a means to entrap slutty satyr girls. Humans, it turned out, were willing to pay a pretty penny in return for a potion that could turn a cute, fluffy little wench into a cock-hungry whore.
Agnos uncorked the bottle, then paused as she was overcome by a wave of dizziness. "Ugh," she muttered to herself, then rubbed her forehead with the knuckles of her hand, careful to keep the cork away from her face. "Come on, Agnos, get it together." It was taxing to do such complex magic so far from her lair and her tree, but she couldn't afford to linger. She was in the middle of satyr territory, and if they found her, there would be drama.
Drama. That was the whole reason she was forced to resort to setting traps like a common woodsman. She had made the mistake of releasing one of the satyr girls who had been helping her grow her Cave's Heart roots. Nobody could say she didn't have any sympathy; after months on end of orgasm denial and being stuffed full of the growing root, Agnos figured the young woman deserved a break.
First the satyr had rubbed herself to multiple bawling orgasms right in front of Agnos, which had been cute, but then she had apparently gone crying home about the mean dryad tricking her into a year of sexual torment. Ungrateful wench. Agnos had paid her for her time!
Evidently, the satyrs had also found out around the same time that Agnos was responsible for the heat potions that were being used to capture some of their women, and now there was all of this drama. It was ridiculous. Satyr girls wanted to spend all of their time fucking anyway; the dryad didn't see any problem with using that drive for a greater purpose, even if that greater purpose was some human getting his rocks off in a brothel. She had been assured that the satyrs captured with her potion absolutely delighted in being used.
Agnos sighed and stepped forward as the faintness passed. She dribbled the potion on the roots, making sure to soak the bark where the unfortunate captive would be trapped against it. The potion wasn't quite as effective topically, but struggling against the root should rub it in nice and deep and should get her quarry horny enough to be easily subdued when Agnos came to collect.
"There," she muttered, and cast the final spell to set the trap, eager to get out of satyr territory. "Oh. Eh--"
Another wave of dizziness hit her, and the dryad wobbled on her feet, then pitched forward. She caught herself with the hand holding the bottle of potion, and grunted in dismay as she spilled half the contents onto the roots. That was months of work wasted! Well, at least whoever she caught would be nice and desperate for her help when she arrived...
As she retrieved the bottle, she found it slippery with the spilled potion, and it slid right out of her fingers and through the hole in the roots.
"No!" she snapped irritably, and dove forward after it.
She was still wobbly and weak from over-extending her magic, and she lost her balance with the sudden movement, pitching forward and tumbling head-first through the gap.
"Oh, shit," Agnos said as own trap snapped shut around her.
The thick roots closed around her stomach, leaving her just enough space to breathe but not nearly enough for her to wiggle out. She gave it a good try, immediately trying to pull herself the rest of the way through, but her hip bones were simply too wide; if she tried to go backwards, she knew her ribs would catch.
Agnos took a moment to be pleased with herself for how well the trap had worked, even if she had wasted all of the magical energy she'd spent on it by setting it off herself.
Then she patted the tree with her hand and pushed her magic into it, urging the roots to open up and let her go.
They didn't budge.
"What the fuck," she muttered, and tried again, slapping the tree for emphasis; but, she realized with dawning horror, it was no good. Her magic reserves were empty. She'd spent everything on setting the trap, and without returning to her lair to refresh herself from the wellspring of power from her own tree, she had nothing left to get herself free.
"Shit," she muttered, then started struggling again, this time with more panic. It was a truly undignified position to be trapped in; her toes barely reached the dirt of the path, and her willow-tendril robe was really only constructed to provide a bit of tantalizing modesty when she was standing imposingly straight. Bent forward, it draped and tangled around her and, from what she could feel, left all of her private bits fully exposed to anyone who might happen to walk by on the path.
And, speaking of her private bits, they were starting to feel a bit...tingly.
Agnos groaned as she remembered how much of the heat potion she'd inadvertently spilled on the trap. "Shit, shit, shit." She scrambled in the dirt with her toes, making one more effort to shove her hips through the hole, but it was no good. "Fuck. Ugh..."
She went limp for a moment, exhausted and disheartened. Her slit, ignorant of the trouble she was in, pulsed warmly between her thighs.
"Think, Agnos," she reprimanded herself, squeezing her eyes shut. She had the antidote with her, of course; after the tasting incident, she wasn't stupid enough to work with the potion without it. But it was in the pouch strapped around her thigh, and she couldn't reach her thigh. Couldn't reach between her thighs...couldn't rub her clit, push her fingers up into herself...
"No," the dryad groaned, struggling against the roots again as she fought against the growing heat rising up in her body and overrunning her mind. "Gotta stay focused. I have to get out of this. How do I..." a breeze ran over her body, and Agnos groaned, her pussy pulsing again at the teasing sensation, her knees shaking ticklishly as the trailing tendrils of her robe brushed over her skin. "Oooh..."
Her mind drifted to the last time she'd been affected by the potion, and to how good it had felt to sink down on the braided tendrils of one of the larger vines in her garden. She'd even been able to coax the plant into undulating inside of her, stimulating all of her aching nerves until she'd come over and over again...
