A Forest's Long Awaited Renewal

Disclaimer: All characters always 18+, and edited by RHaF.

*

The beautiful shades painted across the sky by the sun bathe the hurrying female in their soft light as she seeks shelter from the rain in the thickest, least traveled part of the forest. This is a normal place to find her at dusk on the Spring Equinox. The trees surrounding the massive Oak she has climbed in and frolicked under for eleven years make up the walls of a spacious bower. The canopy, formed by the branches and leaves, is like the dappled roof rising several feet over her 5'3" frame. She drops the two bright green trash bags she's been carrying and takes off her gloves, slipping them into her pocket. Her well manicured fingernails are revealed. The glittery dark emerald green polish catches the fading light.

She looks around her home away from home and spins, letting her long, flowing ebon locks fan out and release the water that has drenched them. Droplets of rain glisten on her lightly tanned face and arms before those prisms fan away as well. She dances this way and that imagining a tango with a man to dry herself a bit faster. She is lost in a happy world of her making; she's dancing in the loving arms of a future husband. She hopes the rain will pass as quickly as it appeared, but it doesn't. She still hears its soft patter.

Her first realization of something being different this evening is tentacles flying at her as she comes to a stop near the massive Oak; they pull and bind her ankles wide about the trunk. A warm, gentle wind begins blowing rain over her, the wood, and her new touchy friends. Her sanctuary from the rain has become a weird prison in it: the tentacles her manacles, the wooded bower her cell, the Oak the table she is strapped to.

"Huh, they're vines not tentacles! Wait! There are no plants around that do this with vines either," she whispers. The quiet sound of her voice is a low throaty gasp of fear, amazement, curiosity, and arousal. She does not have time to think about the anomaly. Before she completes her thoughts some of the vines slip over her mouth, silencing her. Others wriggle underneath her soaked green Earth Day shirt and down both legs of her cargo shorts, ripping them off of her. More vines appear to snake around her arms, working up her shoulders and throat. The smooth, damp bindings glide against her delicate skin. They do not bind too tightly, but they are snug around her, wending down over her elbows to her wrists.

Her clothes are shredded and sent flying by the force used to rip them apart. This leaves her nearly bare, covered only by her baby blue cotton panties and purple Nike Pumps. The vines continue over her hips, her inner thighs and ass. The now slick vines evoke shivers; a chill runs down her spine from the sudden cool rush, like an icy tongue moving down her body. This sends a signal straight to her nipples and her clit. All three harden, protruding in a blatant display of the readiness of her body for what is certain to come. At least what is certain to come if the doujinshi she once accidentally read give any indication.

Rivulets of water form and trickle down her shoulder blades and her collar bone, slowly moving straight down the cleavage of her milky white breasts. The skin there is very pale and shows the veins under her skin easily, but is now beginning to flush. The cool rain water sliding from her throat and breasts cascades over her belly button. It flows down the crease of her thighs, soaking her panties. The faded, well serviced fabric becomes more and more translucent. As the water funnels downward the sodden material molds to her pussy, outlining her plump, nubile young mound.

The contrast of the cool wetness against skin heated from a hard day's work makes her shiver. She would deny it if asked, but her skin also warms from her growing excitement, particularly when a tall form steps from the surrounding forest. She cannot see the nearly invisible form well; it is just a shimmer in the rain. The droplets that cover it sparkle like prisms, revealing a humanoid form with head, arms, and legs. It seems to study her as it gets closer and closer. Unnoticed by her, the animals of the forest are beginning to gather, to watch and bear witness. Many will breed tonight as well if all goes as planned. There will be much new growth, new fertility in this old forest.

The rain falling also outlines its hardness making her realize it is male. Briana is too stunned to be truly afraid. She is a little intrigued. Whatever it is; it seems to be very happy to see her, and while it looks big it doesn't seem to want to kill her. The impression is further enhanced by the small brush of warmth when that maleness strokes her thigh. It leaves a small trail of wet heat, a bead of its precum marking her. It feels like it would fill her but not tear her. She doesn't know it, but her captor has already filled her and partook of her essence. As the spirit father of the forest comes into material form, he contemplates her enthralled, wondering form, remembering the past on this most auspicious day.

Briana has grown up in these woods. Her first night out of the hospital as a newborn was spent in the house a mile south of the clearing, with a window open to let in the warm night breeze. She has stayed that way the rest of her life, sleeping better with the sounds of wind through the leaves, the animal calls, and other sounds of the forest to lull her to sleep as well as wake her in the morning. She has played cops and robbers, tag, save the princess, and many other games within its depths, becoming the svelte young woman she is today.

He helped take her virginity in his stream, becoming a part of it, flowing over her in just the right ways, speeds, and intensities to make her nectar and blood flow. When she reached her orgasm, he caused a surge of water to force her fingers deeper, piercing her hymen. Her body convulsed and writhed from the intensity of the pleasure and pain caused by the small wave raising then dropping her. The bright red trickle mingled with the water so he tasted, felt, and absorbed her crimson essence as it flowed through him. She gingerly winced, breathing slowly, enduring the minor discomfort until it faded. The pleasure took much of the sting of her deflowering away, allowing her to enjoy the afterglow, leaving her sated and happy the rest of her swim.

He remembers how she has helped the forest, picking berries, taking over populous game, clearing debris, and helping the hurt animals of his domain. Her eyes are unique, the left a dark green with hazel flecks, the right a stormy blue. They are very expressive, showing her emotions clearly. They have generally shown caring, tenderness, excitement, wonder, and happiness in his domain. He knows because he was watched her often, leaving small wonders for her to find, and he has kept her safe.

He is brought back to the moment when those eyes widen. Her lungs fill with air when her situation is fully realized. She tries to scream but it is useless. She is too well gagged by the vine across her mouth for anything but a muffled moan to be heard. He steps closer and closer, until she can feel him almost completely along her outstretched body. It is only for a moment before he pulls back, but in that moment she feels warmth all along her, infusing her, as if she's completely surrounded by him. He smells musky, very male, and faintly of flowers or berries, something she can't quite place.

His length against her nether lips is hot, hard, and primal. How she is tied leaves her open and vulnerable to the nuzzling head of his cock, but he doesn't yet strike deep into her unclaimed sex. He awaits the complete setting of the sun and the rise of the pregnant full moon. This is not some mere tentacle sex tale. Her devotion to the forest has been appreciated and recognized. She shall now be tested and rewarded for assisting the forest so completely and being a part of it. He looks up at the sky hopefully. It is not time. He growls softly, looking back down over her. His hands are drawn to the hardened, dime sized, pink nipples.

They move delicately over her extremely full bosom, caressing and squeezing. His touch is odd to her senses. First because of how normal it is. There is a man's calloused hand, one who has worked and crafted all his life. The spirit's hands move; the sensations change. There is soft, damp Earth when they brush her shoulders, the warm fur of an animal when they trace over her back. She feels claws while they knead her large, round, firm ass cheeks. There is the tickling touch of a fern as his fingers dance up her thighs and stomach. She is almost certain it is no accident that the ice water of spring melts and flows over her nipples when he pinches and squeezes them upon returning to her breasts.

She yelps, jumping against her bonds. The jolt of ice water suddenly closing on her overheated skin floods her womanhood with greater desire. She can't explain it. She is a good girl. She is a cheerleader, the school goody-goody, but it feels so amazing. The Pastor says good girls don't let this kind of thing happen, let alone enjoy it, but she can't deny her nearly boiling arousal or the knowledge of who and what is causing it. A small part of her brain still protests that it is only natural for a body to respond when it feels the brush of lips suckling its nipples repeatedly. It isn't her fault she squirms every time he nips her throat. She's not been given a choice. Or so she thinks.

She has chosen, has agreed. By dancing in the grove at dusk, in front of the Oak, this nubile female agreed to terms that have bound the world since it was very young. She does not cry out again until his precum covered glans smears his warm, slippery fluid over her clit through the thin panties. A shiver runs through her. Her hips grind against his to gain more of the contact without her giving permission for them to. Nor can she stop the mewling, pleasure filled whines she keeps hearing, not even after realizing they are coming from her throat.

He hisses, glancing up at the sky again impatiently. It still is not time. His turgid prick grinds at the juncture of her thighs. He rips the panties off without warning while looking down to see the fertile field that shall accept his potent offering. She is fully shaven, her pale skin gleaming around the deep pink mound of her outer lips, pressed tightly to each other. They part, revealing slightly brighter inner lips as his cock nudges between them. She is swollen, flushed, glistening from more than the gentle rain that still drizzles through the thick canopy.

He growls softly, an immense hunger filling his voice. Two fingertips move to her slit, parting it more fully to show her clit. His cock glides over her most sensitive nub again and again, almost catching in her ready womanhood, but changing angle at the last second each time. Then they both feel the change. His hands move, gripping and supporting her ass. Her legs are lifted, the vines acting like a living sex swing. He glances upward to see the full moon just over the horizon. His cockhead securely lodges within the inner ring of muscle of her sex when his eyes return to hers. The shimmering form goes just as rigid as she when his length bottoms out within her; the eye of his cock nestles perfectly in the entrance to her womb. It is as if they were made to fit like a lock and key.

She screams, but the vine is too good a gag. It muffles her protests, and her pleasure so completely he only hears her moan. He is so large, so deep. She feels impossibly full. Only her fingers have ever been in her. He is over twice their width and length. He stretches her virgin body to its limits. He gives her about a minute to adjust before his patience is worn thin.

His hips begin to rock back and forth fractions of an inch, giving the entire length of his cock a massage. It makes her feel like she has a hot, veined vibrator turned on its lowest setting buried deep in her belly. Waves of discomfort quickly become molten desire as her body prepares itself for breeding. It naturally recognizes what is happening and knows what it needs to do.

In this position both her G-spot and clit are constantly being stroked. His body's motion shoves his length as deep as possible. Her subconscious notes that his tactile presence is changing. There are no more cold streams or hot rocks. There is only warm, living, breathing male; sometimes there is fur, sometimes skin. A few feathers and scales appear here and there but more and more it is the hands of a woodsman. The hands that grip her are rough, calloused, passionate and demanding; they pull her harder against the still shimmering, camouflaged male body driving against her no longer virgin cervix.

He grunts, and growls. His breathing starts to become labored. He twitches and swells, stretching her even wider. She knows what is about to occur on some level. Her body knows what it needs. He has it. Only He can give her it. Only She is fit to receive it. She tries to move with him, against her bonds, but not to get away. Her body works with his to make it happen, turning a primal urge into an extremely, urgently, wild breeding.

She isn't protected. He could very easily create a child with her. She knows this. The thought is scary but makes her far wetter, bringing her closer to her climax. It briefly flits through her mind, but that is when he swells, making his prick fill her perfectly. Whenever the flared ridge of his cockhead presses against her sweet spot, she nearly faints from pleasure. His fur grinds against her clit when he pulls insistently on her hips to get the maximum penetration. All she can do is hang there helpless while the shimmer works himself right into her deepest, most sacred place. She feels him press through her cervix, making her scream from the mind shattering pleasure and pain.

She milks him when she orgasms around his length. His cockhead flares in her womb, his potent seed spraying directly against her fertile egg. He does not stop grinding against her until he is drained. His hips jab forward, trying to push into her more as his balls empty into her. He does not move from between her thighs for several minutes, ensuring his seed is trapped. His small movements against her continue to send aftershocks through the pair.

He radiates pleasure and contentment. His breathing slows, the rigidness leaving his body. She'd swear he was smiling and smug. Her shivers continue, the spasms still making her clamp down each time he tries to pull back. Her wet womanhood continues to milk him, even though all his seed has been deposited in her womb. The whole time he has been with her he has been silent. His mouth opens, but snaps shut before a word is said. He leans in, warm, soft lips pressing to hers gently, tenderly, bestowing a kiss one gives to a beloved Mate. He can do no more; else all shall be for naught. He must wait. He moves away reluctantly, the eyes of the forest denizens she has not seen starting to disappear as well. The vines retreat, letting her drop safely to the soft forest floor.

She staggers upright, eyes following the fast fading form. If it wasn't for her very sore, sensitive, stretched pussy she'd not be able to believe it. She has been soundly bred here in what she has always thought of as the Heart of her forest. Other than a very full womb, sore pussy and sensitive nipples she has not been harmed or changed, but she swears she feels different somehow. Yes she was just fully made a woman, and maybe impregnated; yet it is another difference she can't explain.

The days pass, the seasons changing steadily. He waits, watching happily every time she comes through his forest. He notes her breasts and belly swelling beautifully each time he sees her. Her runs in the early summer show little change but she shows clearly by late summer when she finds time to go to the stream to tease him. She hopes he is paying attention as she pleasures her pregnant body.

By the time fall arrives and its time to cull the overabundant white tail population her belly has grown outward significantly, her skin taut from the life that he created with her. For the first time in years she gets help from her sibling to bring in the meat. Her mothering instincts make her very careful to not attempt more than she can handle. Around the New Year the forest is abuzz. She is in labor. He lopes swiftly as he can to reach her side, leaving his domain for the first time in a century.

He watches, apprehensive as the midwife delivers their twins, a son and daughter. His face glows when they give their first lusty, indignant, and healthy cries. He quietly grins at the names she chooses for them. Lily and Conner are very good names. He stays his allotted time, not letting them from his sight even one minute before twenty four hours have passed. Then he feels the forest insistently tugging at him. He gives one last yearning look to his beloved and their cubs before changing.

Where the shimmering person stood a smoky furred wolf appears, muzzle raised. His howl is long, loud. It quavers, as if both mournful and exuberant. She is not afraid when she hears it. She seems to understand the message. The longing, need, happiness, yearning and pride echo deeply in her chest. A part of her wants to return the howl. She almost does, but the babies are asleep. She would wake them were she to do so.

Winter passes rather gently. All have shelter, and plenty of food. Throughout the forest the young have grown firm and strong. This pleases him greatly. The forest already benefits. Just a little longer and he shall know for certain. Earth day once again is nearly upon them and he waits for it eagerly. Only then will he know if the forest shall have a Lady as well as a Lord. He waits and hopes, looking forward to the day, as well as fearing that she may not go to the clearing.

The day comes, bright, cloudless, and happy. She bustles about, taking care of the two children before their day out. A set of hazel eyes stare at her inquisitively from her daughter's face as she changes and feeds her. Her son's pale blue orbs do the same when she packs a lunch and grabs a few things she will need for her usual Earth Day activities. This year she must remember the stroller, diapers, extra warm clothing, and other things a Mom needs. She does her usual routine, cleaning and tidying the forest for a few hours. She removes trash people have left, and clears pathways of fallen branches, staying close to the twins. She feeds and changes them whenever necessary, their rugged sport stroller never more than a few yards from her. They still mostly sleep at their age, which helps.

Right around dusk Briana moves toward the Heart of the forest. She is caught by surprise when she sees the circle filled with animals of all shapes and sizes gathered. The fact they all sit peacefully with each other reassure any fears before they can grow. Her eyes widen even more when she sees what appear to be two cradles formed of living saplings right next to the Oak; they are lined with soft down, fur, and sweet grasses. She looks down at her two cubs, a soft grin spreading across her face. She moves them from the stroller to the prepared places in the shade. She looks up at the position of the sun. She has a few minutes, so begins to slowly strip, luxuriating in the slide of the soft cotton against her sensitive, engorged breasts. The panties slide down next. Her wet sex is exposed. Her clit and lips are swollen, flushed and ready.

As she strips and waits she begins to feel a little self conscious, worried, and foolish. Other people could walk by. He might not come. She could be doing something really stupid. None of her thoughts stop her from doing what she feels is right. When the vines extend to wrap around her they find the young mother with her back to the Oak, spread invitingly. Her swollen, leaking breasts are displayed prominently. Her arousal saturates the air. Her eyes snap hungrily to where there is sudden motion. Several of the animals have moved and left a corridor to her. She stares intently, praying he has come again.