Cum And Other Drugs

This story was written as a part of the

Tales of Leinyere Story Event

on Literotica, a collaborative fantasy worldbuilding event from many talented Literotica authors. Look for the event on Literotica's story page to find links to a map of Leinyere, the official timeline of all our stories, and links to all the stories in the event from all the fantastic authors who have participated. Thanks for stepping into this world with us, and happy reading!

Content Warning: This story contains dubious consent. If you are not interested in reading about that, please don't read this story. Thank you.

It had been a long day at the Smithy. Even as an apprentice, the work was physically demanding and the forge was hot, and that day's workload had been more intense than usual. Apparently the city guard had taken out a troll that had terrorized some farmers or something, I didn't know. Anyway, I had spent nearly ten hours honing, sharpening, and even reforging their bent blades. I was exhausted, and I wanted an ale.

I pushed open the wooden door of Greywood Crossing's only tavern, the Loach and Lumber. The sounds from inside told me I was one of the more worn out patrons. It was a party inside. There was a table of the guards whose swords I'd just repaired stomping their boots at a long table against the wall. A pair of anocot traveling from the southwest stood at the bar ordering an ale and complaining that the tavern didn't stock the catnip-spiced mead they were used to. Forst, the dwarven bartender, was singing in his rich baritone while he tapped a fresh barrel. Rosie, the bubbly, gregarious server, was dancing on the only empty table in the center of the main room. I just wanted to drink my ale in peace, and the only patron who seemed in a similar mood was a hooded figure in the back.

I sat at a small table against the wall opposite the guards, and scanned the room for Sarah, the young serving girl that worked at the Loach and Lumber. She was very kind and a little bit shy; short, with hair the color of peaches and freckles dotting her round face. She may not have had the outgoing personality of her cousin Rosie, but she was a joy to speak with and her smile could light up the tavern. I, uh, may have been sweet on her, a little bit.

I was still looking for her when she leaned over my table. "Daven!" I whipped my head around to see her smiling face, which was apparently contrasted by mine. I could tell by how quickly her smile disappeared. "What's wrong?"

I didn't have to force the weary smile on my face. It was hard

not

to smile around Sarah. "Nothing, really. Those guards just sent all their trollhide-blunted swords to the shop." I jerked my head toward the loudest table in the rowdy tavern. "I'm beat."

Sarah was sympathetic. "I hear ya, Dav. My feet are

killing

me."

I hoped that meant she could afford a break. "Sit and have an ale with me?"

No luck. "Not when it's this busy. I'll go get you one, though. Front of the line for my favorite customer." She patted my arm, and I could've sworn I saw a bit of pink in her cheeks as she pulled it away. Behind her, the cloaked figure I'd noticed earlier walked toward the bar, face still covered.

"You're too good to me Sar."

"You just, uh, don't forget that, kay?"

She seemed like there was something else she wanted to say, but she didn't volunteer it, and I didn't press her. I nodded, and Sarah left to get my drink.

I leaned back against the plaster wall, happy to be off my feet. It took Sarah a few minutes to walk back with my ale, a faraway look in her eyes. She put it on the table without a word, and then she seemed to blink, shaking herself out of a daze.

"Ya alright?" I asked.

She almost seemed to notice I was there for the first time. "Huh? Uh, yeah." A soft chuckle, windchimes on the porch. "Sorry, I guess I've had a long day, too."

I put a few coppers on the table, enough to pay for my ale and a small tip for Sarah. Then, I nodded my head toward the empty chair next to the table. "Chair's still open..."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Don't I wish? If you're still here in a few hours maybe I'll have a minute."

I flashed her a warm smile, my first real one of the night. "If I can keep my eyes open, I will be."

That turned out to be much easier than I thought for the next several hours, and then much harder. I must have been more worn out than I knew, because that one ale went straight to my head. I spent more of my coin on a bowl of stew, thinking that would soak up the alcohol, but it didn't. Or, at least, it didn't soak up the other three ales. At least those three tasted better. The first one had an almost savory funk to it. Anyway, I was a giggling, dizzy mess for several hours, and then the energy fell out from under me.

There were a couple of Sarahs, maybe three, by the bar as I left. She laughed with me at my predicament, but she knew I'd make it home alright. Greywood Crossing was a safe town, especially now that the troll was gone, and even drunk I had broad shoulders and thick arms from my work at the forge. I made it home fine and slept like the dead.

I woke like the dead, too. Despite only having had four ales (I thought it was only four. Pretty sure.), it was easily the worst hangover of my young life. My head was pounding and my mouth felt like I'd choked on an entire sheep. Even my muscles hurt. Well, that might have been from the smithing work the day before, but either way I felt like shit. Even Marek, the blacksmith I apprenticed for, was sympathetic, and he was [i]never[/i] sympathetic.

"Ya gotta go see somebody, kid. We got a lot to do today, and you look like warmed-over shit."

I groaned at his booming voice. "See who?"

"The alchemist? Probly? That's where I went for me...uh, cough...one time."

The alchemist charged me a silver and a half for a potion that didn't do a damn thing, and when I complained all she did was refer me to the town witch. Now, I knew in my head that Greywood Crossing

had

a witch, but I'd never seen her or even imagined any reason I would ever go see a witch. She lived in the only two-story building in town, a cylinder of dark gray stone blocks. I would've been nervous to knock on the door if my head hadn't been pounding so hard.

The door opened to reveal a fancier sitting room than I would've guessed anyone would have in Greywood Crossing. There were chairs of elegantly carved wood, upholstered with leather. More than one of them, even! A table sat between them with multiple books sitting on top. Multiple books! Presumably for leisure reading! Another marvel I never thought I'd see in this town.

Neither of these things were as surprising as the woman who stood in front of me, though. She was at least a decade older than me, but probably not two. Her skin was too smooth and perfect. She was several inches taller, too, with dark hair that fell down to the middle of her back with only the slightest waves to it. Her green eyes seemed to look into the next building over, but when she saw me her face lit up like a sunrise over the forest. That was surprising, because I was pretty sure we'd never met.

"Ah, welcome. What can I do for you?" Her voice licked my ears and I was scratching them before I realized it.

I suddenly felt self-conscious, and I wasn't sure why. She was pretty, but she didn't hold a candle to Sarah. "Uh, I'm here for a...well, a hangover cure. Or something. Like that."

She hummed liquid honey. "Certainly, Mister..."

"Daven."

Her smile got wide in a way I didn't feel good about. "Perfect." She turned, waving her arm toward the chairs. "Have a seat, Daven. I'll just be right out."

As soon as I walked in, the whole room smelled like a meadow, lilac and rose, honeysuckle and long grass. I sat down and picked up one of the books. It was about the history of Giltan's Port, a large, independent city to the north, deep into the continent on the shore of Kelthala's Wound. I learned some things while I waited, despite my debilitating headache.

The witch walked back into the sitting room, slits in her dress revealing her legs with each step. She held out a small glass vial filled with a translucent white liquid. I patted my pockets, trying to remember how much coin I had on me.

"Oh, thank you...uh, we didn't talk about a price...?"

Her smile nearly melted me. "Oh, don't worry about it. I haven't seen you in here before, so the first visit is free." She winked, like we were both in on some joke, but as far as I knew I wasn't.

I blushed. "Oh! Thank you." I started to put the vial in my pocket, but she held out a hand to gesture for me to stop.

"You might as well drink that now. It loses potency over time."

Her voice sounded sweet, but her eyes were intense now, insisting that I heed her advice. Hoping for quick relief, I did. The liquid coated my mouth and I recognized the flavor. My ale the night before had had this certain undertone of salty, and something...it was difficult to describe, but I knew I was tasting it again, and much more concentrated. It wasn't unpleasant, but the memory it conjured made me feel the need to ask.

"What

is

this? It tastes familiar."

The witch just looked at me with a placid look and a strange gleam in her eye. "Now now, I can't go giving out my secrets, not even to a handsome young man like yourself" she said, and I couldn't tell if it was a joke or not. I did feel better, though, almost as soon as she finished speaking. My head was clearer, my muscles were lighter, and a sigh of relief slipped out of my mouth.

"Thank you. That feels a lot better."

As she walked me out, her smile seemed to take on a predatory gleam, sending chills down my spine. I couldn't put my finger on

why

, though. The witch had been perfectly nice, even generous. Maybe I was being prejudiced. I knew, somehow, that some people didn't like witches, even though I couldn't remember hearing a word against them, or against our witch in particular. Curious.

Soon it didn't matter, though, because I was out in the warm light of the morning, walking down the street toward the Smithy. As I walked, I kept feeling even better. By the time I got to work, I had a spring in my step that Marek noticed, and the work for the rest of that day went by like it was nothing. I should've been sore and exhausted after two straight days of back-breaking work, but I felt

great

.

I could feel the potion wear off in the evening, so I learned from the lesson of the night before and skipped the tavern, turning in early. I wasn't completely immune from the spent feeling of a hard day's work, after all, because I slept deeply and peacefully.

Until, that is, I woke up in my straw-mattress bed feeling like shit once again. It was hard to tell if it was worse than the day before, or if I was just more upset to feel this awful without the guilt of having over-indulged, or even indulged at all. As soon as I crawled out of bed, I knew I was going to have to go see the witch again. I wasn't even going to try to get anything done or go anywhere this time without her potion. The decision made me feel anxious in a way I didn't understand. I had no reason

not

to go, other than it wouldn't be free this time.

So, I made my way to the round, stone building and knocked on that heavy wooden door. The look on the witch's face when she opened the door didn't exactly make me feel better. She looked like I was bringing her dinner. In addition to her hungry smile, she was wearing a dress that was looser that the clingy one she'd had on the day before, and shoes that were all sole, heel, and ankle strap. Her blonde hair was piled up behind her head and pinned with what looked like a pair of sticks tied together.

She waved me in. She seemed nervous, vibrating with energy. What did she have to be nervous about? She started to walk back into the back again, but she hadn't even asked me what I was there for.

"Um, I'm not sure it's a hangover this time!" I called after her. "I didn't drink anything last night."

She turned back with a smirk like I hadn't gotten some joke. "Of course. We'll figure it out. Now, why don't you come on into the back with me?"

I had no idea how shopping from witches worked, but that seemed odd. Still, with how badly my head hurt I couldn't spare much thought to it. So, I got up and walked after her, past the staircase that wound around against the curved wall, and into a small room at the back of the tower. This room had a small padded table that she patted for me to sit on. It was upholstered in leather just like the chairs out front. The room also had a small water pump and a drain, which I assumed was for potions, somehow.

The witch leaned back against the wall. "What you're experiencing, Daven, are the symptoms of withdrawal."

Not being an educated man, I didn't know what that word meant, but it made sense that it wouldn't be a hangover. "Withdrawal?"

She suppressed a worrying giggle and nodded, her blonde hair bouncing behind her head. "Withdrawal. You've gone without a substance to which you are addicted."

Addicted? Like to poppy water?

I had never touched the stuff, or anything like it, and I told her as much, my voice getting higher in agitation.

The witch was unperturbed. "Not knowingly, but you have." Then she dropped the boulder on me. "I put it in your drink, the night before last."

I was still confused, but anger started cutting through the haze. "You what?"

She put on a sympathetic face, but I could see pride in her eyes, and before she'd even finished speaking, those giggles from before slipped out, unimpeded. "I'm afraid I drugged your ale, Daven."

I wanted to jump up and strangle her. She put something in my drink to make me feel like shit! Why?! I took a breath to try to keep my cool. "Drugged with what?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"My ejaculate." Her voice was bright and cheery, but I could tell she felt smug about it.

I wanted to punch that thin, haughty smile off her lips, but when she actually explained what she meant I was so shocked I just sank into the cushions.

"I touched myself until I came, Daven, and then I collected that liquid and dumped it into your ale."

My head was swimming. I didn't know that women

did

that, and I'd certainly never heard one

talk

about it. So they could, make some...

stuff

, just like men? That was news. One thing that revelation didn't do was explain my predicament, though. "Wh...how?"

She leaned down closer to my face, that smug smile making my headache worse. "How is my cum making you feel this way? Why, you're addicted to it, Daven, from that first sip. I've worked hard...for years...to make my cum

deliciously

addictive. And it seems I've succeeded." She was just so, so pleased with herself. It made the pain I felt that much more acute.

I couldn't wrap my mind around it, but I knew I was angry. She had no...

right

! I stood up and shoved on her shoulders, or at least I tried to. As soon as my ass left the table she waved her hand and mist came from nowhere to curl around my wrists. The mist was solid, and it jerked my arms back down.

"Wha--!"

The witch's hand shot out to wrap her fingers around my throat, and her other hand instantly shoved two pale fingers into my mouth. I could feel her long nails scratch the back of my tongue, and then the muscle seized up, tightening and losing in waves of heat and ice. She pulled her short, slender fingers out from between my lips and I sputtered, only now beginning to gag on the departed invader.

"Fuck!"

The witch looked way too fucking relaxed for what had just happened, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed like we were buddies joking around the forge. I raised my voice.

"The fuck was that!?"

Her voice was velvet-wrapped iron. "Now, Daven, I

had

to make sure you couldn't tell anyone about what I've revealed to you." She said it like covering up her misdeeds was barely noteworthy enough to mention, and clearly I should've assumed that was what she would do. I assumed what she'd done was some kind of spell to silence me, but clearly I could still speak, so I was still going to

try

to tell

someone

. I still didn't know what she really had planned for me, but I didn't expect to like it.

The witch stood up and held out her hands. "You're having trouble adjusting to your new...situation in life." She sounded understanding, empathetic, but it all seemed

too

sweet, like summer berries gone bad on the vine. "I get that. I do. I think a...lesson of sorts...is in order." She opened the door and stepped away from it. "So go. Be free. And, as that pounding in between your temples gets worse, as your muscles start to ache and cramp, as your throat dries out and your nose drips slime, just remember that

I

am the only one who can help you."

Fuck.

She cackled before she snapped her fingers; a full, throaty cackle, just like I imagined all those witches from my nana's stories.

My wrists were freed. I clenched and unclenched them, feeling the freedom to stand up and punch that witch right in the mouth. I wanted to do it so bad, but... I was scared. This woman...could do things: things I didn't understand, couldn't prevent. I didn't ram my fist through her pretty teeth. I just stood up and walked out the door. I felt...emasculated, and trapped, and confused about all this.

Why me?

What I

did

do, was turn around once I got outside the door of her little back room and stare right into her green eyes. "Fuck you," I spat at her with all the venom I could muster.

She just smiled even wider. "Oh, you will..." Her voice seeped from between her lips and showed me what real venom was. Before I could react, she slammed the door. Instead of being in her sitting room, I had somehow been instantly transported to the street outside. I looked around at the people milling about on the cobblestone street, squinting to keep the harsh sunlight from making my headache worse. No one seemed to react strangely to my magical appearance, shopping, conversing, going about their day.

I didn't know what to do. I felt like boiled bullboar shit. I just wanted my life to go on, the way it had always been. I didn't want to be mixed up in anything with this witch. I sat down in the middle of the street, passersby passing me by, giving the mad blacksmith's assistant a wide berth. I looked around, through all the buildings that hugged the dark gray cobblestone, dazed, trying to imagine a life with an ever-worsening headache and whatever else that witch had said. I resolved then and there that I was never going back to that tower, no matter how bad it got.

I picked myself up and put one foot in front of the other, making my way toward the smithy. I stumbled in through the open door, looking for the day's tasks. I found armor to beat dents out of and polish to a like-new shine. Yay. I could hear the others working already, each resounding boom bouncing around my skull, making my eyes vibrate in agony. I tried to swallow the cotton in my mouth and get to work. I managed to get one breastplate half-done that morning, in the time I normally would have been able to repair a half-dozen. It was time to break for lunch when Marek arrived from wherever he'd been that morning. I tried to greet him, but he frowned as soon as he saw me.

"Fuckin' hell, Daven. Another rough night?"

I put the hammer down and looked up at the giant of a man, squinting at the sun streaming in behind him. I wasn't sure what to tell him, or where to start, but I knew who to blame.

"No, Marek. It was that f--aaaagggghhhh..."