Emerald Forest

Once upon a time in a kingdom far, far away...

The kingdom of Griffinhead was a calm and beautiful land. Placed on the other side of the Fireridge Mountains, it was fairly safe from attack by opposing forces, and indeed the few who had approached from the coast soon learned there was nothing much of strategic value.

Griffinhead offered no great strides in weapon advancement, no tactical advantage in its location, and its troops were... well, below par.

The subjects of the kingdom were instead quite content to get on with their daily lives without any intervention from neighbouring kingdoms, thank you very much.

That changed when a strange presence arrived at the Emerald Forest.

The Emerald Forest itself was a picture of tranquility – or used to be. Hundreds of acres long, it circled around Gravemont Castle – a fort that had been abandoned for as far back as Griffinhead's scholars could trace.

One night however, soldiers on Griffinhead Castle's ramparts noticed lights coming from the windows of Gravemont for the first time in centuries.

That's when things changed. People strolling through the forest went missing, others who came back reported seeing sick perversions so twisted they were offered priority consultations with local monks.

Mages reported an abundance of magical energy flowing through the forest itself, though those that examined for too long through scrying or other techniques were seen to slowly lose their mind.

It had reached the stage where secret plans were being drawn up by Griffinhead's ruler, King Wynn, on whether the time had come to abandon the kingdom, or stage one last stand...

*****

Fred Boggins strode defiantly into the forest, sword in hand, and brimming with courage.

He'd despatched the hounds that guarded its borders with relative ease and now, as he continued uninterrupted, he noticed a disturbing lack of ease with which he was able to make his away deeper into the woodland.

Despite what he'd been led to believe, inside the forest it was quite peaceful. Sun shone down through the branches above, creating a speckled carpet of glowing turf at his feet. In the distance a stream ran with a steady current, its flowing sounds trickling into his ears.

Birds tweeted – though as was to be expected, their birdsong was mildly unfamiliar. At first it seemed natural enough but, if listened to carefully, it sounded almost off-key.

Perhaps that was what caught visitors to the forest – the deceptively familiar, rather than the familiar deceptions. Indeed, as he strolled through the tranquil environment, he felt he could simply turn round and walk back home, if he wished.

But it wouldn't be that easy, of course, or hundreds of other squires, knights and mercenaries would already have returned.

In the distance, he spied a young girl, apparently just past adulthood, humming to herself as she scooped down to pick berries from a plant. She was wearing only a pair of sandals on her feet and a silky white, translucent gown as she loaded the fruits into a wicker basket.

'By the gods, what on earth is she doing?!' Boggins thought frantically. 'She could be killed out here in this forest, and I'll wager those berries yield a poison most lethal!'

"Young lady?" he called out to her. "Young lady? Please, it is not safe here. Let me escort you from the forest, while still the sun stands."

The girl looked up at him, as if caught in the midst of a secret act, turned and skipped away. It was neither fearful nor hasty, but nor was it playful.

"Young lady!" Boggins called as he gave chase, following the heels of her feet and the flowing tail of her gown, which lapped at the air behind her.

"Wait, please!"

The girl slipped out of view as she darted behind a tree, and Boggins sprinted to catch up. As he reached the trunk where he last saw her, a floating waft of white material in the distance gave away her new position.

As the two played cat and mouse, he inevitably lost track of her as she grew ever further away. Boggins was determined not to lose another soul to the cursed void of greenery, however, and continued onwards, hoping the girl may have grown tired and stopped to rest.

As he pressed onwards, the light above dimmed as the rooftop cover thickened, and the exertion of the chase suddenly caught up with him. Boggins was by no means unfit, but he had tried to chase a fair maiden while kitted out in full armour, while carrying a steel sword.

Still, he couldn't stop now. If something had found that girl, or if she had eaten those berries...

"Ugh..." he groaned. It was becoming an effort to stand, and his eyes were growing heavy, while the fog of mental fatigue settled in his mind.

He sat down to catch his breath, and in doing so, felt the full toll just a brief chase had exerted on him.

Perhaps just a quick nap, he thought, to restore my strength. But by the time the thought had even formed in his head, he was lying on his side on the soft grass beneath him, before collapsing on his back and drifting into a peaceful slumber.

The last thing he saw before falling into comforting oblivion was the branches overhead blowing in the wind and curving in around him, as if to protect him from the outside world...

***

When Fred awoke, he was surprised to find himself no longer in the forest. Instead, he was inside the surprisingly palatial setting of what looked to be a bedroom of some form.

Stone walls surrounded him, but no windows gave view to the outside. Instead, soft, amber sunlight filtered in through the ceiling which, as he gazed up at it, was obscured by a thin veil.

There was no bed as such in the room – instead he was lying on a pile of deeply luxurious scatter cushions, which gave way around his body, allowing him to sink deeply into them.

As Fred heaved himself into an upright position, he was further taken aback to find he was naked, the temperature in the room warm enough that he had never even felt a draught.

He was also not alone. Four maidens were dabbing at him with wet pieces of gauze. As he observed the motion of their hands, he realised some foul beasty must have attacked him in his sleep, for he had received several cuts across his body.

As the girls tending to him pressed the wet cloth to his wounds, it left a tingling sensation behind. It was not a painful one, like some of the antiseptics he had used in previous scraps, and actually felt quite pleasant.

Fred lay back in the cushions and let them continue, thinking it best to let them continue uninterrupted. Although they were in turn looking at him with friendly smiles since he woke, not one of these nursing nymphs had kept his gaze or tried to engage him in conversation.

And what nymphs they were! Such smooth, peachy skin. Such lovely faces, and lush hair – two blondes, a brunette and a delightful redhead made the set. Their thighs slender and creamy, their rumps dainty and tight, yet possessing exquisite curves.

And such bountiful bosoms for women their age! All of which hung above such slim tums.

It was not Fred's fault he admired them so – for they wore not a yard of fabric between them. Instead their modesty was covered by nought but a light chiffon set of lingerie that reached from their backs to their cleavage and drifted with their movement, as if caught on snags in the air.

At their waist, another yarn of the fabric was secured, and though hard to see completely through the fabric, Fred very much doubted any further modesty-saving measures lay beneath.

As the luscious set of maids pressed in the tingling oil, Fred felt something stir, unbidden, at his waist.

He had spent far too long getting caught in lustful thoughts about these young maidens, and he was about to embarrass them and shame himself terribly.

As he rose to full potency, the redhead now dabbing at a scrape on his thigh caught sight of the burgeoning sign of desire and her eyes widened.

The girl reached for a nearby bottle of clear liquid, pressed the rag to the top and tilted some of the contents onto it. After putting the bottle aside once more, she leaned forward, and hesitated before wrapping her hand and the rag around his member.

She squeezed it gently and warm oil seeped out, trickling slowly down the shaft. Fred gasped as the clear liquid spread a gentle flush across his manhood, and couldn't help but arch his hips at the sensation.

The girl smiled encouragingly back at him, while the remaining three stirred at the motion. They discarded their cloths and instead pressed their palms to his flesh, their hands exploring his body while they planted light kisses across it.

The redhead pulled the rag away with her spare hand and continued a pumping motion on Fred's delighted member with her fist. As she pumped away, all the while maintaining eye contact with that very innocent smile of hers, one of the blondes leaned over to kiss him on the lips.

It was a slow, relaxed kiss and, supported by the bed of scatter cushions beneath him, Fred was able to take his time with it, as he slowly explored her mouth.

What was causing difficulty however, was trying to keep his shaft under control. The oil had made it hot and sensitive and the redhead's slow but constant squeezing was sending it ever closer to unavoidably tipping over the edge.

At last, as pressure built and its head felt like it may burst, a rocket of creamy semen shot from the tip hitting the girl square in the face.

Unable to avoid the first jet, the redhead nevertheless opened her mouth, using it to catch the rest of the volume.

The brunette and remaining blonde – who had both gone somewhat unnoticed until now – leaned up and embraced the redhead at each side, pressing their lips to her cheek, before licking stands of the fluid off, and finishing in a second, lighter kiss.

Their eagerness surprised Fred, but for now he sighed in satisfied pleasure and, as he leaned back to sink in to the cushions beneath him once more, the first blonde moved behind him, to catch his head in her lap as it fell.

She absently stroked his hair as he lay back and relaxed.

When the post-orgasmic haze lifted slightly, Fred came to with a start.

"My brother!" he cried. "Marcus!"

He looked at the girls currently comforting him.

"My-my brother! Have you seen my brother? He looks just like me!"

The girls looked at him blankly, mild confusion setting in across their faces.

"Er, do you speak English?"

Still no response. Though the blonde at his waist leaned over to the brunette and whispered in her ear. She nodded and swiftly left the room.

"Er, what's she...?" began Fred, perplexedly.

But in moments she returned, carrying a letter. She handed it to Fred, who ripped it out of its flaky red seal with breathless urgency. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Marcus's familiar handwriting.

Dear Fred,

I write to let you know that I am well and to give you instruction. I was not halfway through the forest when I was captured and attacked by forces unseen.

I woke later to find myself here, in the castle. Yes, I am afraid to say we are currently inside Gravemont Castle itself. But fear not, there are truly some skilled wizards at work here who have shielded the eastern wing from view of the force possessing it.

I believe them to be rebels from some distant land, both the wizards and the handmaidens I understand are caring for you now. The maidens seem very enamoured with men from our culture, and wish only to please us, I am told. Do not feel that to ask anything of them would to be abuse them – indeed, the idea seemed to sit very favourably with those who serviced me.

Please know that I am safe, and so too is a girl they brought in who was exploring the forest by herself. I do not know why she would do such a thing, but I understand she saw you following her and misunderstood your caring nature for that of an attacker.

The wizard elders here have given me a cloak of invisibility to return home – their only one, and their most preciously guarded secret – so I may summon reinforcements from neighbouring kingdoms. I was long under the impression such garments have no effect in the forest, but they are truly an advanced race of healers, so I don't doubt its potency. Truly, there is more at stake here than you know.

You must remain here until I return however. Such is their prowess with salves and ointments that your wounds should heal very quickly, but to leave the eastern wing in its current condition would be madness befitting a rabid dog.

Please stay and I shall see you soon brother.

Salutations of Bismarck,

Marcus

Fred read in stunned silence. This sounded important, and if there was one thing he had learned throughout his life, it was that important stuff be left to Marcus. Furthermore, Marcus had signed off with the fictional 'salutations of Bismarck', a running tradition between the two brothers, which was a sign he was neither coerced nor forced into writing the letter.

Fred's sword, clothing and armour, he saw for the first time, lay in a neat pile at the corner of the room, making it easy to collect if needed.

He put the letter to one side and sank back into the blonde's lap, while she returned to playing with his hair.

The brunette took her turn now, as she sank down to his crotch, lapping at his shaft, before engulfing it the warmth of her mouth. Fred sighed as he relaxed into the new stimulation, while the other blonde – who seemed to have vanished earlier – returned to his side with a bunch of candied grapes, which she lowered, one by one into his mouth.

He sighed as he swallowed the first few fruits and bucked his hips at the blonde's mouth.

Truly, he thought, there were worse ways to wait for news...

***

Octavius Jones stormed through the enchanted forest, cursing under his breath.

"The fool!" he muttered. "The naïve, impatient, imbecilic fool!"

Through the trees, a leathery bat-like creature with a gaping, toothless maw where it stomach should be flew for the old man's crotch. With an irritable wave of his oak staff, a plume of searing red thunder erupted forth and struck down the beasty before it could get within a yard of the wizard.

"Didn't listen to a word the townsfolk said, and gets captured by a Crotch Cocoon of all things!"

The wizard stopped, hit the ground with the base of his staff, and a wave of light rippled outwards in a circular, tidal wave of optics. As it spread, an ominous sea of blue mist materialised before him.

It hung, heavily, in the air. Though it had always been there, it took a potent spell of detection to make it anything less than completely imperceptible to the human senses.

Instead, the first some hapless fool would notice was mild fatigue soon followed by a strong sense of tiredness as the insidious mist worked its way into their body, coaxing them into a welcome slumber. So effective was the fiendish vapour, that its victim would even lie down and drift off, confident that it was their decision to do so.

Octavius wrapped a bubble-like forcefield around it and pulled it tight, into a concentrated blue sphere. He then cast another, second, forcefield on the ground, spreading it out like a sheet, to prevent more from rising up into the air. It bubbled angrily beneath the forcefield, upset at being denied its time above ground.

As he set forward, he braced for the second wave. Sure enough, a frantic rustling came from the distance, and as he cast a protective shield over himself, a hundred furious vines whipped and coiled harmlessly around it, trying to pin down the spellcaster within.

With a flick of his staff, a jet of flame issued forth, punctured the shield and reduced the vines to cinders before his very eyes.

Finally, he was clear to make his way to the cocoon itself.

'Cocoon' was probably a bit of misnomer actually – what he was really dealing with was a near-sentient plant, with several vegetative pod-like chambers attached.

Unfortunately, the plant itself was underground, and from the surface, it looked simply like a mound of earth... until the entrance opened. Few had ever seen the entrance open, as it meant the plant was either in its capture or 'swallowing' phase. The two were very different things.

In essence, the attack phase was thus: the subject would walk through the woods oblivious, until he stumbled into the sleeping mist produced by the plant's respiration.

Once unconscious, vines would emerge from hidden orifices and undress the prey, before securing them and carrying them to the plant's entrance. The plant would then belch forth a green, fleshy pod from its insides, and the vines would place the victim inside, before the pod sealed them in.

After that, various vegetative organs would connect to the victim – some providing sustenance, some smothering his senses to prevent him from ever waking and one... one would fasten round his cock, and begin to suck...

Because the plant seemed to somehow be able to form some sort of psychic hold over its victim, it could subject them to the most delightful dreams, bring them to utter fulfilment and persuade them that, not at any point – not ever – would they need to leave the scenario offered to them.

They would lie in the cocoon for a day or two, while it completely acclimatised them to their new condition. Once that was done, the maw would open, and they would be inescapably pulled inside by the large vine at the base of the cocoon, sealing their fate.

One researcher had stuck his head inside, to view the interior and described a large, smooth pit, a hundred feet deep, with walls that glistened with moist juices, making them impossible to ascend.

Even if the victims inside could somehow escape their cocoons, they weren't getting out of the plant.

And what was the point of this unusual plant's mechanism? Growth. Not reproduction, just growth. This particular genus of demonic summons could not sire offspring. It could however, increase its mass, using the right kind of 'food'.

The underground cavern was growing, no doubt about it, expanding its underground domain and producing more pods each day. This was because the prey were stimulated, endlessly, into shooting orgasm after orgasm into the spongy, parasitic vegetation at their waist.

The plant also leeched nutrients from the surrounding earth, and could somehow concoct its predatory sleeping mist from them, but there was no doubt that its main food was semen, and its food supply grew permanently with every new soul it snared.

Only a couple of people had been rescued from the cocoons, but very occasionally, the plant would release some of its prey. Soon after, they would come down with illnesses ranging from a simple cold to syphilis, indicating the plant was able to discriminate between healthy and infected 'food'.

By the time it had worked that out however, it had been two whole days, and once free, the 'prey' would spend the rest of their days trying to get back to the cocoon, so they could be captured once more.

As Octavius reached the cocoon, he sighed when he saw the languishing twitches of the sac, which wriggled and contracted independently, as if it was squeezing the semen out of a sponge. He reached into his robes, pulled out an athame and used it to cut open the green pod.

Inside, Fred Boggins lay covered in a green, mossy trellis, while a spongy feeding tube was pulsing slowly into his mouth, and more vegetation was wrapped round his eyes and ears. A thick tube was pumping away at a rate of knots at his waist, and, even as Octavius watched in disgust, the young man seized up as he gave more of himself to the overgrown plant.

With a wrench, Octavius pulled off the feeding tube, followed by the organ that blocked Boggins' vision and sound.

Boggins groaned and woke with a start.