Gretel's footsteps echoed up to him as though from deep water, bare feet crunching against needles and dead leaves, sinking into the soft, lush grass. Marise led him with practiced ease, ensuring he avoided every thistle, every briar, every loose stone.
Still, he struggled. Or tried to make himself struggle.
"I... buh... mmm..." His attempts to speak were easily muffled by the finger, and his attempts to stop sucking on her finger were easily quelled by more fingers, more traces of sweet cream.
Marise giggled. "Now, now. Such a sweet, confused boy! You mustn't worry about a thing, Gretel. I'm going to take
good
care of you~"
"Mm." As another finger dripping with milk slipped past his lips, Gretel felt his struggles subsiding. "Mmm..."
"That's right, sweetie. I have you now~"
He trudged on in silence, staring helplessly at Marise's big, soft tits.
It was just so hard to think. So hard to focus on the fact that he needed to think. And sucking was so easy. So natural. And he was still so dizzy from Esca's play...
No, he couldn't. His mind rallied in the absence of Marise's words. He
couldn't
give in again, not this easy--
not at all
--
"Mm!" He pulled away from Marise's finger. His head spun from the effort. His hand lunged to the mark on his neck, and he prepared to raise a ward--
"We're here!" the holstaur announced. She turned to him, smiling sweetly, her tufted cow tail flicking with mischief.
"I--whuh?" Gretel looked around, briefly discombobulated enough for the spell to melt away from him. "Here?"
They had come to the edge of a pristine meadow. Starlight twinkled above, and Gretel dumbly realized it was nighttime. When had... that happened? Had it been nighttime when he'd first encountered Esca?
The clearing was lit by several glowing pools, each shining with the reflected night sky like a thousand fireflies caught in blue crystal. Next to one of the pools stood a slumping tent, orange heat dancing across the canvas from a nearby campfire.
Gretel felt his head unconsciously tilting. A meadow full of glowing pools seemed ordinary enough for a fey's dwelling. The tent... less so. Without thinking, he looked at Marise, a question parting his lips.
Marise gave a guilty little shrug. "Oh, the last occupant... got a little lost themselves."
"L-Lost?"
"Anyways," she went on, ignoring him, "this is only a waystation. A little rest stop. You must be..." Her lashes fluttered low, and the next word came out as a sultry purr. "...
exhausted."
And the second she said the words, Gretel felt an ache filling his muscles, an intense, overwhelming weariness. At first, he wondered if it was a fey spell--but no, this felt too intense, too
real
.
It felt less like fatigue caused by a suggestion and more like... like fatigue that a suggestion had been making him ignore.
He licked dry lips. His head was swimming. "How... how long have we been, um...?"
A more important question flickered alight in his mind. If this was just a rest stop, how much further was Marise planning to take him?
Where were they going?
As Marise proceeded into the campsite, she turned to face him fully. Gretel forced himself to keep his eyes on hers, tried to wield his worries to shake his mind to full wakefulness--but this was no spell of sleep. This was the toll of a body on the brink of collapse. He
needed
to rest. "Well?" Marise prompted. "What are you waiting for, Gretel,
darling
"
"W-Where..." Gretel struggled for a moment before finding his tongue. "Where are we--"
"Surely you're
tired
," she cooed, lashes fluttering. Her voice cut over his like a hot knife through pastry dough, and his voice flaked and gave way almost instantly.
"I'm--yes, but--"
"Surely you're
hungry
," she sang, swaying from side to side.
Gods, he was. He felt like he hadn't eaten all day, felt like he was about to pass out. Had that been her plan all along? To wear him out? To walk him until he was ready to collapse right into her arms?
"N-No, I--"
"Surely you're," she said sweetly, reaching up and slowly squeezing her massive tits together,
