Reluctantly Rogue Pt 01

WARNING: This is a long story, but it is unfinished, and likely to remain in that state.

Also, it contains:

-Low levels of erotic content

-Slow Pacing

-Annoying characters

-Unsatisfying events

Consider yourself forewarned, dear reader!

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RELUCTANTLY ROGUE:

The Indecent Adventures of Atyr Bracken

PART ONE

In Exchange for a Hound

***

CHAPTER ONE

Blood in the Water

Atyr was having feelings. Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say instead, that feelings were happening to him; they were as though a thing external. And they were weird feelings. They were only fleeting; there for a moment, then gone again, but they were weird. They were feelings like a sense of almost remembering, or perhaps of smelling delicious food when hungry, or maybe more like the spinning fuzziness at the edge of sleep. More than anything though, they were like realizing that the world all around was more exciting, more stimulating, more arousing than he'd ever before been aware. It was the sudden knowledge of sex in all things.

But it was only for a moment. Only for a flicker of a moment, and then the feeling would be gone. This was the third time he had felt the feelings, and it was starting to cause problems.

The first time he had felt it had been mid-morning. He'd been clearing brush in preparation for felling a tall, straight oak, when for a brief instant, he'd felt an exhilaration at being shirtless and free under the sky, with the breeze caressing his naked skin. His wiry frame had shuddered slightly, and the weirdness had passed.

The second time it had come it had been weaker, barely noticeable. He had been seated on the trunk of the felled oak, eating a quick midday meal of fish and sour blackthorn berries, when the food in his mouth had taken on such a satisfying richness that a little moan had slipped from his lips. He had shaken his head and it had dissipated, perhaps no more than an effect of his yet-unsated hunger.

The third time was the strongest, and it caught him now standing on the trunk, hatchet in hand, hewing the wood into shape to serve as the ridge beam for his new cabin. He could almost have sworn he heard a tiny, bell-like whisper of a voice. For a moment, he was struck by exactly how everything he was doing felt, the sensation of grasping the haft of the axe, of the smooth, sensual flow of his body in motion-- it was all overwhelmingly arousing. Distracted, the blow of his hatchet came in side-on, and the bit caught and snapped in the dense wood, a chip of the freshly sharpened blade flying off erratically and catching him high on his inner thigh.

He looked down at the dark, reddish patch beginning to spread through the course weave of his pants and swore. He looked at the large divot in the head of the hatchet and swore. He looked at the timber he was standing on, not yet half hewn into shape, and he swore. He looked back at his leg, feeling the hot drops of blood already trickling down inside his pants, headed for his bare toes, and swore again. He guessed there was going to be a lot of swearing today.

Washing his leg and stopping the bleeding came first. The hatchet blade had been clean, but Atyr had seen what could happen to even small, neat wounds that were left untended. Out in the Brookwood, nearly two days walk from town, he didn't need to deal with a cut going sour on him.

He looked across the clearing to the wide, slow-spinning pool, nearly waist deep. It was, he had been assuming, fed from an underground spring. Presumably it outflowed somewhere, back down through cracks in the rock. The strange fish he had found there were fat, lazy, and greedy for his bait; on most days it was a perfect spot to catch a quick meal. But today, it would be a perfect spot for cleaning what he hoped would prove to be a minor leg wound.

He stripped out of the worn and bloodied work pants, chucked them onto the stump next to his discarded vest and boots, and slid on his bare feet down the small, steep bank, plunging in immediately over his knees into the sun-warmed water. He carefully splashed at the wound, washing away the blood, and was relieved to see it was small, and shallow. Atyr's breath caught for a moment and slowly he swore again, noting that the cut was barely a thumbs-breadth below the tip of his cock. Thank the fates for luck in unlucky times! He tried not to dwell on what that slice might have looked like half a hand higher, breathed out long and slow, and waded deeper into the water.

It was always strikingly colder in the center of the pool, and Atyr gasped as the ripples of the eddy reached his wounded thigh, and, at the same moment, other sensitive parts of him. He began to rub gently at the cut, cleaning it as much as he could, the water turning faintly pink around him.

He startled slightly as he felt a fish brush against his ankle, and kicked to shoo it away as he cleaned the wound. A moment later it wriggled between his knees and he jumped in surprise. No wonder these things were so easy to catch; they were fearless! Immediately after that the fish grabbed his thigh and Atyr swore yet again, loudly, and in a voice much higher than he would have preferred. "Fates, what is that!"

Atyr grabbed wildly at the water and to his surprise, actually caught hold of something. He yanked it up with a splash, and froze. Instead of a fish, he held a long, slender, hand, pale green like the shells of the little emerald snails on the banks. It was attached to a long, smooth green arm, which proved to be attached to the rest of a slim green... woman? She surfaced in front of him, and gave him a look somehow both reproachful and arousing. Her hand slithered out of his grasp, and she bobbed there directly in front of him, with the water right at the level of her opalescent lips.

Since the water level was at her lips, and since the water level was also right at Atyr's... well the water came just below his waist, and since she was floating directly in front of him, he couldn't help but notice his soft cock was bobbing around in the water less than a hands breadth from her lips. Her pearly, glistening, slightly parted lips.

Something in the back of the back of his mind was trying to say something muddled about how it was rather odd that there was a green woman just hanging out under the surface of his little pool, but that something was smothered and extinguished by something else, something hot that washed through Atyr, from his feet up to his head, and back down to his hips, and pooled there inside his pelvis like a hot, liquid pressure. His head began to swim, and all thought left him, replaced with an irresistible desire for this strange woman in the water. He watched as his cock began to stiffen in the cool water, growing, growing, and as it grew and hardened, it stretched closer and closer to the green woman's parted lips.

She ran a pointed tongue along those lips, a moment before the head of Atyr's cock reached them and pressing against them ever so slightly. She opened her mouth, and he half noted her pearly, white teeth, pointed, in double rows.

"Do you want me?" Her voice, when she spoke, was soft, breathy, a world of pleasure promised in the simple word "want".

He nodded slowly. Yes. She was the only thing he wanted, the only thing he could want right now.

She smiled up at him, her pale green eyes locked to his. The tongue snaked back out, wrapping around his shaft, impossibly long. It gripped him with its slick length and began to writhe. Atyr felt that pressure in his core building fast, his balls were tightening up against him, pulsing, ready to drain themselves into her mouth.

The woman moved forward slowly in the water. He felt her hands trailing up his thighs to grip his ass, guiding his hips forward. Her mouth was hot as he entered it; the slick warmth alone nearly caused him to tip over the edge of release. Already, his head was swimming. He couldn't think, he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe, his thoughts were more and more clouded. He couldn't breathe. All he could register was soft, slippery heat as she began to suck slowly along his length, taking him deep. He felt the resistance of the back of her throat. She swallowed, and took him all the way, pushing herself forward until her nose pressed into the patch of short hair at his base. She pulled slowly away then, lips sealed around his shaft. As his cock slid free of her tight throat, he felt the orgasm nearly sucked from him. She opened her mouth wide, grinned, and plunged back down, eagerly swallowing him once, twice, again. He couldn't think, he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe...

He couldn't breathe.

Atyr's head cleared slightly, and all about him and above him and below him was water, water and the woman, still grasping him with her strong, thin hands, and with his pulsing cock still buried deep in her face. The world was darkening and brightening at the same time. He gasped as her throat worked around him, and a cloud of bubbles shot out of mouth. Water filled his lungs with a wet fire, and he tried to stand, but there was no bottom. Something in him knew he had to leave, to get back to the surface, but all he wanted was to remain deep in this strange woman, deep in the water. He moaned with pleasure and more water filled him, and everything was fading until all he could feel was the burning pain in his chest, and the burning cum about to flow out of his cock and down her throat.

Then that weird feeling was back, stronger than he'd yet felt it, and it was angry now, pulsing through his mind and body like a waking dream, and suddenly she was thrashing away from him, and he felt the floor of the pool once more beneath him, and he lunged for the surface and the pool was shallow again, and there was the green woman flailing about in the water, grabbing and swatting at something flying erratically around her face, and he was coughing up water, and he was vomiting, and then something was flying at his face, and a tiny, clear voice was urging him to the bank, and he staggered out of the pool and collapsed, and everything was dark.

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CHAPTER TWO

Consciousness and its Absence

Light forced its way between his fluttering lids. He was staring up at the leaves of the Brookwood, dark against the bright afternoon sky. His chest burned. His unkempt hair was still dripping with water. His thigh throbbed where he'd cut it. His head was filled with sloshing, painful waves of something disorienting and unpleasant.

Above all his balls hurt. They hurt like a donkey had kicked him straight between the legs. And no wonder. He'd never felt the need to come that fiercely, and judging from his cock, still straining towards the sky, he hadn't quite managed it during the... experience with the woman in the water. His vision was clearing, and as it did, he noticed what was probably the second, no, third weirdest thing of the day so far.

Seated on his leg, just a hands-breadth from his twitching erection, and roughly the same size as it, was a miniature woman. She looked almost translucent, faintly glowing with a fuzzy sort of light. She had wings. And she was grinning at him.

"Hello, you woke up fast! I thought you'd be out for a while. Would you like to be my adventurer?" Hers was the same tiny, ringing voice that had urged him to get out of the pool, moments ago. As she spoke, that weird feeling of pure arousal hit him again, but this time it didn't wash across him and disappear. If the previous times he'd felt it had been waves of sensuality, this was a tide. The world went dark again.

***

"Sorry!" came the bell-like voice, pulling him up through blackness. "I really should have toned it down, with you in your current state."

Atyr drifted back to full consciousness, the weird, erotic feeling still there, but muted now. He lifted his head, staring down at the tiny woman on his thigh. Faerie? Was this a faerie?

Head still muddled, he just asked. "Are you a, um, a faerie?" This was apparently immensely humorous, for she broke into a burst of tinkling giggles, jumping to her feet and dancing around on his thigh, unperturbed by her proximity to his erection.

"Am I a faerie, am I a faaaaaerie." She spun in a circle and bowed to him. "Yes, of course! But no, because faeries aren't real, you dummy." She paused, looked thoughtfully at the sky, and continued, "But yes after all, because I'm what you probably think a faerie is." She smirked at him, and then repeated, "Dummy."

As his senses trickled back, Atyr was becoming progressively more uncomfortable with the fact that there was a tiny, maybe-faerie dancing around right next to his penis. Which, he noticed with dismay, was leaking a bead of pre-cum. It began to ooze slowly down the shaft. The maybe-faerie followed his mortified gaze, and watched in interest as the sticky liquid stretched its stringy way down to his stomach.

He tried to brush her away, but she danced further down his leg, still laughing at him. He sat up to try again, and the eddy came into view, barely a half stride from his feet. That sight pushed him to full wakefulness, and he skittered backwards across the grass in a sudden panic. The maybe-faerie laughed aloud again and flitted up to his shoulder as he settled a half-dozen strides further away.

"Don't worry!" She was laughing in his ear, and the weird feeling trickled over him again. Actually, maybe he wasn't so frightened after all -- maybe he even enjoyed the fear, the thrill and excitement of it? He shook his head, and the feeling vanished.

"Sorry sorry sorry again!" she said. "I don't mean to, it's just that I like you. Anyway, don't worry, she can't leave the pool. Or, she won't anyway. And she won't bother you anymore unless you go in bleeding again. Dummy." She paused thoughtfully. "Unless you want her to bother you, in which case you could probably just ask." She giggled mischievously and flitted to his other shoulder, whispering in his other ear, "Doooo you want her to bother you again?"

Atyr's cock jumped as he remembered the first part of his brief encounter with the green woman. Another, larger bead of pre-cum forced its way out of his cock, and dripped lazily down to add to the mess.

The voice came in his ear again, "That," she pointed at his erection, "won't go away unless you do something about it, you know. That's how she works."

Atyr jerked his head away. "Do something about it?" His heart was pounding with a lingering fear, a fearsome arousal, and a rapidly returning sense of embarrassment. Then he caught her meaning. "Do something about it?"

A giggle in his ear. "I'll watch."

"You won't!" Atyr stumbled to his feet. "I wont!" He swayed a bit, but managed to remain upright.

She was fluttering an arms-length in front of his face now, bobbing about cheerily in the air. "You won't what?"

Atyr stared at the small woman, equal parts aghast at her forwardness, and surprised at how he was managing to react so relatively normally to this absolutely not normal afternoon. He stalked over to the stump where his clothes lay. Or rather, he intended to stalk. In reality he staggered, knees wobbling beneath him.

From behind him, a giggle. "I like your butt." A quick shot of that weird, sleepy-horny-hungry feeling caught him.

Anger was mixing with his embarrassment now, as he began pulling on his pants.

"Good luck!" came the little voice, now just above his head. He flinched, ducking involuntarily, and swore again.

"Fates, what is wrong with you? Are all faeries like this?"

"Like me? No. We're all different. And we're all not faeries."

"You're not all faeries?"

"No, dummy, we're all not faeries. I told you faeries aren't real."

Atyr stared angrily up at the not-faerie, painfully trying to stuff himself in.

"Like I said, good luck!" She seemed amused at his awkward attempts.

He managed to fit his still-hard cock into the garment, where it throbbed uncomfortably against the laces.

More titters from above. "Ok, I'm impressed, that's a lot to fit in there. That problem is still not going to fix itself though. Once you start with her, you um... have to finish." Flitting down to hover in front of the pulsing bulge she poked with a tiny finger at the sticky mess already starting to soak through. "See?"

Atyr leapt backward. "What is wrong with you!?" The fierceness with which he had intended to speak was undercut slightly by a squeak from his disloyal voice.

Pressed tightly against the fabric, every twitch of his aching shaft sent a jolt through his body, and caused his balls to tighten eagerly. He could feel the cum getting ready to explode out of him. His breath was beginning to shake, his thin stomach tensing. His hips began to thrust slightly of their own accord, sliding the head against the slick, pre-cum soaked fabric.

A tiny weight alighted on his shoulder again, and a voice chimed in his ear, "Oh. Um, actually, I think the problem might fix itself after all." And then again, now with the full force of that weird feeling behind them, two words, "I'll watch."

That was all it took, in that moment the bizarre idea of the little faerie watching him was the most erotic thing he could imagine. The orgasm rolled through his slim body. All his muscles tensed as one. He felt his balls draining, his pelvis spasming, a heated river of pleasure coursing through his core, blinding him as his already achingly hard cock swelled somehow larger and began to eject an immense amount of hot, wet cum, gush upon gush, almost without pause; a nearly steady stream as seemingly every drop within him spurted forth.

It was a long moment before he began to register the world around him. He was lying on his back once again, feeling drained in every way he could be. Lifting his head, he noted the front of his pants, drenched with more cum than he would have believed himself capable of producing. And of course, still there, standing on a dry patch of fabric, and grinning devilishly at him, was the not-faerie.

"You might want to wash these." He felt the world begin to melt away again, but he heard her giggle. "I would recommend someplace other than the pool."

***

When Atyr woke up again he was shivering, it was almost full dark, and he was still half naked on the dewy grass. He felt as exhausted as he ever had. He tried to think about exactly what it was that had happened to him that afternoon, but his mind wouldn't focus. It kept slipping sideways to other topics: topics like food, like warmth, like sleep. Oh, definitely sleep.

"Well, that's a question for the morning." On to practical matters. His pants were, he found, definitely in need of cleaning, and still unpleasantly damp in places. He recalled the whatever-she-was's words about the pool, not that he needed the reminder. He looked around for his tiny visitor but couldn't find her anywhere. That didn't mean much, as small as she was, but he couldn't summon the energy to care right now. Laundry and not-fairies, both morning problems, he decided, stripping out of the pants and dropping them mindlessly on the ground.

Nude, he stumbled over to his makeshift hide shelter and grabbed his cloak, wrapping it around himself. He scrounged some dry tinder and kindling and started a small fire from the afternoon's embers. Just enough to warm him, and to see by. No matter what the not-faerie had said, he didn't trust that pool at all. Cold, and naked aside from his cloak, alone in the dark, he had never felt quite as vulnerable and exposed as he did in that moment.

He collected his small knife, and braved the shadows near the eddy to retrieve his chipped hatchet. He leaned his short hunting bow on the half log where he sat by the fire, unstrung but easy to hand. Glancing over at the darkness where he knew the water lay, hearing the soft, sinister lapping at the bank, he no longer had any desire for food. He settled down with his makeshift arsenal, rough weave of the cloak against his bare skin, fire at his back, and turned his watchful gaze to the night. However much he wanted sleep, it could wait until the sun returned. He would not be closing his eyes this night.