Restocing the Glade

Stupid orange priests!

Every time one of the clerics of the lord of flames came through, Bradrick had to go out and collect new 'entertainment'. Those few playmates that managed to survive were always so horribly maimed that it was a kindness to release them from their pain. Even trolls and orcs knew enough not to damage their toys when it was someone else's property!

Of course, trolls and orcs couldn't afford to replace one of Bradrick's nymphs and they were smart enough not to cross such a powerful wizard. The orange priests most certainly

could

afford it. Given the gold they forked over, in advance, they expected to use up their vessel.

Bradrick suspected it was quite literally a religious experience for the men. It was an opportunity for them to desecrate one of the very few truly pure and innocent creatures in this misbegotten world. Sure, nymphs fucked even more prodigiously than animals, but it was for the simple joy they both gave and received rather than any less wholesome reasons.

They paid handsomely for the privilege. Of course they would! It was the same reason that Bradrick's little pleasure glade was such a popular spot, despite the exorbitant rates he charged compared to the brothels in virtually any town or city. Not only did nymphs like to fuck, they did so with unparalleled skill.

The problem was, nymphs were hard to come by and even harder to catch. That was why every adventuring idiot didn't have a tale of his, or even

her

, time with the fey beauties. It could take years to find one and even then you had to be able to catch them without harming them.

Fortunately, Bradrick didn't have to worry about that little problem. It was the true secret to his success. As he gained power as a wizard, he had wondered and studied the mystical curse that created vampires and other undead. The fact that his chief rival had been a necromancer bent on becoming a master liche had ensured he learned every little thing he could about the subject. When the time came, the liche had fallen and he'd survived.

Still, it left Bradrick with the interesting theory. If magic could transform a wizard from a mortal form into an immortal one, what was to prevent a similar kind of transformation into a

different

immortal form. Fey, as semi-divine beings, certainly fell into that classification.

His experiments quickly disabused him of the notion that he might live forever, at least through those means. As with vampires and other undead, the extension of life provided by the process came with its own drawbacks. Certain personality archetypes seemed to be engrained in the very nature of most immortal beings.

Bradrick was quite happy with his own personality and was unwilling to sacrifice so much of himself simply for eternal life. Particularly when there were always more simple means available. So he'd have to drink a costly potion ever few decades? He was a wizard! His magic allowed him the power to collect and brew those potions even if it didn't also give him access to the wealth that could simply buy it.

The experiments, however, had provided him with quite literally a golden opportunity. With the right curse, he could transform an average woman into a nymph. The same spell, of course, would turn a male into a satyr but he, personally, had no use for that. Better still, the curse could be delivered by a dart shot from a blowgun. As a result, the target usually never realized they'd been attacked. The delivery both felt and looked like the sting of an insect. By the time the symptoms began to manifest, the minor prick had long been forgotten.

Bradrick could quite literally make new entertainment rather than spend the time and money hunting a new nymph down. Granted, boggle saliva wasn't cheap but, fortunately, the spell only called for single drop. As for the blood of a nymph, well, there was usually enough left over from the victims of the orange monks. In the rare cases there wasn't, he could get a pint or so from the rest of his harem.

Now, Bradrick sat in the comfort of the best room of a crossroads inn while he awaited the curse to run its course. Strictly speaking, there was no particular need to be particular in the women upon whom he inflicted the curse. Any number of near-human races could be affected. Just shoot the dart and a week later they began to feel the first stirrings. From there it only depended on the willpower of the subject how long she could last.

There were, however, some criteria that Bradrick used when he selected his prey. The first, and most important, was that she had to be from somewhere away from his home and glade. The transformation did change the physical appearance of those afflicted, but not enough that they could not still be recognized. If women began to disappear near his glade, he could find himself in an uncomfortable position if someone thought to look for them in his harem.

From a less pragmatic perspective, Bradrick preferred to hunt among the elves. Although every nymph was beautiful, the natural lithe grace and perfect features of the elves created superb quality nymphs. Besides, the race tended towards arrogance and no small amount of xenophobia. It fit his sense of irony that elfin women, who would never deign to touch a human, much less a troll or orc, would eventually be pawing at anything with a dick in desperation.

There was one last criterion that he used when he selected his target. She had to be isolated. While it did suit his humor that a frigid bitch, even for elves, transform into a sex addict, there was a more logical reason for it as well. Like with lycanthropes or vampires, the curse didn't fully take effect until a trigger event. Unlike the violence of the other two, however, his curse activated the first time she had sex.

The first reason for his selection was the very personal satisfaction of being the one to complete their transformations. If they had the natural tendency to avoid those around them, while their sexual drive began to slowly amp up, they would eventually flee rather than risk throwing themselves on the first male to come along. He'd lost a couple of his targets when their willpower failed. Those had ended up in the 'protective custody' of very lucky men.

Bradrick's current prey fit the bill perfectly. He didn't even know her name. The elfin woman was a scholar warrior, probably dedicated to the goddess of tactics. To the best of his knowledge, she hadn't taken the vow of celibacy common to members of her goddess' priesthood but she might as well have. The frigid bitch barely spoke to the men of her village, much less consorted with them.

He watched, through the scrying crystal, as she tried, desperately, to ignore the growing demands the curse placed upon her. She was so stubborn that she hadn't even sought out the aid of a priestess! Now, her body flushed with fever and sweat glistened on her skin. The effect was entrancing, particularly in light of the level of clothing she wore.

As her fever increased, she'd forgone her customary armor in favor of the boiled leather under-armor. The fascinating attire covered her feminine aspects, and the torso and stomach between, but nothing else. Even her back was mostly bare. Her only concession to modesty was a diaphanous robe that did little more than shade her natural skin tone.

The sheen of perspiration glittered beneath the immaterial fabric. It drew the eye quite nicely to the mounds of her cleavage and the soft valleys at the curve of her legs. The sight proved even more exciting with the knowledge that all that flesh would soon enough be his to enjoy.

Bradrick had watched her for nearly a week now. It spoke wonders for her resilience, or maybe just sheer stubbornness, that she had lasted as long as she had. At this point, she might become one of the rare few who ended up burning themselves up rather than succumb to the inevitable.

Her head jerked upright, eyes wide with terror. Bradrick hadn't bothered to include an audible component to his spying. There wasn't much need and the complication would have drained even more magic. In this case, he suspected that someone had just knocked on the door to her cabin.

"Go away!" Her mouth formed. He could almost hear the desperation and panic in her tone. He didn't even know the pitch of her voice. At that moment, however, even the stoutest male would probably be up into the soprano range as a combination of lust and fear worked on him.

Her body began to tremble. White-knuckled fingers clutched the edge of the chair on which she sat. That action, however, could have been as much to ensure something more solid than the boiled leather covered her. Her reaction proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that whoever had called on her was a male. Once more, she silently screamed for him to leave her alone.

Fresh beads of sweat had broken out on her delicate forehead. Bradrick's lopsided grin widened and he allowed his eyes to trail downward. Her breasts heaved, trapped within the girdle-like garment, and glistened with considerably more than a sheen. His gaze shifted farther down and he felt certain that the copious moisture, not that well hidden by her clenched hands, had little to do with sweat.

Once more, Bradrick began to worry that he had found someone just a bit

too

stubborn. If she didn't give in soon, she'd die. It had been easy enough for her to ignore the initial stages of the curse and once the later progression had occurred she'd locked herself safely in her cabin.

The chair fell over backwards as she bolted to stand too quickly. Terrified eyes looked beyond the scope of the scrying. Unconsciously, Bradrick was certain, one of her arms covered her breasts while she gripped her other arm. Meanwhile, her free hand cupped protectively between her legs.

One way or the other, the wait had come to an end. Despite her formidable will, she was about to complete her transformation. No matter how resolved, every single subject that had come into contact with a male had succumb. The only ones who had managed to allow themselves to be destroyed had done so having secured their isolation.

Before the door could be broken down, the warrior-woman turned and fled. The scene in his crystal followed as she flung open a window and leapt. A moment later she was on the ground and sprinting through the forest.

Bradrick smiled widely and shut down the scrying crystal. He gathered his belongings with a practiced ease and stored them all in a bag that quickly shrunk to fit on his belt. He took one last look at his reflection in the obscenely priced full-length mirror and headed out the door to the room.

The inn-keeper appeared magically, in the manner of all good hospitallers. Bradrick handed the woman several gold and informed her he would no longer require the room. She scrambled to find change for him but he assured her the rest was no more than remuneration for quality service. It always did well to leave such people thinking kindly of him, just in case he had to return that way some day. Or, possibly, in case anyone came looking for the lost woman. After all, such a gentleman as he couldn't possibly have had anything to do with it!

Bradrick had neither a mount nor a carriage. That might have seemed odd to the small staff of the inn, when he'd arrived a little over a week ago, but they had surely seen less comprehensible things in their time. As rich as he was, they probably suspected that he had other means of transportation and protection about him. They were correct, as well.

The entire observation could probably have been handled from the sanctity of his palatial manor. As with the sound for his scrying, however, Bradrick had decided to ration the use of his magic. It was only a short hop from there to the woods where his prey currently scurried. Once he was done, it would be quite a bit longer teleportation back to the glade. Even with a surge of energy from his intended activities, he would be hard-pressed to make two such jumps so closely together.

The scenery wavered and shifted with a wave of his hands. Where there had been the inn and two well traveled roads now stood nothing but tall trees. The canopy spread thick above him and prevented the nuisance of undergrowth. He scanned the area and quickly found the subject of his interest.

What had begun as an enthusiastic flight had already begun to falter. The fever which burned through her body made short work of any sustenance in which she'd partaken over the last week. Her arms clutched protectively around her waist and her steps became haggard. Even her warrior's awareness had begun to fail her. She never noticed him, some dozen feet away, as she continued to try to run.

He saw the stutter in her steps and watched as she finally collapsed to the ground. Her shoulders shook with tears even as she struggled to pull herself forward, too confused and weak to even stand again. He could hear her soft whimpers as he slowly approached.

Her warrior instinct finally kicked in when Bradrick intentionally stepped on a dry branch only a foot or so from her. She spun to her back, adrenalin providing the fuel her body didn't have. Unfortunately, the haunted, frightened, look in her eyes made the tension in her body seem less like a warrior prepared to strike and more like a cornered animal.

"What...what's happening to me?" At last she had asked the question that should have come out days ago. If it had, she might have been able to escape him, if not her ultimate fate. He wasn't certain how she'd come to think he might have an answer for her but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he

did

have those answers.

"Your body is in the middle of ascendance. Very near the end, truthfully." He began. "You resist the necessities it demands, however. The conflict has begun to tear your physical form apart. If you do not relinquish yourself to the inevitable, you will die."

He kept his tone neutral. It was the voice of an instructor. There was gentleness and understanding within it but also an unyielding statement of fact. He'd learned to add the hints of compassion simply to make the process easier, particularly in cases this close to the terminal condition.

"I...I don't...If I'm fighting it, I don't know how to stop."

"You do." He nodded sagely and brought a sad smile to his expression. He answered simply. He knew it was the truth, even. Her body demonstrated the subconscious knowledge by the way that her hips had begun to roll forward and back as soon as she'd realized his presence; the presence of a

male

. Given the way that the boiled leather hugged tight between her legs, the unrealized action simply

had

to be causing her clit to rub almost constantly. by the time she got that armor off she would probably be very close to orgasm.

Bradrick even knew that she was aware of the truth on a conscious level. She tried to push it back from her thoughts but the demands of her body kept it forefront. She'd noted the rounded curve of his ears the moment she rolled over. She knew what it was she fought from her body, in part, because he was of a lesser race.

"I don't want to die." Her quavering alto voice came out in a soft whisper. "It's one thing to fall in glorious battle. This...I feel like a coward letting my body tear itself apart."

"Then don't." Bradrick sat cross-legged inches from her feet. With less difference in their heights, she gained enough confidence to leverage herself to kneel opposite him. He noticed she hadn't gained enough confidence to assume the meditative pose that should have come so naturally to one of her studies. In fact, when she sat back on her heels, with her head slightly bowed, she seemed the supplicant rather than the warrior-scholar.

"What will become of me?"

He smiled. It was difficult to keep that smile from transforming into a grin of anticipated delight. She hadn't phrased it as a speculative question, hadn't asked what "might" happen but what "will" happen. Together with her posture, she'd already conceded herself to him. It was just a matter of walking her through the last few steps.

"You will transform into an immortal. A fey, true, but an immortal representation of a factor of the cycle of life."

Her eyes lifted, slightly, to peer through her thin lashes. The explanation helped, as he knew it would. A human would have been more intrigued by the prospect of immortality but an elf, who might live for hundreds of years anyway, could not help but connect with the suggestion of the cycles of nature.

The truth was, she would only represent a single aspect of the cycle. Despite their drive towards procreation, nymphs could only reproduce with satyrs, dryads, naiads, and other nature spirits. To the rest of the world, they were the symbol of the act of conception without the pesky difficulties of consequences.

Maybe she understood his little misdirection and intentionally chose to avoid it. Quite possibly, her body had already begun to drive her into literal madness with its insistence to the point where the scholar in her no longer even recognized the verbal maneuver. Whatever the reason, she didn't ask what her connection to the cycle would be.

"I...I can't..."

It was only partly a lie. In complete honesty, she would have said she couldn't bring herself to. As it was, he knew that, just as he knew she could no longer resist him with even the slightest push. The only reason she hadn't jumped him the moment she saw him, as she would have whatever male had been in the process of breaking down her door, was because of her prejudice against humans.

Bradrick reached out and rested his hands on her shoulders. Her body hummed with tension. She leaned forward, probably unaware that the action displayed her cleavage even more prominently. She kept her head tipped down. The fall of bangs obscured her face but he could see the tears that continued to drip from her eyes.

His hands caressed her shoulders and trailed down her arms. The semi-transparent robe slid before him touch and fell away from her. She barely noticed. Her hands remained clenched in her lap. He knew what would happen if they weren't and guided his own hands down to hers. He held her fingers lightly for a few seconds and then gently separated them.

Over the past week, he had been able to gauge the progression of the curse by her clothes alone. Initially, she wore articles that were more enticing than her traditional garb. As her drive began to become more noticeable, the trend quickly changed to adorn clothing as difficult as possible to circumnavigate. That had been when the full extend of armor had been donned full-time. As the fever began to mount, layers began to filter off.

The fact was, her body disliked the sensation of clothing. The best it provided her was a convenient means, as it currently did, to stimulate herself into full arousal. In general, and at worst, it acted as a barrier to necessity. That was, after all, the point.

Now, with her hands freed and her mind surrendered, her fingers began to work desperately to peel off the boiled-leather shell that restricted her. Her mind had begun to slip and now she found such ordinarily mundane actions complex. He left her to struggle with it while he meticulously removed his own britches and folded them on the ground nearby.

Bradrick barely had time to flinch when he turned back to the cursed woman. Her naked form collided with him in a burst of energy he never expected. What remained of her warrior strength bowled him onto his back. Her knees locked on either side of him while her hands pushed his shoulder to the ground. Her hips flailed backwards as she desperately tried to impale herself on his cock.

A chuckle rumbled out of him as her frustration mounted. She was so close but her instincts had now taken complete control. She was more animal than sentient. It never dawned on her that she could easily have kept him pinned with only one hand, freeing up the other to guide him inside her. He might have lay there and enjoyed her helpless flailing if each failed attempt didn't hurt slightly. With one hand on her hips to slow her desperation, he reached down and positioned himself. Even before he was fully aimed, she thrust herself backwards and sheathed him fully with her body.