Roses and Violets

The barmaids were melting his mind away.

Gerrim lay helplessly back and squirmed like a kitten on catnip, trying in vain to hold his breath as Monarch—the big-breasted platinum blonde—hooked her leg over his, half-straddling his side, and slowly unscrewed the heart-shaped rose quartz stopper of the perfume bottle.

On his left side, the strawberry-blonde Swallowtail clung to him, stray locks from her bouffant tickling his cheek as she smiled down at him, played her finger along his quivering lips. She wanted him to open wide, but she only needed a little bit of give to slip her finger inside—and once Monarch's 'perfume' was ready to be applied to that finger, that would be enough. He had to keep his mouth tightly shut.

That would be easier if the third barmaid, Crystalwing, wasn't down between his legs right now. Her hands gripping his hips, the made-up blonde bimbo's candy-pink lips planted loud, smacking-wet sticky kisses on his inner thighs. With every kiss, she came closer and closer to her true prize: his hard, twitching cock. With every kiss, she moaned, as though her lips were so sensitive she couldn't bear it.

But she didn't stop kissing. And with every kiss, his skin sang and tingled with pleasure.

Kissing cane,

the Toxin Ranger thought weakly, biting his lip as he felt the numerous kiss-marks she'd already planted on his face, his lips.

Offshoot, pun unintended, of sugar cane, known for its stickier, gooier sap that can be turned into a very powerful aphrodisiac. If applied over a coat of hazel oil, it can be worn as a slightly uncomfortable lipstick. Gets everywhere.

The thought of how he would look to an onlooker—a man nearly six feet tall, big and muscular and completely naked, his face covered with lipstick marks and his ruddy brown dimples glowing like embers as these three blonde barmaids, fully dressed in those pretty pastel dresses of theirs, held him down and toyed with him—

The rookie Ranger wished it didn't make his cock twitch so obviously.

He really wished Crystalwing didn't notice.

"

Ooooh

!" She fawned over his cock with tiny teasing touches of her fingers, tickling it, admiring it. "I do declare,

this

flowerboy's got a

cuuuute

pistil to play with!" She giggled, and the part of Gerrim that was still lucid and not crying out helplessly from those touches wanted very badly to correct her on her plant terminology. She plumped up her lips and batted her eyelashes up at him, her expression coquettish and sweet—and unmistakably hungry. "Ready for some hospitality, sugar?"

"Hold on, Crystal," said Swallowtail, her voice barely a breath. She ran her finger over his lips over and over again. It was a hypnotic motion, Gerrim knew—one of the classics. If he closed his eyes, she could entrance him with touch alone.

But her bright blue eyes were hard to look away from, too. He whimpered, looking between the three Southwestern belles, as Monarch dipped a little brush into the strong-smelling perfume. Their blue eyes stared into his soft brown eyes—exotic, alien, irresistible. They glimmered like alien planets, like pools of water on sunny days. It felt so easy to just stare into those strange, shimmering blue eyes.

And it didn't help that Gerrim's surroundings smelled so... heady. Intoxicating. Inescapable.

"But I wanna take care of him

now

, Amber!" Crystal whined, and now Gerrim knew two of their names. Her fingers fell to his thighs and gripped him once more, and Gerrim numbly realized he could have taken advantage of her releasing her grip on his hips to struggle. Too late now. "Poor boy needs

attention

! Just look at him!" She smiled up at him and winked. "Flowerboy seems to be a

virgin

," she cooed. "He needs a proper introduction!"

Oh. Oh, gods. How did she...

Gerrim's cheeks must have grown even redder, because Swallowtail and Monarch

oooed

and started giggling. Monarch started to delicately run the brush over Swallowtail's fingertips, painting her nails a striking red.

Gerrim caught a whiff and recognized the concoction instantly—succubi's folly, or "slutberries", fermented and distilled. His breath quickened. But there was nothing he could do.

Not without his pack. And that was blocking the door.

"Maybe he does," Swallowtail breathed, as her last nail was painted with the drug that would soon break Gerrim's mind for good. "But we'll have

lots

of time to break him once he's nice and dosed, won't we?"

"Ooh," Monarch nodded eagerly, taking a little lick from the brush and shuddering with delight before re-stoppering the bottle, "g-gonna... he's gonna

cum

and

cuuuuum

..."

Crystal's breath was hot over his cock. Gerrim was practically melting with need. "But he can cum now, can't he?" she asked sweetly.

"What's that, darling?" Swallowtail asked, playing her red-painted nails before Gerrim's eyes, tapping his cheek. His eyelids fluttered.

"You need him to open his mouth," Crystal said, giggling. "And... I can make him

scream

, Amber. Isn't that right, boy?"

She blew him a little kiss.

Gerrim swallowed. Swallowtail had gotten a crafty look.

He had to conceal his fear, he knew. Had to hide how close he was, even though it would be obvious to Crystal. He and she both knew all it would take was one kiss to seal him to her will forever. He needed Swallowtail to doubt her, to say no,

please, say no...

As Swallowtail glanced back towards Crystal—and his big, throbbing, obviously desperate cock—Gerrim took a risk.

"Please," he whimpered, keeping his lips as closed as possible, "just... l-let me get my bag, a-and I can use what's in it to help you break free..."

Swallowtail's eyes flashed back to him, and he closed his mouth just in time as her fingers came back to his lips. She giggled, gleefully running her fingers over his lips, and gave him an innocent look of confusion. "What was that, sugar? Ooh, I didn't hear you." Her fingers tickled his cheek. "Speak up."

He stared up at her and kept his lips tightly sealed.

Please take the bait, please take the bait...

"It sounds like he wants us to get his bag," Monarch said thoughtfully. She glanced back, then gave Amber a sly look. "Better do as he says!"

"Wh—oh." Swallowtail's eyes lit up. She ran a finger over her butterfly tattoo, then bounced off the bed. "Ooh, yes, boy, that's a

wonderful

idea!"

He watched her ass sway in that frilly dress, and momentarily let himself breathe heavily. He had to try to recover himself now, while the threat of the slutberry drug was gone. This would be his last respite.

And with Crystalwing moaning softly, positively drooling over his cock, he knew it wouldn't last long.

Swallowtail hefted the bag up from the door, giggling at its weight, and bounced back over. She smiled down at him, her lovely strawberry-blond hair almost glowing in the lamplight, her tight green barmaid's dress swishing as she sat down next to Monarch. "This backpack?" she cooed.

"Mm." He nodded nervously. "The—the outsi—"

Crystalwing's tongue touched his cock's tip, and he squeaked with shocked delight.

"What was that?" Monarch asked, as the barmaids giggled over him. "Ooh, what was that, sugar?"

He squirmed and bit his lip, whines slipping from his throat despite his best efforts, as Crystal gave him another tiny lick. And another. He was so, so close, but he

needed

a kiss...

her

kiss...

"Was it in... this pocket?" Swallowtail asked playfully, arching an eyebrow. "Or this one?" Her hand hovered over the pocket that contained most of his toxin cures—he kept his mouth shut. "Or this one?"

Gerrim needed his wits, needed to keep his head, he whined and whimpered and cried as Crystal licked and sighed and cooed in wordless adoration for his big, needy cock...

Swallowtail set the pack on the bed and indicated a fourth pocket. This one contained several important snakebite antidotes—and something special he'd found on the way here. "Is it... this one?" she breathed.

He nodded wordlessly, as Crystal smacked her lips in anticipation.

Swallowtail drew out three little blue vials and a little puffball mushroom. "Is it these?" she cooed, holding them just out of reach in her left hand. "Is it one of these?"

Gerrim nodded. He forced out the words, "O-One for each of y—"

Swallowtail tossed the blue vials over her shoulder. He heard them crack and shatter. "Whoopsie!"

He widened his eyes.

She leaned in as they all giggled. She was the picture of mock-contrition, wide-eyed and guilty, pouting, as the painted fingers of her left hand started to stroke over his lips. He smelled slutberry juice. "You're not mad, are you?" she cooed. "Don't worry. I guess we'll just be your little sluts forever, sugar. But I'm sure we can find something else

fun

to do with what you had in your—"

Gerrim reached with his left hand and grabbed her right hand, still carelessly holding the puffball.

He gave it a hard squeeze.

Swallowtail just giggled and pushed his hand against the bed, tossing aside the squashed mushroom bits. "That wasn't very nice at all," she scolded. "Crystal, make him nicer."

His heart stopped. He stopped breathing.

"Yay!" Crystal clapped her hands excitedly as Swallowtail slipped back to straddling his left side.

Just in time for him to watch as Crystal's hot pink candied lips slid over the head of his cock for a long, loud, sloppy, irresistible, brain-melting kiss.

Gerrim gave a squeal of bliss as he came, as the pleasure seeped into him, and his mouth opened in helpless joy. He bucked his hips in mindless delight, sensuous ecstasy surging through him in an instant and into Crystal's hot, eager mouth.

And Swallowtail fell atop him, giving a little sleepy moan, and he found himself smothered in her bosom.

Crystal was moaning loudly as he bucked wildly, but he heard her moans turn questioning as Monarch, too, swooned. Gerrim was trapped beneath them, helplessly cumming into Crystal's hot mouth as her tongue lavished love over him, milked him easily. She sounded confused, but seemed unable to stop.

She was cumming too, he realized. Too lost in pleasure to stop and think. All she could do was kiss. And suck. And lick. And suck. Oh, gods, it was

unbearable

...

He was still lost in afterglow as her confused moans turned into sleepy moans, then to soft, dreamy sounds of happiness, as she slipped off at last into sleep.

It took Gerrim a moment to realize he was buried beneath three horny barmaids and couldn't really breathe anymore.

He eventually extricated himself, trying to manage his dizziness. The fluffy puffball was rare in these dry areas, and its spores were stronger the less water it got. Already, the three barmaids were mindlessly squirming, humping each other, their eyelids fluttering as wonderful wet dreams trickled through their softened minds.

Gerrim felt sleepy, too, but he'd held his breath long enough to avoid the worst of it. He made it to his feet and staggered away.

Gerrim leaned against the dresser, catching his breath, watching as the barmaids writhed. His cock was still dribbling slightly, and he stared with a bit lip at Crystal as she took Monarch's thumb into her mouth and started sleepsucking. Her moans were the loudest of the three.

When the hazel oil was applied improperly, the kissing cane lipstick could backfire and cause extreme sensitivity to the oral region. This woman seemed to have completely messed up the dosage—or maybe she liked it that way. Sucking someone else got her off. What a silly bimbo.

Gerrim realized he'd started stroking his cock, his mind drifting idly.

Maybe he didn't have a right to call anyone else a bimbo right now.

Shivering, he hefted up his bag and stumbled over to the door. The stall owner's words echoed reproachfully in his head.

Trust no one.

He'd tried to warn Gerrim.

"Easy enough," he gasped, and hesitated.

He checked his bag. Sure enough, he still had one vial of honesty extract remaining.

He looked nervously over the three, and his gaze settled on Monarch. He swallowed. They'd all be sleepfucking for at least another hour or so.

Time to get a few answers from them about what he

really

had to do to get inside the castle.

~ ~ ~ ~

Of course there was a secret passage. There was always a secret passage.

Gerrim panted as he crawled up and down the narrow ventilation tunnel. Once used by the former baron to drop an enslaved slime girl or five upon unsuspecting intruders, the tunnel had been repurposed after his death. Apparently, Baroness Violet thought the slime girls were 'ridiculous', and had put them to work in the kitchens instead.

But the vent still led right to the bedrooms—a tower of the castle now completely taken up by lavish bedroom suites, hot baths, an open bar staffed by a pink slime girl he was advised to avoid at all costs, and two 'kennels'. This was Violet's... play area.

The memory of the hucow tickled his brain and dripped down his spine like ice water, sending tingles through him. But not tonight. Tonight she would most likely be playing with one of her favorite captives. A would-be burglar who had once made fun of one of Violet's lewd catgirl posters, this captive had been given a catgirl obsession so unbearable she now wanted to be one—and begged to be called 'Kitten' by her Mistress.

Violet had to be stopped.

As Gerrim drew near Kitten's chambers, he could hear the Brat Baroness's catty, condescending voice ringing out. "Are you really not able to stand up, Kitten?"

"I... I, um..." A small voice was letting out pathetic mews between words. As they echoed through the shaft, Gerrim could hear that voice positively dripping with arousal and need, molten with it. He swallowed. This was it.

He sniffed the air, quickly confirming there were no obvious airborne toxins. But really, if there had been, he'd have been lost by now.

Hesitantly, he pressed his eye against the vent and gazed into the chambers of the Kitten's Kennel.

In many respects, it was surprisingly like an ordinary bedroom. It was well-lit, with a crackling woodstove, an open wardrobe, a white-linen bed and a small bookcase beside it. There was just one window—a nice modern glass four-pane, with ivy crawling all around outside.

Nymph ivy,

he noted automatically.

Hybrid of poison ivy and old wicked bindweed. Oils in the leaves and flowers cause extreme ticklishness, has some limited animation to capture incapacitated victims. Not ordinary decoration.

Indeed, nothing here was ordinary at all. The room was lit with a fiery orange glow. The closet was full of

costumes

—maid outfits, harem dresses, scandalous catsuits and an endless array of collars and cat ear hairbands. The bookcase held only a half-dozen books, and from the covers Gerrim could see, they were all lewd—one seemed to be a picture book, entitled "What Good Kitties Do".

Mantra text,

he noted.

printed for use in deepening mind control.

Atop the woodstove simmered a kettle, whistle-up, that he quite suspected was generally used to brew some mind-melting concoction.

And, of course, upon the bed sat a strawberry blonde in a maroon dress, smiling with one finger to her pouting lips, one leg hooked over the other as her heel tapped the floor. Her eyebrows were raised in mock-amazement, her red lips half-parted. Sparkling sapphire earrings jangled from her ears. She was rather short, but buxom, her painted eyelids lowered over bright blue bedroom eyes that regarded the woman on the floor with dusky, lusty contempt bordering on amusement.

Gerrim looked with dread from the Brat Baroness Violet of Skarrivan to the quivering woman at her feet. The redhead looked to be perhaps in her late twenties—certainly older than he and Violet—with sunset-orange hair that looked almost luminescent in the firelight. She had a cute button nose and a lithe, fit figure befitting a former burglar. Her ornate undercut dropped into luscious bangs shading pretty brown eyes and gave way to something of a fluffy mohawk as it arced and spilled to the back of her head. She was as pale-tanned as Violet—a native of the Western Plains, no doubt.

Most notably, she was currently dressed in a truly humiliating costume—a lacy white dress, almost a wedding dress, that she was quite visibly tangled up in. She tugged at its sleeves, but seemed to be fumbling with her hands, as if unsure how to use opposable thumbs. A look of desperate misery was in her eyes as she almost rolled onto her back with the intensity of her futile struggles. A neat little leather collar, complete with bells, hung around her neck.

Perhaps most degrading, though, was the little wire hairband she wore that placed a pair of fluffy, tufted lynx cat ears atop her head.

She mewed miserably, struggling to rise only to fall right back onto her ass. At first, Gerrim thought she was trying to escape.

Then he realized hr eyes were fixed on Violet. Her tongue lolled out and she mewled pathetically as Violet rubbed her thighs together. No, this wasn't about escape at all.

"Oh my gosh, Kitten." Violet giggled. "I never told you you didn't know how to walk! Are you doing this on purpose?"

"N-No, Mistress," Kitten whispered. She squirmed, placing her arms between her legs and visibly humping around them. "I—I can't, um... get up. 'Cause of the dress!"

"Ooh, do you like it?" Violet beamed. "Isn't it a nice present?"

"Y-Yes!" Kitten spoke with surprising desperation. "Yes, mistress, I

l-love

it!"

"You didn't thank me much when I let you put it on." Violet's smile dropped slightly. "I thought you were gonna, like,

show

me you liked your present. If you don't like it, I think you should just say so."

"Oh..." Kitten bit her lip. "Oh, Mistress, it's... it's

wonderful

, I just can't, um..." Her voice broke. "... c-can't, um..."

Violet smirked. "Can't what, Kitten?"

Kitten let out a high-pitched whine, broken up by whimpers as she humped her hands helplessly.

"Gods, you're

adorable

." Violet kicked off a heel and patted Kitten's head with her foot—Gerrim's breath caught as he watched the not-catgirl desperately rub her head against it, as if craving even the slightest, most degrading affection. Any kind of touch at all from her Mistress. "I bet every day you thank the gods you have

me

to take care of you, right?"

"Y-Yes, oh, yes, Mistress..."

"Aren't I a good Mistress?"

"Yes, M-Mistress!" Kitten fell onto her back, her paws—

hands

up in the air, and squirmed like a flipped tortoise. "Mistress, please—b-best Mistress, wonderful, perfect..."

Violet smiled. It was a genuine smile, Gerrim realized in amazement. She genuinely loved this praise—praise she had clearly programmed Kitten to give her! "I love how

honest

this dress makes you," she teased, kicking off her other heel and walking over to her captive. "No more begging for mercy, huh?"

She descended to crouch before Kitten, tenderly helping to disentangle the catgirl—the

human slave

—as Kitten continued to hump her hands. "Because," she continued with glee, "you

secretly

love every second of it, don't you?"

"Thank you, Mistress," Kitten whimpered.

"Aw." Violet giggled. "Gosh, you're all just so

helpless

without me. It's like I'm a babysitter for a whole town. Always someone who needs to be taken care of."

Her eyes flitted to Gerrim. "Isn't that right, boy?"

Gerrim froze.

He was pressed against the vent, barely breathing. His eyes stared into Violet's—so electric blue, so heavy-lidded and sly.

She knew he was here. Gerrim had... had gotten caught up. She knew he was here. Fuck.

Slowly, hips swaying with almost mocking casualness, Violet approached. She was smiling in undisguised glee.