Tales From The Midnight Maw Ch 02

The tavern was dim, lit by the warm orange flicker of firelight and the low blue glow of arcane runes etched into the bottles behind the bar. Outside, Gloambridge slept, unaware--or perhaps willfully ignorant--of the oddities that stirred beneath their eaves.

Annabelle stood behind the counter with a tankard in one hand and her eyes locked on the three adventurers now seated before her. Salem, still radiant in her lilac lingerie, lounged back against the bar as if she owned it. Eric leaned forward, chin in hand, his eyes bright and full of interest. Chris sat apart but alert, fingers lightly tracing the rim of his ale.

Annabelle took a sip of her own drink, then exhaled. "Right. So. Seymore isn't the only horny monster around here."

That got their attention.

"This land, Evescradle" she began, her voice dipping into a storyteller's cadence, "used to be under the rule of something

sinister.

About a decade back, a Vampire Lord named Varos moved into a forgotten fortress in the hills. He started small--thralls, blood cults, night raids. You know the deal."

Eric chuckled. "Real classic villain shit."

Annabelle grinned. "Exactly. Until one day a group of adventurers came along--much like yourselves--and put an end to his reign. Staked him through the heart.

Poof.

"

"That easy?" Chris asked, raising a brow.

"Not quite. He had enough arcane juice left in him for one last spiteful act. A curse. A big one. The kind of thing that would blight the land, kill the crops, turn the region into a dead zone for a hundred years."

She paused for effect, then laughed softly. "Only... he choked on his own blood during the incantation. Mispronounced something. Slurred a phrase or two. Scholars think he was aiming for drought and famine." She motioned with her mug to the window, indicating the town beyond. "Clearly that wasn't what happened."

"So, what did he cast instead?" Salem asked, eyes narrowing with curiosity.

"

Lust,

" Annabelle said. "Pure, overwhelming, corrupting

lust.

Every creature, every spell-touched being in Evescradle was warped. Monsters became insatiable. Spirits turned flirtatious, even perverse. Magic itself twisted into pleasure. And yes, even the people. If you had a hint magic in your blood, you were touched by the curse."

There was a long silence. Eric broke it.

"So what you're saying is... dude tried to curse the crops and instead cursed everyone's pants off?"

"More or less."

"

Amazing.

"

Annabelle nodded. "The effects were... chaotic at first. Some towns tried to fight it. Others gave in. But eventually, most folks just stopped coming here. Not because it's too dangerous--but because they don't want to get caught moaning through a mimic's tentacles, or getting groped by a flirtatious treant."

Salem smirked. "Sounds like most people lack imagination."

"Or they just have dignity," Chris muttered.

Eric raised his mug. "We shed our dignity a long time ago."

They all laughed.

"So why isn't the town hosting an orgy right now, if this curse is so powerful?" asked Chris.

"Glad I'm not the only one disappointed," Eric added.

Annabelle shrugged. "We've done what we could to dispel the magic on our own, but even mages have their limits. Still, the effects have lost their potency. So we've learned to cope with our urges in more acceptable ways."

"Like taming a mimic and using it as a sex toy?" Salem asked with a smirk. her clothes were still on the bar.

"Like taming a mimic and using him as a sex toy," Annabelle agreed, blushing.

"Oh, I'm certainly not one to judge." Salem added with a wink.

Annabelle leaned forward, both hands on the bar. Her blouse had been refastened, but her neckline still teased. "Which is why I think you three might actually thrive in Evescradle. Maybe even make a difference. If you're not afraid to get... a little messy."

Salem licked her lips. "Define 'messy.'"

Eric chuckled. "If it's anything like what we just experienced, you're gonna have to level up that Prestidigitation spell a bit more."

Chris leaned forward to join the conversation. "You want us to make a difference in a land cursed with sex magic. How?"

"Stick around," Annabelle said, voice low and sultry. "And I'll show you."

~~~

The sun rose in a cloudless sky the following morning. Dawn crept gently through the warped glass windows of the shared room above the Midnight Maw, casting streaks of golden light across tangled sheets and scattered clothes. A soft yawn broke the stillness.

Salem stretched lazily, one toned leg sliding out from beneath the covers, her toes curling as she greeted the morning. Her lavender hair was a tousled mess, but her movements were still elegant--fluid, like poured wine.

She rose from bed with a sigh, her bra hanging from the bedpost like a banner of victory. Across the room, a full-length mirror stood propped in the corner, catching her attention. She approached it, nude, hips swaying with a languid confidence.

She admired herself with no shame. Her skin glowed in the morning light, kissed faintly by magic. Her hands drifted over her waist, her hips, her breasts--fingertips pausing at the faint bite mark just above her collarbone. Courtesy of last night's...

encounter.

"Still got it," she whispered to her reflection with a smirk.

From the bed behind her came a groggy voice. "Oh, you never lost it."

Salem jumped, nearly knocking over the mirror, covering herself with her arms. "Fuck! Eric! I forgot you were here!"

The bard grinned from where he lay, shirtless and smug, one arm tucked behind his head. "Didn't mean to scare you. I just wasn't ready to die this morning from sheer visual overstimulation."

Salem grabbed the nearest pillow and lobbed it at him. "Peep again and I'll turn your lute into a suppository."

"Ooh, kinky," he said, dodging expertly. "Noted for later."

But there was no venom in her glare. Her smirk returned as she turned away and bent to rummage through her bag, giving him a long, slow view of her backside. "Enjoy the show,

bard.

But don't get any ideas."

"I already have several. Want me to write them into a ballad?"

"That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said while staring at my pussy."

She pulled out a fresh set of lacy underthings--another set in lilac, this time with gold trim--and slowly dressed. "But only if you want your balls hexed."

He laughed, pushing himself upright. The sheet slipped off his hips, earning a curiuos glance that was less than subtle. "Gods, I missed actual beds. And real walls. And... fuck, how many days has it been since we had a bath?"

"Too many," she agreed, adjusting her bra. "Prestidigitation is great for laundry and armpits, but my skin needs a proper soak."

Eric scratched his balls and sniffed the hand soon after. "Yeah. You're not wrong."

"Of course I'm not."

Together, they gathered their things--Eric, still shamelessly shirtless--and headed downstairs in search of food, hot water, and maybe, if the mood allowed... a little trouble.

Downstairs, the Midnight Maw was already alive with morning clatter--soft footfalls on wood, the hiss of eggs on a skillet, the occasional creak of old furniture settling into a new day.

Chris was already at a table near the hearth, his back to the fire and his plate stacked with sausages, eggs, and a wedge of steaming bread. He chewed methodically, eyes watching the flames, posture relaxed but always ready.

"You eat like you've never tasted a meal before," Eric said as he and Salem strolled in.

"I eat like someone who got up on time," Chris replied, not looking up. "Unlike some people who spend their mornings flirting in their underwear."

"Unfair," Eric said, sliding into a seat. "I flirt fully nude, thank you."

Salem settled beside him with a graceful fold of limbs. "He does. It's tragic."

Chris smirked around his mug. "You two have no shame."

"Not anymore," they said in unison, then laughed.

A few moments later, Annabelle appeared from behind the bar, radiant in a simple blouse and tight leather trousers that hugged her hips like a glove. Her smile was wide and warm, but her eyes sparkled like she'd already been up to mischief.

"Well look at you all--bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and full of sass. Can I get you two something?"

"Coffee, eggs, and a long soak," Salem said, setting her pack down beside her chair. "In that order."

Eric raised a hand. "Make that two. Maybe three. I could use a long soak... with company."

Annabelle laughed, pouring mugs from a nearby kettle. "Well, you're half in luck."

Salem perked up. "There's a bathhouse?"

"There is," Annabelle said, sliding mugs toward them. "Clean. Comfortable. Very... mundane."

Eric pouted. "That sounds like the opposite of fun."

Annabelle leaned forward on her elbows, lowering her voice just enough to draw them in, though her cleavage fought for attention. "Or... I know a place. Still got the warmth. Still got the steam. But there's something else to it."

Chris finally looked up. "Something cursed?"

Annabelle tilted her head. "Only if you believe everything people say. It's a hot spring. Natural. Remote. Beautiful."

"And magical?" Salem asked.

Annabelle nodded. "There's still traces of Lord Varos' influence there. Most avoid it."

Chris raised a brow. "Is it dangerous?"

"Not really," she said. "Not unless you count being horny as dangerous. Which, in your case, Eric..."

"I prefer 'high-risk adventurer of the flesh,' thank you."

Annabelle smiled. "So. If you're serious about helping this town--and I think you might be--you could start there. A little cleansing. A little magical curiosity. And if you're a couple of good boys, maybe even a bit of coin."

"What about me?" asked Salem.

Annabelle returned the smirk. "I prefer you

naughty.

So, what do you say?"

Chris nodded slowly. "We're in."

"Good." She slid a small parchment toward him. "It's an easy hike. You'll find your way."

As they rose from the table, Annabelle leaned close to Salem and whispered, "If you see anything... unusual, don't panic. The spring doesn't hurt anyone. It just... helps them get to know one another better."

Salem raised a brow. "You're enjoying this."

Annabelle winked. "Immensely. I'd blame the curse--but even without it, I'd still think of you all as fun company."

~~~

The grove was hushed.

Nestled deep in the woods, framed by vine-draped stone and thick blooming flora, the hot spring exhaled a constant, gentle mist. Its surface shimmered with enchantment--pink and gold hues rippling like desire just beneath the skin.

Ivy stood at the edge, her bare feet curling over the slick rock, her eyes locked on the reflection below.

She was a vision wrapped in tension: short and softly curved, her pink skin almost glowing against the rising steam. A head of dark curls framed her pretty face, and her curled horns arched delicately from her temples like twin crescents, kissed by gold at the tips.

Her eyes--wide, golden, and full of conflict--stared down at herself with both reverence and hesitation. Her reflection wavered, haloed in steam, her features flickering between determined and uncertain. She shifted slightly, and the movement made her thighs brush, already dewy from the heat curling up her body like it knew her.

Ivy's breath hitched. She wasn't ready.

Her robe was loose, slipping slightly from one shoulder. Beneath it, her form was lithe, her curves subtle but full of warmth. A line of sweat trickled between her modest breasts, drawing the eye to the symbol resting there--a phallic amulet carved from obsidian and strung on a delicate chain of gold.

The mark of her faith.

She reached for it, fingers trembling as she lifted it free from her cleavage.

The symbol was unmistakably suggestive--intentionally so. The Order of the Velvet Thorn didn't shy away from what it was: a pleasure cult masked in divinity. Ivy had joined when she was barely grown, full of questions, longing for purpose, desperate to feel wanted by something--or someone--bigger than herself.

Now, days before her final initiation right here in this spring, she wasn't so sure. There were so many promises...and so many lies. The magic she'd been granted was very real. Very powerful. But where had it really come from?

She turned the charm in her fingers. It was warm. Always was. But it wasn't guidance. It wasn't comfort. Not anymore.

She looked to the spring, watching her reflection waver with each ripple of enchanted heat. In just a few short days she'd join her fellow initiates here. She knew what would transpire. Mostly. That wasn't what bothered her, not really.

"Is this really who I am?" she whispered. "Is this what I want?"

Her voice cracked. She swallowed it down.

Her hands went to her sash. She hesitated... then untied it.

Her robe slipped off her shoulders and down her body like a silken sigh. She stepped out of it and stood naked, the mist kissing every inch of her. Her body was soft but strong, full of life. Her breasts, perky and proud. Her thighs, thick and trembling from tension. Her tail--a delicate, spaded thing--twitched with uncertainty behind her.

She stepped into the spring. Certain she was alone. Certain it was safe.

The water rose around her ankles, her calves, her thighs. Lapping at her hairless mound like the lovers she fantasized about. She shivered--not from cold, but from exposure. Vulnerability.

By the time it reached her breasts, she felt it: the pulse of magic in the water. It didn't burn. It seduced. So long as she was alone, it would do no more.

At the center of the pool, she let herself fall backward and float. Her limbs spread, the charm still resting on her chest, nestled between her tits. Her eyes closed. Her ears dipped beneath the surface, muting the world outside. The steam closed over her like a blanket. Serenity and solitude.

"Please," she whispered. "If you hear me... if I belong to you... give me a sign. Speak to me. I'm listening."

The gods answered with silence.

~~~

The spring greeted them like a lover in waiting--warm, fragrant, and thick with lusty promises.

They stepped through the tree line into a clearing wreathed in curling mist. Sunlight filtered through tall boughs and dappled the water with gold. Every surface glistened. Every rock was slick and inviting. Magic shimmered beneath the surface of the spring like hidden firelight, pink and golden and pulsing faintly with each ripple.

Salem let out a delighted sigh. "Well. This is...

decadent.

" She felt the steam warm her skin, and the magic warm between her thighs.

Eric whistled. "I feel like I'm about to get seduced by a bath."

Chris gave a short nod, already unbuckling his gear. "Let's not waste time. Get in, clean up, don't flirt with anything sexually cursed."

"You say that like it's not the entire reason I adventured in the first place," Eric replied, shrugging off his vest.

Salem was already tugging her boots off, hair draped over one shoulder. Her long, graceful fingers worked the buckles on her corset with ease, and when it came free, she exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for hours. Her breasts, barely constrained by the lacy bra beneath, rose and fell with every teasing motion as she pulled it free of her body, swaying as she stepped out of her clothes.

She stood naked beside the pool, stretching her arms over her head. Her body glowed in the mist--tall, elegant, and sexy as a goddess on holiday. "Dibs on the smoothest rock."

Eric made a strangled noise. "You... I mean--okay. Yeah. That's fine."

"See something you like, bard?" she teased, sauntering toward the water, turning so her landing strip was visible through the steam.

"

Every godsdamn inch,

" he muttered quietly.

He undressed with less grace but equal enthusiasm, his cock already twitching at half-attention as he stepped into the mist. He tossed his boots aside and flung his breeches into a bush. "Annabelle wasn't kidding. I can feel the curse already. It's strong, but not enough to lose control."

Chris said nothing, but he'd stripped down too and stepped into the water with quiet confidence, the lean muscle of his back flexing as he lowered himself in with barely a ripple. Whether it be the curse, or Salem's curves, his cock was also hard. He closed his eyes and let the warmth lap over his shoulders, ignoring the perverse thoughts now racing through his mind.

Salem slid into the water beside him, the spring curling around her curves like it missed her. She moaned softly as the heat kissed her thighs. And everywhere in between.

Eric stood at the edge, grinning like a boy with a secret.

"

Don't,

" Salem said flatly.

"Oh, I'm doing it."

"Eric--"

"Cannonbaaa--"

~~~

Ivy floated in stillness.

The spring held her like a cradle. Her tail drifted lazily beneath the surface, her thighs parted slightly as she let the warmth soak into the deepest corners of her body. Her skin, slick with mist and glistening from her earlier prayer, glowed like fresh cherry petals in the dawn. Her nipples floated just above the surface, dark obsidian tips, on hills of rose-tinted flesh.

She'd been there for what felt like hours. Listening. Reflecting. Hoping.

Was that a voice?

She blinked. A murmur in the mist. One--then another. Low. Feminine. Laughing.

Her breath caught.

Was it the gods? Had they finally answered?

Then she heard a splash--just a small one. Feet stepping into water. A moan.

Wait.

She sat upright fast, her breasts bouncing as the water lapped around her in sudden waves. She held the charm of the Velvet Thorn tightly in one fist, scanning the mist with wide golden eyes.

That wasn't divine laughter. That wasn't ethereal wisdom.

That was someone else. I'm not alone here.

"Oh no."

She crouched low, arms over her chest, and squinted into the fog. Shapes. Shadows. Bodies. She needed to get out of here. To warn them.

And then--

"Cannonbaaaall!"

A naked man-shaped blur launched into the air through the mist, limbs flailing gleefully.

"No--WAIT--!"

Too late.

The splash hit like a thunderclap.

Magic roared beneath the surface. Runes awakened. Gold and pink light surged through the spring. The air shimmered, and Ivy felt the pulse deep in her bones.

A rush of energy--wet, heated, aroused--poured through her like lightning down her spine. The lust burning inside her was amplified.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream. A moan.

Then, everything went white.

~~~

The first thing Eric noticed was the cold.

Not the water--no, the spring was still hot--but a distinct, unexpected chill between his thighs. He blinked, then blinked again.

His eyelashes felt... longer?

He pushed upright, gasping as something very soft bounced heavily on his chest. He looked down.

Breasts.

Full, pert, softly jiggling breasts.

"What the actual f--"

His voice was higher. Like Salem's familiar alto. Sweet. Breathless.

His hands shot to his chest, cupping the undeniably real weight of his new anatomy. His nipples stiffened against his palms and he yelped.

"Why are these so sensitive?!"

Salem groaned nearby and sat up with a splash.

Only--it wasn't Salem.

"Eric?" Chris's voice came from her mouth.

Salem blinked down at her hands, then at her chest--flat. Muscular. Hairy.

"Oh gods," she whispered, rubbing her face. "I have stubble."

"Salem?" Eric--in Salem's body--squeaked.

"Wait," Salem-in-Chris muttered, holding out her arms. "What... why are they so veiny? Is this what it feels like to be a tree?!"

"Where's my body?" came a new voice--tight, flustered, and rising in pitch.

All eyes turned to the other end of the pool.

Chris, or rather... Chris-in-Ivy, was approaching, waist-deep in the water and staring at a reflection that did not belong to him. The pink skin, the silver horns, the water droplets clinging to his soaked curves.