Nicole's Note: This story is from an amab man's point of view and contains fantasy nc (with heavy brainwashing), mind control, gaslighting, femdom, loving degradation, and everything else listed in the tags. Real-life con-noncon requires a lot of trust, safewords, and other things a fantasy can fudge a little. Enjoy the kink responsibly, and enjoy the story!
Also, I wrote this series several years ago and only just got around to editing it. I apologize if it's not up to my usual standards!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Herne stared out over a sea of color. His head spun at the sight.
Every blossom in the field below him shone with brilliant hue—from bold blue violets to massive dandelions the size of his open hand. The sight of it allwas almost too much to take in. It was like staring into a kaleidoscope. He looked out over the sea from high above and breathed in deep.
The air stank of sweetness. The air was thick, and cloying, and moving through it was almost impossible. Even moving downhill as he was, the closer he got to the ocean of flowers, the thicker the air seemed to get.
But he knew he needed to get to the flowers. It was very important. Somehow, he knew that he needed to get to the garden. Get to the garden. Get to the garden and... and...
A high-pitched giggle interrupted his train of thought. He tried to look around, but his head felt like it was immersed in treacle. Warm, sticky treacle.
As he stepped into the midst of the flowers. those ahead of him started to fall away. For a moment, Herne felt confused.
Then he realized he was in not a sea of color, but a river. A vast river of flowers overlooking a waterfall.
Is this a dream?
he wondered, as he began to fall.
~~~~
"Wake up!" sang a squeaky voice in his ear.
Herne's eyes drifted open. Immediately, a few things made a little more sense.
He was lying on his back, covered in something like tree sap—a thick, viscous amber that seemed to have seeped into every nook and cranny of his clothes and mail coat.
The substance smelled—and tasted, Herne realized, recognizing the flavor on his lips—incredibly sweet. Like honey. Like honey mixed with sugar.
It was a gray sky above. Looking around, Herne realized he was in some sort of courtyard garden. Lush flowers and ornamental plants grew all around, and tall, moss-eaten stone walls rose in the distance.
He blinked—even blinking involved a bit of resistance, as even his face was coated in the syrup—and looked to his left, where the squeak had come from.
A pair of shining red eyes stared back at him.
"Aah!" Herne recoiled, ripping away bits of sod from beneath him in his haste. He lunged for his sword, but he couldn't seem to get it out of its sheathe. He struggled with it, squirming on the ground in his efforts.
His struggles ebbed. Slowly, he looked back at the eyes, and registered what he had actually seen.
The red eyes were compound, like those of a fly—though each eye was truly massive, almost human-sized. They belonged to the heart-shaped face of a woman about the size of a hamster. A pair of translucent, ephemereally-patterned pink wings fluttered behind her, catching her long, wavy blonde hair in its own little breeze. She had pale mahogany skin, a striking hourglass figure with a pair of breasts that surely caused a creature that small back problems, and a wide, friendly smile.
She was actually incredibly attractive, though the huge insectile eyes possibly detracted from it. Or would for some.
And yet Herne felt his manhood harden to almost painful stiffness as he stared into her rosy gaze.
"Heehee! Sorry!" The fairy's hands flew to her plump pink lips. "Didn't mean to frighten you, Knighty!"
Knighty
. Though he was still groggy, the infantilized word set off a chain reaction of memories in Herne's sluggish brain. He looked around, noticing the tall, foreboding wooden spires of the Telfield Manor.
Yes. He was a knight. Sir Herne, formerly of the fallen Yoric duchy, now a licensed vagrant knight. He was here... here to... He wracked his brains. The memories were like wet silt in a riverbed—he'd scoop up a handful, only to see it all washed away by the time it reached the surface.
"How... How did I get here, Lavvi?" He was confused to find that he knew the fairy's name. To his intense unease, his manhood gave a dull throb as the name crossed his lips. His cock, too, was totally immersed in the honey stuff, and this caused an unpleasant, gooey feeling within his linen braies-not unlike when he'd awoken from his first 'starlight visitor' in his youth.
Lavvi wrung her hands behind her back. She was dressed very revealingly, though that wasn't uncommon for fairies, as, Herne realized, Herne knew. Her top was a pretty blue silk camisole which descended into a scandalous sweetheart neckline that indulgently emphasized her proportionately pendulous breasts. Her rear, meanwhile, was contained within a pair of
tight
hot pink shorts that seemed positively painted onto her. She swung her hips around in lazy circles as she spoke, as though reeling in a difficult answer. "Uh, oh, gosh. How'd you get here? You mean you don't
remember
?"
Herne felt a strange, vague reluctance to answer this question truthfully-as if he didn't want Lavvi to know how disoriented he was.
No need to be embarrassed,
he told himself. "No. I have no idea."
Lavvi stared at him a moment, her body going still. Her pastel-pink lips tightened, then quirked upwards. A tiny giggle slipped out. Then another, louder giggle. Then a burst of bubbly giggles.
And then she lost control completely, and suddenly the fairy was drifting slowly from the air, clutching her belly, laughing and giggling helplessly like a thrilled parakeet.
Still lying on his side, Herne watched her fall like an autumn leaf, and thoughtlessly reached out a hand to catch her.
His hand was still covered in the sap—and now bits of dead grass, he saw—but Lavvi landed gracefully in it, her soft, slender form held perfectly within his palm. She was so curvy. So delicate. Herne couldn't help but swallow. So beautiful.
What was wrong with him?
Lavvi would know.
"
Ooh... heehee...
" Lavvi finally seemed to regain control of herself. "Thanks, Knighty. You don't remember. Hee hee. Gosh." She sat up, smiling at him with a look of pure adoration.
Despite his confusion, Herne felt strangely calm. It was like a warm, thick blanket of peace had settled over him, smothering the knight in blissful content. It felt so good to just lie there, Lavvi fitting so neatly upon his palm.
It felt so...
good
. Just to be near her. Just to feel her body on his bare skin...
A thought penetrated the thick honey bubble. He blinked. "Where's my gauntlet?"
"Your hm?" Lavvi cocked her head at him, her little pout the picture of innocent naivete. No, Herne thought. Of course dear Lavvi wouldn't know.
Wait, 'dear' Lavvi? Did... did he know her
that
well?
"My..." Herne frowned, trying to clear his head. Everything felt so warm. So sticky. So hard to think. "My... my, um... um, what was I asking, again, Lavvi?"
Lavvi beamed. "Knighty, dear," she said, giving a wide yawn and lying back against his fingers, "would you be a sweet thing and lean in close? I'll tell you how you got here. I need to tell you something
very
