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Anyone who discovers the forest’s secrets cannot leave it—it’s a simple rule, one that keeps her and her children safe. Some of the ones Remiel has to keep are a joy—pretty little things that break so sweetly, that find their own happiness in the life she gives them. Some, however… are rightly a bit of work to make palatable.
This one is going to be… a task of sorts, Rem can already tell.
She watches from the trees, blending among them, as vines hold the forest’s unruly visitor in place: a blond man with red armor and hard eyes, a gruff manner of speaking and complaining about most everything he encounters. Even now he curses and struggles, making such an unpleasant racket—Rem narrows her eyes and flattens her ears against her skull as she contemplates how to deal with this one.
Well, she’s not new to a challenge, and she’s dealt with less-pretty men before. This one at least has a nice face, if an unpleasant expression—perhaps it’ll just take a… harsher touch, then.
Gawain tries his damnedest to rip his wrist away from the sticky, rough vine that grasps it—but no matter how many of the accursed things he cuts down, more still spring from the ground and the treetops alike. He hisses a curse through his teeth, tries to take his halberd in his other hand to cut himself free—but the foliage doesn’t give him time to do so, whipping out to catch his free wrist in a flash.
Before he knows it, he’s pulled to the forest floor on his knees, hands rooted to the earth. He growls to himself, “what foul magic is making these things so strong—” but his gripe is cut short by the pricking sensation on his scalp of his hair standing on end—of being watched.
When his gaze snaps to the source of the feeling, he can’t help but be surprised at what’s looking him over: a huge, black-furred, wolf-like monster, sitting proudly on its haunches without a semblance of hostility or fear in its posture. Still, he clicks his tongue and bares his teeth; “This whole forest has been nothing but rotten luck...”
The wolf’s wine-red eyes betray an uncanny intelligence as it watches him. It stands to its full height—taller than Gawain, when he’s bound on hands and knees like this, but he isn’t the sort to be intimidated—and strides closer; the vines slither beneath his armor, and he squirms at the unpleasant feeling.
“Get off of me—let me go!” he snarls, but the wriggling vines pay no heed; despite how his armor has long clung to his skin, they merely pull and tug and cause the crimson plates to fall away one by one, along with his mask. The enchantment in these things has to be powerful, much too powerful—Gawain grits his teeth. “How…?” he wonders aloud; before he can truly think, though, the wolf’s face is directly in front of his own, and he stares wide-eyed at it.
“Stay back,” he barks fearlessly, despite his predicament; “you won’t be making easy prey of me, beast.”
Gawain’s pupils dilate at the ringing sound of a woman’s laughter around him; he looks around, but there’s no source for the voice, as if it hangs in the very air of the forest. “You are remarkably defiant—but, you brought this fate upon yourself.” The thorny vines continue their work, stripping him to his underclothes unceremoniously and scratching at his skin as they do—the forest breeze is terribly chilly, particularly on skin that’s gone too long without being exposed, but the fluid dripping from the vines leaves his skin buzzing strangely. “You should not have come this far into these woods… didn’t they tell you no one ever leaves once they stumble this deeply in, dear boy?”
“Am I supposed to put stock in such wives’ tales?” he growls, glancing side to side in search of the speaker. “Many such places in the sky are labeled so ‘dangerous’ over the presence of one mere monster. And how should this be di—what do you think you’re doing?!” he squawks as the vines tear through cloth and leave his chest bare.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” the voice hums lightly; the wolf raises its head and circles around to his flank, and Gawain watches it as a certain panic sets in. “It won’t change your fate. Just like the rest, you will become one with the forest—one of mine, to use as I see fit. And considering how many of my children you’ve harmed during your galavanting about here…” The wolf nudges its snout against his crotch, and he flinches instinctively. “I expect I will need to teach you your place the hard way.”
Some of the vines peel back their tips to reveal needle-sharp points, and Gawain grits his teeth; nothing about this situation makes sense, but he can feel well enough how dire it is. “You’re speaking nonsense without even showing yourself—do you think such a thing will intimidate me? I won’t simply take this lying down—”
“No, you rather like to complain,” the voice huffs, exasperated; a vine with a pinkish, bulbous end, dripping sap, drops down from the limb of a tree and hovers in front of his face pointedly. “It’s awfully tiresome… I hope I’ll like you better when you aren’t talking.” The sticky vine presses itself against his lips and he recoils, clenching his teeth harder, but the wolf places a broad paw on the back of his head and very nearly shoves him against the vine, harshly prying his mouth open for it.
It tastes strong and earthy, not exactly pleasant but not revolting either. Gawain coughs around the intruding vine and growls low in his throat, but the wolf merely places more pressure on his skull and shoves his face down into the leaf litter. “Ah, better already… now I suppose we’ll get to work on the rest of you, hm?”
It occurs to him, as he glares up at the beast holding him down, that the voice he hears may very well be that of the wolf—it moves too intelligently to be an ordinary monster, after all. The needle-tipped vines advance on him despite how he jerks and struggles; Gawain yelps around the vine as one jabs into the base of his spine. Some sort of numbing fluid flows in, and he shakes his hips in a desperate attempt to throw it off, but instead another one merely jabs in near his neck.
“Don’t struggle so much, sweetie; you’ll make it hurt more,” the wolf’s voice purrs; when she lifts her paw from his head, he finds it terribly difficult to lift it again, as if all the strength has been sapped from his body. Gawain shivers involuntarily; he’s never felt this helpless before, and he certainly doesn’t like it. The beast drags her claws along his backside and thighs to tear away the last of his clothing, though somehow, he finds that the scrapes she leaves on his skin don’t quite sting.
“You took your share of scratches from the thorns, but you can still complain this much? You must have the resistance of a bull,” she ponders; Gawain lifts an eyebrow, curious. “That sap is an anaesthetic. You should be little more than a puddle by now… I was right not to cut corners with you.”
“Of course,” Remiel continues with a growl, one both physical and projected into her voice, “I shouldn’t be surprised, given how violent you seem to be by nature. How unpleasant...” She sits back on her haunches, watching as the vines dig deeper into his flesh. They’ll bury her magic deep in his body, and in turn it will reform him into a shape she finds more acceptable.
“Truthfully, were I anything but what I am, I should simply kill you for the pain you’ve caused here,” she comments, watching over his shoulder as his eyes grow lidded and fuzzy. “And you might say you’d prefer that, even, prideful as you are. But… killing isn’t in my nature, you see… so I’ll be keeping you, instead.” His brow furrows as if he doesn’t quite understand, but she pays it no particular mind—he’ll understand in due time.
“In fact, you’ll thank me before I’m done with you,” she hums smugly as she sets a paw atop the small of his back. Magic radiates from her, a strong fuchsia glow that sinks into his skin and creates a sort of brand beneath her paw; it mixes together with the anaesthetic from the vines, and he shivers involuntarily and begins to writhe as an explosive reaction begins to take place in his veins.
His crotch burns, a fire that buries itself deep inside his gut and spreads rapidly—he thrashes and jerks his hips despite the futility of it, unable to stay still with the sensation rampaging through him. The same flame spreads rapidly over his chest, swelling near the point of pain but never quite becoming unpleasant. His nails claw into the earth and he growls and gasps, muffled by the vine in his mouth; the vine in his spine just digs deeper, uncaring, and his eyes begin to water for how hot he feels. The orgasm wrenched from his flesh isn’t quite a pleasant thing, though heady it surely is—maddening, painful, yet shallow in how it leaves him itching and craving for more.
Remiel watches him buck and squirm with a glint in her ruby eyes; it’s the first big step toward making him a tolerable part of her forest. Between his legs, his flesh changes shape; he rocks his hips desperately at the overwhelming sensation, seeking an unattainable relief from the squirming pressure. His hair lengthens, merely a side effect of the changes, and spills messily around his shoulders as he writhes.
“You’ll get what you want soon, boy,” she purrs, shifting to stand over his trembling form; her own arousal hangs heavy from her sheath, and she pointedly presses it against his thighs, just close enough to his newly-formed slit that he can surely feel the heat radiating off of it. To her delight, he gasps and twitches at the feeling.
“You see now, don’t you? What you want…” she pushes her length against him just a little, and he shivers helplessly; he’s already dripping wet, and he’s likely come more than once just from the process of changing. “...is to be my bitch, and nothing more. It’s more than you deserve, really—your body seems to understand that much. Maybe you should be more grateful, hm?” He grumbles around the vine, as if trying to protest—she makes her point by grinding against him, earning a wet whine.
“Give it up, dear. Let this consume you. Right now, you’re thinking of nothing but how badly you want my huge wolf-cock to fill up your cute new cunt—it’s plenty obvious by how wet you are.” Rem’s voice betrays how she’d be smirking, were she wearing a human face; she lets the vine remove itself from Gawain’s mouth, and he coughs as he catches his breath.
“I… I’m not…” he gasps unconvincingly; his eyes look ahead at nothing at all, dazed. His voice is much lighter than before, sweeter—much more pleasant, Rem decides.
“Not what?” she muses, “A cute little slut, desperate to get bred? From where I’m standing…” she leans down and snaps her teeth around a mouthful of his now-long, golden hair; when she jerks his head up from the ground, he very nearly moans. “...You certainly look the part… perhaps you’d like to see for yourself?”
On her cue, a clear, rippling pool forms in the ground just in front of them; Rem holds Gawain’s head back by his hair, forcing him to look at his reflection. It’s a lovely image, one she couldn’t see quite so well from this angle either: his cheeks flushed, his eyes glazed, drool and sap leaking from his mouth… and of course, his full breasts, swaying beneath him as he pants, nipples stiff and needy as the vines tease and tug at them. He’s covered in little scrapes and bruises, yet he looks nothing but blissful despite the tears forming at the corners of his eyes.
“Goodness, really seeing you is just… ah, I can’t resist, even just to tease you more…” she moans as she mounts him properly. “Watch yourself carefully, sweetie… once I’m inside of you, your body won’t lie about how much it wants my cock.”
“No, don’t—!” he whines breathlessly as she presses the head of her cock against his wet, willing slit, “If you—if you do that, I’ll go crazy, so— don’t—!”
It’s too much; she slams her massive length into him in one rough thrust of her hips, and he yelps pitifully; she feels him contract and twitch fervently around her, his muscles tense, and Rem realizes that he’s come yet again. “Ah… you did good, being so patient…” she rumbles hotly, “You were so worked up that you came instantly… hehe, what a delightful bitch you make—maybe you’ll be worth the trouble yet.”
He slackens under her, his willpower drained; Rem keeps her teeth tight around his hair as she begins to rock her hips roughly, not truly giving him time to rest. “I can’t hold back anymore, either… I’ve been wanting to knock you up so bad—this whole time… even though—you haven’t earned such an honor… I simply can’t help myself.” Gawain moans and sobs hopelessly, completely overwhelmed by how brutally she’s filling him—but there’s no way he’s feeling anything other than sheer, unbearable pleasure.
It’s funny how her voice, though not quite bound to her physical lungs, still stumbles as if she’s gasping for breath; it isn’t as though the tight heat surrounding her makes it particularly easy to think either, though. “Oh, your voice is so sweet—let me hear just how badly you need me, pet.” Rem thrusts mercilessly into Gawain’s over-sensitive cunt; he sobs in response, breathless. “Will you still deny yourself this? Your cunt is pulling me in, so wet and needy… your womb must be burning up from how badly it wants to be filled with my seed…”
“Ah… ahn… so...” he whimpers incoherently, his eyes glassed over; the vines beneath him squeeze at his breasts, punctuating Remiel’s point. She knows how this works; the venom has to have melted all sense in his mind by now, in conjunction with the insane pleasure, and there’s no way that any shred of his shame or pride could stand through such an onslaught. “Need… oh… so good…” Gawain babbles, his voice fluctuating with each slam of her hips. “I… I…”
She laughs, clear like the ringing of bells. “Isn’t it amazing? You’re becoming a wolf’s bitch so naturally—aren’t you happy about it? Perhaps you should be thanking me about now.” She slams in particularly deep as she asks, prodding and leading his tired, pliable mind toward the simple, easy, blissful answer.
“Y...yes,” he slurs, drool spilling past the corner of his lip as he surrenders, overcome. “Amazing, you’re—you’re so big, I’ll… if you keep going, I’m going to break—”
“Then break,” she affirms smugly, voice low and heated. “Lose yourself utterly—become a cute, mindless whore for me.” The pace of her thrusts catches, erratic; she can feel the heat pooling low in the base of her cock, heralding her knot’s inevitable growth. Gawain whines and goes slack under her, flesh quivering weakly and walls twitching desperately. “Good pet—I’m almost at my limit, too… ah, but for an undeserving bitch like you, bearing my children should be a joyous occasion…”
“Yes,” he repeats over and over again, a thoughtless mantra—not that he has any room left in his mind to disagree with her. He giggles absently, as if drugged; “I’ll— I’m going to be bred, I’ll have a beast’s children… and it… it’s going to feel amazing...” There’s a lopsided smile on his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes; his gaze is empty, devoid of fight, but it’s not yet enraptured the way Rem would like it to be. “I… want it… no, I… oh—” That admission is a step closer, unsure as it is—but she doesn’t have much patience left in her, not with her cock melting inside of him like this.
Her knot begins to swell, and from her wolf-form’s throat, a low growl resounds. “That’s right, pet. You’re going to love it, so just let go… I’m close, which means... I’m going to tie with you—doesn’t that excite you? My knot’s going to—fill your slutty cunt up to the brim…”
Rem’s hips jerk as she rocks her knot against his slit, and he gasps unevenly at the girthy heat—she growls again and thrusts harder, burying her swollen knot inside of him with a slick pop. Gawain seizes up and his eyes begin to water as he sobs shallowly, unable to breathe as another climax claims him; Rem ruts into him harshly as her knot expands to a greater size yet.
“Ngh… a-ah, so tight…” her mental voice takes on a growling tone, rough and animalistic. “Just a little more, and I can mate you fully—claim you, get you addicted to it, leave you desperate to bear my pups… ahh, so close…!” She lets go of his hair to howl, thrusting into him fast and shallow as his arms fail him and his face falls into the dirt. How fitting, for her to fuck him into the very earth as she claims him utterly; he can only gasp and mutter brokenly, his throat cracked and dry, as her knot reaches its full girth and she comes as deep inside of him as she can reach.
“Nn… oh…” he moans helplessly, “yes, so big… can’t think, want it… nn, c-coming—!?” As Rem’s cock twitches and shoots its seed inside of him, Gawain’s body bucks and quakes and yet another climax leaves him keening sharply; still, even by the time he’s come down from that upteempth orgasm, Rem is still buried deep in him, her knot as broad as it was at the start. “Ah… amazing, it’s s-still…?” He moans low as his hips rock against her, seeking more still of that unbearable pleasure.
“Mm… haha, so cute,” she purrs with a shallow rock of her hips, “Yes, I’m still coming… ah… it won’t end so quickly… for me…” Her throat vibrates with a low and hot growl, far from threatening. “Just relax… take it all, so that you definitely get pregnant… like a good bitch...” He twitches helplessly under her, barely able to breathe properly, a puddle of drool forming under his cheek. She laughs breathlessly, her tone a bit floaty. “You see, don’t you, pet? What an honor it is—for someone like you to carry my babies…”
He’s beyond answering in anything other than broken sobs, now; his fists ball into the leaves beneath them mindlessly, but his muscles have all but gone slack under her. The minutes tick by, like that, with Rem’s knot occasionally throbbing and her hips occasionally rocking to wrench another strained, overwhelming orgasm from Gawain’s body. At some point she shifts from mounting him to merely stand behind him, still tied with him—looking over her shoulder, with her tongue lolling out as she pants, she can see how her seed overfills his womb through how his stomach’s become stretched out and rounded.
“You… already look the part, even…” she drawls admiringly. “Hehe… how perfect. I knew you’d make this worth the effort…”
Her knot finally lessens enough that she can pull out of Gawain with an obscene, slick sound—he whines in something akin to relief, only to stiffen and cry out when a vine sidles up to plug his leaking hole. He collapses after that, shaking and overcome; Rem strides around to lick his face affectionately, cleaning away some of the tears that had formed. Sounds leave his lips, incoherent and breathless; somewhere amid them, she swears she hears him thank her, but she also thinks she may have made it up.
“Good boy… Have lots of strong pups for me, okay? I’ll take care of you, so you don’t have to worry about anything…” More sap-heavy vines droop down at her words, promising the “care” she speaks to—but Gawain’s consciousness seems to have faded for the moment, to little of Rem’s surprise.
She laughs into the stillness of the forest as her form shifts with the passing breeze; she’ll simply have to come back later to see how this little prize of hers is fairing.