The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

In her dreams, Valina was Kitten. And Kitten was being a very, very good girl.

She was immersed in slick vines, lost in tentacles from a vine dryad she had known many years ago. The vines slid over her like tongues, lapping over her breasts. She hung suspended, arms and legs spread out, as a vine slid between her legs and slithered over her pussy.

And she was squealing. She was mewling. She was whimpering and whining and begging and blubbering like a good, horny little slut.

“Such a good kitty!” the dryad cooed in her ear. Kitten tried to turn to face the dryad, but the giggling fey darted back into the shadows. “Good kitty deserves to cum!” the dryad hissed in her other ear.

Valina gave an excited mew.

“Is that a yes?” The vine dryad giggled. “Does my sweet kitty wanna cuuuum?

“Mew!”

She heard the dryad cackling, her sweet tone bordering on sadistic as a hand squeezed the catgirl’s ass. “Oh, how I love my pretty kitty. Okay, then, kitty, why don’t you—“

The dryad went silent.

At first, Valina didn’t realize what had just happened. Then eyes widened. “Mew!” she cried, trying to call out for the dryad. “Mew! Mew mew mew!” The vines kept licking and sliding over her, and she writhed and squirmed desperately, panting and gasping, her whole body horribly hot and sweaty.

Then she heard a new voice in her ear—a man’s voice. “Well, well, well,” he husked. “So this is where you’ve been. Little slut.”

Her breath caught. She started thrashing, but the vines held her tightly still, and the man only laughed. “We’ll have to punish you,” he cooed, “little Kitten.”

“Mew!” Tears of denial and terror streamed down her cheeks. She heard a ringing at her neck as the collar activated, disciplining her for her resistance. Kitten squealed in glee and torment.

“You know you love it,” he purred, as his fingers slipped inside her cunt and he began to toy with her.

And Kitten did.

Kitten’s eyes shot open. She was red-hot, drenched in sweat, totally naked beneath sticky sheets, and slick with saliva—and, down below, with other sweet-smelling juices.

The catgirl blinked rapidly, warm, tranquil obedience trickling through her mind like a mountain stream. She felt her waking mind dull back into dreaminess.

She was in Master’s room. Kitten giggled at that. If only Master was here, he might let Kitten cum. She’d had a lot of fun with the puppies last night. The memory of the tongues washed over her, and she shivered, her pussy leaking slightly.

She had never cum. She hadn’t felt so utterly, mentally drained in such a long time.

It felt so nice.

So nice to be nice and empty and slutty and horny.

She was a good Kitten again.

The puppy sprites lay all around her, fast asleep. Kitten blinked, looking over their nubile forms. These naughty puppies had toyed with her all night long. She stuck her tongue out at one snoozing blonde. She had half a mind to return the favor, now that she was awake and they were at her mercy!

“Ahem.”

She jumped, turning to face the speaker. Her heart fluttered. Bobbin! Oh, it felt so good to see the lithe, fit hob smirking down at her.

Only... Kitten rubbed her pussy, her mind so unbearably weak and squishy right now. She wasn’t supposed to love Bobbi. Bobbin made her love her. She bit her lip, looking up at the tightly-dressed straw boss. Bobbin made her feel so good, Kitten couldn’t help but love her.

But wasn’t that all that love was?

“H-hi, Bobbi,” Kitten said shyly, licking her hand clean of her own juices and fixing her hair slightly with the slick fingers—an old habit she had broken long ago. Apparently it was back now. It just... felt nice. Comforting.

Bobbi seemed to like it, and that made Kitten feel good (but wasn’t she not supposed to feel good?). The hob grinned. “Hi, Kitten. Feeling better now?”

“Nn.” Kitten glanced back at the puppies, pouting. “They played with me all night!” she whined. “And n-never let Kitten cum!”

She looked up at Bobbi imploringly, hoping for sympathy. But there was none this morning. Bobbin seemed to be in a very good mood. “Silly Kitten.” Bobbin reached down and rubbed one of Kitten’s ears. Kitten gasped and released a brittle moan. “Kittens only get to cum when their Master is pleased with them, remember?”

“Y-yes, Bobbi,” Kitten mewled, leaning into Bobbin’s hand and rubbing her head against it to encouraging more rubbing, “b-but—“

“But nothing.” Bobbin’s hand ran down through Kitten’s hair, petting her kindly. “Good Kittens never ask to cum. They only ask to be good Kittens. Remember?”

Kitten remembered. It was so hard to remember—a naughty part of her really, really didn’t want to—but she remembered the first time. She remembered the first time Master had given her this nasty, mean old bell.

Master had teased her. Had made her beg to suck his cock. Her mouth watered at the memory. Sucking his cock had felt so good.

But she had only done it to make Master happy.

Oh, she had been so good back then. She whimpered miserably. And now she was always so naughty. She was a bad Kitten. No wonder Bobbin teased her so.

Bobbin seemed to misunderstand her whimpers. “That’s right,” she purred, gripping Kitten’s collar tightly. “I know it’s not easy to accept, but a good Kitten only wants to make her Master nice and happy. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Kitten gasped, dreading the ringing of the bell as Bobbin tugged the collar tighter. The fact that she could barely breathe barely entered into her dazed, obedient mind. “Kitten wants to be a good Kitten! But Valina—Valina is naughty, Bobbi!”

“Oh? But we know what to do with naughty Valina, don’t we?” Bobbin’s voice was sly as silk. Kitten melted beneath that voice. “We fuck her, don’t we?”

“B-Bobbi...” Kitten panted, her legs slowly spreading.

Bobbin laughed. “Oh, not me. I have to go check on the scarecrow—I haven’t got time. But you...” She caressed Kitten’s cheek. Kitten mewled softly. “When Valina is naughty, Kitten, it’s your job to reign her in. To fuck her brains out.”

Kitten panted, licking her lips eagerly. “Y-yes...”

“To stroke her until she’s so stupid and edged and horny she can’t tell the difference between you and her.”

“Yessss...”

“Stroke her until she’s a good Kitten.”

“Yes!” Kitten squealed.

Bobbin smiled down at her, taking her hand away. “Well? What are you waiting for, pussyslut?”

Kitten bit her lip, but her hand crept downwards. She had to drop down so she was essentially on her knees and shoulders, her chin jutting into the soft mattress but her fingers caressed her pussy lips and started to stroke.

And instantly, she felt the warm, fuzzy bliss filling her once more.

“Mm. Why don’t you count to a hundred, too? Once for every almost-orgasm.”

“One!” Kitten immediately squeaked, trembling. Bobbi had no idea how horny she was right now, just from obeying. Sweet, tortuously minimal pleasure tickled through her whole body.

“You can stop once you reach a hundred,” Bobbin said smugly.

Kitten bit her lip. Cruel, wicked, wonderful Bobbin. The poor catgirl was already having trouble remembering... oh, fuck... “One!” she squealed.

Bobbin laughed, though Valina wasn’t sure why. Maybe because Valina had a dumb, glassy-eyed grin on her face. “You know, Kitten, I’ve been at a real loss with you lately.”

“T-two!” Kitten managed, her brain nearly shorting out as the delicious half-orgasm bounced inside her, making her head spin with longing.

“You’ve been so naughty... I haven’t been able to figure it out. But...” Bobbin sighed. “I get it now.”

“Two!” Valina rubbed her upper body against the soft blankets, wiggling her hips against her own fingers, trying desperately to imagine it was Master’s cock. Oh... oh... “Um... t-t-two!”

“I can’t keep trying to torture you, punish you. That was my own needs taking priority.” Valina felt Bobbin stroking her ear again, and whimpered out a number she didn’t even quite understand. “I wasn’t being fair to you, Kitten. You’re such a sexy little sub, I forgot that I had a greater duty than my own gratification. That’s something I’ve been bad about remembering lately. And we both know that hurts the business.”

“Three!” Kitten cried. She felt like she was practically glowing with pride at getting this far.

“So no more nasty little punishments. I have a new strategy, Kitten.” Bobbin beamed down, dropping to her knees to stare straight into Kitten’s wide, glassy eyes. Kitten’s breath caught in her throat. “Little pussyslut? I am going to spoil my Kitten rotten.”

Kitten stared back into Bobbi’s eyes, biting her lip hard. She trembled. “O-one?” she whimpered.

Bobbin laughed. “Oh, Kitten. How I’ve missed you.”

Kitten rolled onto her back, working furiously with both fingers, her mind buzzing with lust. “One!” she chanted.

Bobbin giggled. “Boy. You’re gonna be here a while.”

“One!” Kitten giggled back, happy that Bobbi was happy with her.

Bobbin stood up straight, giving Kitten’s ear one last rub. “I wish I could watch you, but I don’t have all day, and I have a feeling this is gonna take at least that long. If anybody calls for your help, stop doing this and go do your job. Otherwise, I want you to keep doing this until you’re a nice, brainless little pussyslut again. Or... ha... until you manage a hundred.”

Bobbi’s tone made Kitten shake and quiver with unspeakable delight. “T-two,” she panted, then, with a supreme effort, “t-three!”

Her heart soared. Three! Three. Three. Gotta remember... remember... three... nn, fuck... three...

“Hey, Kitten,” Bobbi asked, pausing in the doorway to grin back at her. “How many sluts does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”

Kitten’s breath caught. Her mind stumbled and tripped in a puddle of her own juices. She wriggled and moaned. Her eyelids fluttered. Her head buzzed pleasantly. When she managed to speak, it was amid little moans as she approached yet another half-climax. “Um... um... one?”

Then she bit her lip, realizing she’d just lost count! Darn it! But the wave of pleasure at knowing how good she was being by fucking her own brains out... “One!” she bubbled. “One!”

Bobbin was laughing as she left the room.

Kitten was giggling, too.

And so was Valina.

Because even amid all this lust and submissiveness, Valina had a sense of deep excitement.

When the honey hit the fan, it wouldn’t matter what Kitten was doing. The pieces were already in motion.

“Two,” she whispered softly, grinning ear to ear.

Then she heard a low moan from above her.

“Does... does Kitty need us?” whispered the soft, breathy voice of the blonde puppy sprite.

Kitten’s eyes widened. Uh-oh. Uh.... oh...

“One?” she whimpered, just before the licking began once more.

Bobbin made her way with a swing in her narrow hips to her own room, grinning to herself as she heard the whimpers and whines from upstairs move up an octave. She’d only ordered the puppies to sleep for fifteen minutes. She really did want to spoil her Kitten today.

Her own room was a fairly minimalist affair—hobs didn’t need much. There was a small, soft bed, a wardrobe, and a bookshelf holding a grand total of two books of prison records (only two books—Bobbin had an excellent memory for what came after her arrival, after all).

Her sweet, submissive Master lay in the bed, moaning to himself. It didn’t take Bobbin long to recognize that Senya was in the throes of a wet dream.

She licked her lips. “Poor thing,” she murmured, sidling over to the bed and sitting down beside him.

Delicately, she pulled the blankets up, watching his fluttering eyelids, his pouty lips softly whimpering. His tongue kept wetting his lips. Was he dreaming about drinking something?

She sighed. “Oh, Senya. It really wasn’t a fair expectation that you wouldn’t... linger on a few of them.”

His cock, exposed to the air, was dribbling slightly. She eyed it. He hadn’t had his daily prisoner fruit yet, and so it was only average-sized, but there was something intoxicating about her Master’s cock in particular. It looked so... vulnerable, the way it slowly oozed precum, the way it twitched and pulsed.

This sensitive instrument that had brought her so much joy last night also brought him joy. So, so much joy.

This supposed instrument of power turned him into a submissive, whimpering mess.

She smirked down at it. Of course, she usually tried not to take advantage—poor Master had enough worries without being seduced by his subordinates—but who could fault her the occasional indulgence?

Her hand hovered over his cock. Oh, how delicious it would be to tease him now. To stroke him. Maybe even to lick him. Maybe, she reasoned, trying to convince herself, she could whisper in his ear, turn his dream away from the livestock that would happily exploit such half-remembered subliminal experiences to turn him into putty in their claws. Turn the dream to herself. So she could happily exploit those half-remembered subliminal experiences.

She licked her lips. Her hand descended, ready to start a delicate stroking on that twitching, dribbling instrument of submission...

“Hey, Bobbin!” She jerked her hand away, heart slamming into her chest, as Jerrod came strolling in. The broad-shouldered stockman grinned, shaking his head. “Well, I was gonna ask if he was up...”

Bobbin glanced at Senya’s face. His eyes were fluttering open, and he looked first at her, then at Jerrod. He looked down numbly at his erect cock and bit his lip.

Bobbin smiled and handed him a plump prisoner fruit. “Good morning, Master.”

“Morning, Bobbin,” he mumbled, tearing into the delicious fruit. Bobbin watched the juice dribble down his chin as he sat up, and suppressed a giggle. It was clear to her now that Master had an exceptionally addictive personality. Problematic, but there were practical applications.

Bobbin was getting quite good good at finding practical applications for her Master’s problematic faults.

“Is it morning already?” Senya asked, leaning up against the wall and throwing off the blankets. His slight but muscular body was on full display, naked and vulnerable. Bobbin half-wanted to say ‘no’.

“It is, Master,” she said happily. “And it’s time to wake up.”

Still groggy from his interrupted fantasies, Senya wobbled to his feet. Bobbin supported him, clutching his side to keep him from falling back over. Wakefulness was returning to his red-rimmed eyes. Oh, the poor thing. He really hadn’t slept much, had he? “Okay... okay. So what’s... on the agenda for today? Market Day’s over.” He rubbed his eyes. “I thought I was... huh. Last night, we were—”

“Market Day is over,” Bobbin agreed, “but today is a special day on its own. The fleece sprites are ready to be sheared.”

Senya’s hand lowered from his eyes. He blinked at her.

Jerrod grinned, holding up several blue silk sacks and a pair of magicked snips. “Time to have another heart-to-heart with Angora, Boss.”

“Oh.” Senya’s eyelids fluttered. “Okay.”

Bobbin nudged him towards Jerrod, and the stockman put an arm over Senya’s shoulder as he led him to the dining room. “First let’s get some bitterbrew in you, boss! No sense going to the fleece sprites tired—that’s like heading to an arachne girl’s forest wearing a tie.”

“Okay...”

Bobbin put her hands on her hips, grinning after the couple.

Then she turned to the window, and with a small spring to her heel, sprang right at the glass. The window flew open, and she landed tidily on her feet on the other side in a feat of acrobatics that would put a catgirl to shame.

Stretching, the hob made her way off into the distance.

It was time to check on the scarecrow.

“So, um...” Senya sucked on his knuckle, gnawing it slightly. He wasn’t sure where he’d picked up this new nervous habit, but his knuckle was raw at this point. His head was buzzing pleasantly from the northern beverage, but at least he was awake. “So what are we going to do, exactly? Because Bobbin told me not even your amulet will keep them from... making us tired.”

“Naw.” Jerrod chuckled. “Their wool’s not mind control. Not traditionally, anyways. Fetches a pretty penny, though.”

“So what...”

“The snipping’s a simple process.” Jerrod snapped together the strange pair of clippers, which rather resembled a pair of straight razors woven together with silver wires. “They ain’t as fluffy as actual sheep, so we don’t need to worry as much about cuttin’ them. Which is good, ’cause, uh... well, that’s a gray area.”

“Gray area?” They exited the house. Senya was struck by how bright it was outside—gods, was it afternoon already? Senya knew he was losing time, but had he really slept in so late? He’d never exactly been an industrious sort, but as a carpenter, he at least had the self-discipline to get up before twelve every morning.

Carpenter. That word rang oddly in Senya’s head.

He frowned to himself. Carpenter.

When was the last time he’d... done anything in carpentry? The art of woodworking seemed so distant now. Like a memory from a dream. A lot of things had started to feel hat way. He chewed his knuckle, lips sucking absently...

“Uh... yeah.” Jerrod turned back to Senya, and Senya realized he’d stopped in his tracks. Jerrod clearly mistook the pause for unease with the phrasing. “It’s all in the rules of this place, which the Will’s gotta follow. You ain’t supposed to, like, harm any of the prisoners.”

Senya blinked, his confusion dropping away, replaced by... a new confusion. “The rules of this place? Are they separate from the Will?”

Jerrod blanched. He coughed loudly. “Well, I mean, the Ranch... wasn’t always owned by your family, y’know.”

“It wasn’t?” This fact sounded familiar. It also sounded strange to Senya. Had Bobbin ever said this? Had she hinted at it, maybe? “Who owned it before?”

“Beats me.” Jerrod shrugged, in the manner of a man who didn’t know and didn’t care. “Some sorta trade put control over it in your family’s hands. I mean, you know your family ain’t from here, right?” He cracked a half-grin. “Bobbin doesn’t like to talk about it much. The Will annoys her a hell of a lot, but at least it’s something she has some control over. However they ran things back then... well, I know a lot of the rules are a real pain in the ass for her. Anyways, the rules say you can’t hurt the prisoners, but as I understand, it’s vague on what ‘hurting’ means.”

“So...” Senya bit his lip. “So, what happens to Va—the catgirl...”

Jerrod laughed. “Guess it doesn’t count, since we’re all still in control of things here. Well, mostly. But you kill one of these prisoners, or cut them, and who knows?”

Senya gave a small nod, sucking at a fingertip thoughtfully. After a moment, he spoke again. “You say a lot of the rules are a pain to follow. What are they? So I can avoid breaking them, I mean.”

“Eh...” The stockman grimaced. “It’s stuff she wants to teach you about later. Most of it’s obvious shit, I’d imagine, like ‘don’t let the livestock leave the area’. Even that gets cheated sometimes, too—a couple of the fey, like Coryl, have been able to leave once or twice.”

“But some of it annoys Bobbin.”

“Well, sure. Some of it gets in the way of running the Ranch. Like, for instance—” Jerrod broke off as they rounded the corner and arrived, once more, at the pens. “Well, here we are.”

Senya blinked.

Almost instinctively, his eyelids drooped a little.

The four fleece sprites lay languidly around the grassy pen. Two lay atop one another next to the fence and were lazily licking each other’s breasts and bellies. Another lay on her back with her legs spread, eyes half-closed, slowly stroking between her legs as her thick, dark lashes fluttered. And the lovely Angora was curled up by the gate, enjoying the warm sunshine as the sun peeked just over the farmhouse the pen was built against.

Senya’s heart almost ached as he saw them. He had lain in their soft, fluffy embrace once already, and the dreamy bliss that awaited him in that pen—in their comforting cuddle-pile—was impossible to ignore. He bit his lip hard. His cock throbbed.

The sprites stirred. Angora was the first to open her eyes, blinking blearily up at Jerrod and Senya. “Ooh... it’s nice to see you again, Master. And Jerrod.”

The two licking sprites giggled, rolling off of each other. They crawled over as Jerrod and Senya came to the gate, curly blonde curls bouncing slightly around their curved ram’s horns. They were even fluffier than when Senya had last seen them, and the wool around their arms, hips, breasts and ankles looked so perfectly white and fluffy, it could perhaps be mistaken for clouds.

Angora giggled. “And it’s... nice to see us, Master?”

Senya blinked, and realized he was staring right at Angora’s breasts. He bit his lip almost hard enough to bleed, taking a wary step back.

“Morning, ladies,” Jerrod said cheerfully. “Y’all know what day it is.”

“Um.” One of them blinked incredibly heavy eyelids up at Jerrod. Her eyelids were a faint lavender hue. “A weekday?”

Jerrod snapped the shears meaningfully.

At this, the fleece sprites smiled. “Shearing day,” they half-breathed, half-moaned as one, the expressions on their faces turning positively dreamy.

“That’s right,” Jerrod said. He turned and handed his pair to Senya, taking another out of the burlap sacks he was hefting and tossing the sacks aside. “Shearing day.”

The fleece sprites were clearly interested, blinking slowly up at him.

He snapped his new pair once again. “So... who wants to be first?”

The fleece sprites exchanged looks. Angora batted her eyelashes. “I’d say yes, but... I think Master wants to shear me.” She smiled happily at Senya, and he realized he was staring at her again. He swallowed. She giggled and tilted her head adorably.

“I guess I’ll go,” whispered another one of the sprites—the one who had been masturbating. She pulled herself up along the fence, smiling at Jerrod with bedroom eyes. “I never got to play with Jerrod last time he... fell in here.”

She seemed positively exhausted by the effort, but she managed to get to her feet, clinging to the simple wooden fence like it was all she could do not to fall asleep atop it.

It was no wonder this was all it took to contain the sprites, Senya supposed. But it was strange. Fleece sprites were so lazy, so innocent and sleepy... how could these four have ever committed the sorts of crimes to land them here?

“Atta girl, Moha.” Jerrod grinned and strolled over. He glanced at Senya. “Now, boss, just watch and learn.”

“But...” Senya sucked and nibbled nervously on his finger, trying to clear his thoughts of Angora’s adoring smile and soft, fluffy body. “But won’t they send you to sleep?”

“Naw.” Jerrod chuckled, grasping Moha by the arm—carefully avoiding her fluffy wool. “Not if you do it right. Trust me, sleepiness ain’t gonna be a problem pretty damn soon. Now, c’mon, girly.”

Moha giggled faintly, struggling to make it over the fence. She yawned, her efforts pathetic, limp, practically boneless. At last, with Jerrod’s help, she came tumbling over the edge—

—and right into Jerrod’s arms.

Jerrod gasped as her arms clung to him, her wool rubbing against his upper body. Senya saw his eyelids flutter, and a low sigh escaped him...

But then Moah obediently fell to the ground and got on her hands and knees, her ass in the air facing Jerrod.

Jerrod’s eyes cleared a little. He smirked at Senya. “See, boss? These ones know their place. They know what kinds of treats they get for being good. I swear, if half the livestock were as easy to manage as these four...”

“Ooh... good...” Moah beamed, squinting slightly in pleasure. She wiggled her ass.

And Jerrod reached forward, grasped her waist, and began to run the strange clippers through the wool around her hips. It cut away like grass beneath a scythe.

Jerrod whistled as he worked, and Senya watched his technique closely. He tried not to be distracted y Moha, even when she gasped and shook. Even when she started squirming, her eyes widening. Even when she...

Wait, was she getting off on this?

No, Senya realized, biting his knuckle. That wasn’t it at all.

“Ooh...” Moha whispered, breathing heavily, “oh, finally!”

As the last of the wool fell away, Jerrod took her arm. She started to ‘crawl in place’, shifting from knee to knee, eyelids fluttering.

It was like... like she was...

And then it clicked for him.

“She’s waking up,” Senya whispered.

Jerrod glanced at him and smiled as he snipped the sprite’s left arm clear. There was now a small pile of fluffy wool in the grass next to him and Moah. “The wool makes them tired, too,” he said, grinning. “So guess what taking away the wool—“

“Faster!” panted Moha, wiggling her hips. “Faster!”

Jerrod laughed, releasing one arm and roughly taking the other. “You gotta be careful, Senya. This is where they get ornery.” His clippers sheared through the right arm’s wool easily. Now the fleece sprite was bare, save for her head, breasts, and ankles. “If she starts... hey!” He stepped back as Moha crawled backwards and ground her ass against his crotch. “Still wearing pants, here, greenthumb.”

“I neeeeed it,” Moha whined. Her face was bright red. “Need to fuck! Now now NOW!”

“Poor Moha,” Senya heard Angora coo, and he saw her shaking her head sadly. “Just hold on!”

“Fuck you!” Moha gave a feral growl as Jerrod started shearing her left ankle. “You’ll be just like this soon enough, Angora! Agh!”

“Ooh...” Angora gave a vague smile, leaning weakly against the fence, head lulling until it rested against a post. She smiled up at Senya. “I can’t wait, Master.”

Jerrod switched to the right ankle, using one hand to hold Moha down as he went—to keep her from acting out—as she was now weakly attempting to do. “Easy, sheep!” he barked. “Down!”

“Nnnnn!” But Moha stayed down, glowering. She was clearly still tired, but her eyes were gleaming with a wakefulness that seemed almost alien on a fleece sprite’s chubby, heart-shaped face. Senya had seen that look in Bobbin’s eyes, on Kitten’s eyes, and he knew what it entailed. The odds of Jerrod actually getting every last ounce of wool were very slim.

“See, Master?” Jerrod chuckled. “The only trick is managing how energetic and horny they get when they’ve ‘slipped into something more comfortable’.”

And as Jerrod lowered the last leg and reached down, towards Moha’s right breast, Moha struck. Her arm lunged out, grabbing Jerrod by the wrist.

In one swift motion, she yanked the stockman to the ground, disarmed him of the shears, and tossed them aside. Jerrod fell to the ground with an, “Oof!”

Senya’s heart was pounding. He’d never seen Jerrod bested before. He took a hesitant step forward.

“Oh, Moha...” He stopped, hearing Angora give a little whispery laugh. “I don’t think she’s ever made it to the breasts, in all her years here. Poor thing...”

In an instant, Moha had leaped atop Jerrod. She straddled his belly, eyes blazing with fey fire, and wrapped her fingers around his throat. “Fuck me,” she hissed. “Fuck me fuck me fuck me FUCK ME!”

Jerrod let out a long-suffering sigh. “Well, I’m a chivalrous sort.”

He lifted the fleece sprite up from the waist—she really was quite short—and allowed her to unbuckle his trousers and strip them to his ankles.

She practically tore his underwear apart as she yanked it down and sank, squealing, onto his cock. The fleece sprite impaled herself on the brawny stockman, her head rising up towards the heavens and her moans instantly hitting a squealing octave as she came.

And she began to bounce in earnest.

Jerrod gripped her hips and helped her, lifting and lowering her, pounding his meaty cock into her. He was panting. The fleece sprite was openly drooling, her eyes wild and red-rimmed with tears, as she rose up and down atop his shaft like a woman possessed, like a feral creature.

Senya stared, enraptured by the scene.

“Ahem.” He looked back, biting his knuckle, as he saw Angora’s tired smile. “Am... I next?”

Senya took in a deep, heady breath. “I... I, um...”

“I’ll be... so gentle.” The fleece sprite shook her head reassuringly. “I won’t be like Moha. I promise.” She batted her eyelashes.

“... okay.” Senya walked forward, taking another deep breath to steady his nerves. His hand was sweaty as he set the clippers down on the fencepost. “So... you need to climb out of there.”

He noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that the two mutually licking fleece sprites seemed to be staring off into the distance now. They exchanged looks, smiled, and started licking each other’s faces like they’d only just discovered them.

“That’s right,” Angora whispered, giggling. “And you need to help me out!”

Senya swallowed. “G-got it.”

He steeled himself, then reached out a hand. It was shaking, he realized.

Angora looked at the trembling hand in confusion, her face falling slightly. She pouted. “Oh...” She nuzzled his hand a little. “Don’t be scared, Master. I promise, I won’t jump you or anything!”

Senya nodded. “I... I know. It’s just... I’m worried you’ll take control.”

“Aw.” She smiled sweetly up at him, taking his hand in hers. She guided him to pet her head, his fingers running through her soft, fluffy hair. “I know. But you don’t need to worry!”

“People are counting on me,” he said.

“I know,” she said in a sympathetic whimper. “And it’s so hard.” She pulled his hand away from her hair, sighing. “But you can do it. And when it’s done, we can play!” She gave a blissful sigh. “We can play as much as you like. Nice and dreamy.”

“Okay...”

“You like to play, don’t you?” She smiled, guiding him to take her arm, to help her to her feet. Senya’s fingers entwined themselves into the thick, fluffy wool. “We had so much fun last time.”

“Yes.” Senya blinked. “Yes.”

“And you’re getting so sleepy now...” she whispered, running her fingers over his hand, encouraging him to savor the softness of her wool. “And all you want to do is play...”

“Play...” Senya blinked. “Yes.”

“That’s right,” she cooed. “Lots of nice time to play with us when we’re all so sleeeepy... dreeeeamy...”

“Dream... wait.” Senya swayed and leaned against the fencepost, quickly moving his hand down to grip her un-fluffy wrist. He bit his lip. “Nice try.”

She giggled, batting heavy, lavender eyelids up at him. Her lashes were so dark, so thick.

Soon, Senya would be shearing her, and those eyes would light up in lust. His cock twitched excitedly at the prospect.

Senya wrapped both hands around her wrist and pulled, helping the fleece sprite rise to her feet. In the background, he heard Jerrod and Moha moaning in unison, and the wet sounds increasingly speeding up.

“Now...” He took a deep breath. “Over the fence.”

Angora smiled. “Yes, Master.”

And she grabbed his own wrist and gave a sudden, hard yank.

Jerrod heard a muffled yelp from Senya.

Unfortunately, he was a bit... distracted at the moment.

Moha was ridiculously energetic. She bounced in his lap with the speed of a galloping horse, her tight, slick pussy sliding over his massive cock in loving, pulsating delight. He had already cum three times over. He stared up at her, breathing heavily.

“Whazzat... Boss?” he gasped.

Moha giggled, contorting her body to descend down upon him without slowing her bouncing hips. But instead of kissing him, she entwined her fingers into his straw-blond hair...

And shoved him headfirst into her soft, fluffy cleavage.

It took him a moment to realize what happen, as the fuzzy fluffy static filled his mind. Then it registered.

“Mmf!” Jerod thrashed and struggled, but Moha gripped him with fey strength, smothering him. “MMF!”

“Easy does it, there,” the fleece sprite taunted, petting his hair tenderly. She kept bouncing in his lap, gyrating her hips around his cock, and, oh, fuck, he was cumming again. “There! Isn’t that nice, you sleepy little bimbo? Heehee!”

“Mmf! Mmf...” Jerrod was still struggling but he knew he was getting weaker. The wool was so soft... and she was so warm... fuck, her pussy was like a velvet glove...

“Bimbo,” Moha cooed in his ear, continuing to pet him, soothe him. “Sleepy... little... bimbo...”

Her voice was positively smoky as her pussy milked his throbbing cock.

And then he heard a new voice.

“Bimbo?”

“Gosh, is he really a bimbo? Is he more bimbo-y than us, even?”

“Ooh, let’s find out!”

His heart sank, even as his mind sank deeper and deeper into a pleasure-drunk drowse. He heard three chattering young women gathering around him, and though he couldn’t see—he could barely breathe while being smothered like this—he knew there were three big-eyed, big-breasted woman with talons for legs and speckle-feathered wings for arms perched around him, cooing at his predicament.

The hen harpies were here. In his sleepy haze, he could only guess at why.

“I can’t wait to get these two back to the coop!” exclaimed one with a girlish giggle. “Ooh, that’s gonna be so fun!”

Moha started to moan louder as orgasm took her. She slid rapidly up and down his shaft, panting, whining, screaming.

“We can tickle his cock until he cuuuums his bimbo brains out!”

“Yeah, and the kitty, too!”

“I told you, she’s the lamby!

“Um, how are we gonna tickle the sheepy’s cock? She’s got a pussy, like you and me? See?”

“Ooh! Ooh... ooh! That feels nice!”

“Of course it does, dummy. But let’s save that for later.”

“Ooh, don’t forget, though—”

And then he felt talons delicately plucking the amulet from his neck, and it was all he could do to whimper. Suddenly, all the pressures at his mind that had been so long staved off began to flood back into him. The harpies’ brain-breaking babbling, for one.

“Well, let’s get ’em going!”

“Yeah! We’ve got a lot of bimbo fucking to get to!”

“Wait, is that us fucking bimbos, or us bimbos fucking?”

“Um, uh, both!”

They erupted into high-pitched squeals of laughter as they hoisted up the madly fucking couple and started carrying them off, ignoring Moha’s lust-dumb protests. Jerrod wasn’t even lucid enough to manage that much.

Jerrod finally felt himself drifting into a dreamy, blissful sleep, as he came once more into the fleece sprite atop him.

His mind, meanwhile, began to melt away.

Senya landed atop the two embracing fleece sprites. Before he could think to react, they adjusted themselves slightly so he could fall between them, and he found himself immersed between two soft, fluffy bodies. They giggled and tossed their arms lazily around him, pulling him close.

“Ooh,” whispered one, kissing his neck sweetly. “Hello, Master.”

“We didn’t...” the other nuzzled his bare chest, giving a happy sigh, “... know you’d want to join us!”

“No,” he gasped, struggling. It was like he was moving within a dream. He felt like he was totally submerged in the wool, like the wool weighed a ton. His movements were sluggish, disjointed from his mind. But not for long.

Because his mind was starting to slow down, too.

“Let me go,” he insisted, trying to keep his head clear—even as his voice dripped with such arousal that not even a slime girl could take the order seriously. Their wool felt so soft along his legs, his back and chest, his arms. But his head remained clear. “I need... need to shear...”

“Ooh, yes,” Angora said, lying down so that she lay perpendicular to the three of them, right above his head. “Soon. Soon. But first...” She smiled happily, leaning in and nuzzling her nose against his. “You like this, don’t you?”

“I...” Senya shook his head slightly. “But I...”

“Don’t you?” Angora’s voice was soft, wispy, insistent. It rustled through his mind like crackly static. Senya felt his mind turning fuzzy, hazy, weak.

“Um...” He shook himself again, trying and failing to pull his arm clear as one of the fleece sprites gently clutched it to her woolly bosom. He tried to remember what she was asking him. If he liked it? “Yes,” he admitted, his eyelids drooping, “but... that’s not the... the point...”

“The point?” Angora asked, tilting her head. She started crawling atop the fleece sprite nuzzling his chest, eliciting a few annoyed whimpers and grunts from the dozy sprite.

“... yeah.” It took him a while to manage an answer. He felt like he was fading in and out. “The... the point.”

Angora leaned in as she straddled his belly, smiling down fondly at him. She yawned, and he yawned back.

The fleece sprite leaned in, her every motion sluggish, the perfect picture of lethargy. “What is the point?” she whispered in his ear, her wool tickling the sides of his head.

Senya blinked. He felt one sprite kissing and nuzzling his neck as the other caressed his sides. “Um...” His head was drifting, floating. He was sinking into slumber. Dreamy visions tickled his mind like the wool—dreams that were only just out of reach. Delicious, lusty dreams. “Um... the point?”

Angora just giggled. She turned to the fleece sprite who was currently slipping beneath his arm, and Senya found himself staring up at her hair.

She said something he only half-caught as he faded in and out of those lusty, rosy-headed dreams. “Didn’t... the kitty... supposed...”

The fleece sprite whispered something back as she kissed his sides tenderly. Senya didn’t hear it. Angora’s hair was brushing over his face, soft and heavy and warm. His eyelids were almost closed, even as he struggled to recover himself. He felt so... woolly-headed.

He smiled vacantly at the pun.

Angora turned back to him, and she kissed him right on the lips. He sighed, enjoying the touch—even as he struggled to remember what he’d been saying. “So what is the point, Master?” she cooed sweetly, nuzzling against his cheek, staring into his dull, tired eyes.

Senya’s head was foggy, fading. Everything felt like a dream as he spoke. “The... the point?”

“Oh...” Angora gave a soft whine of sympathy, wrapping her arms around his head, burying him in softness. “Isn’t it confusing? It’s just so hard to keep up...”

He nodded dreamily. She giggled, breasts pressing against his chest. Beneath her fluffy, soft wool that was gradually lulling him into compliance, he felt two pert nipples poking against his skin. “I’m so sleepy,” she whispered, petting his head slowly. “Are you sleepy, too, Master?”

“Mm...” He weakly shook his head.

“You’re not?” She kissed his cheek. “You look sleepy.”

He was sinking deep, deep into the fog, a thick, heavy fog that weighed him down, a thick, fluffy, wool fog that held a curvy nubile fleece sprite within it atop his belly. His head was lolling, sinking, drifting as he gazed up into her pretty lavender-lidded eyes... “Mm-hm...”

She laughed, kissing him again. He smiled up at her, eyelids fluttering. His eyes almost stayed closed this time.

“Just relax, Master,” she breathed, as she started to shift atop him. “Just... relax... and we can play together.”

“Mm?” As her breasts rose momentarily from his chest, he blinked. “Uh... wait...” He shook himself, even as the fleece sprites at either side clutched him tightly. Something about this felt so wrong, but... it all felt like a dream. Everything was fading away from him. Was he already asleep?

Something was going on. This wasn’t normal. There was... he’d heard something. A cry, maybe? What was going on?

Then he heard it. A giggly, babbly chatter from outside the fog. Squeaky, girlish voices reached him, echoey and distant, yet inescapable.

“Ooh, there he is! And he made a friend!”

“It’s Bobbi!”

“No, it’s not Bobbi, bimbo. It’s one of the lambies!”

Something about the high-pitched voices made Senya frown. The women spoke rapidly, a steady chatter of nonsense. Almost mind-numbing.

“Lambies have wool, you slutty-wutty stupidhead.”

“Oh, right. Um, well, maybe it’s the kitty!”

He giggled. He couldn’t remember what he’d just been worrying about. Angora was moving over above his hips, her head visibly swaying, her eyelids drooping low. He beamed up at her. He felt so... so...

“Kitties have ears!”

“Um, so does she.”

“Oh! Gosh, you’re right!”

“You two bimbos, it is a lamby! He just sheared her, remember?”

“Ooh! Right in the tush!”

“That’s reamed, bimbo. Shearing means he cut off the wool.”

“Oh, right! The wool on her tush!”

Angora smiled dozily down at him. She yawned He yawned, too. So did the two fleece sprites holding him down. “Poor sleepy Master,” she cooed. “Those hen harpies are so... confusing...”

He blinked up at her, still beaming, his eyes half-closed. “Um... what?”

Angora reached down and gently stroked his cock with a finger. Senya let out a breath, whimpering. “They talk sooo much,” she murmured, smiling down at his pulsing shaft, “it just seems to make all the mortals who hear them turn into silly little bimbos!”

Senya giggled. Bimbos. He couldn’t be a bimbo. He was a... he had a... he was a boy!

“Do... do you think that’s happening to you?” Angora whispered, batting her eyelashes.

Senya blinked.

And then she sank down onto his cock.

Immediately, he was immersed in the softest, sweetest pleasure he’d ever imagined. Fuzzy static blossomed in his heart and mind like cotton flowers.

He let out a long, whimpering sigh. All the tension, all the worries, all the... thoughts... just seemed to slip away. He was too sleepy to worry. Too happy to think. Too silly to resist.

Angora snuggled up against him, wiggling her hips. Pleasure coursed through him in waves, lulling him to sleep, like he was drifting in a lake as waves rose over him.

He was submerged.

He heard the fleece sprites giggling. Angora was whispering in his ear, but the only word he made out was ‘bimbo’.

He giggled. Bimbo. He... he couldn’t be a bimbo, right? Bimbos were.. stupid and stuff. And he was just... sleepy.

He couldn’t hear the harpies’ voices anymore. All he heard was the sprites’ soft, soothing whispers. They slipped into his head, filled him, confused him, dazed him until he couldn’t think of anything else.

“Feels so nice...”

“Such a nice, dreamy little bimbo...”

“Feeling a little wooly-headed? Heehee... silly boy...”

Silly.

Sleepy.

Dreamy.

Nice.

They clutched him tightly as his cock throbbed, as the pussy contracted around it, silky and smooth and slick and tight. Angora didn’t rise, or bounce. She just slowly wiggled and gyrated her hips around it.

He was propped up on his back in the arms of one sprite, who tenderly nuzzled his neck, as the other continued to keep his arms nice and sleepy and heavy so he couldn’t get all silly and move around or something.

He was so tired. He felt so silly. So foggy and horny and happy and sleepy.

He started to cum with a moan. He felt Angora shivering against him, and she was cumming, too, juices trickling down his cock, making him even slicker. But she only sighed happily, batting her eyelashes, and started kissing him softly as her pussy milked him. The orgasm came slow, steady, and somehow exhausting. He felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into their soft ‘bed’.

“Good boy,” she sighed, smiling sleepily down at him as he drifted. “Ooh... dream for us, little bimbo boy.”

The fleece sprite beneath him giggled. “Let’s go to nice little dreamland, Master.”

They all giggled at this. He giggled, too, as a stupid, vacant smile spread across his face. His eyelids began to close.

His last sight was Angora beaming down at him, her heavy-lidded eyes full of love, as she pressed his face gently into her soft, fluffy breasts. “Because when he wakes up,” she cooed, “this little bimbo won’t be Master at all. And won’t that be so nice?”

He let out a small groan. Something about it sounded wrong, but... everything Angora said when he was this sleepy just seemed to seep into his mind and become true.

“So nice,” agreed the sprite beneath him, nibbling on his neck tenderly. “So nice and easy to just be a happy little sleepy bimbo, isn’t it?”

“So nice to just be a good boy. A good... little... horny... dreamy... bimbo.”

“So nice to obey. So nice to drift and sleep and plaaaay with us, isn’t it, little bimbo Master?”

“Mm-hm,” he sighed happily, as he obediently drifted off into a fog of delicious dreams. He barely even registered what they were saying. He just let their words sink into his mind, knowing that they knew best. He was too dumb and sleepy and horny to think about any of it. Too silly. Too dreamy.

Bimbos didn’t need to think.

And he was so tired, so horny and happy, Senya couldn’t wait to never need to think again.

The thick wooden barn doors stood strong, barred with gleaming silver, covered in mystical runes. In the early afternoon light, the barn cast small shadows, surrounded by bright wildflowers. A few fairies buzzed about aimlessly, waiting for the point when Scinti would remember them and call them back into her service once more.

The barn doors sparked.

The silver bars sputtered slightly, as if, burning hot, they had been pressed into water. Steam began to pour out. A loud hiss escaped them.

And then they slid to the side, and the doors drifted open.

A statuesque fey woman, her platinum blonde hair complemented by two small horns, her skin a milky-white, and her breasts improbably large, bouncing and jiggling, stood in the doorway. She paused at the entrance way, shading her eyes, then took a single step.

Her bare feet touched the wildflowers and verdant green grass of the outside world, as they had not done for generations.

And absolutely nothing happened.

Well, her cowbell jangled slightly, but Mommy paid it no heed. She just smiled. Squeezing one of her nipples, she took a deep breath and took off at a brisk, swaying stroll.

The wards on the Ranch had begun to crumble.

The Will had begun to fail.

Shearing Day had ended. Harvest Time had commenced. Mommy licked her lips, heart soaring with excitement, knowing one thing for certain:

Nothing would ever be the same.

And Laca was rather of the opinion that it was time she negotiated a meeting with the Ambrosia Nymph.

Anya’s heart was being... it was being filled with static. Pleasant, fuzzy static. Like mold on her brain. But she still had some mind to her, and as she lay still, a sort of clarity was drifting back. Her senses were inundated by the strong, intoxicating smell of... something. An aphrodisiac, no doubt.

She had been captured by the fey, and the fey did not exactly smoke tobacco.

The straw cot she lay in was soft, but scratchy. Far from the sort of bed she’d always figured she would get if the fey ever enslaved her. Fey were supposed to have big, comfy beds. Beds that could brainwash you just with how soft they were. Beds laced with fleece sprite wool, beds that smelled of roses. This bed smelled of straw. And it was scratchy.

The scratchiness was the problem. Anya was quite certain she could have happily drifted off completely if she was in a comfortable bed. But this cot was scratchy, and whenever the wagon hit a stone, the bed bumped.

Bumped.

She was in a wagon.

She took a shallow breath in, trying not to inhale too much of the pleasant-smelling drug.

She was on a straw cot, in a large wagon, captured by the fey.

“They knew we were making a move.” This voice was rough, and raspy, like gravel slipping down a rocky slope. It bore a thick Eastern accent, but spoke in the Western tongue. “They knew, and you tell me they only left a week ago? Did they know how bad this could get?”

“Easy, Seng. Easy.” This voice was sultry, smooth and sly as smoke. “Have another puff.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, you smokestack shortstack.”

“Ooh. How long did it take you to come up with that ‘insult’, deary?”

“Didn’t your daddy ever tell you not to talk down to a jami?”

“Oh, your daddy’s told me some things, let me tell you—”

“That doesn’t even make sense, we both know you’re into women, you fucking—”

As the voices raised, Anya blinked. She became aware that there was a quieter voice beneath it all, speaking rapidly in a tongue she didn’t speak. Almost as if... translating?

“Everyone!” snapped a third voice. This one had an even thicker accent than the other two, and had a startling chirpy quality that helped Anya wake herself up a bit more. “We are not here for this stupid infighting. We agreed; it all waits until the Ranch is crushed. Is the Ranch crushed?”

Sour mumbling followed this question.

“Then we do not fight. Kemuri, please don’t talk down to an avalanche spirit. Seng, stop taking ‘your daddy’ jokes literally. Kemuri is trying to anger you by making claims about his own sexual skill coupled with your father’s promiscuity.”

“Well, why didn’t he say so? Smartass smokestack shortstack.”

“Seng,” said the smoky voice, “please stop repeating that like it is going to become a thing. We need to remain focused on the objective, like our feline friend said.”

Anya’s eyelids fluttered. The smoke was stronger now, and she realized the hookah had been passed closer to her. A small circle of robed individuals was gathered in the large cart. She leaned back in the cot, as quietly as she could, to avoid secondhand intoxication. These fey could handle it, apparently. She knew she could not.

Some were not in the circle. A few sat to the side, or closer to the source of brightness—the front of the wagon.

And two sat to the side next to Anya’s bed. One had a pair of tufted fox ears. She had her arm wrapped around a silver-haired woman. They were not speaking.

“The Ranch,” Seng growled.

“The Ranch,” Kemuri agreed.

“The wards are ancient,” the third speaker declared. “But there is some issue over whether or not they will collapse, as we have predicted. If they collapse, the fey prisoners will all be released. But if they hold...”

“If, if, if,” whined a low, almost oozing voice. “Thaaaat’s an ‘if’, caaaaatgirl. And I don’t like iiiiiifs.

“Well, neither do the others,” snapped the ‘catgirl’ with a little growl of annoyance. “Which is why they only decided to take off now, now that it looks like those wards are going down no matter what we do.”

“Vultures,” muttered Seng. “We could’ve used their help earlier!”

“We could still use it now,” Kemuri remarked. He cleared his throat. “So I say we wait.”

“I don’t like that,” Seng said. “Holding back like that. But we’re, what, five fey left? And a bunch of mortals. Agh, I dunno.” Anya heard the ‘jami’ spit.

“Moving in now will just result in more dead, more scarecrows,” Kemuri said. “You haven’t seen Bobbin in action. I have. A house fey on her home terrain is truly a force to reckon with. We shouldn’t risk it.”

The fox-eared figure next to Anya shifted uneasily, speaking up for the first time. “And what of my sister, Kemuri?”

Kemuri gave a little dismissive noise. “She died to bring the Ranch down in flames. She wouldn’t want us risking our lives on her account.”

The kitsune stiffened. For a moment, Anya thought she was about to spring at the short, curvaceous speaker. Her hand slipped to her side, as though going for a weapon.

But after a moment, she just seemed to crumple into the dark-haired woman’s arms.

There was a long quiet.

“And what are plans for... him?” the catgirl asked, clearing her throat. “The new Master? Do we have to kill him? Seems... a waste.”

“Theeeeere are uuuuuuuses for him,” moaned the oozing speaker.

“I’ve got a use for the Wetherdean fellow,” Kemuri said cheerfully. “It involves a sword in want of flesh.”

Anya stiffened.

They were talking about her brother, she realized.

“There are rules,” Seng said, sounding uneasy. “Killing a human could put us in trouble.”

“He might,” the silver-haired woman said suddenly, her voice uncertain, “be useful for your purposes, ladies and gentleman.”

Everyone turned to her, startled.

For a moment, Anya found herself staring at the faces of the fey. A very thin, white-haired catgirl sat alongside a short, very curvaceous red-haired beauty who currently held the hookah and breathed from it thoughtfully. The latter wore what might be assumed to be a feminine form, but everyone was calling ‘Kemuri’ a man, so Anya supposed it was likely not so simple.

Next to him sat cross-legged a slight woman with muscular arms and large, smooth, shapely feet. Her toes waggled as she regarded the speaker. Finally, a buxom maiden wearing a large conical snail shell atop her head sat to the other side of the catgirl. Her skin was a pale lavender, and seemed strangely slick. All were of clear Eastern descent, but this new speaker, Anya realized, had no accent whatsoever.

“And what might that be, doppelganger?” the catgirl asked. “We talk thus for your benefit, and only for Suisshu’s sake—and that only for respect for her lost sister, who perished for the cause. It is a burden on those of us who don’t speak good Western. Please, enlighten us.”

The doppelganger cleared her throat, then paused.

She glanced back. Her eyes met Anya’s.

“Oh,” she said softly, “our little mascot here seems to be waking up.” She leaned in. “Bumpy ride, dear?” she cooed.

Anya stared up at the silver-haired woman, whose eyes were a piercing silver to match. “F-fuck you,” she whispered, struggling in vain to wake herself.

The doppelganger’s smile vanished, and she shook her head disapprovingly. “A foul mouth might earn the fey’s favor, but not in the way you’d want to use it,” she said, leaning in closer. Her eyes started to sparkle. “Now, look into my eyes, my dear...” Her hand caressed Anya’s cheek. “Feel yourself... drifting...”

Senya drifted in and out of sleep, a dazed, blissful smile on his face, as Angora’s pussy gently milked his hard, needy cock.

His eyelids fluttered. He dreamed of the Thriae, of Mommy, of the beembos and slime girls and puppy sprites, but mostly, he dreamed of the fleece sprites. The fey who had finally—and so, so easily—claimed him.

The fleece sprites embraced him, pouring soft, fuzzy pleasure into his stupid, wooly mind. Their wool soothed him, eased him. Angora rolled her hips and sighed against him, her breathy gasps and moans—so small, so sleepy—a constant soundtrack in his tingling ears.

They kissed him, milked him to orgasm after orgasm, petted him, praised him. He was a good boy, a good bimbo, a good Master, a good, obedient playmate. Submissive. Dreamy. Sleepy. Brainless.

They held him there, lost in dreamy ecstasy, and he felt all will to ever leave their arms fading deep into the mist.

He understood now. He understood it all. Why had he ever tried to resist? This was what he wanted. All he’d ever wanted. Captured and captivated by beautiful fey, lost in lust, lost in submission.

“Good bimbo,” one mumbled in his ear.

“Sleepy boy,” coed another.

Angora sweetly kissed him, nuzzling against his neck and smiling down at him. He sighed happily.

He had always wanted this, deep down. How could he resist something he wanted? He wanted to lie here forever, lost in dreams, in obedient, pliant, docile bliss, as they used his sleepy, horny body as their eternal sex toy. It was what he deserved. What he craved.

No wonder Jerrod wasn’t bothering to save him.

“Good boy,” purred Angora, kissing him again and holding him tighter—like a particularly beloved pillow, or a stuffed animal. His chin rested against her fluffy, wool-covered breasts, and this little contact made his head spin down, down, spiraling to the ground like a maple seed. Deeper into fuzzy, fluffy emptiness.

Jerrod and Bobbin would be fine. They were just better than he was—stronger, more resistant. Because they wanted to resist.

They weren’t pathetic like Senya. They weren’t submissive and needy like Senya. They were in control. The fey here did not master them—they mastered the fey. Owned the fey. Used the fey.

He moaned softly. His mind felt like it was drifting through thunderclouds. Every now and then, a tiny bolt of clarity would strike, then fade as quick as it came. He kept feeling like he was getting closer to something, like he was understanding something.

Luckily, Senya knew he didn’t need to understand anything anymore. He could just lie here, and moan, and wriggle, and make the fleece sprites happy.

Jerrod and Bobbin would be fine without him. He’d been a poor successor. He would have made a terrible Master to follow in Great-Uncle Yvun’s footsteps.

Not like he would have ever wanted to. Senya smiled up at Angora, who giggled, her eyelids heavy as she nuzzled his cheek. If being a Master meant cruelty and ownership, meant brainwashing prisoners into pets and slaves...

His eyelids fluttered. Again, the lightning flashed by.

“Such a... good pet,” Angora said, yawning. She licked his cheek, and he laughed weakly. “It’s so nice... so nice, isn’t it?”

The lightning gave way to puffy white clouds again as he numbly nodded. Nice to be pliant and docile. Easier to be a good pet. To obey. He would have been a terrible Master. He would make a wonderful pet. A wonderful sleepy bimbo.

Regrets swam through his head like sparrows in the clouds. The business with the Will—but he hadn’t even understood it lucid. It was too much for him. Bobbin would sort it out. Cheat it out, like Jerrod had said. He would never see his puppy sprites again, perhaps, unless Bobbin eventually freed him—but what then? He would just sink into the next fey’s arms and submit all over again. Perhaps he would see his puppies again, and that made him cum joyously into Angora’s slick, smooth pussy. He would miss carpentry—but he hadn’t had time for it anyways, serving Bobbin’s wishes. No time for anything but pleasure now. He would miss his sister—

Oh.

He frowned.

He would miss his sister.

Seeing his frown, the fleece sprites gave sympathetic moans. They started kissing and licking all over his neck and face, drowning him in their love. Angora wriggled her hips until he found himself cumming again, and he felt those worries melting away once more, forgotten.

“Good boy,” Angora said, her voice soft and wispy. “Good boy...”

He would be a good boy. He smiled, eyelids closing at last as his submission was complete. A good pet. A good obedient, submissive, pliant, docile, horny, sleepy, dreamy, foggy, empty-headed brainless bimbo slave. He heard, faintly, the fleece sprites whispering these words in his ears, but they just seeped in and settled in his mind without him even having to think about them. And it felt so good to just let them... program him. No more time for regrets. There was only softness. There was only sleep. There was only pleasure. There was only music.

Wait.

Music?

Through the drowsy haze, Senya began to hear a strange sort of song.

It was some sort of woodwind tune, like a flute. Its tone was deep and slow. Kind of cute—very cheerful. A lullaby. It was pleasant to Senya, though he wasn’t sure why Angora’s eyes had turned that bright pink color.

The fleece sprite licked her lips. She licked Senya’s lips. Her eyelids were drooping until her eyes were just slits.

Around Senya, he felt the two fleece sprites who held him steady getting out from the pile. He sank into the grass, blinking, startled by the sudden relative chill—though his cock spurting cum into Angora’s cunt once again was enough to dispel such worries for now. He mindlessly clutched at her.

The two fleece sprites, meanwhile, started crawling away.

Then Angora started to move. She was breathing heavily, Senya felt, as she disentangled herself from him. He clutched at her weakly, but she, despite her exhaustion, was still stronger. His cock slid out of her pussy with a slick, wet sound, still dribbling a little.

And then she, too, began to crawl. Senya finally looked up.

The three fleece sprites were gathering by the gate. On the other side of the gate stood a strangely familiar woman with long dark hair. She was totally naked, and playing a crudely-carved bamboo flute of sorts.

The fleece sprites’ eyes had gone rosy with longing as they leaned against the fence, panting along with the music. From behind, Senya could see their thighs rubbing together, could see their need.

But he was still too foggy to think clearly, and so he just watched as the young woman procured three sticks, each with a ball of golden amber at the end. She hesitated.

Her eyes, Senya noticed, were a bright gold.

And then he realized what those candies were.

The fleece sprites were actually drooling as they stared, eyes half-closed, at the honeypops. They leaned closer, trying to reach them. Their rosy eyes were glazed and distant as the lullaby continued.

And then those golden eyes contacted his own. She stopped playing a moment, but curiously, the music lingered, echoing through the pen. “What are you, stupid?” the woman hissed, gesturing to the fence. “Get out, quick! This won’t distract them long, and they can be fast when they need to be!”

She quickly returned to playing.

Senya stared dumbly at her. She stared back at him, urgently nodding towards the fence.

The fleece sprites had acquired their candies, now, and were happily sucking on them, blissful looks on their faces. They sucked like babies at nipples, rapidly reducing the Thriae treats into nothing. Their eyes were sparkling, now, pink and gold.

Senya started crawling slowly towards the fence. The world seemed to be pulsating. Everything was suddenly too bright, too loud, and he was so tired. He swayed back and forth as he crawled, nearly falling on his side more than once.

“Ooh. Master.”

He paused, glancing back. His whole head felt like it was full of cotton balls.

Angora was crawling towards him, eyes sparkling gold and pink, a drowsy smile on her angelic face. And then she was next to him, nuzzling his neck. “Do you wanna leave?” she whispered, leaning against him. “Because... you can, if you want.”

Senya stared at her as he felt his muscles relaxing. It was true. He could, if he wanted to.

The trouble was... he didn’t, did he?

This was what he wanted. His eyelids fluttered as she gave his neck a little lick. And that was the problem here. He was tired of fighting. It felt too good to not fight. It all just felt too good. Too right.

Senya didn’t want to be Master. He wanted to be a good boy. And so his arms started to go limp. He started to sink back down, deep, deep down, and back into Angora’s tender clutches. “Angora,” he moaned.

“Yes, Master,” the fleece sprite cooed, stroking his hair. “Sleepy. Sleepy bimbo Master.”

“Sleepy... yes, sleepy...” He smiled dreamily as he heard the other fleece sprites crawling up behind him. Angora giggled.

Then he heard a shrill buzzer go off, and he jumped. So did Angora.

Or, to be precise, she fell over. The buzzer went off three times, harsh and screeching, like an angry tin bird. Senya’s world throbbed, thrust back into full wakefulness.

And on the third buzz, enough of his proper mind managed to spark back into action to crawl the last few feet forward and grasp at the bard’s hands. She yanked him over the fence with a grunt.

He landed roughly in the grass—rough enough that it hurt. He rolled onto his back, and lay there for a moment, the grass irritating his back, his head hurting from the rough fall, his ears ringing from the awful alarm buzzer.

“There!” snapped the woman, sucking in a deep breath. She had fallen over, too, and now she climbed to her feet and folded her arms over her bare chest. “Yeeshus and Nakti, gods of music and noise, that was close!” She stood over him, sticking her upper lip out in thought. “You alright, sir?”

“Um...” He blinked several times. “Yes. Yes!” He struggled to his feet. “Yes, I am!” His head was still spinning. The world was spinning. Why was this woman so familiar? “I... I don’t, though...”

She extended a hand. “My name’s Merisi. Second-Class Bard of the Bardic Orders Postal Service. Not that that means anything to this lot.” She shot a scowl back at the fleece sprites.

Senya shook her hand, smiling weakly. “My name’s Senya. Senya Wetherdean.”

“Oh, thank the gods.” Merisi smirked. “I mean, I owed you a save anyways, but I was really hoping you were Senya.”

“You know my name? Wait—” Senya’s mind, still sluggish, suddenly kicked into high gear. Reflexively, he drew his hand back. “You were the honey sprite!”

“Second-stage addiction.” She scowled at him, gesturing at her eyes—sure enough, the irises were gold, but she still had pupils and whites. “Not a honey sprite.”

“Yes, but—” Senya’s mind was still racing. He found himself grinning broadly. “You’re the messenger! Oh, gods, so Anya has been getting my letters.”

“Um. No.”

Her face was serious. A bit confused. Worried. Senya’s smile dropped off quickly. “Oh. I see.” He hesitated, then, biting his lip, looked around. “Wait, where’s Jerrod?”

Merisi scratched her head. “Oh, that guy? I saw some hen harpies running off with him and a shaven fleece sprite. I’d have saved him, but I also saw you, and... frankly, I don’t fuck with shaven fleece sprites. Speaking of which, we should probably get someplace safer.” She gestured to the pen. “Fleece sprites aren’t good at long-distance chases, but they can sprint.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Senya shook his head, the last remnants of grogginess finally slipping from his newly-cleared mind. “The wards don’t—”

Out of the corner of his eye, Senya caught movement. He stiffened, his head turning ever-so-slightly to look.

Horror and shock clashed against a strange delight as Angora finished pulling herself over the fence. The other fleece sprite were rising to their feet, too, sluggish but plainly excited.

There was a crackling over the wooden slats, like sparks, and then... nothing.

Angora landed on her hands and knees on the other side, beaming up at him. “H-hi, Master,” she said sweetly.

Senya took a step back, biting his lip. She was only a meter or so away from him, and slowly getting back to her feet...

“We should go,” Merisi said, grabbing Senya’s arm. “Go now. I am not losing you until I can deliver these damn letters.”

And jarred back to full wakefulness by the tugging, Senya turned and obediently took off at a run.

Senya only occasionally glanced up from Anya’s letters to avoid collisions with bamboo clusters or trees. Otherwise, he was lost in the first correspondence he’d had from his oldest friend in weeks, and he read as he ran.

He worked through them quickly; there were only four, after all, and he was a good reader. Actually, it took him longer than usual. His head still felt a bit slow. And when he was done reading, his head only felt more clogged and cramped.

He ran towards the harpy henhouse, purely by instinct. He wasn’t actually sure how he knew where to go, considering he’d never been there that he could recall. Then again, he was beginning to trust his conscious memory less and... Oh, gods, I forgot about that night with Valina! How did I manage forget that I remembered that Bobbin messed with my memory? Okay, that’s a stupid-sounding question.

Running was good, he realized. It was pure exertion. After all that groggy brainwashing, it seemed to help clear him out, even though he was fleeing alongside a slender, attractive young bard. It felt all those clogged thoughts were finally sifting out, evening in his mind. And now, with adrenaline flooding through him, he was beginning to...

… organize himself. His missing memories. The Postmaster’s note to Anya. The scarecrow. The lawyer. Merisi and the Thriae. Market Day. The crows. The hostile natives. Brigitte’s riddle. The glow in the cellar. Valina.

It wasn’t that he’d forgotten any of it—rather, it felt like he’d been kept so busy, none of it had had time to sink in.

What time had he had? Shit, he couldn’t remember his last length of free time where he hadn’t been dealing with some sort of sexual torment! He couldn’t even remember how long he’d been here!

It was almost too much. His eyes were tearing up, not with anger, or sorrow, but sheer, overwhelmed mental exhaustion. He was pretty sure the fleece sprites were long behind them, but he just needed to keep running. If he ran, he could keep putting this together. He could keep sorting, compiling. He’d gotten so many hints, so many—

“Wetherdean, wait!”

Senya stopped short, nearly skidding on the grass, as they drew near a chickenwire fence. It encircled a large dirt enclosure containing somewhere around two dozen chickens. Ordinary chickens, scratching around in the dirt, pecking up corn and clucking merrily.

And in the corner of the enclosure was a bright neon-green chicken coop. From within, he could distantly hear a gaggle of what sounded like chattering young women.

Merisi tugged on his shoulder, her eyes narrowed. “What are we doing here?” she hissed. “We need to get the hell out of here!”

Senya stared numbly at the coop for second. He slowly shook his head. “No,” he heard himself say. “Need to... I need to get help. The wards are going down.”

“Yeah, I kinda put two and two together. This place is full of ancient magic. Generations old. Maybe even centuries. That’s way above my pay grade, and definitely above yours.”

Centuries.

Senya knew Merisi was right. He also knew that Merisi was right about what was best for the two of them. That was a bard’s specialty: the here and now and the who-was-present. But this was bigger than the here-and-now. This was centuries bigger.

“Jerrod is in there,” he said, voice shaking. “And—and he and Bobbin are the only ones who know anything about this place. He knows a little.”

“No way. Trust me, you cannot handle even one or two hen harpies in this state. They’ll have you a giggling bimbo like that.” She snapped her fingers. Senya swayed a little, and she gestured with raised eyebrows. “See!”

“You... can do what you want.” He turned to the henhouse, heart pounding. “I need to get to Jerrod. If the wards go down completely, it’s... I don’t know. It’s bad. And my fault.”

He could resist. He’d have to. Senya knew he could—because he had before, hadn’t he! He could fight it! He just... he...

… he needed to want to.

Senya blinked.

Merisi looked to the left, then the right. The bard groaned. “Fuck, of course I’m not just gonna let these fey rape you brainless. Fine.” She whipped out the bamboo flute. “But don’t tell anyone about this. I am not getting demoted for Rank Heroism over this.” Her eyes darted from side to side (scanning the horizon for charging fleece sprites, no doubt). “But, uh, wouldn’t it be better to go find that Bobbin? Sounds like she knows more.”

He blinked again, then sucked in a deep breath. “N... no.” He shook his head. “Not Bobbin. Not Bobbin.”

He felt very certain of this. He was not going to go anywhere near Bobbin for the time being.

He needed to remember what was about to happen.

Several hours ago...

Bobbin made her way out towards the Honey Hill, whistling a jaunty tune, hands clasped behind her back. The kitsune they’d captured was juuuust about ripe now. It had been a delicious couple of days, filling her up, teasing her, making her cum her brains out.

Bobbin hadn’t been able to survey much of the latter, sadly—so preoccupied had she been with yummy, needy little Master. But soon the time would come. And good thing, too! They were down to just nine scarecrows, so every extra guard helped while they were in this holding pattern.

Master was close, though. Bobbin was hopeful. He would either take charge, and begin to rule the Ranch with a firmer hand, or he would be a passive inheritor, and Bobbin might be the one exerting the ‘firmer hand’ over him.

She licked her lips guiltily. The latter seemed a bit more likely. The Ranch had never seen a submissive Master before—but then, it had never seen a Master not born on the Ranch before.

Oh, it was a sorry state. But Bobbin was optimistic. Senya might be the start of a new line of Masters—not a bad line, just a different type of leadership. Bobbin had never worked under someone kind before.

Of course, with his obedient streak, it seemed unlikely she would really be working under him, but... she grinned.

Regardless, he would need new scarecrows in the meantime. And what luck to have captured a kitsune! Beastfey always made wonderful scarecrows, once their shapeshifting was neutralized.

Bobbin was, of course, thoroughly immersed in her own thoughts. So much so that she didn’t even notice until she drew within speaking distance what was wrong with the scarecrows before her.

They weren’t occupied with the kitsune at all.

Instead, the four scarecrows Bobbin had tasked with licking the kitsune to climax after climax after climax last night were on their knees, squealing, as they eagerly licked out two wasp-waisted, amber-eyed, big-breasted blonde beauties who were each clad in nothing but scarlet lingerie.

Behind them, moaning, was Sylvia, eagerly licking the squealing kitsune out. Bobbin felt some initial relief, despite it all. At least the ritual hadn’t been interrupted.

But that relief quickly gave way to anger. Bobbin stopped short, eyes blazing. “Five! Six! Fourteen! Twelve! What in the gods’ name?”

“Oh... mm...” Six gagged slightly, drinking down the honey greedily. She grinned dizzily at Bobbin as she swallowed. “Sorry, Bobbi. Jus’ bein’... good girls...” Her blue button eyes seemed to sparkle with extra luster as she returned to licking.

Bobbin glared at her creation, then up at Lata and Lala. The Thriae had the decency to look nervous—maybe because the closer Bobbin got to them, the hornier they were both programmed to get, and they all knew that. Bobbin took a step forward. “Lata,” she said darkly, “Lala, care to elaborate?”

“Oh... mm... B-Bobbi...” Lala had a big smile on her face as Twelve and Six took turns licking her clit with nimble tongues.

“Stop licking them!” Bobbin barked.

Meekly, the scarecrows pulled away, their motions sluggish and reluctant. They crawled back, licking their lips—and the lips of one another—clean of the remaining juices, giggling.

Bobbin was infuriated. Her scarecrows couldn’t be poisoned or drugged, so that meant the Thriae had hypnotized them. But they weren’t supposed to be able to use their buzzing ability without becoming enormously horny and submissive!

Unless... Bobbin licked her lips. She hadn’t reinforced their programming in a while.

Maybe it was time to start.

“Lala,” she said sweetly, and relished the look of terror that crossed their faces at this tone of voice, “Lata, care to explain?”

They exchanged looks, biting their bee-stung amber-painted lips. Behind them, Sylvia let out a wordless moan.

Bobbin took a step forward, and smiled brightly as they each swallowed. “Well?”

“Well...” Lata cleared her throat. “Well, see, it’s like, you hadn’t come by all day, r-right, Lala?”

“Right!” Lala nodded eagerly. “And we were—we were, like, super horny—“

Bobbin took another step forward. “Horny like how?” she asked, cocking her head curiously.

Lata’s face was turning red. “L-like... like... super horny.”

“Stupid horny,” Lala agreed, giving a nervous giggle. “We couldn’t help ourselves!”

“Oh?” Bobbin took another step, licking her lips as she saw the Thriae nearly lunge for their own pussies. They barely stopped themselves, no doubt knowing any attempt at self-pleasuring would only make this worse. They were caressing their prodigious curves, now, pinching their nipples, rubbing their hands over their body, anything to distract themselves. Bobbin blinked innocently. “So you didn’t have any control?”

“No!” Lata squeaked. “N-no control at all.”

“Just a coupla dumb sluts,” Lala whined. “Just... couldn’t...”

Bobbin took a big stride forward. She was now just a few steps away from arm’s length from the pair. She smiled widely. “Resist?” she offered.

“C-can’t resist,” Lata whispered, her fingers helplessly straying towards her pussy.

“Can’t resist,” Lala breathed, her hands following Lata’s.

Bobbin reached down and gently ran a finger over her own clit, relishing their wantonness around her. She loved breaking them like this. “Now, now,” she purred. “No stroking. Just hold your hands a few inches away.” Bobbin took another step forward. She smiled at the two flushed, messy Thriae. “So what happened then?”

“We...” Lata was panting with the effort of keeping her hands still. “We saw the scarecrows...”

“And...” Lala moaned. “And we t-tried... buzzing them...”

“’Cause, I mean...” Lata giggled, her voice cracking with the strain. “If it t-triggered us, gosh, we were horny sluts anyways!”

Bobbin stepped forward. “So you mind controlled my scarecrows.”

“Th-that’s right.” Lala sank to her knees, her eyes tearful. “To lick. T-to... obey...”

“To make... Mistresses...happy...” Lata fell to her knees as well.

“You like making your Master happy,” Bobbin said firmly, stepping forward. She was now within arm’s reach. She was breathing heavily, now, staring down at her blushing, submissive beauties. The Thriae were her own forbidden treat. A gift from an old Master—one of the most dangerous High Fey in the world, their entire culture based around dominance, and submissive totally to Bobbin’s own pleasure. “And who is your Master?”

“You,” the blubbering Thriae mewled in unison, leaning in to breathe in Bobbin’s scent. “It’s you!”

Bobbin smiled, her heart racing. She felt the scarecrows embracing her from behind, kissing her neck, licking her sides and shoulders. She reached out and rested a hand on each Thriae’s blonde head, drawing them in. “For every second you spend not licking,” she cooed, giggling with delight, “I’m going to say bad girl.”

The Thriae’s eyes widened.

They lunged, already moaning at the horrid half-orgasms that were rushing through them, and began licking together at Bobbin’s pussy with wild abandon. They moaned and gasped in between laps, and Bobbin’s eyelids fluttered, delighting in those honeyed tongues on her skin. She let out a high-pitched moan.

In seconds, she was sinking to the ground, immersed in the scarecrows’ arms, lost in the Thriae’s endless licking. Her gasps and cries only spurred them to lick faster. Within a minute, she was orgasming, and this made the scarecrows orgasm, and the Thriae moaned with delight as she gasped out her praise to bring them to the same points of bliss...

Distantly, Bobbin wasn’t sure if this was really as effective a punishment as she’d had in mind.

But she moaned and gasped as the tongues lapped eagerly over her tingling clit, unable to really care.

She would have plenty of time to reinforce the programming once her pussy was satisfied. And that would only take... what, a few hours?

Then she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. It took her a moment to register.

Sylvia had picked up a small razor.

And she was cutting through the ropes.

Bobbin blinked. “Hey!” she protested. “St—MMF!” She was cut off by a mind-melting kiss from Lata, long, deep and sweet, that left her gasping. She broke away, struggling in the Thriae’s suddenly very firm grips. “Stop! Bad gir—ah! AAH!”

She spasmed as the orgasm was licked from her struggling body. It came like a tidal wave, flooding her in sticky, honeyed pleasure. She tried to form words, to utter even the simplest of triggers, but it was all too much. Her screams of pleasure drowned out any attempt at words.

Sometime after, but before she had recovered enough to speak, Lata resumed kissing her, silencing her panting lips. The scarecrows were still kissing Bobbin, too—either they were firmly under control, or they were too closely linked to Bobbin’s id to understand what she truly wanted them to do. Bobbin gasped and moaned into the kiss, lost in the licking, lost in the sweet bliss.

She had to fight. Had to... had to think clearly, had to... ah... ah... gotta... gotta... “AAAH!MMM! ”

Barely registered to the hob, whose struggles were increasingly slowing, weakening, Sylvia cut the kitsune free. The fox maid fell into the Thriae’s arms, panting, shivering.

And then, grinning, Sylvia tilted the kitsune’s wide-eyed, gasping face upwards.

And procured a small pitcher.

Surprisingly enough, the main challenge of getting into the chicken coop safely was working out how to open the door. It appeared most of the hen harpies flew out through a hatch in the roof. Senya, lacking wings and being well aware of his skill at climbing, instead had to work out how to get the door that the chickens went through open.

All the while, chickens gathered noisily around him. The little feathered nuisances were hungry, it seemed. He tried to tune out their endless clucking, as well as the endless babbling chatter and giggling from behind the door.

Luckily, it was all offset by a brisk, jaunty tune. Merisi followed behind him, playing her flute with rabid energy. The bard’s magic was like a cold shower, keeping his head cool. Keeping them from doing... whatever it was the hen harpies had done earlier.

Just the memory made him feel a little foggy. Fuck. They just... Senya grimaced. I was already giving in, but when they started talking...

“Keep playing,” he whispered to Merisi. “No matter what.”

Merisi looked tempted to stop playing to respond sarcastically. Instead, she just rolled her eyes.

Digging his fingers into the seams between door and wall, Senya tugged the door open.

Inside was a mess of feathers, plush carpeting, empty nestboxes and gigantic pillows. It was like a combination chicken coop and slumber party, and remarkably clean. But there were no chickens in the coop at present.

There were a lot of hen harpies. Senya counted at least twelve of the giggling winged bird-legged women. Some of them were curvy, some slender, and most fell somewhere in between. Their hair and feather colors came in all sizes—buff, speckled, blonde, brunette—but all their eyes were the same fresh-grass green.

Several of them were gathered around a madly giggling shaven fleece sprite Senya recognized. She was crying out in glee as several heads bobbed between her legs, licking eagerly. The rest just tickled her with their feathers and babbled horny nonsense in her ears. Moha was being, it seemed, very effectively brainwashed.

The rest, though, were all on Jerrod.

Jerrod was a mess. Senya barely recognized him. The brawny blond stockman lay with his cock fully captured within the pussy of a giggling, rapidly-bouncing hen harpy. His eyes were glazed over, a big, dumb smile on his handsome face. The rest tickled and kissed all over his naked body, almost competing to access him. They kissed his cheeks, his lips, his neck, nibbles his earlobes, massaged his shoulders.

And they tickled him. They tickled him like mad, and he squirmed like mad to match, but he was helpless, dumb and horny and helpless. He was bucking and giggling with wild abandon, almost like a dumb animal.

Senya couldn’t help but swallow at the sight. To see the once-powerful stockman in this state of total, brainless submission...

He cleared his throat. “Ten score crocs broke the clock.”

As one, every single hen harpy in the coop froze stiff. So did the fleece sprite, her face bright red, still in the middle of laughing. Everything went very, very quiet.

It was surreal. Disturbing, even, and Senya lost a few seconds from sheer amazement at the sight. It was like the world’s raciest wax museum.

Then he hurried forward and grabbed Jerrod by the arm, shoving several hen harpies aside—as gently as he could manage—in the process. Jerrod blinked blearily. “Whuh... um... ha...”

“Jerrod,” Senya hissed, “where’s your amulet?”

“Hee.” Jerrod grinned stupidly at Senya. “Um... gosh. Dunno.” His hand slipped down, and he started idly stroking himself, biting his lip as he looked over the gorgeous hen harpies surrounding him. “Why’re they all... like, not-fucking-me?”

“Third nestbox over there,” Merisi said abruptly, lowering her flute. The babbling had ceased, at least for about two hundred seconds. “We need to hurry.”

It took Senya a moment to work out where Merisi was indicating. When he worked it out, he rushed over, grabbed out the amulet, and hurried back to Jerrod, slipping it over the bimbified stockman’s neck.

Jerrod blinked.

His hand flew away from his groin like it was on fire, and he clutched his head. “Shit. Shit. That... shit!”

“We only have a couple minutes,” Senya said urgently, tugging at Jerrod’s arm. “Jerrod, I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah?” Jerrod looked up, cocking his head to the side. “What about, boss?”

Senya bit his lip. He felt the words swelling within him, in spite of all effort to contain them. Confusion and fear and worry and anger bore them up like gases in a weather balloon, and then, suddenly, they were out. Cool. Cold. So nonchalant, he almost missed that he said them.

“This isn’t really a prison at all, is it?”