A Pollen Behavior

This is a request I did for one of my lovely readers, but it is canon! It is set roughly after the events of Unliving Lust. Enjoy!

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"Who just plants a creepy old garden in the middle of a forest?" Larya gestured to the gates ahead of them the way one might gesture to a burning orphanage. "That's just... ghost roses aren't even close to native to this region! This is perverted!"

Snatch slowly blinked at her, keeping his expression otherwise blank. "Didn't you just tell me ghost roses prey on horny people and drink their juices?"

"Eh." Larya shrugged. "Plants can't be perverted, Snatch. It's just how they evolved. Or... were bred, in this case."

"By a perverted person."

"Ugh." Larya rolled her eyes as she stooped to examine a small leafy shrub. "And here we have sugardeath! Come on! This is just ridiculous. This is a moral outrage." She reached down and started to pick the large, plump, raspberry-like blue berries, lifting her shirt to hold them all.

"You're still gonna eat them?" Snatch leaned over, observing, then reached into his satchel and started searching for a better container.

"The seeds of sugardeath are great at breaking mind control spells," Larya said, her voice even. She glanced up, seeing the small vellum pouch Snatch had procured, and smiled. "Thanks." She took the bag and filled it, letting her plain brown shirt slip back down. It was now stained slightly blue from the bruised berries at the bottom. "I figure, never know when you might need something like that, right?"

"Sure, sure." Snatch advanced towards the gates, spinning his silver scythe thoughtfully. "Good adventuring habit. So... are we really gonna go in there?"

Larya hadn't given any indication towards the prospect, but he had a feeling she hadn't stopped them just to complain about unwanted foliage. They were in a bit of a hurry, after all—after the incident at Carriope, Larya had been hellbent on returning to the Standing Stones at the earliest inconvenience.

"I don't see why not. There's probably some good loot in there, and, I mean, we are adventurers." The garden was overgrown, a messy jungle of hops vines, briars, enormous blossoms, berry brambles and towering flower stalks. But the pathway seemed relatively clear, albeit shaded by the vines that rose above it. A few plants, such as the sugardeath, had slipped outside the garden over the years of evident neglect—the walls were covered in gleaming violet moss that Snatch did not trust one bit, here and there grew odd rosebushes, and the gate itself was rusty and tangled in some sort of bindweed-like plant. "It's sort of like that dungeon you made us go to a couple years back. Remember? The first time we went to the Standing Stones?"

"Ugh." Snatch grimaced. "Don't remind me. That's the dungeon by that bar Illetrys jumped us in."

"Oh, you survived."

"Barely!" He spat to the side. "Anyways, this is nothing like that dungeon. It's too... green. The Virulent Dungeon was red."

"A vine dungeon is a vine dungeon."

"They were cancerous demon tendrils."

"Felt like vines to me."

"Well, yeah, but of course it all feels the same when it's jammed in every—" Snatch broke off abruptly as he heard a twig snap behind them. He whirled around, readying the scythe.

The dark deciduous trees stood proud and silent. The odd vines and rosebushes that had spread out from the garden created quite a bit of cover, unfortunately.

Larya came up next to him. "You heard something?"

"Maybe." Snatch chewed his lower lip. "I hear a lot of things. But... it was probably nothing. Just the wind."

The dark-haired druidess looked at him like he'd just eaten a live hedgehog whole. "The last time I said that to you, you practically made me wash out my mouth with soap!"

"Yeah, because you were wrong. It wasn't nothing I heard!"

"It was a chicken, Alrek."

"And the farmer gave us a fucking fortune in scrambled eggs when we brought her back in one piece." Snatch couldn't help but give a small, unpracticed smile.

Larya was laughing as she turned away. "Well, if it turns out to be another chicken, we'll have to have a very serious conversation with them about fence management. C'mon. This garden isn't gonna ravage itself."

The druidess grabbed her staff from the boulder it had been resting against and waved a hand, causing the vines around the gate to yank it open for her. "Careful not to touch that!" she said, though Snatch couldn't see what she was looking at. "Possession vine works off of tremor-sense! Ooh, succubi's folly!"

"... right." Snatch turned away from the trees and back towards the garden. Larya had already gone a few paces in and was hunching to examine another nearby bush, this one bearing bright red berries. "Right behind y—"

The tiniest of hisses hit his ears like a foghorn. Without thinking, Snatch spun around, raising a hand just barely in time to catch the tiniest of painful prickles before it hit his throat.

Reflexively, he raised his hand to look at it.

It was a tiny little dart.

For a moment, Snatch just stared at his hand in numb silence. He could feel the tingling in his palm creeping through his bloodstream. His mouth opened. Poison. He'd been... poisoned.

"My little titslave," purred a sly voice. Snatch looked up, his heart already sinking in recognition.

Illetrys stood before him. Illetrys, in the pale-green flesh. The elf's brilliant red hair was done up in simple braids that hung long over her long, pointed ears. Her eyes were like quicksilver, at once beautiful and toxic. Her lips were painted a brilliant cyan, and she wore an elegant silken dress—almost a nightgown—of a brilliant sunset-red hue.

"What was in that dart?" he demanded. He was already breathing shallower, but he couldn't tell if this was from the poison or from simple stress.

Trys put a finger to her lips. "Best hush," she whispered. Her other hand trailed long, elegantly-trimmed crimson nails over her breasts. Her breasts swelled upwards from beneath the dress, erect nipples plainly visible beneath the thin fabric. "If the druidess intervenes, I might not have time to give you the antidote."

Snatch chewed his upper lip, mind racing. He could tell the poison was doing something, but who could say what? There were poisons not even Larya could cure—poisons not of this world. Of course Trys would have sought such things out after their last bout.

"That's right," the elf said, her lips creeping into a sly grin as she saw him wrestle with the dilemma. "I have you right where I want you. So be a good boy, Alrek. Or I might just let you... well." She giggled. Her index finger tapped her right breast rhythmically, causing it to jiggle like a fresh custard. "You know."

Snatch tried to tear his eyes away from her bosom, but he could already feel her spell settling on him. He hadn't seen Illetrys in moons, and yet here he was, still vulnerable to the same tricks. He swallowed, trying to mask his discomfort. "Druidess can... heal poisons..." he muttered, trying to gather his wits about him, fighting to keep his mind on the present. It was so easy to lose track of what he'd been thinking about when her tits kept enslaving him like that.

Jiggling. Jiggling like that.

Illetrys giggled, and took a step forward. Her breasts jiggled. They were so round, and so flawless, he could feel his cock hardening just looking at them. He couldn't look away. "Not this poison," she cooed. "This is a special poison. And if you want to know how to cure it, you'd better listen up!"

"This..." Illetrys swayed her hips, and Snatch's whole focus broke down as her tits bounced in response. He licked his lips unconsciously. "It's not..."

"Poor Alrek," Trys mocked, grinning as she watched him struggle. "That poison has him so horny and weak for tits, doesn't it?" She pressed her breasts together slowly with both hands, then again, quicker, making them bounce. "Not that anything's changed!"

Snatch tried to turn, tried to call out to Larya, but no sound escaped him as he watched the breasts jiggle. He'd been caught off-guard. He could feel the poison coursing through his whole body, making him heat up, locking his eyes inescapably on her wonderful breasts. He managed a halting step back.

"If only you could call out," Trys whispered, advancing closer. Her hips swayed, countering the swaying of her tits. "But I think part of you doesn't want to. And that poison... oh, my dear Alrek, that poison won't let you manage anything above a whisper."

He could do nothing. Nothing but stand still and let her words fill his head like useless, pretty tinsel. A faint whine escaped him.

She advanced towards him slowly, her grin widening. But she stopped when she was just a few feet away. Alrek could see that her breasts were flushed, her breathing heavy. How long had she planned this? How long had she searched for the perfect poison, the poison to totally overwhelm his defenses? He could already feel it shutting down every independent notion in his mind.

Weak for tits. That was what she'd said.

"It's almost too easy," Illetrys said softly.

Snatch bit his lip. "Y-you may... have me weakened... b-but she'll turn around before you manage to make me submit. And when she... she sees what's..."

Illetrys put a finger to his lips. He reflexively snapped at her, but she pulled back with a smirk. "Oh, you're going to give in very, very easily this time, unless I can be moved to give you the cure, Alrek." Her voice was soft and sweet. She leaned in, and Alrek smelled the sweet fragrance of her perfume. It was like a pink fog rising around him, making him feel confused and weak.

"S-stop calling me that," he mumbled, staring right down her cleavage.

"Oh! I'm sorry." Illetrys giggled. "You're going to give in very, very easily, Titslave."

The old pet name made his cock jump in his trousers. His breathing deepened. "N-no—"

"You're such a slave to my tits," Trys cooed, slowly shrugging out of the dress. It spilled to the grass like water, allowing her round, pendulous breasts to bounce free. "My tits are so... nice!" She bounced them together. "And your brain just dribbles out your cock, doesn't it?" Her tone was a husky purr.

It was the poison. It had to be. And it was... it was working. His cock was straining against its restraints, his mind going hazy, blurry, weak and obedient at the mere sound of Trys's beautiful voice. She was so hot, so beautiful—her tits were so nice—

He had to end this. Now. Alrek bit his lip, raising his scythe in a late, shuddering attempt at resistance.

"Now, now," Trys breathed, and she reached behind her back and pulled out...

... a bright pink lotus blossom.

"You wouldn't want to damage your cure, would you?"

He froze.

The delicate blossom spun in her fingers. She giggled. "Such a pretty thing, isn't it? So many petals! Such a pretty, pretty thing to get lost in." She held the blossom in front of Snatch and spun it. "Isn't it easy to get lost in beautiful things? Spinning. Spinning." She gave a soft moan. "The petals just spiral deeper and deeper."

"Stop," Alrek whispered.

"This is your cure, Alrek," Trys whispered back. "I'm going to explain to you how to use it."

"I can... Larya..."

"No, Alrek," Trys cooed, swaying closer. She waved the flower about as it spun, drawing his eyes in a lazy circle around her face. His eyes came naturally to rest on her gleaming silver eyes as the flower spiraled around them. "You need me."

Alrek swallowed. He had to resist this. Had to ignore her. Had to keep his brain from sinking into the petals, from dribbling out his cock. He needed to...

"Do you know what happens to someone who gets dosed with delightshade poison?"

Alrek stared into her eyes. He had never heard of delightshade before now.

"No?" Trys laughed. "Poor boy. No wonder you're so confused. If you knew what delightshade did to its victims, you'd be begging me to explain the cure."

Alrek bit his lip. He dared not speak. He could feel his brain melting into the visual stimuli—her shining eyes, the spinning flower, her perfect, pillow-like breasts, the way her lips savored every word she spoke—but he had to hold on just a little bit longer. He couldn't afford to interrupt.

"Well..." Trys brought the spinning lotus to her nose for a moment, breathing deeply. She gave him a dreamy smile. "Let's say a poor, horny boy is wandering around when he finds a strange little shrub. This shrub has what appears to be a hamadryad connected to it." She smiled widely. "A horny hamadryad with big..." She ran her fingers over her nipples, teasing their erect points, "... heaving... udders!" She moaned softly, slipping the stem of the strange lotus right within her cleavage.

His eyes settled on it. That was, somehow, his cure. He had to trick it out of her somehow. Wait for the right moment.

"Now, most boys are very clever," she cooed, giggling, "and run away. But this boy is a born titslave. He longs for those beautiful, perfect breasts. Thirsts for them. The hamadryad just giggles and asks him if he wants to suckle. That's all she ever says. But it's all a girl needs to say to a horny titslave for him to know his place."

Alrek's mouth was watering. He was staring at the flower, but the flower was placed right by her breasts, inescapably close for his poor, weakened, poison-addled brain. He couldn't help but let his eyes wander to them, study the stiff points, the dark areolae. But he had to listen.

He had to keep listening. Trys had him right where she wanted him.

"This pretty girl," Trys purred, putting a hand on Alrek's neck. He flinched, but didn't do anything as she started to massage his shoulders with one hand. She seemed to delight in his stillness. "This pretty girl with the big, perfect breasts, she's a trap, Alrek. A trap for horny, submissive, obedient little titslaves."

Her soft fingers squeezed his neck gently, relaxing his tensed muscles, unknotting the pressure points as her words poured sweet relief into his frightened mind. "Because a titslave can't help himself, can he? He has to suckle. He needs to suckle. So when she asks him to suckle... what does he do?"

Alrek did not want to respond. He knew she was teasing him, mocking him. But he needed her to continue, at least for now. "He suckles," he said roughly.

She released his neck.

"That's right," she cooed. "He suckles. He does what all titslaves want to do to every pretty girl they meet." Her fingertips danced around a nipple, tracing slow, lazy spirals. "But our poor little titslave doesn't know that the pretty girl is a trap. A fake hamadryad. A delightshade. And when he drinks from her big, swollen, powerful tit... uh-oh! He is poisoned. There's no cure." She winked. "None but one!"

Still tracing over her nipple with one finger, she started running a finger over the lotus petals with the other hand, as if slowly counting them. Alrek watched, his cock throbbing needily. She was speaking too slowly. Taking too long with the pauses. Trying to stall him, trying to wear him down. Unfortunately for her, he was starting to feel a second wind. Listening to her didn't even bother him anymore. He knew he could hold out. Just until she gave the explanation.

At last, she resumed, speaking slower and silkier than ever. "The delightshade poison slows his brain. Makes him horny. Submissive. Needy. Until he can't help but come back and drink again." She slowly raised her tits in her hands. Numbly, Alrek realized they were above him now.

He didn't even remember kneeling.

"And again. And again. He keeps coming back to the pretty girl, and what does he do?"

"He suckles," Alrek whispered.

"Suckles his brains out," Illetrys cooed, dropping down beside him. She kept touching her nipples, keeping his eyes trained on them—not as though there was anything else to look at. "He can't help it. Because what is he, Alrek?"

"T-Titslave," Alrek said before he could stop himself,. He was starting to feel unsure.

"That's right, Titslave," Illetrys said with a giggle. "And what does a titslave always want to do?"

Alrek stared at her tits. His eyes were wide. He was feeling so disoriented now. He'd been staring too long, too long lost in Trys's beautiful, perfect breasts.

"What does he do," Trys husked, taking his head and gently stroking his hair like a pet, "to the pretty girl?"

"He suckles." The words escaped him in an unthinking whimper. His cock was rock-hard.

"Come closer, Titslave," Trys hissed. "And take your cure."

She guided his head gently down towards the flower. Alrek stared at it, his eyes glazing over, the final embers of resistance dying inside.

And when she pressed his lips up towards her nipple, he mindlessly started to suck.

"Oh!" Illetrys rocked slightly, clutching his head to her breast. He felt her gasping as he messily slurped and suckled. He could almost imagine a stream of cure flowing into his mouth. He couldn't help himself regardless. "Oh, yes—yes, that's right, Titslave—"

He moaned as she moved him to her other breast. He sucked her pert nipple between his rough lips and licked, sucked, whimpered. He felt her hands climbing down, pulling off his shirt, unstrapping his armor. She was already panting. "F-fuck, you—g-gods, I wanted this for so long—"

He paused a moment, breathing in her essence. She smelled rosy. Sweet. So, so good. His mind was turning to jelly in her arms as she began to sink back, pulling him onto her. Her fingers fumbled with his trousers as she started to cry out. "I knew—ah!—knew I could break you, kn-knew I could have you—"

He whimpered as he fell into her arms, his face immersed in her breast as she practically smothered him. Needed to suckle. Titslaves needed to suckle.

His pants were off. She was naked and hot and sweaty beneath him, and she smelled so, so good. His cock was straining, desperate.

"Oh, fuck," she hissed, "I n-need to—gotta make you—" She pulled him up and away from the breast. He strained for it, eyes wide. Needed the cure. Needed to suckle.

"Titslave," she breathed, and he looked up into her shining silver eyes. Her face was flushed, her hair a mess. But those eyes still shone with dominant power. "What do you want, Titslave? What do you want to do to... to a pretty girl like me?"

"To suckle," he cried. "Please, Mistress, let me suckle! I need it!"

Her hand cupped his chin. She pulled him up and kissed him, biting down on his lower lip, tongue thrusting into his mouth. She moaned into the kiss, then pulled back with a grin. His eyes were wide with desperation.

"Good boy," she cooed. She kissed him on the cheek, stroking his hair once more. He felt almost like a beloved beast in her arms. "Such a good boy. And..." She pouted, a mock-curious expression crossing her gorgeous face."... why do you want to suckle?"

His lip trembled. His cock throbbed. Her leg started to rub against it. "Titslave," he moaned, bucking his hips helplessly. "I'm your Titslave! P-poison... n-need cure..."

"That's right!" she sang, and she kissed him again. She tasted so good. It felt so good to kiss her. But he longed to return to worshiping her breasts. "Now, Titslave," she said, her eyes sparkling, her tone silky and sly, "would you do anything to worship my big, beautiful boobies some more?"

He hesitated. Some lingering dignity tried to fight through.

But her thigh continued to gently rub against his cock head, stoking his need. She leaned in and kissed him again, her tongue wrestling with his. This time, he was the one that moaned into the kiss.