Monstrous Ranch Ch. 21

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 gi—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?"

~~~~ ~~~~

TO BE CONTINUED...