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Dryadei

By: 1Hentaigirl



Please bear with me. This is my first attempt at the Gay Male category. The idea just sort of popped into my head one night. I hope you enjoy. Any constructive feedback is welcome. If you just want to tell me how much you loved it, LOL That's okay too.

***

He walked through the forest, far away from the party that held no interest for him anymore. As he moved through the darkened wood, he slowly dropped his hand to his crotch. He had a raging hard on. And all the men were taken... by women no less. Tonight he wanted a hard cock deep inside him, not to sink his dick in a hot wet pussy.

In what seemed like just a few moments, he was deep in the woods. He could no longer hear the sounds of grunting and moaning. Good. It was getting on his nerves anyway.

“Man I need to cum.” he moaned softly.

“Follow”

“Huh?” he straightened and listened harder.

“Follow’. It was a disembodied voice.

“Okay. If I were smart, I’d run the other way.” he said out loud, “But I’m not smart, I’m horney and sporting a huge hard on right now.”

He followed the sound of the voice even further in the woods. When he no longer heard the voice, he was in a small clearing. The trees around the clearing were . . . Well they were odd. Okay not ALL of the trees were odd. But two of them were. He walked over to the first one. The tree itself stood straight and tall, an oak tree if his alcohol fuzzed mind remembered correctly. But a part of the trunk came out from the tree almost perpendicular to the ground,

Getting closer, it looked as if as if this portion of the tree had been carved or rather grown into what looked like a man on his hands and knees. He slowly reached out and rubbed his hand over the back of this tree figure. He could barely feel the texture of the bark with the tips of his fingers. It made his skin tingle. 

Down the back, he ran his hands until he came to what appeared to be an ass. He chuckled to himself. This had to be carved because the tree man was anatomically correct, at least as far as the ass was concerned. The tree man had a very nice ass too, rounded and firm. He continued running his hand down the buttocks, and between the slightly spread thighs. What he found there surprised him.

“Man.” He whispered, “Talk about a woody. You’re sporting a bigger hard on than I am. You’ve got a nice thick, long dick though.”

Without really thinking about it, he began to stroke the tree man’s dick, closing his eyes and imagining that piece inside him, bumping, grinding and shooting its load deep in his ass. His cock strained against his pants, getting harder by the moment with his fantasies. He opened his eyes and looked at that ass.

Glancing around, he slowly brought his hand back up. Teasing the rosebud, he was surprised to find it softer than the wood around it. Slowly he probed and pushed against it. His finger slid in up to the first knuckle. He was amazed at how soft and slick it was inside. His fuzzy brain not registering the oddity of this. He probed the opening, slowly thrusting his finger in and out. Then he pushed in with two, widening Tree Man’s ass. It was perfect for fucking.

“Yes... fuck me”

Glancing around again, he slowly moved behind the tree man. He smiled as he realized the tree man was just at a perfect height. When he knelt down, his crotch was perfectly aligned with tree man’s sweet tempting ass.

Slowly he lowered his zipper and pulled out his dick. It was long and harder than he had ever seen it. And with his frequent masturbation, he’d seen it quite a lot. He shuffled forward and then reached into his back pocket.

“It pays to be prepared,” He said as he pulled a small tub of lubricant out of his pocket. The ass man look soft and smooth but it was still a tree he was about to fuck. He slathered the lubricant on his dick and then the tree man’s anal opening. His body quivered as he touched the orifice he was about to fuck. 

Pushing forwards, he teased the opening with the head of his cock. He could have sworn he felt Tree Man quiver. But that was impossible. Slowly he pushed forward until the very tip of his bulging cock popped through into that dark sweet canal.

“Yes” came that voice again

“What?” he said, trying to focus on the voice when all he wanted to do was push his cock deep into Tree Man’s ass. He moved forwards again, pushing deeper, feeling the walls slide over his hard length. Gods this felt better than any other ass he had plowed.

“More” the voice whispered again “More”

“Oh yeah.” he moaned, “I’ll give you more. Take it. Take my entire cock in your ass.”

He shoved the entire length of his cock deep in Tree Man’s tight ass. Gripping his hips, he began to thrust, fucking Tree Man steadily.

“Oh Gods yes.” the voice moved, “Yes”

“You feel so fucking good around my cock.” he moaned. “I ... uh man, I’m so horny... uh.. I can’t... not much longer... til.. Ugghh, I cum...”

The slight rustling was missed in the sounds of his pleasure. That dick he had admired so much elongated. Slowly it lengthened and curved until it came into contact with his ass. Slowly Tree Man’s cock pushed, burrowing into his lover’s ass, pushing against that human rosebud before sliding inside. 

“Oh GOD” He yelled as he felt something slide into his ass slowly. His cock pulsed within Tree Man. 

“Your ass feels great” the voice moaned, Tree Man’s voice, “I love you cock in my tight hole. Fuck me. Fuck me while I fuck your ass. Awaken Me.”

‘UUUUMMmmm “ he moaned, bending over Tree Man’s back. He pulled back only to impale himself on Tree Man’s cock, It felt so fucking good inside him. Tree Man’s ass was so tight and his cock so hard. Bracing himself, he began to move faster, feeling his balls tighten as he fucked Tree Man with all his might. He pounded into that ass, quivering with each backward thrust onto Tree Man’s cock.

“Are you going to cum for me?” Tree Man asked in a panting voice, “C’mon, cum, cum, fill me with your jism. I can feel you swelling inside my ass! Yes... YES!!! FUCK ME, FUCK ME, make me c... cu... cummmm.”

He felt the hot splash of fluid deep inside his ass as Tree Man came. The heady sensation sending him over the edge. He thrust, coming hard in Tree Man’s ass. He kept thrusting, pushing his cum deeper and deeper into that tight opening, feeling Tree Man’s load oozing out around his ass.

“Yeah... ye.. Ah . . . oh fuck . . . yes . . . cum . . . cum . . . c.. c... c.. cumming.... take my load, my hot cum in your ass. Yeah, yeah.”

“AWAKE!” Tree Man yelled as his orgasm began to change his body. The cum deep inside his ass absorbed into his system, changing bark to flesh. His long hair, a warm dark forest green, was flung over his back as he arched in pleasure. It slid like silk around his body. He was awake . . . awake once more. Slowly he lowered himself to the ground, his lover still buried in his ass. Tree Man’s dick slid out, returning to its normal proportions. Nothing to sneeze at to begin with. 

Sighing in contentment, Tree Man slowly rolled over, sliding his lover out of him. He continued with the roll until he was laying on top of the panting human. Slowly he licked his lover’s skin.

“Who are you?” the human panted, “What are you?”

“I am Ro-Oak. I am Dryadei.” he said as he licked his human’s nipples causing him to moan, “And you are mine Human. You have awakened me.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your cum and my orgasm helped to release me from the Wooden Slumber.” Ro-Oak purred, “When Dryadei go too long without human sex, we become part of our tree. A human has to awaken us. Now only my brother remains asleep.”

“Your brother?”

Ro-Oak pointed to the other odd looking tree. Now that he knew what he was looking at, he could see the second Tree Man in a sitting position, his legs spread wide and his cock, proud and thick, pointing to the sky.

“After I have sated every lust I have with you,” Ro-Oak whispered as he moved down his lover’s body, “You will bring me someone to awaken my brother. It is good to be with the trees.”

“Ugh.” Was all the human said as Ro-Oak’s hungry mouth closed over his reawakening cock.

Dryad's Knight



"Cristiano," Angela said, a pleading note in her voice. He knew, however, that she only used his full name when she was trying to manipulate him. "Don't leave. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call your mother a bitch." Which was a lie, of course. A mistake was made once. Angela referred to his mother as "that bitch" on a regular basis. He had put up with it for months because he had been afraid of being alone. A week before, Cris made up his mind that he was going to leave her. Then it had been a matter of building the courage to do it. The argument about his mother was the last push he needed to make it out the door.

Cris reached the end of the walk and turned down the street, Angela's cries, alternating between pleading and angry, fading behind him. As her voice was left in the distance, so was the heat of Cris' anger. Not that he would go back to Angela, but he realized that he had no place to stay. He made his way to the local park, which had camping plots open for public use. It was nice out, almost the perfect temperature, and he had slept under the stars a few times in the past. 

He entered the park, passing through the parking lot. As always, a few cars containing horny couples; mostly kids who couldn't steal time away from their parents at home; were parked there. One brazen couple had their windows down as the woman, kneeling in the passenger seat and leaning over to the driver's side, went down on her boyfriend. The sight drove another spike through Cris' relationship with Angela. She had only ever given him blow jobs on his birthday, and always made a big deal about the gift. 

He continued on through the park, heading toward the camp sites. He was surprised to find them mostly vacant. With the weather as nice as it was, he thought there would be more campers. Instead, only three of the twenty sites had tents. He picked a site far away from the other tents and found the softest spot on the grass. He laid down, his hands behind his head as a pillow, and stared up at the sky. 

He didn't know how long he laid there, watching the stars spin overhead, before he became aware of the woman standing in his campsite, watching him intently. She was small, shorter than him by over a foot and very thin. She wore a light brown dress that barely fell to the middle of her thighs. Her chestnut hair glowed with moonlit highlights and her deep eyes glittered like the stars. He found her mesmerizing. He sat up as she backed away from him, her eyes and lips silently beckoning him to follow. 

He stood as she turned and strutted toward the trees, throwing a wry glance over her shoulder. Her brilliant eyes sucked him in, and he found himself following her. She waded into the underbrush without difficulty. Cris found himself following, wondering what he was doing but unable to do anything else. Where the bushes and trees had seemed to allow the woman to pass, Cris found that they grasped at him, clawing at his legs, even through his jeans. Still he pressed on.

He soon found himself in a thick patch of thorny brush, keeping his hands close to his face to protect his eyes. Minutes later, he found himself in a clearing in the middle of a thicket of the thorny bushes. Laying in front of him, bathed in moonlight, was the woman, her skin covered with myriad scratches that reminded him of his own stinging skin. She looked up at him with doe eyes and he felt his heart crumble. Whatever could cause this beautiful creature such pain would pay for its brutishness. 

He knelt down next to her, moving slowly as if she were a skittish animal. She whimpered quietly as he moved toward her, but she made no effort to move away from him. He reached out and touched her forehead, not knowing what to do but feeling the need to somehow comfort her. She sighed softly as she rubbed her forehead against his hand. She laid her own hand tenderly on the side of his face, drawing a gasp from him as she touched a scratch near his ear. 

The woman traced a finger along Cris' jaw, and he felt himself leaning forward until his lips brushed against hers. With that minute contact, the seeds of passion that had drawn him to this clearing exploded into full bloom. He crushed his lips against hers as he went mad with lust. Leaning toward her, his hands roamed over her body, sliding over her silken dress, caressing the smooth, lithe body underneath. One hand crested over the firm mounds of her breasts while the other played over her thighs, slowly drawing the hem of her dress up. 

At the same time, the woman ran her hands up his chest, inside his shirt. Delicate fingers examined the ridges of his muscles. Her touch left ripples of ecstasy in its wake. He groaned into her mouth as she continued to explore his body, one hand playing down his abdomen, the other sliding around his back, nails lightly scratching over his shoulder blades. When she reached his jeans, her fingers fumbled, confounded by both button and zipper. 

Appetence had fully taken Cris' mind, and he rushed to unfasten his pants while keeping one hand or the other on her body at all times. Her dress had ridden up to her waist, exposing her smooth mound and glistening wet labia to the warm night air. Her nipples pressed against the thin material, standing out visibly even in the dim light of the moon. 

Once he had fully unfastened his jeans, he turned his full attention back to the woman's willowy body. Her thighs parted and her mouth opened in a silent gasp as his hand slid over her mound. He took this as an invitation and crushed his mouth against hers. His free hand went from caressing her breasts to groping them. He pinched one nipple, then the other, between thumb and forefinger, tugging lightly as she freed him from his boxers and jeans, running her tiny hand up and down its length. 

Cris slid his finger past her quivering lips, and gasped as her hand tightened around his already throbbing cock. He marveled at how wet she was, how easily he penetrated her, yet how tightly her body clenched his finger. Their sensations cascaded from there. He gently tweaked her nipple, and she lightly grazed his balls with her nails. She tugged on his lip with her teeth and drove his finger into her until his palm was pressed firmly against her mound. 

Driven by animal instinct, she wrapped her arms around Cris' neck and her legs around his waist, forcing him to pull his arm away to avoid having his shoulder wrenched from its socket. He couldn't believe how strong she was. He doubted that he would be able to make her let go if he had wanted to. Instead, he rose to his knees, lifting her with him. Despite her strength, she was light, and he found it easy to rise to his knees, then to his feet. She let go of him long enough to rip her dress free of her body, letting the tattered remains flutter to the ground and exposing the whole of her bronzed body to the air. 

He lowered his head to her breast, sucking first one nipple, then the other, into his mouth. Pressing her back against the tree in the center of the clearing, he thrust his pelvis forward and raised his hips. He was again amazed at how easily her body accepted him, yet how tightly she gripped him once he had entered her. She actually drew him further in as he thrust forward. Time froze, Cris' head thrown back in exquisite pleasure, the woman's nails scratching across his back, his own fingers pressing into her buttocks. 

After an eternity of building tension, Cris pulled back, fighting against the pull of her body, to thrust into her again. The lust flowed between them like a barely dammed river, and each thrust further cracked the dam. The woman thrust one hand between them, frantically rubbing her clit as he thrust into her.

Without warning, her back arched against the tree, canting her hips forward and allowing Cris to thrust even deeper into her. Deeper and deeper he pressed into her as her mouth opened in a silent scream. The tree behind and above her began to shudder as if in response to her welling orgasm. The howl building in her chest burst from her throat, and the tree shook so hard that leaves fluttered to the ground around the couple as the woman writhed against Cris. 

The force of her orgasm quickly brought Cris to his own, and he felt himself explode inside the woman. He crushed his body against hers, pressing her against the tree as the orgasm coursed through him. Only when the shuddering of his body had stilled did he trust himself to back from the tree, and still he fell, dropping to sit cross-legged with the woman's legs still wrapped around him. There he sat for minutes or hours. The only mark of time he had was that the night had not passed by the time she disentangled herself from him to lean against the tree. Cris collapsed fully, lying back on the ground.

At length, he sat up and gazed at the woman, her head cocked to the side, her arms limp and dangling to the ground, her legs spread wide, baring thighs glistening with their combined bodily fluids. She looked like an abandoned puppet, and yet she was more full of life than anyone he had ever seen. As the rush of lust and ecstasy had abated, it had been replaced by self-consciousness. Not sure of where to start, he decided to begin with the basics. "What's your name?" he asked simply.

"Acorn," she whispered. He almost mistook her voice for wind rustling through the leaves.

"Acorn? That's an odd name."

"What's yours?"

"Cris."

"What an odd name." She said this with such nonchalance that it took Cris a moment to realize that she was poking fun at him. 

"What are you doing out here?" he asked.

"This is my home," she said, cocking her head to the side as if she weren't sure why he would think otherwise.

"Your home? You live out here?"

"Of course. This oak is my tree."

"Your tree?" Cris couldn't tell if it was exhaustion from the sex, his own stupidity, or lack of sense on her part, but he could not make out what she meant.

"Yes, I was born here. I will die here." She looked sad as she added, "Perhaps sooner than I had thought."

"What do you mean?"

In response she merely gestured at the thorny bushes that surrounded the tree. 

"That stuff? What is it?"

"I do not know. It doesn't belong here. It outgrows the other plants, kills them off. Nothing I do will stop it."

"Does this have anything to do with me?" 

"We don't need to worry about that right now. Come, make love to me again." Without waiting for a response, she leapt at him, moving amazingly from her lax position to end up straddling him. She easily pulled his clothes from his body, then wedged against him, rooting herself to the ground and becoming impossible to resist.

He felt his cock stir against her slick labia. She rolled her hips from side to side, sliding herself over him. As he grew harder, she lowered her face to his, pressing her lips to his. Where her previous kisses had been nearly animalistic, this one was tender. Her lips caressed his while her tongue gently danced with his own. 

She slid her hips up, arching her back like a cat, until the searing heat of her sex was nestled against his belly. She paused like this, staring into his eyes, watching him as she denied him stimulation. His eyes grew wild, though he remained mostly still underneath her. 

With excruciating slowness, she slid herself back down his body. She squirmed her hips until his head was barely penetrating her, and then froze again. This time, he did not take deprivation quietly. He planted his hands on her rear and pulled her down while thrusting upwards. She pushed against his hands, resisting his pull easily, and deftly keeping him just barely inside of her. After toying with him for a few moments, she lowered herself the rest of the way onto him, moving ever so slowly. She sat up, hands braced on his stomach, and lifted herself up, movements almost lazy. She repeated this many times, until Cris was mad with passion. 

Then she rode him in earnest. 

With how recently they had made love, it would have taken Cris a long time to come again. With how skilled Acorn was at delaying him further, she rode him for over an hour, until the sky was orange with the rising sun. She angled her hips this way and that, changing the sensation not only for him, but for herself as well. He felt her shudder through more than one orgasm during this time, each one shaking her body more than the last.

As the sun was rising, she came one last time, moaning into his mouth as they kissed, her entire body writhing against his until he found his release, again filling her with his seed. She slid herself off of him and gave him a light kiss on the forehead. Trailing her hand across his chest, she stood up and turned toward the tree. She leaned against it, and Cris recognized the pose immediately. He had seen small women lean against large men like that, hands and cheek pressed to the chest, drawing comfort from physical strength.

Then, as if she were slowly sinking into water, the tree enveloped her. In a moment, she had completely disappeared into the tree. Cris stared at where she had been standing a moment before, not believing what he had seen. Ten minutes later, he was still staring at the tree. It must have been a magic trick of some sort. Nobody could have disappeared into the tree. A half an hour later, Cris blinked three times in rapid succession. He had an odd feeling that it would be really strange to see a woman disappear into the tree, though he had no idea why he would think that. Standing up, he looked around himself, seeing his clothes, tattered from the thorny bushes, scattered around the clearing.

After he had dressed himself, he set about finding a way out of the thicket. He didn't recall how he got there, but guessed that he had been sleepwalking. He had been stressed and exhausted. Sleepwalking was a reasonable assumption. As he pressed through the thorny bushes, he saw looked closely at them. He knew what they were; they were plants called buckthorn. Introduced from Europe as a landscaping plant, it turned out that they were extremely invasive, and were known to choke out all other vegetation. That oak in the middle of the clearing wouldn't live for too many more years if this stuff was allowed to stay.

By the time he had found his way out of the thicket, Cris had made up his mind: he would talk to the city park commission, a DNR officer, anybody he could to try to get the stuff out of the park. And if he couldn't get anyone else to do anything about it, he would come back here and pull it up himself, bush by bush. Just thinking about doing such a good deed for the local flora left him with a warm, fuzzy glow, just like how he felt after particularly satisfying sex.



Dryad's Song



I.

Many are the songs that have echoed from the rafters of the inn men call the Black Dragon. It's common knowledge that enough ale can cause even the most somber of men to break into some rendition of their favorite tune, no matter how badly he mangles the cadence and melody. Patrons of that ancient tavern had heard songs tortured in this manner from nearly every part of the Lemurian Empire.

The inn stands on the crossroads between the borders of Manatrus and Dajuron and has a reputation for serving the best ale in the North Lands. It was an ancient place. A fire constantly roared upon the soot-blackened hearth, and this fire burned from the first days of fall to the last days of spring, casting it's crimson glow on scenes both comic and tragic. The oak panels were stained dark with both blood and history, and the oil lamps which flickered in iron stanchions had illuminated scenes of such wild debauchery and deranged depravity as would make many a soul shudder with revulsion.

The innkeeper's name was Jakkar. He brewed his own liquors and took a great deal of pride in his chosen craft. He'd inherited both the recipes and the inn from his father, and these had been also passed down to him from his father before him. They had been part of the family inheritance for countless generations and he was very proud. He was the keeper of one of the busiest inns in Dajuron. He once said he'd encountered every manner and race of man that had ever walked the earth in those times. But he'd never seen a man like the one who came into the inn late one snowy winter's eve.

He was obviously a barbarian. There was no mistaking that. But Jakkar couldn't be sure from what land he had originated. His wild mane of dark hair reminded him of the primitive Ukkars, but his eyes smoldered sky blue, like those of a blond haired Dajurikan. He'd heard legends of strange barbarians dwelling in the far North beyond the razor-edged ramparts of the Yazgan mountains, but he'd never believed these tales before now. Though the barbarian was not an overly large man, he had the appearance of someone who shouldn't be trifled with. He carried himself with a lithe, cat-like grace and his thews had an iron hardness that seemed to have never a moment of ease. His body was composed with a brutal economy of flesh that was almost frightening. His face was filthy, his dark hair like the tangled mane of a lion. A lethal looking broadsword was strapped across his back. He wore a primitive iron link mail shirt that was so torn and slashed in several places so that Jakkar wondered how he held it together. His boots were so worn they were little more than scraps of leather held together with strips of rawhide. It was obvious he had traveled no short distance. Yet he had ambled into the inn with an easy confidence as though it were his own home, settling himself at a table in the corner where he could watch the entire room with his back to the wall. He then silently beckoned Jakkar over to his table.

"I am Jakkar, the innkeeper here," he said. "What might your pleasure be this evening, sir?" he asked in his best subservient voice.

The warrior glanced him over quickly. His iron blue eyes seemed colder than ice. "I am Mantegor, once from Arcturus," he growled. "I want ale. Strong ale!" "Yes,sir," answered Jakkar automatically. "I have the finest ale ever brewed!"

"I doubt that, but bring me a flagon anyway!" Jakkar rushed off to do his bidding, avoiding his usual habit of indulging in witty conversations with newly arrived strangers. He had never heard of the land of Arcturus, but he could sense that this grim warrior was in no mood for talk. He filled a tankard to the brim swiftly and returned to set it before him.

Mantegor quaffed his ale in silence and listened to the laughing, ribald songs that echoed from the rafters of the ancient inn. He heard ribald songs sung by dark-eyed Orquazians, mournful, monotonous dirges of Manatrusian sailors. He even tolerated a ballad or two sung by a thin, sad-faced minstrel from Calamyr. He heard songs of loves lost and loves regained. He heard songs of ancient, mythical battles, of warriors who fought with the courage of gods against impossible odds. He heard songs of glory and songs of tragedy, songs of love and songs of joy and of sorrow.

Once, a gray-robed Lemurian priest who'd drank far too much rum began to chant a verse from the Song of the Black Fire, causing men to glance fearfully over their shoulders and murmur prayers to their respective gods.

None of these songs did much more than irritate Mantegor. He was in a foul mood. He was now nearly a pauper. He didn't even have enough silver left in his pocket to get decently drunk. The weak ale had little effect on him, having tasted far cruder and more potent mountain brews much of his young life. The dragon's treasure had indeed been cursed, for he had lost most of it in the mountains during a blizzard, and he had almost lost his life when he had fallen a great distance down the mountainside. He had lain for several hours unconscious buried in the snow and this was the only thing that had saved his life, for the snow had prevented his limbs from becoming entirely frost bitten.

He had come here simply as a place to warm himself. Outside, the storm relentlessly howled. Within, the light of the fireplaces was thankfully dim. He was glad. He had no desire to see more clearly the cheap furnishings or the even cheaper brass jewelry worn by the few half-naked whores that still remained awake. The place reeked of piss and shit and vomit. He wondered how civilized men could bring themselves to stand it.

He drained the last of his ale and checked his belt pouch. Five silver coins remained. Enough for three more rounds of this useless weak ale.

"Innkeeper!" he called.

In his youth, Jakkar had been a monster of a man, a warrior to be feared. But this was many years past. His head had long ago gone bald and his massive strength had since turned to huge rolls of fat. It wasn't an easy thing for him to conduct business so near the borderlands. The barbarians and cold-blooded mercenaries that often passed through the area were often extremely dangerous if displeased. They would cut your throat or smash your skull in without a moment's hesitation over an insult, whether it was real or imagined. Jakkar however, possessed one warrior's quality still that had stood him in good stead. He had a shrewd and unscrupulous mind, and he'd used it to stay alive by instinctively knowing the right thing to say or do in every situation that arose.

But he'd never seen a man like Mantegor before. Here was clearly some savage tribesman from the far North with his gruff accent and fair skin. Yet he was dressed much like a Manatrusian peasant, save for the shirt of silver mail which gleamed beneath his ragged cloak and the lethal looking broadsword on his back. His long, lion-like mane of dark hair was wild and unkempt, giving him an even more dangerous appearance. With every move he made, the muscles of his body rippled with iron cords beneath his sun-bronzed flesh. There was a reckless gleam in those icy blue eyes, so it was with no small amount of wariness that he approached the young barbarian's table once more.

"May I be of service to you, sir?"

"Another mug of ale, to start," the barbarian replied gruffly. "And some information if I can get it." "Information, sir?"

"Yes," answered the barbarian. "You look like a knowledgeable man in these parts. Tell me, is there any sword work to be had here or in Angkor?"

"Not here and certainly not in Angkor, which is controlled by the Lemurians and would never suffer a Northerner in their armies. No offense meant, sir. To the west, however, a war is being continually waged against the Yazgan trolls in northern Dajuron. The war has been going on for fourteen years and the armies are desperate for mercenaries to fight the trolls in the mountains. The pay and food are good, and men sometimes retire rich if they find the cache of some troll king who has been hoarding it for centuries. It's rare, but such things have happened."

Mantegor pondered these words for a few moments while Jakkar poured his ale. "These trolls," he said. "What are they like? Are they terrible fighters? Do they have the power to read men's minds like dragons? Or are there wizards amongst them who control mighty magic, as I have heard dwell in Orquaz and Karkalos?"

"They are no wizards," answered Jakkar, "Though it is said they are masters of the ancient art of metal-smithing and have secret knowledge of the ways of the lands below the earth. They are short, squat beings with wild hair covering much of their upper bodies. They fight with axes and are said to be savage warriors."

"My thanks for the information, innkeeper," said Mantegor. He flipped him his last silver coin. "When I kill my first troll, I'll dedicate him to you!" 

Jakkar returned to his rounds. Mantegor sat alone once more, quaffing his ale and contemplating the long journey he would have to make to reach Dajuron and the Yazgan Mountains.

His thoughts were interrupted by a commotion at the front of the inn. Several armed men had entered. Mantegor's eyes narrowed when he saw that all bore signs of grievous battle. One was missing an eye, his face half-covered in blood. Another was nursing a fractured arm. Most were wounded in some way.

Suddenly Jakkar appeared from the kitchen.

"What has happened?" he cried. "Where is my daughter?"

The men avoided the innkeeper's eyes. One of their number, a tall warrior who wore a crested iron helm upon his closely shaved head, stepped forward.

"She is lost," he said. "Lost or slain in the Forest of Nephilheim."

"Fools!" the innkeeper screamed in helpless rage. Idiots! I warned you not to dare those paths! Why didn't you take the mountain trail as I directed?"

"The pass was filled with snow," the guard explained. "We had no choice but to turn back. The forest trail seemed our only choice. But when we entered the trees, it immediately grew dark and difficult to breathe. The trees hemmed us in so that it was almost impossible to find our way. We pressed on blindly, but at last we were forced to make camp until the deeper shadows lifted. Taking no chances, I assigned three men to sentry duty. The rest of us tried our best to get some sleep."

"I awoke to the cries of men in mortal agony. I could see nothing, but I'll never forget the sounds I heard, as if they were being torn in half and devoured in the darkness. Men died all around us. I fought blindly with my sword, but it was torn from my grasp. We could not even see who or what attacked us. It may have been trolls. They weren't human, that's certain!"

"But where is my daughter?" cried the innkeeper. "Perhaps she still lives! You cowards may still redeem your honor by bringing her safely back to me. I offer three hundred silver cintars to each man who helps bring my daughter back from the forest of Nephilheim!"

The men sadly shook their heads.

"Four hundred!" he pleaded.

"I'll not return to that devil's forest for all the gold in Dajuron," said the tall warrior.

"Cowards! Spineless worms!" Jakkar railed in helpless rage. 

"No need to get yourself in an uproar," said Mantegor, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his great sword. "I'll rescue the girl if she's still alive, for six hundred silver cintars. But if she's dead, I want two hundred cintars and free room and board here whenever I come this way again."

"Done!" said Jakkar.

"What is the girl's name?"

"She is called Mira," Jakkar replied. "She is fair and slender, little more than a youth, though her breasts and hips belie that notion. Hey eyes are as brown as mine, and her hair is as red as mine is now grey.".

"When I return, I'll expect my pay," Mantegor said, and without speaking another word, he turned and strode out into the night.

II

The Forest Of Nephilheim appeared no more menacing than any other dense and shadowed forest that Mantegor had seen. Still, he doubted not the tale of the guards. Something monstrous had come out of the night therein and attacked them. What it was he didn't know. But he wasn't afraid. He knew that the guards had been civilized men. They lacked the fine honed senses and the primitive awareness that were his inheritance as a barbarian. Nothing would creep out of the blackness while he slept like a lamb awaiting slaughter, that much was certain!

He swiftly discovered the signs of the escort party. A herd of elk would have left less of a trail, he thought. He stopped for a moment, fingering the hilt of his broadsword. Somewhere along this trail a terrible doom had fallen upon these people, and had yet he no clue as to its nature. To continue on would seem to be the act of a madman or a berserker. He was neither. He had, however, given his word in a moment of foolhardy bravery (perhaps he had been drunker than he thought), and now of course he was bound by this vow. A civilized man might have felt no such compunctions, but a breaker of oaths would suffer the curse of the gods. He might lose his virility or the strength of his sword arm might wither away. He'd heard of such things happening before to those who broke faith with their word. It was best not to take a chance.

Besides, he thought, six hundred silver cintars was a lot of money.

He continued on into the black forest, though with a great deal of wariness. The further beneath the immense boughs he ventured, the more his instincts waned him of imminent peril. There was a smell of blood on the wind. 

Silently, he slid his sword free from its scabbard. It glittered dully in the dim light of the stars. He made no more noise than leopard as he stalked slowly through the darkness. The snow had at last stopped falling and the night was getting colder. His breath steamed in misty swirls in the night air. His blue eyes darted this way and that, striving to pierce the darkness and discover what menace might lie hidden there. Now and then he caught a glimpse of starlight sparkling on the snow-frosted branches of the trees. Then the impenetrable night would close in once more and he would be forced to forge his way through the oblivion with nothing more than his instincts.

His ears pricked up. Somewhere ahead, plaintive and eerie amidst the eternal silence of the forest, a spectral music drifted on the breeze. Touched with strains of a vague and ethereal beauty, it seemed to echo the liquid whisper of the snow itself, to mirror the whispering howl of the North wind.

Unlike a civilized man, Mantegor wasted no precious time trying to convince himself he was only imagining what he heard. Someone was singing out there in the blackness of the forest, and he knew it was the singing of a woman. The further he advanced, the clearer the song became. Here was the ethereal voice of a goddess whose song had taken wing on the wind.

He came abruptly into a small glade. Misty starlight filtered down thru the trees, pale ghosts flitting across the white shrouded sward. Though snow was no longer falling, the breezes let loose sparkling trails from the over laden branches above.

The siren song drew him on. Surely, he thought, here is the voice of some elemental goddess of storm descended to bask in the delights of her own power. No other than a goddess could possess a voice so beautiful. An odd, indescribable longing filled Mantegor's heart. Strange urgings like none he'd felt before stirred his loins. There was an almost sensual glee in the weave of the haunting melody, an urgent cry for erotic fulfillment that called out to some hidden depth in his soul. His body seemed to automatically respond to this call. As if in a dream, he stumbled blindly forward, drawn on by a longing he could no longer deny.



III.

Before him stood an immense tree of a kind he had never before seen in his wanderings. An inexplicable urge drew him to stand under its sweeping boughs. His sword hung forgotten at his side.

To his astonishment, a slim white form was suddenly there before him. He hadn't seen her arrive. One moment there had only been the ancient tree, and then she was there. He checked the instinctive swing of his sword only just in time, seeing it was naught but a slim, half-naked girl who stood before him. She held a silver lyre tightly to one sensuously rounded breast.

She was the most beautiful woman Mantegor had ever seen. Her jade eyes glinted merrily beneath the soft curves of her brows. Her long hair hung in flowing crimson tresses and was adorned with exotic blossoms. Her lips were as pink and full as the nipples that tipped the ends of her naked breasts, and her flesh was white as the snow she so lightly danced upon. She was clothed only in a thin strip of gauzy cloth wrapped tightly about the curve of her breasts and flowing just past her waist.

She was singing a song he had never heard before, a song of love, a song of unquenchable desire.

"Are you Mira?" he asked, striving to control the strange lusts that were rising in his loins. "Your father sent me to rescue you. Gods, girl, aren't you cold out here dressed like that?"

She only smiled alluringly and continued to croon her strange and beauteous song. She leaned back against the enfolding branches of the great tree. Spreading her long legs, she exposed the center of her desire to his wanton glances. He gasped. Her sex was hairless and white as pearls and silken cream. She dipped her fingers inside herself. They emerged dripping with a clear thick nectar which she raised to her lips and tasted. She dipped her fingers in once more, exposing the soft contours of her pink sex to his hungry eyes.

He could feel his cock rising as he watched her. Her fingers worked feverishly at herself, yet she never stopped singing. Her eyes were half-closed. Her nipples were taut and hard against the thin gauze covering of her night dress. Removing her fingers from the depths of her body once more, she brought them up to touch Mantegor's thirsty lips.

He tasted of her. His tongue licked clean her fingers. He splashed hot kisses down the line of her throat and brutally devoured the tender flesh of her young breasts. Then he was at the gate of her womanhood. His tongue teased slowly up and down her swollen vulva. She was slippery and hot with desire, her musk dripping into his waiting mouth. He nibbled her gently there then dipped his tongue again and again into her steaming sex until she gasped and pressed her loins to his face, riding him as she knew the moment of her surrender to joy. She hovered on parapet of ecstasy as he continued to work deep inside her, her shuddering moans drawing him to greater efforts to sustain her release.

He was so enwrapt in the girl's pleasure that he almost failed to notice the furtive movement out of the corner of his eye. Had he not been born and raised as a barbarian, he wouldn't have seen the shadow hovering above until it was far too late. But his were the instincts of the wild. Before he was even aware of what he had seen, he was on his feet, his naked sword shimmering in hand.

The branches of the tree above him, like hundreds of skeletal fingers, were reaching down towards him!

Unlike a civilized man, he didn't stop to consider the impossibility of his situation. Grabbing the girl by the arm, he attempted to drag her away from the threat. But she only lithely avoided his grasp and laughed in his face. One of the wildly clutching branches reached down towards his face. He struck it aside with his sword. It fell writhing to the earth. Mantegor saw that the clutching branches were completely avoiding the girl. He realized then the awful truth. The girl was naught but bait, a tender morsel ensorcelled by this demon tree to entice male victims into its grasp by the power of sexual allure. He wondered if she was even human.




Dryad's Song



The branches were all around him now. For every one he lopped off, countless more continued their attack. His blade momentarily stuck in one of the thicker limbs and this proved to be his undoing. The tree ensnared him in an unbreakable grasp. He felt himself being lifted bodily into the air and dangled above the earth like a hare caught in a noose. It drew him ever nearer a shadowy maw that yawned in the center of the massive, pulpy trunk.

Feverishly he worked to free his embedded blade from the thick branch, but the blade was stuck fast, and it seemed he would never pry it loose in time. Slowly but inevitably, the unyielding branches drew him down towards the center of that gaping maw. Cursing, he desperately threw every last ounce of his iron strength pulling at the hilt of the sword. At last it came loose, spilling a great deal of foul-smelling, black ichor forth from the wound as he drew the sharp steel free. He held his blade poised before him like a cruel thorn.

With all its own tremendous strength, the beast drew Mantegor's broadsword into itself. There was a terrible sound like a multitude of human screams. Instantly Mantegor felt himself released. His body struck the ground with gut-wrenching force. For a time, he knew no more.

IV.

He awoke to utmost horror. All about him were the groans and cries of men in the throes of abysmal agony. Certainly he was in the underworld, listening to the screams of the forever damned. 

Rising to his feet, he saw the source of the terrible sounds. He grew sick with revulsion. There at the base of the colossal tree was a graveyard of the living dead. Seven men, their bodies twisted and torn in unspeakable ways, lay embedded in the crimson loam that surrounded its roots.

"Help me!" moaned one of the men. "Please help me!"

Mantegor shuddered when he saw the extent of the man's gruesome wounds. "I can offer you no help but a swift death, man," he said coldly.

"Even that would be welcome now," he said. "The tree feeds on our life forces. It draws strength from us in every moment, drawing our life into its monstrous limbs. Soon it will grow strong enough to attack you again, and by then, I'll be dead."

"Are you one of the party of soldiers that guarded the girl, Mira?" Mantegor asked. 

"Aye, and cursed be the day I ever took that commission, for it was my doom. We were forced back by a blinding blizzard at the top of the pass of Nephilheim. We'd been warned of monstrous creatures which inhabit the forest paths, but we had no choice. And we knew not what form they would take! Unaware, we lay down amongst them, beneath these deadly boughs!" The man gibbered and drooled, and Mantegor knew he was no longer quite sane.

"Some of us were dead before we woke," he continued. "Those were the lucky ones. The rest of us were laid wounded at the base of the tree, still screaming. Yet the thing left the girl untouched, enfolding her within its branches. She cried out once, I think. Then it was as if she were possessed by this demon tree, for as you've seen, she's done nothing which is not of service to it. She no longer controls her own actions. She's become a dryad now."

"What is a dryad?"

"An evil tree nymph, a woman who lures men into the grasp of the devil trees, just as she tried to do to you."

"This is black sorcery beyond anything I've ever imagined," said Mantegor. 

"Aye, sorcery of an elder age, the darkest sorcery of an ancient being that drinks men's vital essence, leaving them desiccated corpses rotting in its soil. It's the wizards of Lemuria that have set this curse on us! The trees are vampires, who lend their stolen essence and powers to the sorcerers, damn their black souls. It is they who first planted the demon trees and they who drink the tree's unholy nectar! "

The man groaned. "It's taking my soul! Now, barbarian! Give me the death you promised me! Release me now from this vale of pain!"

Mantegor did as the man asked. One quick stab to the heart and the deed was done. He did the same to all the others who still persisted in their pitiful semblance of life.

The demon tree's limbs writhed in helpless fury. Deprived of its human sustenance, the fiend's movements grew sluggish and weak. It was no challenge now to avoid it's clutching branches. Quickly, he retreated beyond the thing's grasp.

He was undecided as to what to do next. Mira had disappeared beneath the enfolding branches and was undoubtedly still under the influence of the demon tree. He wondered how many more like it there were in this forest. His sword had only wounded this one. How could he manage to slay them all?

He had a sudden inspiration. He reached down to touch the bed of fallen leaves that covered the forest floor. They were dry and brittle. He smiled, taking from his belt pouch a large piece if flint and an iron file.

The fire spread swiftly once it started. Soon it became a roaring inferno, a conflagration that consumed grass and forest alike. There came an awful, sickly moaning out of the night and then a thick unbearable stench. Mantegor laughed with mad abandon. The demon trees were dying! The Lemurians would have to look elsewhere for their gruesome sustenance now!

Mantegor raced through the flames.

"Mira!" he cried. "Where are you?"

"Here!" cried out a frightened feminine voice from out of the crimson tainted shadows. She flew out of the darkness, her long, lithe legs carrying her with all the speed she could muster. Behind her, the flaming branches of the demon tree stretched forth to ensnare her once more.

Mantegor leapt between them, severing the branches with one long stroke of his sword. Lengths of burning branches fell in a shower around him. Another branch quickly snapped out and clutched Mira around her slender waist, yanking her into mid air. She was dangled like a puppet before Mantegor's horrified eyes. At the same moment, another thicker branch came hurtling unseen and smashed into his side. He felt the wind go out of his lungs and his ribs nearly giving way beneath the impact. The branch snapped beneath him and left him groaning on the ash covered ground.

Shaking his head from the pain, he forced himself to rise again. The dryad had begun to sing again, to weave its song of enchantment. His sex rose again between his legs. He gazed into her eyes and saw the tautness of her pink nipples as she raised her rounded breasts up to his delighted gaze.......

He felt his desire rising. Only the sword in his hand kept him from death, for he knew once he released the hilt, the monster would devour him.

He raised the blade, and ignoring the dryad's song, he strode forward to strike.

"Come, demon!" he cried. "It's time for one of us to die!"

V.

Again and again Mantegor's sword struck. Limbs were lopped off in a frenzy as if they were struck off by the woodsman's axe. Deep into the beast's murderous maw Mantegor drove his blade, and he felt the steel bite into something far softer there deep within the thing's monstrous gut, and now his blade was stained with black gore, and the thing was dying.

Grabbing Mira about the waist, he lifted her and raced through the flaming chaos. His clothes were scorched. The flesh on his back began to blister from the terrible heat. But he forged onward, ignoring the pain.

A blackened tree crashed to the earth directly before them. Mantegor flung Mira over his shoulder and leapt over the burning mass. He kept running. At last they were outside the circle of burning trees, but Mantegor refused to stop running until they had left the boundaries of the forest. He was taking no chances that there might be more of the demon trees.

A few hours later they both were safe once more. Jakkar was overjoyed to see his daughter once more. He sent for a healer to bind Mantegor's wounds, and set before him a huge meal, which Mantegor, famished by his exertions, devoured in only minutes, washing it down with endless mugs of foaming ale. Several hours later, after Mantegor had rested, Mira came to his room alone. She carried a heavy leather satchel.

"Here is the reward my father promised you," she said. "You may count it if you like."

"No need," replied Mantegor. "I know he wouldn't try to cheat me, though I think if I'd known what I'd been facing, I wouldn't have been so eager to do the deed for so small a fee."

"You have my gratitude, if that is any consolation for your wounds and burns," Mira said softly. Her eyes were hidden, shaded with her lashes.

"Gold or no," he said. "I'm glad that I saved you from such a fate."

Smiling, she drew him into the circle of her arms.

"There might be other rewards," she whispered. 

Mantegor blew out the room's single candle. In the darkness, he undid the ties of her dress, letting it slide to the floor. Her breath came in hot sighs as she pressed her soft body against his.

Mantegor leaned down and kissed the dryad's perfect lips.

THE END