Ensnaring you from behind in their four arms, the chitinous and ethereal Beetle Fae titters excitedly in your ear. Clawing fingers peeling away your clothes, soft mandibles nibbling the soft places on your neck.
Your bare nipple peaking from exposure to the air, gooseflesh crawling across your skin from the gently pinching claws at your breast. The clawed hands of the Beetle Fae wandering over your bare skin, sending jolts of excitement to your core.
Desire puddling between your thighs, their antennae twitching at the scent of your arousal. A gasp escaping your lips as their claws gently nudge your clit, their shiny wings flittering in excitement and their mandibles nipping your neck a little harder as your body melts against them.
Circling the bud of your clit with their claw, the Beetle Fae tilts your chin to kiss you deeply, mandibles gently biting your lip. Heady pheromones fill your senses, your body growing heavy and your need dripping down your thighs.
Swelling forth and twitching, their ovipositor emerges from their dripping slit. Deftly they lift you with their arms, the clawed fingers of one hand parting your puffy dripping folds to press against the tip of their ovipositor. Throbbing, flexible but firm, thinner at the tip becoming thicker at the base, pressing gently then more earnestly into your cunt.
The Beetle Fae takes their time, working you open on their ovipositor, rubbing circles on your clit while you drip down their length. Their chittering mandibles nip at your skin, along your neck, your earlobe, your bottom lip. Sumptuous pheromones loosen you, open you, their ovipositor filling you completely, kissing your cervix.
Thrusting deeper than you thought possible, their tip plunges into your womb made pliant and receptive. Stars flash in your eyes, your body spasming as they continue to play with your clit. Waves of ecstatic pleasure as their ovipositor thickens between your lips, an egg pushing along the length and into your waiting womb.
More follow, each one dragging deliciously and sending shudders of pleasure through your overwhelmed body. They fill your womb, belly barely swelling, chest heaving, vision blurry with ecstasy. The Beetle Fae retracts their ovipositor, a whimper escaping your lips at the sudden emptiness of your cunt.
They do not release you, instead they touch you with increasing intensity, your swollen clit throbbing under their clawed finger, pinching your erect nipples, holding your folds open for more. Their cock now emerging from their slit, chitinous, ridged, and dripping precum.
The Beetle Fae thrusts their cock into you in one swift motion, stars bursting in your vision as you're dragged screaming into your orgasm. Unrelentingly they continue to thrust into your cunt, dragged and held by all four arms, fingers still circling your puffy clit.
Filled beyond what you thought was possible, the ridges of their cock dragging deliciously along your walls. They hold you with otherworldly strength, their wings fluttering with deep pleasure, chittering in your ear.
Cock throbbing, their thrusting quickens, slamming into your cunt. The Beetle Fae spills their seed deep inside you, length pulsating, holding you tight and close to remain seated deep within.
Keeping you filled with their cock, clawed hands stroking the gentle swell of your belly full of their eggs. The Beetle Fae chittering excitedly at the prospect of the egg laying to ensue...
Mosquito bite tits. It's been hot enough you've been walking around shirtless for the past few days, and you find yourself scratching aimlessly at your chest before you look down and realize there's an itchy red dot there. "Well, no big deal" – but they start to swell, red and hot and itching on some deeper level than scratching can satisfy, until there are throbbing, swollen lumps on your once-flat chest, and they don't quite hurt but they occupy your mind like heavy rocks dropped into a bathtub, front and center and displacing all your other thoughts so thinking anything else becomes a struggle of worming it out from around your new outsized obsession.
They itch to be touched and squished and handled, to the point that you can barely sleep. You're bursting out of your shirts now, the strained fabric only irritating the red-hot swell. There's no way you can sleep on your stomach anymore, but lying on your back just feeds the fire, exposes the itch to every teasing lick of breeze. Every time you give in and scratch the ache, they grow a little bigger – and the relief you get is weaker and lasts less every time. Soon your own hands aren't going to cut it anymore. How long before your mind is gone, supplanted and devoured by your ever-larger, throbbing mounds? How long before you're feverishly begging strangers to touch and squish and fondle your new tits?
(The succubus posed amongst your keepsakes giggles, fairy wings flicking as it gleefully watches your fall into desperate depravity.)
It had been nearly a year since she had moved in with her grandmother to care for her in her old age, taking over what once was the spare bedroom in the woman’s almost cottage-like dwelling on the edge of the swamp. She had always found her grandmother’s home to be a very cosy space, all tucked away from the main road with vines of jasmine overtaking the outer walls and the gentle sounds of nature always playing in the background. It was peaceful out here by the swamp, and all the fond memories of childhood visits came back to the forefront of her mind as she settled in. Her grandmother’s warning was the same thing it had always been: don’t go into the swamp. Why not, she refused to say, but her granddaughter had always heeded the warning.
Except, the older she got, the harder it became to resist the call.
She hadn’t told anyone about the call, although her grandmother definitely knew something she wasn’t sharing with the rest of the class, so to speak. From the first visit she ever remembered all throughout her childhood, every time she had been to her grandmother’s house she felt the swamp calling to her, beckoning her closer, trying its best to lure her in. It wanted her to get her feet wet, let the water wash over her like an embrace and caress her, to touch her hands to the bark of the great cypress trees. When she was a teenager she started having dreams of the swamp, and even sometimes back home in the city the swamp would call to her in her sleep across all that distance, and whenever she awoke from one of these dreams it left her for the rest of the day with a strange sort of melancholic nostalgia, an almost physical longing for the lazy blink of the lightning bugs reflected in the murky water, unable to stop thinking about the feeling the swampy air left on her skin, the phantom smell of azaleas in her hair every time she turned her head, haunting her with a bone-deep ache, a bone-deep need for the gentle curtains of Spanish moss framing the fringes of her vision and the gentle lap of liquid against her bare skin. The dreams, and the pull to the swamp that accompanied them in her waking hours, left such vivid impressions in her psyche - she could practically feel the sensations of that peacefully eerie scene as if she actually stood at the edge of the water, even all the way back in her air-conditioned bedroom in the city.
She had had the dream every single night since she moved in with her grandmother, and finally the pull toward the swamp grew too strong to ignore. The serene, lethargic pool invited her closer, closer, let me touch you, let me caress you, let me envelop you. Finally one day she lost the battle, unable to resist any longer, and went and rented a canoe to take out on the water while her grandmother laid down for a nap. Tremblingly she put one foot in then the other, the boat rocking slightly as she shifted her weight, and then she took off, not entirely certain of any purpose or goal but to explore, to weave in and out of the cypress trees and listen to the insistent buzz of the cicadas. Some of the Spanish moss hung so low that it tickled the top of her head as she made her way through the trees, her oar making gentle swishing sounds as she dipped it in the water, and the further in she got, the greater grew the sense of peace that descended upon her. Being in the swamp felt so right.
She felt like maybe she should have been concerned when the sounds of cicadas buzzing and wind ruffling the leaves and other little noises stopped altogether, leaving her ears ringing in the silence, but she couldn’t find it in her to be all that worried about the lack of activity; she was content, almost sleepy, and the quiet did not bother her.
Her boat bumped upon land - a little island in the middle of the swamp. Intrigued, she pulled herself all the way onto the shore and disembarked, exploring the place. An alligator sat on a rock, pure black, and when it saw her approaching it stood up and began to walk away; she could have sworn it beckoned with its head for her to follow.
So she did.
It disappeared behind a fallen tree, and when she walked around the whole length of the thing and to the other side a woman-like being of some sort sat atop the trunk, a soft smile on its face.
“You’re late,” it said in a croaking voice, and when it opened its mouth it revealed crooked white alligator teeth. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to keep people waiting?”
It took a while for the spirit’s words to register; she was too busy taking the sight of it in - pitch-black eyes, hair of Spanish moss, skin a rich brown like the soil beneath their feet with arms and legs that became rough and dark with alligator scales, its hands clawed and its feet more reptilian than human, with a thick tail sprouting from its lower back. It was naked, one hand playing idly with the Spanish moss between its legs, muscular arm crushed against a full breast with a dark, erect nipple. She roused herself. “Umm. What?”
“Oh, my darling,” the creature stood and walked with outstretched arms over to her, caressing her cheek with the back of a scaly hand. “Why did it take you so long to answer my call?”
“Y-your call?”
It smiled again, “I know you heard it. I know you received the dreams I sent you. And yet you did not come.”
“That was you?” Her brows furrowed, and she put her own hand atop the one the creature had rested on her cheek.
“It was, my darling,” the spirit confirmed, stroking her cheek with its thumb and bringing its other hand up to her shoulder. “I’ve been waiting for you for quite some time.”
The spirit’s grip was strong, but not necessarily painful, and she swallowed, “Why were you calling me?”
“You never guessed?” It sighed. “Oh, my love . . . ” and it kissed her. Short, sweet, a pause, then again, with its tongue this time, and she groaned into its mouth, entwining her arms around its neck. Its hair was soft and fluffy, claws sending pleasant shivers up her spine as they raked lightly up and down her back, eventually dipping underneath her blouse to avoid snagging the fabric. The soft black scales of its palms were cool and smooth against her skin, dry and silky and gliding so easily down her stomach, down her ribs, pushing down the waistband of her skirt. She gasped for air as the creature took its lips from hers and trailed them, feather-light and teasing, down her jaw and throat, nuzzling its face into the dip of her shoulder, squeezing a nipple between sharpened teeth ever so delicately, the careful pressure sending shivers down her spine and a trembling sigh from her parted lips. Adrenaline burst through her system deliciously, and she tightened her fingers in a fistful of hair in response, almost involuntarily arching up into its mouth. It trailed its claws down her back, ass, thighs, threading through her pubic hair; the pad of one satiny thumb pressed directly on her clit, and she gasped, tears springing to her eyes from the intensity and suddenness of the sensation - she felt the spirit smile on her chest.
“Darling,” it crooned against her sternum, stroking her ass gently as it continued to rub circles into her clit, grinning into her skin as she writhed underneath its ministrations, hands raking through soft strands of Spanish moss. Its other thumb found its way to her suddenly very wet opening, and it laid her down against the fallen tree as it slid in, biting her other tit to her almost whimper-like moan as her eyes fluttered shut. It massaged her entrance for a bit, then jammed two fingers in up to the knuckle, pressing right against her G-spot, and she choked out an even louder moan, chest heaving. She had never blushed this hard - she had never felt this good. Her cheeks throbbed with the rush of blood from her pounding heart as the creature kissed her nipple again softly and relaxed its hand, sliding its fingers in and out of her more slowly, more gently, pressing lazy strokes with the other hand across her lips, over the clitoral hood, through her pubic hair, then back down, back and forth. She swallowed and closed her eyes, writhing against the trunk of the tree, pinned in place by the spirit’s hands, not literally, necessarily, but with the sheer pleasure of it, the overwhelmingly sweet sensation. Its hair was so soft as she ran her fingers through the curly strands of Spanish moss, guiding its head across her throat and breasts trembling and pliant as the rest of her was, wracked by sluggishly moving waves of euphoria, washing in and out, in and out, like the lazy shore of the swamp, like the languid thrusts into her throbbing cunt. It built slowly this time, the creature being more careful and deliberate in its movements, until finally it spilled over like one drop too many dripping into a glass, and she gave a loud cry, arching up off of the tree as she clenched around scaly fingers before her whole body relaxed, come dripping down her leg and the back of the spirit’s hand. It let her catch her breath as the aftershocks washed over her, kissing her breasts and stomach gently as it stroked her thighs, and she slid onto the cool earth with a sigh, running trembling hands down its back as she looked into the sky, fading with the first hint of orange sunset.
“My love,” it sighed again, and she pulled it in for another kiss, stroking the base of its tail as she did so. It groaned into the touch, vibrating against her swollen lips, and before she knew what she was doing she had pushed it onto the ground and spread its legs, diving between them with a little half-growl.
The noises it made were delicious.
She stuck her tongue as deep up its slit as she could get it, scooping up its slick without a care in the world; it tasted like citrus and grass with a kick that made her whole mouth tingle and sent a spark shooting down her throat straight to her clit, making her clench her fingers tighter into smooth dark flesh, and the claws in her hair tightened in response. The little bush of Spanish moss tickled her forehead ever so slightly as she ran her mouth up and down every fold and crease she could get her tongue into, to delightful little croaks and bellows that rumbled down the creature’s torso almost like a purr. Its powerful alligator tail flicked like a twitching nerve, whipping the backs of her legs in a strangely pleasant way as it thrashed back and forth, thumping against the earth with every little whimper that came out of its mouth in between the more beastly sounds it made. When it finished, they sat back in the earth together, her face resting between its breasts, and closed their eyes.
When she awoke, it was morning.
She sat up with a gasp, calling out, “Grandma!”
The spirit sat up to see what was the matter, watching her search frantically for her clothes. “What is it, darling?”
“I only meant to be gone an hour or two, I left my grandmother alone all night!”
It simply watched her as she dressed herself.
The spirit escorted her, hand-in-hand, to where she had left the rented canoe, and as she got in it said, “You must come back soon, my darling.”
“How will I find this place again?” she asked.
“Trust in the water,” the spirit smiled. “My magic will guide you. I will see you soon, my love.”
“Goodbye,” she smiled back, and it kissed her one last time before pushing her boat into the water.
She thought, occasionally, that she saw a black alligator surface alongside the boat.
When she got home, her grandmother was at the table drinking coffee, a shawl pulled around her shoulders. “There you are!” she said as she caught sight of her granddaughter. “Where in the world have you been, young lady? You were gone when I woke up from my nap, and you didn’t come home for dinner.”
“I’m sorry, Grandma,” she sighed. “I didn’t mean to be out that long.”
“You didn’t go into the swamp, did you?”
Silence.
“Did you?”
A very quiet, “Yes.”
Her grandmother sighed through her nose, a long sigh, and took a sip of coffee.
“What do you know about the swamp, Grandma? Why don’t you want me to go near it?”
“Sit down,” the old woman gestured, and her granddaughter obeyed. She gathered her thoughts, then began, “I suppose it’s about time I tell you this. You see, when I was a girl, my older sister had a friend who was fascinated by the swamp. She told us she felt as if the swamp was calling to her. We all told her not to go in the swamp, our parents told her not to go in the swamp, it was dangerous, she could get lost, she could drown, she could get eaten by an alligator, she could get her boat caught on something and get stuck and be unable to call for help. But she didn’t listen. She went often into the swamp; at first it was only for an hour or two at a time, but then she started disappearing for longer stretches of time, even a few days, and eventually one day she went into the swamp and just . . . never came back. People went out searching for her, but they never found her, no living girl, no body, not even her boat. Eventually they pronounced her dead, although we never came to a satisfactory conclusion on what had happened to her; it was like she had ceased to exist altogether. My sister was convinced that the call she heard came from the spirit of the swamp, and that her friend had been killed by this swamp fairy. But we’ll never know. But what I do know is that the swamp is dangerous, and I don’t want to lose you like we lost that girl.”
It was silent for a bit.
“What did you see in the swamp?”
“Nothing,” she shrugged, her heart beating faster at the lie. “Water and trees and Spanish moss.”
“No swamp fairies?”
She laughed. “I’m going to go take a shower.”
“All right, dearie.”
So she did.
The very next day, she left to go take a walk while her grandmother was visiting with a friend and wandered back to where she had left the canoe, bringing it again to the water’s edge. Trust in the water, the spirit had said. So she let the boat go with the languid current, and she found her way again to the island, and there the creature was, waiting for her.
“My darling,” it smiled with open arms, greeting her with a gratuitous kiss. She began to speak, but it shushed her, taking her by the hands and leading her to a bed of soft moss, laying her down to a peal of sweet kisses, unbuttoning her shirt as it went. Its sharp-toothed grin at the discovery that she wore nothing underneath sent her heart aflutter, and she sighed at is ran its fangs teasingly along her tit, swirling its tongue around her nipple and hiking her skirt up to her stomach to reveal her bare pussy ready and waiting; it flicked her clit eagerly, and she sighed again, bringing a hand up to tug softly at the creature’s nipple as her eyes fluttered closed.
It bit her breast, clenching its jaws just barely not tight enough to break the skin, but tight enough to sting deliciously and push a little whimpering moan past her lips as it swung one leg over her hip, smooth reptile armour sliding sensually across her bare flesh. It did the same to her other tit, then licked into her mouth with a fury that made her groan in earnest as it rocked softly against her, causing a delightful friction between their legs, and they bounced softly in the springy moss. She threaded her fingers through the spirit’s hair and hooked one leg around its back, on top of its tail, teasing its scaly ass with her foot as it crushed her breasts against its palms. They were both dripping with pleasure at this point, their slick making everything slide together so deliciously as the creature’s tail went thump, thump against the ground, those same croaking bellows rumbling pleasantly in its throat and chest, almost soothing, especially paired with the way they rocked back and forth. It refused to take its mouth from hers, not that she would have let it go, her hands tangled tightly in the Spanish moss of its hair, and everything turned slow and warm.
They came at the same time, then the creature relaxed on top of her, its head on her heaving breasts, and she reached a trembling hand up to stroke its hair as they caught their breaths together, the creature’s tail still softly twitching against her legs.
Eventually she piped up, “Do you have a name?”
“I have many names and no name,” the spirit shrugged, sitting up and getting off of her to allow her to do the same. “I am simply the swamp,”
“Well, that’s fancy,” she laughed, hugging her knees to her chest. “What does that mean?”
The spirit shrugged again. “You could call me after the swamp, I suppose, but the essence that is this being you see was never given a name.”
“Could I give you a name?”
“If you like,” it smiled, pulling her in for a kiss, smooth scales sliding around her waist. “But do we need names?”
“Hmm,” it had successfully distracted her with those claws trailing lightly across her ribs - but not entirely. “My grandmother knew a girl who disappeared into the swamp,” she said. “Do you know what happened to her?” and she told the story.
The creature sighed through its nose, stroking its own thigh as it thought.
“Do you know where she is?”
“I do,” it smiled. “She is me.”
“What?”
“A part of me, at least.”
“What do you mean she’s a part of you?”
The creature pulled her into its lap, threading its reptilian fingers through her hair as she relaxed into it. “Every hundred years or so, I must renew my powers, or the swamp may falter.”
“How do you renew your powers?”
“I must absorb a willing life into my own.”
“Like . . . you kill them?”
“No,” it shook its head. “We merge our essences into one, and she becomes one with the swamp, another piece of the composite being that I am. The girl your grandmother knew, she lives on, in a way. Her legacy of preserving this magic is her survival, even if she no longer exists in a form recognisable as her. When you look at me, my darling, you look into the eyes of the swamp itself, shining with the light of thousands of women who loved it enough to dedicate their lives to it.”
She pondered for a beat, indeed studying the spirit’s pitch-black eyes. “Will you do that to me?”
“If you like,” it winked. “But it won’t be necessary for me to do so for another few years; your grandmother’s friend will sustain the swamp for a little while longer.”
“Okay,” she reached up to push its hair out of its face. “So, why did you call me, then?”
It chuckled softly “Why do you think, my love?” and it pulled her in for a kiss.
It felt so nice, the slide of its scales against her bare skin, the keen drag of alligator teeth along her throat, the tail thumping against her legs as it pushed her down on her back again and dove between her thighs like a prayer, that guttural growl vibrating directly against her clit and making her moan, unabashed, unashamed, uninhibited, just pure pleasure in the moment and not another care in the world. They made such pretty music together, the two of them, little wet sounds of its tongue slipping in and out of her cunt and her soft moans set against the backing track of its rumbling bellows. It pinned her in place with scaly hands, claws digging lightly into the flesh of her stomach, and she hiked one leg up over the creature’s shoulder, rocking up into its impossibly soft lips, her own dull fingers grasping for purchase on the spongy moss, eyes closed in bliss. Her cheeks felt so warm, next to the cool of its scales, her rapid heartbeat throbbing in her face, her bits, her tits, and before she knew what was happening she was clenching around its tongue with a loud cry, then she deflated, going limp like a wet rag, breasts trembling weakly as she caught her breath, reaching a shaky hand up to rest on the head of the spirit which migrated up her torso with a trail of sticky kisses, pinching one nipple delicately between its teeth.
Then suddenly its breasts were in her face, and she opened her mouth like an obedient toddler, sucking softly at woody flesh which tasted of salt and grass and something almost smoky, those claws running encouragingly down her cheeks and shoulders.
“Oh, my darling,” the spirit breathed, rocking gently as it straddled her hips.
Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. The whole world was just the two of them on this island in the middle of the swamp, embracing each other as the lightning bugs slowly began to blink to life against the setting sun.
This one tasted like mint. A sweet soul that smelled of sugar and spice. Her tongue buzzed from the sensation of her new little snack. Full of dreams, and completely and utterly hers. Souls were so much tastier when they were handed over without a second thought
It was so good... so sweet. It made her mouth tingle and her brain go all fuzzy... She hadnt even noticed the spit running down her chin, she was too deep in the ecstasy of it. With each taste she could practically hear their voice in her ear.
A Fungal Fae whose hyphae grow into your body, their mycelium exploring your whole being. Forming a sheath over the nerve endings of your genitalia like the root tip of ectomycorrhizal fungi, stimulating you completely and efficiently. Sending threadlike growth into the pleasure center of your brain, tapping in and filling you with bliss. Connecting to your body with their mycelium and then bringing you to orgasm after orgasm as they feel your pleasure for themselves.
Your Satyr playing a lilting tune on their flute, the melody of which entrances you, filling your mind with thoughts of revelry, ecstasy, and debauchery.
Your lips around the thick tip of your Satyr's cock, licking their shaft fervently, your nose pressed into their musky fur when you take their length down your throat.
Their enchanting melody still echoing in your head as your Satyr bends you over a mossy log, filling your achingly desirous cunt over and over.
Weeks later, earworms of their song still slipping into your consciousness, heat spreading through your body and desire dripping down your thighs at the reminder of your Satyr's cock
Walking through the late summer woods, empty basket in hand after an unfruitful day of foraging. Spying a thicket of berries, illuminated by a golden shaft of afternoon sun through the canopy.
Running over, excitedly starting to fill your basket with the bounty. The basket spilling to the forest floor as something comes over you, your body freezing in place as if by magic.
Stealing my berries are we? A sweet voice with a mysterious edge falling on your ears.
Your words of protest laying dead on your tongue, your body compelled to kneeling among the leaves on the forest floor, squishing spilled berries under your bare knees.
A figure appearing out of the briars before you, elfin features nearly obscured by the tangled thicket of their hair, a mischievous glimmer in their catlike eyes.
I'm not one for unfairness, I'll accept a trade for them. Their tongue flicking over rows of teeth, sharp like the thorns of berry vines. A hunger for a hunger? Does this deal suit you?
Barely hearing your own voice responding over the frantic hammering of your hearbeat: Yes.
The Thicket Fae grinning ear to ear as they draw to their full height out of the tangled briars, four sinewy arms reaching towards your kneeling body. Their cock swelling forth, rippling like the coils of a vine's tendril.
Clawed hands tangling in your hair and gripping your jaw as your mouth is filled with their cock, berry-sweet sap smearing your tongue. Pushing deep, filling your throat with their cock and your nose with their fertile, earthy scent.
Pulling you away by your hair, leaving you empty and gasping. Claws ripping at your clothes, your suddenly bare skin crawling with gooseflesh despite the warmth of the day.
The Thicket Fae easily picking you up, turning you around and moving you as they please, protestation the last thing on your mind. Your cunt aching, dripping as a pair of hands grips your hips and grinds you against their massive cock.
A hand grips your neck, squeezing gently, their lips roaming your shoulder. Sinking their thorny teeth into your delicate skin, heady warmth spreading through your body like venom.
Their fingertips finding the ripe berry of your clit, sending a shudder of ecstasy through your body with circling pressure. The tip of their cock pressing eagerly into your cunt, stretching you without filling you, drawing whimpers from your gripped throat.
Hands forcing down on your hips, their cock entering you to the hilt in one swift stroke, stars in your vision as you're dragged right to the edge. Another stroke and you come undone, writhing in the grip of the Thicket Fae.
Their breath in your ear, their teeth finding purchase in your neck, their hands grabbing you rabidly, feverishly pumping their cock into your drenched cunt. Your body, hungrily used by the Fae, overflowing with pleasure.
Thrusting determinedly, stretching you deliciously, their cock shuddering as they fill your cunt with their flowing seed. Pulling out, gasping at your emptiness, seed spilling out and oozing down your thighs.
The chuckling of the Thicket Fae echoing through the trees as they fade once more into the tangle of briars. A deal well struck, Sweet One.
Looking down, your clothes restored to their previous state, your bite marks fading to bruises, your knees unblemished by stains. The thicket once again illuminated by a shaft of golden sunlight. Your basket overflowing with perfectly ripe berries.
