The Dryads' Tower

The Dryads' Tower
Judy Mays
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2007, 2014 Judy Mays

Between gasps for air, Navaar smiled. His cock was still hard, still embedded deep in Dylana's hot, moist body -- and he wasn't finished with her yet. He'd waited too long to enjoy her, and he was going to enjoy himself as long as he could. The grove was protected now. What he did to Dylana for the rest of the night would be strictly for both of them to enjoy.

A deep rolling chuckle in his mind made him look up. The old oak stared back at him with his deep, brown eyes. My valley is safe, Mage. I thank you -- and claim you.

Before Navaar could react, the roots still wrapped around his chest flipped him over and laid him in a sling of oaken branches. Almost immediately, another limb circled his wrists and pulled them above his head. Stiffening, Navaar fought his bonds -- to no avail. "What..."

At his side, Eldest caressed his stomach once, chuckled, then said, "He is yours, Dylana."

Still panting from the most earth-shattering orgasm she'd ever experienced, Dylana squeezed her legs together. She'd drunk a great deal of nectar, and the fiery liquid still warmed her belly and made her nipples and cunt tingle. Carefully, the branches she lay on lifted her until she was kneeling on the altar at Navaar's side, her thighs spread slightly. His cum and the oak's sap mixed and trickled down the insides of her legs.

A cool breeze swirled around the clearing as the drummers began a new beat and the high, smooth sounds of flutes joined them. Navaar struggled against his bounds. They tightened and he became immobile.

Dylana smiled, raised her arms above her head, stretched, arched her back, and thrust her hips forward. She didn't have to look into Navaar's face to know his gaze was focused on the thin red line of the curls on her pubis. Instead she focused her attention on his body. Rising straight up into the air, his cock reminded her of the tower. Moonlight glinted off his nipple rings.

Chuckling, Dylana lowered her arms and slid her hands down over her stomach until her fingertips met at her curls, sure his gaze would lock on them as they twirled the wiry curls amongst them. "Do you think yours is the only order to use sex magic, Navaar? You are not." She slid her fingers down over the soft curls. "We druids have understood the power of sex for more generations than you can count." She chuckled again when his cock jerked. Dylana stroked her clit. "Ahhhh."

A low growl erupted from Navaar's throat. "Fuck me, witch."

Lifting her hands, she cupped her breasts and rubbed her thumbs over the distended nipples. "I am far more powerful than a witch, Navaar, especially on this night, in this grove. With both druid and dryad blood, I am an embodiment of nature herself. Tonight, Father Oak and I have blessed this grove with a fertility rite." She squeezed her nipples, shuddered, and sighed. "Hmmm. I have always loved fertility rites." Releasing her breasts, she leaned forward and tongued the tip of Navaar's purple-headed cock. "Now it's time for your cum to complete the rite."

Without another word, she sucked his cock deep into her mouth.

Navaar ground his teeth against the groan threatening to escape. She tickled the base of his cock with her tongue while she sucked gently, the groan escaped anyway.

Two supple branches slid their tips through his nipple rings and tugged while a blunt root first stroked his anus then pushed its way in. The titillating sensations shot straight to his cock and balls. Dylana chortled deep in her throat, lapped his cock, suckled first one ball then the other, and finally nipped him just below the head. Involuntarily, his stomach muscles tightened and his thighs tensed. The branches on which he lay swayed as he struggled to free himself -- to no avail.

Gathering his will, he tried to create a spell from the sexual energy still swirling around the clearing. Nectar boiled through his blood and his concentration wavered.

Both hands now wrapped around his cock, Dylana lapped and sucked harder. Fiery pleasure danced up and down his spine and pooled in his balls. His cock hardened even more. The blunt root pulled itself out of his anus then slid back in, its rhythm matching Dylana's sucking motion.

Her mouth was hot and wet, and she knew exactly how to use her tongue and teeth on his cock. Twice she brought him to the point of orgasm, but he conquered the almost overpowering urge to surrender himself. Gritting his teeth, Navaar growled, "I am a sex mage of the ninth level. You will not control me!"

Kneeling between his spread thighs, she laughed as she tightened her grasp on his cock and pumped with both hands. Leafy branches lightly stroked him, tantalizing his overheated skin. His stomach muscles rolled and clenched. Sweat rolled to the sides of his forehead and dripped through his sling of branches to the ground.

Then Father Oak's deep voice rolled through his mind. Surrender yourself to me, Mage. You became mine the moment you mounted my altar. I will have what I need from you whether you cooperate or not.

In that moment Navaar knew he wouldn't be able to control this sexual encounter no matter how hard he tried. Accepting the inevitable, he stopped fighting and gave in to the heady sensations assaulting his body. A long, low moan drew his attention back to Dylana. The thick, oaken phallus rose from the altar again, and she released his cock and lowered herself onto it.

Navaar's cock throbbed and jerked, stimulated both by watching her grind herself up and down on the wooden cock and by the root still fucking his anus. Another supple root wrapped itself around his cock and began to pump it. As his entire body strained and shuddered, Navaar gritted his teeth and continued to watch Dylana. When she rubbed her distended clit and cried out as she came, he stopped fighting his own orgasm.

Liquid fire churned in his balls and erupted upward. As his silvery cum spurted into the air, the branches on which he lay swung away from the altar. Spurt after spurt of cum, more than he had ever released in a single orgasm before, arched into the air. As each droplet landed in the green grass of the grove, a tiny silver flower sprouted.

The music of the drums and flutes built to a crescendo, then stopped. Birds stopped singing. The wind stopped blowing. Father Oak's sonorous voice rolled around the grove. It is done!