1. The White Flower


    Date: 1/19/2015, Categories: Dark Fantasy, Drug, Male / Older Female, Monster, Non-consensual sex, Reluctance, Young, Author: JD Snow, Rating: 66.7, Source: sexstories.com

    wretched creatures, must admit that not much goes on in these woods that I am not aware of.” The crone’s gaze fell and the fire’s light flickered once again. “But it was not always so. I was a woman once, like you, yes, much like you. A pretty lady making men swoon even well into my years.” Silence took the air again, leaving only the boiling pot’s contents to fill the void with their bubbling. A bony, green hand, twisted with swollen joints, rubbed the crone’s chin as she recalled her past. “I will not waste time, for time is precious even here, telling you about my fall from grace, child. But know this…” Hilda raised a finger and pointed it at Genevieve. “I miss my home and life on the other side, and you are the key to our escape from this dark land!” Hilda jumped to her feet as the pot began to hiss and continued fiddling with the soup. “Can’t you just walk out of here?” The crone spat and waved a gesture in the air. “You still do not see? Mankind is still as dimwitted as I thought, yes, still very dimwitted.” Genevieve’s mouth opened, insulted, but she did not say a word. “Open your eyes, child!” She raised her cane and swung it around in all directions.” “You go south, east, west, north, you find more trees. The Deep Forest, yes, it is called that for a reason. It does not extend far in your world, but here…” Genevieve finally understood. “The lake is a door?” The crone cackled. “Not so dimwitted after all.” She nodded her head, the loose green folds of her neck ...
    bobbing sideways. “A door with very specific keys.” She tasted the soup again and decided it was ready, taking it from the fire and placing the wide, metal pot on the ground next to the table. “Yes, we may get out of here soon enough.” The crone handed Genevieve a wooden bowl filled with a brown sludge that made her want to lurch by sight alone. But when she brought the bowl to her lips, so as to not offend her host again, she was surprised by its pleasing taste. “I cannot go back without first meeting this Eogann.” The crone’s face was hidden behind a bowl as she slurped its contents greedily. “My son, he’s sick….The plague has taken many already.” “Seldom does a wise man make a pact with the imp king.” “Eogann’s an imp?” Genevieve smiled at the absurdity. The crone slammed her bowl down on the table and the smile faded. “The self-proclaimed king of the imps has no more powers than I do!” Genevieve lifted the bowl once more between interlocked fingers and said nothing else. “If we make it out of here I will cure your child of any illness, yes, the gods shall not have his soul just yet.” Finishing her soup, Genevieve curled up by the fire with her hands beneath her head and her back against an earth wall. She kept her sword a hand’s length away from her, and her body pointed towards the circular, pine entrance, vigilant while she remained awake. “As soon as you have rested and gathered your wits we will collect all we need. Our hunt for ingredients will lead us to more perilous ...
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