Chapter 3: The Sub Switch
The walk to Luna’s hut was a procession of soft whispers and longing glances. Eryndor moved like a man through a dream, the dappled sunlight feeling unnaturally warm on his skin. The hut was nestled in the base of a willow, its curtain of leaves forming a private, golden-green chamber. Inside, it was all soft moss bedding and woven tapestries that smelled of her—wildflowers and that undeniable, sweet musk.
“See? Cozy!” Luna announced, spinning around with her arms wide. The movement made her generous body sway, a hypnotic rhythm. Her tail beat a steady, eager thump-thump-thump against a wooden post. “You can rest here. Safe from the scary woods.”
Eryndor stood rigidly by the entrance. “Luna, we need to discuss what I told the others. The corruption. Your village’s origin.”
“Mhm, later!” she chirped, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her bright blue eyes were fixed on him with an intensity that had nothing to do with intellectual discussion. The dumb, happy pant of her expression had sharpened into something single-minded. She was vibrating with need. “First, you’re all tense. We gotta fix that.”
“I do not require fixing.”
“You do!” She closed the distance between them in a skip. Her hands, surprisingly strong, pushed against his chest. He stumbled back, his boots sinking into the soft moss floor. Before he could right himself, she was on him, all warm weight and eager hands. “Just relax, boyfriend. Let Luna welcome you properly.”
Her mouth found his again, but this was nothing like the sloppy group kiss. It was deep, claiming, her tongue pushing past his lips with a desperate enthusiasm. The taste of her was like the wild honey from the glade. He raised his hands to push her away, but they met the incredible softness of her hips, the curve of her waist. She moaned into his mouth, grinding herself against the growing hardness in his trousers that shamed him with its betrayal.
“See?” she panted, breaking the kiss. A string of saliva connected their lips. “You like it. The glade knows. We know.”
With a dizzying strength, she spun him and pushed. He fell backwards onto the deep moss bed, the air leaving his lungs in a soft oof. She was on him in an instant, straddling his hips, her weight pinning him down. The view was overwhelming: the vast, pale swell of her breasts barely contained in her simple wrap, the flush on her skin, the dizzyingly happy yet predatory look on her face.
“Gonna make you feel so good,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. Her hands tugged at the lacing of his trousers. He grabbed her wrists.
“Luna, stop. This is not—“
“Shhh,” she cooed, leaning down to lick his neck. The rough, hot stroke of her tongue made him shudder. “No talking. Just feeling.”
She yanked her hands free with a playful giggle and finished undoing his laces. He was exposed to the warm, fragrant air. She didn’t pause, didn’t admire. Her need was a tangible force. She hiked up her own wrap, revealing the full, breathtaking expanse of her hips, the thick, powerful curves of her ass. She positioned herself above him, guiding him with a clumsy, eager hand.
“Luna, don’t—“
She sank down.
SCHLUCK.
The sound was wet, obscenely loud in the intimate space. She took him in one smooth, deep descent, her body swallowing him whole into a breathtaking, velvet heat. Her head fell back, a choked gasp tearing from her throat. “Oh! Oh! Yes! Yes!”
Eryndor cried out, a strangled sound of protest utterly consumed by sensation. Every nerve was on fire. His hands flew to her hips, whether to push her off or pull her deeper, he couldn’t tell. She began to move, riding him with a primal, unthinking rhythm.
CLAP-CLAP-CLAP.
The sound filled the hut. Each downward plunge of her body made the immense, fleshy orbs of her ass meet his thighs with a solid, meaty impact. It was a percussive, brutal beat to their joining. Her tail whipped the air furiously behind her, a blonde blur.
“You’re so deep!” she squealed, bouncing faster. Her breasts jounced wildly, her mouth hung open in a panting grin. She leaned forward, smothering his face in her chest, covering his protests with her soft skin. She rained slobbery, unpracticed kisses all over his forehead, his cheeks, his closed eyes. Each kiss left a sticky, wet mark. “Kiss! Kiss! My boyfriend! Mine!”
Her rhythm became frantic, animalistic. The CLAP-CLAP-CLAP of flesh accelerated into a continuous, shuddering thunder. Her moans lost all coherence, becoming high-pitched whines and yips. The scent of her, of them, filled the air—musky, sweet, salty.
Eryndor was lost in the sensory storm, his mission, his identity, drowning in the wet, clapping heat of her. A tight coil snapped in his gut. With a groan he couldn’t suppress, he spent himself inside her, his body arching up against his will.
That was the trigger.
Luna’s own climax hit her like a lightning strike. Her body locked, a silent scream on her face. Then she shattered. A guttural, raw cry was torn from her throat—“Yessss!”—as she convulsed around him, her inner muscles pulsing in frantic waves.
And then, everything changed.
The frantic bouncing ceased. The dumb, happy panting stopped. She went utterly still atop him, save for the faint, aftershock tremors in her thighs.
Slowly, she lifted her head. Her face was transformed.
The ditzy excitement was gone. Wiped clean. Her blue eyes, now dark and heavy-lidded, looked down at him with an intensity that froze the blood in his veins. It was a look of raw, graphic submission. A profound, terrifying vacancy that yearned to be filled. Her panting was quiet now, her mouth slightly open, her tongue lolling. She looked… owned.
She nuzzled her face against his chest, a slow, deliberate rub. A low whine vibrated in her throat. When she spoke, her voice was a soft, broken whisper, devoid of its earlier chirp.
“Master,” she breathed, the word foreign and thick on her tongue. She lifted her hips slightly, then sank back down onto his softening length with a possessive sigh, as if sealing herself there. “Mine. Yours. Tell me what to do. Please.”
She shifted, rolling off him to lay on her side in the moss, then presented her back to him. She curled herself against his side, her head on his chest, one leg thrown over his. It was a posture of total, helpless belonging. Her tail gave a single, weak, submissive thump against the bedding.
“Good bitch,” she murmured, her eyes already closing, a serene, empty smile on her kiss-sticky face. “Luna is good.”
Within moments, her breathing evened out into the deep, satisfied rhythm of sleep.
Eryndor lay trapped beneath her weight, staring at the woven ceiling of the hut. The warm scent of sex and honey clung to him. The physical satisfaction in his body curdled into a cold, sinking dread. This wasn’t affection. This wasn’t lust.
This was programming.
The corruption he sought wasn’t in the trees or the water. It was in them. In their biology. It created happy, simple bitches in heat, and the moment they were bred, it switched them into this… this permanent, longing submission.
He was no longer just lost.
He had become part of the anomaly.