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The Witch of the Woods

By Limewah

Patron Reward for ShadowHawk30

October 2022

18+

Your blade grows hot at your side. It rattles within its scabbard, like a beast trying to scratch an itch. If it could, it would leap out, flinging itself towards its target. You keep it at bay with your paw, and continue ahead.

Be careful, oh brave, noble sea-lion. Ahead of you is the most powerful thing you've ever faced. Keep your wits about you, and keep your willpower intact.

The witch is close. Your blade is thirsting for her magic-infused blood. Taking a cursed weapon like this is a huge risk, but it was a risk you knew you'd have to take. Being in thrall to one evil being would protect you from the thrall of another. And this curse would be easy to remove after the fact.

She had, indeed, ensorcelled the entire forest. Every beast and sapient within miles of her home were enthralled by her. Their free wills were subsumed by her glamour.

You could only imagine the hag's vicious, cruel face as she watched her servants come to her bearing gifts, sacrifices, giving so much of themselves to her.

This could not continue. You will not allow it.

You started your journey early, and as you approach her hovel it is nearly mid-day. And yet, there is very little light. The trees are dense, and what little light there is is absorbed into a thick miasma of violet darkness. It's oppressive. Even your torch light travels barely further than arm's length.

At least your sword is at your side. It acts as a sensor, keeping you alert and aware. You've fought off a few wild beasts already, thanks to the blade's warning and warding. But you refuse to let your guard down, even now.

You hear rustling just ahead of you, and your blade slips into your hand as light as a feather. You point it ahead, readying yourself.

There's no chance of someone being this deep in the forest unless they're deeply in thrall to the witch. So by extension, you can expect them to be hostile.

The comely lizard woman who runs into your torchlight - and almost directly into your sword- freezes on the spot with a terrified gasp when she sees you, her arms raising up high in surrender as she shrinks away.

She's dressed only in stockings and leggings, her body shapely, her bosom heaving. It's rare for reptilians like her to be so, well... endowed.

"Please...!" she speaks, her voice quiet and desperate. Her white scales shimmer against your torchlight, with almost a rainbow sheen to them. "You have to help me..."

You lower your blade, in spite of its protests.

"Are you all right?" You ask.

"I've escaped the witch," she says quickly. "She's coming for me, I know it, please, you must protect me...!"

She closes the gap between you and hugs you tightly, sobbing into your neck.

Her scales are so soft, and there's a sweet smoky scent coming off her ; no doubt remnants of the witch's home.

You expected anyone who escaped her thrall would have been drained of all their life and vitality. You thought you'd find poor souls who were emaciated, sunken, almost haggard.

Not someone this... beautiful.

She wraps her arms around you, practically draping herself over you. You can hardly blame her, she is in such distress...

You consider turning back. This poor fragile thing needs help getting to safety, after all. And as a hero, you have a duty to protect the weak.

And yet... the sword pulls you onwards. Urges you forwards. Even taking a step back due to the reptile woman's desperate tackle gives you painful pins and needles.

The only way is forward.

You put your hands on her shoulders to push her back and gently reassure her.

"It's all right," you tell her. "You are safe. I have to continue ahead... can you help me?"

"Y...yes of course," she responds, hurriedly and nervously. She seems quick to agree. Some hidden well of bravery emerging from within her, perhaps?

She's looking at you with a sort of dewy glossy gleam in her deep ruby eyes. On the verge of tears, even now.

You give her a brace smile as you start to walk again, and she hews close to you like a puppy staying close to her mother.

"I think this is the way I came from," she says softly. "Her hut isn't too far ahead..."

Her scaled body is surprisingly warm and soft for a cold-blooded creature. It galvanises you as you continue forward.

As you walk, you share the odd brief glancing moment of eye contact with your charge. Her shapely, comely legs. Her feet pressing into the soft soil, leaving little indentations. The subtly delightful scent of her scales. You would like to know her better once you leave this forest. For a time, it is just you, and her, and your soft breaths radiating through the dark, desolate forest.

"I'm so scared," she whimpers softly.

"What's your name?" You ask her gently, pushing her forward and (rather transgressively) resting your hand on her hip as she walks alongside you.

"I... don't remember," she says. "That's one of the first things she takes from you. Your name. She called me a Pet, like all the others. I don't even want to say the name she called me..."

You frown. You keep your name in the back of your head. Zeke. Zeke. Zeke. Repeating it over and over in your mind. It's been used your whole life, so it's not something you can forget so easily.

And yet... the fear of losing it is there, at the forefront of your brain. You know you cannot get too comfortable.

"What is yours?" She asks, resting her hand on the hilt of your blade and pushing it down.

You look at her. Your eyes are drawn to her lips, the soft pinkness of her mouth just past them. You feel an urge.

"Zeke," you say, whispering it in case the witch is listening. "I'll tell you more when we're back in the town, okay?"

She looks up at you. She wants to kiss you. You can tell by the way her lips part a little wider, the way they twitch just a little, like they're about to pucker.

Truth be told, you would quite like to kiss her back. More than that, in fact. You do not need to imagine her nude, and you barely need to imagine her being willing.

"May I ask something of you, Zeke?"

You love how your name sounds, coming out of her mouth. This poor Pet. She needs something to comfort her, a strong noble sea-lion like yourself can do that for her.

Yes, of course, she may.

"Please kiss me. Maybe it will give you some luck for what's to come..."

You can't resist. You know you must.

You kiss her, deeply, hungrily, desperately.

She squeals and moans into your mouth, mewling and grinding her scaly body against yours. You're turgid and erect, already aching to put yourself inside her.

That desire only builds the longer you stare and the more you kiss her lips.

Something tingles in your tongue, something that you chalk up to a hallucination.

But the tingling grows, blooms, blossoms into something else. A fizzing, bubbling like a simmering pot of water, and with it a vapour that fills your skull and clouds your brain.

As the witch's tongue continues to explore, you realise - too late - that you have very much been had.

The witch was no hag. That, or she was a master at hiding her true form, her true power.

She had slipped right under your nose, taken note of your name, and taken her chance to have you.

You only have seconds to react before your will is taken.

You grasp weakly for your sword, only to find the hilt falling away from the already crumbled and corroded blade.

The angry whispers at the back of your head come to an end. The curse of the blade lifts, and it is easily and effortlessly supplanted by another charm. Her lips and tongue are aphrodisiac. Your erection strains against the codpiece of your armour, desperate for release, and a long clawed finger grants its wish by slitting the metal in half as though it were thin tissue.

The air is cool and comfortable around you, and you are glad to be free of your prison of metal. As well as the prison of free thought.

"Darling little knight," the witch whispers, her lips still brushing against yours even as she comes up for air. Her voice is milk and honey.

She moves away from you, and you follow, desperately eager to stay close to her.

She stops on a stump and lifts a shapely leg towards you.

"Please, would you dress me?" she asks you, and you find sheer bolts of dark, thin cloth in your hands. You find the hole for the stocking, and enclose it around her wiggling toes. She sighs with comfortable delight as you slide it along. It hugs her thick, scaly thighs, and as you work it along to her thigh, she pushes her sole against your face.

Earthen scents, with a deep, intoxicating spice to it. You breathe in deep of the scent, and it hits you just as powerfully as her lips. Throwing you into an even deeper state of ecstasy, another layer of a powerful charm draping irresistibly over your now-plastic mind.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the other leg is raised and waiting, its toes wiggling with a hypnotic pace. Its sole wrinkles a little as she squeezes her toes inwards, and she giggles so beautifully.

"Is this to your liking, Zeke darling?" she says, her voice gentle, with a subtle hint of wickedness. "Of course it is, I could see it in your mind, from the moment you came within a mile of my home. The moment you sealed your fate."

She is revealing her true self now. Her scales are glittering, luminescent in the darkness around her. Her eyes turn an even deeper ruby red. And her body fills out. Her voice deepens into a low, matronly growl, and her hips and torso widen into a shape befitting your motherly mistress. Her true splendour.

"Now, dress my other leg, if you please." her voice, far deeper and lower, is no less bewitching. You want nothing more than to garb her beautiful thigh - a thigh thicker than your torso - in more of that sheer, beautiful fabric.

Her stomach expands, as well as two mammalian breasts just above it. You shudder as you gaze upon the unnatural sight of a reptile with breasts. But it's a shudder of pleasure and delight - no revulsion.

The soft, stockinged foot continues to massage your face, distracting you and making the job of dressing her other leg more difficult.

You notice, faintly, as you dress her, that the forest is gone. The trees and loam are replaced with wood and windows. The scent of her study fills your nostrils. Out of the corner of your eye, you see large cages. Other poor unfortunate mortals, stroking and chanting soft incantations under their breath.

"You've been with me this whole time, silly little thing." The witch coos. "You've been under my spell for a good, long while. Surely you didn't think you could have resisted me, let alone defeated me?

"Now... for your name. Would you give it to me once again, Zeke darling?"

You breathe your name, forgetting it even as you say it. It breaks off from your soul, and slips off your lips in a little wisp of cerulean. She opens her mouth - that mouth you desperately want to see smile, to hear praise you - and the little swirl that was once your name and identity drifts into her mouth.

You're relieved to be free of it, now, leaning against her magically-enhanced bosom and between her thighs. Wrapped in her embrace. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the caged little mortals. Your companions in servitude.

"You'll be joining them soon," the witch chuckles. "One more for my chorus of darling, singing little birds. But more changes are needed first. Look closer at them."

She cradles your chin and turns you to stare at the cages. All of them are wearing similarly sheer clothing around their arms and legs, much like your Mistress. As well as tight pink panties. Some slaves have their cocks pointing out from the top of the hem as they rub through the fabric. Others' slits are pushing in tight, outlined mounds as their fingers work along them. All of their eyes are opaque like pearls, with a pale pink tint to their glow.

"Do you notice, my dear, what they all have in common?"

"Panties..." you slur.

"Correct~!" she says. "What a smart little boy you are."

The patronising tone makes you throb. You want to crawl out of what remains of your armour and clothing, and be nude as the day you were born for her. You are reborn, after all. Your old life is over. Your new one begins.

She twirls her finger, and your armour rusts and corrodes to dust. Your clothing, similarly, comes unseamed and unwoven, falling away from you and leaving you naked and erect before her matronly form.

She presses your face into her body and hugs you close.

"Breathe me in," she commands. The incense spice of her body - nutmeg and cinnamon, with notes of something powerfully tart and pheromonal, invades your sinuses and pickles your brain. Her thick chest envelops you once more, and you feel your hips moving unbidden to hump against her soft middle. She moans and strokes the back of your head with long claws.

"Good, child," she groans. "Bury yourself in Mother. Learn your mantras for Mother. And let Mother clothe you..."

A claw traces along your hips, under your rump cheeks, between your legs. Wherever it traces, you feel a tell-tale hug. Soft, smooth, silky fabric. It tents around your shaft, pushing it back a little towards your stomach. Her soft folds push against you. You could fall into her like quicksand...

But when she pulls you back, you are thankful for it as you take a deep gulp of air. You look down at yourself, to confirm that - yes!- you have a pair of those pink panties of your own as well. It gives you such joy to look at yourself like this, that you climax on the spot.

"S-sorry...!" you cry out, your vision swimming too much to see the witch's face - to see if she's disappointed or not.

"Worry not, little one... my little child," she croons, her long tail cradling underneath your balls and pumping, sustaining your climax. "You are doing just as I wish. Giving more of your essence to me, throwing every little bit of yourself away... so you may join my chorus of little birds."

She cradles your face in her thick paw, and you lean into it. She chants something, in some deep arcane language you have no comprehension of, aside from it being the most beautiful thing you've ever heard in your life.

Her voice makes you throb with arousal, each emphasised syllable pumping another mini-climax out of you. Your heroic resolve... no, what is that? You never had it to begin with. You've been hers from the moment you came into existence.

That hero - the one that used to live in this body - no longer exists. He is dead. This body is the body of a sweet little songbird, who belongs body and soul to the beautiful matron of the forest.

The knowledge of this makes you cum again, and again, and again.

You understand why the other birds sing so sweetly.

You'll be joining them.

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