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It was an hour ago that Liora the raccoon, collecting firewood out in the Great Forest, had caught sight of the robe-clad figure in her peripheral vision. Armed with the more routine spells her own stainless steel toe rings proffered (silent footfalls; camouflage to blend in with the deep chocolate browns, warm golds, and bright crimsons of fall), she started following the stranger, trying to sneak peeks into her darkened hood to at least figure out her species. Liora only had as a clue the mystery lady's tail, poking through a hole in the amethyst-colored robes, swaying back and forth as she padded through the forest.

Brown with a white tip.

A fox, perhaps.

With each step, the hem of the robe lifted, offering Liora fleeting glimpses of her feet, of the two silver rings on each second toe.

This was a witch of her coven. One in a much more senior position.

The witch blessed the ground of the clearing, letting the soft blades of grass crunch under her bare feet. She got into the lotus position. Her soles, both a soft cream hue, were upturned and exposed to the crisp air of the forest, with a sharp, black claw at the tip of all eight toes. The witch with the silver toe rings joined her hands together in a prayer pose.

Liora observed, crouched behind a shrub, for the longest time, trying to understand what it was her coven-mate was up to.

Then, it happened.

A gasp, soft and sharp at once, escaped the sitting witch, and, as her back arched underneath her robes, her head tipped back, revealing the graceful line of her neck. The hood slid off--Liora could make out the face of a fox, her eyes rolling into the back of her head before closing delicately.

Liora's hand covered her mouth. Were all those rumors she heard back as an initiate true? Was there a spell that . . . No. That couldn't be.

But the vixen's toes. The big toes bent all the way back, towards the ground; the smaller ones curled up with an impure ferocity--if her eyes had closed with gossamer force, her toes clenched with the strength of a thousand enraged bulls.

It tingled between Liora's legs. She studied the vixen from head to gnarled, stretched toes. Liora was convinced--the witch with the silver rings around her toes was having an orgasm. A particularly intense one. Of that there was no doubt in twentysomething raccoon's mind.

The fox's expression was serene, peaceful. The occasional eyelash fluttered, but, otherwise, a statuesque perfection had overcome her, as if she were but another forest object, and if the smooth edges of her robes, purple and adorned with golden motifs, swayed back and forth, the gentle breeze of mid-fall had more to do with it than anything else. The fox's tail, too, like her upper body, stood still; it curved elegantly to the left, a mathematical precision in its form.

Liora's breath caught in her throat. How long had the vixen been in the throes of passion? A minute? She bit her lip. Her own toes curled and bit into the crunchy forest floor. Such rapture, such profound bliss . . . She needed that. Liora needed that more than anything.

Finally, after a good three minutes, the vixen's toes relaxed. Her upper body straightened out. Still in the lotus position, she bowed till her forehead just touched the tip of her finger claws--shaped and styled exactly like those on her feet.

As the fox got up, Liora crouched further down out of fear of being caught. The raccoon could just make out the vixen letting her purple robes falling to the forest floor. She heard metal sliding off fur. A couple of soft thuds followed. Liora narrowed her eyes at her own stainless steel rings--whenever she bathed, whenever she had to take her rings off for whatever reason, that's exactly what it sounded like. She gathered the courage to peek past the shrub, making sure to keep her ears pressed down flat against her head.

The vixen, naked as the day she was born, endowed with a lithe body, shapely breasts, padded towards the edge of the clearing, in the direction of a nearby river.

As she disappeared into the forest, Liora's heart raced. Hands clutching at the shrub that obscured her, she looked back at the spot the witch had been sitting in--her robes; thanks to the dappled sunlight, a couple of distinct glints.

The vixen's silver toe rings.

From the edge of the clearing came the sound of splashing.

All this time, Liora had thought the spell was an urban legend, the stuff second-year initiates peddled to the new recruits as a mean-spirited prank. They'd told her the ecstasy is incomparable, that once a witch earns the coveted silver rings, she'll sneak into the forest once or twice a week and experience a pleasure that no mortal could ever fathom.

Liora's heart pounded in her ears, the rhythmic throbbing echoing the desire in her pussy. It'd take the vixen a while to bathe, Liora figured, as she shot out of her hiding spot and made a beeline towards the discarded robes and rings.

VESPERA. The vixen's two rings, the mildest hint of tarnish coating them, boasted her name in ornate, Gothic calligraphy. Liora scowled. Only witches of a higher rank--the ones with bronze, silver, and gold rings--got rings with their names etched into them.

But her scowl turned into a smirk.

Rank was irrelevant, silver, gold, whatever. As long as Liora could taste that overwhelming ecstasy, even just the one time, she'd be done with it. She'd leave the rings where she'd found them and disappear into the woods.

Liora, still crouching, hand still clutching the vixen's rings in a tight, greedy fist, let the tip of her finger trail down Vespera's robes. Silk velvet. Of course--her own gown was a more pedestrian linen, unadorned and white. She shooed the vixen's robes out of the way with her feet, out of the circle Vespera had blessed and hurriedly got into the same lotus position, brushing back the white linen to reveal her bare feet.

The raccoon plucked her steel rings off and tossed them onto Vespera's amethyst robe. She carefully slid on the silver rings that weren't hers; her toes curled back and forth in satisfaction, the tarnished surface reflecting the sunlight in a hypnotic, kaleidoscopic fashion.

Her own paws, while not expertly pedicured like Vespera's, still boasted a feminine grace, gray soles contrasting with black fur. The toe claws, the same gray as the bottoms of her feet, were pointy and sharp, unfortunately marred by very slight chips and cracks, hallmarks of a witch who had to walk through forest foliage to collect wild berries and firewood.

Liora, the hood of her robes pulled up, swiveled an ear towards the river--Vespera gently hummed an ancient song they'd all learned as initiates. Every now then, water splashed.

Liora took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and, like Vespera a few moments before, brought her hands together in a contemplative gesture.

The faraway merriment of Vespera faded, as did the gentle creaking of boughs. The crickets, too, disappeared, and soon, Liora was left to her own thoughts.

She saw herself as an initiate, wooden rings around her toes. New to the Forest, she remembered what it felt like to enjoy the coarse timber on her bare feet as she balanced while walking on a felled trunk. Liora remembered the sheer joy, the pride in her friend's eye when the first spell she cast worked--it singed her friend's whiskers, but it didn't matter; as the Liora in her mind's eyes giggled softly, so did the Liora in real life.

The pleasant tingle in her pussy grew warmer. She took a deep breath and bit her lips. The forest energies entered her through her exposed feet and offered her glimpses into the happiest, most fulfilling moments of her life. When she graduated from initiation, as her mother watched from a distance, tears brimming her eyes, a witch with bronze toe rings delicately plucked the rings of wood off and replaced them with stainless steel rings. She then recited an incantation while placing her hands on Liora's cloaked head, leaving the indelible mark of witch on the raccoon's soul.

Liora took a shuddering, deep breath--the memories faded too, now, and a distinctly erotic ecstasy threatened to bloom. The forest spirits bypassed physiology, bypassed 'traditional' means and directly targeted neural pathways, the spine, the precise pleasure centers of the brain.

The raccoon lost all semblance of control, all semblance of grace and cried out, letting herself get carried away and indulging in the pleasure of the orgasm that hadn't even started yet--such was its intensity. She cursed, voluptuously thrust her hips, grabbed at her breasts, feeling the hardened nipples beneath her robes.

"FUCK, YES!" she shouted as the climax approached, clenching and releasing her toes in a way that mocked and scorned the forest, that defiled the necessary sanctity of all rituals.

The second leading up to the orgasm itself was a glimpse into the creation of the very universe, into a window which, beyond it, contained a secret not meant for any mortal creature. Liora's back arched in a shameless display of self-indulgence; if Vespera's arch was refined, elegant, a pure reflection of the indescribable ecstasy, Liora's taunted those ancient spirits that predated any being of flesh and blood.

And then, it happened.

Liora's climax saw her soaring headfirst into the very tapestry of the universe. She understood, with boundless depth, why lovers quarreled, why freshly fallen snow tickled the soles, why the delectable flowers of the cherry blossom withered away after but a few weeks.

Each throb of her pussy drenched her in the rapture of yet another mystery revealed. Her back contorted, a prisoner of pleasure, and her bushy tail followed suit, flicking back and forth. Her arms, at the end of each a balled-up fist, stretched out to the heavens, legs miraculously still crossed, as she shamelessly forced her debauched moans upon the forest.

Liora swam in the sea of pleasure for seemingly forever until the cosmic shockwaves abated. Pleasant twinges, aftershocks, made her thighs flex, the tip of her tail twitch. She sighed contentedly and gave herself a good stretch.

"Ahem."

Liora's tail frizzed out.

Behind the raccoon was the naked fox, arms akimbo. "Who the hell are you? And what was all that awful racket?" She narrowed her ice-blue eyes at the steel rings that sat on her crumpled-up robe. "Get the fuck out of here. You're a Ring Sister?"

"I'm real sorry!" blurted out Liora. "Do you want the rings back? I only wanted to, like--"

"I thought I heard right. You used the orgasm spell, didn't you?"

"They told me it was all bullshit! But I followed you and saw you meditating, and then, and then--"

A dark chuckle escaped Vespera. "You really aren't that smart, are you? You defiled the sanctity of the forest, mocked the spirits . . . For what? A moment of pleasure?"

"It wasn't just a moment, though," was the unexpected reply from Liora. "It didn't stop, and there isn't any feeling like it."

"That's the point. You have to earn the right to receive such a profound feeling, and if you let it get to you and you flaunt it like some sort of whore, there's unseen forces out there that will not take kindly to it."

Liora lowered her gaze. "I'm really sorry. Look, I can give you the rings back! You won't ever see me again, I promise!"

"Nope." Vespera crossed her arms and studied the raccoon from head to toe. "You can keep them." She plucked Liora's steel rings off the amethyst robes and studied them. Maintaining her smile, her eyes swiveled up to meet Liora's. "How about we trade?"

"What? Trade? But those rings are steel, and you have silver . . ."

Liora's speech trailed off as Vespera clutched the steel rings in her fist and opened it--the steel had been transformed into silver. "How . . . ?"

"Transmutation. Silver rings allow you to do that. I still have remnant energy leftover from that orgasm. Allows me to do shit without having any rings on."

"So . . . What? I can just keep your rings?"

"Mhm," said Vespera as she adjusted her robes, flicking a blade of grass off the hem. She sashayed to the edge of the clearing, now with the transformed rings on her toes. Before disappearing into the foliage, she turned and said with a voice dripping with derision: "The rings are yours to keep forever. Enjoy your new spoils, Liora."

---

That evening, Liora'd retreated to her hut. Naked, with the exception of her new silver rings, she climbed onto the bed and bent her legs into the lotus position. She couldn't keep the day's events from playing back in mind.

As Liora tweaked her nipple, rubbing the dark gray nub of flesh between her thumb and forefinger, she let her mind drift to Vespera, to the mild hint of pinkish red between her legs, revealed when her robes slid off. The way the vixen's head had tipped back, her neck bending like a willow tree's slender branch; those softly curved toes, paradoxically bending as far back and curling as tight as possible.

The lovely tickle returned to Liora's pussy . . .

Liora's brow furrowed. Something was wrong.

Beneath the backdrop of mounting pleasure, the raccoon felt a subtle ache, just a twinge.

She sighed and shook her head. It was just her body getting accustomed.

A gentle, vibrato-laden coo escaped her. Again, memories flooded her mind. After receiving the rings, she humbly stood before the door of her childhood. The door opened, harsh words were exchanged, and, at the end, her mother's hand found her cheek, banishing her away to her new "Satanist" life.

Liora's toes curled, not from pleasure, but the sudden flash of hurt. What? Why was her mind forcing her to relive this?

Before the pain of the memory could fade, teeth still clenched, another flashback assaulted her. The same friend who'd humorously brushed off the mishap with the first spell, the same friend who'd let Liora dry her tears on her robe when she came back from her childhood home that first day . . . had started an affair with Liora's lover, a gentle otter witch; she'd encountered the duo in her own cot, the otter's back arched in orgasm as the deceitful witch licked her out.

"What the fuck?" she mumbled, the heartbreak, the shards of shattered trust as excruciating as that first fateful night.

Still processing the sting of the freshly opened wound, her pussy, now leaking onto the bedsheets, pulsed.

But Liora didn't moan in ecstasy, no--each throb sent an ice-cold wave of agony up her spine. Sharp, visceral cramps, akin to nature's cruel rhythm that besieged her when the new moon revealed herself, stole her breath.

"No! No, what? Fuck!" she squealed, breasts shuddering, hands clenched into fists so tight her knuckles cracked as the horribly ruined orgasm laid waste to her soul.

Each unorgasmic spasm flashed, before her clenched eyes, another vision, another heartrending memory--the time when she lost her temper and shouted at her father; when, in a fit of venomous envy, she shattered a classmate's birthday gift, a glass angel; when she stopped talking to the nerdy girl because she wasn't "cool" and had attracted the negative attention of the class bullies.

The insufferably painful climax continued, bringing forth surges of agony, both physical and mental--her frail, flawed nature was laid bare before her.

Liora's suffering came to an end, and she sat there, chest heaving from the deep breaths, tears streaming down both cheeks. She gulped and grabbed hold of the first silver ring, determined to rip it off.

But it wouldn't budge.

"What the fuck?" she said softly. She leaned, studying the ring in the moonlight that poured in through the window.

Instead of the vixen's name, LIORA was now etched into the patinaed silver in the same curvy letters.

Liora wedged a claw between the ring and the digit and discovered, to her confused horror, that there was no gap--it was as if the ring were a part of her foot.

Her other paw was no different; both rings had welded themselves to her toes.

For the next few days, Liora attempted the spell, and each time, it would lead to the same ruinous sensations, to more painful memories she'd locked away, never hoping to come across them again. Fingering was just as bad.

Days turned to weeks. Liora's sanity began to slip. She wanted relief, needed relief, but every single time she summoned the spirits, every single time she massaged her clit, instead of a tidal wave of pure pleasure, she'd confront horrible visions and ineffable agony between her legs.

Weeks became months, and then, finally, desperate, clinging to her last shred of rationality, she asked, begged, pleaded to know where she could find the vixen by the name of Vespera. Finally, a soul took pity on her and directed her to a hut deep in the woods, some fifteen miles south of the river.

When Liora stumbled into the fox's abode, the raccoon was a disheveled mess of tears, fur, and pussy juice.

"Please! I need to cum! It's these fucking visions, these memories, whenever I try to cum, they just won't leave me alone, and it hurts so bad when it's supposed to feel so good!"

Vespera, clad in her regal robes, crossed her legs and set aside her book. She shook her head and tutted. "My dear Liora." The fox spook with grace, her face mildly flushed on account of recent sexual pleasure. "Didn't I tell you the spirits aren't to be toyed with? There's a reason they don't just hand out silver rings."

"I'm so, so sorry! You have to make this go away!"

"Hmmmm." Her toes, poking out from beneath the hem of her robes, curled in thought. "I do suppose I could arrange something, but--"

"YES!" Liora crawled towards the vixen and grabbed hold of the flowing silk as if she were a dog begging his master to stay. "Anything! I'll do it!"

Vespera reached for the thick tome and thumbed through its yellowed, dog-eared pages. "Here we go. Spells for holders of Silver Rings." She licked her thumb and flicked past a few pages. "Aha! This is what you need."

"Tell me!"

Vespera cleared her throat; she blinked and locked eyes with the distraught witch at her feet. The vixen read, staring all the while at Liora, relying on her keen memory.

Liora's mouth fell open. "What? No! I can't do that!"

"It's the only way, Liora." She snapped the book shut, making the raccoon jump. "Remember--you came to me looking for a solution. The enraged spirits of the forest don't make it easy for transgressors. The way you boasted your pleasure instead of offering it gracefully, well, that's just disgusting, Liora." Vespera glanced at Liora's feet. "Your claws. Still chipped. Not a lick of grace in your bones, huh?"

"But--"

"Enough." Vespera tugged her robes out of the sniffling raccoon's paw. "I do believe you've outstayed your welcome, witch. You know what the spell is, you know the words. Whether you use it or not is up to you."

---

Liora sat on the bed, knees pushed into her chest, toe claws digging into the bedsheets. There was no way she could do this. She just couldn't.

The pleasure, that maddening bliss. No . . . She had to do it.

She fixed tear-laced eyes on her trembling hands. The silver light of the full moon highlighted all the creases, the cracked claws, the hints of a callus. She sobbed--if only she'd taken better care of herself, if only she hadn't succumbed to the voluptuous ecstasy. But how could she have avoided it? It was beyond her wildest imagination.

She had to have it again. She _would_have it again.

Liora closed her eyes and spoke.

Once silver rings are bone-bound, explained Vespera, only one thing can unshackle them from the toes.

"I beg for your forgiveness, great Pan, god of the forest."

A purification of sorts is required, you see.

"I crave relief, pleasure, ecstasy, O mighty one, this torture is horrid."

A blue flicker of light now competed with the ghostly hue of Luna.

It is, as you dread, the only way.

"These rings must come off, with their silvery sheen, the writing florid."

But don't worry. The melting point of sterling silver isn't that high.

"Summon from my fingertip, a flame bright, burning and most torrid!"

From the tip of her claw emerged a steady, azure stream of fire, imbued with magic.

Her whisker twitched as she stared at it with bloodshot eyes.

It was the most beautiful, most terrifying thing Liora had ever seen.