Erotic Tales of the Nyphrazi
Parts 1-7
Gods of the Nyphrazi
Minky St Anne
Copyright 2015 by Minky St Anne
Cover by Amygdala Design
All rights reserved
God of the Woods
Erotic Tales of the Nyphrazi
Part 1
Chapter One
“That little shit!”
I look at my watch for the umpteenth time in the past twenty minutes. My younger brother’s MIA for the third time this week!
I know he hasn’t forgotten me; it’s just that he doesn’t want me stinking up the cab of his new truck. But what he doesn’t know is I’m so fucking tired I’d happily let him lash me across the hood like a deer carcass. Sure there are facilities at the plant, but hot water is always in short supply and I’d rather put up with the stench of fish for another hour than suffer a cold shower.
Dammit! The sooner my truck is out of the shop the better, because it’s a pain in the ass having to rely on him to get me to and from work. Stamping my foot in frustration I’m reminded by pain shooting up my leg that I’ve spent the past twelve hours on my feet. That my arms are like noodles is testament to me having wielding a fileting knife for almost as long. Could be worse, at the height of the season we were pulling sixteen hour days, meaning I’d had to sleep in the dormitory with all the other women. As soon as the hours had dropped enough to allow for it, I was back sleeping at home.
I still can’t believe that at 29, I’m stuck back living with my folks. Fucking global downturn had seen me made redundant from my security job in Seattle with people seeming to think their stuff wasn’t worth guarding anymore. How fucking stupid is that! With nothing other than minimum-wage crap on offer, and my credit card debt going through the roof, there’d been nothing for it but to move back home to ‘Shitka’. At least here I knew I’d be able to live rent free and get some work that paid a bit better. Not that I’d choose to work in a fish processing plant, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and all that
Certainly this isn’t where I thought I’d be at this stage in my life. After finishing the arts degree that my folks had said was a waste of time, I’d struggled to find work. Eventually I’d had to give up on my dream of working in a gallery and settle for a job with a security firm, simply to pay the bills.
What had started out as a stop-gap had eventually turned into an okay job when management realized I had more brain cells than all their other employees put together. Not that those same brain cells had done me any good when contracts started dropping like flies. All I had to show for the job when I left was a cardboard box full of dinky desk ornaments, a letter of recommendation and a propensity to swear far more than someone with an arts degree should.
I had to hand it to my folks though; they hadn’t once pulled any of that “we told you so” crap. I think they knew I was taking care of that myself.
With thoughts of failure continuing to run through my tired brain, I stare vacantly at the spectacular view before me. Growing up amongst all this beauty, I don’t really see it anymore. Even paradise wears thin when you’d rather be somewhere else.
“Forwards or backwards?”
I’ve already walked a couple of miles towards home to reach my brother’s pre-arranged pick-up point and so my options are to walk back to the plant or push on. I’d use my mobile but it’s only good for selfies out here because the signal’s pathetic at best. Just three more miles to my folks’ place and a home-cooked meal; less if I take the short-cut through the forest that pops out opposite our driveway. Thankfully it’s summer, or as summery as it ever gets in Alaska.
Resigned, I swing in the direction of home. My feet hurt, my legs are tired and the rest of my body is fairly ruined too. It’s this exhaustion that has me opting to cut through the forest. It’s not that it’s dark and spooky, with there still being plenty of light, it’s just that I’ll need to keep my wits about me to make sure I don’t get trampled by a moose or taken out by a bear. Scanning the side of the road as I walk along, I soon spot what I’m after. The branch is small enough to carry but, if I sling my jacket over it, large enough to make any bear look twice at me. Well that’s the theory anyway.
I swing off the sealed road and onto the narrow gravel track that is all that’s between me and a moose casserole. I drop my lump of tree on the ground, ditch my backpack and shrug out of my jacket. I instantly feel the coolness of the day and am thankful that along with heavy duty jeans I’m also wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and a hoodie. I put my jacket on the branch, shoving twigs into each sleeve before closing the zipper to hold it in place. Luckily the branch has heaps of little twiglets in all the right places allowing my jacket to achieve a reasonably human-like silhouette.
“You’ll have to do,” I say, to my new walking buddy/self-defense device combo while threading my arms through the shoulder straps of my backpack. After slinging the branch over one shoulder I stride out along the track with fake enthusiasm.
Considering how bone-tired I am, I make pretty good time. I constantly scan the forest on both sides of the track, keeping a keen eye out for any movement but there’s nothing happening other than the leaves gently shivering in an almost non-existent breeze. All is quiet apart from the twitter of birds and the loud crunch of gravel under-foot.
When that crunching suddenly stops, my senses go on high alert. I’ve walked down this track a heap of times and I know damned well the gravel goes all the way through to the other road. Sure the undergrowth is trying to overtake it in places, but there’s always that base of rock to make it suitable for quad bikes and the dog-teams who use the area to practice during the summer months.
Looking down, it takes a moment for me to comprehend that I’m nearly up to my ankles in mud. It hasn’t rained in days and there’s no other water source around here that I know of and I’ve lived here a while; even allowing for my time away at college and then a couple of years work after that.
I turn back to face the way I’ve come and have even more trouble taking in the fact that the track I’ve just crunched my way along has disappeared and been replaced by a river of mud.
I swipe my hand across my eyes but the scene before me doesn’t change a bit.
“Dammit, I need a holiday,” I mutter, before turning back to continue onto home.
Well I would if there wasn’t a man standing directly in my way.
“What the fuck?” I stagger back a step.
He’s naked, although not entirely. The bits that should be covered definitely are, but it’s how they’re covered that takes my breath away. No loin cloth for this boy, instead his cock and balls are encased in what looks to be a custom-made leather condom of sorts. The mid-tan hide matches his skin tone perfectly and is intricately tooled with raised patterns all over. It’s too snug a fit to be called a codpiece being as it is lashed together in a herring bone pattern along the underside of this penis.
As though to add extra emphasis to its extraordinary length, there’s a leather cord threaded through a loop on the end that then wraps around his heavily muscled waist. The set-up is both tidy and intimidating in turn. Just like the man himself.
The guy’s like a mash-up of National Geographic and Cosmo centerfolds.
It’s only when he coughs that I stop my detailed examination of his cock. It still takes me a while to reach his face given I have to devote some further attention to what I encounter on the way up. He’s heavily tattooed, with a swirling pattern of vines and leaves that covers his entire muscled torso like a living chest plate.
My eyes finally meet his
and again I’m stunned. To call them green doesn’t do them justice. They’d give spring leaves a run for their money and I’m sure it’s only a trick of the light, but they seem to be glowing. These luminescent orbs are edged with dark brown lashes that make mine look positively moth-eaten by comparison and are topped with eyebrows that smack of an easily roused temper. His hair is long and also a deep, dark brown although it’s so closely corn-rowed to his head that he may as well be bald.
He sniffs the air and takes a step closer to me. It’s too close for comfort as far as I’m concerned and my sense of preservation kicks in just as my self-defense instructor said it would.
I jump back to give him room to crumple in a heap at my feet, but he does no such thing. I know I’m still wearing my steel capped work boots and so for him to remain standing after I’ve introduced them to his leather-encased nuts is of major concern.
Of even more concern is the anger that springs to life in his eyes, changing them from leaf green to something altogether more reminiscent of sludge.
“Subdue and wash.” He sniffs the air again. “Thoroughly.”
It takes a heartbeat for my tired brain to work out he’s not talking to me, but before I can react to the new presence, a large hand lands on top of my head and my brain immediately starts to buzz like a bee caught in a mason jar. Not that this slows my reaction. I twist; ready to introduce my footwear to some more reproductive organs, but the palm stays where it is and the buzzing increases to the point things get blurry.
I’m sinking ungracefully to the ground when I hear Green Eyes say, “Actually, I’ll wash her myself.”
I black-out to an accompaniment of rich male laughter.
Chapter Two
Coming around is a slow process. It’s like I’m trying to claw my way out of some bizarre dream. Then it dawns on me that what I’m experiencing really is bizarre but it sure as hell isn’t a dream. More like a nightmare.
I think I’m in a cave but only because of how the place smells. There’s light streaming down on me, blinding me and making it difficult to check out my surroundings. Directly above me is either a hole through to the sky or the world’s largest lightbulb. I’m opting for the former.
After shaking my head to try and clear it of any residual haziness, I squint both to the left and right of me. Nothing. I can’t see a fucking thing with that light shining in my eyes.
As the grogginess drops away my anger starts to ramp up and I know it’s not going to be pretty, but I don’t fucking care.
If they think I’m going to lie here like a good little girl they are in for a hell of a surprise. Three months working in a fish processing plant has only added more muscle to my already athletic body making me no shrinking violet.
I’m more akin to vio-lence than vio-let. And there’ll be lots of it if they try keeping me here against my will.
Thinking about where I am has me pausing in my nefarious thoughts of revenge. Whereas I’d thought the track suddenly turning to mud and then disappearing was down to sheer exhaustion, it’d seem I’m stuck in some weird alternate reality or parallel universe or it’s simply that I’ve lost my marbles due to the long work hours.
Wherever I am, it’s a hell of a lot warmer than it was outside and I need to ditch my hoodie.
I try to struggle into a sitting position.
It’s only then I realize I’m being held down. Lifting my head to see what’s got me stuck in place has me discovering that not only am I buck naked but that what’s holding me down shouldn’t even be possible.
I’m lying on a wooden table made up of what seems to be hundreds of carved hands, palms up so as to form a surface solid enough to support me. Every here and there a wooden hand has clawed its way free and wrapped itself around one or other of my limbs. I try kicking my leg against the hand that is clasped loosely around my ankle, but rather than letting go, it only tightens. Painfully so.
Panic claws its way up my throat and I throw myself bodily into escaping. The table of hands has other ideas. More and more of them detach themselves from the surface to hold me firm. When I still continue to struggle, I’m pinched hard on the ass. It hurts enough that I lift myself off the table as much as I’m able in an effort to get myself away from the evil digits.
“Cease!”
This yelled instruction scares the living daylights out of me, stopping me cold, but still arched up away from the my tormentor. Fortunately this command has the hands currently squirming all over me settling back into the table until I’m down to a single hand holding tightly onto each of my limbs. Only then do I feel it’s safe to drop my ass.
When Green Eyes comes to stand next to the table, I let me him have it.
“You fucking bastard. What the hell do you mean by holding me here? And where the hell are my clothes.”
Unable to move, I put every bit of hate I can into the gaze I nail him with.
It doesn’t faze him in the slightest. “We washed your clothes. They stunk.”
He has me there. “That’s no reason for you to take them away!”
A single raised eyebrow tells me what he thinks of this sentiment as he moves closer to the table and reaches out towards my face. I yank my head away from him until my neck is stretched as far as it’ll go.
I don’t understand what he says next. It’s not any language I’m familiar with and is more akin to a series of clicks, hums and whistles than any speech pattern. Whatever he says, I soon have what I suspect are a couple of wooden hands holding my head firmly between them. They force it back into alignment with my body rather than skewed off to the side away from my captor.
Try as I might, I’m unable to move when he once again reaches for my face.
The temptation is to squeeze my eyes shut but I refuse to back down. It’s not my way. I stare at him boldly while I wait for him to do whatever the hell it is he has in mind.
Rather than hurt me, he peels something off my face and holds it up for inspection.
It’s a fish scale.
Flicking it away into the dark he clicks and whistles again. For a moment nothing happens but then the surface of hands dissolves, apart from the four that I’m thinking of as my handacles, and I’m lowered into warm water with the edges of the table forming a wooden pool. I’m unable to stop myself from struggling, thinking the bastard is going to drown me, but I stop when I hit the bottom and realize it’s not deep enough for a bath let alone murder. The water only reaches part way up my body with my front still high and dry.
His gaze roams slowly over my body dwelling on my breasts and pubes. I can tell he likes what he sees by the way his pupils dilate and the thong that ties the leather condom around his waist pulls tight.
“You wash the hair. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“What? How the hell am I supposed to wash my hair when I’m being held down?”
He ignores me, instead disappearing into the gloom outside the circle of light illuminating me. I can hear him moving around with the occasional clatter. He returns holding a cloth and a wooden jug that has a leather handle on one side and a narrow spout on the other. This too is has swirling vines carved on it.
I’m still pondering how the hell I’m supposed to wash my hair, when I feel the hands on either side of my head moving. Thinking I’m about to get my head freed up, I tense my neck muscles, but rather let me go completely, they make room for more hands to get on with shampooing my long blonde hair. The air is soon full of the smell of spring flowers. Unable to move my head, I look back as far as I can to see who’s in charge of rinse and repeat but it doesn’t take long to understand that I’m alone with my captor.
I’m still looking back behind me when I feel liquid being poured all over my body. Snapping my gaze back to see what he’s up to, I’m alarmed by the look of naked greed on his face. He dips the cloth in the water next to me and sets about lathering me from head to toe. He’s thorough, intimately so. No crease, dip or crevice is neglected with the roughness of the cloth ridding
me of any lingering fishy smell from work. Wooden hands even lift me to the side so he can wash my back and cheeks, sliding the rough cloth back and forth between them and causing me to flush with embarrassment. By the time he’s finished, I’m clean as the proverbial whistle and tighter than a drum.
It’s only when he stops his ministrations that I become aware of how tense I am, and I exhale with a shuddering moan. I shut my eyes and concentrate on trying to quell the sensations zipping around my body. The last thing I want to do is go off like a fire cracker when I’m at the mercy at the hands of God knows who. My eyes ping open again when a stream of water hits my stomach, getting my undivided attention. Or rather, the person responsible for it does. He looks me dead in the eyes and smiles wickedly as he moves the jug he’s holding high above my body.
“Don’t you dare!”
Oh, but he does.
I think I’m as relieved as he is disappointed when he runs out of water before he’s able to move far enough down my body to hit his target.
Chapter Three
My relief is short-lived when I hear him click and whistle briefly and the wooden hands come to life again. Those holding my ankles at either side of the pool move my feet towards my ass until my knees are sticking up in the air. I clench myself tight, gripping my knees together with all the strength I’m capable of. It’s only after a third pair of hands has applied pressure to the inside of my thighs that I succumb.
I’m spread wide, with the water lapping up inside of me causing me to struggle violently. Once again all the hands get in on the act and I’m soon spread even wider making me feel incredibly vulnerable.
All the while, I’ve been getting the best head massage ever. Certainly it’s better than the lame job the local salon does. If only I could relax and enjoy it but hearing the jug being refilled next to me, has me tensing. This time he doesn’t waste the precious water by starting at my stomach and working his way down.
Erotic Tales of the Nyphrazi - Complete 7 Part Series Page 1