The Forest Priest
“Air’s off,” I mutter back, pressing my face into the warm weave of the fabric, tasting the salt of old fluid on my tongue, bitter and familiar. “Smells like nothing. Too clean under the rot. The forest carries a scrubbed void that digs into my core and sets my teeth on edge.” I push my cheek harder against the cloth barrier and drag my tongue along a seam where yesterday’s dried cum flakes lift under pressure. The taste layers thick. Morning salt. Midday musk. Evening richness that clings to the roof of my mouth.
Joren’s chest vibrates with a low sound I feel against my back. His hand drops and cups the entire bulge. Fingers spread wide. Palm presses the thick ten-inch length flat against his thigh then lifts it and lets the weight swing back into place. The motion rocks me. Pre-cum beads fresh at the slit and smears across my chest in a warm stripe.
“Close to the priest’s site,” he says. His voice rolls through muscle and bone straight into me. “Eyes open. Tell me what you taste.”
I lick again. The cloth has soaked through with layers. The base carries heavy ball sweat. The shaft itself holds a clean skin note under the build-up. The head region leaks sweet pre-cum that cuts the bitterness. I catalogue every shift while his steps jostle me. Left foot. Right foot. Each stride drags the heavy cock across my small body and leaves a fresh wet trail.
Vesper walks ahead. His long legs cut the trail. Smoke from the cigarette between his lips drifts back and mixes with pine and damp soil. “If the portal ahead needs persuading I am bringing triple the slick oil. Or I will recite bad poetry until the trees themselves beg for mercy.” He laughs but the sound cracks at the edges. His shoulders stay tight.
Garrick sits on Vesper’s shoulder. Thumb size. Solid. “You screamed last time. The scream did the real work.” His dry tone cuts clean through the smoke. Vesper’s grin stretches wider yet his eyes keep scanning the tree line. Garrick adds nothing more. He simply sits there. A small steady weight.
I laugh into Joren’s fabric. The vibration tickles my own ribs. Joren’s hand returns. Two fingers trace the ridge of his cockhead through the cloth. The touch is casual. Possessive. He rearranges his balls with the same hand and the motion pushes me deeper into the warm pocket of cloth and skin. I brace my palms on the thick vein that runs the underside and feel it pulse.
The trees thicken. Their trunks widen until one alone could swallow a house. Roots twist across the ground like exposed arteries. Bark glints with crystalline patches. The shards catch stray light and throw it back in sharp angles. No sap. No moss. Only cold geometry that pulses in slow rhythm. My stomach tightens. The vibration inside my chest matches the crystals’ frequency and the match makes my ears ring.
“Joren.” My voice comes out small. “The bark. It is listening.”
He stops. Boot soles grind moss. His hand slides inside his waistband. Fingers curl around me and lift me out into open air. I stay thumb-sized. He sets me on his shoulder. The skin there is sun-warm and carries the faint scent of his neck. “I see it,” he says. Three words. Enough. His jaw tightens. The muscle jumps once.
Vesper drops his cigarette. It hisses out in the damp. He crouches beside the nearest trunk and holds his palm an inch from the crystal growth. “Primordial shard. Pulled from before realms formed. The resonance is wrong. It eats sound and spits back silence.” His scholar voice replaces the jokes. Fingers twitch but he does not touch.
Garrick grows to palm-size on Vesper’s shoulder to see better. “Priest first. Crystals second.” He nods toward the center of the clearing.
Lirael sits cross-legged at the foot of the largest tree. Silver hair tangled with leaves and dirt. Gold eyes half shut. Old words roll from his lips in steady rhythm. Sylthar. Vrenkaal. The chant vibrates the air but the crystals only glitter colder in response. Four months of communion and he never noticed the corruption closing around him.
Joren crosses the distance in three strides. He crouches. Places one large hand on Lirael’s bare shoulder. “Lirael. Stop. Now.” The command cuts the chant off mid-syllable.
Lirael’s eyes fly open. Gold irises wide and unfocused. A full-body shudder runs through his pale frame. His hands stay planted on the moss but the fingers dig in until knuckles turn white. “The words… I did not feel the fracture.” His formal accent frays at the edges. Breath saws in and out of his chest.
Joren keeps the hand in place. Thumb strokes once along the tight muscle of Lirael’s trapezius. “We have you. Come away from it.” He speaks the words the same way he rearranges his balls. Simple. Certain. No room for argument.
I cannot stay on the shoulder. The crystals pull at me. I drop off Joren’s shoulder and grow to bird-size. The nearest crystal face reflects my small body back at me. Brown hair. Green eyes. Blue-tipped ears. The reflection stares too long. The hum inside my chest spikes. It knows me. The fragment from the tower. Vesper’s transit vision. This is the third piece and it hooks straight into my gut.
“Spark.” Joren’s voice snaps like a branch. “Back here.”
I shrink fast. Dart to his shoulder again. The hum stays lodged under my ribs. Joren’s hand returns to his bulge. He presses two fingers along the full ten-inch length and rubs slow circles right over the fabric. Pre-cum flows heavier now. He wets his fingers with it and brings them to my mouth. I lick them clean. The taste grounds me. Salt and sweet and the particular musk that only appears after hours of walking.
“You feel it too,” he says. Not a question. His thumb circles the head of his cock through the fabric and the motion drags me across the sensitive ridge. I brace both hands on the shaft and push back just to feel him.
“Not ready to speak it yet,” I answer against the wet cloth. My tongue drags another long stripe. The afternoon layer has built. Foreskin taste. Ball sweat. The faint iron note that leaks when he thinks about fucking. I file every note away. The catalogue steadies my pulse.
Lirael rises on shaky legs. His pale chest heaves. Silver hair falls across one eye. “My anchor is poisoned. Four months of work. Lost.” His hands open and close at his sides. The tremor remains.
Joren stands with him. Keeps one hand between Lirael’s shoulder blades. “We are your anchor now. Walk with us.” He steers the priest away from the tree line. The rest of us follow. Vesper lights a fresh cigarette. Garrick shrinks back to thumb size and returns to Vesper’s shoulder. I stay on Joren’s. The crystals watch us leave. Their hum follows me for a hundred paces before it fades into the green.
We reach a cleaner glade. A fallen log lies across one side. Dappled light falls through the canopy and warms the moss. Lirael kneels in the center. His hands move with ritual precision as he removes the last of his robes. Pale skin. Lean muscle. The curve of his ass catches the light as he bends forward and presses both palms to the earth.
I drop from Joren’s shoulder. Grow to five full feet. My bare feet sink into moss. The size feels right for what comes next. Joren watches me grow. His eyes darken. He reaches into his trousers and adjusts his ten-inch cock so it stands straight up against his belly. The head pushes above the waistband. I step close and run both hands along the hot length. Veins stand out. The slit leaks steadily. I catalogue again. The exact weight. The way the skin slides over the core. The thick scent that rolls off the balls below.
Vesper strips beside us. His cock rises half-hard already. Garrick slips from his shoulder and shrinks to thumb size. The size he uses when he wants to work a prostate properly from inside. Lirael remains on all fours. His back rises and falls with quick breaths.
I kneel behind the priest first. My hands spread his cheeks. The ring of muscle there twitches at the cool air. I lean in and drag my tongue across it. Flat and slow. Lirael’s spine arches hard. The muscle flutters under my tongue then clamps down when I push inside. Wet sounds fill the glade. I lick deeper. Taste clean skin and the faint bitterness of his earlier ritual fasting. His hips push back. The motion drives my tongue farther. A low moan rolls out of his throat and vibrates against my lips.
Vesper moves to Lirael’s front. He feeds his cock between those parted lips. Lirael’s gold eyes roll upward. His throat works visibly as he swallows the length. Cheeks hollow. A bulge appears at the front of his neck each time Vesper rolls his hips forward. Vesper grips silver hair with one hand and sets a steady rhythm. The wet gluck-gluck of throat fucking mixes with my own noisy rimming.
Joren stands close. His hand rests on my shoulder. Fingers squeeze once. Approval. He has not spoken in four paragraphs so he leans down and murmurs against my ear. “Make him feel safe. Then we fill him.” The words rumble straight into my bones.
Garrick circles to Lirael’s side. He grows oil on his palm with a small gesture and slicks two fingers. He presses them alongside my tongue. Lirael’s ring stretches around the combined intrusion. The muscle clamps hard then yields in stages. Garrick’s fingers curl. They find the prostate and rub firm circles. Lirael’s moan turns into a constant muffled sound around Vesper’s cock. His own dick hangs heavy and leaks clear strings onto the moss.
I pull back. Wipe my mouth. “He is opening. Give him more.” I grow a fraction larger so my own cock lines up. Five feet tall now matches the scale. The head of my dick nudges the slick hole. Lirael pushes back immediately. The ring stretches wide around me. Heat engulfs the first inch. Then the second. His walls ripple and grip in waves. I feel every flutter. Every involuntary clamp when I drag across his prostate from the other side of Garrick’s fingers.
Vesper pulls out of Lirael’s mouth with a wet pop. Strings of saliva connect them. “Your turn to talk, priest. Tell us what you need.”
Lirael’s voice comes rough. “Fill me. Seal the fracture. Use me until the crystals lose their hold.” His hips rock again. The motion takes another inch of my cock. I bottom out. My balls press against his. The heat inside him is feverish. His channel squeezes in rhythmic pulses that match his heartbeat.
Joren steps forward. He drops his trousers. The ten-inch cock springs free. Heavy. Straight. Symmetrical. The head shines with pre-cum. I catalogue the exact state. Foreskin pulled back. Shaft flushed dark. Veins raised like rope under the skin. Balls drawn up tight and covered in fine hair that holds the strongest musk. I lean sideways without leaving Lirael’s ass and take the head into my mouth. The taste explodes across my tongue. Thick. Sweet. The particular flavor that only appears when he watches me fuck.
Lirael’s ass clenches hard around me at the sight. The sudden pressure milks my cock from root to tip. I groan around Joren’s shaft and the vibration travels into him. He places one hand on the back of my head but does not push. He simply rests it there. Presence. Weight. Reminder.
Garrick shrinks again. Slides beneath Lirael and takes the priest’s leaking cock into his mouth. The new sensation makes Lirael’s entire body jerk. His channel flutters wildly around me. I start to thrust. Long drags out until only the head remains trapped by the tight ring then steady drives back in until my hips meet his ass. Each impact sends ripples across his pale cheeks. The wet slap of skin on skin joins the chorus of moans and sucking sounds.
Vesper moves behind me. His fingers trace my own hole while I fuck Lirael. “Room for one more in this circuit.” He presses one slick finger inside me. The stretch burns sweet. I push back onto it and the motion drives me deeper into Lirael. The chain reaction travels through all of us. Vesper adds a second finger. Scissors them. Finds the spot that makes my vision spark white. My cock swells inside Lirael. His walls respond by clamping down in a long rolling spasm.
Joren pulls from my mouth. The ten-inch length glistens with my spit. He circles to Lirael’s front again and feeds it back into the priest’s throat. Lirael’s gold eyes water but he opens wider. The bulge in his neck grows more pronounced. Joren sets a slower rhythm than Vesper did. Deep. Controlled. Each push makes Lirael’s ass flutter harder around my cock.
I reach under and feel Garrick’s throat working on Lirael’s dick. The chain is complete. Mouth. Ass. Cock. Fingers. Every motion feeds the next. The air thickens with the smell of sweat and pre-cum and crushed moss. Power builds in my core. The same power that lives in Joren’s balls and Vesper’s arcane veins and Garrick’s steady certainty.
Lirael comes first. His ass locks down in hard rhythmic pulses. His cock pulses in Garrick’s mouth and floods it with thick ropes. Garrick drinks every drop. The magic flares visible. Silver light races across Lirael’s spine and sinks into the ground. The distant crystals dim a fraction. One small shard on the edge of the glade cracks and falls away into dust. The priest’s orgasm purges a piece of the corruption. The transfer is not sensation alone. It is power sealed. Anchor remade.
I follow him over the edge. My cock jerks inside his spasming channel and pumps cum deep. Each spurt carries sacred heat. The load fills him until it squeezes out around my shaft in creamy rings. The excess drips down his balls onto Garrick below. The ritual drinks it. The ground drinks it. Lirael’s body glows brighter. The bond we offer him sinks roots into his spirit and wraps the fractures left by four months of isolation.
Vesper pulls his fingers free of me and replaces them with his cock. The stretch is sudden. My ring resists for half a second then yields with a flutter that drags a grunt out of my throat. Vesper bottoms out in one smooth stroke. His hips slap my ass. The impact shoves me forward into Lirael again. The circuit stays closed. Joren’s cock still slides between Lirael’s stretched lips. Garrick continues to nurse the priest’s spent dick back to hardness with slow suction.
We fuck like that for long minutes. The only sounds are wet flesh. Labored breathing. Occasional low curses. Joren speaks again. “Take it all, priest. Let us rewrite what the crystals tried to erase.” His hand strokes Lirael’s silver hair. Gentle counterpoint to the rough use of his throat.
Lirael’s ass starts to milk me again even though he already came. The reflexive clenches pull my second load from me. I flood him a second time. The cum mixes with the first and turns frothy from the constant motion. When I finally pull out a thick river of it pours from his open hole. Vesper moves immediately. He pushes into the cum-slick channel and groans at the extra heat. Lirael’s ring grips him visibly. The muscle flares wide then clamps around the new intrusion.
Garrick grows again. He moves behind Vesper and presses his own cock against Vesper’s ass. The familiar homecoming. Vesper’s back arches. He fucks Lirael harder while Garrick fucks him. The chain lengthens. I crawl beneath Lirael and take his renewed erection into my mouth. The taste of his earlier cum still coats it. I suck hard. My own cock hangs heavy between my legs and leaks onto the moss.
Hours seem to pass though the sun barely moves. We rotate. Joren takes Lirael’s ass next. His ten-inch cock stretches the priest wider than any of us. Lirael’s ring turns white around the thick base. The muscle flutters desperately then surrenders. Joren drives in to the hilt. His heavy balls slap Lirael’s with each thrust. The wet sound is obscene. Lirael pushes back to meet every stroke. His spine curves. Sweat rolls down his ribs. Each impact forces fresh moans from his stuffed mouth.
I sit on Lirael’s face. My ass covers his mouth and nose. He licks me open with long strokes while Joren breeds him. The priest’s tongue pushes inside me and curls. I rock my hips and ride his face. My cock slaps his forehead and leaves wet streaks across silver hair. Vesper and Garrick fuck beside us in their own rhythm. Garrick has shrunk to palm size again and rides Vesper’s prostate from inside while Vesper strokes himself.
When Joren comes the magic flares brighter. His load is massive. Ten inches delivers pulse after pulse until Lirael’s belly rounds slightly with the volume. Excess sprays out around the seal of Joren’s cock and runs in thick white rivers down Lirael’s thighs. The cum carries purification. It sinks into the priest’s veins and burns away the last traces of crystal resonance. Lirael’s gold eyes roll back. A long muffled cry vibrates straight into my ass.
We do not stop. The ritual demands the circuit stay closed. I piss next. A long hot stream straight into Lirael’s open mouth while he gasps for air. The piss changes the state of the glade itself. The sterile edge in the air vanishes. Green life rushes back into the nearby trees. Leaves unfurl. Moss thickens. The world-state shifts with the fluid. Lirael swallows every drop. His throat works visibly. When I finish he licks his lips and begs for more with his eyes.
Vesper takes a turn breeding him. Then Garrick grows large enough to mount the priest and delivers his own load. Each orgasm triggers another visible wave of magic. The crystals outside the glade continue to fracture and fall. By the time we have all come twice the corruption around the original site has gone dark and inert.
We collapse together on the moss. Bodies slick. Breath ragged. Lirael lies in the center. His pale skin marked with handprints and bite marks and drying cum. His hole gapes open. A steady flow of mixed loads leaks onto the ground and feeds the ritual circle. He looks wrecked and grounded at the same time. Gold eyes clear. Formal mask gone. A small smile plays on his swollen lips.
Vesper lights another cigarette with shaking fingers. “Welcome to the crew, priest. The chanting portion of the evening is officially cancelled.”
Garrick perches on Lirael’s hip. Small again. “Rent starts next week. Try not to clench so hard when I’m working.”
Joren pulls me against his chest. His hand finds the bulge again even though his cock is spent. He cups me gently and rubs slow circles. The touch says more than words. I shrink back to thumb size inside his palm and he tucks me back into the nest. The cloth is soaked now. Layers of fresh cum and sweat and my own smaller contributions. I press my face into the mess and breathe it in. The catalogue updates. Post-ritual richness. Thick. Earthy. Marked by all of us.
Lirael sits up slowly. His voice still carries the rough edge of thorough use. “The trees spoke before you arrived. Someone returns for what was left behind. A shadow hunting its shard.” He blinks. Looks surprised the words left his mouth.
Vesper exhales smoke. “Ritual residue. Shake it off.”
Joren says nothing. His brow creases. The hand inside his trousers presses me a fraction tighter.
I stay silent. The hum from the crystals still lives under my ribs. The pattern sharpens. Tower fragment. Transit vision. Now this. The hook in my core pulls harder. I taste fresh pre-cum seeping through the cloth and let it ground me. The crew is whole. Lirael walks with us. The Lesbian Realm portal waits ahead. Yet the listening presence in the shadows feels closer. It knows my name. It waits for me alone.
My small form trembles faintly against Joren’s warmth, the forest closing in around us once more, the air still carrying that sterile edge as we move forward, bound together yet haunted by what I can’t yet name.
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