A Rose's thorn

It was a nice change, Fran considered, to be in a green forest, abundant with wildlife and trees that reached up high into the sky, troubling the lowest clouds, having spent so long in dry desert land that pierced the skin with the sun-rays and left the throat quenched for thirst.
Despite of how far the adventure had gotten, this place seemed much less sinister, and much less hostile than the places before it. Creatures would watch with curious expressions as heroes walked through the forest, never coming so close as to bite or claw or whatever it was that animals around these parts did to cause hurt to people.
Fran was slightly worried about losing the rest of the party though. She didn’t know exactly how it happened, but something in her mind told her to keep going when her allies turned left, and then there were gone. Shouting hadn’t worked, with no replies given. It wasn’t that Fran was worried, she was just slightly disconcerted.
Still, there were worse places to be alone. Not that she was going to be alone for much longer. After what was going to happen, she wouldn’t be alone anymore forever.
Fran began to hear a faint sound that even at this distance was mysteriously pleasant from up ahead. Cautiously she advanced, aware that even a pleasant forest like this could be the base of horrors and enemies that would try everything, absolutely everything, to see the party fail their mission – a mission that a surprising amount of people wanted to see them unable to complete.
Upon straining her long bunny-like ears and walking slowly forwards, Fran noticed that the sound was feminine singing. The words she could not understand, but Fran did not care. The tune and the singing were so beautifully envisioned that comprehending the words was a no matter. All that really mattered was that she could hear the wonder that the music brought with it. Her mind was gradually being relaxed from troublesome thoughts like saving the world and finding her friends, and was instead occupied by notions of love, beauty, and submission. The song took her by the hand, its caress loving, overwhelmingly firm but gentle, guiding her towards the source of the music, and in the trance she had been pushed into, she let the song guide her, cautious steps turning into a hypnotised dance, as she waltzed between the trees, moving to the beat of the song. The music grew louder, and so did the grip upon her mind, dominating her thoughts. Finally her dance-walk finished, and she found herself in front of a massive tree apparently in its prime time of life. It wasn’t marked with age, but rather smooth wood and full branches made it the most beautiful tree Fran had ever seen. And looking up, looking up to the aforementioned branches, she saw the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, giving her the most beautiful look she had ever seen.
The woman had faint green skin, not unlike the leaves that surrounded her. Ample, impressive breast were on full display, with nipples a darker shade of green making Fran contribute more than a passing stare. . Long green hair came from her scalp, hair that Fran could smell from this distance – natural, warming, calming and appealing. The green irises in her eyes kept giving Fran a blank but smouldering look, this effect heightened by her green lipstick lips pouting, a green tongue visibly wagging.
The only clothing that Fran could see from this distance was a pair of white nylons that covered her long, slim, perfectly formed legs. With one hand the woman rubbed them gently, and Fran couldn’t help but watch this spectacle, and somehow she wished she could do the same. While these thoughts invaded her mind, preparing her for the show that was to come, to which she would be the star, the woman dropped to the ground, landing expertly, flawlessly, beautifully. To Fran, this was the epitome of the green-skinned female, she looked with glazed over eyes as the woman smiled at her.
‘Are you a dryad?’ a conscious part of her mind asked slowly.
The woman laughed, and the tone of this pushed Fran even more into this hypnotism that she was only barely aware was happening. It was such a sweet, loving laugh, the feeling it gave Fran similar to the feeling that the song, which was now stuck in her mind – she had found the source of the beautiful music.
‘No, I am not a dryad,’ she said, and the voice of this woman was beautiful, again filling Fran’s mind with forbidden wishes and feelings. It was a voice that caressed her ear-drums with harmony, plucked at her mind like nothing Fran had ever experienced. Fran could not think of a woman that looked, or sounded, more wonderful than the one she was looking at now, through slightly drooping eyes. ‘I am Rose.’
Fran smiled lazily. That was a perfect name for the immaculate lady smiling at her now. In Fran’s lulled pinkish mind, she could only see positives, so the sexy, evil grin that Rose was now displaying was nothing more than a friendly, perhaps loving, smile in her eyes. Rose stepped forward confidently, as did Fran, their feet leaving and touching the ground at the exact same time. Rose put her hands on Fran’s shapely hips, who shuddered in excitement. ‘Do you want me?’ she asked innocently.
‘Yes,’ said Fran, who couldn’t be happier. But then… no, this was wrong. What had happened? Who was this? Fran jumped backwards, which made Rose lose her grip on the heroine. Fran shook her head, as though shaking cobwebs out, and looked at her adversary with anger.
‘Why so hostile, petal?’ asked Rose, sauntering towards Fran once again.
‘Get away from me, witch!’ commanded Fran, readying her bow for combat. Rose again laughed, and again with pleasant aroma washed over Fran, seeking to empty her mind of her worries and crucially her free will. But she had to fight it! ‘No, you’re not going to get…you’re not going to get me!’ she shouted, trying to use her own voice to block out the laugh, but she felt herself growing weaker mentally, she felt herself submitting. She felt her thoughts wonder why it was that they needed to fight, and why they couldn’t just lie down and let someone who deserved to make decisions, someone like Rose, someone as beautiful and as endearing as her, take charge. Fran’s bow dropped to the floor, and Fran’s stance changed from the fighting pose she was ready to help defend herself to the position she was in before – watching Rose closely. But rather than before, when she needed to study her any movement to see any forthcoming attacks, this time it was so she could satisfy herself by viewing a living work of art.
Rose stepped forward again, and Fran did the same. Again Rose took a hold of Fran’s hips, but this time Fran did not have any conscious thoughts making themselves troublesome. Rose’s scented breath, the spirit of the forest washed over Fran, enveloping her in a haze of nature that she wanted to be part of, Fran’s eyes drooped further, and her head dropped slightly. She felt Rose’s forehead come into contact with her, and she moved her eyes upwards. Rose was in the same pose, her green hair slightly covering her green eyes that observed Fran with a passionate glare. They looked at each other like this for more time than Fran could fathom, and then Rose started.
What she started was what the final breaking point for Fran’s survival was. Slowly, tantalizingly slowly, she moved her right nylon-clad leg up and down Fran’s legs. Fran shuddered at the touch, a touch perhaps more beautiful than the singing that she had so loyally listened to before, back when she had some semblance of free will. But these slow humps onto her person took that chance away, took it all away, as the legs of Rose moved up and down, up and down, up and down. The fascinating (in more ways than one) material that caressed her drove her mind mad with lust and willingness to serve her new mistress.
Pollen exited itself from the nylons, clouding Fran’s mind with even more thoughts of submitting, even more thoughts of love for her mistress. Rose grabbed Fran’s head and gently pushed it down, down onto her legs. ‘Breathe,’ the villainess whispered, and with her other hand she started to harshly spank her captive, drawing out short sharp but strangely pleasurably cries from Fran as she took in the beautiful scent of her new mistress.
Fran, captured within the charms of her captor, feeling both pleasure and pain, rubbed her face up and down the nylons, trying to breathe everything possible. Saliva dripped down onto the only things that clothed Rose, and Fran hardly noticed as the regular spank stopped and clothes began gradually falling from her exotic, fit body. Only did she notice when Rose pulled her head back, and then delivered a deep passionate kiss, a kiss that lasted even when Rose lay Fran down onto the grassy earth. The only thing that remained on Fran’s body was her helmet. Her mistress for all her worth had no idea how to remove that thing, and she surmised that it only increased Fran’s beauty anyway.
As Fran lay on the ground, utterly defeated and awaiting her final conversion, Rose went up to her bow and breathed on it. Where the wood was previously brown, it now turned a dark shade of green, and Rose smiled at her handiwork, chucking it up to the trees where human hands appeared out of hidden branches and caught the weapon, pulling it to Rose’s abode.
And then Rose returned to Fran’s prostrate body, helping her up with a hand. Fran graciously took it, thankful of anything her mistress did for her, and then followed Rose to the tree. Rose gently pushed Fran back onto the tree, and with her green hands caressed the former heroine’s face. Fran’s body shuddered at this motion, desperate for release, desperate to complete her investiture into servitude to Rose.
This goal came ever closer as Rose inserted her tongue into Fran’s open, yielding mouth. The kiss was passionate, and their tongues met each other, twirling around each other, happy to be in each other’s company. And then Rose started to grind her nylon-clad crotch against Fran’s vagina, causing Fran to cry out in pleasure. Up and down Rose’s crotch went, as the pollen emanated from the nylons into her labia. Rose pushed Fran back against the tree as the bunny-eared woman looked like she was about to fall forward, and the rubs quickened into humps, Fran crying out into Rose’s mouth, before she finally came. Green liquid sallied forth from her vagina, as her final conversion was complete. Rose finally let her rest on the villainess’ body, as Rose covered her in a loving, victorious embrace. Fran’s spasms continued, her final defeat not one that was over quickly, until finally she fell asleep in Rose’s arms, the one that was mistaken for a dryad kissing her prey all over while singing the song: “I am the spirit of this forest, and soon you will be mine.”