The air in Wychwood Woods thrummed with the pulse of spring. Birdsong wove through the canopy, a chorus of trills and warbles that danced with the rustle of new leaves. Beneath the ancient oaks and silver birches, the forest floor lay carpeted in bluebells, their violet heads swaying gently in the breeze, reaching half the height of Sylvara’s slender legs. The wood nymph moved silently among them, her bare feet brushing the petals, leaving no trace of her passage. Her lithe body, adorned with swirling floral patterns she’d painted herself, gleamed in the dappled sunlight, vines curling around her arms, petals blooming across her firm breasts, and delicate tendrils spiraling down her hips to frame her trim, neat slit, masking it from casual sight. She was a creature of beauty and willowy strength, her intelligence matched only by her creativity and her unapologetic hunger for pleasure.
Sylvara paused near a cluster of chamomile, her fingers deftly plucking the tiny white flowers as her sharp green eyes flicked toward a sound, a rhythmic thwack echoing through the trees. She knew that sound: the bite of an axe into wood. Her curiosity piqued, she crept closer, the bluebells brushing her thighs as she moved. Peering through a screen of ferns, she saw him, Thragmuk, a woodwose of the wilds.
He was a rugged figure, shorter than her by a good third, his nude body sturdy and hirsute, a medium build corded with muscle from a life of labor. His dark hair hung in tangled clumps, and his hands gripped a crude axe, swinging it with practiced force to fell a sapling. With each swing, his massive cock, out of proportion with his frame, swayed impressively, the large, prominent bell end catching the light. Sylvara’s breath hitched. She’d heard tales of woodwoses: rough, primal creatures, inattentive to their lovers, quick to sate their own desires and leave. Yet the sight of him, sweat glistening on his skin, his member swinging like a pendulum, stirred something deep within her, a primal need to be filled, to feel that monstrous shaft stretch her to her limits.
She lingered, watching as he worked, her arousal building with each swing. Her fingers tightened around the chamomile, and an idea bloomed in her clever mind. She could have him, on her terms. With her magic and her knowledge of the forest’s gifts, she could tame his roughness, bend him to her will. A smile curved her lips as she turned to gather her ingredients.
The bluebells parted as she moved, her body flowing like water through the undergrowth. She plucked lavender for its calming scent, to soothe his wild nature and make him pliant. Calendula and Shatavari root came next, their slick properties perfect for easing her pussy’s acceptance of his girth. Red ginseng followed, to ensure his cock rose to the challenge. She knelt by a patch of cuckoo spit, scooping the frothy liquid into a hollowed gourd, then added Aloe vera from a nearby plant, its gel soothing and fluid. Finally, she tore strips of willow bark from a low branch, nature’s own numbing agent, to wrap his shaft and dull his sensation, forcing him to last longer under her command.
Seated on a mossy stone, Sylvara mixed her concoction, her eyes darting back to Thragmuk. He felled another sapling, his cock swelling slightly as he stretched, oblivious to her gaze. She ground the herbs into a paste, blending them with the cuckoo spit and Aloe Vera until the mixture was smooth and fragrant. The vial of balm rested in one hand, the willow strips in the other, and with a final glance at her creation, she rose. Her graceful legs carried her toward him, her nude form a vision of art and desire, the floral patterns shifting with each step.
Thragmuk turned as she approached, his dark eyes widening at the sight of her. His cock twitched, already thickening, and he dropped his axe with a dull thud. Sylvara’s lips quirked, she had no use for his words, likely crude and unrefined. With a flick of her wrist and a whispered incantation, she cast a spell of muteness over him, silencing his tongue. His mouth opened, but no words emerged, just a grunt, and she saw the flicker of confusion in his gaze give way to raw, animal lust as she stepped closer.
She dipped her fingers into the balm, the scent of lavender and chamomile rising as she reached for his cock. It was warm and heavy in her hand, swollen but not yet fully hard. She met his eyes, seeing the primitive pleasure spark there as she smoothed the mixture along his length, coating the massive shaft and its imposing tip. His breath quickened, quiet grunts in his throat, and she worked quickly, wrapping the willow bark strips around his cock, binding it snugly to temper his sensitivity. The herbal blend glistened on his skin, and she felt him pulse beneath her touch.
Sylvara lifted one leg, resting it on a fallen sapling, opening herself to him. The floral patterns around her groin parted slightly, revealing the neat slit of her pussy, already slick with anticipation. She applied the remaining balm to herself, the cool mixture soothing her heated flesh as she prepared for him. Grasping his now-firm cock, she squeezed the root, coaxing the rest of the shaft to harden fully. It resisted at first, still adjusting to the willow’s numbing effect, but she tugged him closer, guiding him to her entrance.
The first push was a shock, his girth stretched her painfully, splitting her open despite the balm’s lubrication. She gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders, but the soothing herbs quickly dulled the sting, and pleasure surged in its wake. Thragmuk rutted into her, his movements clumsy but forceful, driving his cock deeper with each thrust. Waves of sensation rippled through her, building in her core as he filled her completely. His guttural grunts, though silent, vibrated against her skin, and she reached down, her fingers circling her clit to hasten her first orgasm. It crashed over her swiftly, a shuddering release that left her trembling, her pussy clenching around him.
They fucked face-to-face, her leg still propped on the sapling, his hands gripping her hips. The bluebells swayed around them, their scent mingling with the musk of their coupling. Sylvara’s eyes gleamed with delight, she controlled this, had tamed the woodwose to her desires. But she wanted more. With a sudden push, she forced him out, his cock springing free, slick and glistening. She turned, bending forward to brace herself against a tree, her painted body arched invitingly. Thragmuk didn’t hesitate, he rammed back into her, his massive shaft plunging deep, and her pussy twitched with delight at the renewed assault.
The noise of their rutting, her gasps, the wet slap of flesh, drew attention. Sylvara glanced around, spotting woodland creatures emerging from the undergrowth, a pair of rabbits, a curious fox, a stag with antlers tipped in velvet. Their eyes glinted in the shadows, watching the spectacle. She grinned, her arousal spiking at the thought of an audience. Another orgasm built, fiercer than the first, and as it broke, her guttural scream tore through the woods, echoing off the trees. Thragmuk pounded harder, his grunts a counterpoint to her cries.
Among the growing crowd, she saw them, fellow wood nymphs, their delicate forms slipping through the bluebells. Their expressions ranged from shock to wonder, their painted bodies mirroring hers in style if not in boldness. Sylvara reveled in their stares, her pleasure amplified by their presence. Soon, the woods stirred with new sounds, some of the animals paired off, rutting in the undergrowth, and a few nymphs, emboldened by her display, found partners among themselves, their moans blending with the birdsong.
She shifted positions with Thragmuk, guiding him through her desires. She straddled him on the forest floor, riding his bound cock as the bluebells crushed beneath them, their scent rising in a heady cloud. Then she knelt, taking him from behind again, her fingers clawing the earth as he thrust. Each change brought a new orgasm, spectacular and shattering, her body quaking with release. The woodwose’s stamina, bolstered by her herbs and bindings, held strong, his massive cock a relentless force within her.
Finally, they stood face-to-face once more, her legs trembling but her will unyielding. His grunts grew sharper, his rhythm faltering, she knew he was close. As his body tensed, she pushed him out, dropping to her knees before him. Her hands seized his cock, stroking swiftly, and with a silent roar, he erupted. Thick ropes of cum sprayed across her breasts and belly, mingling with her floral paint. The patterns blurred, vines and petals smearing into abstract swirls, a testament to their union.
Sylvara rose, her body glistening with sweat and his release, and surveyed the scene. The woodland creatures and nymphs dispersed, some still tangled in their own pleasures, others slipping back into the trees. Thragmuk stood panting, his cock softening, the willow bark peeling away. She released the spell of muteness with a wave, though he said nothing, perhaps he had no words, or perhaps he knew they were unnecessary.
With a final glance at him, Sylvara turned, her lithe form vanishing into the bluebells. The woods settled, the birds resuming their song, and the spring day carried on as if nothing had changed. But for Sylvara, the memory of that pleasure, and the power she’d wielded, would linger, a secret bloom in the heart of Wychwood.
OxonWoods Man 
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