Bare Jonas Pt. 02

Bare Jonas

Part Two

by The Preve

Inspired, in part, by "Mr. Tumnus", by Crisreyart

The Dunkelalfwald

Jonas stood in Wolf's Glen. For all it's reputation, the glen was surprisingly pleasant.

The green grass, great leafy oaks, boulders, and babbling brook, exuded a wild beauty unrivaled anywhere else.

The tree-lined slopes, curving up to the summer sky, felt akin to gazing out of a womb.

Jonas knew the view was an illusion. The glen looked much different at night, so he heard, especially in the late fall and Twelfe Night.

Dark things were supposed to happen here. Witches were alleged to gather here on Walpurgisnacht. The Wild Huntsman was said to frequent the glen. It wouldn't do to linger after dark, but then, he was venturing further into the forest, so it might not make much difference.

It surprised him not to encounter the Wander Woman in this place.

It was as in the meadow. The vardo, the roan horse munching, and the old woman at the cooking fire, muttering about latecomers and meetings.

"Hail Old Mother."

The Wander Woman looked at him. Her gaze was hard but Jonas noted a twinkle in her eye.

"Aye, and there's the skyclad young lad. On your journey, I ken it."

"Yes, I guess so," Jonas answered.

There was no sign of the mushrooms from before, but Jonas noticed the old woman's sack. He couldn't tell what was in it, but its shape disturbed him, and sent a chill through his body for some reason.

The Wander Woman noticed him staring, "Aye, I come to the glen to return something of my daughter's. A good lass she was, but an evil man stole something from her. She's been so angry and restless, and can not sleep. She will be whole again soon."

Jonas, understanding, nodded, remembering the story. "The evil man. Did he get justice?"

"No... but he will. I'm here to speak to a man about that... and maybe about those rude boys."

Jonas nodded again. "It is nice to see you again Old Mother, but I have to find a tree for some fruit, and I can't linger. I don't know if this forest has any maples."

"Ah, I know what you're seeking, young lad. If you want to find it, why, you'll have to speak to The Dryad of The Glen, of course."

"The Dryad of The Glen?"

"She's along a ways," the Wander Woman pointed down the trail. "Watches over the Glen she does. Even the Huntsman respects her. She'll point you straight, but she extracts a price. Treat her with due respect and she might even give you something extra." The Wander Woman winked.

Jonas looked down the trail. He'd never heard of The Dryad of The Glen. I'm probably going to find something new of this place, every step I take.

He turned to the Wander Woman. "I thank you Old Mother. You have been good to me. I hope your daughter finds peace."

"Good journey and success in your quest, young lad."

Jonas turned and walked further down the trail. The old woman watched, remembering. He so looked like the young lute player who stole her heart, all those years ago. He broke it, of course, as his kind oft do, but she never regretted it, nor the gift he left her. Now she had to ensure the remainder of their love could move on to new trails. She sighed with nostalgia, and moved on with her task.

The soft, warm music of the trees played a soothing melody. Jonas wondered about the ominous tails told of this place. The trees on both sides swayed like the waves in a pond.

The beauty of the green, with flowers and ferns of different colors amongst the wood, belied the tales of menacing black forests, haunted by headless women and Wild Huntsmen.

"Maybe it's the night," thought Jonas.

Woods take on a different character in the dark. His mother taught him that.

The sun still had a ways to go before it set. Jonas reveled in its dappled rays through the leaves, and the warm summer breeze on his bare skin.

Up to that point, Jonas never spared much thought to his nudity. His main concern was over the shirt his mother gave him. It would hurt her to see it missing.

His nudity hadn't embarrassed him and, as he walked and reflected, realized it never did. He didn't care if people saw him naked.

It's their problem, not mine.

This... thing about the Dunkelalfwald was more about anger, Jonas realized, than any desire to help the Duke's daughter.

"I could die here," he thought, gazing around the woodland beauty, "but that might not be a bad thing."

The trail came to a sunlit clearing, with green grass, short-cropped like an emerald carpet. Beyond that Jonas could see the Dunkelalfwald, with trees taller than Wolf's Glen.

The tree in the middle of the clearing drew Jonas' attention.

It seemed an apple tree, in full bloom, at first glance. It was tall, crowned with white and pink blossoms, dark green leaves barely noticeable.

The trunk, however, was unlike any apple tree Jonas had ever seen. Its bark was smooth and white, like an aspen.

The trunk was not thick, yet not thin like a sapling either. The tree, while tall, was not a giant. A rope could swing from the lower branches. Jonas could see himself as a young child, climbing the branches, or swinging from it into a swimming hole.

The tree's odd shape drew his eye. A smooth, sensual set of curves and swellings, not like the knobs and gnarls seen on normal trees.

The trunk rose, sinuously, from the grass carpet, branching off into the main components which continued, with smaller and smaller branches festooned with blossoms.

The center wasn't so much a branch as a large round burl, with smaller branches springing, like a white-pink halo, from it.

Jonas would think the shape and form of the tree peculiar, but he knew his trees. The god or goddess who sculpted this one, did so with reason.

The sensual shapes and curves evoked a woman's form. The branches spread out, upraised like ivory arms reaching for the heavens.

The smaller branches were reminiscent of hands, and then fingers.

The middle burl, with its swellings and knots, looked almost like a face. Its folds contained a certain beauty.

Jonas reached out to touch the bark. It was hard as wood would be, but smooth and warm. He stroked his hand along its length, hoping the dryad, wherever she was, would not mind.

It as if he stroked a smooth, wooden statue, but the act felt sensual. He grew warm and excited.

He knew not why the act made him feel so. It was that the tree looked so sculpted, so smooth and beautiful, he needed to confirm its reality. This tree could not be real.

A light, warm breeze rustled through the leaves. The sound was akin to a woman's sigh.

Jonas' hand came to a small crevice, a gnarl in the lower trunk, at a junction where two sections converged and curved. Akin to a woman's legs and hips, perhaps?

The gnarl rested in the center; a strangely shaped gnarl, with sticky sap flowing from it.

Jonas touched it with his fingers, and brought them to his tongue. The taste was sweet but indescribable. Reminiscent of maple, but also honey, with a hint of rose. A nostalgic memory of his mother's rose jelly came to Jonas' thoughts.

The taste contained a boldness, as well. A flavor, almost like a strong schnapps, which brought a blush to his skin.

Jonas decided no harm would come in further exploring the sap's taste. He knelt to stroke it with his tongue.

The instant his tongue touched the sap, heat bloomed within his body. The surrounding breeze rushed through him. His ears took in the rustle of the leaves, and maybe a soft purr, as of contentment.

He licked and tasted the, oh so sweet, sap, unable to stop.

Ssssssooooo looooonnnnng, he heard, faintly. An imagined sound from the breeze? It'sssss been ssssoooo loooonnnng.

He thought he felt something along his back, like a soft scratch, or even a feather, a leaf perhaps, but the focus of his attention remained the delicious sap.

His arms were wrapped around the trunk. Its surface smooth, yet yielding, like firm flesh. He wanted to feel more of it against his skin, so he moved his mouth, and face, up the trunk.

The feather touches on his back moved down to his buttocks, and grew firm. His body inched further up the trunk. Was he being lifted?

He knew not; the sap coursing through his body turned the world so dreamlike and far away, he cared not what he did, or what was done to him.

He wrapped his arms and legs tight against the trunk, to embrace the smooth bark. His face rested between the two burls midway up.

A warm, soft, wet tunnel drew in his hard cock. He hadn't noticed its stiffening.

Jonas was not unfamiliar with the pleasures of the rod. Certainly the clerics like Herr Lothar, proscribed such self-attention.

However, in the night, when succubi were rumored to drift about causing mischief, or on quiet days by the lake, when he was alone, or in the tall grass, Jonas partook.

His father understood, and advised him (to Jonas' embarrassment) on the matter.

"Don't listen to the priests," he told the blushing young man. "The body does as it will, and the staff has a mind of its own. It's a natural thing, waiting for a woman to plant. In the meantime..." he grinned, knowingly.

His mother never really talked to him about it, but kept a knowing silence.

The caresses from the tree were far different from a young man's hands. Jonas moaned and moved his body against the trunk.

The firm movements on his buttocks took on a kneading action, the way his mother's hands worked a dough of bread.

More leaves caressed his nude skin, and soft scratches stroked along his back.

Heat grew in his body, not unlike the heat burning from succubi night dreams. It grew into an red and orange flower, building hotter and hotter, until he exploded with a soft groan.

A wet burst from his groin was followed by a warm, liquid flow into the syrup-filled tunnel.

He rested against the tree, the warm summer air cooling his skin. A soft breeze, a rustle of leaves, carried a wisp of a voice. Nnnnoooot fiiiinnnniiiissshed.

The following hours continued the dream. A dream of leaves and blossoms, branches stroking his nude body. The face of a beautiful woman, more plant than human, lowering her lips onto his wood hard cock, and taking his seed into her mouth, over and over.

He orgasmed as he drifted to sleep. The last sounds in his ears, a soft summer breeze, the rustle of leaves, and a barely imagined, Ttthhhaaannk yooouuu beeeeyoootiiiifuuuulllll booooy.

Jonas woke on the grass near the tree. He'd been sleeping on his side. What happened? Where am I? I feel... sticky.

Memory returned slowly, or was it a memory?

Was it a dream?

Some grass blades clung to his body. His groin, and cock, ached, as did his hips and buttocks.

Did I really do that?

He sat up and looked at the tree. It was as before, albeit there seemed to be more pink blossoms than he thought.

Where's my satchel?

It lay on the grass nearby, along with his sandals, and two objects. Apples?

Not quite like any apples he'd ever seen.

One apple was deep red as blood, round and glossy. The other was yellow as gold, glowing almost like the metal itself.

Jonas took both in his hands. The red apple was cool and smooth. A red petal was on the stem. Like the color of a woman's red hair. He knew who was destined for this apple. He put it in his satchel.

The golden apple was warmer, with a blue petal on its stem; the cerulean blue of a young man's eyes.

Jonas looked at the tree and then the apple.

Should I eat it?

Eat. Was it a thought, or a suggestion?

Jonas bit into it. Sweet and tingly, very much like the sap of a tree. His head grew light as he ate. A vision of three women, one young as he, one alike to his mother, and one akin to the Wander Woman, wavered, hazily, before his eyes.

He ate to the core, then placed it at the base of the tree. "Thank you," he said.

A breeze flowed through the leaves.

Jonas turned and looked down the trail. White petals from the tree were settled on the ground. As good as an arrow.

He took up his satchel, placed it over his shoulder, and set his feet into the sandals. He looked at the sky. The sun was low.

Almost sunset. Wonder what else is going to happen?

Jonas set off.

****

The trees thickened the further he walked. The shadows lengthened, the trail grew darker. The forest was becoming the Dunkelalfwald of the stories.

The abrupt end to the trees was a mild surprise, but Jonas saw the reason. A lake.

The lake was neither large nor small. The ground ringing it was lined with reeds, cattails, narcissi, among other plants.

Two large boulders stood guard on either side of the trail, like sentinels.

Lily pads carpeted the lake itself, more of them near the shore. White flowers crowned the green across the blue waters.

The lake beckoned, especially as he was sticky with sweat, sap, and grass. A simple matter to leave his satchel and sandals, and wade in.

The water was cool and greatly refreshed him. In spite the northern clime, Jonas' land tended towards the hot and humid around midsummer. Swims in the local rivers and pools were common this time of year.

Jonas swam deeper into the lake, where the lily pads were less dense. He floated and thought.

The "fruit of a tree's quim," what does it mean? The apple tasted great but... what did it do to me? I feel... odd. And why did I see the three women? Were they the Norns? What thread are they spinning for me? And what does the red apple do?

These thoughts swirled through his head like a whirlwind. They also masked another problem. I know nothing of the Dunkelalfwald.

Other than the stories, and Wolf's Glen, he was ignorant.

I knew nothing of the Dryad. This lake is nice, but no one mentioned lakes in the stories.

The stories mentioned Lorelei, but they were supposed to haunt rivers, not lakes. Not all of them were exclusive to the Dunkelalfwald either.

Stories of the Lorelei, Rusalki, and sirens were told for centuries in the Duchies. Rivers and oceans were the province of the Lorelei, and sirens. The lakes were for the Rusalki and, Naiads.

Of course.

Jonas attributed the next moment to distraction from the other thoughts.

"I should have known," he thought after.

It was a lake in the Dunkelalfwald, after all. They struck before he had time to draw breath.

Which was the point.

They gave no warning. Just a flash of pale white, and green, and blue, and a moment later, he was underwater.

He panicked, but it was brief. Bodies surrounded him, held him tight, and dragged him deeper.

His brief panic became a simple struggle for survival. He knew the futility of it. Naiads were supposed to be strong after all.

They needed to be. To drag strong swimmers to the depths, for whatever fate they had in store for them.

Jonas fought anyway. The bodies pressing him were too close to discern shapes, just impressions.

Impressions of faces, beautiful, but cold and mocking, in ways reminding him of the villagers' stares.

Arms, breasts, and skin, from pale ivory, to emerald green, to aquamarine blue, rubbing against his body, at once warm, and cold.

The black shadows closed in on his vision. The women faded. His lungs burned, then filled with water. They were drowning him.

I guess this is the fate of the fool. Sorry Ma.

A kiss. A mouth on his lips, followed by a breath. Something, a cough from himself, a blast of water from his lungs, replaced by air.

The strangeness of the moment stemmed from two things: the mouth kissed him still; he felt the tongue plunge deep into his throat, and he was still underwater.

A body held him in a tight embrace. The naiad held her kiss, giving him air, until his coughs stilled.

She drew her body back. Others swam in to hold his arms and legs. Jonas held the breath she gifted him. It wouldn't last long. The question: why save him?

The low sun in the sky streamed enough light to see around.

Floating underwater plants, swimming fish, an otter or two, presented the impression of an emerald forest.

The naiads swam around him, in a circle. As with all water nymphs their beauty was uniform.

Their bodies ranged from lithesome to voluptuous. The sensuous swells of their breasts, the curves of their hips and haunches, shamed the best of the village lasses.

Beautiful faces, with plush lips, rounded chins, noses ranging from button to snub and upturned, fired the imaginations of countless artists and sculptors, so Jonas heard.

Hair, of different colors, textures, and styles; curly, wavy, straight, some cut short like a boy's, others long and streaming to the glorious arch of their asses.

Finally, the flowers, some bald, some with ample carpeting.

The nymphs' demeanor had changed from earlier. They were staring at him, no longer mocking, or cold.

The expressions were curiosity on some, suspicious interest in others. Many pointed at him, and discussed something with each other. Jonas could neither understand nor hear.

The naiad who'd kissed, Or saved, him looked the most pensive. She was beautiful, like the others, but something of her bearing stood her out.

Her body was slender, long-limbed, with broad shoulders. Her breasts were small, round grapefruits, centered with perky nipples. They stood dark gray against the milky white of her skin.

Light gray, with highlights of white, was the color of her short, but straight, hair, slicked back, severely, to the nape of her neck. Her flower was dusted with light gray as well.

The beautiful face, staring at him with hard silver-gray eyes, carried a long straight nose, a soft, rounded chin, and thin, gray lips.

The naiad exuded a martial wisdom, reminiscent of a paladin, or Amazon, or wise Athenian goddess.

Jonas was drawn to her, even as he knew she could have him killed. The effects of her kiss were wearing off, black spots appeared anew.

The naiad scowled, and swam to him. The other arresting nymphs, let go. The Silver Naiad, as Jonas decided to name her, wrapped her arms and legs around his body, and kissed him again.

Air flowed into his lungs, and the two breathed back and forth.

Air was not the only exchange. The naiad plunged her tongue deep into his mouth. Her kiss was more than just giving him life.

Jonas began to kiss back, and moved his arms to return her embrace, but the other nymphs closed in again, and held his arms.

They don't want me to embrace her. What do they want of me?

He received his answer. The Silver Naiad drew back her body slightly. She moved a hand, her right, to his groin. She took his cock in her grip, and began to stroke.

Jonas couldn't see her hand, in her tight embrace, but he responded. His cock grew in her grasp, and his mouth breathed a moan.

His swell quickly became a stiffening, followed by a warm, slick tunnel as the nymph guided him inside her.

She drew him in to the hilt, until their groins touched, and then she started to pump.

Jonas could reciprocate a little. His buttocks certainly clenched, and he began some instinctive thrusts, but the nymphs dominated; acting upon him, as opposed to himself as actor.

The Silver Naiad, for example, moved her hands to his ass, and spread his cheeks. Other hands and fingers, probed between his crack, into his bung.

Hands slid between his legs, and stroked, fondled, and mashed his man nuts.

Jonas held back a gasp at these actions. Such would result in more water flooding his lungs. The Silver Naiad kissed him, sending more air down his throat.