It's Cursed to Attract Voyeurs. Plus, Fish Pee in it. Also, Never. What Kind of Story do You Think I am?

The water in the stream is very cold. Also, fun fact, the bottom of this particular babbling brook is made of rocks. Altogether, you decide that these things combine to make the whole falling into a stream after being interrupted while masturbating experience an unpleasant one, 2/10 would not pratfall again.

As you frantically rub water from your eyes, you hear a snickering from the bank, which rapidly turns into a prolonged girlish giggle. As you climb out of the stream dripping, you look towards the source and get a good look at the girl who blue-balled you.

There's are a lot of things that stand out about her, but if you had to pin it down to maybe one thing, it would be that she's green. Her entire body (and you can see a lot of it, since what she's wearing basically amounts to a crop top and short shorts, but leaves) is a light green, the color of pistachio ice cream or original trilogy Yoda. Except, you know, smooth, taut and pretty.

If you had to guess, you'd say she was probably mid-twenties and gorgeous, with a rounded ass and tits just slightly too large to go unnoticed on what otherwise would be a slender frame. Waves of nearly platinum-blonde hair tinged green fall to her mid-back, swaying in the slight breeze.

As you give her the old ocular patdown, she considers you as well, her face blank. It's a bit unnerving really. She's not saying anything, just staring. You make a cautious move towards pants, wondering if that will spark a reaction, but nope. Only when you start working on the weird laces that the pants have (what was wrong with buttons? Buttons are cool! You're good at buttons.) does she finally speak up again.

"Are you the human prince?" she asks, "The one they're looking for?"

Something about her tone makes you think that she might be a little less there than you thought originally.

"Yeah," you answer, as you finish up your laces and start on a richly brocaded shirt. "I'm the Prince on the Run."

As you scope out the riverbank for shoes of some kind, you ask your fellow actor, "So what're you supposed to be?" Oh hey, boots! Score two for Team Boy Scout!

"A dryad?" she says, turning it into a question. Jesus Christ, why do these boots have buckles? Laces on pants, buckles on boots, what kind of ass-backwards motherfucking grumble grumble grumble...

"So what's a dryad?" you prompt, trying to get a little more out of this, well, let's just say it, viridian bimbo. "What do you do?" And why are there so many buckles on these shoes?

For some reason, this sets her off a bit and she starts to ramble. "Well, we're, like, bound to trees? And we're, like, nature spirits, right? And we, like, take care of the forest? But we don't really have to be bound to trees, just, like, wood, because one time I did a couple years bound to a wagon just to see the world, y'know? But I came back to the tree because, it was just, like, so much more homey, y'know? I mean..."

She goes on like this about her role for a while and you idly wonder if there was another big book of mythical creatures, like bimbo dryad or scholar centaur or something. Or maybe it was just regular dryad and this actress is just a little bit bimbo herself. Good thing for her she's, like, hot, right? As you finish up the last buckles on your boots you manage to wedge yourself into a small gap in her rambling (at some point she started talking about widdle bunnies, maybe? Honestly, you're not sure how she got there. You tuned her out when she started listing the seasons.)

"So when does the show start?" Much as you're enjoying yourself so far, you figure it's time to actually get to work because in terms of "Stuff I've done on my First Workday", you're pretty sure falling ****, running naked through the woods, peeping on a coworker, and getting caught masturbating is not an impressive list and you'd like to at least mitigate that with adding an entry of "spent five minutes doing his job", because otherwise you're probably definitely getting canned. And besides your difficulty finding summer employment, you definitely want to stay within the general vicinity of that delightful blue-eyed creature you saw earlier. Also, you guess this curvy green bombshell in front of you, but honestly, you can see the vacuous thing really grating on you in a coworker.

Anyways, you would think she'd know when the show actually started, given that she's all dressed up already, but she just cocks her head at you quizzically, purses her puffy lips, and asks, "What show?"

You sigh. Great. Just perfect. "The show you're in?" you prompt, "The one you do for people?"

For some reason, she blushes a deep dark green at this. "You... you want a show?"

"I want to be in the show," you spell out for her slowly. Honestly, some people just take so long to see what's right in front of them. Thank god you're not like that at all. "Where is the show?"

She blushes even deeper and bites one puffy green lip, looking you up and down consideringly. The display is almost enough to overcome your annoyance at her. She is pretty cute after all. Finally, she nods and takes your hand, leading you back towards the camp. Part of the way there, she veers off to one side. Letting go of your hand, she points to a small depression in a nearby tree, nestled between several exposed roots. "Sit," she says softly.

As you ease yourself down onto the ground, you lean back gingerly on the tree. The tree trunk, surprisingly, is soft, almost rubbery. It's not actually uncomfortable. As you marvel at this, however, the exposed roots suddenly entwine themselves around your hands, locking them in place.

"Hey, what the fu-" you start, looking to your coworker, only to be greeted and silenced by her breasts. Her hands against the trunk behind you, the dryad has practically shoved her tits into your face. Even covered in that leafy crop-top, their proximity is enough to leave you temporarily speechless as she does nothing but breathe in and out, giving you fantastic view as they rise and fall steadily.

Then, she begins to move. Easing away from you, she turns slowly, her hips swaying in little circles as her bubble butt jiggles in response.

Oh shit. You've definitely signed up to be a stripper. A medieval-themed forest stripper. You struggle to remember if you included a glamor shot in this particular resume as you did with the one you sent to be the new King of Slovenia or the Statue of Liberty's understudy. This must have been why the woman in the stream was so cool with you seeing her naked! This must have been why no one in that book had much plot! Who cares about plot when people are taking their clothes off?

Speaking of which...

As she finishes another slow turn, the dancer before you beings to peel away leaves, one at a time. What you thought was a crop top and shorts with decorative leaves turns out to be leaves stuck directly to her skin, a fact that becomes increasingly evident as you see more and more tantalizing glimpses of bare breast and ass.

The forest has gone almost utterly silent now. All you can hear is the faint rustle of leaves in the wind, the sound of her breathing, and your heartbeat in your ears as she gyrates sensuously before you.

Soon she's down to the bare essentials, a mound of leaves covering her pussy and a leaf on each of her nipples, breasts jutting proudly forward even without her top, defying gravity. She bends forward, giving you a magnificent view between her hanging breasts, then slowly, delicately, peels away the edge of the leaf covering one nipple. She stops a little less than halfway, giving you the barest glimpse of dark green areola before straddling you, grinding her crotch against the bottom of your cock. As she leans forward into you, the trailing edge of the leaf tickling your lips, and you delicately and carefully grasp the leaf in your teeth and feel it gradually peel away as she leans ever so slowly backward. As she carefully peels the leaf on her other nipple away, you finally see them both, big green buttons, thick and standing at attention.

Then she kisses you hungrily, thrusting her tongue into your mouth and after a moment of surprise you thrust back, tasting her. She tastes like honeysuckle and the kiss ends too soon as she moves away to kiss your neck, moving down.

Deft fingers unlace your pants as she retreats along your body, keeping her eyes on yours until your cock is freed. As her fingers dance along your shaft, she places a tender kiss on your cockhead and you groan as you start to feel a familiar sensation.

Wait, you're coming already? It's probably not even the best part! Quick, think of baseball or old ladies or literally anything except the warm mouth slowly enveloping your cock....

Okay, let's face it. You were pretty much doomed. It's been a very long half hour, you're tired, a ton of pretty hot stuff has happened so far, and really, you're just not at your best. It's fine, it happens to everybody.

Luckily, she takes it like a champ as you start coming, swallowing as you send ropes of jizz into her wet and eager mouth. When the last spatter of cum is done, she sits back and with a final swallow breaks the silence.

"No fair!" she pouts, "We didn't even get to the fucking! Now how am I supposed to come?"

Hold up, wait a minute, let us put some thought into this. Is this a brothel? A medieval nature-brothel? Did you send in a job application to a medieval nature-brothel? Before you can fully explore this train of thought, the dryad gives you something else to think about. She shimmies along your body on her knees, bringing her crotch to your lips. As she does so, the leaves on her mound fall aside, and you get a good look at drooling dark green lips before they trap your head against the tree trunk behind you.

You slide your tongue through silky folds of flesh as the dryad moans in pleasure. Juices flow from her sopping petals, filling your mouth and trailing down your chin. It tastes like... damn, it definitely tastes like something. Something specific. It's almost citrus-y, bright and fresh, like sunlight? It's on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't recall.

She shifts her hips slightly, giving your tongue access to her clit, and as you circle it with your tongue, she begins to go crazy, mewling and whimpering until finally, she collapses onto you with a contented sigh. "That was fun," she murmurs, resting her head on your shoulder. Your hands freed from the roots, you wrap your arms around the woman cuddling against your side.

"Yeah, it was," you say. If this is what being a man-whore entails, you're totally down. "And wow, they really went all-in with the green, huh?"

Her only response to that is a quizzical noise and a hand reaching over to toy with your flaccid dick. Which, to be honest, is pretty nice, but what ever happened to pillow talk? You're more than just a piece of meat! (Well, maybe you did just sign up to be a piece of meat, but you're going to overlook that temporarily while you get to know the girl who just tried to smother you with her cooch.)

"I mean, the green skin, and the nipples, and..." you scramble for the right word for inside-your-vagina but eventually settle on "...and everything."

She lifts her head off your chest to look you in the eye quizzically. "...I'm a dryad?"

Somehow, you're feeling much more forgiving of her obtuseness now with the taste of mystery citrus on your tongue. You chuckle indulgently and forge ahead. "Right, but I mean the body paint and stuff. And the leaf clothing. All the stuff that makes you look like a dryad. I'm just saying it's super well done."

She frowns at you, her brow furrowed. "I don't look like a dryad. I am a dryad."

Oh wow, she's super committed to this. Maybe time to try a different tack? "Right, yeah," you say, "you're a dryad. But what do you do when you're not being a dryad?"

She seems to be getting angry now, almost in tears with frustration. Clearly the point is just not getting across. "But I'm a dryad? I'm always a dryad."

Welp, this is clearly a lost cause. "You know what?" you say, "Never mind."

"You don't believe me," she says, hurt and anger in her voice.

As you ponder what you could possibly say to make this better, she places her palms on the sides of your face. You see her eyes, turn a deep and vibrant green, not just the iris, but the pupil and the whites as well, full and complete. Then she touches her forehead to yours and you see the Green.

You're part of the forest now. You can feel it around you, the life chittering and squawking just out of sight, in the leaves above and in the dirt below, a network of life and ****, intertwined and intermingling.

You can feel a pair of rabbits, burrowed into the ground nearby. The female is gravid, expecting a litter of eight. You can feel squirrels dancing through the trees, chittering and searching, scrabbling with birds for choice nuts and berries. You know them all, inside and out, their fleeting desires and instincts and urges bubbling away.

You can feel forgotten caches of nuts, buried in the dry, parched ground. You can feel the thirsty soil aching for rain in an unseasonable dry spell, baked in the sunlight even under the cover of dried, mulched leaves. You can feel the trees in the forest, dead and dying, living and thriving.

You can feel the dryad, Caprea, straddling you. She's older than she looks, and alien to you despite her appearance, but you know her now, through and through, all of her except a core of her beyond the reach of your new awareness. She's a part of the forest in a way you aren't, living in harmony, dancing through the network of life while you and the others just stomp through.

You can feel the others, the things that don't belong, black holes in your awareness of the forest. There's you, lying against Caprea's tree. There's the woman-shaped mystery at the campsite, cleaning up your traces and rolling up your blankets, and then there's the hunters. You can't feel them, but you can feel the trees they tromp past, they dead leaves crunched underfoot, the birds that chirp inquisitively overhead. You can smell their alien scent, hear the baying of their hounds, the whinnies of their mounts, and the grunts and heavy breaths of a dozen clanking guardsmen. They've stopped for now, and you can pick out a single thread, a voice, weaselly and whining.

"We should be coming up on them soon, milords. The Prince may have been smart enough to torch his rooms, but the girl didn't and my hounds have her scent. Aye, we'll get that blue-eyed bitch Alison soon enough and..."

And then Caprea pulls back from you and it's gone in a flash. As you mentally scramble to hold onto that connection, that sense of belonging, three things become abundantly clear.

First, you're not in Kansas anymore. You're not on Earth anymore. This isn't a strip show or a brothel or a medieval times knock-off. You're somewhere completely different.

Second, you've been an absolute asshole to Caprea. This poor sweet dryad was just trying to get you to see and you dismissed her at every opportunity.

But thirdly, and most importantly right now, you and the woman, Alison, from the river? You have to move. They're coming with hounds and they're close. You have to run. Now.