Listen to it.

The dryad was in a clear state of distress, whatever the demon did to her it really put a whammy on her mind. Dryads were one with nature, if it could make her question her allegiance... maybe you could push her the rest of the way.

The roots of the trees seem to reach out to grab you in the dark but your predatory desire kept you focused on your task. She doesn't seem to see you even when you look her in the eyes, lips still moving confusedly as you take her face in your palms, "I... I serve master... no... don't serve... am nature... nature serves..."

"Me."

Despite your proximity the dryad looks right through you, her featureless eyes swimming between their natural greenish glow and a sickly yellow, "I... I don't... Master..."

"Mistress." There is a delightful pulsing in your abdomen, you think your Master agrees with your plan. Like before, you feel a whisper of demonic power slide up your body and your mouth suddenly seems to fill with syrupy fluid. The dryad's mouth is parted and quivering with half formed questions, you lean in and intercept it before she can keep babbling. You deepen the kiss, taking spit swapping to a new level as you explore her mouth with your demonically coated tongue. The taste reminds you of imp semen, albeit without the semen part.

The dryad is unresponsive for several long moments before her tongue begins to reciprocate your amorous intent. Another pulse of demonic bile floods your mouth and you draw back, letting the viscous liquid ooze down your tongue into the dryads receptive mouth. Her mouth opens wide, tongue sticking out to receive your gift. Her eyes stabilize to a dull yellow and you shiver with arousal. Corruption was almost better than sex! Almost.

"I am your Mistress. You serve me. You serve Mistress."

"I serve... mistr-no. I serve nature."

"You are nature. You serve me." You parrot her words back to her, giving her another infused dollop of spit to swallow.

"I am nature... I serve..."

"Mistress."

"Mistress. I serve Mistress." You reward her with another long kiss.

"You are nature. You serve Mistress. Nature serves Mistress."

"I am nature... I serve Mistress... Nature... no..."

You squeeze her lips shut before she can blaspheme against you. You were going to make her worship the gods-damned ground you walked on. Casting a look around, you can just barely make out the outline of dozens of demonic barbs lodged in the surrounding tree trunks. Of course... dryads were almost like demons in the sense that they usually couldn't be outright killed, only banished. For dryads, that meant returning to the grove of trees where they drew their life ****. The demon must have overwhelmed the dryad by filling her grove with its venom as well.

If you wanted to corrupt her efficiently you'd have to do the same.

You surveyed the area dubiously. As far as you knew there was no way of knowing where the grove started or stopped and even if you did it could be upwards of 50 trees. You didn't relish the prospect of licking every tree in sight, you got the feeling even this much was a huge drain on your demonic offspring. Whatever the hell this 'Nybibas' was, it must have had a hell of a lot of stingers to pull this off... maybe that was the key.

You whisper words of encouragement to the dryad and have her continue repeating your status as Mistress as you rise to inspect the trees. The barbs were really embedded, some had been thrown with such **** they had actually shattered against the tough wood. You could clearly see the venom leaking from each.

"What a waste, let's just help this along..." You feel a thrill in your abdomen and your hand slips to trace the pentagram engraved there, your love tainted with glorious desire. You draw the saints sword, relishing the spiteful anger the Goddess must surely be feeling, and place the flat of the blade against the flat back of a barb. You strike the blade with your wrist, hammering the stinger into the flesh of the tree. Behind you, the dryad jolts, gasping in pain. You grin deviously and set about hammering in as many stingers as you can find.

You periodically return to the dryad, whispering your corruption into her ears and delighting in her increasing sincerity. The Nybibas' venom made her more and more receptive to your words and less resistant to her submission.

"You love Mistress don't you?"

"Yes. I love... Mistress."

"You would do anything for Mistress, wouldn't you?"

"Would... would..."

THUD. Gasp! THUD. Gasp! THUD. Gasp!

"Would... do anything... for Mistress..."

The sun begins to rise as you come to the last tree. Its bark is thick and old, you have the feeling that you wouldn't be able to penetrate it even with your improvised hammer. You also have a hunch this was the center of the grove. Possibly even the dryads first tree, her progenitor. You practically skip over to the prone woman, now staring straight up with empty, pale yellow eyes. You lean in and give her one last poison-bearing kiss, rousing her attention, taking your time and plucking free the myriad barbs that protruded from her supple flesh. You're saving these for later.

"Who is your mistress?"

"You are Mistress."

"You would do anything to serve Mistress."

"Yes. Anything."

"Do you love Mistress?"

"Yes."

"Do you lust for Mistress?"

"I... yes."

"Do you want to kiss Mistress?"

"Yes."

"Does Mistress make you horny?"

"... yes."

"Would you like to please Mistress?"

"Yeees..."

"Mistress will let you please her if you serve her well. Will you serve her well?"

"Yes!"

"Mistress has a task for you. Will you do it?"

"Yes!"

Her body quivers with need, the passion she feels surely new and foreign to her. You look her in the eyes and for the first time she really seems to look at you, panting with want. She arches up to kiss you but you pull back, leaving her wanting. You continue to tease her for several minutes, nearly bringing her to tears. You stick your tongue out and drool over her, shivering as she opens her mouth wide to receive your spit. You leave her hanging again, pulling back entirely.

"Get up."

She staggers to her feet, **** to serve you.

"Follow."

You lead her to the old tree and stand watching as she fidgets beside you.

"Is this your first tree?"

"... yes."

"Who are you?"

"Mistress' ****." Good, not what you were looking for though.

"What are you?"

"I...?" Her eyes light up, "I am nature!"

"Good girl. Who do you serve?"

"I serve you, Mistress!"

"So who does nature serve?"

She falls to her knees, body language screaming rapture, "Nature serves you Mistress!"

"Good girl."

You draw her to her feet and push her forward to the trunk of the tree. She gives you an uncertain look and you nod to the trunk. She takes a wary step forward, reaching a tremulous finger up to the first barb. Taking a deep breath, she pushes it into the tree, the tough wood parting for the spirit of nature. She flinched, body spasming in pain. She took a shaky breath, eyelids fluttering. You step in behind her, laying a light kiss on her shoulder, and she straightens. She reaches out to another barb and taps it into the tree with only a moment of hesitation. She again tensed in pain but her breathing steadied, growing deeper, huskier. You begin shedding your clothes. She reached for another barb, then another, then another. Soon she was slapping them into the wood, hitting one after the other without pause.

As she reaches the last three you stop her, catching her hands and restraining her. She fights you for a moment, struggling to continue the painful task, before settling and whimpering in something not quite pain. You take her hand in yours. Extending one finger, you slowly push the stinger into the yielding bark, the dryad shaking like a leaf. You bite her shoulder, pausing a long moment before you continue to the next barb. Her legs almost give out as you stop pushing halfway, fingering the thorn-like object and drawing out a fine dollop of sap.

The final barb sits at eye level, the quivering dryad couldn't take her eyes off it. You release her hands and slip yours around her waist, tracing delicate circles below her navel. She raises a hand and slowly, oh so slowly, pushes the stinger into the trunk. A thick orb of sap emerges from beneath her finger, tinted orange from demonic venom.

You spin her around and shove her against the tree, pressing your naked bodies against the sap-stained trunk. She gasps between kisses, pleading, begging for release. And you give it to her. Over and over and over again till neither of you can stand any longer and you both lie slumped against the old, tainted tree.