The Coven Chronicles #0 - Lord of the Forest

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[Fantasy, Gods and Goddesses, Incest, Mother/Son, hardcore sex, oral sex, nature spirit, MILF]

Moira had been warned to stay away from Night's Edge Forest. But a search for a lost animal has forced her inside. Now, the mighty Lord of the Forest holds her in his control. His overwhelming power has her at his command from they moment they meet, and she wants nothing more than to bind her life to his. But will she prove herself worthy of his desire? And if she does, what will be the result of the mingling of human blood with one of the ancient forest gods?

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      Like a cornered animal, brought to bay at last, she turned to face her pursuer. Her shaking hands held the staff, and her grip tightened, ready to fight.
      “Come on out then,” she growled, fear and unwilling lust replaced by resolve. “Show yourself to me.”
      A long pause, then the Lord of the Forest appeared.
      He took the form of a mighty stag, picking his way delicately from under the shadows of the trees. Five feet high at the shoulder, he towered over her, even from a distance. His coat was a deep dark red, the color of blood, caught with burrs and twigs and leaf fragments. His eyes were a liquid black, beautiful in the dim light. A mighty crown of antlers erupted from his head, the wide span seeming to cradle the sky itself.
      Oh. Now I understand. The mingling of fear and lust. Oh, Moira, don't make a mistake now. If the old tales are true, you are about to be blessed above all women.
      The stag walked closer, its hooves almost silent on the deep grass of the clearing. It bent its head, the wicked tines of its antlers lowering, until one pressed into the hollow of her throat.
      Moira lowered her eyes respectfully. “I give you greeting, my Lord.” Mindful of the danger, she lifted the hem of her skirt in a graceful curtsey.
      When she lifted her eyes, the stag was gone. In its place stood a man.
      He was fully nude. His red hair, a match for the stag's pelt, hung long past his neck, braided with feathers, shells, and small bones. His black eyes were deep and dark, but alight with mischief. His arms and legs, although bearing many small scratches, were clean, straight, and strong. His chest rose from the sculpted muscles of his stomach, making her pulse flutter. It was almost hairless, but the scattering of red-brown fuzz at his navel gradually broadened and thickened until it merged with the wiry hair at his loins.
      And if her pulse fluttered at the sight of his chest, his cock made it take wing and fly. Long, thick, and hard, it rose from the nest of hair at his groin in a boisterous shout of male pride and power. Milky white at the base, dark red at the throbbing tip, it made her want a man as she had never wanted anything in her life. The thought of having it within her made her clamp her thighs together, almost groaning with frustrated desire.
      Moira was no trembling virgin. She had given her maidenhood to a traveling tinker over a year ago, protected from conception by her grandmother's wisdom. She had found the experience very pleasurable, and looked forward to the day when she would find and wed a man of her own.
      But this man...
      The Lord spoke, his voice deep, a small thread of humor winding through his words.
      “Well, little rabbit. You are far away from your fields. How came you to my domain?” Even in human form, there was a suggestion of horns about his head, wavering like a heat-mirage.
      Moira bent her head again, her voice low and respectful. “I came here looking for a lost pig, my lord. I mean no harm to you or the wood.”
      He snorted, the sound strangely reminiscent of his stag form. “As if you could. Do you not know what happens to those who profane this place? They never come out alive. Their bones are scattered among the trees, and they will never find their way home again.”
      Moira shivered. He stepped closer to her. She could feel the heat radiating off his body. His musk rose around her, almost choking off her breath. His mighty shaft brushed the wool of her blouse. One hand rose and cupped her cheek, then drifted down her neck. It paused, the fingers splayed over her collarbone. Inside her blouse, her nipples tightened to hot, aching points on her chest in reaction to his virile presence. The lips on her face felt hot and swollen, and the ones at her groin throbbed in time with her heartbeat. They slowly unfurled, insistent in their demand to mate with the god.
      “You are not uncomely,” the Lord mused. His hand lowered, giving her breast a casual squeeze. Unwillingly, her lips parted in a breathy moan. “Still young. Decent legs,” he said, stepping back slightly. “And your hips are wide enough to bear a child.” He unthreaded the thongs which held her blouse closed. In moments her breasts were exposed. He parted the garment. “Nice teats as well. You could nurse my offspring.”
      Moira's head reeled. She choked out, “Bear a child? Your offspring?”
      A keen glance. “Indeed. Why do you think you were warned away from here? I may be a god, but I am also a man. I am not celibate, like that pathetic Christ some of your people choose to worship.
      “But you? No. You are not for me. You led me a fine chase, but not fine enough. There is no fire in you, Moira.” Even through the haze of disappointment, the sound of her name on his lips was intoxicating. “I need a woman with a spirit as strong as my own. Yours is wanting.
      “Stay here this night. No harm will come to you. In the morning, you will find your pig. Go home, be well, and live long.” With a weary sigh, he began to turn away.
      Not wanted.
      Abandoned.
      Bereft.
      “NO!”

      Moira lunged forward. Quick as a striking snake, her booted feet kicked the Lord's feet from under him. He fell on his strong backside, his breath escaping him with a startled gasp, the look on his face almost comical. Before he could recover, Moira had leaped onto him, her weight pinning him down. Her hands pressed his shoulders deep into the moss at the edge of the pool.
      “Oh, no, my Lord. You don't escape so easily,” she breathed. Strong hands, callused from a lifetime of labor, grasped his head firmly. Leaning down, she took his mouth in a passionate kiss. Her thrusting tongue forced his lips open and plundered his mouth. Groaning, she melted in his arms as they came around her, held in the embrace of a god.


Word Count: 12,900

  • Manufactured by: Alana Church

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