It was good to stay challenged. When one had advanced to two hundred and seventy-eight years of age (or was it two hundred and seventy-seven?), keeping the mind sharp and entertained was of tantamount importance. Rossem’s people needn’t worry about the physical rigors of old age, but elven magic was worthless without a sharp-eyed and entertained mind to use it.

    Rossem took things a few steps further. He didn’t keep his mind sharp with power-brokering or arcane research. He refused to submit to the expectations of the society around him. There would be no mysterious, wizened eldarin to give out quests to whiny young adventurers. Rossem Klyn kept his mind sharp through action.

    Sometimes, that did mean that he would dive into the secrets of the arcane. But it was hardly appropriate to waste all of his considerable talents on theory. It was far more stimulating to practice his skills in the wild.

    Admittedly, his home forest - the Old Woods, that superannuated forest in the hinterlands - was not the ‘wild’. Not for him, at least. The thick forest was untame. It was not safe. Reputed to play host to the ghastly apparitions of savage tribes long gone, the Old Wood was haunted by none other than Rossem Klyn himself. Every mortal that passed through - and there was a fair share that would visit his home - entered on ground hallowed by his decades of careful cultivation. His homeland proved a fertile ground. Peat and loam filled the forest floor, enriching the soil with nutrients. Visitors would often bring intriguing new delights that would enrich Rossem with new and intriguing ideas.

    Even now, the elf thought about the thickly wrapped leonid trespasser currently encased in his home. He realized he was himself growing aroused; his mind wandered. Fairy thoughts of teasing and sucking and ogling and moaning filled up his mind for a good long while. He relaxed in one particular treetop, finding a nook in which he could lay flat along a thick bough. Like a big cat, he let his form go flexible and he rested his head against a soft, flowery patch.

    He woke from his catnap with a start. This, he thought, is why I do what I do.

    It was altogether too easy to get lost in such fantasies. It was a dangerous thing for an elf. If he wasn’t careful, he could enter a dreamy, meditative sleep. He would miss out on all the fun. There was no time for sleep now. He had to act - to practice, to engage, to taunt and tease. He had to stay awake in every way possible, physically as well as mentally.

    Rossem leapt from tree to tree, searching for his latest quarry. He hoped he hadn’t slept too long. He promised himself that he’d stay up for days next time, finding new and exotic ways to taunt and torment his captives and visitors. He resolved to visit his dryads and instruct them in proper behavior within his forest. He mentally promised to extricate all those guards, still moaning in their thick organic cocoons as the heat-slaves of that dangerous grabgrass. All this and more, he thought; a busy mind and busy hands would keep away such fits of drowsiness. He shut his eyes again, telling himself that he’d just finish up that dream he had been enjoying, and he’d resume activity. He’d do something stimulating.

    ***

There was something profoundly unsettling about the Old Wood, even in the middle of the afternoon. In fact, perhaps that was the worst time possible. Aside from the night and dusk and morning, of course. Victoria looked to the left and right. Perhaps every time was as uncomfortable and disquieting as the next.

She leaned down and outstretched a paw. The bright white fur of her paw contrasted so vividly with the muted earthen tones of her cloak and the forest as to practically glow. Then again, that might have been a trick of the light. The forest always seemed to be overcast. When she looked up, the vixen could scarcely tell where the sun was. As a result, she could hardly tell what time it was; finding the day-star through the thick (albeit mostly leafless) trees was difficult. Light seemed to pervade the entire area, washing out the soil and the brown of the trees. Often, changes in terrain were obscured by more fog. She had heard tales that the fog was sometimes so thick that it looked as though you could stand on it… and those that tried found swift ends in the occasional fens within the Old Wood.

Victoria picked through the herbs growing against one particular tree with the practiced eye of a veteran vixen. She quite literally had a nose for the stuff, bringing one sprig of foliage close against her snout for a moment. She shrugged.

“Cloudberry,” she said aloud. “Good for jams. Not good for much else.” She placed the sprig of green back against the tree. Standing up, she threw back her hood, revealing white fur, white hair, and rich gold-colored eyes.

The vixen grabbed another, getting to one knee, taking a spring in her hand, and engaging with the aroma.

“Wild marjoram.” She grinned. The leaves were a delightful garnish, the flower itself a useful therapeutic for those suffering pains or stress.  She moved a few paces and leaned down for another. It was a rather bizarrely fecund forest.

“Tormentil,” she said. “Useful as a decoction. Even better as a powder.” She used the claws of her forepaws to dig up the small buttercup-like flower until she got to the root, carefully stowing it in its own pouch within her bag. She flipped the hood back over her head, pushing her ears down slightly.

Really, it was unsurprising that the herbs here grew wild and in copious supply. She had never heard of another herbalist ever making the trip to the Old Wood in search of medicines. Then again, she didn’t hear anyone much visit the Old Wood. All those stories of ancient curses, mysterious devils, and hauntings had a habit of warding away individuals like Victoria.

“Also, the disappearances…” Victoria snapped to attention, standing up straight as the thought re-entered her mind -  her legs spread wide and back to the tree. She twitched left and right, looking for any visitor that might be stalking her along the forest floor. She was fast and precise, almost the way that a bird turned its head to think, but remained still. Of course, she also looked up. Her eyes scanned the forest very slowly and very carefully… until she saw some sort of black shape and the barest hint of fleshtones.

She didn’t need to know who that was to know it was trouble. She began to head for the edge of the forest as fast as possible, looking up all the while. The fact that the thing in the trees was asleep didn’t make her feel much better. Looks were deceptive… and could she really trust that it was asleep?

The vixen was moving at a brisk walk at first. She looked back. The creature was still there, luxuriating in the treetops as though he were a cat. She continued to walk, feeling sweat build up underneath her soft gold and green attire.

    Another twenty paces, and she turned to look again. The creature was still there, though it seemed to have one arm now drooping down off the branch. It looked lazy.

    Victoria heard something rustle in the bush. She turned to the left as she had earlier, staring at what was nothing but a pile of decomposing leaves.

    She broke into a jog, taking a moment to look back. The entity was still there. Its arm twitched slightly as though it were in dream.

    The vixen was now running, running as quickly as she could without making obscene amounts of noise. She knew that it had been a bad idea to enter. The strange totem at that clearing had existed to warn her off, but she had of course ignored it.

    She started to grow short of breath. She could see it materialize in the chilled air. She thought to her time as a wee pup, and how fun it had been to exhale powerfully in the cold and watch the fogged breath dissipate.

    Victoria leapt over a long-felled tree. Something inside it moved. She turned, now straining to see whether or not the creature was there. Even its highly contrasting outfit was now difficult to make out amongst the trees. The canopy faded into light. She couldn’t see it.

    She ducked behind the tree and pulled out a rudimentary pinhole spyglass, leaning against the mossy surface to see if he was indeed still there. She couldn’t focus the lens quite right. The sun - wherever it was - seemed to occasionally break through the cloudy, overcast sky, passing beams of light in front of her when she tried to peer down its lens. She shifted a bit farther along the fallen tree, leaning against it again, and peering down her spyglass. She still couldn’t see him. Maybe he had moved, but hopefully she just wasn’t seeing where he was. One bough seemed the same as another.

    The pained sounds of someone who’d been trapped for too long filled the forest. Cracks and knotholes in the wood gave her a slit view of someone, something inside the log. Her brain didn’t take the time to process it. She saw glossy black, a wide eye, and reflected curves. Desperate and fitful thrashing movements sent the fallen - and apparently hollow - tree moving. Wood splintered. She fell backwards, dropping the simple wooden monocular to the ground. She spent a brief moment in frustration as the lens popped out and disappeared into a muddy spot.

    Victoria scrambled backwards. The moaning and groaning sounded truly and utterly desperate. She didn’t have the mental acuity to come up with a creative curse word to describe the situation.

    She tracked mud onto and into her herbalist’s outfit as she crawled backwards with surprise. The vixen banged her right shoulderblade against an upright tree, and she looked backwards. The forest was starting to clear out.

    The groaning continued. On wobbly legs, she got to her feet and began to walk in shell-shocked surprise towards the edge. She couldn’t quite see out of the forest, but she knew that she was close. Over the hill, and she’d be free - back at that mysterious totem warding her off.

    Wood shattered behind her. Large heaps of bark flew into the air in a wide arc; she spent a moment looking at the slats of treeskin flying upwards into the air, hovering at the apex, and then falling down. It was as though an explosion of tremendous proportions had-

    She ran again, moving into a two-pawed sprint until she reached another thick tree. Only then did she give herself the chance to peer behind her, gold eyes peeking out from her green and muddy hood. Only the barest tip of her white snout was visible.

    Something had erupted from the foggy fen where she’d been standing. The man or woman encased in the tree was gone, and so was the tree. A tremendous trunk of a creature seemed to waver in the air. It was long and serpentine, tapering off slightly at its fore. It seemed to be smooth, not chitinous - though ridges towards its front seemed to indicate that it possessed eyes or a snout. It was so difficult to see. It was shiny black. The forest was a monotone brown and gray in the late Autumn weather. The sun seemed to come from everywhere. It was like she couldn’t focus on the entity. All her focus fell away when it roared. She shoved the marjoram flowers into her mouth with shaking hands and chewed with quivering jaw.

    ***

Rossem was blissful in sleep. As an elf, he knew that he looked good. He liked to flaunt it, too. More than once he’d ordered his dryads to watch over him and write poetry about how very good he looked. Once or twice, he had them take one of his rubberized hostages into the bedroom with him, glued them to the top of the hut, and gently slept. They were forced to watch him enjoy a long, restful evening. Sometimes, he’d take them into the bed with him… but the pleasure of watching a beautiful fey such as him was, in his mind, reward enough.

He’d read in a book somewhere that elves didn’t dream. Poppycock. Must’ve been written by some human or worse. Maybe all his time away from his people had changed him. Maybe it was his forest. But Rossem definitely had dreams in living color.

Dreams never really have a start or beginning. He was, as he always had been, he supposed, a serpent. He was a creature of cunning and instinct. He was stealthy and svelte. In this dream, he was the snake.

From nothing, he was. And he crept along the clay and peat. He didn’t need to breathe. He wasn’t a water-snake, nor a creature of the land. He was a massive creature, growing constantly and always hungry. His body was black (much like the elf’s heart!) and rubbery (much like the Elf’s skin!)

Prey, trapped in a web for far too long, wiggled inside a tree. The serpent sped towards the surface and entered the hollowed-out log. Of course, the serpent was tremendous; a mammoth on land. It would’ve been called a veritable leviathan at sea. Poking its head forced the tree apart with such pressure as to make it explode.

The creature was a human woman, who must have fallen to one of the traps in the forest. She was glued inside the tree - warm, helpless, and alone. And now she was his as well. The snake wasn’t a living thing. There was no consuming to be done - only collection. As the tree exploded outwards, the black serpent engulfed the victim. Now, it wasn’t simply cocooned; it was enclosed. She disappeared into the serpent for safe-keeping. The black serpent reared up and roared with joy. It would collect more; it simply would not do to have just one!

The roar made trees shatter and birds flee. The creature spotted the white-furred vixen who had entered the forest despite a very threatening and very obvious warning. Of course, that warning had also been covered in rare herbs, flowers, and roots. It was something of an invitation, as well.

She began to run, tumbling to the left when the serpent fell upon her. Dead leaves and dirt flew into the air as its enormous bulk slammed against the forest floor.

The black serpent grinned - as much as magical rubber creature could grin. It lunged at her again, eager to swallow, contain, and transport her home. Wherever home was. It was a dream; it didn’t much matter.

He sensed fear and excitement in equal measure. Fear for the unknown; excitement at facing this beast. It began to curl around trees, seeking her out. The vixen dodged left, then right; he was fast but had too much momentum. She feinted, heading backwards and away from the treeline as she ran to the side.

When he felt that her excitement was peaking and her adrenaline was sufficient, he ended the game. The earth itself rebelled against the vixen as a patch of grass became animate. She saw her feet sink as it turned into a heap of seeking vines and ribbon-like leaves.

By the time the black serpent got to her, her waist was already covered. She spent a few moments trying to reach for some leather bag she’d dropped before one of the vines grabbed her arm, forcing both of her limbs into a reverse prayer position.

The serpent coiled against her, letting thick, sticky ichor cover her vine-layer of enclosure as it did so. He was massive, but did so slowly so as to squeeze her, to excite her, and tease her. The serpent didn’t bother to look at her face as it finally engulfed the vixen and she disappeared.

As the creature coiled through the forest, the outlines of the vixen’s face were visible. Indentations for her eye sockets, a snout, curves around her chest and rear; but these were simply the indications of prey successfully caught. She had no agency in the matter. She was a delicious rubbery treat, and that was that.

***

Victoria was breathing heavily and quickly. She tried to make each breath as deep as possible - even if the powerful scents of burning incense and arcane rubber penetrated her lungs.

Her encasement had seemed to last an eternity. Maybe that would’ve been preferable to the surprise she now faced. It had been more than tight - it had been blissfully all-encompassing. She knew that she was doomed from the moment the grabgrass got her, and somewhere in the back of her naughty mind she had fantasized about it. Being wrapped and mummified by the tight and rubbery leaves of the Old Wood was something whispered about; a fate worse than death, for those so wrapped became moaning, mewling mummies kept aroused and alive as a source of vitae for the forest. She would never tell the others, but she’d spent long nights in her bedroom with that thought on her mind.

Totally wrapped, she had been; green from toes to neck and the vines and leaves getting tighter. They seemed to practically glue together, forming a beautiful if baneful bond. Were it someone else and not her, no doubt the vixen would have spent time admiring the way that the leaves wrapped around the victim like the careful embalming of an ancient god-king. The way that the vines covered that in turn kept even the strongest of man-beasts from breaking free… and provided a beautiful way to segment the view. The vines had grown thick and tight, and she remembered one penetrating her snout to coat her tongue with rubber - injecting thick gouts of the stuff into her mouth, ballooning her cheeks and growing thick to gag her. The massive serpent had seen all this, and no doubt took great joy in providing another layer with which she became ensconced. It had coiled around her so tight that she thought she’d pass out. It was a claustrophile’s dream, being coiled up and rubber-coated. When she had been engulfed, she became an object to be moved, another captured piece of prey in the serpent’s gullet.

It was an endless, mindless pleasure inside its encasement. It was thick and tight, but it still had a mind of its own. Even amongst her tight, organic mummiform, the serpent seemed to actively try and tease her. The most notable was the way that it toyed with her - as though its body had internal tentacles, more way to grope at her and fondle her.

The vixen felt her womanhood viciously, vigorously penetrated. Her rear was plugged and her inner walls coated in the stuff. Her mouth often ballooned out as the phallic bulbs within inflated or even pumped some mysterious sap down her throat. This, in turn, led to bursts of desire as she craved more touches.

Time had fallen away from her then. The grass kept her alive… at a cost. She remembered the odd way that the plant-formed rubber in her mouth turned tingly, a sensation which continued throughout her body. She remember a sense of sleep… followed by awaking, still encased in the snake, as someone touched her heavily enclosed face. She could hardly feel it; perhaps it was magic that she could feel anything at all through those layers.

The price had been arousal. Intense and immense, she bucked and writhed as though her life depended on it. There was such an egregious sensation of desire that she could scarcely elaborate. She wasn’t scared. She was horny, and she needed to use and be used. She needed to be plugged up and teased. She envisioned sybaritic orgies, of wild molestation and intimacy. Trapped in her multi-layered mummiform she couldn’t satisfy her urges. The plant would squeeze or relax at different places, giving her room to grind her thighs one moment then tight around her neck the next. The vixen became a doll; subservient to her enclosure. Was this the fate of all those that had fallen into the forest?

Hands had molested her through the many layers. She wasn’t sure what she was in - was she still inside the snake? - but she felt them all the same. Hands, and other things - a small, devilish tail. A crop against her breasts. Sensation was dulled; its deafened property made her crave it even more. Victoria’s mind swirled with being removed, dolled up, and passed around at a party like a favor. She pictured herself on hands and knees.

Being ejected by the snake was a particularly jarring experience. She was thrown onto a small treetop platform. The sticky leaves and ribbons peeled off from her face. She was trapped like a worm, cocooned from the neck down as she breathe fresh air for the first time in what could have been an eon.

She spent a minute taking in deep breaths, regaining a sense of self. It wasn’t entirely easy. Especially not when the snake - or at least, a smaller version - reappeared… accompanied by a very peculiar elf. He had fair skin, blonde hair, a mauve latex dress, and a malevolent expression that told her that she was in deep, deep trouble.

The elf walked over to his prize. He didn’t open with a discussion or a negotiation or even a threat. He simply acted. Old and wizened as he was, he had dreamt enough. Victoria squinted as he pulled her wrapped body close into his lap. The elf clapped his fingers together and created a thick, magical sheet of his special rubber. The vixen mewled slightly in protest as he slammed it down, tight over her face.

So tight… it was like nothing she’d ever experienced! It was as though her face was dipped in wax, or trapped in stone. His magical rubber covered her face so very tightly that it the outline of her features was visible through it. The elf grinned, though the vixen couldn’t see. He liked the way she looked. She had a cute little snout, a lovely nose (blocked off by his rubber, of course) and a fine, powerful jaw - one that was currently trying to pry its way open to beg for air. No, not yet. He wanted to inspect her. She had cute ears and really a rather adorable countenance overall. Coating her face like this let him see the outline without getting distracted by the color.

Of course, she was being a bit distracting! The pesky little mummy had the gall to beg and plead and moan. She had the nerve to try and squeak, arching her back and wriggling left and right as he examined her. The elf clutched one hand around her neck and teased at her with his thin, prehensile tail. If anything, the squeaking increased! Rubbery little sounds of a body that was encased too tight, and a face that was starting to grow dizzy from a lack of air. He kissed her on the forehead (smooching her very sweetly through the thick rubber!) before retracting the sheet.

“Please…” she gasped. “I meant you no harm.”

The elf shrugged. “That really doesn’t matter, does it? That fellow over there meant me much harm. You showing up by accident would be just the same as you coming here with a band of guards.”

The elf motioned across the room. There, hanging in the corner, was a rubbery mass that Victoria knew was a fellow mortal. She couldn’t tell his race or features - not through the thick hood or the fetal position in which he was hanging … but the grunt told her that he was awake, and the occasional wiggled told her that he was probably trapped in the throes of pleasure.

“Oh… did I leave my stimulation spell on? Silly me,” said the elf. He flicked his fingers, and his trophy stopped his wiggling, returning to a calm demeanor - at least, as calm as could be when encased in magical latex in the house of some mad elf…

“Now, now, little vixen,” said Rossem. “I had a nice nap. I was afraid that I had missed you originally, but it turns out that, well… look!” he giggled and pointed to the latex serpent currently slithering around the two. “I dreamt that I was a snake… and dreams come true!”

She panted as she stared at the creature. “This golem… your creation?”

Rossem giggled. “Apparently so! I must say, I don’t know how many I have… sometimes I just create them for fun, other times I make them for a purpose. Like grabbing that guard that I must have captured a few weeks ago, and forgot to collect for processing… oh, don’t worry about her. The one in the log? She’s safe and sound with my other dryads. But you…” Rossem put his hands on the vixen. “You’re no dryad.”

“No, I’m not. I’m an herbalist.” She flitted gold eyes at him. He sighed and rolled his head. As if her silly mortal flirtations would appeal to his more base nature.

“Well, you’re not an herbalist anymore. You’re mine, and you are what I tell you to be.”

She was silent this time.

“Hmm… but what will you be? What are you? A vixen might make for an interesting hound… no, that’s no fun. Too much time on the ground. I could keep you like this, and make you into a snake.”

Victoria blushed. She had been so taken when she was inside that thing. She had been utterly helpless and utterly aroused - a complete slave to pleasure.

Rossem stared at her for a few moments more. He inspected the goods as best he could, tilting her face left and right, up and down, back and forth.

“Your physiognomy is impeccable. I love your white fur.”

“Thank you dearly,” she said.

Something about the way that the vixen-captive had said that irked Rossem. Even now, the gears in his head were turning.

“I think I’ve got a nice role for you. I’ve got a few things to take care of.”

“I’ll wait,” she said with a sugary-sweetness that Rossem detected (or perhaps imagined).

“Perhaps you should nap.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Rossem took it as an advantage. He applied a small, gel-like sap around her lips and as she shut her mouth, she reflexively swallowed. She felt sleepy, but it didn’t overcome her sense that something bad was going to happen.

***

She had awoken on her own after a solid night’s sleep. But Rossem didn’t feel that she had quite the attention he needed of her. Obviously a little more breath-play was in order. He didn’t really savor the idea of hurting her… but he did savor on her arousal. He knew that she loved it. He felt her emotions -a cocktail of fear and lust that swished together whenever her teased her - be it verbally or physically. *That* was delicious.

Rossem had his latest captive wrapped up and hung in his alchemy lab. He had taken the first step of testing out a new, marvelous silk-like latex on her - and the test was highly successful. Victoria had been very shy when he removed her wrappings… but he detected something that was almost joy when he had her trapped in a snug vacweb. Thick tendrils of rubber appeared from portals around her, locking her in place and quickly snuggling her in a dark, purple-black cocoon. It was really quite splendid. Rossem knew it so; he licked her coating gently, sending her into a cooing, blushing fit. Yes, it was fit for a queen!

“So, you say you’re an herbalist?”

She nodded.

“So you’re good at identifying different plants?”

“More than that. I’m adept at using them, as well.”

Rossem nodded. “Probably good at knowing each of their effects.”

Victoria grinned slightly. It was a nervous grin. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Rossem grew a devilish smile. He leaned in close, putting his hand around her jaw. She reflexively extended her tongue, and he gently emptied a few drops of sticky sap onto it. Even as she was closing her mouth, he was rubbing an oily substance on his gloved hands… and then rubbing them on her form. It was quite pleasurable. She had a firm body; a cute body. Obviously, it was nowhere near as good as his own, but he knew not to expect such things from mortals. Still, her appearance was nice enough. And there was really nothing quite like enjoying a firm, thorough molestation of your captive. She cooed and smiled. This massage was quite deep, penetrating past the vacweb. His gloved hands massaged the oil into her stomach; his fingers circled her navel teasingly. He eagerly rubbed at her generous breasts, cupping her womanly curves in each hand. He rubbed gently, raising them up slightly before circling her nipples with his hands. Victoria was in ecstasy, and she couldn’t quite tell why. Obviously, it was the elf’s handiwork… but! There! The sap!

“I’m…” she blushed. “I’m afraid I can’t quite tell what that sap is.”

“Terinav root,” said Rossem with a self-satisfied grin. “Can you guess the side effects?”

Her body started to buck against the vacweb encasement. It looked so very good, he was sad that he couldn’t keep her like this forever. A cute vixen was good, but a cute mummy in his web made him feel like an evil spider lord.

“Ahh…” the blushing Victoria stuttered a bit.

“Try again.” Rossem rolled his eyes.

“Aphrodisiac?” She was visibly wiggling now, grinding her thighs together - or at least, trying to do so under all that tight webbing. There was a beauty to her curves. It was so snug in places that he swore, he could see every curve and fold in her skin.

“More than an aphrodisiac. It’s capable of permanently changing your body chemistry. It can make you desire new and unconventional things. Though it seems that you’re already quite the naughty little thing, so I don’t know if it’ll change that part of you. But it’ll certainly send your sex drive through the roof.”

“A resounding success,” she blurted out. She was still trying to play this off.

“Indeed!” said the elf. “It’s enough to make you do anything for some more touches.” He leaned in very close, rubbing her bountiful breasts once again. They were soft, squishy, and extra-beautiful beneath a layer of his alchemical webbing. “I’m thinking of selling it, but unfortunately, the other reagents necessary to make it really effective are expensive.”

The elf licked his lips and stretched. His tail flicked like a cat. “Anyway, that was the main thing I needed to check. I wanted to see if it would have an effect on you.”

“Why is that?” she said with a quivering voice.

“Because, you’re going to be my test model. Trust me, once everyone in town sees you, they’ll all want one just like you to have and to hold!” Rossem started to chuckle. He slammed his hands together with a loud, distinctive and wet slapping sound. Victoria saw him approaching slowly, with all the patience of a predator and the light-hearted attitude towards this strange, torturous procedure of a demon.

He began to slowly but surely rub his fingers over every inch of her white fur. He parted the vacweb where it was needed, taking his sweet time to make sure that all of her, that *all* of her felt his touch. With each and every moment, her fate became more and more sealed. From his fingers came a mysterious, sticky ichor. This black blood was thicker than water, more alive than any sap; it was a part of him , in a way, for it was his creation. Victoria was quite powerless to do anything other than moan as he worked his way up her legs. He had started at the toes, enclosing each of them in a layer of his thick, magical rubber. He worked his sap up her ankle then, around her knee - twice in the front - before going up to her thigh.

Normally, Victoria would resist. She’d say something, or maybe even attempt an incantive prayer. But the elf’s power over her was complete. She was, simply put, in heat. She was too far gone to remember any mystical words to defend against fairies, much less say any of them. When he finished encasing her other leg in the tight rubber sap, she didn’t want him to stop. Rossem took his time around her waist and torso, making sure that every inch was double-covered and looking just as smooth and glossy as if it were her own skin.

“Sorry dear,” he said as he finished her left arm. “But this is going to ruin your nice, white coat. I’m afraid that this is quite permanent.”

She cooed. She moaned. She wanted this. The association with his rubber, his magic was too strong. Her mind craved it, and craved more. He had made her as pliable as the latex he wielded.

Within a few minutes, everything from the neck down was completely sealed. Even her womanhood was now coated; the folds of her slit all carefully turned into a black, sap-coated version of her former spot.

He flicked his tail slightly, letting it trace over her body. With one hand, he had the webs enclose her further, leaving his latest creation to wriggle and squirm. Rossem had really outdone himself this time; he mentally patted himself on the back even as she disappeared beneath the vacweb. It really was quite blissful. Not only had he made certain that she’d never forget him, he’d also made a suit that was to his taste in every way. It was so tight that every inch of her form was visible; her navel, the folds of her skin, the curves, her paws; it was in the most stunning and true definition possible. Rossem clenched his fist, and the rubber tightened. Soon, the squirming vixen had disappeared into a cocoon. He imagined her begging for more touches, more rubber, and desperate to be used.

Silly mortals. He’d head to town to find her an owner. A rubber-coated vixen would be very valuable on the open market. He’d let her tire herself out overnight.

Rossem grinned and retired to his bed for a short rest. Unlike his rubbery creations, he had earned it. His mind, sharp as ever, permitted him a few short minutes of rest as he drifted off into new, ever-more malevolent and creative dreams.