Anyone who claimed to recognize the creature walking through the forest was a wizened sort. Seeing his face and putting it to a name required a certain level of obscure knowledge or eidetic memory that few possessed. It meant that the hypothetical scholar of history was both versed in ancient languages, cryptographic ciphers needed to decipher them, and a student of diverse mortal cultures.

    They would also have been completely, absolutely wrong.

    King Vystral had been gone for centuries. The elf’s browline and features were so sharp that his contemporaries joked his face could slice steel. Powder blue hair was slicked back in the fashion that had been, briefly, considered ‘regal’ by his contemporaries.

    And all of it, of course, was a forgery.

    The elf behind it wore this dusty king’s visage as a mask. Part of him knew that it was the sort of unusual look that was just unusual enough; that it was just barely strange enough that nobody would think twice about an elf visiting a human city. He wasn’t trying too hard to blend in, nor was he trying to stick out.

    The other reasons were far more personal, but they always made the impersonating elf grin with a wide, wide smile. Nobody would ever recognize his fabricated face, and he wouldn’t need to spend months learning illusion magic just to fabricate a disguise.

    His entourage wasn’t the royal court that King Vystral had once used. It was a simple crew of men and women wearing simple clothes. They were utterly and completely silent, dedicated to protecting him and making certain he arrived in the large trading town of Gramercia. His wares were exotic as always, though this time, they took on a new life. After all, it was the first time he could remember (though his memory wasn’t always perfect) that he was selling life itself. He turned back to the covered carriage and grinned. It wouldn’t even be worth it to check on his goods. He knew *exactly* the condition of his goods.

    Gramercia’s guards let him in with just a cursory examination. They asked him questions, and he provided them. His entourage never spoke. Clearly, the elf explained, he was simply a craftsman visiting a town to ply his wares.

    “There are scary things out there,” said the watchman. “Bandits in the west. Fearsome gladiators like Brauna the Blood Drinker gone rogue. You run into any trouble like that?”

    The elf shook his head emphatically. “Of course not. We came from the east road.”

    The watchman stared at the elf. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking through a brass-and-silver helmet that covered his face. “From the forest?”

    The elf nodded.

    “With that big a group?”

    “Indeed,” said the elf. “Fifteen in number, myself and my caravan.”

    The guard shook his head. “I can’t believe it. Big groups like that never come out of the forest. Sometimes a few folks can make their way through, sometimes they’ll go in without any trouble at all. But those are the **Old Woods**. They’re not fit for the likes of us.”

    The elf shrugged, shutting his eyes and raising his hands and shoulders into the air. *I’m simply lucky,* he said with his arms. The watchman waved him through, chatting with his fellow guards with incredulity.

    An hour later, the market square hummed with activity. Merchants and traders sold wares from lands near and far. The nameless elven merchant soon took the crowd’s attention. Magical potions, arcane reagents, samples of textiles and strange gemstones… they all had buyers, and only one seller.

    “This broach!” shouted the elf with a smile, “once belonged to the now-vanished Baronette Cordelia. She gifted it to me a year and a day ago, and I fear that I cannot look at it without feeling the greatest of melancholy.”

    Shouts of acclamation and attention filled the square.

    “Or here - this fine saber. We found it during our trek through the forest. It has emblazoned on it a two-tailed comet - doubtless a sign of nobility. And, if you’ll be so kind, a buckler that matches. I’ll sell the pair together, never apart. It would be a tragedy to separate two items that deserve each other, no?”

    He was grinning now. They were eating from his hands. Their emotions were growing stronger. Disgust and fear were delectable, but joy and excitement were flavors not to be missed. Mortal men and women thronged with eager joy and bemusement at the strange delights he displayed. He sold an old book and an elf-made bauble.

    When the crowd reached a fever pitch, he displayed his most prized piece of merchandise. With a flourish and a little magic, he held an old brown blanket in the air. And, when he threw it off, there was a vixen of pure-white fur and jet-black skin kneeling before him.

    She was beautiful, though the leather muzzle that kept her quiet obscured her elegant features. He spent time explaining to the crowd of all her power, puissance, and beauty. She had an herbalist’s hands. She was possessed of great knowledge, both in the arts of healing as well as servitude. While not broken, the elf explained that she was fit only to be a slave, a servant, or a toy.

    He leaned down close while emphasizing those last words. “She’s the perfect plaything for men and women alike.” He was shouting, and while he didn’t face the vixen, his eyes met with hers. The mewling, pleading sounds were like bread to him after a long trek through the desert. They were *delicious*.

    “She’s no beast of burden, of course, and you’ll need to take care of her. I don’t mean feeding or clothing her, no… I mean her desires.”

    The elf pulled hard on the muzzle, forcing her to her feet. He grabbed her wrists and placed

them behind her back. The suit responded to his implicit command, and her rubbery skin sealed her limbs in a rigid armbinder.

    “Look at that! Generous bust. Gorgeous breasts. A fine, sculpted body in every way. But all of this comes at a price. Half the time, she’s **in heat**.” The elf laughed and brushed his left hand over her breasts. His fingers flicked against his nipple, and he heard that lovely mewl once more. The crowd’s astounded murmurs meant that he, and he alone, could hear her pleading.

    “The horny little vixen is permanently sealed in a rubber skin. It’s thick, as you can see, quite thick. Yet, she’s been in it so long and trained so hard that I assure you that she’s comfortable. It’s quite like a second skin for her. It replaces her soft, white fur with glossy, gleaming black rubber. She’s rainproof, and wipes down quite nicely.”

    A few in the crowd laughed. The elf only grinned.

    “For those of you with perversions of grandeur and a desire to *use* her… then I say go for it!” He spanked her - hard!- taking a firm handful of her butt and groping it in a circular motion. She was warm, her breath nearly visible in the chilly air.

    “In fact, you’ll be doing her a great service.” Releasing her cheek, the elf then took a crystal in his hand. He crushed it into a fine powder with one fist, smearing it between both of his palms, and finally rubbing the strange clay-like crystal dust into her gleaming rubber encasement. In an instant, she was groaning and grunting. The sounds were lower - less pleading and more outright arousal.

    “She can feel everything you do to her, and she loves it. And, if you feel very very nice, and you want a *particularly* sybaritic evening, then my amulets of arousal are on sale. I’ll even throw in a few for her new owner. This little pup really does deserve it.”

    He finished his slow, laborious, and sensual massaging of the powder into her suit. She was moaning into her muzzle now. He tried to imagine how fun it must be to be her at that exact moment. The elf mused as to whether she was craving someone inside her, or if she wanted to service another. Maybe the whole crowd! Maybe just him. He’d done a fine job of sculpting her into an object of desire, and realistically, none of the crowd would be able to afford her - just as none of them recognized his false face. But the point wasn’t to make money. It was *pleasure,* and there were few things that brought the elf pleasure like seeing his vixen in heat.

    The herbalist groaned. She shook while still standing. He kept her in place with one firm, strong gloved hand that clutched the back of her neck, while he applied the crystalline dust with the other. It soaked into the suit, becoming one with it and turning her fearful arousal into incredible orgiastic bliss. Pulses went through the rubber vixen’s being as the elf assaulted her with new heights of enforced arousal. Fingers gently nuzzled her thighs and arms, eagerly rubbing her generous and enhanced breasts. They wobbled in the afternoon light, jiggling with her internal cavitation while still supported beneath the incredible thickness of her permanent rubber coating. The assault on her mind was overwhelming, but she avoided speaking. She knew better than to talk when not allowed. The elf rewarded her with a firm spank on the rear, ending with a thick grab on her left butt cheek. He pulled slightly, exposing to the crowd that

she was indeed encased from top to bottom; even the lovely curves of her rear and hips were individually coated and charmed by his magic. He finished with a gentle breath. The elf whispered something into the vixen’s ears that made her shudder before placing a pair of smooth, polished stones behind her ears like the finest of jewelry. She shuddered.

    “Ten thousand gold coins for the elf that looks like King Vystral.”

    The fey paused his gropage. The crowd continued to yell, though a few grew silent at the exorbitantly-offered price. A wealthy, grinning merchant quickly bought the vixen, and the herbalist was traded to him for the incredible sum. He paid with a hundred pieces of platinum, and the merchant turned away and walked deeper into the crowd. The elf was taken aback by the merchant’s words, but soon returned his attention to the crowd. Nobody would have recognized him in that moment of bliss.

---

    “Of course I recognized him,” said Fantom. The ninja was balancing a dagger on one finger. It wasn’t sharp enough to harm her. Then again, it didn’t need to be; the knife did damage to the mind, not the body. It could rend a ghost in twain, or, when plunged into the heart of a magical creature, send them into a dreamless slumber. It was quite useful when she needed to acquire servants, slaves, or other goods.

    This time, she hadn’t even needed force. Jarle the merchant stroked his chin. Fantom stared at him through the wafting incense-smoke of his humble abode.

    “Where from?” asked Jarle.

    “A history book,” said Fantom matter-of-factly. “He looked identical to the last elf-king of - you know what, don’t worry about it. It doesn’t concern you.” Fantom flicked the dagger into the air and caught it. “You have the money. I do appreciate your help.”

    He twirled his hair for a moment, staring at the vixen. She was muzzled and sitting as still as possible, still slowly coming down from an intense and immense series of… well. Something animalistic. “Madame, one more question?”

    “If you must.”

    “Why is it that you had me purchase this vixen for you? Surely you could have done so yourself. If you had, then you could have gotten close and taken a good long look at his face and features. If you’re so curious, you are the one that should’ve made the deal.”

    Fantom smiled, leaning back in the merchant’s couch. “True,” she said, “But I don’t want to start a relationship with a king that’s been dead for decades.”

    Jarle shrugged. “Are you going to keep the vixen?”

    She nodded. “Escort her to my hideout. My other servants will take care of her.” Fantom

stood up, not bothering to push in the merchant’s ornate chair. She casually grabbed a handful of berries from a dish and began to slowly consume them.

    “It will be done, madame,” said the merchant. “But where are you going?”

    Fantom swallowed a succulent blueberry and grinned. “I’m going to pay my respects to the king.” She popped another berry between her lips, and soon she was gone.

---

    The caravan was laden with gold and trade goods and all the magical reagents he could possibly ask for. Once out of eyeshot and earshot of the crowd, he reunited with his entourage. They wordlessly gathered his gains and goods together. He didn’t need so much as a syllable to explain to them what he needed of them.

    As his henchmen checked and stacked his newfound riches, the elf took a moment to make sure he was secluded. He was in a back-alley between buildings. Nobody looked down such places; this was the sort of easily-forgotten place where people went to be invisible. He was tired of being invisible.

    The elf tore at his face. It fell apart in stretchy bands, shredded like paper after a long-awaited gift.

    Rossem Klyn dropped the mask to the ground. It felt good to be free of such illusions. He didn’t like the way that it concealed his natural beauty. Rossem was a creature of desires and habits. He knew that he was more than beautiful. He was *fair* in the chivalric sense. He took a moment to enjoy the splendors of his elven beauty in a silvered mirror he had acquired at the market.

    Now he could leave. The townsfolk had made a deal with a strange elf they’d never seen, and Rossem was free to do as he pleased. He yawned and stretched, resolving to go for a luxurious walk home. He turned on the heel of his boot and headed for the town gate. He trusted his ‘staff’ to bring his reagents when they were good and ready. There were a few more deliveries and trades, and Rossem Klyn simply couldn’t be bothered with the mundane details of shipping and handling.

    More importantly, he knew that he was being watched. He mentally signaled to his henchmen to pack up everything and to return to the forest. Rossem pretended that nothing was wrong, quickly extricating himself from the situation. His guards would handle it. As he ran, his observer exhaled.

    Fantom was biting her fist. She’d been horrified, confused, and intrigued as she saw the elf remove his mask. It was a strange thing, watching someone drop a magically-crafted visage like that. She could swear that, for a brief moment, his eyes had changed; his sclera turned black as coal and his eyes the color of polished gold. It filled Fantom with trepidation for her foe, but just as much curiosity.

    Besides, she had a thing for elves.

    The kunoichi waited for thirty seconds. She had been staring at him from the roof of the adjacent warehouse, and she was growing increasingly curious what the elf’s henchmen were up to. When she was quite certain that the elf was gone ahead, she took a deep breath and took a running jump to the other warehouse. She landed on its gently sloping roof. A few tiles fell away but she tumbled and drew her weapon, managing to disperse enough momentum to keep any more from sliding down.

    Every step was the careful work of a woman who knew she was walking on thin ice. A wrong move could send her tumbling down the roof, or alert the men and women inside. Neither was a good outcome.

    She didn’t want to imagine the results. She couldn’t take on a dozen men and women. They might beat her senseless and turn her over to the elf, or simply slay her then and there. She was technically trespassing as well; capture might mean being turned over to the authorities, which was never good. They might even seize her property or investigate her intricate conspiracies in the town. All of which made her take her sweet time in creeping toward a window, opening it, and hopping inside before anyone spotted her.

    Fantom knew that there was something wrong with the business from the moment she jumped inside.

    First of all, there wasn’t much to it. A warehouse for a trading company like this would normally be filled with goods, or at least the trappings of business. But she didn’t see so much as a piece of paper. No ledgers, only a few crates… mostly the staff.

    Second, there was the staff. A dozen men and women, all of whom were now staring very blankly into the distance. She was fairly certain that she’d alarmed at least one of them. Empty, glassy-eyed gazes were *never* a good sign.

    Then again, the telltale aura of a magical glamer dropping wasn’t good either. It was very rare that illusion magic was used for simple pranks. And, when the magical disguises fell away from the staff, Fantom knew that she was in deep trouble.

    The third sign of trouble was when one guard - a burly-looking man in leathers - morphed in front of her eyes. Fantom’s magical auspex tingled as she sensed his true form appearing in front of her. He, like every other guard in the room, was nothing more than a black ebony creature, animated by magic and controlled by some unseen force. A dozen rubber golems, each of which with the power to end her infiltration then and there; it was hardly an ideal match-up.

    The fourth and final indication was when one of them distended its arms, growing long and becoming massive, pummeling fists. It slammed through the crates and narrowly missed Fantom. The kunoichi only dodged the initial sweep; rubber droplets exploded into the air, coating the wall and splattering across the floor. Moments later, the largest pools of rubber seemed to reform into yet more tiny golems!

    Fantom knew that she had to leave, and leave fast. She couldn’t simply jump back up into the rafters, and the doorway was covered in no fewer than… well, it was more than a dozen now. Something closer to 20 tiny rubber creatures seemed to be swarming toward her! She gulped, worried that letting even one of the verminous swarm find her would be a recipe for rubbery disaster.

    She used all of her training, silently focusing her energies into a magical boost to give her just a bit more speed. She jumped into the air as the first few flung themselves to the area where she’d been standing. More droplets of bursting rubber spilled onto her. She felt them grabbing and gnawing at her fishnet tights, tearing them and damaging her clothing and concentration both. She landed a few feet away and tumbled again just a few seconds after she’d first leapt, avoiding a gaggle of the little rubber golems as they chased her like an angry hive of bees!

    Ninja training saw her out, though. Although a few of them managed to leap onto her, she was able to lead them in a roundabout circuit, grouping them into one huge glob and letting them pounce at her. At that moment, she kicked into the air, concentrated, and reduced her inertia enough to let her run along the wall and out of the warehouse.

    Fantom brushed off one final golem which was busily grabbing at her mauve shirt. She made certain to remove every trace of the sap-like rubber - she knew better than to get stuck with such a dangerous, arcane substance! It had already resulted in her clothes being ripped and torn. Her fishnets had holes, her purple outfit had been eaten away in a few places, and she would need to switch out her bracers and gloves when all was said and done.

    The kunoichi jogged a few blocks, looking behind her shoulder all the while. The last thing that she wanted was to encounter them again. She’d need her strength for later. Whoever their creator was, he was probably very powerful indeed.

---

    Rossem Klyn was enjoying his many recent guests. He wasn’t *quite* certain if they were enjoying themselves in the same way. The sounds they made were a good sign, though.

    He gently ran his fingers through the hair of the dryad. *His* dryad. There were many he had created recently, and each one he took pride in; each and every one of them clad in gorgeous, glistening, glossy rubber. Perfection incarnate with none of the trappings of the mortal world to intrude, each dryad was a perfectly sculpted and resculpted thing of beauty. They were different, but each of them was forged from the same fire. Every one of them had been an intruder, once upon a time, and now served him forevermore as an unquestioning servant.

    He put a bright red flower behind her ear, and bade her farewell. She made a pleasant mewling sound and finished the gentle foot massage before leaving. That one was gagged, with a gorgeous veil-like sheath covering her nose and lips. Others were used for more direct, carnal purposes. More than a few had no face at all, only the smooth and shining perfection of a glossy encasement.

    Rossem leaned back in his chair, observing his treetop home in all its glory. One or two trees over, a particularly feisty bounty hunter was squirming away a long pollination session. Rossem sighed and almost blushed at the thought of the powerful, respectable, and sexy panther now being used as a toy - one that existed for his amusement as well as his dryads. He’d thought about offering him to guests as well, but the fact was that the elf didn’t get many guests. The last one with any real potential for being a conversational partner was the herbalist, and that vixen was now in the hands of… someone else. Most guests ended up as rubbertoys, permanently encased as a part of his forest, or sold off to fund his ventures. A few valuable ones would enjoy the glory of being ensconced his blissfully thick magical sap; experiencing his elven delights, feeding him with their arousal, their fear, their frustration and fury and bliss.

    For a brief moment, he thought about going to the grabgrass and extracting Cordelia but quickly shooed the thought away.

    The elf gently ran his hands through his bright blonde hair. He had the strangest premonition that he’d have another guest very soon.

    The sorceress tapped one finger on her chin and stared at the totem. She surmised that it was one of the many rangers who had disappeared into the Old Wood at one point or another. She wore the form-fitting armor crafted from steel and leather to indicate as such. Rubbery black ichor encased her within. Fantom could swear that she heard the occasional mewling sound from beneath the helmet. No skin was visible; she was tied very severely to a post planted in the ground. Her arms were glued behind her in the same beautiful black ichor, and her butt cheeks were scandalously parted by the shaft. Her occasional movements were pitiful. Fantom assumed they were attempts to grind her rear against the pole. Presumably to warn off any visitors. That was probably it.

    She did what she could to assist the victim. Fantom knew that rescuing a victim from the forest’s grasp would lead to a reward at best, and a new slave at worst. She spent several minutes trying basic charms and spells to release her. When that failed, she resorted to brute force; attempting to outright pry the armor or rubbery glue off of her.

    Heaving and straining sounds filled the woods. A bead of sweat dripped from her brow and into her headband. Fantom gave it one final try, attempting to simply uproot her, before finally giving up. She’d yelled and screamed and gave it all she had, and she recognized she was just tiring herself out. After a short rest, she left the rubbery totem behind. She didn’t even know if the person inside was aware of what kindness Fantom had visited on her… much less whether or not she was still a ‘person’ after being encased.

    She stepped past the threshold. The elf appeared like an apparition, moving with blinding speed until he was only a few dozen paces in front of her. He had honey glow skin and short blonde hair. Pointy ears and his unique style of dress made his Elven heritage clear; mauve  

elven garb mixed with high boots and elbow-length gloves.

    It was impossible to miss his eyes. His sclera had turned an inky black that seemed to pulse with puissance as he moved. His irises remained the greedy gold of a dragon’s hoard  - rich in wealth but always eager for new sights, sensations, and acquisitions. She felt him glowering at her form. She showed no concern or panic, nor any sign of regret for her intrusion into his space.

    “Who enters my realm without an invitation?” asked the elf.

    “Whose realm am I visiting?”

    “I am Rossem,” said the elf. He started to circle her like a shark.

    She put her hands on her hips as though speaking to a child. “I am Fantom.”

    “Perhaps you’ve heard of me?” said both Fantom and Rossem in tandem. There was a certain amount of shared glee at the serendipitous and stereophonic statement.

    “I’ve not heard of you,” said Rossem. “But I have heard you. Your grunts and cries were so loud I could hear them from miles away. My ears were twitching the moment you saw my warning sign.”

    Fantom shrugged, keeping her hands on her hips. “I saw you in the alleyway. That business you run; how many people make it through the forest? How many people do you betray and lead into your gardens, and how many actually make it through to the other side.”

    Now it was Rossem’s turn to shrug. “That depends on my mood. And also who I am that day.”

    “So,” said Fantom, “If you’re in your true form , as you are right now, what are the odds that someone who enters your forest uninvited is allowed to leave?”

    She could swear that she saw Rossem licking his lips at the statement. Maybe she was just projecting. “The odds are… not good. Zero percent, I’m afraid.”

    Fantom saw the weapon forming in his hands. She took a half-second to decide to dodge to the left, and then another half-second for her body to obey. He summoned a black leather whip from thin air and gripping it within his gloved hand. Another half-second passed as he brought the whip down through the air. The material rippled and the tip moved so fast as to break the sound barrier. A loud crack from his whip seemed to detonate a tree behind her. Fantom had dodged his whip, and soon found herself tumbling forward as a splatter of bark and leaves coated the forest.

    She kicked her way up a tree, forced herself away, and turned midair to lunge at the elf. Rossem was busy bringing his massive stock-whip up for another blow when Fantom plunged her mystical dagger into his stomach. He seemed taken aback; nearly sent unconscious by its blow. His spirit was, for a brief moment, deafened and disoriented. She leapt backwards, flipping heels over head and landing a few paces from him.

    Rossem recovered quickly.

    “Come closer, my little flower,” he said. His smile grew wider and wider, his teeth bared and his sclera turning black as coal. Fantom felt electricity in the air as he summoned another tool from thin air – this time a suit of armor, black with silver and gold filigree, appearing on his body as though painted on by some unfair deity. He held a sword in one hand. The whip dissipated and his other hand flexed, eager to take Fantom in his hand. She didn’t give him the satisfaction, instead beginning to circle the makeshift ‘arena’ with dagger in hand.

    “Don’t worry, Rossem,” said Fantom, “I have no plans to kill you. You’re too useful. Too smart. And I’ve got a thing for elves.”

    “Very kind of you to say,” said the armored elf. He circled in tandem with Fantom.

    “Not very,” she replied. “Once I’ve got your helpless, I’m going to grab you by the ears and use them like handlebars. You’re going to be my plaything, and this forest will be my base of power.”

    “Handlebars?” he said with a raised eyebrow. “I’m worth more than that. You wound me so, Fantom… we elves are a proud and noble race. We’re worth much more than being your oral slaves, I assure you.”

    She leapt forward, dagger in hand. He reacted, but not fast enough. Fantom planted ghostly dagger between a part in his armor plate. If it was a blade of metal, it would have been a killing blow. Her spiritual weapon should put him unconscious for as long as she wanted.

    When Rossem disappeared, she was at first confused. She thought that he might have been some sort of ghost. In the nano-seconds after her “killing blow,” she quickly realized that he had turned into a pile of inert matter. That was because, of course, she hadn’t at all landed a killing blow on Rossem Klyn. She’d only destroyed one of his golems.

    Fantom had a tenth of a second to notice the strange black arrow streaking through the air. It was barely enough time to comprehend before it hit her squarely in the chest.

    The force knocked her back, sending her sprawling to the ground. The dagger disappeared into the forest, just as Fantom did.

    She stared down at her stomach. The arrow wasn’t sharp, nor was it blunt. Its tip was a black ebony sap that was squarely stuck between her breasts. She tore at it, attempting to scrape it off but, predictably, only managed to spread the sap across her generous breasts. Clothing dissolved. Her hands and fingers became tacky with Rossem’s black rubber sap.

    The elf stared at her as she groped at her chest. He raised one hand into the air. With a toothy, devilish grin, he brought his fingers up as though conducting a symphony. Fantom felt the black rubber come alive in his grasp. He conducted its spread like a concerto, bringing it across her body like a gentle overture before proceeding to a powerful crescendo.

    Fantom felt fear. She had heard endless stories of people going missing in the Old

Woods. She’d never imagined herself as one of them. She had hardly considered the possibilities of failure. And yet, here she was, with her fingers and arms encased in black rubber and with the sap soon covering her more and more. The ninja wondered if he’d be merciful. Elves could be very territorial. She’d heard stories that they’d keep prisoners for endless ages, preserved and alive in their torment – a year for each twig snapped underfoot, or a day for each breath of forest air stolen. Her lip twitched. She’d heard stories of people dragged down, deep beneath the earth by plants that fed on sexual energy. Strange entities that drew men and women in with promises of warmth and food, and then kept them as living mummies; eternally edged, encased, and fed a steady diet of aphrodisiac sap.

    The duet continued as the rubber covered past her arms. He snapped his fingers, and her clothing dissolved everywhere that this latex sap touched. It wasn’t a big loss. She knew that the rubbery coating was so tremendously thick that it would hide her most sensitive and private spots. That was, unless of course, he decided that he wanted access to them. Which of course he did.

    Fantom writhed on the ground, and the elf walked near her. She yelped and pleaded, and he gently moved her with his foot until she was on her chest. He marveled at the human figure. It was impressive on this one; probably enhanced in some way, and while impressive it was still nothing compared to elven physique. It would do, though. She certainly had appreciable elements. Her chest was generous, and her bust was clearly pert and firm. With proper support, her breasts would be fine fodder for teasing or display. With a little sculpting, exercise, and magic, she could be the very picture of divine beauty. The way that she squirmed now was a good sign. Her arms rapidly becoming tacky and welding to her form meant that she was just grinding and jamming her poor, poor breasts against the ground. He knew it was somewhat painful, but he couldn’t look away from the torments she was subjecting herself to… and he also sensed a growing element of arousal from the ninja.

    “You have a certain natural beauty, you know.” The elf crouched down, close enough that he could smell her strong emotions. It was overwhelmed by the pungent odor of thick, magically-generated rubber; the earthy smell of his sap, bypassing any human chemical refinement and becoming both skintight and stretchy.

    “Let me go,” Fantom screamed, “Or I’ll burn this forest to the ground!”

    The elf shrugged. “No, you won’t… and for threatening me, you must be disciplined. I was hoping you’d say something like that.”

    Rossem grinned, knelt down, and finished sculpting her. The art was exqusite. Without clothes, he could make every square inch was tight as possible. The thick rubber was first messily moved around her thighs  before being carefully smoothed over with his hands. She felt every touch, growing more and more dull as her skin was subsumed by the confining coating. Just as Fantom had a thing for elves, Rossem had a thigh for a fine pair of legs, and a good butt. He pulled her onto his lap, and relished touching her rear. Spreading her cheeks and exposing her sensitive spots was strangely pleasant. The sounds were exciting and new… and the screams turned to pleasured mewls as he gently worked the rubber around her butt cheeks individually. He made certain to gently insert a few magical toys into the mix. He sprinkled the tiniest pinch of his magical dust into the coating, making certain that he could keep her remotely triggered and aroused.

    That was to say nothing of the fact that she was thickly plugged and filled.

    “Is this your first time with an elven protrusion in your butt, ninja? Interesting… I know that you come from far away, but you haven’t even tried anal? You’re not much of a scholar if you don’t try things yourself.”

    It was an unusual sensation. The rubber that penetrated her womanhood wasn’t dissimilar to a mundane toy, but the way that it rubbed and nudged and tickled her from the inside was as curious as it was arousing. She couldn’t help but think of it, devoting more of her brainpower to trying to nail down the curious sensation of two fat plugs deep in her womb. Once properly coated, Rossem hid her slit with a thick but easily removable final coating. It wouldn’t do to leave her so vulnerable right now.

    Rossem loved the sound of a mortal in pleasure, but there was something slightly annoying about it. Fantom almost sounded as though she was ‘trying too hard.’ He resolved to mute her as only he knew how. He slammed his hands together and stretched them out, revealing a wide sheet of shining solution; a material that was thin, sticky, and only used for the absolute best of candidates. And that was what he used to finally make Fantom disappear. With one swift movement, he stretched it around her face three times, winding each one like a spider coating its most recent acquisition.

    He commanded the elements just as she did, but he was in a place of power. Any spells she had saved for later were useless. Rossem owned her body, and now he owned her face. After stretching the material around her visage, he took a moment to stare. She was beautiful like this; her human features replaced with the glorious dark black of rubber. His sap could be sculpted, but it didn’t need much work. This special edition was so profoundly tight that it captured her features better than any human painter.

    The elf moved his fingers up and down her cheeks. Her mouth was agape in a surprised expression. Her cheeks were tall and high; the same pose that she’d make if her mouth was heavily stuffed. An attractive brow, a cute nose, expressive eyes - now closed and enclosed in a thick, occluding latex shine, of course - all made for a very interesting piece.

    She wouldn’t be part of his duet if she wasn’t participating. He leaned in very close to hear her sing.

    “Hhngh… hkkkgh…”

    Marvelous. The ichor had coated her from the outside in. It started at her face, and was now coating her gums most completely. It was probably down to her throat now. Eventually it would coat even her stomach, rubberizing his newest chew-toy and keeping her fed and alive.

    Hhghgh….

    Her song was one of surprise. It had all happened so fast; he worked with such intense precisions and speed that she’d been enclosed in no more than a few seconds. It was one of dimming light and a lack of air. It was one of fearful arousal, of being afraid to enjoy the erotic thrill. She was in deep, deep trouble from which there was no escape, and she was starting to love it. He knew that she was growing weak and woozy. A mage like this would have plenty of air to survive, but not enough to think.

    Rossem pinched her rubber-coated nose. Not that there was any air to be had, but he liked the feeling of her soft flesh in his fingers. She moaned again, wiggling left and right. Her chest couldn’t get breath, and her lungs were burning. She arched her back before falling back down in a wet heap.

    He looked her over. She was nearly unconscious now; splendidly shining, beautifully bodacious, and enrapturing beauty all nicely encased. From head to toe, she wasn’t a ninja or a mage. She was his, and she was his finest symphony yet.

    Although breathless, she wasn’t without her senses. The elven gentleman began to gently caress her face, spending just a few extra seconds on her tender lips. Through all the latex, it almost looked as though she was pouting. He tenderly reached down and began to stroke her breasts, taking one in each hand and massaging in great circular motions. The thrashing and violence from earlier began to subside. He allowed separated the encasement, giving her a gasp of air. He leaned into to listen close, taking in the sound of oxygen filling her lungs. The sounds of her gasping and greedily gulping down air sounded quite pleased to Rossem. They weren’t the sounds that someone who was panicking made. They were sounds of joy.

    As he rubbed, he sprinkled his magical reagents onto his fingers and from there onto her breasts. He’d deck her out in the finest of crystals and jewelry. A beautiful object like this deserved no less. Admittedly, she might be getting too much air… with a flick of his fingers, he fixed that, making her intake so small that she had to work for each breath. He leaned in again, putting his long ear to her covered mouth and nose. Her mewling sounds were so high-pitched now. He knew that sound. It was universal among mortals. He smiled at her increasing arousal.

    Inside her cocoon, Fantom was trapped between terrifying lows and new heights of arousal. Pulses went through her being, rippling from the plugs that filled her so completely. They thrummed like a metronome, then randomly. She felt a tickling deep within her as the plugs sought out her g-spot, probing and then touching. With each salacious interaction, she arched her back, raising her face and beautiful curves up closer. With each time, he gently lowered her back down. He moved his hands to her clit, fingering it with a precise touch that soon became a vigorous assault on her lips. He gently flicked his tail behind her, sliding it down her shapely rear and teasing at each of her cheeks. His hands moved back up to her chest, massaging her deeply and warmly, while his tail landed squarely on her nub. Warmth and energy flooded the space between them.

    Being denied air was somehow arousing in ways that Fantom couldn’t explain. It was the helplessness of it all; being denied everything from movement and freedom to speech and sound and now, even smell. She had no hope for escape, only a future as a plaything for an angry god. Rossem cupped her smooth head from behind with one hand while pinching her nose tight with his other. It was all too much. Fantom thrashed and pulled at her bondage. A fit of excited arousal wailed from her throat, and she wiggled in a sexual desire that it nearly hurt. A brutal desire for more visceral tortures filled her mind; bondage, domination, enclosure, restriction, and more torments. For a brief moment, she was his in mind and body alike. As she reached orgiastic crescendo, the ninja craved nothing but a lifetime of rubbery enclosure as his chew-toy, or encasement as one of his cocoons.

    A moan came from deep within her. It was long, lusty, and honest. Pure, unadulterated fantasy sent her body alight as she came a second time, helped along by his arms, tail, and very being. He gently set her down as she passed from the waking world into sleep, descending into a dreamless slumber where only the elf’s shadowy presence and magics mattered.

    “I promise,” Rossem said to the not-quite-awake Fantom, “to give you a nice pair of handles, and ride you with all the blissful ferocity that you were going to show me. I’m going to have lots of fun with you, and I’m going to make  you love every moment.”

    With that, she finally passed out. When he was sure nobody was looking, he leaned in close and planted a deep kiss on her pert lips. He felt a tingle of pleasure at the sensation of his own erogenous zone.

    He smiled. He almost shed a tear with the results before finally flicking it away. The elf leaned in close and cast a quick charm, letting her breathe without issue. Now that she was safe, secure, and subdued, he picked her up to bring her back to his hut.    

    Rossem placed her in the same room as his fluffy panther-toy. He gently arced her head back, so that she was standing up straight and with her head facing the sky. Using the same technique as with his totem, he had her tied up against a wooden pole, one that was slim enough to slide between her cheeks. He spent a few moments fondling her delicious legs and glossy chest for good measure, sculpting and providing support where needed. The panther was good and strong and had a certain aura about him, but this… what was her name? Something ghostly, maybe Fantom? This creature had a sense of decoration about her. He placed a wide, fat gag in her mouth that glowed with a soft amber hue, and stepped away to marvel at his acquisition. Nobody would have recognized her.