The young man stood on a hill, proudly surveying the vast forest that lay before him. He had spent all his inheritance and was sure it was an investment that would pay off. The land had traded hands often yet no one had made the move to clear it. He was lucky to have gotten such a deal. The acres of old growth before him were prime for harvesting, he was already in talks with multiple developers. His mind raced with how he could tame and urbanize the wild.

From the summit, he could peer far into the valley below. The strange movement drew his gaze. There was a clearing in the midst of the woods. In it, he spied movement. Though it was far away, he was sure it had to be human. A rage gripped him, this land was his and he would not stand for any trespassers.

“Hey, you! Get out!” His voice shattered the serene quiet as a group of blackbirds evacuated the nearby evergreens, squawking indignantly as they sought out new perches. The morning sun beat down and he squinted in the brightness. The person... could they be dancing? He would confront the squatter here and now. The last thing he needed was some sort of hippy whack-job slowing down the felling that would begin once the contracts were cleared.

Carefully trudging down the hill, he came to the forest’s edge. His body hesitated. Something felt odd, inexplicably unnerving. He reminded himself he was rarely out of the city. He preferred the civility of concrete roads to mud and grass after all. This was just the way it felt to be out in the open. He pulled out his pistol, released the clip, and loaded it again. It always made him feel braver. Finally, with a long delay, he moved onward to the darkness below the canopy.

He had walked much longer than he anticipated, and with no defined trail, he relied on his meager sense of direction to keep heading toward the clearing. This was an unwise decision. He soon found himself hopelessly lost, the dense foliage choking out the sun. He wanted to turn back but had no idea which way he was facing.

He began to notice the vegetation was odd. He was certainly no expert but he always had assumed trees in the forest looked alike. These were all different, a vast collection of incredibly different species. Even with the variety, there seemed to be an order to it, like some sort of strangely deliberate cultivation of colors and shapes.

Even more disturbing were the animals. In the city, the birds were so used to people you could practically scoop them up. But in the wild, shouldn’t they be more timid? More frightened of him? Instead, they watched from the canopy. The mice gawked from the underbrush, and even the insects seemed to just stare. A demoralizing feeling took hold as their unflinching presence damaged his delicate ego.

He tripped over a root. Tripped may have not been the right word; it felt like the root had reached up and grabbed his ankle. He fell hard, splashing his clothes in cold, wet mud. Looking up indignantly from his puddle, he was face to face with a fawn. Its large eyes stared into him as it dispassionately nibbled on a branch.

He filled his lungs and roared as loud as he could. The fawn wiggled its nose in annoyance, clearly unimpressed. He was ready to try again, and the deer yawned. Rage overtook the man as he unlocked the holster. His cold, dirty hands fumbled with the firearm. The young deer turned and bounded away, splashing mud into the human’s face. Clambering to his feet, he pursued it. He was determined to kill the creature and rip the respect he felt he deserved from its corpse.

The man was led deeper into the vast thicket as he chased the fawn. Charging through spiderwebs, branches tore his expensive shirt. A slimy dampness spread over his skin. He felt violated by the wilderness, but he would kill this damned deer.

Despite the raging pursuer, the animal remained in control. If it wished, it could have escaped, but instead slowed and allowed him to catch up. Whenever he tried to line up a shot, it leapt behind trees or darted under cover. But it never went so far as to end the chase. After an agonizing hunt, the deer leaped into a thick emerald wall of bushes.

The man followed and was unexpectedly blinded by the midday sun. Completely disoriented, the deer could have been right in front of him and he would have never known. Defeated, he stopped to catch his breath. He lifted a hand to his sweaty brow and shielded himself from the brightness.

Overwhelmed with fatigue, he wanted to vomit. Inhaling great gulps into his lungs, he tried to calm down. Slowly his eyes adjusted. He now realized where he was. He had reached the clearing.

An aroma of flowers filled his nostrils. Thousands of different smells combined into an almost medicinal vapor that relaxed his shoulders and settled his stomach. The rage he felt before dried up in a moment. This peaceful glade was much larger than he had guessed from the hill, easily the size of a city block. Towering at the center of the expanse was a great tree.

There were large, flat stones circled by mushrooms. Dozens were spaced evenly around the massive tree. Around those were flowers of all colors and shapes rising from the clover that blanketed the ground. It was dizzying to comprehend, both seeming like randomness conversely cultivated. He looked down at his body, seeing his ripped clothes stuck to his skin by sweat and muck. Shivering, he realized how cold he felt.

He perched on one of the stones, closed his eyes, and let the sun warm his skin. Breathing in the wonderful scent, a sublime vertigo crept through his mind. Despite the calm surroundings, he felt an unaccountable disquietude. Something in the back of his mind was telling him to run. Yet he felt grounded by an aroma that tickled his nose. It calmed his nerves and kept his feet planted.

A playful laughter from the dark undergrowth of the great tree startled him. His hand went for the gun on instinct and he squinted at the source. The tree was ancient and knotted, covered with thick moss and dark green vines. The massive roots spread in all directions, snaking in and out of the ground like serpents on a lake of sorrel.

There was a figure standing there in the shadows of the great branches. A trick of the light made it seem as though they were emerging from the trunk. He turned off the safety of his pistol and pointed it. The figure came into focus, it was a woman whose body was a similar color to the bark. “Aren’t we quite the mess?” Her voice was like a song, smoky and tantalizing.

He lowered the gun, mouth agape.

Her nude body was covered in strange tattoos. Brambles and plants weaved together and stretched over her skin in such vivid inks they seemed real. The design wrapped upward around her feet and grew over her entire person. Only the pale skin of her face that shined from between the climbing thorns remained bare. She was a work of art. Running her fingers through the snow-white hair that hung below her hips, she sauntered toward him. Her strange perfume of juniper and sweet blooms grew stronger as she approached.

She stretched upward as she stepped out of the shade, playfully spinning her body. Her long hair twirled into the air, allowing a brief glimpse of her ample backside. Her large eyes considered him, yet she seemed unimpressed. “Why are you here, little boy?”

She needed no clothes to create an air of eminence. He struggled to form words. Transfixed by the stranger, he stared at her full breasts in awe. A wild, snowy patch of curled hair adorned the area where her shapely, muscular thighs met. The tattoo that covered her… did it move? She stared through him. Her brown penetrating eyes were so dark they seemed almost black. They befuddled his mind. Finally, he managed to find a weak voice, “I’m not a boy.”

She seemed bemused. She began to circle the rock, looking him up and down. “What was that, boy?” Her toes peeked through the clover; she was barefoot yet unimpeded by whatever rocks or sticks lay below the flowers. “You spoke so softly I could not hear you.”

This must have been a dream, it couldn't be real. But maybe... maybe it was. Unsure of anything, he attempted to gather himself. More forcefully he repeated, “I’m not a boy!” Her alluring bouquet filled his nostrils and the confidence faded as quickly as it came.

She theatrically gasped and closed in on him. “Oh, I am sorry. I was deeply slumbering. I thought a boy had stumbled into this glade. I see standing before me a strapping man who conquered the forest to be here! So why have you come, oh great man?”

“I… I own this land.” He swallowed hard, feeling disgraceful in her presence. His filthy clothing made him feel exposed and out of place, as though he were the naked one.

Her eyes widened, and bewilderment took her voice. “You own this land? How does one own land? You are part of it. I am part of it. Can the petal own the flower?” Edging closer and closer, her lovely perfume intensified. His nose instinctively breathed her in, a lustful collection of pheromones that sent his body twitching in anxious longing. The world seemed to soften and a haze took his mind. His loins ached painfully, and he realized how obvious his desires were. His erection seemed to be reaching for her from his wet pants.

He struggled against the confusion and tried to concentrate. He had signed deeds. They had taken his money. “I, I paid for it. When you pay for something, you own it.” Why did he feel like he was convincing himself?

Raising the tips of her fingers to her mouth, she acted shocked. “Oh, you paid for it?! Who did you pay? Another man who said he owned it? Miles away, you passed little papers back and forth and somehow my home became… one man’s property?” She widened her dark eyes and bit her finger, nervously looking up at him. "Is that how it is, powerful man?"

He had bought the land, it was his! Any child could understand this! “Yes, I paid for it. It’s mine!” His shout echoed through the valley and he gripped his firearm, realizing only now he still held it.

Her lips spread into a wide smile, her hand raised and touched his shoulder, pressing those wonderful soft breasts against his chest. “You own my home, the land that I am part of. Does that mean… I am your property… and you are my master, then? My Lord?” She tugged at his wet clothes. “Take them off.”

Pulling back, his eyes widened. “Excuse me?!”

“Take off your clothes,” and with an impish smile added dramatically, “My Lord!”

He froze, not realizing the gun was slipping from his fingers and it disappeared into the verdant ground cover.

She sidled behind him. “Master, do you need help?” She snaked her arms under his and embraced him. Pressed against his back, the woman’s nude skin radiated with a gentle warmth that thawed the chill the sunshine could not. Her clever hands began unbuttoning his pants.

“W-wait, what… wait.” He tried to pull away but felt weak. She held him closer.

“Why?” Her fingers slid the zipper downward. “Is there something the strong man doesn’t want me to see?” Her soft hand slid down his pants and gifted him with a single gentle caress to the tip of his manhood. That was all it took. His cock gave in and convulsed. “Master, you’ve grown so quiet. Do I not please you?” She slipped her hand lower and grasped him roughly by the loins. With firm coaxing, his sticky seed filled his underwear.

He surrendered to her, struggling no more as his slacks slid to the earth. She began to fondle him. Her curly hairs rubbed against his backside, her hips matching the slowly gathering momentum of her hands.

She gripped him tighter, her overwhelming scent filling his lungs. He stumbled forward; the woman allowing his weakness but never breaking her embrace. His knees dropped into the flowerbed and she knelt behind.

His strength felt like it withered away as she stroked his cock. He was panting, feeling like he would fall. He pitched forward onto all fours and even that could not shake her tightening grip. Her warm, soft body draped over his. White hair spread over him in a canopy of lustful bliss. A tremendous pressure could no longer be denied and again he ejaculated. She milked him onto the flowers below until all that remained of her handiwork was the last dribbles that still clung to his stalk.

He gasped for air as her hand gently released him and rose to his mouth. He stared at the strands on her fingers. He knew what she commanded even without words. He was repulsed but dared not defy her. He parted his lips and she slipped her fingers between. He suckled, intoxicated by the taste of her skin. His tongue lamented as she withdrew her clean fingers and rose to her feet.

“Finish undressing, boy. You will lie with me.” She ambled under the tree, his eyes fixated on her body’s movement through her translucent mantle of snowy hair. She was only steps away but he felt as though he was dying without her touch. His loins remained painfully hard. So driven by her demand he lacked the focus to unbutton his shirt. He clawed and ripped the costly garment. He tossed it aside, revealing the freshly bloodied scratches and gouges self-inflicted by frenzy.

She lay on the ground as he desperately tried to kick off his shoes. Thick green leaves of sorrel framed her sensuous figure and she lounged against the sprawling roots. His desperate battle to part with his socks proved an entertaining aperitif. He tried to stand, unaware of how weak he had become. His body collapsed and crawled through the dirt.

He stopped at her feet, dumbstruck. He felt small, dirty, and ugly. At the edge of her divinity, he didn’t know what to do. So he did what all men do before their Gods, he begged. “Please. Please… I don’t… Please.” His stomach churned as the saccharine aromas flooded his mind.

She didn’t speak. Her dark eyes never seemed to blink or look anywhere else except him. Slowly, she spread her feet apart to either side of him. Planting her heels into the ground, she slid her ass forward. Her crimson flower opened to him. The pheromones poured forth, calling him to perform his act of worship. He slid his thighs under hers. She grasped his shaking member, guiding him to slide inside her as a gentle sigh passed her lips, almost too quiet to hear.

Inside she was hot, almost painfully so. Raising her legs, they wrapped around and her heels dug sharply into his backside. She guided the pace, pulling him deeper each time only to push him back. Sweat poured down his face and dripped onto her. The tattoo seemed to react, pulsing and drinking the sweat in and leaving her body dry.

She took him by the hair and pushed his face into your breasts, her back arching with pleasure as his tongue lapped against her nipples. His mouth grew dryer and a rasping desperation sounded with each breath. His body moved of its own accord, or rather hers.

The cloying taste of honey overwhelmed him and from the back of his throat the metallic note of rotten meat spread. His lips and tongue began to crack as he deliriously supped on her. His mouth was ripped open and blood pooled from the cuts. He pulled back in horror to see the tattoos were no longer that, but tendrils of wood that grew from her flesh. The thorns on her chest were stained with an unmistakable crimson.

Yet he could not stop his body, so in want of climax, his hips continued to thrust. He felt like something was moving under his skin and he grew weaker. His body was unable to meet the demands of his desires.

She mocked him. “Is my Master tired already? Can he not satisfy his property?” She squeezed him between her thighs, thorns piercing his sides as she rolled him onto his back.

Long hair spilled around her. Under the speckled light of the tree’s shade, all he could see was her face. Her visage began to warp. Her eyes darkened until they were only pitch-black holes. An unsettling wooden grin spread across her pale, stiff face like a knot on the birch. She ground herself down into his body, rough bark thighs and twisted barbs tearing at his flesh.

She was terrifying, more plant than human now. Spiders fell onto his face, onto his body. Her soft white hair was now a tangled crown of webs. Some of the spiders crawled back onto her, others chose to explore his wounds and crawled into his body.

He wanted to cry, but he was dried out. He wanted to scream but only coughed out black and thickened bile over his own face. All he could do was turn his head, but she would not even allow him that. She reached forth with sharpened sticks for fingers, gripping his cheeks and turning him back. "Look at me, boy."

He realized he was sinking, being accepted by the earth into a shallow grave. The light was fading as he sunk deeper, face held firmly in place by the Dryad that consumed him. "Behold me."

Twisting vines and biting insects made claims of what remained of his dried flesh. She made no sound, drew no breath, but somehow as he became one with the earth he understood she was enjoying this. She was experiencing pleasures he could never understand. She was experiencing pure bliss.

His last thoughts were happy. The pain had numbed. Before her hands smashed into the brittle remains of the skull that held the fleeting bits of his mind, he understood that she was satisfied. He had brought her pleasure and the entire forest quivered in rapture.

The Dryad lay in the warm pile of nutrients that remained, basking in her new conquest until it cooled. Still feeling the rush of euphoria, she decided to sun herself on one of the stones. Stretching her roots wide, she felt the sun’s rays feed her wondrous flowers. Motionless except for her leaves swaying with the wind, she enjoyed the peace until the sun set over the forest.

The glow of the evening’s first firefly stirred her. Her blooms had closed, their deadly nature again concealed. More pulses of luminescence swarmed around her. She spoke wordlessly to her friends, “These are silly creatures, the men with diseased minds. They only realize they are part of the land when buried underneath it.” The moon was bright, and she decided to dance.