tofi's trail

One thing about dreams that Gunnthrá adores is that some people dream about sleeping. It’s a pure sort of dream, simple and comfortable to sit back and relax in. And because Gunnthrá has the ability to manipulate dreams to her will, the more open the dream the more easily so, and she enjoys this kind of dreams doubly.

The alfr lays curled up in a bed of colourful flowers, which spread pleasant scents into the air. The bell of her skirt lays flat on the ground on one side, the other buoyantly puffed up. One of her feet is loosely hooked around an ankle, and her sleeves drape over hands that she uses to cushion her cheek. Her wings flutter slowly in the filtering morning light, and her arms wrap loosely around her staff. Her long pink hair spills out around her, and a bumble bee buzzes in one of the flowers in her hair.

Smoothing out her skirt at the bend of her knees as she crouches, Gunnthrá sits close to the young woman. She brushes her fingers over the girls bangs, touches her forehead lightly, and lets her magic seep in through her skin. The already peaceful expression on the girls face slackens further, as she sinks deeper into her dream within her dream. Because she is dreaming of sleeping, and in that dream sleep also dreams of sleeping, the sleep is heavy, leaving her no chance of waking without Gunnthrá easing up the layers for her. A being made purely of dreams, especially, is easy to manipulate, because there is more dream than reality within them.

The girls deep sleep leaves Gunnthrá free to do as she likes. She pulls the staff from her grasp, and sets it aside. She skims her fingers over the fabric stretched across her belly, traces the wings at her abdomen, the thin fabric over her breasts. The thin fabric disappears with a single thought, leaving bare skin in its wake. The pale skin is soft as milk, supple, smooth beneath Gunnthrás fingertips. Gunnthrá shifts, lets a slit appear down the length of her skirt, to allow her legs room to kneel on the ground. With a hand on the alfrs shoulder, she wills away her wings, though only so briefly that it allows her to turn the girl onto her back. The wings reappear, flat against the bed of flowers. Pollen sticks to them like glittering powder. Gunnthrá moves, so that she straddles the girls legs. Her skirt flares out around her, like another large, bright flower, cool to the touch. Mirabilis shivers quietly, a natural reaction of the body and nothing else. No matter how cold, she will not wake up.

When Gunnthrá leans down to press her nose to the girls skin, there is a small whimper coming past her lips. Gunnthrá moans against the soft, unblemished skin. It smells so sweet, the girls own honey and sunshine melding into the most perfect blend with the fresh scent of flowers. She presses a kiss to the girls neck, a token of her gratitude for the treat which she will be indulging in. The alfr sighs, a quiet sound of contentment.

Gunnthrá sits back up, though not fully. Her hair rests against one of the alfrs shoulders, the petals on the end turned to brush against her cheek. Gunnthrá moves her hands to slowly slide over the sleeping alfrs breasts, small, and easy to fit into her palms. Gunnthrá smiles, and though the girl can’t hear her words, she still murmurs soft compliments to her. Words of how tender her skin is, how cute her breasts are, and when she shifts the girls breasts with her hands to show her nipples, she compliments them too, praises the cute little rose buds. They are pert beneath Gunnthrás thumbs. She leans down once more, presses her lips to the girls throat. While she lavishes kisses on the skin there, her fingers gingerly plays with those adorable little nipples. She hears small, feather-fall-like gasps, the tiniest of moans slip past the alfrs pretty lips. Gunnthrá shifts up, so that she can kiss those too.

When she adds teeth, the gasps grows a little louder; when she adds pinches, they turn a little more strained. Gunnthrá drinks in the little sounds, basks in how she can draw them out of the girl through layer upon layer of dream-induced sleep. She sits up, and when the touches all abruptly stop, the alfr lets out a small keening noise of protest. Gunnthrá laughs softly, and promise her that soon, she’ll have all of Gunnthrás touch again. Gunnthrá slides off her body, and admires the flustered cheeks and bright red nipples, the swollen lips.

When she once more touch, it’s with a hand along one of the alfrs thighs. The alfr whimpers, as Gunnthrá slides her hand up underneath her skirt. She traces the edge of the underwear that she feels there, and then she wills them away. She lets the tights remain, enjoying the vibrant colour of them against the pale of the skirt.

She shifts down between the girls thighs, prying them apart with the help of her knees. Gunnthrá drags her nails along the alfrs thighs, and she sees tears appear in the thin fabric. Slivers of pale skin become visible, and Gunnthrá drags a fingertip along one. She feels the leg shiver beneath her touch. Gunnthrá releases a long, pleased sigh, a soft moan. She does so enjoy these small, subconscious reactions. Ravaging someone in their sleep is so much more rewarding, she thinks. People are so much more honest when their minds are not dictating how to display their emotions.

Gunnthrá pushes up the alfrs skirt. She purses her lips. With the volume of the skirt the way it is, it hides the girl mostly from sight, and that displeases Gunnthrá. She releases the skirt, and lets it fall back into place over her thighs. She drags her fingers across its fabric, and it tears, shreds into many fluttering petals. It leaves a much better view, the girl a pretty picture. Her thighs are parted, her tights covering her delicate bits still. Petals of creamy white fabric rest on top. Gunnthrá slides a hand over the soft round of the girls thigh.

A heady, floral scent bursts into Gunnthrás nose when she presses her face against the alfrs crotch. She stays there, wholly still, with her nose nuzzling deeper among the folds of lower lips, breathes deep breaths of honey and petals. She feels those lower lips twitch. Gunnthrá lifts her face, though keeps it a couple of decimeters near. She slides a finger over the alfrs bottom lips, seeks the warmth, and rubs for the wetness that spreads. The scent of honey and flowers grow stronger. Gunnthrá turns her gaze upward, and she can see the fluttering rise and fall of the small, perfect breasts. She finds that the lower mouth parts for her, as she lays her lips against the girls clothed stomach. Gunnthrá searches out the alfrs clitoris, and focuses her touch solely on the bead. It weeps fluids for her, soaking the fabric and her fingers. She knows how her fingers brushes a little lower, stimulating the muscles of the girls urethral opening with brief touches and slow slides. She can feel the way that the alfr is shivering, and Gunnthrá shifts back down. The girl moans, a soft, quivering sound. Gunnthrá tears a hole in her tights, leaving her delicates free to the airs caresses.

She drinks, as the girl squirts her sweet orgasm. Gunnthrá moans at the taste, so unlike any other. This is her favourite drink, the nectar the body ejects at its height of pleasure. She greedily drinks it all up, until the last drop.

Gunnthrá lets the girl taste herself, as she kisses her on the mouth, slips her tongue past her lips. The girl whimpers, and when Gunnthrá slides a finger inside, she moans. Her walls cling to Gunnthrás finger, and the wet sound is erotic, the most wonderfully lewd sound, as she slowly fucks the girl. She adds another finger, and the sounds grow louder, more wonderful. The girl moans against Gunnthrás lips, and Gunnthrá drinks them in, swallows them like they are the sweetest juice. She bruises the girls lips with her teeth, rolls a nipple between fingers not buried within her.

Gunnthrá feels her own wetness soak her thighs. It’s the most beautiful feeling. Oh, how she loves this, oh, how many times has she not come from simply ravaging another with her mouth and her fingers.

Her fingers move swiftly, ruthlessly scissoring the girl open. The moans are shaky and the breathing is ragged, but still the girl can’t wake up, even if she wants to. She is trapped in deep sleep, her body a cage as she is unable to fight back as another finger plunges into her. The alfr squeals loudly, her body wrecked by pleasure. Her orgasm spills wetness over Gunnthrás hand, splashes out onto the bottom of her skirt, still whole against the ground. The girls cheeks are stained red with arousal, her fingers grasping flowers in her high. Gunnthrá drives her fingers deep, and as she milks the alfr for every drop of precious nectar, she adds another finger. Four fingers plunges far inside, stopped only by the thumb, which presses to her skin, the sensitive lips outside. The wetness inside the girls lower mouth squelches in a most obscene way, and the girl gurgles on her own saliva as she is overwhelmed by the ruthless orgasm that Gunnthrá simply won’t allow to ebb out. Her fingers plunges further, as she tucks her thumb against her palm. The girl is almost screaming, if not for the spit in her throat. Gunnthrá grasps at her hair, and yanks her upper body forward. It allows the girl air, and there is that absolutely delightful scream of uncontrolled pleasure.

The wings flutter, scattering pollen in the air. Gunnthrá watches as the girl is wracked by forceful wave after forceful wave of pleasure, sees her face twist as it becomes too much, and tears fall as a result of pain bursting in her body.

But the pleasure won’t go away. The pain grows, but so does the pleasure. Gunnthrá hastily draws her hand from the girls delicates. She shivers at the wet sucking sound as that mouth tries to keep her fingers buried in it. Gunnthrá stands, and she presses her womanhood against the girls face. The alfrs mouth is open, her eyes closed. They roll under her eyelids, as she tries, without knowing why, to escape her dreams. Gunnthrá can feel it as she rubs her lower lips against the girls face. The girl is stuck in the unrelenting orgasm, her body trapped in it in ways it never can be while she is awake.

Gunnthrás orgasm is violent, and she buries her hands deep in the alfrs long, pink hair. She presses her delicates against the open mouth, and she hears the loud, wet swallows as the girl drinks Gunnthrás orgasmic juices, without even knowing what she is doing. She simply swallows, because her throat is flooded, and she has no choice. It only makes Gunnthrá cum more, harder, into the girls lovely bruised mouth.

When Gunnthrás orgasm finally settles, she collapses to the ground, into the bed of flowers. Her breath is ragged, loud in her ears. She stares at the girl, as the girl sits where Gunnthrá released her. Her open mouth, her soaked face, her body still twitching with the pleasure and pain washing over her.

It’s the most beautiful picture that Gunnthrá has ever known. That of someone completely out of it, completely gone and completely unaware, so ravaged by orgasm that they can’t move any more, not even enough to collapse to the ground.

Finally, Gunnthrá allows the alfrs orgasm to stop, and it is then that the girl falls to the ground in a cloud of upset flowers and disturbed pollen. Gunnthrá clambers to her feet, and then she stands there, looking at the heap of collapsed limbs. Her body is a mess, stained with bruises and cum, her clothes torn. It’s such a beautiful sight.

It’s a shame to let it fade, but Gunnthrá knows she can visit it again, to recreate it whenever she wants to. So she lets the clothes repair themselves, allows the bruises to fade, the juices to evaporate. Once she is done, there is no evidence of what painting Gunnthrá painted the girl into. The only thing different from how Gunnthrá found her is the disturbed flower bed - easy to fix - and the mussed hair, tangled by fingers. The position the girl lays in is different, too. But there is no way for the girl to know how Gunnthrá enjoyed her. Gunnthrá returns the girls staff to her grasp.

A shame, really, but if the alfr finds out that they are not the only ones manipulating the dream realms, they will be more careful. She can’t have that, since it would risk ruining her fun and her pleasure.

Rotten Honey