Between The Reeds

You’re listening to Between The Reeds, a Fabled Audio original. This story is intended for mature listeners. One Through the shadows, between the pines, the tips of two pointed, running hooves tick over the tops of the smooth pebbles, as the weight from whom they belong to causes dry, dead leaves to crush and crish. The air is cool yet warm enough to still embrace the scents of moistened grass and fur; still warm enough for owls to observe the heat from warm-blooded, less-fortunate mice; still warm enough for human skin to sweat despite there being no sun. The crickets have grown quiet, as have the tree-frogs. Not a peep can be heard in this part of the forest tonight, because no one would dare make themselves known to he who lurks frustrated, determined, sad and lonely through the wooded darkness. Along the riverbank the reeds bend at their tops, nodding as if they know what’s about to happen. They approve but their silent nod is all they can give. The waters reflecting the moon are still, a spotless mirror, hoping to soon reflect the innate soiree between the notorious wayward undulate and his choice. As he fast approaches the water’s edge, faint ghostly whispers speak of his touch, his softness; his unbearable muffled mumbles. But those who whisper his name remain hidden, their curiosity safeguarded and curtained by their common sense. This beast they’re watching from behind the shrubs, trees and marshy overgrowth, is a Nature God. He stands around two-meters tall, with hooves for feet and curled horns above his torn scarred ears. He is as old as the forest, but his age means little when his answer to vitality is often only a few feet away from him. The river nymphs are among the female beings who find him desirable, despite his somewhat demonic appearance. They often sing his praises and offer themselves to him, to keep him from growing sad and ultimately dying. But not all those who have offered themselves to him in the past have come out of the ordeal smiling. Indeed, he sets a high standard of perfection, and his essence is not to be tampered or toyed with in any way. Laughing at him equals pain. Denying him equals pain. Leaving him unsatisfied equals pain. Only a few know that to submit and remain sincere is the only way to please him. And they know well that in doing so, their satisfaction, too, is ensured. Others have heard tales from those who did not survive the onslaught of his vigor. They’ve seen the nymphs cry - those who did not make him happy - after hearing his gut-wrenching, skin-crawling, death-defying wails that send predators running and black-birds soaring into the treacherous night sky. His most treasured ambition is to find a mortal; a human woman. But they don’t visit this part of the forest often. While they might follow his pipe music for a distance while exploring this neck of the woods, fear envelopes them sooner or later. They back away from the river, believing the stories their mothers told them about the treacherous disfigured beast who decides the fate of all and any females who come his way. Many ask why he does not procreate with his own, or with a river-nymph. The truth is he needs a strong female. Nymphs are immortal - they can never die. There’s no test when it comes to immortals, no magic or higher power preserving their existence. There’s no challenge with them. But any human woman who withstands his advances without dying must be Goddess-like herself - strong, wise, sincere, sentient and worthy of his seed. And considering he is half human himself, a part of his heart yearns to be at one with this side of himself. He seeks a mortal woman because, to him, only mortals feel the elements - earth, air, fire, water. But the chances of him finding one are slim. In which case, an immortal nymph will do for tonight. Further on down the edge of the river, footprints lead to her. She knows he’ll sniff them out, follow them to her. All she need do is wait. Her toes in the shallow edge of the river now, she fills the palm of her hand with water then washes the mud from her ankles and knees. The moonlight accentuates the paleness of her skin; she looks like a silver spirit, but she’s the exact opposite - she’s a human, a mortal, the beast’s chosen target. Just a week ago she was told she only has weeks left to live. She’s refused evasive treatment; has no intention of allowing herself to be prodded, pierced and disfigured by scalpels and lasers. No, if nature wants her to exit then it should be by the hand and will of nature only. She sheds no tears. Instead, a soft smile keeps her warm as she caresses her moist skin, understanding this may well be her last chance to experience such sensations, in the heart of the forest; far, far away from cash-cow herding practitioners and surgeons. She’s heard about the beast; about the one who can tear a human in two at the blink of an eye. He represents her resent for her situation; her anger and wrath. Yet, she knows that behind that mask of bitter strength she wears is a woman needing to experience, just one last time, natural love as raw, vital, empowering. She could die in a hospital bed or at one with a Nature God. For her there’s no debate, and surely the latter would be less distressing. Not far from her, along the edge of the river, panting now, the beast bends to his knees then reaches his muscled torso downward toward the water. But, before taking his drink he stiffens, lifts his eyes, clenches his jaw then turns his horned-head slowly from left to right. He’s not to be caught unawares. He’s not to be caught ever, by neither a mortal nor immortal. God have mercy on anyone who tries. Satisfied with the daunting stillness around him, he leans his mouth nearer to the surface of the slow-flowing river. Extending his long, spear-shaped tongue he tests the coolness with its tip. It’s good. Lapping slowly, one tongue-stroke at a time, he drinks his fill. As he leans back he spots his reflection lit by the moon, on the water’s surface. His wavy mane shines with sweat and oils, revealing his semi-curled horns that protrude from behind his elf-like ears; teeth as white as pearls, lips as soft as an infant’s skin, and eyes as bright as a firefly’s glow in the pitch-black of night. A single drop of river water glistens like a diamond, on the tuft of his wiry goatee. He smiles, capturing the colors from the moon’s sparkle with his yellowy eyes. It’s all so pretty to him - so very, very pretty. He knows well the wonders of nature, right down to the finest, most intricate detail. After all, is that not what’s expected from a Nature God? He loves what he sees… but not with a heartfelt smile. To him he’s nothing to smile at, not pretty – not until that moment; that single moment when flowers bloom in an instant, butterflies spread their wings to fly, and salmon reach their pond to mate for the survival of their species. Indeed the only way he can feel what others might call love is to fornicate; it’s in the act that he loves all he is, despite his appearance and faults. When he’s inside a female, there’s simply nothing more beautiful. He knows it’s his own species that will soon be gone; nothing more than a memory or myth - an old-wives’ tale to be told to children around a fire, in hope they’ll steer clear of the woods alone at night. While nymphs can easily be found around him without much effort, procreating with a human woman would ensure that the human-side of himself survives - and it’s something he’s never done before. He pulls his hand to his face, covering his eyes, releasing a deep long overdue sigh. It’s been too long. The idea of not finding what he’s looking for makes his skin crawl as though covered in ants; his groin heated, causing his knees to weaken. He despises the feeling. With a determined yet violent jerk, he wrenches his hand from his eyes, only to glare upward and somewhat dagger-eyed at the moon this time. His breathing hastens; each out-breath a moan – a moan that borders on a deepened growl. He closes his eyes again, the full-moon beaming down on his bare chest. On his knees he breathes faster, faster, faster… then stops, seemingly holding his breath Slowly, bit by bit, he exhales the tension, although his muscles still shudder. Finally the discomfort stops. It’s all gone – his anger. He opens his eyes again, alert, looking sharply from left to right. A rustle in the reeds to his left has his attention. He’s not afraid – why be afraid when you’re the most-feared being in your own environment? Singing - soft, sweet singing… like fragile, crystal wind-chimes. It floats toward him in waves, no word definable, just the enchanting tune from a voice belonging to what could only be an equally fragile river-nymph. His frown fades as he listens. It’s a voice he’s not heard before. The tone is deeper, the melody is new. He does not know this tune.

Two As quickly as the sound of the singing arrived at his ears, is as quickly as his eyebrows curl downward and his breast floods with that forbidden yet fulfilling pain; yearning. It hurts, causing tears to well-up in his eyes. Through those pain-killing tears, he focuses, scanning the reeds - the marsh to his side. If there’s something there he’ll see it. Nothing escapes his attention when it’s set. Again the soft whisper-like siren-song trickles slowly along the dampened earth, over the water, finally finding home inside his pointed ears. Again his eyes soften, his eyebrows slant, and that cold pain forms in his torso a second time. Anymore and it might just all be too much, though. Sad makes him weak, and he does not want that. He tilts his head slowly from left to right, tightening every muscle in his hips, rear, and haunches. He rests his hands in the sand, opening then closing his fingers, wanting the ache in his heart to fade; clasping the dark soil as if holding onto the earth around him is all that will keep him from suffering. The soft voice slowly soars, like the scent of jasmine on a breeze as delicate as that from a moth’s wings in flight. He can’t unhear it. Enough. He must find her. All the while, the woman lays back with her arms behind her head, looking up at the moon, acknowledging its pull as she hums the melody unknown to him - Greensleaves. She heard his woeful cry only moments ago; knows he’s near. Despite her screaming nerves, she’s not going to move from where she’s at. This is her last wish; in her mind, the only way to overcome the fear of unyielding death. If she can survive the beast, she can survive anything. Growing impatient, thrusting himself upward to his hooves, the beast snorts through closed mouth; jaw tightened, eyes as sharp as an eagle’s. With a single bound he leaps through the air, headed for the marshes from where the singing comes. Reaching them he lunges his arms forward, wrenching the reeds apart… …nothing’s there. Another snort, another deep moan, he begins lashing aside the reed forest; his breathing hastening again. Still lying on the ground just behind those reeds, arms still sprawled above her; knowing she’s about to be caught, the woman lazily droops her head to the right, watching for his arrival. By the sounds of the reeds being shredded by his lashes, he’s to be the most powerful being she’s ever met. A final harsh thrash of the reeds leads him to almost crush her with his undulated hooves. He stops short of a meter from her, snorting, panting. His smile widens at the sight of her. But he dare not show his teeth. Although he’s hungry, she’s not for meat and he does not want her to be afraid. As far as he can tell, she’s a forest-nymph - a little larger in size than river-nymphs. While he was hunting for a human woman, this nymph looks good enough to appease his need tonight. In her seemingly angelic pose, on a bed of darkened moist earth, the woman opens her eyes wider to look at him. He’s here. She scans over his form, from his semi-circled horns to his striking features; his pointed ears then down his thick neck to his V-shaped-torso and, finally, his pelvis His breathing slows but his muscle tremors seem to shake the ground beneath. Seeing the humanness of his torso meet with the matted fur from his legs - his tightened pelvis that keeps him balanced - the woman revels in the soft heat below her naval, as she follows the hairline on his abdomen, down to his taut fur-covered inner-thighs. Like a wave of silk gently flowing over the skin on her stomach, over her chest and to the top of her head, she sighs lightly, shortly; a flutter of sensational tension. It’s about to happen and she’s not scared. Her alternative is a hospital bed, after all.

He drops to his knees and sniffs the air. Slowly his eyes meet with hers; she’s the one; she’s his choice tonight, and she shows no intention of running. Around them but staying out of sight, other forest creatures look on. What will the outcome be, they wonder? Will she survive his strength? All they do know is that she’s new; none of them have seen her before and, even for a forest-nymph, she’s larger than the rest. Without contemplation he tears the female’s see-through chiffon dress upward from her hips. He sets his sight on her perfectly-rounded mound, dead-center between her soft, glistening, inner thighs. Silently he slides his hands between her knees, along the slippery layer of damped sweat, tugging them apart as he feels his power over her multiply like thunder inside a deepened cave. His blood rushes through his veins as he hardens his stomach; the brute force from his testosterone a contender for his concentration on her silky-soft skin. Legs apart the woman lays still, as her eyelids slowly close. He runs his palm down and between her thighs then readies his thick, strong, middle finger. She knows she’s been taken… yet it’s what she’s been waiting for. Holding his power, pressure builds inside his skull. He nudges her vaginal lips aside with his forefinger. With a slow blink of his eyes, he susses her expression then gently runs his middle finger over her clitoris. It’s soft as it slides slowly downward… until it meets with her opening. As it does, she exhales through her nose - a soft, stuttered, whimper leaving her throat through closed mouth. He clenches his jaw harder, gently easing the tip of his finger into her… slowly, softly, keeping his power at bay - for now. For a moment he fondles her succulent, wet, inner-flesh then pulls the tip of his finger back, only to resume softly, gently, pulsing it in and out, in and out, in and out - a wave of tender movements. The feeling of his finger, moving gently, slowly weakens her. But she doesn’t want to fade to this. She wants it to intensify.

She starts to feel wetter – little by little the moist oils exude, allowing his finger to move more smoothly… and just a little faster. The woman grasps at the earth from the ground she’s laying on. With her concentration fixed solely on his hand as he fingers her, she clenches it tightly with her pelvic floor muscles; tightening harder with each of his in-strokes, then releasing the tension with each withdrawal. He feels this through his hand - waves of pleasure as she cums- as a rush of adrenalin surges to his head. He must maintain; he must not drop this - what he considers to be - fragile nymph. As the moonlight sparkles on her lubricant, he seems dazzled by its beauty. Lowering his head, he then lowers his torso, too… about to enter a world of taste, fragrance; about to feel her inner-thighs wrap around his horns. Keeping the momentum, he sneakily replaces his finger with his spear-shaped, pointed tongue. One, two – quickly his tongue penetrates her. Cum, a familiar taste. He pulls it back momentarily then begins again, using its tip to feel upward for her clit. She winces silently inside at its firmness. A spark of electricity from the nerves in her clit sends a subtle jolt through her spine. She lets out a softened peep, counteracting the shock, knowing better than to disturb him with a screech. One, two – quickly he flickers his tongue again like a snake – flittering the tip of her clitoris. He stops, she cringes… he starts again. This time he can feel the heat from her loins on his cheeks; the scent coming from her seems threatening to his sanity. He lets out a short growling moan – each muscle in his face as tense as stone. Behind his eyes, there’s only darkness. Flickering faster, faster… her nerves react like shooting warm sparks through her body. As they reach her throat, she knows she must not make any disturbing sound. With one hand fastened to her hip, now lifted an inch from the ground, he clasps tighter still - there’s no escaping him now. If she were to try, her punishment would be brutal. With each wave of her first orgasm, her hips lift powerfully upward – slowly. She’s holding to this feeling with every ounce of strength she has; loosening her stance now would surely ruin everything.

Three Cum drips from her now; thick, wet, slippery. He wants to lick it, lap it, and savor it. Slowly he moves his hand from her hip, down and under her rear, steadily running each of his fingers-tips over her anus – one stroke, two stroke… three, four, five. With his tongue still fluttering on her clit, his breaths deep and hard - every muscle in his torso taut - he touches her soft inner flesh with his forefinger again; its tip sliding in gently then back out – in then back out. He’s fingering her – just with the tip. In-out, in-out, in-out, in-out – he picks up the pace a little, as his tongue still flutters fast. She begins writhing inside for what she knows he’s going to give her next. Her arms to her sides, and delicate hands filled with moist soil from the ground beside her, each pulse of his fingertip causes her to clench at the earth … until it squeezes through her fingers. She grabs another handful then… he’s stopped. She scrunches her eyes before opening them to see why, exhaling softly, almost relieved the tension’s been broken for a brief moment. He raises his head and torso out from between her thighs to look at her. She can see him; his yellowy eyes, his expression of domination; his flared nostrils, as he breathes deeply inward and outward with mouth closed. She follows his timing - their breathing in unison now. Leaning back onto his folded knees, her legs still wide open in front of him - her cum reflecting the moonlight - he grinds his teeth. She’s silent, fragile like a single thread of silk - at the mercy of this beautiful beast. He reaches toward his loins, the muscles in his arms tensing… then wraps his hand around his erection, revealing it to her for the first time. As he does so their eye-contact breaks. Gradually he lifts his head, eyes closed, mouth shut, seemingly setting his mind on the stars. Her breath still follows his, as gently he begins moving his right hand up and down his magical muscle. She lifts her pelvis upward toward him again, only a few inches from the ground this time; yearning for what he has to give. But she dare not take this moment from him by making it hers. All she can do is watch as he masturbates between her legs – holding himself firmly yet carefully, sliding his hand up toward his ridged tip, using her cum to softly circle his forefinger around and under the ridge, then over the top. She wants to taste him. She watches with eyes half shut, as her mouth and tongue begin to follow his soft guided strokes. Tension builds in her neck and shoulders; her hips feel as though she’s submerged in a pool of crystal-clear water, undammed. She’s cumming more – imagining her crevasse to be his hand, as he slides it up and down, up and down. She wants him inside of her, but she’ll have to wait until he’s ready. Suddenly he opens his eyes, glaring at her with a frown. His breathing is heavy now, but his mouth is still shut tight. Seeing her open mouth, the tip of her tongue protruding slightly beyond her lips, he glances across at her fingers still digging into the ground, still grasping the earth as though her life depends on it. Holding himself still, with his right hand, he leans down to her face - their lips only inches apart - as he supports his body weight with his left arm. She can feel the heat from his torso, magnetic, as his chest hovers over hers – her nipples discretely tipping his breast. His eyes penetrate hers as he opens his mouth and extends his tipped tongue, aiming it for hers. She’s locked in his stare now; she can hear the depth of his breath coming from his core. The tips of their tongues meet, just like the tip of his tongue met with her clitoris. They linger this way for a moment, only for him to then move his chin, neck, torso then pelvis upward… until it’s just inches above her face. With his right hand still holding himself he holds it steady for her. Lifting upward, the tip of her tongue touches on his hardness, sliding silk-like between the fold on its tip. Poised now, she flickers her tongue for a moment… then extends it downward, along the length of his shaft, then back up again… only to flicker the tip some more. Down slides her tongue a second time; the vein pulsing, pushing blood through to keep it erect. The saliva in her mouth softens the sensation; gliding, sliding. slipping – His left arm still holds all his body weight; he shudders under the pressure then pulls his hips back an inch, only to thrust forward again… penetrating her mouth. She wraps her tongue around it, swirling, swirling – round and around; the ridge of his tip so well defined; she nurtures it, caresses it with each twirl. A deepened moan from him – he begins to move his pelvis forward and back, forward and back, as she gently tightens her lips, now pushing the tip of her tongue hard on him. He’s fucking her mouth. Suddenly he surges his torso forward, letting out death-defying groan like colliding rocks in an avalanche. He breathes faster as he wrenches himself from her mouth, then falls back on his haunches, glaring into her eyes That was too close – he’s not about to waste his essence in her mouth. She heaves as he latches both hands firmly onto her hips, then yanks her body toward his loins – her arms still to her sides. She lifts her hand slowly, wanting to touch his. But he flares his nostrils then flashes his teeth... just once as his frown warns her… no touching. She shudders for a second then drops her hand, closes her eyes and lets her head fall back. He lifts her pelvis with a jerk then forcefully thrusts hard into her. The force is enough to send a shockwave to her head. Her back arches, nipples rise underneath her chiffon dress; he has to touch them. As he retracts from her throbbing vulva, he grasps at the neck of her dress and rips it from her chest. It’s made from such fine chiffon – it doesn’t stand a chance. Fully-naked now, he flattens his hand on her throat then slowly moves it downward, reaching her rounded breast. As his fingers run over her stiff nipple, he thrusts his phallus into her again. With her back arched she holds her own weight. As he withdraws again she follows his hard erection with her pelvis, the attraction so strong. He admires her enthusiasm for the moment, so grants her request and once again re-enters, pushing deep into her. Three more thrusts sets her to lock down. The sensation is somewhat overpowering. Unless she gains control of this power, it will drown her senses. She slowly lifts her eyelids to reconnect with reality. She’s joined to him, pelvis to pelvis. She looks at her mound then at him moving into her; he’s now an extension of her, part of her. Pleased she’s paying attention, he withdraws again; this time leaving only the tip inside, as he tightens every muscle around his hips, takes a slow in-breath, and begins fucking her softly with short, swift, pelvic tweaks. The inside of her feels like liquid gold might; like ice on your skin midday in the desert. She watches his rhythmic, quick, back and forth movements, feeling herself moisten more at both the sight and the sensation. His eyes are closed, jaw still tight – his nostrils are the only orifice letting air move through. He straightens his groin along a single path. Resting his body weight on bended knees, one hand fondles her breasts while the other clings at her hip, seductively threatening to never let her go. Blood pumps in waves through his shaft, as its tip indulges in being smothered in lubricant; secure in her tight, warm embrace. Still watching him disappear beneath her mound then reappear; disappear then reappear like a timelapse of the rising and setting sun, she begins to quiver inside. Directing this tension to her pelvis and inner thighs, she begins to twerk, sending feedback to him, telling him she’s not expecting him to do this alone. Her loins are his platform, upon which he can express - whatever he needs to.

Four As their pelvises seem to race each other to an infinite finish line, teasing one another in relay along the way, he opens his eyes slowly to look at her again. The sight of her sweating naked body, open legs, softened thighs, arched back and sensuous wet lips all send a hurricane of feeling through his body, his chest, his throat. He can’t hold it, he can’t stand it – he wants to live with this feeling forever. Breaching like a powerful whale, he contends with the tension and forces his head backward, as though trying to taste the stars in the moonlit, black sky above. With his mouth still closed, there’s nowhere for this tension to go. He holds onto it, harnesses it, as everything around him disappears. He’s floating as his hips move incessantly back and forth. Watching him reign-in the tension, she begins to orgasm - hard this time. Never before having felt such intensity, she keeps it concentrated, aware of the highly-sensitive flurries of energy through her torso – so strong she might pass out. As each flurry of orgasm reaches her head, she’s deafened for a split-second; the spurting rushes seemingly smother the synapses in her brain. Her ears hear little other than her own short and fast breaths in time with his distorted grunts. With each quick outward breath, the air that races over her vocal chords seems to hit on them, like a violin played fast. Quick sounds of ‘ah’ escape her lips, one after the other - audible signs of complete and utter satisfaction. She has to keep her expressions tight, letting them go would mean letting him down. Orgasm after orgasm, wave after wave, they’re both in ecstasy. She clenches at the earth again, forcing her middle finger into the moist soil, rhythmically in time with his focused, quick thrusts. Her whole body keeps momentum now. As her pulsating finger digs quickly in and out of the ground, she claims her womanly power for that moment. The damp earth mimics another extension of herself. This thought of fingering another version of herself doubles the fiery sensation. He would approve of watching her do this; he would approve of the sexual intimacy between two women. Suddenly he withdraws. A deep groan from his chest signifies that the moment has come. If he fucks her at this pace much longer he’s going to cum. He curls his lips and frowns, forbidding the feeling to leave his groin. He grips her hips and turns her over. She’s on a racing cloud and he’s the stallion pulling it. With her knees and hands on the ground, on all fours, he won’t let go of her hip with his left hand. He pulls and pushes at it, commanding that she keep her orgasm and pelvic rhythm flowing. She complies and steadies her chest, locking her legs and arms as she creates a firm, solid, surface for him to penetrate. Holding his stiffness with his right hand, he slides its tip up and down her wet lips. The soft, tingly sensations feel like gold dust - pure sunlight on skin after a cold winter. Now they’re both like fragile, crystal vials. Their warm liquid-like orgasms fill them and threaten to spill over. Together in unison they moan… moan… moan… moan… gently pouring out what they can no longer hold, until their vials have space for more. With his phallus still in his hand, he leans down over her, coupling her, spooning her, covering her with his firm, sweaty torso. This intimacy, like death and rebirth, is dauntingly beautiful. Still behind her he positions himself, resting it on the ridge inside her. Letting it go he slides his fingers up to her clit, pressing on it firmly once. Smothered in mucus, he then slides his hand upward, only to grasp at each of her breasts. She tilts her head backward slowly as his mouth, his gentle lips, and warm tongue slither up her spine and to her bare neck. Both of them have their eyes closed as his mouth reaches her collar bone. His tongue meets with her ear. He flickers it over her lobe, reminding her of its intimate power. His breath is concentrated; somewhat crushing. She has never before been so close to such foreboding masculinity. She can smell his breath. She can feel the oils from his hair on her cheek, as his horn touches her temple. He groans momentarily, a snort through tight jaw – the breath from his lungs warms her ear as his tongue slides behind it then back down her neck. Another groan from him… she quivers - taut like an elastic-band. Still on his knees, he pulls his hand away from her breast fast then grabs her hip, clasping tightly, pulling her pelvis into his groin. His rock-hard penis penetrates her once more; a crack of thunder in a rainless electric storm. An instant climatic orgasm for both of them – one forceful thrust, two hard thrusts, three… he lunges his torso forward, his erection as deep inside of her as it can go, as he lets out that gut-wrenching, skin-crawling, death-defying - yet magical wail that so defines him. He’s cumming inside of her, the muscle pulsating with each squirt – the nails on his fingertips digging into her hips, as she softens her exhale and whimpers at the awesome beauty of this sensual manifestation. All who’ve heard his cry know what it means. They feel safe for now – he won’t be hungry for a while. For a moment the horned, undulated beast and the female remain still on their hands and knees, eyes closed shut, bodies locked, heads facing the full-moon light. It’s over now. With an inward breath he slowly opens his eyes; still inside her, his body arched over her back. Gently he runs his hand over her shoulder then under her arm, softly tickling her sides with his fingertips. It’s quiet enough to hear a fish breathe in the river behind them. He eases his mouth toward her ear, still on all fours, as he softly touches her lobe with his lips. He snorts - a single and quick-throated grunt. It was good enough for him. But her heart begins to ache - an invisible tear forms in her eye. She knows she’s not to touch him - no caressing or emotional affection allowed. Still she turns her head to the side; their lips almost touching. Just one kiss on the lips is all she needs to seal this. He sees her closed eyes and silk-like lips waiting for his; he can feel her every out breath on his cheek. He frowns, hesitates… but then kisses her… a quick and soft kiss on the lips before pulling his head and torso back, withdrawing from her crevasse. He stands on two legs over her now, looking at her rounded ass and smooth, soft, naked, glistening back. She’s still on her knees and hands. Slowly she pulls herself back, resting her body weight on folded knees, as she lowers her head and rests her hands on her upper thighs. He sniffs then grunts. He’s just fucked an immortal nymph – she seems fulfilled as is he. While he wanted a mortal, believing the two species could coexist this way, he got a nymph. Yes, it was good enough - for now. Perhaps tomorrow he’ll find a human to procreate with - or eat. One step back and then another, she hears him moving away. Sadness forms in her throat; her naked body longing to just be held by him. But… no touching. He holds no one. The reeds nod their heads in approval as she accepts his terms. Turning hard to his left he throws his arms forward, pushing the reeds aside as he cavorts away and back into the night. He needs to sleep. He’s gone. She’s left alone.

Five

Her torn dress to her side is worthless, unwearable now. Naked, she forces herself to her feet using her hands to push her upward from the ground. Looking at where they fornicated only moments ago, there’s no sign of struggle - only the shallow ditches left from her clawing the earth, and his knees that dug in the ground as he held his stance. She turns to look at the river. Everything is still - not even the crickets or owls seem to have anything to say. Her skin is still warm but she’s covered in soil and mucus. She wipes her face, only spreading the dark sand across her cheeks and chin. But she can’t see herself - she has no care for how she looks. Right now she feels as though her body does not exist - there’s no pain, no heartache or anxiety. It’s as though the wholeness of her being is at one with her surroundings, as natural as everything else she can see through her softly smiling eyes. She stretches her arms above her head, seemingly reaching for the sky. Her body feels light yet fulfilled. It’s all new to her and, for that moment, she considers if she’s even still alive - or is this a dream that she hopes she won’t need to wake up from? Looking up toward the stars and full moon, she walks, step by step, into the river, waist-high. Spooning the cool water over her body, she feels clean, she feels whole. Softly she smiles as she begins humming a distant melody. With clean skin now she retrieves what she can of her chiffon dress - it makes a good skirt, if she ties together the torn parts. At least she can make her way back home this way, without being arrested for nudity! Besides, her car is not far off and in the trunk is her gym gear. But the thought of returning to the world where others will take pity on her, and continue to remind her that she only has a short while left to live, leads her to take seat on a log half-submerged in the water. She does not have to return right away - she can stay in the forest for the night. As she dabbles her toes in the water, she begins to think - what if she were to stay in the forest forever? Would there be any threat? The beast holds no animosity for her - she has nothing to fear from him. She could find a cave or make a little home for herself there; live on fish and fruit - like the Garden of Eden. What would be the use in returning to the city after all? For a time she filters through the memory - remembering the feelings; his warm hands, his strong torso; his hips - the feeling of his horns touching on her cheek. She giggles once, as she realises what she’s just done. He did not kill her; she did not die; she feels reborn. And for that moment she ponders on the idea - was that love? She shakes her head, thinking that to entertain such thoughts would be foolish. But how foolish would it be, if she made the journey to find him and have the experience in the first place? Her imagination toys with her soul, as images of being his mate filter behind her eyes. He was beautiful, he did not hurt her and - unlike human men - did not make her feel cheap or unwanted. He’s half animal half human - and she knows the kiss he gave her at the end, although just a peck on the lips, was his way of showing approval. Running her hands through her long brown hair, she wonders… what would he have done had he known… she’s a mortal? As for the beast, he’s taking rest in the hollow of a redwood tree in the middle of the forest. It’s dark, which he’s used to of course. But while he lies there, trying to sleep, he can’t stop thinking about the beautiful nymph he’s just mated. Maybe he’ll find her again some day, although he knows nymphs move from one place to the next too often to ever settle. There’s nothing to contemplate, if she was an immortal. It’s not and never has been his ambition to settle down with one. He won’t have a wife or life-partner - no Nature God does. He knows he still has time to find a mortal woman, a human that represents half of who he is in his entirety. Tired now, he drifts to sleep knowing his quest will continue tomorrow. Stepping off the log, the woman walks over to some drier reeds. She flattens them down to make a makeshift bed to rest on. She’ll sleep on it, under the stars and the moon as nature intended. And she’ll decide tomorrow whether to stay or go. . . . . . . .

This is the end of Between The Reeds. Produced by Fabled Audio. Written by Neotenic Nymph and narrated by Eunoia Sonders.