On the southern edge of the Free Lands, where the human kingdoms, fiefdoms, tribes, and city-states jockeyed and schemed and warred for dominance, there was an expansive forest running through deep valleys and jagged mountains that all served as a natural barrier to the unified empire of the elves. At the center of this forest—halfway in, along the singular highway hewn through that rugged land—was Grace’s End, the sole elven settlement to be found in the in the Free Lands.

Riding along that dusty, well rutted, ever-shaded highway was a caravan; ten-wagon strong, with riders and carts and a not-insignificant cadre of armed guards and camp followers. Loaded on the wagons were goods and luxuries. Wines and liquors. Spiced cheeses. Rarefied herbs. Alchemical reagents. Things that were not easily produced in the unchanging empire of the elves.

It was in that caravan—riding within a chartered passenger carriage—that the mercenary swordsman, well-traveled adventurer, and all-around hero Kallen Blackblade was making a young harlot moan through her third climax. He held her throat as he pounded into her, watching her tongue loll and her eyes roll up as her cunt spasm around his shaft.

Unfortunately, her blissful, orgasmic delirium was not shared by Kallen. As he felt her climax slowly recede, he pulled out of her and sat on the edge of the bed, his manhood still erect and hard as steel, breathing steadily as he rode out his palpable frustration.

The young harlot, whose name she gave a Cella, raised her head to the renowned adventurer. “No ... luck?” she said between ragged breaths.

“No luck,” he said grimly.

Cella let out a soft groan as her head fell back. “I’m ... gonna die.”

Kallen chuckled at this, despite himself. “I’ve not managed to kill anyone that way. It’d make an interesting story.”

“Not ... for me...” she said, her head sunk between the plush red pillows of the carriage bed.

“Regardless, I wouldn’t worry. I think I’m done for the day.”

“Oh. OK,” her voice, slightly muffled by the pillows, still bore a hint of disappointment. “I, uh, don’t offer refunds...”

Kallen smirked at this, but the shapely blonde girl continued as she clawed her way back upright. “ ... but I could always come by again on the way back, hero ... free of charge?”

“Thank you,” he said. He wiped the sweat from his brow and nodded at the pretty young woman. “If I decide to ... make another go at things, I’ll be sure to come to you.”

He saw her smile in the flickering candlelight, and saw the curiosity in her eyes, as well. She scooted over near him.

“Were you serious?” Cella said, her hand resting on his firm shoulder. “You’ve really never gotten off?”

“Not for a few decades that I can remember,” he said with a sigh. “And I’m pretty sure I would remember.”

Cella cocked her head. “Decades? How old are you, hero?”

Kallen paused, adding it up in his head. “I’ve seen forty-three summers, give or take a few.”

She stared at him. “I don’t believe you.”

Kallen turned to glance at the mirror set on the wall of the carriage. Gray eyes stared back from a tan, firm-featured face with a trimmed mop of chocolate brown hair. Magic healing had kept the worst of the scarring away, but even with the weathering from years of combat, treacherous environs, and general acts of danger and recklessness, he looked like someone almost two decades younger.

“I guess a life of adventure has kept me young,” he said, looking back at her. “Are you that surprised?”

She grinned. “More surprised that after all those years of ruins of combing through ruins, you never bothered finding something to help you cum.”

Kallen Blackblade gave a rueful laugh. “I won’t lie. It’s definitely near the top of my list of things to look for.”

Night fell on the forest. As vision waned, the caravan slowed to a stop and the various merchants, laborers, servants, and passengers quickly moved to set up a communal camp up and down the procession.

Kallen could see the glow of roaring campfires out the slatted window of his carriage; could hear the sounds of music and song from his traveling compatriots. He felt the carriage rolled to a halt in its place in the caravan line, and a moment later the door creaked open and the driver, a lanky woman with dark, wiry hair, poked her head inside.

“The festivities are ongoing, ser. I’m sure you’d like to join them?”

Kallen shook his head. “I’d rather sleep. Why don’t you go?”

The driver tipped back her wide-brimmed hat, leveling a quizzical expression his way. “Are you sure, ser? I have a duty to stay with my carriage, while I’m sure many would delight in hearing your tales.”

“There’s plenty of delight to be had already without me. Go on.” Kallen nodded to his intricately runed longsword, sheathed and propped against the corner. “No one will run off with your carriage while I’m in it, at any rate.”

The driver considered this, for a moment. “Very well,” she said at last. “Thank you, ser. May your rest be sound and sweet.”

“I’m sure it will,” he lied.

He laid in the carriage bed, listening to the steady murmur of revelry outside. As he lay there, he wondered how many had joined the caravan for the chance to see Grace’s End and the supposed wonders it held. Wondered how many wouldn’t return.

It was trade that had drawn his family to join, so many years ago, when he had only just become a man. Elven goods fetched exorbitant prices from the nobles who craved the status owning such items brought them. It had been that same trade that had brought the bandits who hid and camped in the forest in those times. The bandits who had attacked his caravan; killing, kidnapping, and looting with a merciless determination.

They’d thought him dead when they left him. Those had been the first trails on the long roadmap of scars that covered his body, and they had been the hardest. The scars he had earned when he returned to purge the forest of the bandits—returned with years of training, experience, and the liquid ebony blade that he was now known by—had been far easier to bear.

Now, even two decades later, he would occasionally feel compelled to travel the road again to Grace’s End, and the truth was he didn’t really know why. To honor his family? To ensure the forest highway remained safe? To see Grace’s End again, where he had first walked, alone, bloody, and broken to, only to emerge with a new purpose to his life?

It was a mystery to him, one he had long ago given up on understanding.

“The whims of adventurers,” he murmured with a wry smile as he drifted off to sleep.

Kallen Blackblade’s dream was the same dream he had every night—without fail—for as far back as his memory traveled. There was a door. Wooden. Ornate. Covered with runes. It opened, and then he was standing in a room. Everything around him was a strange smear of blurred color, but he knew he was somewhere nice. Curved wooden walls. A fireplace. A wide, wine-red couch.

The woman.

Kallen could feel her beauty, a beauty that held warmth to that felt like rays of the sun. Beauty so strong her individual features melted into one another.

All save the eyes. Powerful, glowing violet eyes that burrowed into him. Saw into places inside him he wasn’t even aware of.

“Kallen,” she said with a voice like silk as she leans back in that couch, crossing her long, lovely legs. “You return to me again.”

“Where am I?” he says every time. Every time, he receives no answer.

“Kallen,” she repeats, saying his name like she savors it. “Come to me, Kallen.”

He knew he should leave. Knew it dangerous. But he couldn’t stop himself. He approached.

She pulled him down next to her, sliding her fingers—long, smooth, and soft fingers—along his shoulders. “So strong ... So powerful ... Have you missed me, Kallen?”

Kallen felt her touch along his scars, scars from battle and conflict and strife, and the aches in his body fade, aches he hadn’t known was there till it was gone.

“I don’t ... know you...” he said, trying to focus beyond the delicate sensation of her touch.

“Oh...” she whispered, her lips just above his ear. He felt her supple chest pushing against his back. “That’s not true. Part of you remembers.”

Kallen didn’t know he was naked in the dream. Didn’t know she was reaching for his manhood till those gentle fingers wrapped around it, sliding slowly down his shaft with a sensation that took his breath away.

“This part of you always remembers...” she said, hot mirth in her voice. He arched back against her as she stroked his cock, the sensation like a bolt of lightning up his spine. Her other hand cupped his balls, massaging them gently as she pumped his shaft.

“Always,” she whispered into his ear, her voice dripping with pleasure.

Kallen tried to reach behind himself. Tried to stop her. But he couldn’t get his hands to work. In seconds his body was at the edge, the edge of ecstasy that rose and rose but never peaked.

“Please...” he choked, the exquisite torture already too much.

“But it’s what you need, Kallen,” she whispered. “You know it’s what you need.”

Her hands slide up to wrap around his chest, holding him as something shifts in the dream. He looks down to see the slender, beautiful form kneeling in front of him now as well. Her first form holds him in a tight embrace while the other wraps her lips around the tip of his cock and sinks down on it with a torturous slowness.

Kallen moaned, his hips shaking as the woman’s slick tongue and hot, wet mouth sent his pleasure skyrocketing to levels he never thought imaginable.

“That’s right,” she giggled as his hips bucked involuntarily, slid his cock deeper into the waiting, eager mouth. “Do it. Give in to it. Fuck all your worries and fears and doubts all away...”

The form’s mouth synchronized her movements with his, sinking her mouth down as he pushed until his throbbing manhood was pushing deep into her accepting throat. It went on and on like that, an unending machine of dark, tortured ecstasy.

Kallen tried to stop. To think. To remember that it was a dream and not real. But just like every night, he had no control. The pleasure ruled him. A pleasure that never stopped. Never crested. Just continued to build and build until he was lost in it; lost in the sensation of pleasure so intense it becomes pain—but he didn’t care.

“Perfect,” the voice cooed softly in his ear. “So perfect.” But he didn’t hear. His mind was lost to thought. Lost to sanity.

Lost to the dream that returned to him every night to torture him.

Kallen woke with a sharp, sneering grasp, the ache in his loins so deep and so acute he thought he might die from it. His fists balled around the sheets, pulling them taut as the sensation slowly faded.

He lay there panting in his carriage bed. The faint light of dawn seeped in through the slats of the windows. The caravan was moving. He had slept through its departure back to the road.

Kallen rose slowly, still feeling the pent up energy between his legs. It had been worse lately. Worse since he’d started the trip, like a wave of anticipation amplifying the sensation. It made him yearn for some ruin to explore or enemy general to assail. The challenge, danger, and strife, they all made the nightly torture not feel so bad.

He glanced out the window and saw that they were nearly clear of the forest; the young smattering of trees slowly tapering out into a wide pastoral land of rolling hills and lush fields. Kallen watched the scenery pass by as they wound their way towards the elven town. As they crested a sloping hill, he could see the town laid out before him.

The settlement was built like a massive amphitheater; a circular indentation dug into the stone rising hill with buildings in and along carved indentation before rising to a hilltop covered in intricate garden structures and wide floral parks. The buildings themselves were tall, slender, and elegant, with large intricate pillars interwoven with the surrounding flora.

It was unlike any settlement found in the northern lands. Ancient. Flawless. Enchanting. And as he looked upon it, he felt something pulling in his mind. Drawing him like metal filings to a magnet.

Come to me, Kallen, the silken voice whispered in his mind.

His eyes went wide. His heart pounded. The voice. The voice from his dreams. He shuddered as the ache between his legs returned; his cock hardened almost instantly. He heard that laughter. That perfect, hypnotizing laughter slowly faded in his mind, leaving him slivering with desire.

Come to me...

Kallen felt like he was going to burst.

As the caravan drew closer to the town, he could hear the music—a gentle lilting melody that seemed to flow from the town itself. It was like nothing he’d found elsewhere, as if the town’s very aura seemed to generate the sound. He could hear it; feel it; smell it. The tune was so lovely, so perfect, it made his heart yearn to be among it.

The carts came to a stop, and slowly, merchants disembarked to unload their goods in the marketplace built for trading with the humans at the edge of the settlement. Kallen felt his hands shake as the caravan came to a stop. He stared at them, confused. In his life, he’d faced death and worse more times than he could count. Why was he nervous now?

Kallen...

The dream wouldn’t seem to leave him. He sat on the bed and focused until he felt some semblance of normalcy again, then grabbed his sword and stepped out of his carriage into the bustle.

A crowd of elves gathered in anticipation of their arrival. Elves, and a few humans as well—the humans who ‘chose’ to live in the elf town. Many wore clean, simple clothing, shuffling cargo and merchandise to stalls and shops. There, groups of elves in notably more elegant attire—their tunics and dresses light and thin and flowing like water—casually negotiated prices with the dusty, road-worn merchants.

Humans were often with these elves, and could easily be differentiated from the caravaners by the clothes they wore. They often held the elves’ purchases, standing quietly with discrete silver collars tight around their necks.

He watched one elf couple, tall, lithe, and beautiful, playfully pet a human standing between them. The human’s clothes were elegant, tailored to show off her ample breasts and shapely hips. More easily missed were the runes running up the back of the girl’s neck—complex elven sigils that preserved their the youthful appearance of their pets while also dulling their senses.

Kallen shivered and turned away. He saw the young harlot Cella sitting atop a double stacked crate of herbs, lightly bouncing her leg off her knee.

“Hey there, hero,” she said with a wave. “Find what you’re looking for?”

He hesitated, then said, “No. What about you? Looking for clients?”

She shook her head. “Just watching the pretty people. The captain said we’re not to work while we’re embarked. Says it’s not safe.”

Kallen gave a small nod. “He’s right. It’s not.”

She paused, staring down at him from her spot up on the crate. “Are you all right, hero? You look a bit ... off.”

Running his hand along his brow, Kallen found he was sweating. “Maybe not,” he said.

Kallen...

He felt that magnetic pull again. Drawing him away.

“Hey. Where are you going?”

Kallen had to force himself to stop. He’d begun walking on his own. With a shake of his head, he gave a last look back at her. “I’m going into town.”

He saw the look of worry on her face. “Isn’t that dangerous, hero?”

“Very much so. But I don’t think I have a choice,” he said with a sigh. “Stay safe, Cella.” She said nothing as he walked past the market, towards the settlement proper, but he felt her eyes on him the entire way.

It was an unreal experience, walking the streets of the elven settlement. Kallen was like a fish out of water; unable to keep his eyes off the buildings—the gardens—the people. It was like he’d stepped into a dream. Everything was so beautiful. So perfect.

Every time I come here. Every time I leave, and nothing has changed. Kallen thought, walking past two elf-women, their taut, lithe bodies almost glistening in the sun, their simple but masterfully made tunics clinging to every curve.

The dream. It came from here. Formed here. He didn’t know how, but he knew that even if he were to try with all his might, he’d be unable to turn around.

The music continued to play, like a song from the sky itself.

Kallen, the voice echoed in his mind.

He finally felt like he understood. Someone had done something to him. Some elf thought to muddle his mind with a spell. His hand clenched, itching for his blade.

Is that why I keep coming back here? Have I been trying to break this fucking curse all this time?

Finally, he came to one of the rising buildings, build interwoven with a series of curling trees with feather-like, dangling leaves. His eyes narrowed when he saw it; the heavy wooden door, intricately carved with elven runes.

The door from his dreams. He’d found his way back.

He walked up the steps, and the door opened as he approached. Just inside was a small foyer with curling stairs leading up and into the building. A human woman in a figure hugging tunic and a thin skirt slit up to her waist. Her golden hair was smooth as water; her face was long and delicate. There was something vacant in her eyes, however. Her thin, cord like collar glimmeringin the glowing globes of light illuminating the foyer.

He stared at the woman, but she merely smiled at him. “Good day, sir,” she said with a slight bow of her head. “You wish to see the Mistress?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice almost a growl. “I think I do.” He ascended the spiral staircase, feeling the tug on his mind. Leading him to the source of his tormentor.

At the very top of the stairs sat a landing with one final set of doors. His heart pounded as he pushed them open, unable to believe that after all this time, it was just here.

A strange feeling of nausea fell over him as he stood in the room, like the image from his dreams wanted to melt into what was in front of him. It was the same room. The same shelves. The same wine-red couch.

The same form sitting there. Waiting on him.

“Hello, Kallen,” the elf said, her liquid silk voice unmistakable. She sat with her long legs crossed, her long raven hair fell like a river of molten glass to her waist. Her eyes were like glittering amethysts. Her skin was like the purest white marble, contrasted by the bodice of black velvet she wore.

There were three others there, also elves, who sat at her feet around her. They could have been the dark-haired one’s children—or her sisters, it was difficult to gauge with elves. All three had hair the color of rich chocolate, the eyes the dark gray of a stormy sky. The dark-haired one whispered something to each of them, and—with only a quick glance his way—they left.

“You,” Kallen breathed, his heart pounding as the far door closed behind the elf’s three children. “You’re the person from my dream.”

He felt his mouth curl into a sneer. “Who are you?”

A shadow of a smile played on the elf’s full, perfect lips. “Come now, Kallen. As long as I’ve been inside you, you should know my name.”

“I know you only as my tormentor!” he growled.

She laughed, the same one that sent shivers down his spine. “I certainly don’t want to think of myself that way.” She patted the seat next to her. “Come, Kallen. Let’s talk.”

Her smile grew. “I’ll even answer your questions, should you have them.”

Kallen yearned to draw his blade, but he knew better. Elves were extremely quick, and most wielded magic born of their very blood. He would have to be careful. He moved towards her slowly.

The pale-skinned elf patted the cushion beside her, but Kallen remained standing. He remembered the dream. But this memory didn’t stop his cock from stiffening and throbbing in his pants.

“Please, Kallen,” she said, her voice like honey and wine. “Sit down. I’ll explain everything, if you wish.”

Kallen couldn’t take it anymore; he could see the luscious valley between her breasts; pert, ample, and utterly entrancing. When she reached up gingerly to take his hand, he let her draw him down beside her.

“Why am I here?” he said, feeling that same electric lust from her touch.

“You’re here so that I can see you, Kallen,” she said, her violet eyes locked on his. “So that I can see how you’ve grown. See how strong you’ve become.”

“What do you care? I don’t know you. You’re ... you’re nothing to me.”

She giggled softly, his entire body shaking to her entrancing voice. “Would I live in your dreams were that true? No, Kallen. It’s part of our agreement.”

“We have no—”

The elf edged next to him, the skin of her leg, her hip, pressing on his. “It’s OK. I know you don’t remember it. You don’t need to.”

“Agreement?” Kallen felt paralyzed against the elf’s touch, like something had turned off his ability to move, helpless as the elf’s hand’s ran over his body. It was his dream. His dark dream pulled out into the waking world. “You will tell me,” he demanded, his voice shaking.

“Oh, Kallen,” she whispered, her had slipping down below his waist, sliding over the thick bulge in his breeches. “Do you really need to know? Wouldn’t you rather just ... let go? Let go, and enjoy yourself?”

Kallen groaned as the elf’s fingers drew an obscene amount of pleasure just from stroking him over the fabric of his breeches. He wanted to do as she suggested. To let go. It’s what his dream had trained him to do.

But he didn’t. He grabbed the elf’s wrist and pulled it away from his throbbing manhood. “No. You’ll tell me. You’ll tell me what you’ve done to me.”

He expected anger. Expected the elf to weave some spell. Instead, she only murmured her approval. “Mmmm ... Good. It’s not just your physical prowess that’s grown in the intervening years...”

“Tell me,” he hissed.

She opened her palm in a placating manner, and Kallen let go of her wrist. Her violet eyes almost glowed as they looked upon him. “Do you remember when you first came to Grace’s End? When you first came to me?”

He tried. He tried as best he could. But there was nothing. “No,” Kallen said, looking back at her.

“You were stumbling through the street, leaving a trail of blood. You were neither a man, nor a child, but transitioning from one to the other.”

As she spoke, her hands moved to caress him. He meant to move away, but her voice had entranced him. He could only sit and listen while those perfect hands slid over his neck, his back, his chest.

Her hand slipped down between his legs again, and this time, he didn’t have the strength to resist. She stroked him like a cat, her soft fingers finding the swollen head of his cock and teasing it playfully with unworldly skill. His cock grew painfully erect, like stone. Like steel.