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A continuation of "My Imagination... Or Is It?"

"I agree," she says, smiling quiet and sincere in the afterglow. Eyes laced to me, "But that's just one need sated, and I fear it's gone and awoken so many others."

Lifting her staff, Cereza traces an idle figure in the air, and the rose vines turn towards her whim. Unwinding from my chest, they tangle around me, removing the bow slung around my chest and my empty quiver, depositing them carelessly to the ground as they go. The vines at my neck dawdle lazily upwards, stroking at my cheeks, while those around my torso undo the trusses of my jerkin with an easy proficiency and an utter lack of hurry, despite the hasty breaths that have me panting like a dog in heat.

"If I am Cereza the witch," she says, "then you must be something too. Rien the...?"

"S-soldier," I say.

"I see," she says, nodding. "Wars are not just for story books, then?"

Gaze finding her face, I observe as her quiet eyes watch the progress of disrobing, as her vines tenderly shake my jerkin open, baring my full breasts to the forest, the sky, and Cereza's inquisitive attentions. Now free of restraint, my breasts sag downwards, their slate-colored nipples stiffening in the cold air, begging for her touch, her taste, anything.

Cereza takes a step to me, lifting her staff and pressing it against the taut muscles of my abdomen. "Then I suppose I have your soldier's life to thank, for providing me the treat of this firm stomach to enjoy."

I groan, and the reverberation inside my chest squeezes harder down on the pressure in my loins.

"Ex-soldier," I admit, after a moment's pause. "I deserted, last night."

Her staff traces upwards, between my breasts. The vines circle inward, imbuing my flesh with the satisfying warmth of her magic. Though they appear thorned, there is no sharpness to their touch, only the teasing of their warm caress upon my already burning skin. Circling around my sensitive nipples, the vines urge my painfully tender peaks erect with their embrace. I cry out.

A giggle finds Cereza. "May I undress you, Rien the soldier?"

I fight against the confused fog of my passions boiling from within. "H-haven't you already?"

"Not entirely," she says.

Tracing the hard curve of her staff down over my belly button, she snags its crook in inside my belt. The vines obey, undoing the brass buckle in gradual motion. She is distracted, I think, as I find enough flex in my fingers to clench my hands into fists. The vines trace demonstrative patterns over the thick flesh of my waist, and the curve of my hips. Though the illusionary thorns do not cut me, their scraping touch brings a ticklish urge across my skin. I whimper as the vines tuck into my trousers, gripping on either side and urging downwards, as if politely requesting their assistance in the matter. My trousers spill down over my hips, pooling around the ankles of my boots, and now, I am bared to her in full.

Cereza touches a finger to her lower lip, pulling it thoughtlessly down and exposing her teeth as she observes the thick mane of white pubic hair that obscures my cunt. I swallow, suddenly self-conscious, wishing for the ability to look away.

"You'll do no such thing." She corrects my unspoken desire with an instructive pinch upon my earlobe. Folding a finger under my chin, Cereza turns my head to ensure our eyes meet. "Shall I touch you, Rien the soldier? I admit I want to, very badly; I might even say I need it. Do you?"

"Yes," I say. "Please, I do."

Her nose wrinkles with gratification. "That's the second time you've said please. If you do it again, I fear I'll develop a taste for it."

Stepping close, Cereza pillows her ear atop my breast.

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