There was naught but the siren call of nature and the murmuring gentility of wind whispering through the night this eve; such things were Miya's lullabies. Late spring crickets joined in harmonious symphony, legs creaking their joy for the strawberry scraps left behind by the sleeping healer. Even on her lips, thin and petal fine as they were, a tracery of her late night snack still lingered. She was a slight figure curled and contorted peacefully, half swaddled in fresh cotton sheets with the windows thrown wide open, a further incentive for the blossoming seasons to infiltrate and echo within the whole of her otherwise humbly bare room high above the Red Dragon Inn.

Miya had found the strawberries a happy second place contestant to what she'd been looking for; preserves, jam, something sugary and tasting of last years summer splendor. Ah well, the slumbering healer had eaten the young berries readily enough, and if the soft, comely wilt to her wide, handsome features were any indication....She was still enjoying them...

It was dark, dark-dark, why couldn't she see" Her senses tried to pull in some bearings through the flare of her nostrils, but all she could find flooding those olfactories were the sharp, saccharine nodes of summer bursted strawberries.

Miya made to move, but each limb felt super-extended and taut. Bound. Bound to the bed, to be precise, she could feel the air over her body up to the top of her ribs. Someone had shoved up the ivory cotton of her night slip, and save for the smooth triangle of her underwear, all that peach soft flesh was bare. Her wrists and ankles flexed against the tight tickle of fitted fur and leather as the first trickles of panic began to make a playground along her spine. Not only that, but her jaw ached something fierce, and as her tongue moved of it's own volition, she found the reason out fairly quickly.

'Goodness save me...'

The source was a stainless steel bit someone had barred between her teeth, and the moment she discerned this the tight strap buckling it in place seemed all the tighter about her head. The bit that was lodged in her mouth was warm where it had been parting her lips, but cooler where it was exposed to the air; all that contrast made her shiver, and suddenly that trickle promised much, much more. The healer's ears were one of the only senses left unrestricted, and a very distinct sound was now breaking through the rush and pound of her own racing heart. Heavy breathing.

She wasn't alone.

There was a bodiless stream of heat flowing noisily from beside where she lay so stretched and prone, and it was only with the faintest of tail ends from that breathing that caught her notice. That and the scent. There was a scent, one that she couldn't determine despite how painfully familiar it seemed. Her train of thought was interrupted quite suddenly, however, as a thick, hot heat poured over her lower stomach. That earlier smell of strawberries seemed to double now, and a guttural hitch stifled that stream of deep, heavy breathing.

"Look at you tremble, and barely a sound, eh?" That earlier hitch, his hitch, was followed by a chuckle, and then the chuckle by another merciless splash of that hot, thick substance.

The deep baritone ended with some breathy half chortle, or was that a snort' Miya could barely tell, the air was taking away some of the sting that hot, heavy liquid left behind, and it was all she could do not to whimper around the bit. Her breath was catching though, and it was the reason for her captor's mention of the trembling.

Before her skin or psyche could find further relief, the voice rumbled again, and this time closer. Wet, warm, and rough; that was the sensation that assaulted her next. It ran over the already overly sensitive flush of her skin, leaving her in a knot tied between pain and bliss. Bliss because what was left of that thick liquid was gone, pain from the roughness of what she could only assume was her captor's tongue.

Miya whimpered despite her resolve, the rigid frame of her spine reversing to arc up and off to one side; a vain attempt to dissuade further touches.

"Mmm, healer does have a fighters spirit?"

The tongue lashed again, though this time lower, curling the impossible thickness of all that warm wet into a bovine sort of manner that threatened the edge of her navel. Was that a cold metal ring trailing against her skin too' Somehow her body found the situation composed of to many ups and downs, too many complimenting contrasts; it was rebelling in it's own ways, bringing little jolts from this neuron or that to send messages elsewhere.

"Nothing but fresh for you, healer. Fresh and hot' not even seen a jar yet."

Tears had sprung to the trembling woman's eyes behind the tight veil of her blindfold, and a fine chatter rattled about the warm metal bit between her teeth. It was then a rough hand pushed apart her thighs, settling on one in a half grasping, half kneading sort of way. He seemed to be testing the flesh beneath, and once satisfied with what he found, gave the inner smooth of her thigh a sharp slap. The kneading had been enough to make her writhe, but the slap sent a shiver through lower places that were beginning to command her horrified attention.

Then there was another pour of that thick hotness; it seemed an ooze of sorts, for it dripped to thickly to be something as simple as water, but much more viscous than wax.

It was then the scent of strawberries puzzled themselves in with the rest of what the healer could glean. Hot jam? She was being drizzled with pan hot jam, and by the words of her captor, so fresh that a jar had yet to house it; that put it near boiling, and most definitely accounted for Miya's writhing. The latest pour oozed down the saliva wet trail left behind by her captors tongue, and all that sticky, sweet mess began pooling against the edge of her underwear...

Miya woke with her eyes on the nightstand beside her bed. Though the edges of her vision were sleep blurred, the center dilation had enough focus to pick out a rich brown hair or two stuck between a pair of green, leafy strawberry tops she'd left.

She vowed in that moment never to eat again at such late hours, and especially not without making sure the towel she used to dry her strawberries off was fresh from the kitchen's cupboard.