The first time a nymph had been grown, it had been for food. A collision of science and old magic to make a tremendous and satisfying fruit. It mixed pagan delights with the sterility of a white-lit lab—the fruit was to be enormous and ripe, satisfying the satiating sweet of natural candies whilst enamoring the teeth with a texture like flesh. It was not surprising that the effort had been somewhat Avant Garde, and the result unpredictable. The first nymph had blossomed with the inherent place in the world of a grown crop. The creatures had not been cultivated for foodstuffs after, though some would pay a high price for the husk of nymph’s mother bud. And though the pretty fairytale things were given names, they were still cultivated. Perhaps more livestock than fruit tree, but a grown and owned thing nonetheless.<br/><br/>Thus, though her species was young, Kedrick’s teeth on her petals touched on a very primal reality for Iris. She was holding her breath when he swallowed the first flower down. She felt a great swell of things in the whispering chaos of his blood. It was, again, torn amongst a variety of feelings, the one which pleasured burying deep beneath a series of social mores and poor assessments of himself. Iris took a step forward, as if she felt she should comfort him in his confusion. “Is it acceptable?” she asked, though she could taste his own satisfaction on her tongue.<br/><br/>When he abandoned the plate, she was concerned he would shout and tell her she’d not followed his commands. He had made such a displeased face in the bathroom, sitting by the tub. For all the heat of his release, she’d still been unsatisfactory in some way. “Master?” she began, and then let out a startled mewl when his tongue distressed her newest bud. Iris shuddered, a hot flush on her cheeks as she squeezed her fists shut. It hurt, the way he crushed the half-formed petals, and teased her too. Erogenous little sprout without any say in the matter.<br/><br/>The little keening sounds pitched to a sharp cry when he nuzzled her neck and set his teeth there. Flesh like a woman, with a peach’s delicately swollen meat. Nectar mingled with her sap-like blood and filled his mouth until it dribbled around his lips. It bled onto Naella’s dress and Iris wobbled on her feet until she was half-leaned against him. The scent of sweet spring hung thick in the air. Iris was squirming and gasping, clearly in distress though she made no effort to pull away. It was both the writhing of a frightened animal and an impatient lover. If Kedrick questioned her as to which she felt clearly, Iris would have no satisfactory answer. “Master,” she whimpered and touched his shoulders with pleading fingertips.