“Over here, Cynthia. These are definitely my most
interesting specimens,” Auntie Anne called, as she
stopped in front of several potted vines.
I was under-whelmed. My Aunt had just come back from a
solo botanical expedition to the upper Amazon, and she
was showing off her exotic finds. Sure, she looks all
Laura Croft, but instead of gold she brings back…
shrubberies. Some of the stuff in her big backyard
greenhouse was kind of cool, if you liked that kind of
thing, but these things were distinctly boring. They
smelled nice enough, but they didn’t even have flowers.
Auntie Anne must have read my mind, because she added,
“I encountered a tribe of Indians who claimed these
plants have the most magnificent blossoms in the whole
rain forest. They begged me to show them where I’d
found them.”
I caught my cousin hiding a smile. Megan, who is also
my best friend, knew I didn’t share my Aunt’s love of
botany. Since Megan and her mother had moved out of the
city, I only got to visit them for the summer holidays
and, like now, over the Christmas break. This just
seemed like a waste of precious time that could be
spent hanging out at the mall.
“I can’t find anything about it in the literature,”
continued Auntie. “I don’t think it has ever been seen
or named outside the jungle, but I’ll have to wait
until it flowers, to be sure. I’m hoping to write a
paper on it.”
Right, terrific, I thought. But then I felt obliged to
pretend I liked the plants Auntie Anne was studying,
and so a few days later I ended up bringing one home
with me. Auntie said she wanted to see how well it did
out on the coast.
It seemed to do very well, thank you, in my bedroom. It
grew quickly, and got so big Mom teased me about it
eating me, if I wasn’t careful. Daddy just said it
smelled bad. I thought the scent was quite pleasant,
and I even built it a trellis. Then at the end of May,
about three weeks before the finish of the school year,
it put out a single green bud.
In a few days the lone bud had grown unusually large
and was developing a creamy colour. When I climbed out
of bed on the third day, it didn’t look any different.
Disappointed, I showered and then padded downstairs for
breakfast, wrapped in my fluffy robe. There was no
rush. My parents had to be out the door by eight, but
we lived so close to school that I could take my time.
Plus, it was much easier to wear whatever I wanted if I
waited until Mom had gone to work.
Once I was alone, I wandered back upstairs. The flower
had opened in my absence, and now my room was filled
with a sweet, musky fragrance. Auntie’s jungle
informants had been right – this thing was beautiful.
It was also humungous.
Its pretty petals were all fleshy and pink and red,
like an orchid; and now that they had unfurled, they
revealed in the centre… well, I remembered from
Auntie’s frequent lectures that it was called the
pistol, the bit with the pollen that bees would brush
against. Only I’d never seen one so big. It was the
size of my forearm, with ropy red ridges along the
length of it, and it had a ruffled fat knob on the end
the size of my closed fist. The knob had an odd slit at
the top, which was oozing nectar or something.
I had no idea why I felt all warm and tingly. I only
knew that the big blossom’s scent was delightful, so
much so that I had to kneel beside it and lean right in
close to take a deep whiff. I was definitely warm now.
My face and chest began to flush, and I found my robe
unbearably confining. I let it slide to the floor and
rolled my head with pleasure, shaking my hair out over
my bare back. Yes, that felt much better.
About this point my nipples were getting stiff, and I
started to idly play with them. My moistening pussy was
itching now, too – not a physical itch but a burning,
aching need that demanded attention. I leaned back to
rest against foliage that hadn’t been there a few
moments before, and began to finger myself.
As I wiggled one and then two digits in my pussy, I
took no notice whatever of the vines moving around my
ankles and thighs, or of the tendrils entwining my
shoulders and waist. And when, together, they lifted me
bodily off the ground, I had no idea but to feed the
waves of pleasure breaking through me – by now my
fingers were churning as far inside of me as I could
reach. I groaned with pleasure, and still it was not
enough.
Even when the great blossom itself rose up of its own
accord in front of me, my only thought was: Hey! I’ll
bet that thing could reach deeper! I suddenly knew that
I needed to feel that fat pistol inside my pussy, and
the sooner the better. I spread my thighs eagerly,
ignoring the nest of twisting vines that now supported
and enclosed me.
The flower seemed to respond to my lust, the head of
its obscene vegetable wang slowly approaching my
drooling virgin pussy. When it was only a few inches
away, it stopped, and then, as I whimpered in
anticipation, a thin tendril slid out of the slit at
the thing’s tip. It looked like a lizard’s tongue. It
felt like a tongue, too, as it slid moistly around my
crotch before finally slipping between my lust-swollen
lips. I felt it probe my hymen, and then break through;
but the short, sharp pain served only to briefly
satisfy my insistent itch.
I hadn’t long to wait – the main bulk of that organ now
began to press against my opening. For a short moment,
I actually was afraid it wouldn’t fit – but my pussy
flesh stretched wider than I believed possible and
suddenly the thing was squeezing inside me.
Immediately, I discovered the function of all those
ruffles and ridges. Every little lump and bump was a
fresh surprise and a fresh delight.
Now I was afraid that it wouldn’t ALL fit. I needn’t
have worried. As I moaned in pleasure, the thing ground
its way forward until at last the cool, silky petals
caressed my bottom. Foggily, I realized the entire
thing was deep inside me. Suddenly my body stiffened
and shook as my first orgasm took me.
Although I had played with myself from time to time,
this was beyond anything I had ever experienced.
Nothing seemed to exist but the overwhelming ecstasy
that was focused on my core. I know I must have
thrashed and screamed, but I don’t recall any of that –
only the echoes of that monumental come.
I have no idea how long it lasted – hours, maybe – but
my next memory is of floating, my breathing still
ragged, and becoming aware that the flower’s organ was
now thrusting methodically in and out of me. I think it
must have waited until I had nearly regained
consciousness to start simulating me again. That ribbed
shaft was certainly doing the trick.
My pussy, sopping with my juices, squished loudly with
each stroke. Just before I started to come again, the
organ stopped and I felt another odd new sensation.
Something was probing the sensitive entrance to my
womb… and then I felt that tongue-like tendril force
its way inside.
As soon as it was in my uterus, the thing began to
stiffen and swell, as it proceeded to fuck me, deep in
my core. After a few minutes, the main bulk of the
blossom’s tool was forcing its knob into my newly
spread womb-mouth. I remember thinking, ‘this is gonna
hurt’, but it didn’t. The thing just rested there, a
moment, and then the entire plant gave a great spasm. I
could feel a huge pulse run along the shaft inside me,
a moving bulge that stretched my pussy lips wider than
ever and then spurted deep into my womb.
As that first load was delivered, I finally climaxed
again. My pussy clamped down hard on its guest but,
regardless, another powerful burst forced its way
inside me. And then yet another – again and again, more
warm liquid was pumped into my swelling womb. I felt
the pressure of it building in my belly, but only a
tiny trickle found its way back to ooze out of my
pulsating pussy.
At last it stopped. I shuddered as the shaft withdrew.
When the fat knob of it finally popped free, it paused
and then pressed forward again as if to re-enter me.
Dazed and hanging limp in the grip of the vines, I
watched and waited as it trembled and began to swell
again, and then it abruptly fired a large red blob
straight into my hole, like a cork in a bottle.
The next thing I recall is waking up to find myself on
my bedroom floor. I was stiff, and the sun was shining
on my face. It must have been early afternoon. From
where I lay, I could see the flower. It was furled, and
looked just like it had when I woke up that morning.
What the hell had just happened? If anything – maybe it
had all been a fantastic dream. But I remembered things
– impossible things. I sat up carefully.
Oh-my-God! I now had a little potbelly. It felt full,
down there, and I shuddered as I thought of the floods
of flower-cum. Looking further down, at my tender
pussy, I discovered a red rubbery mass protruding an
inch or two from between my legs. Carefully, I touched
it. Something moved, deep inside me, and I snatched my
hand away. It was alive!
I knew I should be panicking – some sort of creature
was lodged in my body. But instead, I reached down
between my thighs again, and sort of snuck up on the
thing, sliding my hand across my mound and over my
swollen clit. Then, ever so gently, I slid my fingertip
across the slick skin of whatever it was that was
sticking out of my pussy.
It began wriggle, but not randomly. I could feel its
inner end move, stretching and then contracting, so
that it was pushing in and out, probing even deeper
than before. I began to moan. It seemed to respond by
massaging me inside – somewhere remarkably sensitive. I
gasped and fell back as a fresh orgasm swept through
me.
When my body relaxed, I lay quietly and thought. This
was crazy. I was supposed to be in Miss Stacey’s
classroom, and instead I was lying on the floor of my
bedroom, having just been fucked by my own shrubbery…
and then fucked again by this thing, whatever it was.
Nobody would believe any of it, and if I showed anyone,
they would think I was some kind of freak. I’d probably
end up being studied by the government in Area 51, or
something.
Carefully I got to my feet, and waddled unsteadily
across the room to lean on my bedpost. I had to stop a
couple of times to catch my breath, because the red
thing inside me was still wriggling, and I was starting
to get excited again. Looking down, I saw that three or
four inches worth of it was now hanging free of my
pussy’s grip. I reached down and, taking firm hold of
the slippery thing, gave it a tug. It was well and
truly stuck. I let go, and gave it a thoughtful stare.
Then I grabbed a mirror from my dresser and lay down on
my back, so that I was doubled right up – my feet over
my shoulders, and my nose as close to my pussy as I
could get it. With the help of the mirror, I proceeded
to give my crotch an inspection. The blob was maybe two
inches across where it projected from my pussy.
I tried slipping a finger between it and my stretched
inner lips, and found I could only get it in a half-
inch or so before something blocked me. I pried the gap
open and with the help of the mirror I discovered that
the thing was not just stuck in there – it was fused.
All around it was smooth skin, a gradual transition
from pink Cynthia flesh to red blob hide. It wasn’t
just stuck – it was like it was a part of me.
And yet my pussy wasn’t gone, exactly. I could feel the
thing writhing around inside there, rubbing my pussy
walls and pressing various secret places in a very
pleasant way.
But there was more yet. I tried prodding the projecting
knob with the mirror handle, and… ouch! I could feel
the touch of it. I poked some more – gently now – and
found that, for about an inch beyond what was
definitely the pink edge of me, the surface of the blob
was as sensitive as my own pussy lips!
I finally stopped poking, and as I watched, the
projecting part of the thing changed shape to something
that resembled a rubbery moist tongue, which curled up
and proceeded to lap at my clittie. Ten minutes later I
found myself lying on my bed, panting, with my hands
clutching my quilt in white-knuckled intensity. God,
but that had been a good one.
It was definitely time to take stock (Actually, it was
probably time to scream, but I’d only just done that
with my most recent orgasm, and it somehow didn’t seem
necessary now.)
One: A living blob was stuck in my pussy.
Two: It wasn’t just stuck… it was starting to become
me. I could feel a touch on its surface for – eek! – an
inch-and-a-half, now.
Three: Only a band around its middle seemed to be
attached to me, just inside my pussy lips. Its ends
stuck out both inside and outside of me; and they were
free to stretch and to change shape.
Four: Whatever the thing was made of, inside, could
apparently flow through it from end to end – because
sometimes nearly all of it was either in or out.
Five: it was determined to get me off.
I spent the rest of the afternoon trying desperately to
control my body, first just to walk, and later to try
to hide the fact that I was being kept in a constant
state of arousal. I found that if I tried to block out
the sensations, I always ended up with another orgasm
of screaming intensity. That wasn’t so bad, but not the
sort of thing a nice girl did in front of her parents
at the dinner table.
The best thing was to relax and ride them out. I still
got kind of spacey, at the peaks, but I knew I could
tell my mother I was having some cramping. I’d have to
get a note for school, anyway.
Not long after three o’clock, the phone rang. It was
Megan. “Cyn! Thank goodness, you’re back from school.
Don’t go to into your bedroom!”
“Umm… I think you’re too late,” I replied, looking
down at the red knob below my mound.
“Did the flower…?”
“Yeah.”
“And the red dildo thing?”
I laughed out loud at the accurate description. “Yeah.”
“Oh. Well, Mamma says not to worry. She’s studying it
now. We should be fine.”
Actually, up until now, I had only been worried about
hiding it. Now I realized there might be more trouble
ahead. Geez – hadn’t her Aunt been studying the thing
since back in December? Then I did a mental double
take… Meg had said ‘we’.
“You too?”
“Both of us. Mamma called me out to the greenhouse this
morning, to show me the new blossoms, and then there
was that perfume, and…” She trailed off.
“Yeah,” I repeated.
“It’ll be OK. We’ll come and get you as soon as school
is out. Umm, Mamma says you probably shouldn’t wear
underwear.”
“What?”
“You know, panties. Or jeans, either. She thinks the
dildo has to breath through its skin. Oh, my God!”
“What? What?”
“It’s just… I guess you know. It’s about to get me
over, again. I’ll call you back if we find out anything
more. Woo! See ya soon!”
It was a long three weeks. My dildo kept me in a nearly
constant state of arousal, teasing me right to the
edge, and then backing off, over and over, until I
would finally reach orgasm. After a brief chance to
rest, it started all over again. I was always flushed,
and slightly bowlegged. Plus I always had to wear the
same skirt.
It was the only one I owned that was long enough not to
show off my new friend whenever I sat down. (How do
Scotsmen get away with kilts?) And, instead of a
blouse, I had to wear a loose sweatshirt to conceal my
nipples, because they were always as hard as marbles.
And they were so sensitive! I couldn’t even bear the
thought of wearing a bra.
Oh, and speaking of sensitive – I forgot to mention
that within a few days I had feeling over the whole
surface of my new addition. What touched it, I felt,
and what it touched, I felt, too. And it felt damn
fine, thank you – both inside of me and out. Sometimes
I’d stroke it, just because it felt so nice, and it
would stiffen and grow. Then I’d pull on it (and wonder
if boys did this, too), while inside the other end was
doing me. Talk about double your pleasure!
I soon found that I could control it, a bit swing it
back and forth and around about, even stretch it out
and touch stuff. It was practically prehensile. After
some practice I found I could wrap it around my
fingers, that sort of thing. And I didn’t have to look
to know what I was feeling. But if I didn’t do
something with it that was sufficiently stimulating, it
would start in on its own program. Like, for instance,
when I first managed to get it to pick up a pencil (in
the privacy of my bedroom, of course), it suddenly
dropped the thing and snaked under me to poke its tip
inside my bum.
Meanwhile, it was growing. As the days passed, more of
it was sticking out of me, more of the time. And it was
getting fatter, too, although it was hard to tell at
first… it happened gradually, and anyway, the thing
was switching from long-and- skinny to short-and-fat
all the time, as it worked at getting me off.
School was particularly tough. Between the weird
clothes and my odd behaviour, I felt like everyone must
be looking at me. And whenever the thing inside me put
me over the edge, I thought, how could they not know
I’m in the grips of a major come? The trouble was, the
idea my friends and teachers might actually know I was
coming made it all the hotter. I’d look at them, and
wonder if Sally’s tits were padded or real, or if
April’s long tongue was rough like a kitten’s; and I’d
wonder if Mr. Clark, the gym teacher, had a cock as big
as mine. It was nearly impossible to think of anything
but sex.
Meanwhile, my dildo was always squirming. Even the
baggy sweatshirt wasn’t enough to hide all the activity
in my lap – I had to pretend to take up knitting, of
all things. Mostly, I lay low. I kept mostly to myself
at recess and lunch; I begged out of Gym class with
‘girl’ problems, although I still had to sit in the
bleachers (and ogle Mr. Clark). Luckily, there’s never
much work to do at the end of the year.
The few times Miss Stacey called on me to answer a
question in class, I could only stammer out something
inane. I was completely unfocused – I felt really dumb.
Sort of like Wendy, the blond girl at the back of the
room who never seemed to be listening. I’d think about
her, too – wonder if she was dreaming about someone
sucking her clit, or maybe had something shoved up her
twat. Which was a bit uncharitable, considering my own
situation, given that I’d soon be whispering, “Oh my
God, here it comes again!”
Every day I would pull off my clothes, as soon as I got
home – my top to get it off my nipples, and my skirt to
get better access to my clit. Then I would make up for
all the orgasms I had somehow managed to bottle up
during the day. When I had to come out of my bedroom
for dinner, on went the dumpy clothes again.
My mother just told my father I was going through a
phase. I was always hungry and ready for bed by eight.
Then, it was a major relief to strip off once more. I
slept naked, with the heat turned up and my bedding
thrown off. Luckily, my dildo seemed to sleep when I
did, but it was stimulating me again bright and early
every morning.
I could hardly wait to get back to Auntie’s and find
out what was happening to me.