Freely she strolls through her forest cathedral, unrestrained by the shackles of clothing. Her pale skin as cool as the touch of the sweet air and glowing bright when stroked by shafts of sunlight penetrating through the forest canopy. A sun-warmed glade splits open before her. She tentatively ventures out, immersing herself in the humid and misty warmth. She spreads her arms and slowly twirls, the touch of the sun a cocoon of breathy kisses coating her skin. The warmth seeps into her. The air is a heavy, musky haze. The feeling of being watched surges up her back.

From below, something grows. She fixates on this intruder as it protrudes from the ground, a root-like, lissom tendril rising erect in front of her, matching her height and with the width of two of her fingers. It is close to the colour of her own skin. Suddenly, she feels her exposure. The awareness of her complete nakedness molests her, her bare skin alight as if surrounded by cloying eyes. Shyness and embarrassment, novel to her, send a hot flush throughout the whole of her body. Her arms move of their own accord, one hand flying to cover the apex of her legs, now tightly pressed together, the other crossing over her breasts, now sharply conspicuous and heavy. The urge to flee swells, but so does a tingling curiosity. From this imposing thing before her she feels a curiosity even greater than her own. She senses its intense fascination, how utterly captivated by her it is. In her belly, fear churns along with bright flutters of excitement.

It leans to her and grazes her foot. Though firm, it feels warm and tender, like her own skin as it brushes the top of her foot, prodding with light curiosity. She feels her body quiver at its touch. The fleshlike tendril snakes slowly upward, exploring the length of her leg. It curls around, cupping her calf and sliding up past her knee. Moving higher, it strokes at her thigh, flexing and pinching the soft inner skin. Tremors travel ahead of it like vibrations on a plucked string, rushing to the crest of her legs to heat the mound hidden under her cupped hand. The savoury warmth radiates through her body, her face flushes as do her breasts, blooming with heat under her arm. The tendril nudges the hand between her legs, curious about what is concealed underneath, but she does not reveal it. The new sensations pooling through her are pleasant, yes, but invasive to her discovered shyness. She will not so readily uncover all of herself to this new thing.

The tendril continues its exploration of her body, so brilliantly vivid in the sunlight. It brushes over her buttocks, prodding them each in turn and caressing their firm curves and supple skin before nuzzling between them. She gasps and darts her hand back to shield the cleft, her naked breasts forgotten in the fright of her rear opening being discovered. Unvexed, the tendril continues to caress her, groping and hefting the pert slopes of her buttocks.

It trails down her other leg, its soft suppleness tugging at her skin. She feels it growing hotter even as she does, its warmth sharp where it touches her and spreading a slow wake of heat. It slides down her thigh, pressing the flesh, fascinated by its texture. It snakes down the calf and ankle, the instep, then nudges about her foot. She lifts her foot a little and it continues to her sole, touching in a way that teases more than tickles, probing the pads and toes and arch and sending more tremors up her leg to the tender spot she hides.

She notices the flesh under her cupped hand is swollen, a sickly sweet feeling pumping into her loins and trickling out through her fingers. She realizes how hard she is pressing, seemingly squeezing out her own juice. Instinctively, she rubs her palm slowly over the area. The crest of her lower lips leaps to life, sending a sharp shudder through her, bright and sweet. Her muscles flex, rocking her hips against the stroking of her hand. She closes her eyes, focusing on the feeling, her loins a salivating tongue licking hot sweetness from her hand.

The tendril rises up and darts at her unprotected chest. It kneads her, fondling with tongue-like motions, the licking of her erect nipples sending shocks down her aroused body. She balks, almost losing the rhythm of the moment. But she hesitantly yields. She loses her resistance, such a tasty sensation subduing the pang of transgression. She allows herself to fully accept its attention and it inflames the sweet heat steaming through her. She arches her back, jutting her breasts out, asking for the ravishing to continue. It slithers and writhes over and around her breasts as if trying to caress every inch of both at once.

Sliding up between her breasts, the tendril pokes about her throat, reaches up to caress each cheek, then delicately brushes over her closed eyelids. It skims her lips, tracing the soft O through which her deep and hoarse breaths seethe. Instinctively, she opens her mouth, welcoming entry. The tendril slips in, its girth easily entering her slack-jawed invitation. She strokes it with her tongue, tasting its earthiness as it pushes further in, each brush of her slow licks sending a little shudder through the phallus. She feels it swell, rhythmic pulses pump through veins that bulge out against her lips and tongue. From the tip seep drips of a sweet, woody sap that leaves a tingling aftertaste. Slick from the sap and her saliva, the tendril wetly squirms, grinding upon her tongue.

She brings her hands to clutch her breasts, rubbing her palms over the painfully sensitive nipples, mimicking what had been delightfully done to her. She swirls them around and with her fingers, pinches and twists them as much as she can stand. The wetness on her hand from her lower mouth mixes with the saliva trickling down onto her breasts and the pricks of sweat which dampen every inch of her skin; a tickling coolness and playful tease against the heat of the heavy sunlight, the damp of the sweet glade, and the sticky currents hotly pumping through her. Succumbing to the rising tide, she sinks to her knees.

The tendril pulls from her mouth with a wet slurp. Her hands are attacking her breasts, her back is arched, her legs are bent beneath her and spread wide; the peak between them lain bare, unguarded. The tendril coils. She yelps as her soft lower mouth is impaled, involuntarily sucking in a sharp yelp through her upper lips as her lower lips are shoved apart. The shock of the sudden intrusion paralyzes her and tears spring from her eyes at the bizarre feeling of being rudely torn open. To receive it willingly in her mouth was much different than this brazen entry. The unfamiliar shame at her nakedness made her vulnerable enough, but this penetration and violation feels like her insides are laid bare, doubly naked.

The tendril twists and squirms. So singingly sweet is the sensation that the shock dissolves. Her eyes loll as a syrupy warmth boils from her loins and seeps through the whole of her body. The phallus begins rhythmically ramming into her. Pulling out until almost free then plunging back in, spearing her over and over, seeming bent on pounding completely through her to exit her mouth. Her squeals descend into deep moans, harsh and low, escaping from the depths of her being.

This thing has explored her, has touched and examined her, has tasted much of her outer body and now hungrily plunges deeper and deeper into her insides with an appetite approaching frenzy. All of her which it has seen and felt has only engorged its desire for her, to experience her as completely as possible, to drive down to her deepest depths unafraid of what might be lurking in the dark recesses within her where even she is afraid to look. She tastes her essence in its overflowing hunger. How delicious she is.

Nothing is possible but complete surrender to the onslaught. She digs her fingers into the earth, lest the vigorous thrusting push her away. It twists as it stabs, swirling around and intensifying the blinding exquisiteness of the sensation. She feels like liquid; she has become the rising tide which churns, lapping at the lip of the weakening dike, flooding against the shuddering wall, a storm has been called forth from her depths, a storm long-brewed, indistinguishable from her primal self. Her limbs tremble uncontrollably. Her loins tighten, chewing on each deep thrust of the phallus like a throat desperate to swallow, sucking it deep into her, feeling it swell to fill her void with delirious perfection.

The pace quickens. Strength and depth give way to speed as the merciless impaling accelerates, setting an impossibly fast tempo of wicked thrusts. Her guttural moans slide up into long wails, long at first then quickening into staccato, stabbing shrieks. Deep and low in her belly clenches, clamping down on the furious tendril and pulling her into herself. She breaks. Her quaking limbs turn rigid as the hot tide pours over her, washing her away and swirling her in its violent undercurrent, pummeling her in a raging buffet of savage delight. Hot and tingling waves thunder through her rigid body and she grasps them as tightly as she can, forgetting to breathe, possessed by the electric tides that crash against her, over her, into her, through her.

Searing liquid spurts into her as the tendril pours out its fury, still thrusting, drowning the inside of her with the strong tingle of its sticky sap, an unbearably exquisite agony on top of the violent pleasure ravaging her taut body. She is being burned from the inside out. The tendril yanks out and the storm rushes after, a thick gout of her own liquid spraying from her, drenching the tendril and soaking the ground around. Time stops. Her lungs scream, screaming for air in rapturous agony, spasming and sucking along with the strained convulsions of the rest of her body, clutching at the ebbing tides of ecstasy. The tendril falls limp across her body and between her shuddering breasts. It twitches, the last drops of its sap sputtering out. She sucks in with a great gasp; a blade of cold air slices down her throat, the thick, exotic scent of her fluid and the tendrils’ chokes her… And all goes black.

THE END