; ; Only a scant half-hour earlier, the day had been hot and sunny with a light breeze. Then it evolved to a hazy mugginess. Now, as thunder grumbles in the distance, she decides that paddling her canoe to shore may be her wisest option. Although the grasses grow very tall on the bog, trees are scarce and this tends to make a person feel like a lightning target.
; ; The canoe glides effortlessly down the narrow waterway that threads through Fifty-Acre Marsh and Janet focuses upon the daypack at her feet. She voices a sigh of resignation. Inside the pack are camera, a camcorder, a small audio recorder and a snack cake. An afternoon that she had hoped to record the sights and sounds of wildlife was being canceled because of weather.
; ; An orphan gust of wind urges Janet's shoulder-length ebony curls to caress her cheeks as the oncoming tempest approaches from behind. She scans the shoreline, almost eighty yards distant, for a place to moor her small craft. Janet's dark chocolate eyes reflect her worry and her lower lip quivers the broadcast of her agitation. Janet moans a near silent sigh as she realizes that the nearby coast is densely wooded and without any sign of human occupation.
; ; As Janet urges the canoe forward, through the thickening reeds, she decides to beach the dugout into the first suitable niche and hike her way out of the nature preserve and to the nearest roadway. Janet is, after all, in Connecticut. She reasons that you can't go in a straight line for more than four miles anywhere in this little state without encountering a road.
; ; Janet's thoughts momentarily return to yesterday. The seashore was deliciously toasty and her two girlfriends were always splendid company. It was to be a girl's day out with sun tanning and boy watching at the top of their activity list. Her girlfriends, who had known that Janet was too easily embarrassed, had decided to administer some prankish therapy on the young lady. They had bought her a black-satin, thong bathing suit to wear for the occasion. With a false bravado, she promised to wear the garment on their outing.
; ; The canoe jars to a stop as its bow nudges into a bank or hummock hidden by the dense reeds. Janet is shaken from her distracting memories and begins to back-paddle the small craft for a better route. She smiles as she remembers that after all was done at the beach, she had been true to her word.
; ; Janet had only garnered a bit of a tan to augment her dark Mediterranean skin tone however, because she had remained in her cut-off jeans the entire day. That is the price a shy girl might pay for wearing a scant thong bathing suit and then chickening out.
; ; As fate would have it, Janet's two girlfriends had met a couple of fellows at the beach and today they were on a double date with them. Her friends had expressed their concern that she would be spending a lonely day without them today. Janet set their worries to rest by telling them that she planed to return to the ocean today, and that she would be wearing her promiscuous thong as she strutted her stuff on the sandy shore. They giggled, expressed doubts and instructed Janet to get photographs as proof of her exploit. Thus it came to pass, that she presently has on the thong bottom of her suit under her denim slacks.
; ; The present regains Janet's attention. A large raindrop hits her pack with a thwapping sound. Ten more drops hit the canoe and the surrounding water, drawing streaks on the canoe and ripples in the water. A flash, a roar and the skies pour down.
; ; Driving in torrents, the rain has agitated the surface of the stream to a boiling appearance and Janet is almost instantly drenched to the skin. Her T-shirt is pasted to her, and the jeans she is wearing are less tight, but heavier. Janet's long dark hair is slicked to her scalp and she momentarily stops paddling to brush a soggy tress from her face. Placing the paddle in the bottom of the canoe, Janet huddles over in her seat and tucks her head between her knees. She feels the wind buffet the slender boat and is relieved to note that it is pushing it over the reeds and toward land. The driving rain is lashing along her back as Janet shrinks further into a fetal huddle and clenches her eyes closed.
; ; A brilliant flash penetrates the sanctuary of her hooded lids and it is followed immediately with an air-rending roar as something nearby falls victim to the squall's wrath. Janet's eyes flutter open and she is surprised by what she sees. It has been raining hard for less than five minutes there is already more than an inch of water in the bottom of the canoe.
; ; Raising her head slowly and glancing to her left, Janet sees a large patch of darkness. It is trees, or rather an opening in trees. She must have been closer to shore than she had estimated. The darkness is a hollow in the woods, much like a mouth of a fifteen-foot high by thirty-foot wide cavern. To what depths it reached, Janet could only guess. It is not where she had put in to the marsh's slough with her canoe. Yet, it offers an ominous promise of shelter.
; ; Janet retrieves the floating paddle from the bottom of the flooded hull and guides the bow of the canoe towards gravel beached shoreline. A flash of lightning hits something nearby and the almost instantaneous crash of thunder causes her to cringe as the canoe sidles up to the beach. Janet steps out into mid-calf deep water and wading in to the bow of the canoe, proceeds to try to haul it onto the shore.
; ; An inch of water in a fifteen-foot canoe weighs a lot, yet she drags almost eight feet of the craft onto shore. The water in the canoe has settled into the stern and so has her pack. Sure that her equipment is being ruined, Janet rushes to rescue her gear.
; ; A distant rumble shakes the ground. Janet, with pack in hand glances back at the canoe and the continuing cascade of rain as she walks hastily into the canopy of the forest. Witch Grass carpets the ground in the clearing and it undulates with the short gusts of wind as waves would upon a choppy ocean. The rain seems diminished in its onslaught beneath the canopy of the trees and Janet's eyes slowly adjust to the darkness of the forest. She stops and kneels to check her pack out. As she lifts the flap Janet notices a plastic liner she had forgotten about and a quick check shows the pack's cargo to be dry and secure.
; ; Standing up again, Janet surveys the fringes of the covered clearing and shoulders the pack. Adjusting the thick straps of the daypack, Janet observes the hard nipples protruding from her pert breasts. They pull taut against the fabric of her thin T-shirt. The temperature has gone down a few degrees and the storm still rages across the swamps without relent. Janet is an avid outdoors enthusiast and she is aware of the dangers of hypothermia. She knows that a better shelter, soon, may become a necessity and she clasps her upper arms in a shiver.
; ; Peering into the shadowy edges of the clearing, Janet sees several voids in the shrub growth. Hesitantly, she approaches the gap in the underbrush that is farthest to her left. It turns out to be little more than a notch in the thick shrubbery and Janet continues her search, moving to her right. The second one proves to be a path leading uphill and through fairly open woods. A quick glance at her watch tells Janet it is already four o'clock in the afternoon.
; ; Janet starts down the path, seeing that the open woods are better lit than the dense cover of the shoreline canopy. This benefit is balanced out by her increased exposure to the storm, which buffets bushes and pelts her once more with the large raindrops. The frequent flashes of lightning filtering through the treetops causes a stroboscopic effect on the swaying underbrush, and it appears as if shadow-goblins are weaving through the forest about her.
; ; Bare clay paves the small trail. It is hard and slick to the footfall. The constant focus upon her walking draws most of Janet's energy. She knows that a moment's inattention can result in a slipping injury. The benefit of the young woman's trek is that the exertion raises her body temperature to a zone that is more comfortable for her.
; ; The path ushers Janet to the base of a steep grade. Erosion has left the lane as a muddy gully, accented by exposed roots. Going up this section of trail may be closer to climbing than to hiking uphill.
; ; Janet leans forward, grasping a thick root and finding a foothold for her raised boot, drawing herself upward. She progresses in this manner for about eight feet. The wind suddenly gusts, pasting a large fallen leaf to her face. Janet rears back from the hillside in fright and claws at the leaf, which is covering her eyes and nose. Her other hand slips off of the roots she had been gripping and she starts a slide, downhill, on her stomach.
; ; Reaching out in desperation to purchase a handhold, Janet feels her T-shirt peeled up towards her armpits and the abrasive sting of her vulnerable flesh being scratched by soil. She yelps in dismay as she rides the hillside back to the bottom.
; ; Clambering to her feet, Janet looks down to inspect the damages of her slide and sees a blushing patch of skin with a few light scratch marks. The hapless heroine's shirt is packed with muck. Muddy water runs down her tummy in rich brown rivulets.
; ; Tears of frustration well up in Janet's eyes. She repels them and their accompanying thoughts of self-pity by embracing the concept that she is on an adventure. This is not a bland undertaking, like a day on a quiet marsh stalking wildlife with cameras. This is the "real deal." Janet realizes that she can remain the sniveling victim of this storm, or she can make her way through it like a goddess of the forest. Get going, get tough girl, she thinks with conviction. At least, Janet muses, if I relax and go with it, my judgment won't be clouded by panic.
; ; She saunters up to a rain-drenched bush at the side of the path and gently brushes the chafed area of her sternum. Cool rainwater soothes her stinging flesh making her pleased with her new audacity. Then, sliding off her daypack, Janet eases her head and one arm out of her T-shirt. It slides down her other arm to her waiting grasp. Using another bush, she rolls and twists against it to effect a crude bathing. Janet pulls the thin, rain-soaked branches against her naked torso in a gentle scrubbing motion. The resourceful young lady uses several neck-high shrubs in this manner until she is satisfied that the small, brown rivulets of soil are washed away from her soft skin.
; ; Gathering up her T-shirt, she thrusts it into the shrubbery to soak it and shakes it smartly to discard the loosened pieces of soil. Standing in the forest, with the storm surging around her and her naked exposure to the raging element is exciting to a deep part of her. A facet she would always conceal with shyness. Janet stares down at her hardened nipples and watches with a detached fascination as a drop of rain-water rolls off one of them only to strike her belly and continue its journey towards her waist. The sensation of the thought makes her writhe saucily as she checks the damp shirt once more.
; ; Janet dons the shirt again, aware that the dirty garment against her scratches is inviting infection. She pulls her long, dark locks back from her face feeling tighter curls that have set in, as they do every time her thick, ebony hair gets wet.
; ; Shouldering the pack, Janet stops to reassess the hillside before her and notes that leaving the trail and ascending on a diagonal course of travel may allow a more stable climb to the hilltop. It will mean bushwhacking through some Mountain Laurel, but it should be safer than trying to engage the washed out pathway.
; ; Slowly and carefully Janet climbs through the thickets. Often the wiry and tenacious branches of the laurel snatch at her pack and clothing. Finally, she gains the summit and cuts her way back over to regain the path. The gale and the rain abate to windless drizzle and a peal of thunder growls its wrath several miles behind her.
; ; Janet is pleased about the lull in the storm and hopes to gain some good distance during its abatement. Turning onto the trail, she continues her course while the grating roars at her back tell her that more of the foul weather's rage was still in heated pursuit.
; ; Looking ahead on the path, Janet espies two white buildings. They are approximately fifty yards distant. As she approaches them, she gets a sinking feeling as both buildings appear to be darkened and in disrepair. Janet enters the clearing surrounding the buildings and notes a crude road or driveway, which is overgrown with grass exiting the other side of the open area.
; ; The buildings consist of a small house and a two-bay garage. The garage strangely appears to be disproportionately tall and long, as if used for a small warehouse. Its imposing bulk dwarfs the small house. The white paint on both structures is riddled with flaking. White linen curtains on the house's windows frame the stygian gloom within. Janet approaches the house and knocks on the doorframe. There was no answer. She opens the screen door and raps sharply on the inner door. Still no reply comes from within.
; ; Janet backs away from the house and studies the garage. She sees thick power-lines threaded down the driveway that are linked both to the house and to the garage. She also notes fresh tire ruts to the garage's front bay doors and that there is a side entrance to the ominous structure. The loud crackling explosion of a thunderclap causes her to duck her head and cease her assessment of the outbuilding.
; ; Turning her back on the house, Janet walks quickly to the side door of the garage and tries to peer through the small panes and into the darkness within. She tests the door handle and finds it unlocked. Janet ponders a moment. Entering a garage is not as bad as breaking into a person's house, she thinks with deliberation. Besides, she rationalizes, perhaps there's a work shirt or jacket that she can borrow inside. With a fresh piece of clothing, it should be a short walk down the driveway to a nearby road and she could return the garment in better weather when she comes back for her canoe.
; ; Wind-driven rain suddenly begins to cascade down again in a lush liquid curtain upon the contemplative female. The tempest has apprehended its feminine morsel again.
; ; Opening the door, Janet feels along the garage wall for a switch and encounters a metallic tendril. Sheeting rain stings her back while her questing fingers follow the thick cable that leads her to a switch. She flicks on the toggle and is rewarded with blinding light that promises warmth and safety. Before her eyes have adjusted to the radiance, Janet enters the structure and she turns to draw the door closed behind her. As she pivots around to face the enclosure, Janet lets out a gasp. Nothing could have prepared her for what stood before her eyes at that moment.
; ; Banks of overhead florescent lighting reveal a very strange interior. An above ground swimming pool dominates most of the garage. On the far wall, as she had hoped, hangs a red and black checkered flannel shirt next to several gardening implements. Also, on the far side of the garage, stands an open shower with clothing hooks on the wall. These items were not the cause of her concern, though.
; ; Janet walks very slowly to the wall of the swimming pool. She sees that it was almost to her waist in height and that it was filled to nearly two thirds of its depth with moist humus. The true draw of her attention was at the center of the thirty-foot diameter pool. Rearing up out of the soil, to an altitude of ten feet above the mud's surface, was the largest flower Janet had ever seen. In fact, she could not even recall seeing a picture anywhere of a flower of this proportions outside of science fiction applications. The flower's bloom was structured much akin to a Lady Slipper and was a full six feet in length. Its weight caused the stem, fully as big in girth as Janet's upper leg, to bend back towards the thick, dark earth.
; ; About the base of the large bloom, is a patch of smaller plants that spanned in a cluster to a distance of seven feet away from the monumental blossom. These look much like Hens and Chicks plants, except for a white spot in the center of each one and the fact that they were as large as heads of lettuce.
; ; Outside, the storm now rages, and the mighty winds cause the building to tremble. Who lived here? What were they doing with these magnificent and unusual plants? Janet returns to the side door and gazes at the house again. It remains dark and silent in its reply.
; ; Turning on her heel, Janet saunters back across the well-lit interior of the garage, to stand before the shower. Inside she sees two spigots, hopefully one of them is for hot water.
; ; Shrugging off her pack, she gently lowers it to the cement floor. Arguments are running through Janet's mind. This place is spooky and she is sure that the owners of the buildings will not be pleased at her intrusion. But, the promise of a warm shower and a fresh shirt to protect her from the storm could not be such an imposition upon anyone having the intellect to allow for the nurturing of such astounding botanical specimens. She reaches in and turns the left spigot. Warm water turning hot, spews from the showerhead in a radiance of small streams. First, a warm shower, she decides.
; ; Peeling off her T-shirt, Janet lets it ceremoniously drop to the floor. She then bends over and unlaces her hiking boots. Kicking them off, she bends over once more to roll off her socks. The concrete floor is not cold, as Janet would have expected it to be. Standing erect again, Janet engages the snap and zipper of her jeans and wriggles out of them as quickly as possible.
; ; Janet sees a full length mirror to the left of the shower and slowly walks over to stand before it. Her sparkling brown eyes see a figure reflected before her of a young lady. She is five feet and five inches in height and she is approaching thirty-five years of age. The lady is slim of figure with a little bit of a flare at the hips. Her skin is a Grecian olive hue with darkly tanned legs from mid-thigh to toe. The sun-darkened areas looked like sheer taupe hosiery, clinging to her shapely legs with invisible support.
; ; Although not buxom, Janet's pert breasts are a 34-C size and no lover she has ever known has seemed disappointed. Her long and raven black hair is set in small ringlets. This is a reaction to its exposure to the day's humidity. It frames the fine lines of Janet's jawbones and at that point she looks at the scraped spot on her upper stomach. The investigating adventuress touches it gingerly, and winces, knowing it will be tender for a few days. The overhead lights play shadows on her well-muscled legs that gracefully blend into her firm buttocks.
; ; Finally, Janet notes the thong bathing suit bottom she is wearing. She smiles as she reflects on its presence. Janet had endured the painstaking inconvenience of removing the body hair from that part of her anatomy, but didn't have the courage to wear the suit publicly at the beach yesterday. As she stands, posing in self-admiration, her memories of virtuous fears seem remote. Framed in the background of the revealing vignette, is the tremendous flower that shares this reflective space with her.
; ; She returns to her clothes and arranges them in a neat pile placing her watch on top of them. Janet walks to where the flannel shirt hangs on the wall and checks it out. It is an extra large size and has only three buttons, but it will certainly do.
; ; Janet climbs into the shower and she adjusts the water to a warm flow. Looking down the length of her body as the water cascades off, she sees traces of brown lines where dirt from her earlier fall have eluded her efforts to clean herself. The pleasantly warm water lulls her almost to trance. Her most recent difficulties and concerns fade into a dark hole of memories as Janet finds herself soothed by the simple pleasure of the shower. All the time, her gaze is repeatedly lured back to the large plant at the center of the pool.
; ; With resolution, Janet turns off both spigots. There is no towel, so an air- drying might be in order. Although the weather outside is very wet, the air inside the garage seems dry, with the pungent scent of nitrogenated fertilizer and a sweetness that must be emanating from the blossom. It is also much warmer in the building than when Janet had entered it. Perhaps some of the brilliant lights that played on the huge bloom were designed to provide heat, as well as illumination.
; ; Janet views the immense plant again. What a tremendous adventure she has to relate to her girlfriends! What an astonishing creature the flower seems to be. She thinks she should at least take pictures of it to prove to her friends the authenticity of her escapades.
; ; Opening the daypack, Janet removes her camera and checks the settings and general condition. She is pleased to find it in order on all accounts.
; ; Janet bellies up against the pool wall and looks through the viewfinder at the blossom. She snaps three quick pictures. Then a thought occurs to her. Sure enough, her friends would contend that this was merely a regular twelve-inch flower that she had photographed up close, or with a zoom lens. Janet lightly bites down on her lower lip, wrestling for a solution. Her story would be dismissed as hype unless she could present a credible reference to size in a picture.
; ; Then an idea strikes Janet. I'll use myself she decides. The mud in this pool is only a few inches above my knees and I can film myself wading up to the bloom with my camcorder. Then I could return to the shower, one more time to leave here clean.
; ; Within a minute Janet is standing at the edge of the pool, clamping the camcorder to the tubular rim and adjusting the field of view to accommodate the perspective she desired of the huge blossom. She is wearing her thong once again, and now has on the flannel shirt. She muses that her friends may enjoy her in a show, but wishes not too much of her to be in the show.
; ; Grabbing her small 35mm.camera again, Janet lifts her shapely leg much like a ballerina, over the pool rim and places her foot atop the muck inside. Gripping the pools tubular rim with both hands, she presses her body's weight from the floor with straining shoulders. Janet gently places the pressure of her weight upon her foot in the pool, feeling the warm mud as it slides across the top of her foot and presses in around her ankle.
; ; Janet's leg becomes submerged with ease to mid-calf, and then she encounters solid bottom. This is great she thinks. Now I won't be getting as muddy as I thought I would be. Janet wriggles her toes and feels the ooze squishing between them and knows a fall will get her muddy indeed. Pushing off with the leg already inside the pool, She hoists her other foot over the pool's rim and into the pool waiting muck with a motion similar to mounting a horse with stirrups. It disappears from sight to a depth correspondent to the first leg.
; ; The garage floor looks to be very far below her, as she stands erect at nearly half again her normal altitude. The plants are much more impressive in appearance from this perspective. Janet is awed by the flower's massiveness. She glances back at the camcorder to reassuringly see the red light that tells her the camera is still properly recording.
; ; Janet tries to pull her foot out of the mire, but encounters astonishing resistance. The warm, inky silt presses in upon her swallowed flesh and her feet feel like they are stuck to the bottom with suction. Then, she intuitively keeps her toes pointed toward the bottom and her foot slides much easier from the muck, punctuated by a slurping sound as it exits. The enmired wader realizes that she will have to raise her foot very high at each step. She wonders if she will look like a flannel- caped, thong wearing Majorette to her friends when they view the camcorder's tape. Janet takes small steps, not wanting to fall and ruin her 35mm.camera, or provide her friends with distracting comedy.
; ; The morass encompassing Janet's lower legs in its warm embrace feels like a sensuous foot massage at each plunging step. She feels her nipples growing taut with arousal in their contact with the soft sliding flannel. Janet also feels a warm dampness growing between her legs and the urge to slip her fingers inside the thong and pleasure herself flits across her mind. She smiles a wicked little smile at the thought of what a movie that would make. She might confide her feelings to her girlfriends later, but she would never demonstrate them for the camera.
; ; Within minutes, Janet's wade places her three feet away from the edge of the smaller plants ringing the huge blossom's base. Looking down at them, she wonders whether it's her imagination, the lighting or if she sees a stirring. Each individual plant seems to be dilating and contracting the visible amount of their white centers. It must be the effect of the ripples on top of the ever-soupier mud.
; ; The smell of her tangy perspiration, earned by the exertion of her trek, is wafted to her. Janet also smells the thick aroma of the plants before her and decides she likes the bouquet of the blended scents, although the plant aroma makes her feel a little woozy. Standing almost knee-deep in the tepid muck with her senses massaged so richly, she resolves to masturbate later when she returns to the shower.
; ; Janet's next step feels different as her foot settles. The woman's foot comes to rest on an incline and the mire changes to the consistency of thin fudge topping. Her forward foot starts sliding away from her back foot and she tries to shift her weight backwards with the alarming effect of pulling that leg towards her foremost leg.
; ; For a perpetual moment, the worried wader hangs on the indecisive brink of toppling over or executing a split. Then, slowly and irresistibly, Janet begins to slide down a hidden slope towards the center of the pool. The muck is now reaching above her knees and with both feet planted against the slope, she finds herself skidding into the murk ever deeper. Janet dares not lift a foot lest she lose her balance, fall and slip beneath the shaking surface. She pinwheels her arms slowly in an effort to maintain balance. With legs braced and knees locked, Janet looks down in horror as the mud engulfs her to just above her mid thigh. Then the bottom levels off again and her descent ceases.
; ; Throughout her sinking glide, Janet's eyes are transfixed on the creamy morass that seems to be sucking her into its muddy maw. As she comes to a halt, the harrowed female raises her gaze to rest upon the large flower at the center of the pool. Although Janet senses no real imminent threat, she cannot shake clear of the ominous feeling that she has made a grave mistake.
; ; Standing a few inches into the perimeter of the smaller plants, Janet feels the coarse texture of their bulbs against her soft upper legs. She looks back at the camcorder's red indicator light and she muses, no harm really done. This is much closer than intended, the huge pod's stem now was only two yards away. Janet raises her small camera and snaps off several more shots. With false bravado, she turns toward the camcorder and waves with a smile to be recorded for posterity.
; ; Janet places her foot, backward up the ramp she has just slid down, but several attempted steps reveal that she cannot gain the traction that will allow her to climb back out. Turning around, she looks across the swimming pool's center and wonders if a spot on the other side might allow for an easier exit.
; ; The mud at the center has the consistency of tomato paste and Janet wades into the perimeter of the smaller plants. Floating atop of the shifting muddy soup, the smaller plants flow in around her, closing upon her trailing wake as she labors on across the center. Get going girl and hang tough, Janet thinks again with resolution. At least it's not getting any deeper; she broods.
; ; Unexpectedly, the smaller pod-like plants that are floating all around Janet begin bustling with activity. She stifles a scream of surprise and freezes in place as the small, white centers of these plants extend upward.
; ; Grub-worm white, and fully an inch and one-half thick, the lengths of the appendages vary from four to ten inches. Janet slowly turned to look about her in horrified disbelief. There was a disturbing piece of commonality that they all shared with their undulating movement. The flotilla of plants seemed to be searching for something with their serpentine contortions. They all seem to be reaching out for her.
; ; Instinctively, Janet raises her camera. She feels the slippery tendrils moving against her thighs and buttocks. Janet twists her hips in a futile effort to avoid their slick caresses. With a short audible exhale, Janet starts to move as quickly as the muck will allow her, towards the far side.
; ; Beneath the surface of the quaking slime, a network of shoelace sized roots are engaged with enwrapping her legs. She can feel a growing resistance to her progress and then an audacious binding pressure on her flesh as the lattice of filaments constrictively grips her entangled legs. They are small, yet the fibers have the resiliency of parachute cord.
; ; Janet's advance is halted as the root system holds her fixed like a moth in a spider's web. She tries her best to tear her trapped legs free of the snaring strands. The black-haired beauty's struggle causes waves to pass through the pool's center and the tentacle pods to quiver about atop the soupy ooze. The pods are bobbing and pressing in closer around her. The liquefied humus churns around Janet's bound legs with the active vigor of a piranha school's devouring fury. In a few moments, nearly a dozen of the vile appendages are squirming along the flesh of the writhing woman's mid-thighs, and groping higher.
; ; A white tentacle squirms inside of the front of her thong and she reaches down with her right hand to block its advances. It is unexpectedly strong though, and sinuously slides through her fingers at every attempt she tries. Janet looks back toward the camcorder with a wordless pleading expression to a mute, red-eyed audience, which offers no succor.
; ; The taunting tentacle dishearteningly demonstrates that it can touch Janet's womanhood at whim. She is at once horrified and aroused as the thick tendril rubs up and down her crotch, exerting a continually increasing pressure against her recently shaved womanhood. A low moan of arousal escapes Janet's lips, yet she is galvanized by fright as she drops her camera and moves to block the invader's advances with both hands. The slick muck is an effective lubricant that bargains away any hold the dismayed girl tries to negotiate on the eel-like appendage. It slides easily through her straining grip. Other tendrils begin to join the probing search, nudging the beleaguered beauty's flinching thighs and buttocks.
; ; Janet is out-muscled and outnumbered. While applying all the pressure her inner thigh muscles could muster to keep herself tight, she feels herself dampening inside in unsolicited arousal.
; ; Abandoning attempts to grab at the aggressive probes, Janet grabs her upper thighs, forcing them together into a tight lap. The root system that has entrapped her responds by slowly and steadily pulling Janet's straining legs back apart. An inch, then two inches as she groans with the effort of her resistance.
; ; A tendril hooks through the rear of Janet's thong, pulling tightly on the brief's fabric. The suit is drawn tautly over the appendage, which is accosting entry to her heated love nook and the thin top band digs deeply into her trembling hips. The two cable-like probes abandon their explorations of Janet's flesh and engage in a tug of war with her garment. Their yanking lurches her pelvis about in obscene surging gyrations, until the stitching at the crotch of her thong fails with a snap. The ruined garment hangs from her hips and the vandalous vegetables immediately renew their arduous attentions to Janet's exposed genitals. They are joined by several more of the serpentine tubers and Janet can feel the muscular writhing along her inner thighs as the gang of them press their quest upwards.
; ; A tentacle breaches all barriers and slides into her. "Oh! Oh, my! Oh God!" Janet weeps and laughs simultaneously in response, as it reaches deeper and deeper into her dampness with each undulating thrust. First, an inch, then two, then three inches. Janet futilely clenches the penetrating plant in both her fists and powered by a fear granted adrenaline, grips the shaft so hard that her shoulders crackle and burn. Her resistance is to no avail, as the probing invader squirms through her hands with impunity. The serpentine growth dilates itself eight inches into her torso, then withdraws a third of the distance. It begins to plunge and withdraw repeatedly, writhing from side to side; up and down with a sinuous strength her arms are powerless to control.
; ; Janet is now breathing in deep, rasping gasps and with alarm she learns that the plants are not to be satisfied with merely vaginal penetration. She feels the same increasing rubbing pressure on her flesh as before, but now it is at her sphincter and she frantically looks up for any missed avenue of escape.
; ; The enormous pod is looming only two feet above her head and clear gel slavers down from the slot that marks its orifice like spittle, reaching towards her. The bottoms of the deep pink petals are marbled with throbbing crimson veins that are as thick as clothesline ropes.
; ; Janet's breathing comes in ragged whines, which punctuate the thrusting ravages of the tuberous cord that is stretching her labial walls. With a shaking hand, Janet slides her fingers into the front of the shirt and tears open the flannel garment. Quickly shrugging it off, Janet flails and snaps it at the huge flower to drive it back. The bulging blossom rears back two more feet in retreat and floats beyond the range of her whipping parries. The strategy seems to be a successful defense when several things happen in rapid succession.
; ; A tendril hooks through the waistband of Janet's tattered thong. Alternately pushing against the small of her back, and pulling backwards at her apparel, it causes her to struggle for her balance. As she sways forward and back, another tendril slithers into her ass. The tentacle pushing up into Janet's colon is cunningly gentler in its intrusion than the one that is ravaging her vagina. Very slowly, it slides two inches into her, then stops. Surprisingly, the invading appendage in her rump begins to tremble; increasing in its speed until it is vibrating so hard and fast, that she can feel it by placing her hand on her tensed stomach.
; ; Janet feels her juices rushing to her loins and closing her eyes, she is rocked by wave after wave of stimulated shivers. As if coming out of a fog, Janet regains cognizance to the sound of a slurping cadence. The sounds declare the plunging movements of the worm-like stem as it roots into her unresisting vagina. She drops her hands to brace her hips and steady herself. Janet's knees feel weak and looking down, she is amazed to see her own body in betrayal as her pelvis thrusts forward and back seeking its own further fulfillment.
; ; With humiliated resignation, Janet returns her half-closed eyes skyward and gasps with alarm as a large glob of plant spittle descends upon her chest. The shaking woman's hands move instinctively to her chest. She tries to wipe the greasy mucus away from her skin, but instead abets its downward flow. Surprisingly, it feels cool and soothing when it touches her skin that had been scraped earlier. Besides its Aloe-like ability to sooth, the liquid has a lubricity and bears an intoxicating aroma. The heady perfume of the substance fills her lungs and a warm brandy glow washes over her.
; ; Janet's hands brush over her taut nipples and a shudder of pleasure shakes her shoulders. She closes her eyes and in the sanctuary of the quenching darkness, savors the sensual assaults on her hungry flesh. All thoughts of removing the ooze from her skin are fleeing from her mind as her fingers plow into the fragrant slime and she begins kneading her firm breasts.
; ; One of the entranced woman's hands glides upwards and over her collarbone. She reaches along her throat leaving a trail of the greasy aphrodisiac across the skin shielding the main arterial passages to her brain. Distractedly, Janet's finger traces a gelatinous string along her jawbone. She smears the goo on her cheek, then paints the erogenous elixir on her lips.
; ; Janet feels a pressure against her forehead and opens her eyes widely again to see that the bloom has descended again and is now face to face with her. It is throbbing and drooling and slightly parting its two huge petals; much like a huge excited vagina itself.
; ; Her reaction was to raise her arms to push it away. This seems to work at first, because the large plant deceptively withdraws a couple of feet. But as she holds her arms out straight to ward off the flower, it suddenly lunges back at Janet. Her juice- smeared arms are easily enveloped to the elbows by the cavernous maw. Before she can pull them back, the giant petals clench them in their grip with force far beyond hers, a strength that bars all hope of escaping.
; ; Weakened by recent events, Janet looks on with growing terror in her heart as the blossom slowly and methodically devours more of her arms, a quarter of an inch at a time. Release, push and grip, as the swallowing petals taker her pinned arms farther into their custody.
; ; Janet feels an uncomfortable fullness pressing into the lips her violated vulva. Looking down again, she sees a bubble of thickness in the tubular invader as it is seething in and out of her. It increases the tendril's girth by almost half again. Much like the water bubble in a cartoon hose, it is moving swiftly up the plant and towards her.
; ; As the bulge enters her, Janet feels the resistance of its growing width on her labial walls and trembles in supplication. She feels increasing pressure on her anus and knows a similar intrusion is breaching into her from behind. The pressure from behind begins to burn and she feels like she is being split in two, or her ass is on fire. Then, the bulge moves up into her colon and the relief to her tortured sphincter is as a soothing balm.
; ; Janet feels an exploding wetness shooting up into her from below, and the larger plant that has captured her arms trembles ever so slightly. Janet sees slick, luminescent green fluids gush out of her orifices and paint her inner thighs as the two tentacles inside her begin their thrusting and thrashing with renewed vigor.
; ; In her predicament, as dire as it is, she feels the arousal of fires stirring again within her. Janet knows that they will not permit her to be denied.
; ; The blossom has gained her arms nearly to her shoulders as Janet leans her head forward to avoid its grasp. Dribbles of the blossom's juice run down the nape of Janet's neck and along the furrow of her twisting spine. Her hands and wrists can feel a writhing mass inside the flower, similar to the tendrils below. It occurs to Janet for the first time, below and above, that it's all one plant having its way with her.
; ; With her head forced down, she is forced to view the tentacles probing her below with a relentless, rhythmic motion. Janet watches with almost a detached fascination as she feels the two tendrils inside her occasionally bump against each other; barred only by the frail membranes of her body. A third tendril attempts entry to her by means of her pussy as if it were her next suitor, ready and waiting impatiently.
; ; Looking across the room through a haze that swims before her view, Janet sees the red light of the camcorder, still filming. The bloom thrusts forward again in an unusual leap and grips Janet's head from behind, fully encompassing her shoulders and her face up to her jawbones. She can move her arms around inside the flower now and feels again, the serpentine tendrils. They grip her arms firmly in their sinuous coils and Janet shivers as she feels them touching the back of her scalp. A copious quantity of drool erupts from the blossom and Janet holds her breath a moment, for fear of drowning, as her entire torso is bathed in its deluge.
; ; The beleaguered lady squirms to avoid further capture, but the flower uses the opportunity her movement provides to gain more of Janet and it slides down her lubricated body to the bottom of her ribcage. With her head and arms swallowed into the cavernous bloom, Janet finds her arms pulled into its tropic depths by the tentacles that have encircled them. The muscled petals of the bloom pause to mouth a masticating massage against Janet's breasts with shifting pulses of pressure.
; ; On the inside of the flower a dim pinkish light comes through the thick, translucent petals. Janet views a cluster of five tentacles, dark crimson in color and much longer than the ones having their way with her below.
; ; A sudden increase in the pressure on walls of her lower openings signals to Janet that the plant is moving its slippery, warm juices into her for a second time. In anticipation, she starts to rock her own hips as hard as she can, hoping to capture as much of the event into her as she is able.
; ; Janet realizes that she is feeling irrational about her predicament and although her complete energy should be focused upon escape, she is feeling an attachment towards her tormentor. A mysterious affection causes Janet to dismiss any other such musings and concentrate on the ecstasies being delivered to her body at the moment.
; ; Once more, she feels pints of the hot fiery juices from below spurting deeply into her and again she feels her excitement building as her own body prepares to return the climactic compliment. Janet feels a primal need to have her own body's juices join with the broth that her captor is pumping deeply into her. Losing any vestige of composure, she thrusts out her lower jaw and starts a growling yell that ends as a trembling moan. Her legs twitch spasmodically as a cocktail of their combined sauce seeps out of her, and blend into the swirling morass below.
; ; The ropy tentacles within the pod release their grip on Janet's arms. Her hands seek her breasts and she clenches them, pinching her nipples with an energy that hurts so, and yet feels so good.
; ; As Janet rides through spasms of blissful climax, two tendrils snake forward, encircling her neck while another slithers over her moaning lips and deeply into her throat. Her jaws ache as the are stretched agape with the accommodation. The captive woman now is now reduced to breathing exclusively through her nose and she knows the next surge of the plant's liquids will probably drown her.
; ; A beset Janet feels a second tentacle entering her vaginally and also feels its movements are opposite of initial invader. Thrusting as the other withdraws, and withdrawing as the other thrusts. She also realizes that the root system, which had earlier captured her legs, has released its hold on her.
; ; The pod-like flower thrusts downward once more and inhales Janet's body to the middle of her hips. Exerting more pressure, it accentuates the tentacles that are rabidly probing her lower orifices. Janet is wracked with surge upon surge of orgasmic tremor as the muscular petals bear down on her buttocks with their remorseless chewing activity.
; ; When the bulbous bloom next eases its grasp, it pushes three feet into the slushy mire, to rest loosely on her calves. Janet deliberately and mechanically draws her splayed knees up, into the blossom, to better spread her legs and offer herself to the progressively deeper penetrations of the plant within her.
; ; As Janet's world grows dim, she is aware of the uncontrollable writhing her body is going through. She is also mindful of her tongue's welcoming the oral invasion with a gentle cradling of the tendril passing it. Janet and the plant engage in a death dance of pleasures. She only knows that she wants to be entered in every imaginable way. The wanton woman commits herself to the forceful flower's every desire, promising a cellular level of total submission. Her mind cries out; anything, anything you want! Then, Janet is aware of nothing more. The red light on the camcorder winks out.
; ; End. ; ;