Chapter 4: Little Megan
The moon broke over the beautiful glen, its dark oaks royal, its central pond as smooth as crystal. On one mossy bank stood two erect shapes, leaf-wound and trembling, the humans within only denoted by the glassy eyes shimmering wetly between the clamping fronds.
Megan and Chlorophene shuddered in their slow orgasms, moving from low point to high over long hours. The plants that held them facilitated them along, sensing their excitement from their pulse, their temperature and their skin's salt content. When it was required, the foliagic awareness would shove its root deeper into their sexes, rising them slightly in their wrappings, making them purr.
It wasn't orgasm-denial. It was orgasm-enhancement.
Megan moaned, rising up on the twin knobs that impaled her, feeling her body rumble out yet another climax. With her arms locked to her sides, her legs together, forced erect in this uninhibited captivity, there was little she could do. It was almost as if she were rolled up in some lover's bed, one who toyed with her passions across the night, always caring, always attentive. She smiled at how nice it was.
Her magic was gone, absorbed away by this magical forest. Maybe she'd get it back once she left its influence. Maybe not. She didn't care.
What little focus she had was on the small bulb dangling from a limb before her. It hadn't been there when she and her druidic prisoner had been swept up the afternoon prior. Over the carnal night, phenomenal growth had taken place. First it had been the size of a grape, then a plum, then an apple, now a melon. From its top dangled a second growth, a tassel-like addition.
She rolled her eyes and looked to her side. Chlorophene trembled as she lifted towards another satisfactory conclusion. Before her dangled her own strange fruit.
Eventually the dawn illuminated the weary girls, shimmering along their attendant melons. The plant injected sap into her mouth, sweet and refreshing. She wished she had a pot big enough to have one of these plants at home. How nice it would be to see Kate's eyes glaring from clenching leafs. Perhaps it would take some of the edge off the girl.
It was a fantasy made doubly so by the fact the purple-haired witch was still 'misplaced' (as her aunt called it) in Africa.
Her eye was caught by the fruit's side tassel – it was opening to meet the dawn! Exposed was a wondrous flower, bright pink falling into a wine-dark center, an erotic hue. Suddenly a fragrance deep and wet and earthy floated over her. Megan felt drawn to it but feeling was all she could do, her orfaces packed, her limbs locked, her powers nullified.
Eventually a set of butterflies flittered through the trees, circling the leaf-laced girls, circling the fruit. With nothing to distract her, Megan found herself following their bobbing progress. Eventually the two each selected a flower. The one on Chlorophene's flower touched down first – as it did, the sealed girl started, eyes wide, her moan whirling up to squeaking ejaculation. The plant ground ever tighter but still she shivered in its ferny fist, agitated beyond the level of her earlier orgasms. At that moment the second butterfly passed between them, circled Megan's head once, then landed on her associative vaginic flower.
Her eyes flashed open, as wide as Chlorophene's!
From flower to vine to branch to root to bulb, the sensation was transferred – magnified! - to Megan. To her stimulated flesh, Megan was the flower. And a giant butterfly with mitten-sized paws was now clinging to her hips, her flank, her breasts, her shoulders. Her ribs screamed as the paws danced over them, tickling. Her nipples jacked at its clutching. Her pussy steamed as an errant foot shifted this way and that, agitating her most sensitive spot.
She shook in her tight wrapping, trying to shift from the electro-chemical stimulation, trying to move her poor body off the sexual hot-plate. But the plant held her fast and before her tearing eyes the butterfly rotated on its leafy flower, driving the silenced girl below mad.
The girls radiated a heart-breaking chorus of wet moanings, their plants ensuring that every touch and brush of butterfly feet would be simulated, in erotic detail, on their quaking bodies.
With perspiration gleaming on her forehead, Megan's fearful eyes watched as her butterfly turned once, then again, then lowered its tiny head and unleashed its spiral tongue to sip its flower's nectar.
She screamed.
The long tongue wiggled its way deep into her (or so her vagina-locked root-tube conveyed). It licked and lapped and flickered in her pussy, tasting her, sucking her. She grunted mightily, her shoulders wrenching back, humming “Umpf! Umpf! UMPF!” in time to each lick. She was the flower. Her nectar was being sipped.
Then, with the final party-favor whir, it finished. Had it not been for her wrappings insistence on erectness, Megan would have slumped to the forest floor in a dead swoon. As it was, she hung in exhausted abolition, bored-out. The plant forced more drugs down her gullet and a restorative sleep followed.
In early afternoon she woke again to find the melon bright red, pulsing. A glance to the side; Chlorophene was also awake, her melon also red. Then, simultaneously, both of the swollen fruit split open to display their contents. Megan squinted into the juicy vulva-like interior. Her eyes grew round in surprise.
Within lay curled a little Megan, doll-like, cherubic, wet and gleaming. Whereas the real Megan was cute (cute enough that countless women over the years had tried and failed to rope her into ready subservience (darn that curse!)), her mini-self was adorable. Round and soft and seductively innocent, it spread its wings beneath the high sun to dry. A glance to Chlorophene – she, too, possessed a doppelganger.
Megan remembered seeing the pair of Chloropheneites on the walk in. That implied the girl had been here at least twice before.
Was this where the fairies came from, from travelers and innocents abroad who were lured or stumbled into the sacred grove to be rolled up in plant fiber, drugged, ridden hard, raped by butterflies and patterned?
How many women (and mannis) had Chlorophene lead down this curious path?
The afternoon passed the slow happiness of Sunday-afternoon bondage, rolled and gagged and comfortable, relaxing in forced inactivity. Megan daydreamed and dozed. Her little sister slowly dried, readying herself for the world.
Then, in the late afternoon, other fairies came.
Little Megan and Little Chlorophene had flown practice patterns around their mistresses, giggling in their new world. Suddenly other fairies were about. With loving grace, they draped long garland strands around the two fledglings as if welcoming them to the world. Flowered vines fell across their shoulders and dangled between their thighs. Around and around the fairies flew as if playing maypole around the two little imps. Then Megan saw it for what it was. Her little self was rapidly becoming bound with coils looping across her shoulders, beneath her exaggerated breasts, locking wrists to buttocks, looping her dimpled knees and dainty ankles. Still she flapped her little wings, floating in space as her surrounding sisters knotted her bonds tight around her juicy little body. And all this Megan watched in rapturous curiosity, witnessing this tiny version of herself floating like a captive balloon by the lustily giggling fairies.
She couldn't know the little one's fate of course, but she could guess. Her bound little sister would likely be pulled into some mossy nook, some secure little space. Around her the naked cherubs would settle, their fingers and tongues so knowledgeable in the ways of pleasure. And bound in their midst, little Meganite would be teased and tickled and thumbed until she grunted like a pig in pleasure. And so would be her introduction to the world. And likely she would be among the first to tie up the next newcomer.
In her wrappings, Megan sighed, wishing these terrible things were being done to her.
More drugs. More sleep.
The evening was like a slumber party more than anything else. Still vertically locked up, Megan was made to suffer the plant's whimsied assaults. Clearly the game was for her not to cum, the plant's goals opposite hers. But unlike the Pit with its mechanical demands to grind out orgasms, this was a gentle coaxing, one which Megan could resist as long as possible before surrendering and rattling out her pleasure. She dozed now and then, waking to her host's gentle insistence. Moaning into her gag, she'd try to clamp her legs shut and not think about the passions that swelled within her girlish breast. More often than not she lost. But in the end, both she and the plant considered the lovely night a joint victory.
“Megan, wake up.”
Megan's eyes cracked open to find the gaunt Chlorophene kneeling over her, her flesh hashed and ruddy.
“Oh my, look at you.”
“Yes, look at you too.” And while Megan did, the druid pulled her to her feet. “Come on, it's time to go home.”
Even though they were both naked, Megan remembered to pick Woody II up. She voiced delighted surprise to find leafy branches growing out of its knobby head.
And so the two naked women wandered home, guided by Chlorophene's forest sense.
“I wonder where the fairies are?” Megan asked, somewhat hopefully.
“Likely they are attending to their two new sisters.”
“Yes, I meant to ask – though I was leaf-gagged – what happened back there. Did we make those two new fairies?”
“We did. In a way.” The druid looked thoughtful. “Fairies don't last all that long, about a year. But its a nice twelve months, filled with domineering days and restrained nights. At the end of that time, they burrow into the forest loam and a new tree is born. Thus the forest continues.”
Megan found herself both sad and envious of such a life. And to end up a tree. Humans just ended up dead.
But both girls seemed occupied with deeper thoughts. Chlorophene was thinking of where her ropes where hidden and how, perhaps, she might drop a loop over a chair-settled Megan, cording her fast and quick, for she was not done with the little trespasser, not by a long shot. And Megan, she was carefully gauging Woody II, figuring there was just enough charge to throw a nice back-bending hogtie around her greenish friend and show her (as she'd shown Kate) that Thou Must Not Suffer A Witch A Forced Orgasm. She'd illustrate the point with her hostess, over and over for as long as the girl lasted.
Eventually they reached the mushroom-shaped abode. “We're home,” Chlorophene announced as she stepped inside, casually crossing to the rope-cupboard. “Why don't you have a seat and I'll fix us some tea?”
“Certainly,” Megan said, casually raising the leaf-topped Woody II towards her companion's back.
The leaf-topped staff cracked. There was a flame of strange magic.
The cupboard flew open. Ropes whirled like straw in a whirlwind. They spun around Chlorophene, locking her wrists to her elbows behind her, lancing around her forearms, looping a tidy crotch-rope through her loins, snapping up thighs, shins and ankles with trim, tight cordings. And lastly came the thick braided rope that jammed between her teeth and locked behind her neck, the perfect accompaniment to the perfect tie. Yet before she could teeter and topple, she was magically floated over to the bed to settled tenderly on its soft expanse, her ankles further tied to the baseboard, locking her bare feet in tender exposure to whomever might take advantage.
“Uff Offf,” allowed Megan, who had found herself identically bound up, gagged and foot-propped at Chlorophene's side.
There was a bit of argument about who's fault this was, rather silly in that it considered of points such as “Mfff Mmmmm Mrfph!” and “Ummf Ugn!” But Megan suspected it came down to a decision on Woody II's part – the staff's had a mind of their own, and all too often, it was a devious, dominating mind.
The shadows were growing long outside and neither girl had shifted so much as a knot nor gained an inch of leeway for their trussed, exposed flesh. They lay next to each other, bound fast and hard, still naked, their toes-up feet arrayed like a line of pink solders.
Then the shutter opened slowly.
Three little figures floated in, two Chloropheneites and the newly-minted Meganite. The trio giggled at the roped girls, then fluttered over to the kitchen nook. There followed some rustling, some giggling, and the grind of a pestle. The two tied girls could only look at each other in concern.
And then the three flew back in, a bowl held between them, its pungent odor filling the room. Megan glanced questioningly to Chlorophene, to see the girl's eyes wide, her head shaking, her feet wiggling. And then Megan knew – the secret sauce! The herbal mix that Chlorophene had threatened her with, the one that would trick the treated skin to feel phantasmal strokes and caresses, perfectly patterned towards the treated's nervous system.
One of the little fairies produced a brush and with deft strokes began painting the helplessly positioned feet before it. Megan and Chlorophene whined and strained, knowing what was coming, knowing how bad it would be. It would be tickling without guesswork, ticking without let up, tickling where every stroke went directly to the nerves, straight to the brain. With wide eyes, Megan watched as the cooling poultice was balmed across her trembling soles, squishing between her toes, coating every inch of sensitive skin.
At her side, Chlorophene was beginning to madly giggle into her gag, twisting in her bonds in frustrated anguish.
Maybe it wouldn't... a tiny quiver shot down Megan's right foot, so intense it made her peep into her gag. A phantasmal finger brushed one foot, then the other. She giggled, rocking up against her tight bonds, shaking her head. And then the agony of total tickling washed over her like a wave, leaving her to struggled, to scream, and to occasionally cream as laughter racked through her.
On the foot board, the three little figures kicked their legs in saucy amusement, delighted at the calamity they'd brought. It was simply the fairy way.
The end
13.10.11