Hunted: An Erotic Retelling of Beauty and the Beast (An Adult Fairy Tale Novel) (12 page)

The plant squeezed lightly, pressing against her throat.  Alena froze, suddenly scared for her life, thinking she'd mistaken the plant's enthusiasm.  It meant to kill her?  Use her body as fertilizer?

A fifth vine snapped out, going straight for her free breast.  It wrapped around her swelling bosom quickly, squeezing harder and tighter than the other.  Then, not to be left out, it grew a longer tendril at the end and flicked her nipple hard.  The other vine, the first to circle one of her breasts, continued to touch lightly against that nipple, no matter how hard and fast this new vine flicked.

This was all so strange and new to Alena and she wasn't sure how she should feel about it.  On the one hand, it was wonderful.  The vines felt so soft, even the one around her neck, and she liked them touching her.  Especially the ones by her breasts.  She didn't know why they were doing this, but she thought she'd very much like it if they continued.  And what of the other vines?  Did they want to touch her, too?

The sixth did indeed, and it slipped around her waist.  The vines around her thighs, waist, and neck worked in unison and hefted her up and off the ground.  They were strong, far stronger than she would have believed.  They lifted her easily, holding her in the air and spinning her this way and that, slowly.  As she rotated, floating, she spotted the last two vines.

They looked different now.  Still mostly the same, but thicker.  They grew larger as she watched them, thickening to the width of her thumb after being closer to the size of her pinky finger, and then bigger still.  One stopped once it grew to be about the size of her wrist, while the other halted at closer to half that width.

"Why are you growing?" she asked the vines.  Neither answered, but she felt like asking them anyways.

The thicker vine moved towards the bottom of her foot, brushing against her sole.  It tickled her and she laughed.  Body jiggling from the laughter, squirming, still getting used to being held aloft, she wriggled in midair ineffectively.  The vines held her tight and didn't let her fall, but with the strangeness of it she thought she might topple to the ground at any moment anyways.

The thick vine snaked up her calf and towards her thigh.  It stopped when it met with the vine wrapped around the center of one thigh, but only for a second before it pressed onward.  Up and up, closer to her stomach, and she thought maybe it would move towards the vine wrapped around her waist, but it didn't.  She watched it, enthralled, curious as to what it would do.

It thickened more, but only at the tip.  A strange substance oozed out of the top like thick nectar.

"Oh," Alena said, sad.  "Are you hurt?"

If the vine understood, it did nothing to confirm her concern.  Instead, the next thing she knew, it was pressing its tip against her pussy lips.  The vine prodded and poked at her slit until it figured things out, and then, using its slick secretion and the wetness of her own arousal, it eased inside of her.  Alena gasped and bucked her hips.  Or she tried to move her hips, but the vine around her waist pulled her back.

The thick plant tendril delved deeper, exploring her darkest and most intimate depths.  It bunched up, poking against her inner walls, then turned to push in further.  Alena, shocked but delighted, clenched around the intrusion.  It seemed that the more she squeezed against it, the thicker the vine became, too.  Where at first it moved in a bumbling, confused fashion, it eventually grew so wide around that it only had one way to go; which was straight and further into her.

Once it tapped against her cervix, it had exhausted its options for advance, though. 

The vine didn't like this.  It retreated a few inches, then thrust forward again, meeting the same resistance.  Alena squeaked, squeezing against the alarmed intruder.

"You can't go in any further!" she said.  The plant disagreed.

It set into a rhythm, shifting back and winding up, then pushing in again.  It couldn't move anywhere past her deepest depths, but it tried very hard.  Soft, slick, with a hint of fuzz surrounding it, the vine pushed into her as far as it could go, over and over again.

It felt so strange and exciting.  She didn't have experience with any cock besides Everett's, but she doubted any man would feel like this.  The rose vine continued secreting viscous, sticky goop, lubricating her insides as it constantly struggled to push past her cervix.  The slippery mess grew so abundant that it started leaking from her pussy and dripping down her floating body towards her ass, where it then dropped to the floor.  She heard the sounds of it—drip, drip, drip like lusty rain—while the tendril assailed her body.

And the more she clenched, the thicker it grew!  She tried to stop herself, not knowing how much bigger it would get, but the feeling of it inside her excited her too much.  She unintentionally squeezed and the vine shivered and thickened in response until she took control of her arousal long enough to loosen her muscles.  Not for too long, though, and the inevitable clench returned, and the vine reacted once more.

When she tried to say something and explain to the plant that, yes, it could do this, but it shouldn't expect whatever it was expecting, the vine around her throat surprised her.  It clapsed lightly, cutting off her breath so she couldn't speak for a second.  That vine stretched, too, much like the ones currently flicking—one softly and one harsh—against her nipples.  It grew, thickened, then pressed against her nose.  It tried to enter her nostril, but it was too large around for that.  Like a tracking dog sniffing out a hunter's prey, the vine tapped along her face towards her lips, then her mouth.

She tried to clamp her lips shut, but the vine hugged her throat harder.  Not too hard, but enough that it made it so difficult to breathe that she eventually opened her mouth and gasped for air.  The creeping tendril loosened then, which was something of a victory, except as it did this its tip thrust between her lips and into her mouth.  It slipped in, secreting goo like the vine crammed into her core, and slithered across her tongue towards the back of her throat.

Oh!  Oh no!  A thought came to her.  This was alright, despite it being completely unlike what she ever expected to happen when she entered this room, but it couldn't go further.  Further being, in her mind, what the last vine must be for.  She clenched her butt tight, intending on refusing it entrance.  No, no, not there, and not ever, and...

The vines around her body wiggled and rotated her while the one between her thighs thrust into her, the ones around her breasts squeezed and flicked at her nipples, and the one in her mouth slipped closer and closer to the back of her throat.  She saw the last one, poised at her rear, but it looked different now.  A flower blossomed at the end of it, similar to the one that had gotten her into this mess.  Pure white, completely void of color like an empty artist's canvas, the flower loomed below her crotch.  It collected the dripping secretions from the vine thrusting into her inner depths.

At the base of the flower, one of the petals picked up a tiny hint of color.  Barely anything, but it looked like it had small spots of red.  She watched it when she could, but the plant flipped her around this way and that, every which way, never letting her stay in one position for too long.

She wanted to see the flower, to contemplate it, but she couldn't think very well anymore.  The vine between her legs slammed into her harder now, intent on trying to  invade her womb, except it was growing far too thick.  It stretched her whenever she squeezed against it, and by now she couldn't stop from clutching around its shaft.  The arousal from the vines at her nipples and the vine shoving into her slit pushed pleasure into her body.  She wanted to move and writhe and act like the sexual being she'd been when she was with Everett, but the plant didn't understand that.

She did manage to rock her hips a little, though.  Not much, but just enough.  The plant around her waist inched lower and lower with every movement she made, until she moved it to a spot that caused her to inhale sharply.  Now, instead of it wrapping around her waist, she'd shimmied it low on her hips.  The silken, fuzzy feel of it brushed against her clit, which only made her rock her center more and more.

When she inhaled, ready to let out a shriek of pleasure, the vine in her throat wriggled in further.  It pressed at the back of her throat, then stopped.  She could breathe past it, but it was terribly difficult to make any sounds now.  When she tried, her tongue licked against the underside of the shaft.  In response, the tip of the vine shivered, secreting more ooze.

She swallowed it, tasting it.  Her core clutched against the vine inside her and her hips wriggled, pressing the vine around her waist harder against her clit.  The taste of the goop in her mouth drove her even further towards madness, too.  She didn't know what it was, but it tasted like watery honey.  Honeysuckle?  Something like that, she decided.  In an effort to get more, deliriously wanting it so badly, she licked at the shaft of the vine.  It squirted more goo into her mouth and she swallowed it up.

The more she drank and tasted, the more aroused she became.  It was so odd and awkward, but wonderful.  Her body felt tingly and warm and amazing.  The vine in her pussy kept stretching her, but the more syrup she drank from the one in her mouth, the more she wanted the lower one to dominate her.  Further, yes, to gaping, she needed it to stretch her wide open and spill its goo into her.  A continual squirt now, deep inside her body, as if it wanted to send forth its seed and pollinate her.  She doubted this was possible, but it was a magical plant, so maybe?  She knew, in the back of her mind, that this would probably be bad, but right at the moment she didn't care.

The plant squeezed her tight, pressed into her, shoved the thick vine into her cunt and let the slimmer one shiver and ooze into her mouth.  Two more toyed with her breasts and nipples, while the ones by her thigh and neck and hips kept her shifting in perpetual slow circular motions.  The flower one, whatever it was doing, must be somewhere, but Alena was too far gone to care.  Her body clenched and squeezed and tensed, taut, against the ministrations of the plant, driving her to the pinnacle of pleasure.  She orgasmed hard, fertilizing the fecund plant with her climactic juices.

This, apparently, was what it wanted, but she didn't give it enough, not at first.  It shoved into her, stretching her more, re-invigorating her orgasm immediately after she'd finished and bringing her to another.  Then another, more.  She felt like one huge mass of orgasm, a person made completely out of pleasure, as the plant acted with constant, calculated rhythm, forcing her to experience sensations beyond her regular comprehension.  She squirmed and bucked and writhed and licked and squeezed the rose vines, loving every moment of it.

Except, gods, could she keep this up?  Could she keep going?  Her body felt so tired, so physically exhausted, and she wanted to stop, but the vines wouldn't let her.  They needed more from her, and her body gave it to them.  How many times had she climaxed now?  She lost count after four, and kept thinking four, except the last one had been four, hadn't it?

After the third four—at least the one she could remember being the third—she collapsed.  Laying limp in the air, the vines holding her tight, she had no more to give this desirous flora.  Fortunately that seemed to be enough for the rose, though.  As she lay limp, a shivering bundle of woman pleasured to the extreme, the vines lowered her.  Not to the ground like she expected, but onto the bed.  They lay her head on the pillows and the ones binding her breasts released themselves and pulled back the covers.  The vine between her legs writhed its way out of her and helped the other vines lay her to rest, concerting their efforts to pull the blankets up over her bare, shivering body.

They all slinked away, leaving her to sleep.  She thought, for whatever reason, they looked pleased with themselves.  Alena was rather pleased with them, too.

Shrinking after all the growing, the slippery vines retracted towards the display case and the original rose.  She watched them leave, a faint smile on her lips.  One vine vanished, absorbed back into the stem of the rose, and then another.  The third, fourth, and fifth disappeared, too, then the sixth and seventh.  The eighth was different, though.  A vine, yes, but it was the one with the pure white flower on the end.

Except it was no longer white.  The flower, dark and rich, held a blood red color now.  It stood in stark contrast to the pale, pink hues glowing from the rose in the closet.  The petals of the flower shuddered, sneaking through the keyhole in the display case, and then all of a sudden the red flower vanished along with the rest of the vines.  There was no trace of any magical occurrence afterwards, except for Alena's pleasure-addled self.

Maybe, she thought, it was a dream.  If so, how should she wake from it?  If she fell asleep in a dream, would she awake in the real world?  She decided—mostly because she was now exhausted—that she'd try it.  She got as far as thinking about sleeping before she passed into slumber.

Beatrix let out a manic laugh.  Ha ha!  So simple and easy.  The girl enjoyed it, too, which made it all the more wonderful.  She did seem nice, at least in the witch's eyes.  Obviously watching someone orgasm over and over again constantly would make almost anyone look pleasing, but this girl had a certain knack to it.  Not practiced or experienced, but that added to the eroticism.  That girl was no hired prostitute feigning orgasm for the delight of her customers; she was the real deal.  She enjoyed every moment of it.

And really, Beatrix didn't necessarily want to hurt her.  In fact, she hadn't even wanted to kill her.  And now maybe she wouldn't.  The flower soaked up the inklings of her virgin's blood along with the sugary nectar secretions.  Beatrix could use this to her advantage, exploit the ingredient in some elixir and figure out a way to give it to Everett so that he suffered through eternity.  It was the least she could do for him after he'd fucked her and then tossed her aside.  Honestly, why would he think it was a good idea to upset a witch?