You’re addicted to masturbating, and it’s all because of that smug pla - “Aaah!”
You’re seated on one of the smooth rocks that encircle the pond, smelling crisp with the slightly musky undertone of the glowing blue hydroshrumes below the water. It feels like all your senses are on overdrive, feeling the slight movements of the water lapping around your feet. You’re halfway between sitting on the rocks and kneeling in the water, the position naturally opening your legs to your willing hands.
One hand relentlessly pumps your cock even as the fading aftershocks of your last orgasm seep into the pool, the plant's tendrils positively writhing above it. It’s so stupid, you huff something like a laugh at the thought of the plant assuming you’re here to feed it. How wrong it was.
Your other hand is stretched to reach between your legs, two fingers impatiently spiralling just inside your hole, having finally stretched yourself enough to allow those fingers to sink deeper insi - “AIII!”
Your fingertips recoil and you gasp for air, your whole body shuddering. Your hand on your cock has let go and is seized, motionless and not quite touching, but even without friction the radiating warmth of your hand on your shaft is incredible. All other sensations are heightened so much more with that slight brush of fingers against your prostate. You bite your lip, unable to resist the urge to continue. You press with your fingertips into that soft spot, feeling it respond like electricity crackling through all your nerves at once, the feeling arcing into the pressure in your hips and sparking an explosion that fills your whole body with that sense of imminent need.
You keep pressing, again and again, your legs lifting your barely seated rear up off the rock as you press harder, your hand slapping between the water and your balls as you thrust your fingers into yourself over and over. You can hear and see the water rippling in increasingly uneven splashes around you. Each thrust of your fingers feeling like they’re lifting you up off the ground, again and again, unable to stop while your other hand is trying in vain to start touching your cock again, knowing how impossibly good it will feel. Your moans are so high they sound like crying, begging, and you whimper as your dazed vision focuses on the plant, its tendrils writhing with uncontained eagerness.
“Go - go fuck - gaaah -” you try, glaring at the plant as you thrust into yourself.
It had taken just 24 hours to do this to you, make you like this! It wasn’t your fault, you’d been so careful, keeping notes on your wristcomp of the effects every three hours, sorted by body part, sensitivity, arousal response. The intensity of your orgasms. So many orgasms. You’d had just as many here in the last hour of relentless pleasure with no end in sight, your whole body drenched in sweat, skin burning feverishly in the cool water your remember being warm, your fingers straining to reach deeper and pound into you harder, faster, right into the overpowering joy building in your thrusting hips, getting closer, almost, almost enough, your cock tensing madly in your open grip.
You’d even taken blood samples, isolated the unknown ingredients and graphed their deterioration, forcing yourself not to return here until it you were sure it was out of your system, that it was safe. And only when it was safe, had you returned and fed the thirsty plant an entire carton of milk, receiving an entire beaker in exchange.
And you’d drank it all.
But this, you tell yourself as you keep thrusting, keeping trying in vain to touch your aching cock, this will be it, this will be it! Your hips keep thrusting and your fingers keep driving relentlessly into you, into the promise of a final orgasm so intense it will have to be enough! You can feel it, you’re close, you’ve never done it before but you know you can make yourself cum with just your fingers, building the pressure within you, feeling it filling your entire tensing body. You can do it - but it would be so much easier if you could just bring yourself to touch your cock!
Before you the plant is reaching out to you, tendrils straining taut, one almost close enough to touch. You grab at it, instantly slipping off, your hand slick with the clear liquid that coats it. The grab seems to only make more tendrils want to reach out, and you grab at them too, half laughing with a manic energy, half swearing with frustration as you keep trying to push yourself over the edge, seeing your free hand glistening with the tendril’s clear liquid.
With enormous effort and the ardent promise of greater rewards to come, you force your other hand to slow, slow, ease to a stop, leaving your fingers pressing deeply into you, holding you there tensing hard. You’re breathing so hard, skin burning, nipples aching, pulse pounding in your ears as you stare down at your slick hand, breathing in the oily, vaguely salty sent nowhere near as pungent of the smell of sex radiating from you. With effort you close your eyes, force your addled mind to focus, to remember your analysis of the clear liquid. Water, mostly, thickened with glycerine and some moisturising elements and a few unknown -
“Mostly water,” Desyre’s mocking voice interrupts. You open your eyes to see her there standing in the water before you, her grey hoodie and pink pants both conspicuously dry, your imagination more focused on her face staring down at you with superior contempt.
You glare up at her, and smear your hand over your chest, struggling to maintain eye contact as you touch the liquid to a nipple. It feels so cool against your skin, somehow making your nipple ache even more, your fingertips reflexively squeezing -
“AAAHAAA!” you’re staring up at the ceiling, breathing even harder with your splayed hand trembling before your chest, slick nipple throbbing so hard it hurts. Wincing, you try bringing your hand in flat, tenderly touching palm to nipple, gently pressing, moving in slow circles that draw your shuddering voice cooing out of you, a whimper becoming a sigh as fingers roll across your nipple. Stars above how does it feel even better?
“Because of the ‘mostly water’,” Desyre chides, arms crossed, “did you want to try drinking some of that too?”
You glare again. “I only - I only did that - aaah -” you struggle to speak with your fingers rolling the sweetest sensations over your nipple, your hand tensing inside you, the dual sensations pooling the most unbearable need in your tensing cock “I only did that - to show you - to show you -”
“That I was wrong?” she’s leaning down over you, hands on her hips, wearing that damnable smirk. “That you knew better than me?”
“I DO know better than you!” Your hands have stopped. “I’m a fucking expert! I’ve spent years working with the best Xenobotanist and the best samples and - and I know what I’m fucking doing!”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“Oh, will you fuck off or help me please?”
“Help you, how?” you can hear her still smirking, but her tone no longer sounds superior. It’s more coy. You look down, seeing Desyre on all fours before you, her pale ass raised up towards you, glistening just above the pool. She shakes a few drops off her creamy hips, asking mockingly “How can I help you, Miss Expert?”
You make a sound halfway between a moan and a growl, and before she can comment you see yourself reach out to grab her hips, making her interrupt herself with a yelp of surprise. She giggles, wiggling a little in your grasp as if threatening to escape. “Oh no,” she looks over her tattooed shoulder with a mocking smile, “are you going to use your botany on me?”
“I might,” you extend a hand to the still reaching tendrils, letting a few of them generously slick your palm, before bringing it down and gripping your shaft.
Your vision whites out for a moment, and when you come back to yourself you realise you’re moaning, breath coming in gasps and desperate mewls, your spine buckled forwards over Desyre as you delicately try to apply the mostly water to your skin.
In this position her voice so much closer, and much more pouty. “Why do you get to have all the fun?”
“Just - wait a damn - second - I - don’t - want - to hurt - you!”
“Afraid I can’t take it?”
“Will you just -”
“Well, I guess you do know better.”
“Fucking!” you grab her hips again and pull her back, your imagined aim true as you feel your tip touch her wetness, making you both cry out, panting in the aftermath. Just touching the liquid to your tip feels so intense, so sweet, making it all too easy to believe the brush of your slick fingers is the slick of her body rubbing against you, your moaning breaths of apprehension and anticipation sounding like hers.
“Oh, Sue, don’t make me beg.”
“Maybe, maybe I want to hear you beg.”
“Pleeeaaase, Sue. Pretty please.”
“Please what?”
“Pretty please, Miss Expert. Please fuck me!”
You make a pained sound, as much from hearing those words as from sliding forwards into your parting grip, into Desyre in a long, unbroken moment, feeling her body opening before you, shuddering around you, worrying you’re hurting her even as she pushes back needily against you. You’re still fighting your body’s resistance, felt as her body’s resistance as you slowly part her tightness, overcome with agonizing slowness as you push slowly deeper and she impatiently pushes back against you and you both moan in beautiful unison.
You slow for a second, breathing hard, so hard it's almost all you can do, seeing your hands holding onto her perfect hips, not daring to give in to your desire to pull, feeling her pushing anyway, making you sink further inside. And with your fingertips pressing into your hole - no with her fingertips - but she’s on all fours, using her hands to keep herself panting above the water. With the plant’s two tendrils pressing into your hole, their pink length stretching so much longer than you thought possible as it reaches between Desyre’s arms and breasts and legs and reaches up to press perfectly and directly into you, making it feel like your whole body is pulled into your cock. You feel every singing moment as you slide steadily deeper, deeper, deeper, pulling back when it’s too much only to hear her moan disappointedly and push you in deeper again, and again, her hips rocking back against you, yours rocking back against hers, shaking as your body's rhythm fights your impulse to not be too rough, not hurt her, not go too far, not, not - seeing your bodies thrusting into each other, hearing your desperate moans as her beautiful voice begging for more.
“Oh, oh Sue, my Sue, please Sue, please fuck me hard!”
Something breaks within you. You see yourself grab her hips firmly, fingers digging into her pale softness and pulling her into you just as the tendrils drive up into you, the slap of your hand heard as the beautiful sound of her hips smacking into yours, seeing her back arching as you hear the sound of her voice.
“Oh - oh fuck, fuck!” she’s breathing so hard you can feel it, tilting her head with a desperate look and keening, “Harder! Please harder!”
You can’t contain your response, crying out as you push her hips and pull back her into you as hard as you can, over and over, the tendrils thrusting into you just as hard and driving you on. You hear the water splashing and the beautiful sound of your hips joining together over and over, faster and faster, a rhythm you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to, and never would with Desyre there begging you to keep going, keep going.
“Fuck, I’m close, don’t stop, don’t stop!”
You can’t tell her you’re already there, can’t stop thrusting as you feel it start, can’t stop even as you feel the pressure within you give a whimper of defeat, and explode to fill you. Your hips shudder and keep thrusting again and again, the feeling cresting into a shock of joy then another and another, each building atop the last and higher and greater and oh sweet fucking -
“GA-!” your scream is cut short as you fall forwards, splashing into the shock of cool water and catching yourself on your hands, propped there and shaking on all fours. You keep thrusting into the feeling, still feeling it, tasting the intensity filling your whole body and fading both too fast and too slowly, dragging itself back towards a feeling you can even comprehend, your hips shaking in shorter and shorter bursts.
You’re staring into the water, only just seeing it. You're breathing so hard you can see it rippling the surface, your hips still shuddering in aftershocks, your arms barely keeping yourself up. They feel weak, empty, like your strength was never there, replaced by the heavy burning of every muscle in your body, nowhere more tense than between your legs. Wait.
You groan in desperate misery, your wet hair slapping your shoulders as you adamantly shake your head, coloured violet and plastered to your face as you kneel there panting in disbelief.
You can’t STILL be hard! You can’t be! YOU CAN’T BE! But you are - you’ve had so many orgasms you’ve almost lost track, each more unbelievable than the last, and now you’re still hard and you’re too damn tired to do anything about it!
“Why did you drink it?” you hear Desyre ask above you, her voice full of concern. “Why, Sue-Bear?”
“To… to prove you wrong.”
“And the beaker today?”
“… Because you’re not here. You’re not here. You’ll never be here no matter how much I want you to be.” The water ripples with your tears.
You feel her hand cupping your cheek, beckoning you to look up, the contact feeling so real, so warm and wet and like she’s really there! Hoping against hope, you look up.
The plant towers above you, reaching down tendrils to cup your cheek, stroking softly. You can’t help but smile.
Maybe it does like you. You believed that once, before it became easier to blame it for your now permanent erection. You’re the one that drank the mostly milk, this time with full knowledge of the effect it had. And now it’s reaching down to you, stroking your cheek, so many other tendrils reaching, coiling, beckoning, like open arms waiting just for you.
You’re so tired, your arms so heavy. You can’t go on, and even if you could, it’s so difficult to go on, fighting your own stupid body every time youo tried to touch yourself! And when your trick yourself into it, you can only barely able to hold on as you start cumming, feeling the pleasure getting better and better and starting to touch something so much more, the briefest taste of something divine. But that briefest taste is more than you can take and you stop just short of it every time, leaving you gasping in awe with the aftertaste of what you almost reached!
But maybe you don’t have to do it alone.
The water feels cold around you. You remember it always being warm - it’s just a measure of how hot you’re running, which is something else you’re far too tired to be worried about as you drag a knee forwards through the water, shuffle an arm forwards, focussing what’s left of your mind on not crushing the hydroshrumes as you crawl on all fours the heavy distance to the plant. You can feel its warm tendrils touching your shoulders, coiling around your arms, pulling, lifting. With infinite gentleness it embraces you, and you let it pull you up.
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