Held aloft, she is bathed in the light of lambent gold. The receding sun her nimbus, her divine outline trace with a bright band; she revels in abandon, perched atop her adoring subject, the phallus, planted deep inside her. She is lifted, its final fervent thrust canons molten worship into her. Their combined juices jet from her nether in a conical fount, glittering gem-like in the light. Each spouting convulsion lifts then lowers her further, the emptying phallus softening, gently lowering her to the earth.
She comes to rest on a bed of soft grass. Underneath the grass, the earth ripples. The tendril's deep roots have become a host of writhing members, penetrating up from the ground like gnawing fingers shivering at the thrill of her soft skin. The groping mass wildly stimulates her. Deep in her belly, that sweet and sticky heat wells up and trickles throughout her body.
The members surge with a great lust for her resplendent body, swelling in length and girth, lifting her up, forming under her a throne of writhing and worshipping tongues, exalting the naked beauty of her perfect alabaster proportion, so fittingly exposed and displayed. Her stimulation overflows in a viscous stream from between her legs.
The writhing members greedily leap over and against each other to lap it up. Others fight for entry to her labial fountain, forcing at each other in a churning battle that grinds over her loins. She thrashes with the intensity of the sensation as the squirming mass seethes against her most sensitive place.
Those lapping at her stream coalesce into a single, limb-like member, the tip bulbous like a clenched fist. Her legs are pulled apart with little resistance, fully exposing the swells and lips of her salivating gape as it yawns with desire, yawning wider and wider in anticipation of the stout limb. It pushes aside the smaller, swarming members and nuzzles her nether mouth, slicking itself further in her copious fluid. Her excitation boils to the brim. Coiling like a viper, the burly limb strikes. Her scream is a shrieking whistle, a razor of searing delectation. All the members engorge.
They clutch, grabbing and pinching, curling around her legs and arms, pulling in different directions, and painfully torquing her skin. Some plunged into her, sinking into her mouth and into the recess of her buttocks, phalli worm their way deeper and deeper as others strain to force into her overfull holes. She is overwhelmed.
Upon the brink of torrential release, what seemed an eternal welling up of wet pleasure stops. In the back of her crowded throat and low in her belly, the steaming heat of arousal runs dry. The waves on the shore evaporate in the shimmering rays of the arid void expanding from her core and which threaten to drain her dry under this entire assault.
Every bit of her skin is roughly scoured, members assault her breasts, buttocks, thighs, legs, arms, hands, and thoroughly lick her tender feet. Ravenous, they vigorously thrust into other places; behind the knees of her bent legs, through-holes formed by her hands, and through the slits of her arms pinned to her sides, between her thighs pressed to her stomach.
The throne is now a great and ravenous maw, spiked with rows upon rows of sinuous flesh-teeth, each with an appetite of its own and brutally erect. The frenzied members erupt in unison, spewing torrents of hot sap, plastering her in a dripping, glinting glaze. Those that penetrate her spray their sap into her body, the excess splashing out of her crowded holes. The thick fluid chokes her as she sucks it down her parched throat like the drowning gulp air. It is as seawater to her thirst.
All the fluid pumped into her pools in her belly, swelling more and more until, with a wrenching scream, she bursts open, her insides scattering in a wide fan of viscera and thick ribbons of bloody fluid. The sap turns acidic and bubbles out of burning holes in her skin, ripping out her screams. Its residue remains as a blistering tar on her raw flesh. Her skinless body weeps crimson tears.
She wakes, thrashing, screaming, the chimera still vivid. So immersive was the dream that its effects ooze between her legs. The dream fades, but the pain remains. Unused to such long exposure to the withering eye of the naked sky, her fair and pale skin burns a bright red and radiates a stinging heat. Her back and buttocks are unscathed, damp with perspiration against the warm earth.
The evening-dim cool of her beloved forest beckons. She shifts to rise, but movement is pain. Her muscles groan as they strain to lift her, so sore and cramped from the intensity of her ecstasy. Gritting her teeth, she forges on. Only to find herself tethered to the ground.
The tendril has wrapped around her in a firm embrace about her waist, entwined with itself in an act of clinging possession, fearing the loss of its new obsession. Though it does not constrict, her attempts to extricate herself prove futile against its fast lashing. She sits, leaning back and supporting herself with her arms. The memory of the tendrils salacious violations sours, fermenting to a sharp bitterness tasted by the whole of her body. Its touch is now odious.
She notices something near her feet. From the place their spewed fluid soaked the ground has grown a lush bosquet of blooms. Vivid colours have flowered alongside fruiting plans and succulents, most unfamiliar to her and all unique in the glade. One of the succulents she recognizes, a rosette of fat green leaves, the juice from which she has in the past used to soothe her lips when dry. Wary of rousing her captor, she painfully leans forward to pluck a handful of the plump, fleshy leaves.
