The Hooch appeared on Home Terra some time after the last great plague, the Cova of the early 21st Century. Nobody knew exactly what they really were or where they came from. Most thought they were an alien infestation, but some held that they were the survivors of the Cova itself, changed by the plague into...something else. They were shifters. They could become anyone, any creature, quite possibly any THING at all (knotty pine woodwork always gave me the willies, imagining a Hooch in the midst of all those staring empty eyes). No one knew much about them at all. They were secretive, hiding in dark places -- afraid of fire but not much else. They could be killed and once dead they reverted to an alien mess of twisted tentacles, eyes and teeth. If you were lucky enough to meet one, kill it and survive the process, saving the teeth would net you a handsome bounty at any Sheryff's office.
My name's Cassie, short for Cassandra. My Sire was a Bard and told tales of long ago and far away -- one such story was of a gifted Seer named Cassandra. When my Dam found herself expectant, she recalled the story and named me such. I suppose I was lucky at that. If I'd been male she'd meant to name me Achilles. Achilles might have been a better name at that. At least it was a warrior's name.
A true Seer could name her own fee and sell herself dear to High Sheryff or King. But I wasn't born with the Gift. I learned the patter and to throw the cards, and did well enough to earn a modest living. Along with some small skill at healing and a flaming fast knife and deadly eye with a bow, I managed to keep my Dam fed until she sickened and died. After that I roamed and managed to keep my own self fed and clothed, and marginally safe from predators of all sorts.
At eighteen winters I was virgin still, but smart enough not to act like a witless village lass -- all trembles and blushes for any who cared to look. No, the way to keep yourself safe was to act like you knew what went where, how and when. All of which I did know, though I didn't yet know why. I kept to myself as I was taught, unless I needed supplies. Salt, flour, bacon and occasionally some wine or ale. Anything else I could provide for myself and did, hiding away carefully with sufficient supplies before the snows fell heavy. There were caves in plenty in the hills, many with hidden rooms and shafts to keep the air fresh, even water. If I was careful I could hunt meat. If I was lucky I could bag some. I managed.
But the winter I was 19 sun turns old, the dreams started and I'd have given a King's ransom (that I'd never had) to know what they pre-saged. That winter I'd holed up in a smallish cave in the Smoke Mountains. Smallish only by the standards I'd learned to judge cave systems and mines by. It was still plenty big enough to allow room for a sleeping boar bear and a female poom cat and her litter. As well as myself of course. I'd given some brief thought to making a coat from the poom cat's golden hide -- and mittens from her spotted kits. But she was disinclined to bother me, other than an occasional snarl as I went to the mouth of the cave to do my necessaries, or if I lingered too long at our mutual water hole. If she wasn't going to bother me, then I wouldn't bother her. Certainly not solely for my vanity's sake, since I had a warm coat and mittens of sheepskin with a wolverine fur hood. Wolverine fur was good in winter since the ice wouldn't freeze on it.
Anyway, it was a good cave -- deep enough that the temperature was constant. Not exactly warm but you wouldn't freeze your tits off either. And There's always plenty of deadfall in the forests for firewood. I have an axe head in case I need it, but I've never needed it yet with wood free for the picking. And the cave had good water. Good if you didn't mind the taste of the limestone it leached through from the surface. I didn't. Some caves had sulphur pits or coal leaches or worse. Then you had to boil and still the water down to make it drinkable. Limestone was a clean taste at least.
I'd had a good hunt. Took a fat buck so I skinned it out and took all the best portions -- all the weight I could carry at least -- and dragging one heavy haunch for mama cat, just to be neighborly. She made a face like she was planning a snarl, but when I heaved the deer haunch into her cubby she changed her mind fairly gracefully and accepted the peace offering. Up till then I'd not had much luck -- some turkey birds and wild chooks and a few rabbits. I shared what I could, when I could but this was a gift, hopefully meant to keep her away from my fire and jerked meat I planned to smoke. Setting up the racks and hunting green wood for the smoke and jerking the meat was a long day, into night's work. I strung chunks of the liver on green sticks over the fire and was so hungry I barely let it char before stuffing myself with the rich treat. Tomorrow I could roast the other haunch and then that meat would be good for stew and then soup for at least a seven day. And I'd clean the deer hide and work on tanning it too, but for now I just wanted to wash some of the blood off and sleep for a day or two.
That was the night the dreams started. That first dream, well, it plain tied me up in knots in all kinda ways. Would have been bad enough to have it once but I had almost the same dang dream every night for the next moon spell. In that first dream I was lying sleeping in the forest. It was Spring and I was sleeping bare -- which I never would have done but anyway, in the dream I was. All the plants around me were growing and blooming and growing some more. And there were some -- like the Morning Glories -- long thin vines with little twisty tendrils at the ends and big soft leaves and the big horn shaped flowers. And these vines were growing up all around me, tickling me and stroking me with their leaves and wrapping their vines around me and in the dream it felt good, but not quite good enough to wake me up yet. Some of the vines wrapped themselves around my legs and started to sort of pull them up and apart. Meanwhile some of the little tendril vines were circling up and around my breasts. Lifting them and wrapping them tightly with the vines as they circled up, higher and higher until they reached my teats. Those little tendrils wound up tight around my nipples making them swell up and get harder than the coldest water made them. Soft leaves brushed over and around the swollen nubs until I thought I'd go mad. I started to wake and struggle in the dream but by now the vines held me tight. My arms were pinned to the ground and my legs -- well my legs were splayed wide apart and I could feel cool breezes and the nudging of other small vines and tendrils playing over my woman parts.
I'm shamed to admit that my parts were swelling and getting damp -- just as they did when I rubbed myself when sleep wouldn't come easy. But even more so. I could feel the wet dripping down the crack of my ass and the vines seemed to take particular pleasure in smearing the juices around and over all of me. I'd thought that the pleasure of my breasts couldn't get any greater but two great red trumpet flowers reared over me and nestled down on top my nipples. I could see the flowers swell and then shrink as they began to suckle me. The feeling went like lightning straight to my sex and I reared and heaved, despite the restraint of all the vines. My teats were so swollen now, the little vines wrapped so tight around them, they felt raw and more sensitive than ever they had before.
Vines and tendrils were moving against my sex too. Opening me like a flower bud -- seeming to dip in and taste my wetness before stroking it around and over my mound. Little tiny tendrils played with my pleasure spot, as though they wanted to wrap it tightly like my teats. Leaves coated themselves with my juices and then stroked the hard little bud -- they seemed to feel soft, and hard -- and slow and fast and all at the same time and the pleasure was making me squirm and moan and growl. Looking down I could see another of the great red flowers hovering above my sex and I strained to clamp my legs, suspecting what was coming next.
Oh gawds I was right. The flower settled gently over the hard little center of my pleasure and began to suckle -- in counter measure to the blooms sucking at my tits. I screamed for pleasure then and the whole world turned inside out before a big vine -- bigger than any I'd seen so far -- started prodding at my woman parts. I couldn't see it but it felt big. It felt huge! And it was trying to get inside me. It would never fit and I screamed again -- in fear this time -- trying to clamp my muscles and push it away. But it kept pushing, and pushing. And a little bit went inside me. My juices made it wet but it didn't feel horrible. I just felt too full. The vine backed out and I was relieved until it started pushing again. And a little more went inside me. And all the while the flowers kept sucking my tits and my little clit. And the pleasure was building up again. My juices were flowing down my ass and some of the little tendrils were coiling and poking and teasing that tight wicked place I only touched of necessity to clean. The pleasure was unbearable -- indescribable. I was fucking plants and now I understood the why of women and men together. I wanted more. And the big vine, the thick one, slid home inside me, filling me snug and tight. And it began to move and ripple and throb inside me -- stroking the inner walls of my cunt and I came and came again, my inner core clamping around the thick thing inside me and milking it until I could feel it spurt its sap, hot and sticky, deep inside me....
And woke to tossed blankets and wet, sticky thighs and swollen, sore nipples and cunt. And I dreamed that same shameful dream every night until my next moon time. And then it changed to swimming naked in water and hundreds of fish, small to large mouthing me, nibbling me, stroking me with their fins and a great fat eel sliding deep into my sex -- and sometimes another, smaller eel filling my back channel as well. I knew I was damned and going to hell for certain but I still didn't know what the dreams meant. That dream happened every night too and lasted until my next moon time. I was shamed that I took so much pleasure in the dreams that I began to yearn for sleep. Wanting to spend more and more time in pleasure with my fishy or flowery lovers.
And the next moon it was wolves, and poom cats, and boar bears and stag elk in rut... Loving me and touching me with fur and teeth and long limber tongues. I remember the wolf buried snout deep in my sex, tongue lapping eagerly at the juices on my inner walls, his glowing eyes staring at me above the mound of my sex. Of rolling over onto all fours so that wolf, or cat, or bear or other might mount me and drive their pricks home inside me, filling me with the sweet hot cream of their spend. The claws of the wolf raking my side as he surges against me -- or the hooves of the elk dancing on either side of my head as I lift my backside high for his entry. The cat fiercely griping my shoulder in lethal jaws to hold me in place as the barbs on his cock rake inside me. In my dreams I wanted them all. And wanted to be used by them all. Wanted pleasures with them all. I am, I suppose the worst kind of wanton and slut but I lived for these dreams.
Mam woulda blistered me sure for shame but I couldn't help myself. I loved the dreams and the fucking and the pleasures I got. I couldn't get enough and wanted more all the time. And then the dreams stopped. It was coming on to Spring. Mama poom cat had moved out with her half grown kits weeks before and the bear was starting to get restless and grumbly growly. He was bound to wake up good soon and he was sure to wake up HUNGRY. And he wasn't gonna be in any mood to consider being sociable with the hooman female that been sharing space with him all winter -- especially not when she smelled like blood. Animal blood and her own as well. I needed a bath and a campsite far enough away not to attract boar bear attention and while I packed my gear and headed out I pondered over why the dreams had stopped so sudden like.
I put a few miles and some high hills between me and the bear and found a not quite iced over pond to wash and scrub in. Felt good to be clean after the long winter and to be wearing clean gear again. While I washed I gingerly rubbed and felt of my nipples and sex, smelling my fingers after. Well, THAT was fresh and clean again too. Maybe my dreams had stopped because I was just getting too ripe and needed the wash. Or maybe... There was no use wondering. I'd spent weeks going crazy wondering why I was having the dreams at the start and now I was going to do the same because they'd stopped. That's it, I probably spend too much time alone and I'm going a little crazy in the head. Before I slept that night I rubbed myself till I got some satisfaction but it wasn't the same. No, not by a long shot it wasn't.
On the third sunrise from leaving the cave a man hollered and came into camp. I had morning tea brewing and a kind of a stew with bits of grain and jerky and early plants I'd gleaned. The man was tall, thin but rangy not bony. Looked like he'd not been eating as well as me. He had a hunting bow and quiver and a knife but no gun in evidence and he knew to hold his hands open and away from his body. He'd been roaming a while too I reckon. He looked pretty harmless, or at least like I could take him and put him down if need be; without too much sweat or effort. Offered him some tea and some of the stew and he had some nut bread not too stale to share. We toasted it on the fire and had us a nice meal. He said his name was Joshua and that he'd been roaming the Great Smoke Mountains since his wife and baby caught summer fever and died. I made a sorrowful noise deep in my throat. Losing a mate was bad but losing a mate and your only child was worse. He had nice eyes. Soft eyes. I thought they were brown but then the sun would catch them and there was a flash of deep green. He had black hair and wore it long and clubbed back in a tail. The short little loose wisps were curly and there was an abundance of curly dark hair in the opening of his shirt. It made my fingers itch and my nipples grew hard seeing it. I could imagine it would feel much like tiny vine tendrils stroking my skin, only warm and alive.
