Such Stuff Ch. 17

Part 17

The Sticky Maple Tree

"I found the Guard," said Lizzie quite pleased with herself, "and their key."

The Chevalier looked up blankly from his papers before understanding dawned.

"Certainement? Ma chérie, you are a treasure indeed." He visibly im­proved. "One worry gone. I could kiss you, indeed I could perhaps," he glanced downwards at his exposed cock, "perhaps," his penis twitched as if coming to life, "but no, I have not the time."

Lizzie frowned, no one seemed to want to pleasure her that morning, "The Guard seem to want me as their Captain."

"Mais oui, they would hardly want me—would not maintain their stand! Lizzie, you would be marvellous but you will need to look the part. Go to Mr. Qui'ver in the village. Tell him I sent you. He will provide the uniform."

Lizzie paused at the Gatehouse, unsure of the way to the village. She had of course been to the village, had journeyed by river with the odious Conrad and his boating party but she thought there was, probably, a shorter route than walking the winding riverbank. She looked at the road leading away from the Gatehouse between an avenue of Lime trees until it rose up the side of a funny little sugar loaf hill and disappeared behind it. She looked at several paths leading away. "Now which is the way to the village?" she said quietly to herself.

She was staring out from under the Gatehouse when she felt a hot breath on her neck. It made her turn startled; she had not met the Gatekeeper before. An old woman looked out at her from under a yellow straw bonnet, dressed in a faded yellow dress.

"The village? Well there are three, no rather four ways if you choose to go by boat. You can follow the path by the river, but that is muddy, you can go by the road or follow the track through the wood. It's up to you. If it was me, I'd go though the wood. It is much the shortest way, an easy path to follow, you can't get lost. Yes I'd go through the trees but there again I like that sort of thing. You might or might not, I wouldn't know." She smiled showing the odd miss­ing tooth but not unpleasantly—her manner seemed friendly.

"What sort of thing?" asked Lizzie quickly. She was more than a little aware of the strangeness of Conrad's world—or his mind—and was suspi­cious of everything.

"Oh sylvan things—stands of trees, fine specimen trees, everything arbo­real you could wish for. I like a good stand of Maple, don't you?"

"I certainly like Maple Syrup," said Lizzie with a smile, "and if that is quickest I'll go that way. So I go straight on that path?"

"That's it straight on down that path there."

"Thank you," called Lizzie already rushing off.

"But I don't know if you will find it the quickest..." but Lizzie was already too far off to hear.

The sunshine was lovely though it was, if anything, better in the wood than outside it with the heat of the sun cooled a little by the shade of the leaves. Looking up, the sun shone right through the canopy of leaves so above her there seemed a sky of green. Lizzie almost skipped along the path. She was actually happy. She was in a delightful wood, on her own and with a job to do—a purpose. For a moment or two the feeling of being trapped, the knowledge of being imprisoned left her and she was enjoying herself.

The path wound along but it was going fairly straight. Lizzie was careful to keep an eye on the sun's position to make sure she was not being lead astray. But all was well as there was only one path - though the path did seem to be narrowing a bit and the trees a little closer together. Lizzie noticed the trees changing and now rather than Beech she could tell by the leaves they were Maple.

She was not conscious of it at first but she became aware that she was having to brush the leaves and small branches either side of the path away from her. It was almost as if they were trying to touch her, pull at her - even hold her. She tried to turn back but the branches seemed to urge her on until all at once the path opened out again into a glade of particularly massive maples. All at once she was free of the clinging twigs and the path seemed free and easy. The grass around her sweet and verdant. The path lead on and with no branches to touch her Lizzie hurried, increasing her pace, a little disturbed at the feeling she was not in control of her journey but, she reasoned, it was not as if this was a dark, dank and silent wood which might have frightened a young girl: on the contrary it was light, dry and full of birdsong.

It may have been the light or it may have been the prettiness of the scene that caused Lizzie not to see the root across her path. She tripped over it and went flying to land at the foot of a particularly large old knarled maple. She lay momentarily winded before rising, or trying to rise because someone—or something—was holding her ankle. Her eyes widened in surprise because a root had coiled around it or, at least, was coiling itself around her ankle. She tugged hard get­ting up onto her knees and trying to pull away but as she put her weight on the free leg's knee and pulled at her caught, leg she felt something around the other ankle. Before she could turn and use her hands to try to free herself she felt a curling around her wrists. Beneath her and in front of her there was movement underground and an eruption from the mould of the forest floor of roots bursting out and twisting and wrapping themselves around her, trap­ping her.

Not content with catching her wrists and ankles the roots seemed to be trying to touch her everywhere and, surprisingly, get into her clothing. The feel of plant life growing and winding its way into her dress was most peculiar and certainly frightening. Lizzie struggled, trying to free herself, but she was tightly caught, stuck on all fours beneath the old Maple tree. The root tendrils by now had reached her breasts and Lizzie felt them growing up her breasts until, reaching their summit, they seemed to curl tightly round her nipples and began to pull. All at once Lizzie understood. This was not some terrifying Hor­ror 'B' film where the poor unsuspecting heroine is eaten by the strange plant form from another world: rather it was Conrad's peculiar mind at work creat­ing erotic experience even from the trees of his dream world.

She was going to be molested by a tree, there was nothing she could do about it and, so, she might as well try and enjoy the experience despite her need to get on to the vil­lage. The tugging at her nipples was really quite pleasant and now there seemed to be a slow movement up her thighs. "But, of course," she thought, "Silly me, I've come into a wood in Conrad's mad world and obviously, quite obviously if I'd thought about it, I'm going to be fucked by a tree. Should really have anticipated that. Quite an obvious expectation!" Lizzie was not slow on the uptake—though it was not as simple as that.

Through the waving of small roots and branches to the front of her ap­peared a rather more substantial root or was it a branch? It was quite bent at first but as it straightened up and pointed towards her Lizzie was struck by its resemblance in shape and form to a human penis. Really it looked quite the image right down to its rounded rather bulbous end, prominent ridge and crag­gy wrinkled bark—well perhaps wrinkled, but bark was unusual. What is more, as it waved closer to Lizzie's face it even had a little marking rather like the slit at the top of a penis head through which a man, Lizzie was a little cir­cumspect in her thoughts, a man produced fluids. Lizzie was rather expecting it to dip and disappear under her heading for the join of her legs but instead it came closer and closer to her face until it wavered there bumping against her lips.

"Surely not!" she exclaimed in surprise but the opening of Lizzie's lips to say the words was clearly taken as an invitation and before she knew it the end of the root or branch was pushing between her lips. It was not soft like a man's penis — Lizzie by now knew about such things—but it was not hard like a piece of wood or Heartfelt's work. Lizzie tried to pull back but she was caught and the tree was not going to be denied. Lizzie bowed to the inevitable and began to suck, rolling her tongue around the smooth wood.

The feeling on her nipples was getting stronger. Really this tree did know what a girl liked. She could feel tendrils creeping higher up her thighs until they were sneaking and winding their way into her undergarments, tugging and pulling the thin material away from her by now wet sex. Lizzie had expect­ed to be immediately penetrated and - she was not disappointed in this—but it was not at all what she had expected. Her eyes suddenly went very wide in­deed as she realised a very slender tendril was sliding up into her but not into her vagina, not there, but a much, much tighter orifice a little way to the front - it was creeping up her urethra! It was a very odd and not unpleasant experi­ence but certainly not a sexual experience Lizzie had ever had before in real life or dream. A very gentle little sliding, rather enjoyable, quite exciting feeling, not unpleasant at all, certainly sexual but at the same time it did rather make her want to pee. Indeed any more of the stimulation and that was certainly what was going to happen. "Surely," thought Lizzie, "the tree does not really want me to water it in this way?" But it seemed it did. The gentle wriggling did not stop and try as she might Lizzie could not prevent the sudden release as her bladder began to empty sending a long stream rushing out around the ten­dril and falling to the ground where it puddled on the soft mould before sink­ing in and disappearing.

As Lizzie sucked on the tree penis she thought she could taste, just faintly, maple syrup. "No, surely not," she thought, "surely this tree is not going to produce..." but there it was in her mouth just the smallest dribble of maple syrup. She swallowed; she really did like the taste.

The activity between her legs had not stopped. The invading tendril had not removed itself, and others were at work tickling and playing with her. She was just wondering if they were directly soaking up her moisture in a plant like way when she felt something more substantial at the entrance to her sex. "Presumably another penis," thought Lizzie, "now that's what men would like to have!" It was pushing at her seeking entrance. Lizzie was resigned to the in­vasion, the arboreal rape, and pushed against it to help it. It was certainly firm, "No chance of this cock going soft on me," thought Lizzie. Slowly it worked, (or was it grew?), into Lizzie filling her. She moved naturally against it feeling it rubbing against her. She became wetter, the tendrils kept moving, and Lizzie sucked harder.

It was quite a sight to see—Lizzie on the forest floor with woody shoots holding and invading her. Conrad would no doubt have liked very much to have seen it but probably he had seen similar scenes before. He was not there but Puck was, sitting on a branch with a big grin and a big cock, watching the scene and it was he who saw with amusement the third woody cock sneaking towards Lizzie—Lizzie with her rump very much in the air—it was he who saw her dress and underclothes pushed aside, her round and white bottom fully re­vealed as the woody penis lined up her bottom hole before it pushed or rather grew into her anus. Once again Lizzie's eyes opened wide at this latest inva­sion but there was nothing she could do as she was so tightly held, it was push­ing the rubbery ring aside and entering her bottom. Of course she stopped moving against the other cock situated in the more usual place and even ceased licking and sucking on the cock in her mouth, which was by now drib­bling a thin stream of syrup, as she waited for the latest penetration. The newly entered cock pushed on into her, filling her bottom. She began moving again, moving against both cocks lodged deep inside her and she took up her licking and sucking again. The tendrils pulled on her nipples, caressed her thighs, tickled her labia and clitoris, wriggled inside her little pee hole and the three cocks remained hard in her. Above her on his branch Puck pulled at his own cock.

Despite the imposed nature of the sex, Lizzie was fast approaching or­gasm. The cock in her mouth, though, was ahead of her. Suddenly and without warning it was spurting dollops of maple syrup into her mouth. The little slit marking was indeed an orifice and it was releasing its sap into Lizzie's mouth. The aborescent ejaculation was long and productive. It was lucky Lizzie liked maple syrup so much as the portion was generous. She paused; rather startled by the sweet surprise she had received. The penis withdrew a little but a seep­ing of syrup continued as Lizzie began to push once more against the other cocks building herself towards a strong orgasm. As she came she sucked hard on the penis in her mouth and could feel the other cocks pulsing, one deep within her bottom, the other in the more conventional place, filling her with their syrup. From above her there was the gentle patter of semen falling on her dress, falling from a little man with a big cock sitting on a branch.

As Lizzie rested, satiated, still on all fours, she began to feel the tendrils wrapped around her wrists and ankles relaxing, the tendrils withdrawing from her underclothes, she gave the penis in her mouth a last suck drawing a little more syrup from it as it withdrew and then with a deep squelch the other cocks pulled stickily from her. The syrup oozed from her running into her nether lips, matting her golden hairs and sliding very slowly down her thighs. Lizzie could feel how sticky she was, full of maple syrup—simply dripping from her. Free now, she pulled off her clothes seeing much of them were al­ready messed and looked at the old Maple. Quiet now, no sign of strangely moving roots or tendrils, yet it seemed to her to have a distinctly smug air about it. She tossed her hair and started to walk on but it was not the easiest of things to do with her thighs trying to stick together and the syrup sliding further down them. She felt with her fingers, trying to assess how much had those cocks pumped out? It was a lot. And just touching herself made her fin­gers sticky as well. She licked her fingers a bit more to remove the stickiness thoug, actually, she'd already had enough syrup for the day. It was a hot, sticky, messy Lizzie who heard the splashing of a stream and ran forward along the path to it keen to bathe and wash away the stickiness.

It was a lovely little stream splashing along, its water looking crystal clear and clean—just what a girl in need of a wash could wish for. Or it would have been, had it been a little warmer and there not been a small figure dressed in a blue cap sitting on its bank.

"Oh, hullo Robin," said Lizzie trying to sound unconcerned, as if the sight of a naked girl, thighs smeared with maple syrup and carrying her clothes was just the sort of thing anyone might expect to see in the woods.

"In spring the sap rises," said Puck and rolled around on the ground laughing at his own joke. Lizzie would have been cross, had he not rolled right into the water. His face, as he spluttered out of the stream, was a picture.

"Yes Robin, my idea too—a bath," and she stepped into the water. It could have been a lot warmer but Lizzie was careful not to give any cause for Puck to make a comment and sat down in the water without a murmur. The water gur­gled around as she calmly started rubbing herself all over to remove the syrup. "And did you find the kitchen maids?"

"Little fun they were, all busy and cross. No time, they said, for your silli­ness. Silliness—me! Whatever next! No, they sent me," and his wrinkled nut brown face looked all crafty, "they sent me in search of some things they want­ed." He looked sideways at Lizzie, "but where would I find candied orange peel, let alone Maple Syrup." He winked.

Lizzie threw water at him and he wandered off down the path, "Ho, ho, Maple Syrup where would I find that and where would I find something to put it in?"

Clothes washed, a rather damp Lizzie walked on to the village. It was still a lovely day and Lizzie was quite content. At last someone - or at least some­thing—had taken an interest in her, had wanted to please her sexually. It was just a little bit odd it had been a tree - but a girl in need cannot always be too fussy.

It was not a long way, just as the Gatekeeper had said, that is if amorous trees did not waylay you, and presumably that is what she had meant by "that sort of thing." Lizzie was not totally sure it was really her cup of tea but per­haps again another day she might just try such a walk again. She was soon going down the village street seeking the shop of Mr. Qui'ver, the Silversmith. It was not difficult to find.

The door into the shop was low and she found herself in a tiny little shop with a glass counter displaying all manner of jewellery. Particularly, Lizzie was not exactly surprised to note, items for piercings of an intimate kind. Well, she had no intention of having her nipples pierced let alone, ouch the thought of it—no, certainly not!

A rather wizened old man appeared, bent over and grey—rather exactly as she had expected. He looked at Lizzie, "Yes miss?"

"I'm the new Captain, the Captain of the Guard."

"Really?"

"I need a..."

"Yes?"

"I need the equipment."

A hint of a smile crossed his face, "I suspect your mother rather failed in that respect."

"The Chevalier Heuron..."

"Ah!"

"...suggested you might be able to remedy my," Lizzie blushed," my defi­ciency in that department."

"I can of course make, indeed I am sure I have the 'Ornamentals', the sil­ver chains, the cage and the padlock, but you will need your weapon, your cock, your penis and, I suspect, you do not have this being, unless my old eyes deceive me, a woman, oh yes indeed, a young woman, a most delightful, pretty and charming young lady. You will not only need a model—but a working model. This I can do, oh yes. But first I must take measurements."

"I'm a 8 1/2—7 with a middling bend," said Lizzie quickly.

"Ah, good, so we know that, but I shall need to take a cast to work to. Ev­erything must fit exactly to look right. Come into the back room and remove your garments."

It was not a request Lizzie could remember hearing in a shop before nonetheless she found herself in a back room undressing in front of a strange man.

"What do you need to measure?"

"I need to model your pubis, oh yes, I need to take a cast so the base to the artificial penis will fit closely to your body and the penis be well supported. It would not do for it to come adrift or wobble around—hardly military—it must stand rigidly to attention and fire on command. I shall take a cast, make a mould in wax but, alas, there is something else I must do first." He was look­ing downwards at Lizzie's now exposed sex. "Oh yes, those," and his hand brushed lightly across Lizzie's curls, "must come off. Otherwise they will come away most, oh yes most, painfully when I pull the wax away! There is nothing for it, I am sorry, but you must be shaved. The barber can or, if you wish," his eyes darted to hers, "I have the necessary items."

It seemed to Lizzie his spoken regret did not match his face which gave every indication that he would relish the task. Indeed he was already looking for a razor.

"Now lie down, my dear, just spread yourself a bit. Lovely. Now I shall be most gentle, most gentle. Now where is my shaving soap, where is that badger hairbrush? I need a hot flannel, oh yes that is just the thing. Certainly that is the thing."

Lizzie was not awfully keen on the idea of being shaved but equally she did not like the idea of all her pubic hair being ripped away with the wax mould. The idea brought tears to her eyes.