The Piggyback Trapper Pt. 06

Controlled like a drug. Like heroin - like speed. Ice, meth, ket - you name it. Controlled - like something that could kill.

Salla hated it, hated the poison with which it had been shunned and crushed under the corporate boot since it had nearly taken the world by storm some five years ago. Hated the way governments and companies and bureaucratic bullshit had put it behind bars, in labs and away from reach - for what? Just because it made you feel good? It made her sick, thinking about how these cunts could take the good away from their people just like the bad, how they could deem such a benign, wonderful, positive - and most importantly, harmless - little plant dangerous enough to make carrying or harboring it jailable, as if it was guns or heroin. You know - stuff that really could fuck somebody up.

Sighing, Salla collected her things from her locker, slammed it, scratched her head where her masculine crew-cut still prickled, and stomped out of work in a generally unhappy manor. It was the classic culmination of a few bad things; PMS had hit her hard, which meant the next week and a half would kick her in the pussy, work had scheduled in overtime two weeks in a row with no end in sight, and she still had nothing - nothing - to look forward to. She didn't even feel like fucking herself on account of the amount of work and mess it'd involve, which is what in this case had brought her back to thinking about it again.

It had been nearly a full year since Salla had last smelled that heady, intoxicating aroma, felt the gentle softness of that clear, jelly-like lubrication, and felt it touching her skin, subduing her, driving her mad. It was a rogue crop - she'd been drunk with friends walking home (the entirely wrong way - as in, out of a taxi 40 minutes away from home, through two backyards and across a dry lake bed sort of wrong-fucking-way) with her girlfriend Gabriella, who had lost all her upper clothes, neither could remember how - when she'd stumbled over a small landing, waddled into a back fence, spilled over it and gone head-first through a small thatched greenhouse wall. Plucking her intoxicated noggin out of the hole she'd made, she'd nearly turned to flounder back over the fence when the scent waiting to be processed through her addled mind had finally passed through to her brain, and she'd frozen. A smell that dug down through her nose, swam around her lungs, flicked lightly through her diaphragm and deep-dived into the back of her pussy had hit her, and it made her needy.

Drunk-horny in an instant, she turned, nearly fell through the door and found herself standing in a tiny room with six or so small clay pots arranged around the walls, each full of dirt and sporting a small leafy plant in them. It was cozy, only really enough room to turn on the spot to look at each one on the floor. The pots were low and wide and there was a lot of room around the edges of the plant in which nothing but a few tiny grass shoots grew, and each plant had one or two small white flowers siting unopened atop a long, slender stalk. Fascinated, Salla looked around in drunk awe at the plants, wondering where the increasingly strong aroma was coming from, and when she couldn't find it, she made to check the door and perhaps see if it was actually outside - but then she did a double-take. There, in the very back corner, one single flower had begun to part, it's supple pink petals - which she could now see were actually more like those sepal leaves that contain a flower covering the real flower inside - peeling apart intricately to reveal a slender pink tube-like protrusion made up of interlocked rubbery petals with a hole at the tip. As she drew closer, Salla saw a thick clear jelly-like substance seeping out of the tip in larger and larger quantities, and whenever the gel-like goo emerged, a puff of pink mist would follow behind it, as if there was a buildup of gas underneath each wad of gel.

Salla didn't really know what happened next - perhaps she was too drunk to think straight, or perhaps the smell had gotten to her. All she knew was that one moment she had been leaning closer to look at the plant, and the next, that soft rubbery tube was slipping through her lips, and she was tasting the sweetness of that gel. It was indescribably good - like crisp cool water tinged with a sugary sweetness, refreshing yet intoxicating. She sucked it down and felt it warm her stomach as she drank, the gooey gel clinging to her lips and nose as she licked and sucked. She sighed deeply, inhaling the utterly blissful scent at point-blank range and feeling deep arousal filling her very being. Maybe this was why this person kept these plants? Perhaps they had some nourishing effect in this sap or whatever it was. Then, all of a sudden she felt a great weightlessness wash over her, a little like the instant before going to sleep for surgery - as if her body had been lifted up by a cloud, and she no longer had to use her muscles. She slumped over, wads of gel still clumped all over her face, and didn't even realize that her left hand had slipped to her crotch and was idly twiring hypnotic circles about her clit.

About a minute of blissful nothingness passed Salla by before she felt it. A tiny, tender touch at her panties, already soaked though with soapy wetness from her own body, as if some microscopic being was knocking politely for entry. She didn't think twice - in fact, she didn't think once. The fingers of her touching hand slipped the crotch of her soaked panties aside, and the cool contact of the flower's shaft, now positively erupting with the soft, tingly gel touching her labia sent shivers of erotic pleasure bursting through her whole body. Without consciously knowing it Salla lay there, immobilized completely, head in a trance of bliss while between her legs, excruciatingly slowly, the shaft of the plant pushed with it's sepal leaves gripping the inside of her thighs against her, using it's lubricating gel and her own wet readiness to part her and enter her, squashing and morphing to her shape. It climbed with an agonizing slowness up her vaginal canal as she squeezed and pulsated around it in orgasmic pleasure, teetering on the edge of mindless climax, until it reached her back wall. There, still pumping out great wads of gel that filled her and spilled out of the open corners of her pussy in wet watery lumps as her body warmed it, it wrapped it's sepal leaves up tight all around her now occupied opening until she was attached to the plant as if a ripe fruit ready for picking and -

- Salla came so hard she shot awake, feeling, for a split-instant, her thighs squeezing around the cool rubbery texture of the plant's stem, the sepal leaves gripping her outer labia, navel and ass cheeks, her whole body shaking uncontrollably, before succumbing to the orgasmic explosion as it ripped her consciousness apart. She cried out, tears spilling from her eyes as her explosion drove her pleasure centers beyond human comprehension, tiny liquid rivulets of the delicious lubricant gel spilling from her wide-open mouth as she came. Then, there was nothing. Complete and total nothingness - until the hospital bed.

It had been two months before Salla had been released, and since that time, she had researched that mysterious plant as best she possibly could, although all online resources had been taken down and what few books there were were heavily guarded. One thing she knew above all else was that she had had the best part of the whole ordeal - which by all accounts would be nearly deadly, given that her memory of the plant's initial insemination had been the best she'd ever felt in her entire life, so blissfully pleasured she could have died right there - stolen from her. The seeds, the tiny micro-organic seedlings that required only warmth and safety and distance from their asexual parent while they germinated in their gel sacs, had been surgically removed from her while under heavy sedation, and she had never been able to give birth - if that was even the right term for it - to them. She had felt robbed and hurt ever since and had made it her determined goal to somehow experience that again one day since.

Gabriella, her friend from that night, didn't talk to her as much these days - she had been held for questioning for a whole month after the incident, given that she hadn't succumbed to the plant but had been with Salla on the night. She felt hurt by what Salla had done - which she saw as illegal but also an opportunity that she as her best friend should have experienced together with her, like they usually did with things - as well as somewhat sorry for the homeowner, who had herself been trying to grow the plants to feel their pleasure. Granted, she had been growing an illegal substance, but, well - they didn't have to agree on that point.

So it was to Salla's utmost amazement when, arriving home cramping and sweaty and frustrated again at the lack of any desire to get off, yet needing some sort of release to un-cramp her fucked up week, she found a tiny box on her doorstep. Taking it inside, she found one printed slice of paper crammed in the top above a black felt bag. It read:

Salla - Enjoy. U owe me back 1 day.

It was printed by - amazingly - what looked like a typewriter. The unique underlined punch-letter style was rarely seen as a printed typography, and there were little bumps in the paper, which appeared to have been sliced roughly with a blunt knife. Frowning at the note, she put it aside and lifted up the felt bag, which appeared to have a large amount of straw or hay in it and opened it. There was a tiny capsule inside a mass of what looked like farm straw, and, now thoroughly curious, Salla took it out. When she saw what was inside, the bag and the box dropped from her limp fingers as her mouth fell open in absolute shock.

There, nestled right at the bottom of a tiny glass vial, wiggling in its gel sac, was a single, tiny brown seed, tightly sealed in one of the smallest sample jars she'd ever seen. Glancing around suddenly as if a police officer or armed military guard might pop out from her walls or come screaming up her apartment driveway, she turned and rushed inside her house, flicking on the lights and heater as she ran to her windowsill. There, a small line of benign succulents grew - her most lively companions these days at home - where a spare pot had until recently held a struggling plant that hadn't been able to keep up with the sweltering summer heat. Scooping out the dirt and repacking it, she gently scooped the tiny seed out with the stem of a thin spoon and packed it into the pot's dirt. She then ran around the house for a few minutes, unsure if she should water it or not, but finally deciding she should do so.

When it was done, she collapsed onto her sofa, staring at the now incredibly valuable - and illegal - pot aside her now distinctly unimportant succulents. She had her very own fucking plant! And she had a feeling she knew who'd sent it, too - a girl she had barely spoken to since the night they'd been arrested, since they'd both been questioned and thoroughly sucked clean for fear of carrying a single tiny seed in their womanly bodies.

Gabriella - for she was sure it was her, her gut told her so - was farming these, perhaps with or without the knowledge of wherever she was hiding, or even working, Salla had to muse. She had a crop somewhere, at least one plant - and she had had the presence to save her best friend a seed.

One thing was for sure - Salla really did owe her one.

And she intended to give it to her.

She just needed something to bloom first...

THE END...?