To Truly Satisfy

It was a good day to wander in the forest. You had wanted to get out for ages, to enjoy nature in solitude.

There was much to take in on your walk through a faint trail. The dazzling sun shone in a sky smooth and blue as still water. There was the sweet smell of flowers, soft shrieks of birds hidden in the soft green. You wonder if you should sleep here one night, under more stars than you could count in a lifetime.

You lose track of time as your feet find their own way among the springy grass and fallen leaves. A breeze rustles your hair. It's a little cooler now.

Pausing, you glance at the way you came, reluctant to leave. You don't think you've been more than an hour, but there's a night-like glow forming around the trees in the distance. The air is less restful now, breezes lifting the hairs on your neck as waist-high grass waves around you.

Is something wrong?

You realize the noise of the birds has ceased. The forest is silent, only for waves of wind.

You blink, the wind stinging your eyes, and see the light from the sun is fading. Quickly. As if it's being sucked out of the sky.

Scared by now, you want to turn and run, but a hard blast of wind holds you to the spot. You cry out, protecting your face with bare hands, wishing you'd brought something warmer.

By the time you look ahead, only blurry shapes are visible. You stretch out one arm and can barely see your hand in the thick darkness.

It's as if you're cut off from the forest. No, the entire world.

There is no sound or movement in this space of dark and cold. But you aren't alone.

As the last bit of light evaporates around you, you see something at a distance impossible to judge. It becomes two tiny lights, glowing in the gloom. A pair of eyes.

You need to get away.

Your feet move before you can think, and you run a dozen steps before your heel collides with a root. You taste the dirt with a hard thud. And then something brushes the bare skin of your calf. Briefly, but by the time you look up, it's already too late.

A thick, dark vine slithers across your bare calf. A hot jolt of fear runs up your spine and you kick like a startled hare, scattering pebbles, but the vine tightens. It's warm and sticky.

You manage to grab the tip before it can curl tighter- and then a second one has found your other ankle.

You don't resist. You already know you can't.

Maybe you don't actually want to.

The twin tendrils swirl slowly around your legs, reaching your thighs and tightening just enough to hold you fairly still, pulsating against your chilled skin. The warmth is almost pleasant...

You don't know what these things could possibly be. Your mind says snakes, but the feeling of being wrapped in them is not that of a predator. It's an embrace, a caress.

A third and fourth, seemingly having split off from the first, slide smoothly up your back- underneath your shirt- and done a loose coil around your torso. Two more pair off and slide between your fingers, curiously pliant. You can't see without the light, but that only eases your fading fear.

Your breathing steadies. The strange tentacles seem to tighten ever so slightly, as if they belong to a mind that knows you're its prey. You can sense one sliding slowly ahead of you, passing along the cool ground.

You feel this one is much larger than the others as it passes over the exposed skin of your feet and legs. It's warmer, too, and you feel hot slime oozing from the flesh. It slips twice around one leg before sliding to the other, seemingly of infinite ability to twist, grow, and swell.

You hardly realize the little noises that are coming from your mouth. The smaller tendrils pull tighter for a few heartbeats, sensing your excitement.

The largest has encircled your legs by now, sticky fluid dripping from invisible pores. It's seeking the warmest place. Where to enter.

You have a sudden notion to remove your pants, but your arms are bound from elbow to fingertip. The largest tentacle has slipped through the little opening between fabric and flesh anyway. And when its warmth touches your own, a startled squeal escapes you.

As if able to hear, a small length pokes from the slime-covered tentacle and nimbly slides up your chest, once around your neck and then pokes tentatively between your lips. You don't care about the wet. It slides into your mouth, swelling within, the ooze faintly sweet on your tongue. It awakens your needs.

You have an urge to try to roll to all fours, to make it a little harder for the creature's objective. And hardly have your hands touched the earth has the breeding tentacle found its target. It's slippery and hot and, like the beat of a swollen heart, matches your throbbing excitement.

You twist and squirm feebly in the grasp of the many. They alternatively tighten and relax as your mouth is filled, then your throat. You are utterly at their mercy, and you enjoy it.

The breeding tentacle's pulsating intensifies as it finds its mark. Your moans are muffled by the many as they curiously wander to your face and lips, tickling and teasing. All of them seem to be wet now.

You manage to arch one knee upwards, letting your head fall back. You're in the throes of an incredible orgasm. At that precise moment, the first spurt of wet is felt deep inside you, followed silently by a second, then a third. You don't know how many. It doesn't matter.

You'll let the tentacles fill you as long as they desire. All you want is to be theirs now. The drug of their grip and the slime is too powerful.

You don't know how long you're held there, being gently bred by the appendages of an unseen thing. It could be hours. It passes too quickly, a series of orgasms that come gently, then all at once, your body shuddering and twisting and flexing in abject ecstasy. It doesn't seem possible that a human body can feel all this. You never want it to be over.

And it ends slowly, gradually. You don't realize for many minutes that the breeding tentacle has withdrawn- you feel so full, heavy, wet. The smaller relax and slide away, the last slowly withdrawing from your mouth with a soft noise of its smooth exit.

You're utterly exhausted, can barely hold on to consciousness after so many climaxes. You need to sit up and catch your breath, dimly noticing the return of the sun, and realizing your clothes are stuck to you with sweat and slime.

You come to a shaky stand, the strange things having vanished with no trace but a faint residue on the ground. You wonder if this is the true reason why some visit this forest alone.

You smile, thinking about your next visit as you turn away, licking the last remnants of wet from your lips.