("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2006. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Latex Bloom - 1 by Cordelia Speedicut (cordelia_speedicut@hotmail.com) *** A girl is introduced to her explorer aunt's newest specimen - an unknown tropical plant that proves to have a unique and symbiotic life cycle. Stimulating and occasionally humorous complications result. (ff-teens, exh, 1st, mast, fantasy, preg) *** Author's Note: Having enjoyed 'Late Bloomer' by Dragonfly and the 2002 remake 'Latex Flower' by Erwin Stevens, I thought I would take the liberty of expanding the core plot of the former and recruiting the cast from the latter to cobble together my own adaptation. CS *** "Over here, Cynthia. These are definitely my most interesting specimens," Auntie Anne called, as she stopped in front of several potted vines. I was under-whelmed. My Aunt had just come back from a solo botanical expedition to the upper Amazon, and she was showing off her exotic finds. Sure, she looks all Laura Croft, but instead of gold she brings back... shrubberies. Some of the stuff in her big backyard greenhouse was kind of cool, if you liked that kind of thing, but these things were distinctly boring. They smelled nice enough, but they didn't even have flowers. Auntie Anne must have read my mind, because she added, "I encountered a tribe of Indians who claimed these plants have the most magnificent blossoms in the whole rain forest. They begged me to show them where I'd found them." I caught my cousin hiding a smile. Megan, who is also my best friend, knew I didn't share my Aunt's love of botany. Since Megan and her mother had moved out of the city, I only got to visit them for the summer holidays and, like now, over the Christmas break. This just seemed like a waste of precious time that could be spent hanging out at the mall. "I can't find anything about it in the literature," continued Auntie. "I don't think it has ever been seen or named outside the jungle, but I'll have to wait until it flowers, to be sure. I'm hoping to write a paper on it." Right, terrific, I thought. But then I felt obliged to pretend I liked the plants Auntie Anne was studying, and so a few days later I ended up bringing one home with me. Auntie said she wanted to see how well it did out on the coast. It seemed to do very well, thank you, in my bedroom. It grew quickly, and got so big Mom teased me about it eating me, if I wasn't careful. Daddy just said it smelled bad. I thought the scent was quite pleasant, and I even built it a trellis. Then at the end of May, about three weeks before the finish of the school year, it put out a single green bud. In a few days the lone bud had grown unusually large and was developing a creamy colour. When I climbed out of bed on the third day, it didn't look any different. Disappointed, I showered and then padded downstairs for breakfast, wrapped in my fluffy robe. There was no rush. My parents had to be out the door by eight, but we lived so close to school that I could take my time. Plus, it was much easier to wear whatever I wanted if I waited until Mom had gone to work. Once I was alone, I wandered back upstairs. The flower had opened in my absence, and now my room was filled with a sweet, musky fragrance. Auntie's jungle informants had been right - this thing was beautiful. It was also humungous. Its pretty petals were all fleshy and pink and red, like an orchid; and now that they had unfurled, they revealed in the centre... well, I remembered from Auntie's frequent lectures that it was called the pistol, the bit with the pollen that bees would brush against. Only I'd never seen one so big. It was the size of my forearm, with ropy red ridges along the length of it, and it had a ruffled fat knob on the end the size of my closed fist. The knob had an odd slit at the top, which was oozing nectar or something. I had no idea why I felt all warm and tingly. I only knew that the big blossom's scent was delightful, so much so that I had to kneel beside it and lean right in close to take a deep whiff. I was definitely warm now. My face and chest began to flush, and I found my robe unbearably confining. I let it slide to the floor and rolled my head with pleasure, shaking my hair out over my bare back. Yes, that felt much better. About this point my nipples were getting stiff, and I started to idly play with them. My moistening pussy was itching now, too - not a physical itch but a burning, aching need that demanded attention. I leaned back to rest against foliage that hadn't been there a few moments before, and began to finger myself. As I wiggled one and then two digits in my pussy, I took no notice whatever of the vines moving around my ankles and thighs, or of the tendrils entwining my shoulders and waist. And when, together, they lifted me bodily off the ground, I had no idea but to feed the waves of pleasure breaking through me - by now my fingers were churning as far inside of me as I could reach. I groaned with pleasure, and still it was not enough. Even when the great blossom itself rose up of its own accord in front of me, my only thought was: Hey! I'll bet that thing could reach deeper! I suddenly knew that I needed to feel that fat pistol inside my pussy, and the sooner the better. I spread my thighs eagerly, ignoring the nest of twisting vines that now supported and enclosed me. The flower seemed to respond to my lust, the head of its obscene vegetable wang slowly approaching my drooling virgin pussy. When it was only a few inches away, it stopped, and then, as I whimpered in anticipation, a thin tendril slid out of the slit at the thing's tip. It looked like a lizard's tongue. It felt like a tongue, too, as it slid moistly around my crotch before finally slipping between my lust-swollen lips. I felt it probe my hymen, and then break through; but the short, sharp pain served only to briefly satisfy my insistent itch. I hadn't long to wait - the main bulk of that organ now began to press against my opening. For a short moment, I actually was afraid it wouldn't fit - but my pussy flesh stretched wider than I believed possible and suddenly the thing was squeezing inside me. Immediately, I discovered the function of all those ruffles and ridges. Every little lump and bump was a fresh surprise and a fresh delight. Now I was afraid that it wouldn't ALL fit. I needn't have worried. As I moaned in pleasure, the thing ground its way forward until at last the cool, silky petals caressed my bottom. Foggily, I realized the entire thing was deep inside me. Suddenly my body stiffened and shook as my first orgasm took me. Although I had played with myself from time to time, this was beyond anything I had ever experienced. Nothing seemed to exist but the overwhelming ecstasy that was focused on my core. I know I must have thrashed and screamed, but I don't recall any of that - only the echoes of that monumental come. I have no idea how long it lasted - hours, maybe - but my next memory is of floating, my breathing still ragged, and becoming aware that the flower's organ was now thrusting methodically in and out of me. I think it must have waited until I had nearly regained consciousness to start simulating me again. That ribbed shaft was certainly doing the trick. My pussy, sopping with my juices, squished loudly with each stroke. Just before I started to come again, the organ stopped and I felt another odd new sensation. Something was probing the sensitive entrance to my womb... and then I felt that tongue-like tendril force its way inside. As soon as it was in my uterus, the thing began to stiffen and swell, as it proceeded to fuck me, deep in my core. After a few minutes, the main bulk of the blossom's tool was forcing its knob into my newly spread womb-mouth. I remember thinking, 'this is gonna hurt', but it didn't. The thing just rested there, a moment, and then the entire plant gave a great spasm. I could feel a huge pulse run along the shaft inside me, a moving bulge that stretched my pussy lips wider than ever and then spurted deep into my womb. As that first load was delivered, I finally climaxed again. My pussy clamped down hard on its guest but, regardless, another powerful burst forced its way inside me. And then yet another - again and again, more warm liquid was pumped into my swelling womb. I felt the pressure of it building in my belly, but only a tiny trickle found its way back to ooze out of my pulsating pussy. At last it stopped. I shuddered as the shaft withdrew. When the fat knob of it finally popped free, it paused and then pressed forward again as if to re-enter me. Dazed and hanging limp in the grip of the vines, I watched and waited as it trembled and began to swell again, and then it abruptly fired a large red blob straight into my hole, like a cork in a bottle. The next thing I recall is waking up to find myself on my bedroom floor. I was stiff, and the sun was shining on my face. It must have been early afternoon. From where I lay, I could see the flower. It was furled, and looked just like it had when I woke up that morning. What the hell had just happened? If anything - maybe it had all been a fantastic dream. But I remembered things - impossible things. I sat up carefully. Oh-my-God! I now had a little potbelly. It felt full, down there, and I shuddered as I thought of the floods of flower-cum. Looking further down, at my tender pussy, I discovered a red rubbery mass protruding an inch or two from between my legs. Carefully, I touched it. Something moved, deep inside me, and I snatched my hand away. It was alive! I knew I should be panicking - some sort of creature was lodged in my body. But instead, I reached down between my thighs again, and sort of snuck up on the thing, sliding my hand across my mound and over my swollen clit. Then, ever so gently, I slid my fingertip across the slick skin of whatever it was that was sticking out of my pussy. It began wriggle, but not randomly. I could feel its inner end move, stretching and then contracting, so that it was pushing in and out, probing even deeper than before. I began to moan. It seemed to respond by massaging me inside - somewhere remarkably sensitive. I gasped and fell back as a fresh orgasm swept through me. When my body relaxed, I lay quietly and thought. This was crazy. I was supposed to be in Miss Stacey's classroom, and instead I was lying on the floor of my bedroom, having just been fucked by my own shrubbery... and then fucked again by this thing, whatever it was. Nobody would believe any of it, and if I showed anyone, they would think I was some kind of freak. I'd probably end up being studied by the government in Area 51, or something. Carefully I got to my feet, and waddled unsteadily across the room to lean on my bedpost. I had to stop a couple of times to catch my breath, because the red thing inside me was still wriggling, and I was starting to get excited again. Looking down, I saw that three or four inches worth of it was now hanging free of my pussy's grip. I reached down and, taking firm hold of the slippery thing, gave it a tug. It was well and truly stuck. I let go, and gave it a thoughtful stare. Then I grabbed a mirror from my dresser and lay down on my back, so that I was doubled right up - my feet over my shoulders, and my nose as close to my pussy as I could get it. With the help of the mirror, I proceeded to give my crotch an inspection. The blob was maybe two inches across where it projected from my pussy. I tried slipping a finger between it and my stretched inner lips, and found I could only get it in a half- inch or so before something blocked me. I pried the gap open and with the help of the mirror I discovered that the thing was not just stuck in there - it was fused. All around it was smooth skin, a gradual transition from pink Cynthia flesh to red blob hide. It wasn't just stuck - it was like it was a part of me. And yet my pussy wasn't gone, exactly. I could feel the thing writhing around inside there, rubbing my pussy walls and pressing various secret places in a very pleasant way. But there was more yet. I tried prodding the projecting knob with the mirror handle, and... ouch! I could feel the touch of it. I poked some more - gently now - and found that, for about an inch beyond what was definitely the pink edge of me, the surface of the blob was as sensitive as my own pussy lips! I finally stopped poking, and as I watched, the projecting part of the thing changed shape to something that resembled a rubbery moist tongue, which curled up and proceeded to lap at my clittie. Ten minutes later I found myself lying on my bed, panting, with my hands clutching my quilt in white-knuckled intensity. God, but that had been a good one. It was definitely time to take stock (Actually, it was probably time to scream, but I'd only just done that with my most recent orgasm, and it somehow didn't seem necessary now.) One: A living blob was stuck in my pussy. Two: It wasn't just stuck... it was starting to become me. I could feel a touch on its surface for - eek! - an inch-and-a-half, now. Three: Only a band around its middle seemed to be attached to me, just inside my pussy lips. Its ends stuck out both inside and outside of me; and they were free to stretch and to change shape. Four: Whatever the thing was made of, inside, could apparently flow through it from end to end - because sometimes nearly all of it was either in or out. Five: it was determined to get me off. I spent the rest of the afternoon trying desperately to control my body, first just to walk, and later to try to hide the fact that I was being kept in a constant state of arousal. I found that if I tried to block out the sensations, I always ended up with another orgasm of screaming intensity. That wasn't so bad, but not the sort of thing a nice girl did in front of her parents at the dinner table. The best thing was to relax and ride them out. I still got kind of spacey, at the peaks, but I knew I could tell my mother I was having some cramping. I'd have to get a note for school, anyway. Not long after three o'clock, the phone rang. It was Megan. "Cyn! Thank goodness, you're back from school. Don't go to into your bedroom!" "Umm... I think you're too late," I replied, looking down at the red knob below my mound. "Did the flower...?" "Yeah." "And the red dildo thing?" I laughed out loud at the accurate description. "Yeah." "Oh. Well, Mamma says not to worry. She's studying it now. We should be fine." Actually, up until now, I had only been worried about hiding it. Now I realized there might be more trouble ahead. Geez - hadn't her Aunt been studying the thing since back in December? Then I did a mental double take... Meg had said 'we'. "You too?" "Both of us. Mamma called me out to the greenhouse this morning, to show me the new blossoms, and then there was that perfume, and..." She trailed off. "Yeah," I repeated. "It'll be OK. We'll come and get you as soon as school is out. Umm, Mamma says you probably shouldn't wear underwear." "What?" "You know, panties. Or jeans, either. She thinks the dildo has to breath through its skin. Oh, my God!" "What? What?" "It's just... I guess you know. It's about to get me over, again. I'll call you back if we find out anything more. Woo! See ya soon!" It was a long three weeks. My dildo kept me in a nearly constant state of arousal, teasing me right to the edge, and then backing off, over and over, until I would finally reach orgasm. After a brief chance to rest, it started all over again. I was always flushed, and slightly bowlegged. Plus I always had to wear the same skirt. It was the only one I owned that was long enough not to show off my new friend whenever I sat down. (How do Scotsmen get away with kilts?) And, instead of a blouse, I had to wear a loose sweatshirt to conceal my nipples, because they were always as hard as marbles. And they were so sensitive! I couldn't even bear the thought of wearing a bra. Oh, and speaking of sensitive - I forgot to mention that within a few days I had feeling over the whole surface of my new addition. What touched it, I felt, and what it touched, I felt, too. And it felt damn fine, thank you - both inside of me and out. Sometimes I'd stroke it, just because it felt so nice, and it would stiffen and grow. Then I'd pull on it (and wonder if boys did this, too), while inside the other end was doing me. Talk about double your pleasure! I soon found that I could control it, a bit– swing it back and forth and around about, even stretch it out and touch stuff. It was practically prehensile. After some practice I found I could wrap it around my fingers, that sort of thing. And I didn't have to look to know what I was feeling. But if I didn't do something with it that was sufficiently stimulating, it would start in on its own program. Like, for instance, when I first managed to get it to pick up a pencil (in the privacy of my bedroom, of course), it suddenly dropped the thing and snaked under me to poke its tip inside my bum. Meanwhile, it was growing. As the days passed, more of it was sticking out of me, more of the time. And it was getting fatter, too, although it was hard to tell at first... it happened gradually, and anyway, the thing was switching from long-and- skinny to short-and-fat all the time, as it worked at getting me off. School was particularly tough. Between the weird clothes and my odd behaviour, I felt like everyone must be looking at me. And whenever the thing inside me put me over the edge, I thought, how could they not know I'm in the grips of a major come? The trouble was, the idea my friends and teachers might actually know I was coming made it all the hotter. I'd look at them, and wonder if Sally's tits were padded or real, or if April's long tongue was rough like a kitten's; and I'd wonder if Mr. Clark, the gym teacher, had a cock as big as mine. It was nearly impossible to think of anything but sex. Meanwhile, my dildo was always squirming. Even the baggy sweatshirt wasn't enough to hide all the activity in my lap - I had to pretend to take up knitting, of all things. Mostly, I lay low. I kept mostly to myself at recess and lunch; I begged out of Gym class with 'girl' problems, although I still had to sit in the bleachers (and ogle Mr. Clark). Luckily, there's never much work to do at the end of the year. The few times Miss Stacey called on me to answer a question in class, I could only stammer out something inane. I was completely unfocused - I felt really dumb. Sort of like Wendy, the blond girl at the back of the room who never seemed to be listening. I'd think about her, too - wonder if she was dreaming about someone sucking her clit, or maybe had something shoved up her twat. Which was a bit uncharitable, considering my own situation, given that I'd soon be whispering, "Oh my God, here it comes again!" Every day I would pull off my clothes, as soon as I got home - my top to get it off my nipples, and my skirt to get better access to my clit. Then I would make up for all the orgasms I had somehow managed to bottle up during the day. When I had to come out of my bedroom for dinner, on went the dumpy clothes again. My mother just told my father I was going through a phase. I was always hungry and ready for bed by eight. Then, it was a major relief to strip off once more. I slept naked, with the heat turned up and my bedding thrown off. Luckily, my dildo seemed to sleep when I did, but it was stimulating me again bright and early every morning. I could hardly wait to get back to Auntie's and find out what was happening to me. To be continued... ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 44