Enchanted Dreams (4 page)

Catherine's exposed flesh was now bright red and burning hot; the cool wind upon it caused her little lips to shiver uncontrollably. They were parted slightly from all the activity and a bit of her own nectar was squeezing out between them. Catherine waited eagerly, trusting that she would be given relief at the determined time—and no sooner—and knowing that that time would be designed for her optimum pleasure. It seemed that this forest was dedicated to giving her the very best delights that the world had to offer, and it simply would not allow for less.

The sky was coming alive once again, and now, in her present state, even a stray breeze was enough to give Catherine a tantalizing thrill. She arched her back and tried to thrust her hips upward, delighting in the cool air touching her overheated flesh, even as she caught sight of the next portion of her pleasure approaching.

A single bud was coming up out of the ground and growing, right before her eyes, into a broad stem with massive leaves. Within a blink of her eye, it sprouted and grew and now, at its tip, a large flower was blossoming. The plant was approximately four feet high in the end, having grown that entire length within a single moment.

The flower looked something like an oversized iris and was covered all around the outside edges in rich, purple fur. She saw that it was opening, and held her breath as she waited to see what was inside. The accelerated speed with which the flower was coming to maturity suddenly seemed terribly slow to Catherine.

From deep within the iris's center, perhaps coming out of its very stem, there sprung forth a thick shaft that Catherine immediately recognized as its stamen. This stamen was like any other in that it had a bulbous pollen sack at the end of its stalk. But aside from this, Catherine saw that it was not like other stamens at all. First and foremost was its exceptional size. As Catherine eagerly watched, it continued to grow and thicken to the incredible length of nearly a foot, and expand in diameter to the thickness of a ripe plum. Catherine's back arched reflexively. She had no uncertainty about what the stamen was for.

The flower had risen out of the ground from a spot that was centered directly between Catherine's legs. All it had to do was to lean toward her, bending slightly in the direction of her hips. Her labia was still quivering, and it seemed as if they suddenly parted in anticipation. The flower continued to lean and tip in her direction until the stamen touched her. The pollen sack at its tip was pliable to a point, but it was so large and protruding that this did not help much as it began to push its way into Catherine's body. She moaned loudly as it entered her, and her flesh continued to burn and pulse. Yet there was palpable relief just to have it inside her, pressing its way through her inner walls, filling her. She felt almost depraved in her desperation to have it. It inched its way in slowly, backing out a hairbreadth periodically before advancing farther. Catherine relished each and every advance, gasping and moaning in time with its movements forward or back.

Soon Catherine was taking more of the stamen inside her than anything she had ever taken before, and her body bucked slightly against the intrusion. But she could do little to escape in any direction so she remained rooted to the spot, with her hands still held firmly behind her and her feet held far apart and firmly attached to the ground. There was nowhere for her to go, but she wiggled and squirmed as best she could anyway. Her body arched and contorted, and she moaned and whined as the flower continued to advance. Her hips were lifted off the protruding rock, for she was obliged to raise them in her frantic effort to accommodate the impossible stamen, and it held her there, impaled in midair.

Just when she thought she would be torn in half, the flower made its final advance. She was amazed to see that she had managed to take the full length of the iris's stamen inside of her, and now, suddenly, its stiff, leafy head was brushing against her throbbing clitoris. She cried out when she felt it. The rough surface of the petal, heavily coated as it was with the stunning purple fur, provided just the right intensity and motion to further inflame her passion and assist her in her climax. Each time the flower withdrew and advanced again, the thick petal stroked her. Yet it was not as repetitive as she would have liked for a quick release but, rather, it was of an intensity to bring her to her satisfaction slowly—easing her into it.

Catherine strained against her bonds and cried out loudly. Her hair was flying from side to side as she railed against the most intense and exquisite pleasure she had ever experienced before or, in truth, ever imagined she could endure. The thick stamen drove into her with an intensity and tirelessness that caused her insides to flutter, while the flower's furry head kept repeatedly teasing and titillating her from the outside. Wave upon dizzying wave of desire and pleasure combined to make her feverish. Her gyrations became one fluid movement, and her cries became one long moan. The wind picked up around her, cooling her overheated flesh, and causing her skin to tingle and her nipples to grow hard.

Up and up Catherine's desire circled and grew within her, like a whirlwind building up to a storm. The iris appeared to remain unaffected and determined, dutifully thrusting into her deeply while relentlessly brushing its stiff petals against her. Higher and stronger her feelings of lusty passion kept building until Catherine felt them spin into a crescendo of pleasure that exploded within her. The violent eruption released a tremendous flood of euphoric ecstasy trickling through her. The ecstasy quickly faded into a gently swelling bliss.

The stamen now stopped and withdrew somewhat, but it did not yet retreat from her body. It remained persistently inside her, hovering halfway in, without moving. Catherine did not wonder over this. She knew, by this time, that there was still more pleasure to come. In fact, she had learned that this strange and wonderful forest would continue to provide pleasure until there was simply no more pleasure to be had.

She waited delightedly for what would come next, and already she could feel fresh little tingles of awareness rising up within her all over again. Her body was swollen and drenched, and she could feel herself spasm lightly around the portion of the stamen that remained inside her. Her insides seemed to be grasping at it with each little tremor of pure delight.

In response to her newly awakening passion, the enchanted forest once again seemed to come alive. Catherine noticed that the roots that were holding her ankles were beginning to move, shifting slightly from within the earth below. The honeysuckle vines also began to loosen their grip on her wrists. Catherine sucked in her breath and yielded as Mother Nature carefully maneuvered her body to a position that better matched her newest innermost desires. But which of her fantasies was it playing out now? She felt the enchanted forest knew her better than she knew herself.

Smoothly, with only the slightest disturbance that had almost no effect on the stamen that was still firmly imbedded inside her, Catherine found herself suddenly facing the ground, hovering just above the rock she had previously been sitting upon, but this time she was held suspended in midair. During this maneuver, other honeysuckle vines had been busily weaving themselves into some kind of web that surrounded her, so that she was not obliged to simply hang there, struggling under her own weight, but was actually enveloped in a kind of leafy hammock that cradled her in a delicious aroma that reignited her senses. It offered support where needed, while leaving her bare where it would provide the most pleasure to be exposed. When all of these machinations were accomplished—in the space of a mere moment or two—her body was situated so that it resembled an upside-down V, with her hips at the peak and her torso and legs slanting slightly downward from there in both directions. Her legs were still held open wide and the stamen had not budged an inch from where it was lodged inside her simmering body.

Catherine felt the whirling desire building up inside her all over again. It was not achingly acute like before; now it was all just simple, unadulterated pleasure. The hammock allowed her just enough freedom of movement so that she could enhance her own pleasure as she wished, but no more. She noticed suddenly that there was a little knot in the flowered netting that protruded and rubbed against her swollen clitoris. All she had to do was jerk her hips in a little rocking motion to increase the friction between herself and the little honeysuckle knot. And already the stamen was steadily advancing again. She gasped in surprise as it once again filled her. It felt as if it was even larger in this position. Her body instinctively moved forward in an effort to escape the intrusiveness of the stamen's powdery appendage as it thrust itself against her insides. But when the hammock's constraints were reached, they recoiled, acting like a spring and forcing her back even farther onto the stamen. She cried out in exquisite agony, realizing that each and every reflexive attempt to escape would actually bring her back with double force!

Catherine struggled to remain motionless, but with every advance from the thick, sturdy stamen her body would instinctively jerk forward, causing the soft, pliant hammock to thrust her backward again and again. A momentum was building that she could not control. Her breasts popped out from between the web of flowers, and a stray honeysuckle vine that was whipping in the wind slapped at them mischievously. And neither the wind, nor the vines, nor the stamen—nor even Catherine's wayward body—could ease the delicious tension or slow its raging pace, so that it kept building and building, with all the elements working in perfect harmony to achieve a crashing crescendo. There was little more that could be done, other than to endure the torturous pleasure until that moment was reached.

This time, the iris's stiff petals tickled her nether hole mercilessly with each thrust home. And with faultless rhythm, the stamen's thrust forward always met her reflexive spring backward. She cried out with each explosive impact, and even the sound of her screams added to her exquisite desire that kept spiraling out of control. Her pleasure was so acutely intense that she felt oppressed by the knowledge that it would end, even though she knew there would be more pleasures to follow, perhaps even more intense than what she was experiencing now. She struggled to hold back her quickly approaching release, wanting to prolong the sweet agony for as long as possible. The elongated pleasure tore through her body, leaving her raw and inflamed, yet still crying out for more.

And it suddenly occurred to her that the entire universe was centered on her. Hadn't she known this, even when she was just a tiny babe, crying out for her mother? Then, she thought it out of ignorance, but now the thought appeared to be a result of a higher knowledge, and possibly all she had to do was acknowledge that it was so.

But none of this was important at the moment. All that mattered was that the forces around her kept giving her this pleasure. She could think of no more important endeavor than the one she struggled with now, and every part of her strained to keep her body from succumbing to the overwhelming sensations. But the pleasure assailed her from every angle—from the gently chiding whipping of the vines against her swollen breasts, to the excruciatingly deep penetration of the stamen that she was forced to not only endure but to meet head-on, to the little knot in her honeysuckle hammock that kept rubbing against her clitoris, to, finally, the coarse chafing of the iris's bristly bearded head as it teased and tickled her anus beyond what she could endure. All of these stimuli Catherine had to fight against in order to prolong her pleasure, and her efforts caused her desire to build with an intensity she had never felt before. The sky above her appeared to darken in response to the growing storm within her. It seemed to mirror her frustration in its angry countenance, and the wind also increased its energies as if to join in. Her nipples began to sting smartly from the whip of the punishing honeysuckle vines.

Like a clap of angry thunder, her satisfaction struck her, loud and deep and harsh. Her body shook with large, quaking tremors that startled her. She screamed in protest, but already the stark pleasure was waning into trickling waves that fluttered through her. But the force of it left her sated and content and subdued.

The wind died down, and Catherine now found herself resting unencumbered in her flowery hammock. She turned onto her back and allowed it to rock her gently to sleep.

And so it happened that Catherine took up residence in the enchanted forest, without ever sparing a single thought to the life she left behind. The forest kept her so captivated that she could no longer remember that there was anything to go back to. Had she kept a memory of her other life, it would have only pricked or irritated anyway. But even this much was spared her. She could no longer call to mind even the smallest detail.

This new life consisted only of pleasure. Like the fairies she imagined to be all around her, Catherine flitted from one end of her enchanted forest to the other. She had developed a sort of primitive communication with these beings she believed were fairies. They did not speak, yet they were there with her. She felt she understood them. She had come to respect their reserved silence, believing them to be timid and skittish because she, too, now preferred to be kept hidden from others. Yet she acknowledged their presence in a number of innocuous little ways, such as leaving them treats here and there—much as she believed they did for her from time to time—and in wishing them the goodwill that she felt they had likewise brought upon her.

Yet real communication, as she had formerly known it to be, did not seem possible. That there was intelligence and reason around her she could not, for a moment, doubt. But there was no one to speak her language to, no one to address her in her native tongue.

One day, perhaps it was months or possibly even years after she had first discovered the enchanted forest, Catherine stumbled upon something peculiar that captured her attention. She instantly recognized it as something coming from the other world outside the forest, although she didn't know what it was or how she knew this. It was a strange object, something not indigenous to her forest. There was something about it that caused it to stand out from the rest of the surroundings, like something alien. Its colors were what she noticed first, for they had an unnaturally dull tint, completely void of the brilliance she had become accustomed to seeing in the wildflowers of the forest. These colors seemed a poor imitation, and she wondered how they had got there.