The Forest Spirit. Part 3

I’m Kate. I am the sacrifice for my town, a sacrifice that i was forced to accept, a sacrifice that i didn’t even know. And now, i’m trap, in this dark cavern under the park i used to jog, along with all those that were also sacrifices before me. We are sacrificed to please and feed the Forest Spirit’s large appetite so that the town would prosper with farming.

I was chosen and was tricked into this by the mayor and my boss. I’m now nothing but some livestock for the oak to milk, to juice out the sweet nectar forms between my legs. This is my memoir.

I once thought that i could outlast the Forest Spirit. But it was all just a game for it to enjoy. I will never escape this place ever since i stepped into the park. But i thought i can survive. I thought that i could control myself from orgasm. But that…that was just a game. The Forest Spirit was just toying me. It mention that none of the girls survived more than 5 minutes. That’s because at 4 minute mark, it will use whatever it  have to ensure the girls blew out an orgasm.

Those vines were designed to draw our sweet nectar from our flowers efficiently. It was design so that we could never hold an orgasm against its torments. No matter how good you are at controlling yourself, it will still be able to draw out every bloom from your flower if it wanted to. The more you could handle, the more it comes. It will reach to a point that you could not fight against it. It was not a fair bet from the beginning.

The first time was bad. I, who never had an orgasm, was forced to give in multiple times by those vines. Those vines were so merciless that they would not stop even if my flower already submit to the blooming exploding orgasm. Instead, they will assault my opening even more ferociously to draw out more nectar, to juice every drop I have.

I’m sore down there. Red and swollen. Despite of that, the Forest Spirit did not took empathy on me. In fact, that even drive it to fu*k me harder. I lost my virginity, every bit of it, to the multiple penetration i was forced upon by those vines. My flower took in every single beating and came endlessly. And finally it impregnates my womb with 3 huge seeds that will grow into what it called the watering can. I didn’t know it was so literal, the name of the seeds.

Because ever since it grew inside me, my flower bloom every 1 minute or so, squirting out huge amount of nectar, showering the roots of the oak. Part of it clutched onto my womb, and an extension that move through my cervix, filling my birth canal. It never stop wriggling and vibrating inside me. In fact, i came so many times to even begin to count them. The longest for me to bloom was about 1 minute, the shortest i had was in interval of 15 seconds. However, no one could ever last more than a minute. None of the girls, including me. We are, like watering cans, our flowers were forced to continuously bloom and spray our nectar out for the oak, feeding it with nutrients.

Should we not release in less than a minute, the oak will send out 20 vines to help juice our stubborn flowers. Unable to close our legs, 20 vines, one by one would spend about 30 minutes each with the flower, continuously tormenting it until our flower bloom punctually. Strangely, no matter how much we come, we would never dehydrate. We never felt tired. We are always awake and we never felt hungry. The only thing we felt are the unlimited amount of overwhelming orgasms our flowers were forced to have and the constant soreness of our flower. The soreness will never go away.

The restrains will also be permanently attached to us, sinking part of it into our bloodstream, feed us, keep us alive. And of course, to ensure our legs could never obstruct the vines to get to our flowers, to make sure we cannot protect or hide it. The oak forced our legs opened ever since the beginning. The oak won’t let them go, won’t allow us to close, forcing us to give full access to the vines, logs, seeds or whatever long that the oak wanted to put in us. To it, our legs are an obstruction, and should always be kept apart at all times.

I sometimes look at the other girls. Some of them still barely conscious due to the aphrodisiac, some like me, stayed awake as we orgasms. We wanted to stop the orgasms. Who wouldn’t? But we can’t. We are not allowed to. If the oak knew we held in our orgasms, it would piss it off. The result will be devastating. One of the girl did tried to hold it in, but was discovered almost immediately. The girl was immediately pulled near to the tree and spread open. Once again, the log came out from the leaves and pound its massive length mercilessly into that girl. The girl’s flower came immediately as the log moved in. But the log didn’t stop. It continues on until the girl had at least 20 more orgasms. I counted. That act as a lesson to us, not to hold our orgasms. Even though we could not die from the pounding, the aftershock would be massive soreness on our flower. The sore is the one and only thing we are afraid of.

We do not live, nor we would die. We do not eat or drink. In fact, each one of us has a vine inside our anus to collect the waste and recycle it as fertilizer so we do not shit. We also do not pee or sweat. The only way for us to lose water is by orgasm. The oak make sure we do not waste its water on pee and sweat. Make sure all the water is used to produce the finest quality of nectar through our soft and sweet opening. Now, all we do is only one single thing, that is to bloom our flowers so that the nectar would flow out constantly.  We no longer felt human. We are like some cows in farms that are readily being milked. I would not know what time is it, nor how long it has passed. But all i know is that, the orgasms were too much. Too much to handle. But our body adapts to it pretty well.

One time, the oak seize the seeds inside us from working. We never thought the feeling would be so torturous. Tied down and unable to touch ourselves, we knew we could not survive without the vines raping us, forcing us to orgasm, juicing the nectar out of us. We need the vines. We need to orgasm since we orgasms almost a thousand times a day. Our body cannot survive without orgasm. It was somewhat enjoying to the oak that we are now so dependent on it and literally wanted to be fu*k every time.

The oak sometimes made some competitions for us for him to enjoy. One time, it would stop the seeds in us from working, and remove the restrains from our hands. Dutifully, we began touching ourselves. The first person to came 100 times will win the competition, and shall be rewarded with some sweet fruits from the tree. The last person to finish will spend time servicing the oak’s thick logs. All 5 of them. I wasn’t the first, nor the last. But satisfaction fills us as we see the loser get her flower pounded, beat and penetrated by the giant log. The satisfaction of not being the loser.

Soon, we got ourselves a new member. She was like me, determined and confident. The oak offers her the same bet as mine. However, the girl did not know that in this domain, she already have lost. She fight ferociously against the building orgasm. But continuous assault by multiple vines, mercilessly mauling her unprotected and vulnerable flower, soon brings her fate down to being like us. Her bright career path, her future is immediately shattered and replaced with unlimited orgasms. Similarly, the oak tree spends an extra one hour to make sure she came. Her legs were so wide apart that it shock me. I never though i was spread that wide. From this angle, i can clearly see how exposed my flower was. There literally nothing to stop them to take what they want, to juice, to tease, to toy with our flowers.

The number of girls grew more and more. All of them stuck to the wall with their limbs spread apart, all of them with their flower deflowered and pounded. Our lives now serve only one purpose. To come and feed the oak tree. And occasionally, serving its thick logs with our flowers.

-The End-

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About robsam1991

Even though my stories depicts rapes and violence on women(mostly), i never once condone the action. Not even the slightest. In fact, i despise men who rape women. I never agreed on that women who wear provocative clothing were to be blame on for the rape; though they should take precautions when necessary to avoid risk. As a man, i think it's our responsibility to control ourselves and never let our urge out on innocent people. If you feel like raping someone, then treat a girl nicely so that she would opt for a role play where you can play out a 'rape' on her satisfyingly. Please use safe word.
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