Читать книгу Enchanted Dreams: Erotic Tales Of The Supernatural - Nancy Madore - Страница 5

Catherine stopped again to catch her breath. She couldn’t believe how out of shape she had become. There was a time when she was always outdoors getting exercise, whether it was camping or playing volleyball or running. How long had it been since she’d entered a marathon? Lately, all of life’s many demands kept her busy running an entirely different kind of race. She couldn’t seem to find time for herself anymore. There was little enough time to sustain the barest existence. These musings caused a pang of anxiety to rise up in her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing her worries away. How had matters of basic survival come to absorb her every waking moment?

But these were precisely the thoughts Catherine came here to forget. She had not suffered an anxiety attack in nearly twenty-four hours. She was determined to enjoy her brief escape from the rat race, if only for a few days. She tipped her head back and breathed in as much as she could of the crisp, cool air that surrounded her. It smelled of earth and life. She looked around then, suddenly aware of the strange silence. As her nostrils drank in the sweet and pungent aroma of the forest, her heartbeat could not help but slow down. The beauty and tranquility were having their effect. Why couldn’t all of life be this simple?

Catherine picked up her overstuffed backpack and hefted it up onto her shoulder, resting it on the left side now because the right shoulder was beginning to ache. She felt another wave of annoyance at this reminder of how poorly things were constructed these days. The strap had broken within the first hour of her using it, unable to withstand the weight of her camping gear. She should have chosen a more practical pack, she thought, but she had been swayed by the colorful design—and the sale price—of this one. Besides, its bright orange-and-yellow pattern gave her a feeling of security, just in case there were hunters in the woods. Not that it was hunting season, but one never knew. But as it happened, she had not encountered anyone at all since setting out on her little excursion. There was a lonely, isolated feeling to the place that convinced her no one else was around. At first it was disconcerting, and she had been tempted to turn around. But it was not an overly exhausting hike to the campsite, and she was sure to find someone there.

With her racing heart calmed, Catherine resumed hiking, but at a slower, more manageable pace. She was nearing a high point in the mountain and veered closer to the steep edge so that she could observe the views below. The trees were thinning out now, perhaps because of the elevation, and this made the sight even more spectacular. Clumps of trees gave way to fields of green, spotted here and there with patches of wildflowers.

As Catherine gazed at the scene below her, she was once again struck by the curious silence surrounding her. Listening more intently, she noticed that there were actually sounds to be heard, such as the twitter of a bird or the rustle of a squirrel, but these seemed to blend into the background as seamlessly as the foliage. There were no conspicuous sounds, no noises that would indicate purposeful activity or any other synthetic clatter clashing with the natural progression of things. Catherine pondered this, marveling at the perfect harmony that seemed to exist among the plants and animals compared to the chaos associated with more intelligent beings.

Even as Catherine was thinking these thoughts—ironically, right in the very midst of them—a bird suddenly flew out at her from a nearby bush, startling her. She lost her footing and, unable to catch herself, stumbled over the edge of the mountain. There was a split second of absolute clarity where she realized she was not going to be able to stop her fall, and in the next instant she noticed the thick, solid branch peaking out from beneath the fallen leaves that was rushing up to meet her. She only had time to perceive these things, not to react, or to move, or even to feel alarm. And then everything went black.

Catherine opened her eyes and looked dumbly around her in utter confusion. Where on earth was she? Something was not quite right, yet she felt remarkably calm. She sat up tentatively, remembering the fall and aware that she had sustained injuries.

The very first thing she noticed was that all of the forest—from the tiniest blade of grass to the tallest tree—appeared to be buzzing with life. She was suddenly struck with how curiously vibrant the colors were, and how pungent the aroma around her. It was almost as if the trees were speaking to her, even as the gentle wind rustled their leaves. Things seemed more distinct and noticeable than before. She wondered if she had suffered a concussion.

As she observed the forest around her, Catherine had the oddest sensation that she was no longer alone. She looked more carefully at the plants and trees, scanning them for signs of life. But aside from the foliage, she saw nothing.

She got up slowly, brushing off her shorts and checking for injuries. Her wounds appeared to be minor, as she was able to move about without suffering additional discomfort. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. She still had the impression that she was being watched. She called out, “Who’s there?” but there was no response. She wondered vaguely why whatever it was didn’t manifest itself. Yet for some reason, she still wasn’t afraid. In the midst of such radiant harmony, it was hard to conceive of any real danger.

Her voice, when she had cried out, sounded foreign to her ears. Something about the valley she had fallen into called to mind the enchanted forests of her childhood fairy tales. She realized that she ought to make her way back up the mountain and find the trail, but she was captivated by the little forest nook and didn’t want to leave. What would it hurt to look around for a few minutes? Just off in the distance, she spied a field of brilliant colors that begged to be explored. She spotted her backpack on the ground nearby, and had half a mind to set up camp right there. Why should she leave this enchanted spot to set out for a public campground? This would be real camping, where she could open the flap of her tent without nudging a tent right next to hers.

As Catherine considered this, she walked toward the field, surveying the area around her with a great deal of curiosity. A prettier campsite could not be imagined. There was a tranquility to the place that seemed to promise sanctuary. It had everything the public campground had except electricity and, perhaps, water. But even as this thought occurred to her, she suddenly perceived a very faint sound—so faint she could only just identify it as the sound of rushing water. As she followed the sound, she discovered with joy that it was, in fact, a waterfall.

Catherine stared at the waterfall in amazement. It was just like something from an exotic island. She could smell the water as it exploded over the cliff’s edge. She approached it timidly, almost wary of its incredible magnificence. At any rate, she thought, she could wash the many scrapes that dotted her arms and legs in the sparkling spring. She removed her shoes and socks and tentatively dipped her toes in the little, churning stream at the bottom of the falls. It was cool but not cold, so she plunged her feet in. She bent down to scoop water over her bare legs. The flash of a silver trout caught her eye as it passed and she jumped, half expecting it to pause at the surface on its way by to speak to her, just as the one in the Brothers Grimm Tale of the Fisherman had. She laughed at the thought. Yet it would not have surprised her.

Catherine let the water, cool and soothing, trickle over her legs. She gathered several more handfuls and splashed them over the cuts and bruises on her arms. She realized that she was thirsty, too. Carefully, for the bottom of the stream was lined with sparkling rocks, she stepped closer to the falls, leaning forward to scoop some of the freshly falling water into her cupped hands. It tasted as sweet and refreshing as she imagined, and she swallowed several mouthfuls in large gulps. She was surprised how thirsty she was and drank until she had her fill. Then she simply stood there, admiring the majestic beauty of the waterfall. It was truly enchanting. But if she was going to make camp, she knew that she would have to find her way back to the trail soon.

Catherine cautiously stepped from the stream and looked toward the forest from which she had come, when she suddenly noticed that the sun was unusually high in the sky. This seemed strange. Wasn’t it later in the day? She tried to remember roughly what time it had been when she fell, but she couldn’t. Yet she had already eaten lunch and was fairly certain that the better part of the day was behind her. By all counts, it should have been late afternoon. How, then, could it now be coming on midday? Surely she had not lain unconscious overnight! But just then it occurred to her that her stomach was empty. She once again had that strong sense of unreality and wondered if she had suffered more serious injuries in the fall than she originally thought. Perhaps she had a head injury. She vaguely remembered the large stump sticking up out of the ground. She felt around her head for bumps.

But at present it seemed more important that she eat something. Her backpack was stuffed with food, but just at that moment she spotted shimmering patches of red scattered about in some of the bushes nearby. Upon closer inspection, she saw that they were raspberries, and they were so plentiful they were practically falling off the branches. Looking around, she could see that the lush bushes were growing everywhere all along the little stream. Catherine tentatively picked one of the berries and touched it to her tongue. It was tart and sweet, just like a wild raspberry. And the bushes were overgrown with them. What a find! There were so many berries that, without ever taking a single step in either direction, she was able to eat her fill.

While Catherine was gorging herself on raspberries, a strange notion came into her head. She began to think that the berries had appeared as a result of her desire to eat. But after considering it, she rejected the idea as preposterous. The berries had been there all along; she had simply not noticed them before. The waterfall had absorbed all of her attention.

But there was no denying that there was something special about the place. Contented by berries, she returned to the stream and sat down on the bank. She watched the running water flash and sparkle as more gleaming trout passed by. The sight of them pleased her. She stretched out on the bank lazily, resting on her side so that she could gaze down into the gurgling stream. How pleasant it was to simply watch the water trickling over the glimmering rocks as it rushed along its merry way. How benevolent its cheerful sound, tinkling contentedly as it hurried off to—where? Catherine felt peaceful and serene as she pondered this. She suddenly couldn’t remember what those things were that had bothered her before. After a while, she rolled over onto her back and looked up at the sky.

But what madness was this? Suddenly the sun was sinking into the horizon!

Catherine jumped up and looked around. She was yet again assailed with a nagging sense of unreality. How could high noon so quickly have turned to dusk? How long had she been lying by the bank, staring down into the water? How was it possible that she, Catherine, a person who normally couldn’t sit still for a moment, had wasted an entire afternoon looking at water?

She decided it was time to leave the strange little forest glen and quickly surveyed the area one last time, looking for the direction from which she had come. She wandered all around, searching for something familiar or for some evidence of her footsteps. But try as she might, she was unable to find a pathway out, and it was quickly getting dark. She would have to wait until morning. She was surprised to find that this did not disturb her overmuch, but she regretted not bringing her backpack with her when she had wandered off. At least then she would have had supplies. How would she manage to get through the night now? In a little while, it would be too dark to see and she would be left fully exposed to the elements.

Or would she? With a surreal sensation of awed disbelief, her eyes fell upon a little nook at the base of the foothill that rose up to one side of the waterfall. At first glance it appeared to be a shallow cave, just the right size for her. Catherine approached it with interest. It was indeed a small alcove that had formed out of the earth. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be the result of erosion, for there was a large tree sitting directly above it. All along its inner cavity could be seen smooth, wooden roots, jutting out here and again over the ceiling and walls like sturdy brown beams. The cave did not recede so far into the earth as to frighten or alarm, but was just enough to protect someone from the elements. The floor was covered with large, crisp leaves that had apparently fallen from the tree above. Finding the little alcove filled Catherine with a sense of well-being. She was beginning to believe that this forest really was enchanted. It was certainly the most enchanting place that she had ever been. She went to work immediately, gathering more leaves from the ground outside the cave and stuffing them into the corner where she planned to sleep. As she rushed to prepare her little nest before it became too dark, she suddenly caught, from the corner of her eye, the sparkle from a lightning bug. In that same moment, the last bit of the sun disappeared behind the mountain.

It was fully dark now, but look! More lightning bugs were—one after the other—coming alive, blinking so brightly (for her benefit alone, she now believed) and so frequently that her campsite was kept in a steady stream of soft light. Catherine stared, openmouthed, at the wondrous spectacle.

She began to think that somehow, in the course of her fall, she must have landed in some kind of enchanted world, perhaps even crossing over into an entirely different dimension.

Catherine snuggled comfortably into her cozy little bed inside the cave, but sleep was not quick to come. She was plagued by gently rising waves of restlessness, brought on, no doubt, by the extraordinary things that had occurred. Her mind drifted aimlessly, gliding through random memories of enchanted forests and fairies. As her thoughts meandered over the folklore, her exotic surroundings remained uppermost in her mind. She thought about the peculiar events of her day, unconsciously allowing her hand to trail over the length of her body and lazily letting it come to rest between her legs.

The fireflies continued to light up the sky around Catherine, and stars blinked at her from far off in the distance. She was mildly surprised to find that she was aroused. Her fingers had been absently—and very lightly—circling and caressing her body, and they were having an effect. She tried to recall the last time she felt aroused. It was not since she had started taking the antianxiety medication. That, too, was tucked away in her backpack, she suddenly remembered. She hadn’t taken one since before the fall. But how long ago had that been? She had lost all track of time. She remembered how quickly the sun seemed to set from its midday position; she would have sworn that no more than a single hour had passed in that space of time. But was it time that had changed, or was it her perception that was skewed? Had she fallen into some kind of trance while gazing at the gleaming water?

These speculations passed through Catherine’s consciousness offhandedly. She wondered that she could feel so calm and serene in the light of so many uncertainties. How did she know, for instance, that she wasn’t actually suffering from some kind of head injury? That would certainly explain her peculiar perspective of the things that were happening around her. And without her medication, even for a day, she would normally have been so terrified of an anxiety attack that she would have brought one about. But at the moment, even this realization that her meds were out of reach did not rattle her. It simply felt too good to have her body responding like this again. She felt excited, and terribly alive.

Catherine’s fingers kept encouraging her arousal, stirring it up and up as they circled and massaged her engorged little bud of pleasure. Soon, her desire was taking over all other thoughts. She suddenly, recklessly, wished that this enchanted forest would bring her some magic now!

By this time, Catherine’s body was lightly swaying back and forth in time with the steady, circular motion of her fingers. The activity caused her hips to sink farther into her leafy bedding, settling deeper and deeper into its softness.

But what was this? Suddenly, Catherine was disrupted by something solid that was buried beneath the leaves of her bed. She tried to ignore it but that only seemed to make it more pronounced. With a sigh of frustration, she sat up and carefully pushed aside the bedding to find out what lay beneath it. When she saw what it was, she gasped. She blinked several times to make sure she wasn’t imagining things.

Examining the object more closely, Catherine perceived that it was most likely one of the tree’s roots, which had circled back around toward the direction it had come in order to be unearthed in this alcove. This, in and of itself, was not especially unusual perhaps, but the shape of the root was. It rose up out of the ground at an angle, thick and gnarly and long. That it happened to be there, coming up out of the ground in that particular place and jutting out at that particular angle, was certainly no coincidence. The longer she stared at it, the harder it was for Catherine to believe that she hadn’t noticed it sooner. And then her last thought before she discovered it came to her and she blushed. She was now, more than ever, convinced that she was in a magical place where all her wishes would become a reality. But who was behind it? What was the presence she kept sensing?

Intrigued, Catherine could not resist reaching out and touching the lanky root. It seemed to tremble and pulse in her hand, startling her and causing her to instinctively jerk her hand away. As she gazed at it, she noticed that it was precisely the size, shape and texture she preferred. Although it was a bit rugged and rough, she thought ironically—playing the devil’s advocate for the moment as she skeptically examined her most secret wish come true—and then smiled at her own ungraciousness. But the smile instantly froze on her face. There, and there again, all over the root in fact, there oozed a clear fluid—perhaps a sap of some kind, she immediately suggested to her disbelieving mind—seeping out from its many crevices. Was it possible that the fluid had been there all along? It was, and yet Catherine felt that it was not.

She suddenly thought of Eve in the Garden of Eden. Was the proverbial apple this impossible to ignore? Already, her body was trembling with desire and anticipation.

Catherine made her decision in an instant. There was still the disconcerting sense that someone—or something—was watching her. Yet she felt that, whoever or whatever it was, be it fairy or plant life, it watched with approval and meant her no harm. Maybe it was the source of all her good fortune, her benefactor in this enchanted place, granting her every wish like a kind of fairy godmother. All around her there appeared to be nothing but loving energy. In fact, all of the encumbrances of her normal life, which had always been at war with her instincts, were starting to fade, diminishing in importance by the hour. She kept forgetting that she needed to find her way out of the forest, and even what it was that she needed to get back to.

All of this was a mere fleeting thought in the back of her mind as she excitedly took off her clothes. Uppermost in her thoughts, overruling everything else, was her desire, pure and raw and true. She was unabashedly grateful that the root protruded so far out of the ground as she carefully moved herself over it. The angle, too, could not have been more suitable. All she had to do was ease herself back, little by little, opening herself to the object of her desire in small, slow increments as she inched backward onto it. The clear, sappy fluid that was released by the root not only made the entry smoother, but it seemed to heighten her pleasure as well, increasing the friction as she slid back and forth. It felt as if it seeped into each and every crevice of her silky folds, filling her completely and creating a delightful resistance with its sticky texture, which intensified her pleasure as she slid along the long, gnarly shaft. She struggled to take it deeper and deeper with each thrust backward.

The root, meanwhile, continued to throb and pulse as Catherine shamelessly used it. She trembled with pleasure, relishing the exquisite feel of it inside her body. Every part of her felt as though it were alive. She went back farther and farther on it as she picked up her pace, delighting in the loud, squishing sounds of her juices as they mingled with the thick sap from the root. And even the forest all around her seemed to stir, pulsing and throbbing right along with her. The fireflies lit up the sky, bringing even her shadow to life where it moved over the cave’s wall in time with her thrashing body. Birds and other wildlife called out to her from the distance. When at last she cried out with intense pleasure, she could not say for sure whether it was her own scream or that of another creature of the forest.

Almost instantly afterward, Catherine fell into a deep sleep. It was a sleep filled with fleeting visions of strange, sensual places filled with curious and wonderful things. In these dreams, what once was irregular was now ordinary and proper. Plants were living things in the truest sense, with thoughts and feelings of their own as they fulfilled their objective to please those whose lives they touched. All was perfect harmony, where desires were meant to be satisfied. Catherine sunk deeper into the spell of the forest as she dreamed, without the slightest thought for what she was leaving behind. She slept effortlessly in her leafy bed, content and satiated, yet always teetering on the edge of her newfound arousal.

When Catherine awoke the next morning, she was first conscious of how refreshed she felt. The next thing she noticed was that her injuries of only a day before seemed to have completely disappeared. She was still vaguely aware that there was something she ought to do, but the forest repeatedly distracted her from this awareness each time it threatened to emerge. These distractions took many forms, and in the process Catherine discovered a variety of interesting plants that she had never heard of before, some of which seemed to offer themselves up for practical use. She was drawn to one plant, for instance, for its extraordinary size and spectacular color, but upon closer inspection she found that its huge petals were actually similar in texture to silk. The thick, durable petals were abundant, too, with the ends curling up into themselves like large bolts of fabric. It was impossible to resist making use of these petals for this purpose. She found many unique plants with too many useful functions to mention. It soon became apparent that the highest purpose of the forest and its plant life was to please her. The flowers and plants not only served, but they did so in such an extraordinary and delightful way that they couldn’t fail to please, and Catherine was completely charmed out of her former life.

In her enchanted forest, time quickly lost all authority over Catherine. She was no longer even aware of the passing days and weeks. Catherine busied herself with taking advantage of the manyjoys and opportunities the forest offered her. In time, she was able to fashion beautiful attire from flowers and leaves—stunning clothes that seemed to caress her skin while allowing her to move more freely. Everything she needed to sustain her life grew out of the enchanted soil, and they consisted of the most appealing and beneficial properties she had ever known. All of her senses were constantly awed and enchanted.

The only thing missing from this tiny paradise Catherine had stumbled into was a companion. In all of the time that she had been there, she had never seen another living soul. There was plenty of animal life that she encountered but never a trace of another person. Catherine had been talking to the plants almost from the beginning, and over time she started to believe that they could hear and understand her. There were moments when she doubted her own sanity, but she could swear that whenever she opened her mouth the plants seemed to, ever so slightly, lean in her direction and listen. And there was something else out there, too, it seemed to her—some other being that watched over her and listened. Sometimes it seemed so close that she thought she could actually feel its breath upon her neck. But when she turned her head to look, there would be nothing there. This was not overly frustrating for her, though, because she was perfectly willing now to believe in those things she couldn’t see. She trusted that she was sensing something that was actually there. She began to think of them as fairies. Recalling everything that she had ever learned about fairies as a child, they seemed to offer the most likely explanation. She had read in Irish folklore that fairies were actually spirits, wandering the earth in between lives. They had a reputation for being kind and generous overall, although at times they were said to be impish and mischievous. This made sense to her, and it seemed to fit with what she felt about the invisible beings that filled the atmosphere all around her. In time, she was speaking to them as if these suppositions had been confirmed.

But whatever benevolent spirit or fairy or enchantment it was, one thing that Catherine came to know for certain was that no matter what she might wish for, it would inevitably appear. This was something she had not only learned to accept, but came to expect. If she, for example, craved something sweet, she would instantly catch the scent of nectar from some utterly delightful fruit. Or, if erotic thoughts tempted her consciousness, the wind was apt to suddenly bring a stray flower to lightly caress the eager flesh between her legs.

All of her senses were heightened. Her hearing, in particular, seemed keener than ever. She was becoming more and more aware of sounds she had never even noticed before, whereas the noises she had heard all of her life—particularly those that crept in from outside of her enchanted forest—were suddenly strange and unfamiliar to her, and even a cause for fear. Any such noise would send her deeper into the woods to hide. Her existence before discovering her magical forest was no longer of interest to her. She had finally found peace in this place where she could exist in perfect harmony with the world around her. There was much of intrigue and humor and even romance in the life-forms she now communicated with. She began to equate all good fortune with the entities she had come to think of as fairies, and blame any misfortunes, such as storms or other mild discomforts, on “demons.” She spoke to both as if they were right there beside her at all times, for she believed their existence was solely centered on hers. She adapted to her new life fully and seamlessly, even dressing like a woodland nymph, in the stunning shades produced by the wildflowers of the forest. She designed her clothing purely for amusement, and it always left her fully exposed to the elements and open to the whims of whatever chose to please her. She could not imagine hiding her breasts from the numerous plants and flowers that seemed to take pleasure in caressing and clinging to them, any more than she could close up her own grasping flower from the various woodland life-forms that would sample the nectar that flowed forth from there. She kept that part of herself always ready and exposed, her trembling, delicate petals always ready to unfold and open to new pleasures. Even the rain possessed the power to arouse her; she would lie in the soft grass and raise her hips up toward the sky, relishing every single droplet that fell.

Catherine looked up at the sky, aware that a storm was approaching. Angry molecules crackled in the air all around her. Her skin prickled in response. She was decked out in a colorful outf it she had crafted that very day. The top consisted of dried strands of grass held together at the top, just above her breasts, by a band of stunningly bright flowers, and the bottom, which just barely fell to her thighs, was the same. Every now and then, a gust of wind would whip through the dried grass, exposing bits of pink flesh and causing the slightly roughened edges of the grass to scratch and tease her tender flesh. She shivered in anticipation as she rushed out toward the open field.

The sky was quickly turning darker from the approaching storm, but the golden field glowed brightly as she entered the clearing. The wind picked up considerably without the trees of the forest to block it, and her grass coverings whipped frantically over her skin. There was a tree in the midst of the flowers, and Catherine ran toward it eagerly. When she reached it, she embraced it. The rough edges of its bark were abrasive against her skin. She caught the sweet, familiar smell of honeysuckle from high above, and looked up to admire the willowy vine that had laced its way in and around the many branches throughout the entire length of the tree. But the tree did not mind, or at least Catherine felt this to be so.

She let her hand roam over one of the long, sinewy vines of the honeysuckle. It had clung to the trunk of the tree for so long that it seemed a part of it now, imbedded so deeply into the bark that it was hard to tell which was which. Her fingers trailed lightly over it, and she was not surprised when one of the younger, more malleable parts of the vine reached down from out of the tree and deliberately circled itself around her wrist. She ran her free hand over one of the vines on the other side and waited for it, too, to restrain her in the same manner. The rubbery appendages wrapped round and round her wrist, three times each, bending their leaves courteously to cushion her tender flesh from its unyielding hold. A few of the hon-eysuckle’s tender white flowers dropped to the earth with a sigh. Their sweet scent filled Catherine’s nostrils.

Before she had time to wonder what would happen next, a root came up from out of the earth beneath her feet and curled itself around one of Catherine’s ankles. Another root popped out almost immediately after the first and captured her other leg. Catherine watched the scene in ecstatic amazement. No matter how many nights she would spend in this enchanted little paradise, these events would always fill her with wonder and excitement, even as she waited in delicious anticipation.

The roots began gently spreading her legs apart, and the honeysuckle loosened its hold just a bit on her wrists. She allowed herself to be maneuvered so that she was sitting on a large mossy rock, situated just off to one side of the tree. She sat on the soft, cushiony moss with her legs spread and held wide apart by the deeply embedded roots that had been unearthed for this event. Her hands were allowed to rest on the rock behind her, but they remained lightly restrained by the honeysuckle vines.

In this position, Catherine sat leaning back at a slight angle, with her arms resting behind her, her breasts jutting outward and her legs spread apart. A gust of wind came sweeping through the valley and ravished her grass garments, causing them to fly in all directions. Two hardened nipples peeked out from the top portion of her dress and the bottom half was completely blown off to the sides, leaving her fully exposed.

Catherine struggled against her restraints, not trying to escape, but simply squirming in anticipation. She waited with excruciating impatience, wondering agitatedly what intensely pleasurable delights were in store for her this time. She did not have long to wait.

Here, already, moving in her direction in steady line, Catherine could see the fiercely colored heads of the tall wildflowers that littered the open field. They approached her in smooth, sweeping waves, seemingly brought about by the wind, but apparently being moved by some power underground, too, for their roots remained intact. With each new gust of wind the wave of flowers came nearer and nearer, until at last the blooms began to brush against her opened legs. Closer and closer they came with each new breeze, until they were being whipped across the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, making them tingle and smart. And they kept advancing even more, causing her thighs to turn from a pale beige to a bright pink, and the little lips of her sex glands to part in surprise.

Catherine now writhed against her bonds, but not at all wishing for them to release her. If anything, she wished they would hold her more rigidly. She was terrified that they might come loose and bring this fantastic event to an end. There was a pleasing sting to the flowers’ thrashing that clashed delightfully with her arousal and created a most intense ache. She was so preoccupied with the sensations brought about by the gentle whipping that she did not even at first realize that the flowers might be doing anything other than simply being swept against her for that pleasure alone. The wind, meanwhile, began to howl as her body strained and shuddered under the exquisitely relentless assault from the brightly colored blooms as they one right after the other slapped against her quickly heating flesh. She wondered at their remarkable strength, for not one of them appeared to lose so much as a petal.

But eventually a slow dawning came, even as Catherine felt the oppressive weight of something heavy and thick coating the little petals of flesh that surrounded her aching hole. She peered down between her legs and noticed that each and every bloom, while brushing across her trembling nether lips, cleverly turned its face toward them and thrust out its heavily coated stamens for a thoroughly intimate kiss that doused her with their nectar! She noticed, too, that each wave of flowers that passed her continued to move forward in the same direction, so that with each new burst of wind an entirely new group of flowers assailed her. In this way, each flower that struck her was fresh and full of more of the thick nectar to leave with her. But why? Her little lips trembled to be so laden.

Catherine’s inner thighs were becoming more and more inflamed and even raw, and her labia was weighted down with the heavy nectar of literally thousands of flowers. She was trembling with an agonizing mixture of pleasure and need. She arched her back and thrust her hips up in an effort to escape the next wave of flowers, but each and every one caught her regardless, striking her pulsing flesh with even more vigor, and hampering her poor little petals with even more of their nectar. Although the nectar was administered one tiny bit at a time, it was astounding how much she had accumulated so quickly. The heavy discomfort was almost completely giving way to desire. Catherine could feel her arousal welling up, strong and full. She whimpered helplessly, wishing suddenly that it would never end.

But already her bonds were tightening and the wind was dying down. The flowers at last receded. Catherine closed her eyes for a moment and tried to still her disappointment and quiet her trembling limbs. Her flesh stung and her legs quivered violently. Her nether lips struggled and quivered under the burden of the nectar.

Her attention was suddenly caught by a peculiar, highpitched sound, seemingly far off in the distance. She opened her eyes and saw that there was a dark but luminous mist of something moving in the sky in the direction of the sound. Whatever it was, it was quickly approaching. Catherine hardly had time to consider what it might be when the first of its arrivals landed.

The shrill whistling had actually been the fluttering of hundreds of tiny wings in flight; once the swarm arrived the noise immediately quieted. Butterflies touched gently down, elegantly and politely, and immediately began to dine on the nectar. There were so many of them, each smartly dressed in their own individual mixture of bright colors so that no two sets of wings were precisely the same. Catherine stared with wide, disbelieving eyes as they each, in turns, feasted on the banquet that had been so painstakingly spread out before them. Their activity tortured her in the most delightful way. The already oversensitive flesh had been made even more so by the extraordinary whipping she had received. She could now keenly feel each and every little butterfly that tapped relentlessly upon her flesh in an effort to capture the sweet taste of nectar through its sensors. Then, slowly, their tongues emerged, unfurling to nearly three times the length of their bodies to painstakingly begin lapping up the sticky nectar. Catherine was acutely aware of the butterflies’ wings as they fluttered and moved, gently battering her with their sheer numbers.

Catherine moaned loudly, straining once again against her bonds, which seemed to tighten in response and draw her legs farther apart. The multitude of butterflies produced a rainbow of lush, colorful activity between her trembling thighs. But they were gracious and well-mannered; they did not battle over the sumptuous meal that was spread out before them. Rather, they each in turn feasted elegantly and leisurely, while the others fluttered their wings and tapped their little feet as they patiently waited. Seven or eight could partake in each sitting, and it tantalized Catherine’s burdened labia when they supped on the sticky nectar. Those that finished moved graciously aside but still lingered, loitering so close as to be nearly on top of one another, but comfortably so, nevertheless.

Catherine’s sensitivities were so acutely awakened by these events that she was keenly aware of every single touch, no matter how feathery light or minute. The butterflies dined enthusiastically but unhurriedly, cleaning their little appendages meticulously as they ate so as not to waste a single drop of the precious nectar. They each worked at her flesh mercilessly with their feet and tongues as they feasted, prodding and kneading her inflamed labia in an effort to remove the sticky nectar from her body. They roamed freely over every part of the feasting area, clinging agilely to her sticky slit and meandering restlessly over and around her clitoris.

Catherine’s hips bobbed and jiggled as much as was possible under her restraints. She felt as if hundreds of tiny hands were actively massaging and stimulating her. But each time she came within a feather’s breath of relief, either the intensity or the location of the stimulation would shift and change, taking her opportunity for release with it. Yet the relentless buildup of desire never stopped; it kept building and growing until she feared that she might burst.

In the course of all this activity, even with such refined diners as these, the nectar could not help but be spread even farther over the area. As this occurred it allowed more butterflies to partake. Catherine knew all of this without actually seeing it, for she could feel them feeding over every part of her, from her clitoris to her anus, and she could do little more than shudder violently as the sensations of pleasure their feeding gave her racked her body. Each little tap from the butterflies’ feet felt like dull little pins pricking her flesh as they tapped and tasted and tapped again, until she had endured thousands of the agonizing little touches. Her body was a living, quaking mass of frothing desire, churning inward from where the butterflies gathered.

It was late afternoon and the wind had died down for the feasting, but the sky was still darkish. Catherine’s body was held at an impasse between desire and euphoria as she was obliged to await the pleasure of the butterflies, who remained maddeningly leisurely at their meal. In the end, it took them the better part of an hour to accomplish their goal, but they left her without a single trace of nectar left over from the incredible flower thrashing she had endured. The wind suddenly picked up again and the butterflies left Catherine in a fluttery explosion that was no less spectacular than when they had arrived.

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 ofleafy 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.

Curious, Catherine reached down and picked up the foreign object. It was not terribly large but it was quite heavy. It was orange and yellow, with orange bands coming out the sides of it. One of the bands appeared to be broken. It seemed that beneath its outer casing, it held more objects inside. She noticed that there was a strange seam all along the edge of it, and an eerie sense of déjà vu crept over Catherine as she grasped hold of the little tab at the end and slid it backward along the seam, opening the outer casing. She fished through the many different objects that were inside but, try as she might, she couldn’t figure out what they were. The peculiar feeling stayed with her as she stared at them uncomprehendingly. But eventually she lost interest and laid the objects back down where she found them. Yet there was undeniably something strange in all of this, if only for the unusual effect it was having on her. Catherine stood up and looked around. And then she noticed something else—something she did recognize—in the plush woods nearby. More curious than ever, she moved nearer. Upon closer inspection, she saw that it was, in fact, hair. But it was hard to tell if came from an animal or human because, whatever it was, was hidden in the bushes nearby. Something stirred in Catherine.

She moved carefully, not really out of fear as much as instinct to be cautious. She tentatively moved some of the branches aside to get a better view, but then abruptly jumped back. The hair was attached to a skull! Just as Catherine had instantly recognized the overabundance oflife stirring all around her in the forest, she now instantly perceived that life had gone from here. A haunting sadness welled up in her. She moved the branches away again and carefully brushed aside some of the fallen leaves and other debris. There was another brief moment of a kind of general, vague recognition, but Catherine was far too detached from the faded thing disintegrating into the earth to actually own it. She shook off the discomfiting stirrings. But she could not help feeling a powerful compassion for the woman who had died there.

Looking up, Catherine noticed that dusk was coming. For the first time since that day when she had first discovered the enchanted forest, she was afraid to be wandering alone in the dark. Yet she was hesitant to leave the poor girl alone. Acting on instinct, she carefully replaced the leaves and brush over the body, mindful this time to cover the woman’s hair, as well. Next she darted off to a nearby field to collect a handful of wildflowers. Uttering a small prayer for the woman’s soul, Catherine placed the flowers on top of her leafy grave. With one last pause, she got up, brushing the leaves and the strange melancholy off her. Then, with the adroitness of a spirit, or a fairy, she flitted out over the flowery field, fluttering toward home and the pleasures that awaited her.