The Autumn Garden

Cory's thighs were clenched and his belly was tight and starting to tremble. He was twitching in her mouth and seeping a steady stream of bitter lube and she knew he was getting close. She pulled her mouth off him and stood up, continuing to wank him slowly with her hand. You had to be careful with these college guys. One suck too many and she'd have a mouthful of hot jizz and that's not what she wanted right now. Phase I was finished.

She led him gently to the bed and no sooner had she climbed on and laid down on her back than he was on her, poking at her with that big eager cock, but she managed to get herself settled and grab his dick and guide it to where it should be, then planted her feet on the mattress and tilted her hips up just in time to receive his first, brutal thrust. She grunted in pleasure. His force and the need and that initial frisson of pain were just perfect, but she had little time to savor it. Cory immediately began slamming into her like he was already in the home stretch.

"Easy, baby, easy! It's not a race, Cory. We've got time!"

But he apparently had no other speed. He banged into her with desperate ferocity, his hips rising and falling like some steam-powered machine, and as his big log sawed in and out of her, Clare realized it was going to be a quick and rapid fuck. There was not much she could do to slow him down or make it last. He was clearly in no mood to be controlled, so she laid her head back and gave herself over to the pleasure of being thunder-fucked by this young untamed bull.

It was such a shame, because Clare was good. Since Roger's death she'd made a study of it and she knew what men liked and how they liked it, and a big part of her pleasure was in giving a man the fuck of his life and being the best he'd ever have. But all her talents were going to be wasted on Cory.

She had a mirror for bed sex too, and she looked at it now. It was over on the dresser, and in it she could see Cory fucking her, that hard young ass and lean body bucking up and down between her legs and making the big bed creak She watched herself and studied her face as he slaved over her. She heard that wet, obscene sound of his prick in her sopping pussy and decided she'd better grab whatever pleasure she could while he lasted, so she began to fuck him back, using her thighs and belly to lift her hips to him in a smooth, hungry motion.

Yes! That was better! He was wonderfully thick and that tight fit and powerful thrusts were pulling and pushing her pussy in and out and causing her swollen clit to bob back and forth like a little boat in a storm, and suddenly she was feeling that familiar ambrosial pleasure filling her veins and sweeping her up that big, high, hill.

"Oh God yes! Fuck me, Cory! Do it! Take me, hard! Hard! Just like that and don't stop!"

Close—she was getting close. Just a little more, and just then Cory latched onto her breast again and resumed that powerful feverish sucking. Her nipple was sore and it hurt, but felt good too and maybe that touch of pain just the thing that would send her over the edge and into her orgasm, but suddenly as he sucked she shuddered with a vision of those ugly and grotesque vines he'd shown her, sucking nutrients from the soil. It was the same kind of desperate and futile hunger he was using on her now, and she saw the ruined furrows of the garden and the rotting vegetation even as Cory rammed his cock into her again and again and slobbered and sucked at her tit. She tried to arch and twist away to get his lips off her and dispel the image but he was in her and on her and wasn't budging. His constant moan and the sounds of his sucking mouth seemed suddenly disgusting, and she grabbed his hair to try and pull him away from her, but it was already too late.

Cory stiffened and at last released her breast. His fingers dug into her ass and he pulled her close and pushed deep, and she knew he was cumming—the strangled gasp, the helpless, reflexive thrusting, the hard pulsing of his prick inside her. She closed her eyes and tried to rush up to join him and find that impending climax, but it was already out of reach, fading and dissolving like a distant cloud. She watched it go and sighed as she felt him thrusting and jerking and then start to soften inside her. She felt a trickle of semen seep out of her as he shrank, and that was all. He was finished. There was nothing to do but hold him and comfort him as he gasped and panted in the aftermath of his own release.

His mouth was still against her tit and his voice was muffled as he moaned, "Oh shit! Oh holy fuck! Oh wow..."

"Shhh," she whispered. "It's okay. It's okay. It was so good, Cory! You made me cum so hard!"

~ ~ ~

She wasted no time with him afterwards. She was polite and smiling, but made it clear that they were through and that hanging around and hoping for another round wasn't an option. There was a party she was going to and her friends were picking her up, she said. She had to get ready, and of course, he wouldn't want to be there when they came.

After he left she went back to the bed room and straightened up and got rid of any evidence of his being there. She went into the big bathroom and douched thoroughly, then took a long, hot shower, washing and scrubbing till she was impeccably clean. She didn't want any trace or whiff of him on or in her body. Clare liked the process of sex, but found the biology of it faintly disgusting.

She inspected herself in the mirror, looking carefully for any signs of bruising or discoloration on her breasts and especially around her nipple. He'd sucked her like a hoover but had apparently done no damage.

The lie she'd told him about the party had given her an idea though. The Back Roads Inn across the lake was celebrating Halloween all week, and she was dying to show off the dress she'd bought: a snug and short charcoal wool sheath with an orange argyle pattern on the bodice that was just devastating on her— just the right mixture of innocent and sexy. She could wear that and some dark stockings and her sexy black garter belt that anyone could easily feel if they should put their hand on the small of her back while dancing, say, or whatever. There'd be a lot of single men there tonight so it was definitely worth a shot. She was in no mood to stay alone tonight.

She did her makeup and hair and dressed, then poured herself a glass of wine and got a slim joint from the eyeglasses case she kept in her night table and went out on the deck.

The night was beautiful. The uncanny Indian summer weather made late October feel like mid-September, warm and dry. Cory had told her that it wasn't going to last much longer, there was a front moving in. But meanwhile the air was perfectly still and balmy, and the gibbous moon that was slowly rising behind the shadowed pines on the far shore lit the scene with a pale white light and laid ribbons of silver on the motionless lake. It looked like a postcard, too perfect to be real.

Clare finished the joint and dropped the glowing roach into the cat tails that crowded the shore and found herself facing the garden, dark and shadowy in the moonlight. She took a sip of wine and looked at it. It didn't frighten her at night. It had no meaning for her. The night was too calm and too placid for her to harbor any bad feelings for that dead and deserted piece of ground. She was dressed and she was beautiful and ready to go out, and all that ugly mess would soon be torn up and disposed of.

She stood there and looked as the wine and the joint seeped through her body and relaxed her, and suddenly noticed that the leaves at the far end seemed to be moving as if a wind were blowing through them—a soft rustling of the leaves on the ruined trellises and on the ground. She waited to feel some breeze or errant gust on her face and arms, but there was nothing. Possibly it was an animal, a possum or raccoon making its way through the tangle of leaves. Animals didn't bother her. They were all over the place here, a part of the scenery.

The leaves moved again, more of them this time, a wider swath than an animal could cause. They rustled as if a wave was washing over them, and this time she did feel the stirring of a wind, rather chill. She should probably take a sweater with her. She looked up at the tops of the pines at the woods' edge, but they were absolutely still and motionless.

They stirred again and she heard them now, the distinct rustling of dry leaves rubbing together, and now she heard something more.

"Clarisssa..."

She straightened. It was Roger's voice. It was his whisper, his accent. It was his voice just as it had been after the heart attack, weak, breathy. It was the way he'd called for her when he'd collapsed in the garden on that day in August and she hadn't heard him, hadn't even noticed he was missing for hours.

"Clarisssa..."

She jumped and uttered a little sound of alarm. It was his voice. He'd laid there on the ground hidden in the leaves of his beloved garden with his face pressed to the dirt, calling her till a neighbor phoned to ask if he was all right because she'd seen him staggering a bit and thought she'd seen him fall. Clare had rushed out and found him and brushed the dirt off his face and called for the neighbor to dial 911. But it was apparently too late. It had all happened so fast and what could she do? She'd done everything a wife could do. They'd all told her so.

"Clarisssa pleassse..."

Oh God! He hadn't died! There'd been some terrible mistake or mix-up and he hadn't died and now he'd come back and found his way to the garden he loved and was calling to her to see if this time she'd listen!

How long had he been there? How much had he seen? How much did he know? She needed to explain. She needed to tell him it was all nothing...

A big wind reached her then, a hard sudden gust blowing down from the tree tops and sweeping across the garden, making everything clatter and rustle and making the trellises shake as if alive.

"Roger! It's all right! I'm coming, Roger! Where are you?"

She dropped her glass and it shattered on the deck. She scurried down the stairs and out into the garden, looking frantically left and right and out into the darkness. She knew he wasn't dead! She'd known that all along. It had all been too quick and too sudden, too confusing, and somehow they'd made a mistake. He was out there and he knew about her. She should have waited longer before she started getting rid of his things, his books and his notes and the furniture they'd shared. She should have waited longer before she started bringing men back to his house. She should have waited longer before she started ripping up his garden.

"Roger! Where are you? Are you hurt? I can't see you!"

"Clarisssa..."

The dead leaves were rustling, the vines were trembling. Everything seemed strangely alive. The leaves out here were green, the stems vigorous. She put her foot in something soft and rotten—a decaying pumpkin—and pulled out her shoe, coated with some pale yellow excrescence dotted with maggot-like seeds. She took the shoe off and shook it clean and walked with one foot bare, the dead vines and creepers snagging the bottom of her stocking.

"Roger? Roger?"

There was a back gate out here, flimsy and falling apart and covered with leaves. She wrenched it open and stepped out into the weeds beyond, the wild part of the garden where she'd seen the sucking stems and rotting vegetables. She looked around.

She was in the open now, outside the fence. The moonlight was shining on the quivering vines. She didn't know what was happening.

"Roger? Roger!"

She needed a light. She'd have to go get a light from the house. She turned and almost stumbled. The weeds had tangled around her ankle. She pulled her foot free, and then the other was caught. She looked down and was horrified to see stems seemingly slithering over the ground like snakes and twining around her ankles, sending out thin shoots and tendrils that grew and elongated before her disbelieving eyes and strained upwards as if seeking her, as if climbing a trellis.

She bent to free herself but her ankles were thick with them now and she started to lose her balance. The plants gave a sudden jerk, wresting her legs apart and causing her to fall back, but plants surged up to cushion her fall on a bed of green, while stems and shoots quickly encircled her wrists and arms in pale, writhing tendrils and spirals smelling of sap and earth. They wrapped around her waist and throat till she couldn't move, and then started passing her from plant to plant in a rustling, reaching sea of leaves and stems, moving her steadily toward the woods.

The plants were moving, fluttering, slapping against her face and legs as she was hauled along by an army of grasping stems and suckers. They slid up her legs and under her skirt; they wormed down the neck of her dress and down her back. She struggled, but it was useless. She felt the vines pulling and tugging at her dress, and then it was tearing, ripping apart as they descended on her like a pack of insensate scavengers or blind green worms, shredding the garment and tossing the pieces away, snapping her bra and exposing her naked breasts. Cold, creeping tendrils wound eagerly around them and enclosed them in tight green spiral cages, squeezing them into grotesque cones.

"No! Stop! Damn it! Stop--" She tried to scream, but some noxious vine slapped a fuzzy leaf over her mouth and then another and another, effectively muffling her and cutting her off from the world.

They slid her along till they apparently had her where they wanted her, and there she stopped. The vines spiraled up her thighs and curled around her shoulders to keep them down. They circled her waist and her arms and even tangled in her hair, pulling her head up so she was forced to look down at her near naked body encased in writhing greenery.

It was Roger, She knew it was Roger, or some part of him that had somehow infused the plants. Some part of himself that he couldn't give her as a man, that he'd given to these plants instead, and that they now were going to give to her. She knew what was coming. She knew exactly what was coming even before the final barrier of her panties was torn off and her thighs prized apart and held in the obscene attitude of coitus, ready to receive this tangled, twining lover. She mewled in protest and tried to close herself, but the grip of the plants was tight and irresistible. Whining was all she could do.

Something brushed against her sex, something soft and smooth, and she saw big, white, trumpet-like flowers hanging over her, dripping with some milky fluid and bending to stroke her with their obscenely soft petals. Flowers emerged from the vines holding her breasts too, and bent to press their open mouths against her nipples and began to suck with a deep, vegetative need, blind and hungry.

"Roger! Roger!" She tried to scream but the plants were still pressed tight against her lips, and her muffled cries were lost amidst the dry rustling of the leaves and living stems that seemed to quiver with some mindless excitement. She felt soft, threadlike tendrils curl around her clit and a probing shoot slide into her vagina and swell into a thick gourd-like tumescence that pressed maddeningly against her internal walls. Another stem slid easily into her clenched anus and curled within her like a root seeking sustenance, making her dizzy with the weird sensation of a writhing anal invasion. Then it swelled too, filling her most sensitive orifice with an insistent, tuberous pressure.

Horrible, it was horrible! Clare arched her back and writhed in desperate silence on the shadowy moonlit earth, trying to escape the obscene double penetration, but there was no place to go and no way to break free of the plants' implacable grip. The leaves over her mouth fell away but she was too stunned with fear to even scream. Vines held her jaws apart as she was forced to accept the fleshy protuberance of yet another vine that quickly became engorged and filled her mouth till it almost choked her. Some sort of soft, fuzzy vesicles at the base of this organ slapped against her chin and she knew what they were and that they were ripe with seed.

And then, with all her holes plugged, they began to fuck her. In weird, vegetative concert the gourd-like growth in her vagina began to pump in and out, stimulating her with all its bumps and nodules. Feathery little tendrils stroked and twined around her clitoris, and the thick root in her ass throbbed and pushed insistently into her rectum.

Clare twitched and moaned. The pleasure she felt was a shock and totally unexpected, and even more intense than her fear and horror. A sweet, consuming sexual pleasure that seemed to obliterate her panic and bypass her brain and go right to the very core of her being. The plants stroked into her, pumping, and her legs fell open helplessly of their own accord. Her hips pushed up in instinctive reflex to receive the pushing, penetrating vines, and she moaned around the thick shoot in her mouth, which suddenly withdrew slightly and then surged back in at a new angle that caused the tip to slide against an erotically-charged spot on the roof of her mouth, and she began to instinctively suck, hungry for whatever sap or fluid it contained. She sucked even as her pussy sucked and her anus sucked and the trumpet-like flowers at her breasts sucked in an exchange of primal energies between animal and vegetable, of nourishment and deeply entwined biological destinies she couldn't begin to understand.

She was being fucked on that wild and overgrown patch of moonlit earth with the dark pines looming silently overhead, aware of her own sexual fluids streaming from her plugged vagina and seeping down over her violated asshole, feeling the warm spill of saliva from her sucking mouth. The plants were drawing some liquid from her breasts that could only be mother's milk, and the flow caused a deep and visceral pleasure to take possession of her and merge with the pleasure in her ass and pussy. They were pulling some sort of primal sexual energy from her, but it felt good. It felt wonderful t give like this, to be so utterly used.

She hardly noticed when the grip of the vines on her body relaxed and left her free to hump and fuck back shamelessly like some feral beast in heat. She planted her feet on the earth and weeds and pushed her pussy up in offering to the vegetable cocks that pumped and plundered her holes, letting herself go completely. She threw her hands up over her head in final surrender to this botanical rape and sucked desperately at the bulbous stem that fucked her mouth with an urgent energy she'd never felt from any man.

And as she fucked and sucked she felt the cock in her pussy swell and harden and suddenly throb in spasms of vegetal peristalsis and ejaculate a dense dry puff of dust inside her womb, a thick load of some sort of sticky spores or pollen she couldn't even conceive of, as the stem in her mouth reared back and erupted and filled her throat with a thick, sappy liquid, pumping and ejaculating wildly till her face and hair were slathered with the gooey white fluid

She sucked and fucked and swallowed and fed as her own orgasm seemed to rise up suddenly from the very earth and overwhelm her in an explosion of sensate ecstasy that obliterated everything she'd ever thought or felt and blurred the distinction between her and all the rest of creation so that fruit was food and life was death and earth was heaven and she was rushing to meet it all in mindless oblivion.

It was good, it was good. It was all one and she was all of it, vegetable and animal and even mineral all one, and she took it into her body and it was her body and her body was all of it. It was good. It was good. It was so good...