Chapter 5: Ch. 5 – Xenograft

She woke with a start.

Sloshing.

Wet.

Floating?

Dark.

Something rasped against her foot. Another wrapped around her arm. They pulled in opposite ways. One more caressed her breast, nipple suckled within a pinching mouth of some sort. No, they had already been around her before she awakened.

She couldn’t see. What was going on?

Blue. Blue eyes. Blazing azure eyes and a wonderful taste. She remembered that before it all became a blur. Dawn was behind her and she marched straight into the forest, losing the feel of sunlight as she followed cinnamon and apple wafting from somewhere further.

Then the glowing flower. Pulsating like a languid heartbeat. How it called to her. Then like a viper’s den, all of those vines broke through the ground and pulled her into the garden of dead things.

Blank. What happened?

Warm. Her flesh prickled with goosebumps despite being nearly submerged in the bath.

“H-hello?” she weakly called out. Tried to turn her head and push with her hand. “Hel-?”

The lashes around her arm and ankle wavered, making her overcorrect. The liquid got into her mouth, gulping some of it down in shock, blowing it out of her nose as she coughed. Panicked, looking around, she couldn’t see how big or how small of a space she was in.

Was something in here with her?

Then she saw a faint blue seam form above her. Where a sky should be, if she was truly on her back.

“Monica.”

Singular monotone voice. From all around her. Glancing back and forth on a swivel, she couldn’t place the direction.

“Fuck this,” she growled.

Pushing outwards with each of her limbs. First to sit up, then to feel around in the nearly intangible glow. Thankful for that small luxury at least. It was slightly longer than she was, not wide enough to spread her wings completely. Then there was that seam above her. Fully extending upwards, she could barely bend her elbows before pressing against the material of her room. Prison?

“Monica, you thrive,” the static intoned.

Cocoon.

“Monica, keep it safe,” a female voice whispered.

Chrysalis.

“Keep it company,” static and feminine mixed together. Chill ran down her spine. Somewhere deep in her chest resonated, like bad takeout that had developed a thick layer of fuzzy passengers. Heartburn of the worst kind.

Change. She gagged on her own tongue. No, on something deeper, tickling the back of her throat.

“Keep it hidden.”

She had to get out of this thing. Forcing her fingers through the seam, it fought her attempts to split it open. A slick, fibrous membrane tried preventing her escape. Eventually one, two, more fingers poked through and she wrapped her fingers around the outside. Hard like polycarbonate and made even more difficult to find purchase in with fingers dipped in nectar. Still, pull open she did.

Nectar? Why did that word pop into her mind? Make her stomach crave more of it?

The glow persisted as Monica struggled inch by inch to crack open her holding cell. Sitting up she was able to get her head above water, so to speak, and look around. It must have been night, there was nothing but darkness above her. A single sapphire star twinkled far above. Weird, considering she had just started her morning shift. That woman assaulted her, did something to her, injected Monica with some drugs she was strung out with that smelled really good.

Putting fingers to her lips, dragging them down her chin, the Ranger remembered.

The cinnamon and apple scent. Kissing. Drinking straight from the source.

“Keep it safe. Keep it company. Keep it hidden,” a quiet cacophony echoed in her mind. The air around her was silent and still. Nothing moved. Nothing except the star.

The star that was not a star.

Twinkling not so far above, the rest of the roots began to waken. An electric hum that popped Monica’s ears and filled her with dread. And yet, in spite of herself, her loins were set afire with the promise of what might come next.

Thin fibers and veins started illuminating from the gem-like light above. Watching with sinking spirits, a tangled mess of vines and roots made an impassable weave between what she could guess was the surface and the vessel she woke up in. Looking to either side, more of them fed into her canoe-sized bed that she had been resting inside of.

What had happened between then and now?

Steamy lesbian encounter of the third kind. Shambling into the forest like a zombie. The big giant spider mum flower with all the fronds. The funny little feeling after something slithered into her ear and nose. The growing hunger in her body for something sickly sweet. The tendrils of her implanted seed spreading far and wide into her being.

The tentacles slathering her in slime that burned on her skin so good, making her trip and fall into their embrace.

The ground disintegrating.

The pleasant orgasms as each one of the textured limbs ravished her, moved her, deposited her into this pitcher plant trap.

Trap.

Monica needed to get out.

Looking down at her breast, realizing she forgot all about the thing suckling at the teat, she yanked it off. Rivulets of liquid started leaking out of her, same with the other one mound. The only reason she could see was because her skin was alighting with blacklight green. Her flesh was stained with the fluorescent mossy color, tiny waterfalls off her bosom, the sloshing fluid below matching.

Get out, get out, this was wrong!

Vines unfurled themselves from the walls and around her pod. Struggling against the ones wrapped around her leg and arm, she almost managed to tear her way out onto the floor beyond.

Eyes wide with shock. She was in the middle of a sea of blue, waking to a horrible shade of indigo as it mixed with the fruits of her struggle. Roiling, twisting tendrils shifted ever so slightly as she looked on in terror from where she was.

Suspended perfectly in the air, easily five feet above the living ground. Tentacles below, tentacles approaching from above.

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“Keep it safe. Keep it company.”

Putting her hands over her ears, it did nothing to kill the echo. Wild-eyed and unable to see her own irises take on a beautiful verdant jade that cut through the darkness, the only thought she had was to try and hide. Maybe it would go back to sleep. She could try again later. She would be safe. Leave its company. Safe company. Company safe, away from here. That bitch would have to answer to her.

“Keep it safe, company.”

Struggling to shrug back into the pod, the open air had reacted with her issued fluids. Different swatches of bright greens painted the walls of her sleeping arrangements, mixing into an oil spill of similar colors. She had been sleeping soundly in a bath of her own juices. Cinnamon. Apple. Honey. Ginger. Sweet.

Ambrosia.

Monica had broken through before her changes finished. Monica had wasted nutrients. Monica was close to disobeying her orders.

She sobbed inconsolably, trying to make the seams mesh together again. Shut her off from this cerulean hell. Go back to sleep.

Screaming with all her might, all her strain couldn’t prevent the chrysalis from unfurling like its own flower. The marks left by her fingers over the petals spilled some of the honey over the edge to the floor below. The grass-like tendrils rasped, trying to soak up every drop. Not their usual sanguine meal, but that was sure to change sooner rather than later.

Nothing hid the naked women with olivine skin from the affection lavished onto her by a dozen tentacles. Some were sticky, some kissed her skin and lapped at the milky liquid she was covered in, two joined the initial bindings to help spread her.

Lift her.

Kicking and wailing, Monica fought in vain to stay within the cold comfort of her bed. Splashes of her confines were sent everywhere as she tossed and turned. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be real. This was a repressed wet dream, a Freudian slip, and she would wake up soaking wet and clean off to start the day any second now.

All her hard work to keep fit and keep this job, all her bullshit that she overcame, all her accomplishments, and yet Monica was here with her arms and legs pried away from the fetal ball she tried to curl into. Laid low by some trespassing druggy and fed to a huge carnivorous plant.

“Company.”

Attempting to close her mouth as a bulbous serpentine head hovered over her face, her throat had something scrabble at the bottom of it. Hacking, coughing, wispy vines rose from the seed within her. Reaching everywhere within, rising above and tunneling below. Tears streaming down her face, her mouth spread wide open from within, a fresh supply of ambrosia leaked with anticipation.

If only she could lick her lips in return.

She rubbed her thighs, burning with lustful hunger.

Distracted, Monica felt a bumpy cock rub against her labia. Much more flexible, lubricated, inches splitting her lower lips as it slithered its length up and down. Tiny bumps here and there provided strange texture. Teasing, more than a good deal of the tentacle dipping into the fresh and old juices.

Shuddering, her head felt fuzzy. Something funny in her nose, her ear felt odd. Something that crawled around. Scratches. Wrapping around her brain almost. Worry could be choked out of her. Fear wrung out of existence. Wonder shaped for the future. Hope.

Not quite hollowed out. She still felt an emptiness. Ambrosia above her collecting within the fluorescent blue plant whispered a promise.

Monica shook. Two other vines wrapped around her chest and belly. Mouth petals opened, lined with cilia that tickled her breasts. Swallowing them, beginning to knead and suckle. It was weird. Only someone pregnant should be able to produce.

And yet, looking down, she saw faintly glowing emerald flowing through the tendrils. Drinking straight from her. Each little shift of the hairs set off her senses, her thighs trying to close around the tease on her pussy.

Empty. Thirsty. She needed to drink. She had to grow. She had to-!

“Thrive.”

Her shackles loosened. Monica ripped the strands from her mouth, breathing haggardly, wrenching the knotted tentacle down to her mouth so she could greedily gulp down straight from the source.

Liquid flame ravishing her sense of taste and smell.

The rod below wormed its way back and forth before spearing into her snatch.

Eyes lolling back and forth, all Monica could do was let the master, the Spider whose web she struggled oh so valiantly within, help her. Ankles crossed over the tool thrusting into her, hands feverishly kept the font to her lips. Coughing up the nectar, drinking more, choking, letting it spill over her face and her chest and between her fingers.

Her walls were split and excited by the ribbing and tiny knots. She needed more of this. Care and comfort, the reshaping of her soul and body.

Burbling sighs and coughs of the nectar fell across her chrysalis and the ground below. Feeder tendrils caught and recycled the fluids and nutrients. It needed to feast soon. It needed a huntress now more than a pawn to move around in the world outside the domain it was meant to be.

The morning’s escapades the first one had gotten up to was evidence enough of that.

Condemn her to mulch and litter. Let her choke in the ashes of her hubris. Crack and burn the concrete jungle with her rebellion.

“M-masss-,” Monica hummed, spitting up the ambrosia to reach toward the sapphire flower glowing on the surface. “Master, me. Think of me. Love me, make me!”

Her legs locked up around the tentacle as it sped up in response. Quivering, gasping with each ram against her sacred gates. Was she going to receive her own seeds to spread and share? Replace the traitorous whore who turned her into the Master’s reach beyond its garden?

At the image of Janet, the tentacle withdrew all the way.

Monica whined, wondering what she had done wrong.

The world went white and her ears rang with a terrible tone. Her eyes scrambled back and forth as everything in her vision turned emerald, whether her actual sight or the splurts and bubbles that now escaped her mouth and nose. Blue nectar took on a decidedly darker shade as the tentacle crawled further down and down her throat, unloading directly into the stomach to nourish the seed. Her pussy shook and sucked in more of the ovipositor as it opened at her cervix. Breaching tentacles pried open the entrance and soon the golf ball-sized orbs began rolling almost nonstop down the vine.

More and more.

Filled her to the brim.

Then the extras fell out of her snatch as it finally withdrew, plopping into the chrysalis’ pool below like so many raindrops.

Monica fell back into the pool, sinking into a new slurry of ambrosia and fruits of the labor.

To let them thrive.

Twitching and dead to the world, seizures rippled over her body. Overloaded senses. Eyes unseeing, a wide stupid grin on her face, massaging the mutagenic mixture into her. Giggling madly, the repurposed woman didn’t notice the change in her scenery. Just the fact she was sinking further and further into the wonderful bath. Or maybe that she was content to start submerging herself of-, of-

Her own…

Free…

Will.

An azure tentacle lowered itself, leaking pure oxygen. Gladly she opened her mouth to accept it.

The petals of her chrysalis sealed shut, its occupant much more excited and relaxed about her circumstances.

The changes needed to thrive.

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