ElFewja
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Back when I wrote this, I really enjoyed it; after going over it with editations, not so much. Well, I still like it a lot but it definitely serves as an example of how far I’ve come in just a half year. I’m not sure why I don’t just rewrite the first paragraph or two, since they’re my main problem. I think I want to preserve the original bits of it so I can look back and go, oh dear, did I really do that poorly? It’s not so bad later on but the first few sentences are atrocious. Eugh.
Anyway, posty. Enjoy.
Dreams and Nightmares Plant/F Feet
Lindsey loved plants – flowers in particular – ever since she was a child. For hours she would run about in her mother’s gardens, and for longer still she would travel between the open fields of the farmlands around where she lived, as well as the various forests at each field’s edge. It was a passion that never left her, leading her to become a famed botanist after graduating from college, studying vegetation around the world, constantly in search of new flowers.
Recently, she had been deployed in some little known country in Africa, in one of the world’s last rain forests; really, the world had already long since forgotten what the term rainforest even truly meant, as all but a very few had been destroyed. It truly had been an honor to be assigned here by her employer, as she had discovered many a rare and wonderful flower during her stay. However, the last flower she ever encountered turned this lovely dream into a horrible nightmare.
It had been during the morning of her last week, at a time too early for her party to explore, when she made the decision. Foolishly, knowing the dangers of the forest, she decided to travel off by herself, hunkered down by her bulky, hot garments and boots that covered every inch of flesh up to her neck. The boots made it quite hard to discern movement in the muddier regions; she had heard tales of some botanists traveling barefoot, in order to move about more quickly and become less bogged down, but with the amount of poisonous fiends that resided in the area, she opted against this. Upon walking across a log that rested upon waist deep mud, she began to regret this decision, finding it difficult to grasp whether or not her footing was solid, though it wasn’t until she slipped into the mud that she wished she had chosen differently.
The fall was not bad; it couldn’t even rightfully be called a fall. She lost her footing, began to sway, and thrust her right boot into the mud in an attempt to catch herself. When the mud proved deeper than she initially thought, she continued to lose her footing, nearly spinning off the log entirely and falling into her back as she slowly sank. A quick thrust of her left leg in front of her allowed her to secure herself, but she now resided in waist deep and very thick mud up to her knees, with no way to pull herself out as she continued to sink into the bog.
Any struggle to lift her legs loosened a boot, neither of which was she prepared to leave behind. Since the situation was not dire, she felt that there was no need to make it become one; her companions would follow her foot steps soon enough, anyway.
But they were never given the chance to find her. While she waited, Lindsey examined some distant foliage that she could not clearly see, but thought it to be a rather large, undiscovered flower. Distracted by her obsession with this flower, she never noticed either of the two vines that seemingly slithered from the branches and up her arms, until at last they had managed to wrap themselves around both of her shoulders. Upon realizing that these vines – what she initially thought were snakes – had enwrapped her, she panicked, fearing her end.
Quite suddenly, the things heaved her with amazing strength from the mud, hoisting her through the air like a rag doll, into the distance in the direction of the flower she had been gazing at. It wasn’t of much concern to her considering her situation, but she noticed her feet to be quite bare while she flew; she was much more concerned with what was going to happen to her.
A short flight left her dangling above the flower she had spied upon; a third vine managed to wiggle from somewhere and wrap itself about her ankles, tying them together, while climbing and entangling her with lightning speed so that by the time she became aware of it’s existence, she was already bound. Afraid to fight against it, as she did not want to fall suddenly, she soon found herself wrapped entirely, her legs entirely immobilized and her arms pinned to her body by the new, third vine that had crept up her whole body.
Looking down, she saw that her feet dangled limply, just grazing the tip of the large flower, which had a head that looked to be the size of a not too large watermelon, complete with what had to be a five or so foot stalk of a stem. Upon looking towards the flower, it opened, its petals brushing against her bare soles, tickling her lightly; it seemingly spewed a pink cloud of powder upon her feet, which wafted upwards and caused her to sneeze. Pollen, she thought? What in the world? Though it was hot, and she had already been sweating lightly, all at once it seemed the world’s thermostat was raised 20 degrees above the hundred or so it had already sat at; she began to sweat heavily from head to toe, it dripping down her back and legs in a maddening way, like an itch that can’t be scratched. Her already sweat-soaked bare feet now seemed to leak sweat now, lightly tickling her soles and toes as it dripped down them. Lifting her feet helped a little, but it was uncomfortable; still, she would either be uncomfortable or be tickled by her own bodily fluids.
It quickly occurred to her that the tickling was not going to be optional. As she was distracted by the uncomfortable heat, she failed to notice the flowers head, which proved to be similar to that, if sight could be trusted, to a Venus Fly Trap’s. She became aware of it again when it closed upon the majority of her feet, heels excluded, locking them in place.
What felt like a large leaf or a petal – it was probably a petal, she realized - scraped against both of her bare and now painfully defenseless soles slowly, relieving them of the sweat that poured down them, and though it felt good to no longer be sobbing wet, it tickled in an unearthly manner, as if the very petal had been conceived with the sole intent to tickle the bare feet of helpless maidens such as herself; worse than that, the sweat almost immediately reappeared on her feet, drenching her toes and acting as a natural lubricant for her feet, so that when the leaf brushed down again, it slid across very easily. Laughing out loud in surprise at the sudden sensations upon her trapped feet, then screaming for help caused the vine to constrict tighter than it had been; the vine that enwrapped her now moved further upward, tightly placing a leaf against her mouth so that her screams were all but entirely muffled as she quickly discovered, so that her cries of laughter and screams for help were reduced to nothingness, so that she could neither be heard nor rescued; the plant never stopped or changed its pace, and tickled so much despite how much she kicked at it’s insides with her toes or slapped at it with her soles.
After several painfully long minutes, she began to sob against her bondage, finding herself unable to struggle nearly as much as she had when the awful sensations began. She began to dream of her boots, lost in the mud, and all of the other times that she had worn any sort of footwear, protecting the feet she now realized to be so delicate and helpless as she laughed due to their sensitivity, of which she had never truly been aware of.
The continual replacement of sweat that ran down her body greedily ran to her soles, driving her wild with each bead of it as she painfully awaited the slow rebound of the terrible petal in the flowers mouth like apparatus. For a while, she attempted to think of happier times; of those years spent in her parent’s home, or times spent with her boyfriend. Once, when she napped on the couch in the living room, her bare feet crossed at the ankles, resting upon the sofa’s arm, that man – now an ex - of hers awoke her by moving a rose down her soles. It had tickled – really, her only experience with tickling before now – but she had enjoyed it, then. Well, she enjoyed it a little now, too, but it was much more torturous, allowing her to believe the myths of tickle torture that people associate with medieval times. The thought of tickle torture – what she was now experienced first hand – brought her back to the reality of her unfortunate situation.
The sobs gave way to breathless laughter; it still felt like laughter, like she was expelling air, but it struck her more like blanks being fired from a gun. Tears stopped coming; she felt very tired, distantly wondering if she had sweated all the liquid of her body away to feed this accursed plant. It was then that it rained.
Rain. Water. In literature, water has restorative properties, she remembered from college: purity, cures, and rebirth. It certainly renewed her vigor, at least; she opened her mouth hungrily, welcoming each drop of water as it satisfied her seemingly insatiable thirst. Eventually, her strength returned to the point that she felt a new woman, feeling quite cool and relaxed. Then she realized that when it began to rain, the tickling must have stopped; her gag had long since been gone too, she realized. Her breath had returned to normal; that she was able to breathe at all seemed a miracle to her.
The tip of the petal caressed her arch; soon, the entirety of her arch felt the light stroke of the petal, as it grazed down all parts of her sole, finally reaching her wiggling toes. When had she begun to sweat so violently again, she thought, laughing harder than before to the damned thing’s caresses as sweat poured down her body again; unable to do anything else, she would stare at her feet, trapped in the maw of that horrendous flower, thinking what she could not say in hopes that the flower would read her mind and stop it’s torment; “No,” she would think, unable to voice the words, “No, please stop. Not another stroke, please. You have no idea how horrible it is.”
Over the next two weeks, it went on much the same way; the plant would drain all of the energy she had by merely stroking her feet, and then allowed her to regain it again each time it rained, only to drain it all away once more. She taught herself to like it, to enjoy that exhilarating, blissful loss of control, and to greatly anticipate the petal’s stroke; in fact, she hated those long moments when her feet were not lovingly massaged by her captor. When she was finally found, she cursed her evil saviors that wished to take her away from her plant, cursed them until they left her alone, so that she could fully enjoy the raging sensations on her foot bottoms and treat the plant with the lovely laughter it drew from her.
Anyway, posty. Enjoy.
Dreams and Nightmares Plant/F Feet
Lindsey loved plants – flowers in particular – ever since she was a child. For hours she would run about in her mother’s gardens, and for longer still she would travel between the open fields of the farmlands around where she lived, as well as the various forests at each field’s edge. It was a passion that never left her, leading her to become a famed botanist after graduating from college, studying vegetation around the world, constantly in search of new flowers.
Recently, she had been deployed in some little known country in Africa, in one of the world’s last rain forests; really, the world had already long since forgotten what the term rainforest even truly meant, as all but a very few had been destroyed. It truly had been an honor to be assigned here by her employer, as she had discovered many a rare and wonderful flower during her stay. However, the last flower she ever encountered turned this lovely dream into a horrible nightmare.
It had been during the morning of her last week, at a time too early for her party to explore, when she made the decision. Foolishly, knowing the dangers of the forest, she decided to travel off by herself, hunkered down by her bulky, hot garments and boots that covered every inch of flesh up to her neck. The boots made it quite hard to discern movement in the muddier regions; she had heard tales of some botanists traveling barefoot, in order to move about more quickly and become less bogged down, but with the amount of poisonous fiends that resided in the area, she opted against this. Upon walking across a log that rested upon waist deep mud, she began to regret this decision, finding it difficult to grasp whether or not her footing was solid, though it wasn’t until she slipped into the mud that she wished she had chosen differently.
The fall was not bad; it couldn’t even rightfully be called a fall. She lost her footing, began to sway, and thrust her right boot into the mud in an attempt to catch herself. When the mud proved deeper than she initially thought, she continued to lose her footing, nearly spinning off the log entirely and falling into her back as she slowly sank. A quick thrust of her left leg in front of her allowed her to secure herself, but she now resided in waist deep and very thick mud up to her knees, with no way to pull herself out as she continued to sink into the bog.
Any struggle to lift her legs loosened a boot, neither of which was she prepared to leave behind. Since the situation was not dire, she felt that there was no need to make it become one; her companions would follow her foot steps soon enough, anyway.
But they were never given the chance to find her. While she waited, Lindsey examined some distant foliage that she could not clearly see, but thought it to be a rather large, undiscovered flower. Distracted by her obsession with this flower, she never noticed either of the two vines that seemingly slithered from the branches and up her arms, until at last they had managed to wrap themselves around both of her shoulders. Upon realizing that these vines – what she initially thought were snakes – had enwrapped her, she panicked, fearing her end.
Quite suddenly, the things heaved her with amazing strength from the mud, hoisting her through the air like a rag doll, into the distance in the direction of the flower she had been gazing at. It wasn’t of much concern to her considering her situation, but she noticed her feet to be quite bare while she flew; she was much more concerned with what was going to happen to her.
A short flight left her dangling above the flower she had spied upon; a third vine managed to wiggle from somewhere and wrap itself about her ankles, tying them together, while climbing and entangling her with lightning speed so that by the time she became aware of it’s existence, she was already bound. Afraid to fight against it, as she did not want to fall suddenly, she soon found herself wrapped entirely, her legs entirely immobilized and her arms pinned to her body by the new, third vine that had crept up her whole body.
Looking down, she saw that her feet dangled limply, just grazing the tip of the large flower, which had a head that looked to be the size of a not too large watermelon, complete with what had to be a five or so foot stalk of a stem. Upon looking towards the flower, it opened, its petals brushing against her bare soles, tickling her lightly; it seemingly spewed a pink cloud of powder upon her feet, which wafted upwards and caused her to sneeze. Pollen, she thought? What in the world? Though it was hot, and she had already been sweating lightly, all at once it seemed the world’s thermostat was raised 20 degrees above the hundred or so it had already sat at; she began to sweat heavily from head to toe, it dripping down her back and legs in a maddening way, like an itch that can’t be scratched. Her already sweat-soaked bare feet now seemed to leak sweat now, lightly tickling her soles and toes as it dripped down them. Lifting her feet helped a little, but it was uncomfortable; still, she would either be uncomfortable or be tickled by her own bodily fluids.
It quickly occurred to her that the tickling was not going to be optional. As she was distracted by the uncomfortable heat, she failed to notice the flowers head, which proved to be similar to that, if sight could be trusted, to a Venus Fly Trap’s. She became aware of it again when it closed upon the majority of her feet, heels excluded, locking them in place.
What felt like a large leaf or a petal – it was probably a petal, she realized - scraped against both of her bare and now painfully defenseless soles slowly, relieving them of the sweat that poured down them, and though it felt good to no longer be sobbing wet, it tickled in an unearthly manner, as if the very petal had been conceived with the sole intent to tickle the bare feet of helpless maidens such as herself; worse than that, the sweat almost immediately reappeared on her feet, drenching her toes and acting as a natural lubricant for her feet, so that when the leaf brushed down again, it slid across very easily. Laughing out loud in surprise at the sudden sensations upon her trapped feet, then screaming for help caused the vine to constrict tighter than it had been; the vine that enwrapped her now moved further upward, tightly placing a leaf against her mouth so that her screams were all but entirely muffled as she quickly discovered, so that her cries of laughter and screams for help were reduced to nothingness, so that she could neither be heard nor rescued; the plant never stopped or changed its pace, and tickled so much despite how much she kicked at it’s insides with her toes or slapped at it with her soles.
After several painfully long minutes, she began to sob against her bondage, finding herself unable to struggle nearly as much as she had when the awful sensations began. She began to dream of her boots, lost in the mud, and all of the other times that she had worn any sort of footwear, protecting the feet she now realized to be so delicate and helpless as she laughed due to their sensitivity, of which she had never truly been aware of.
The continual replacement of sweat that ran down her body greedily ran to her soles, driving her wild with each bead of it as she painfully awaited the slow rebound of the terrible petal in the flowers mouth like apparatus. For a while, she attempted to think of happier times; of those years spent in her parent’s home, or times spent with her boyfriend. Once, when she napped on the couch in the living room, her bare feet crossed at the ankles, resting upon the sofa’s arm, that man – now an ex - of hers awoke her by moving a rose down her soles. It had tickled – really, her only experience with tickling before now – but she had enjoyed it, then. Well, she enjoyed it a little now, too, but it was much more torturous, allowing her to believe the myths of tickle torture that people associate with medieval times. The thought of tickle torture – what she was now experienced first hand – brought her back to the reality of her unfortunate situation.
The sobs gave way to breathless laughter; it still felt like laughter, like she was expelling air, but it struck her more like blanks being fired from a gun. Tears stopped coming; she felt very tired, distantly wondering if she had sweated all the liquid of her body away to feed this accursed plant. It was then that it rained.
Rain. Water. In literature, water has restorative properties, she remembered from college: purity, cures, and rebirth. It certainly renewed her vigor, at least; she opened her mouth hungrily, welcoming each drop of water as it satisfied her seemingly insatiable thirst. Eventually, her strength returned to the point that she felt a new woman, feeling quite cool and relaxed. Then she realized that when it began to rain, the tickling must have stopped; her gag had long since been gone too, she realized. Her breath had returned to normal; that she was able to breathe at all seemed a miracle to her.
The tip of the petal caressed her arch; soon, the entirety of her arch felt the light stroke of the petal, as it grazed down all parts of her sole, finally reaching her wiggling toes. When had she begun to sweat so violently again, she thought, laughing harder than before to the damned thing’s caresses as sweat poured down her body again; unable to do anything else, she would stare at her feet, trapped in the maw of that horrendous flower, thinking what she could not say in hopes that the flower would read her mind and stop it’s torment; “No,” she would think, unable to voice the words, “No, please stop. Not another stroke, please. You have no idea how horrible it is.”
Over the next two weeks, it went on much the same way; the plant would drain all of the energy she had by merely stroking her feet, and then allowed her to regain it again each time it rained, only to drain it all away once more. She taught herself to like it, to enjoy that exhilarating, blissful loss of control, and to greatly anticipate the petal’s stroke; in fact, she hated those long moments when her feet were not lovingly massaged by her captor. When she was finally found, she cursed her evil saviors that wished to take her away from her plant, cursed them until they left her alone, so that she could fully enjoy the raging sensations on her foot bottoms and treat the plant with the lovely laughter it drew from her.
