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All characters in this short story are 18+, even the plant.
“Hi, it’s Carmen. ... No, not today. Not tomorrow either; I quit, basically. ... It’s not about the money, I just won’t be able to work for a while so... ... No, you can throw my things away. Yep. ... Yep. I gotta go. ... OK. ... OK... OK, bye.”

Carmen squealed in excitement after hanging up the call with her boss. Former-boss. She frolicked about her living room while going through her final mental checklist. This was the last time she would have to think in a long while. Utilities were prepaid, neighbors notified of her ‘absence’, postcards from around the world post-dated for her mom to periodically receive. She had even said goodbye to her goldfish. There was nothing left to do but to get undressed, and since she was already down to nothing but socks, that didn’t take long.

Her slender body now in the nude with only loose strands of her long auburn hair cascading over her large breasts like Eve in the garden, Carmen faced the monstrous potted plant that had been growing in the corner of her loft. Like a prop from Little Shop of Horrors, its single bud held upright on a thick stem was big enough to fit a crouched person inside. The pod had begun to crack open like a red smile on a green face this very morning, which meant a decennial event was ready to begin. In the wild, a carnasporum would now wait for a rebellious young woman to ignore her father's warnings about approaching the commonly and enticingly called Thousand-Orgasm Flower. It was a blatant misnomer, the number of orgasms this flower would typically force upon you was easily in the millions.

The reddish insides of the bud were layered with thousands of little tentacle knobs, a coral reef of anemones, but the main attraction was the four rigid pollinating follicles expanding from its core like a volcano erupting in slow-motion. As thick as human arms and dripping with fluids Carmen knew was a highly concentrated aphrodisiac, they were bobbing up and down, left and right, seeking. Seeking a mate.

The air in the open loft was saturated with pollen tinged with the same substance. It was numbing Carmen’s mind with every new breath and keeping her nipples tingling and erect. That conversation with her boss felt like a distant dream; now she could only think about the blooming carnasporum a few feet away. That is how the plant lured its victims in the wild, but it couldn’t have known that spreading its spores like a mist of ejaculate was a waste of energy. Carmen did not need to be lured into anything. Getting thoroughly pollinated for months while slowly going insane with lust was the reason she had bought the infernal thing and why the slight gap between her thighs was wet and sticky.

The plant felt her close, smelled her arousal in its own mysterious way. It extended a leaf as a step, then another, until Carmen had climbed high enough to dip her toes in the squirming Jacuzzi. The four giant follicles had access to her body now; three caressed her flat belly and round buttocks, while the fourth pushed up between her tits, all leaving trails of sticky sex-inducing jelly on a moaning Carmen’s soft, pale skin. The substance only needed simple skin contact to have a dangerously intoxicating effect, but despite the intense tingling the vegetable cocks left in their wake, Carmen knew the real fun would start once they began coating her insides. This foreplay had evolved to soothe hesitant young women while their curiosity gradually faded into anxiety. Another useless step for this eager nymphomaniac.

“Fuck..." she whispered. “Stop teasing me. Take me. Ravage me. Assimilate me. I’m just a living toilet for your liquid pollen.”

The plant heard or at least sensed that this specimen would not have cold feet once the fist-size glans at the end of its stems started poking at impossibly tight holes, so it skipped ahead to the part where thorny vines snatched the normally-screaming girl’s limbs and waist. Two of the vines wrapped around the base of Carmen's breasts, making sure any attempt to escape would be torture on these sensitive tits. Had escape been anywhere on Carmen’s mind, it would have been too late. Had she been wearing clothes, they would have begun dissolving in the lubricating gel.

The tightening coil of the vines on her flesh quickly grew unbearable, yet Carmen moaned through it all, her pussy drenched, warm, and inviting. And, mere seconds later, standing with shaky legs on the tickling carpet of the plant’s mouth, the invitation was accepted. The head of one of the follicles pressed against her pussy, stretching it around its unusual bulbous shape, and Carmen had an orgasm that made any other joy she ever experienced feel like a cringy memory.

The next orgasm came before the first one even finished when, deeper between her legs, her ass also invited in a visitor. The remaining two follicles waited for the waves of orgasm to subside before plunging into their respective overcrowded holes that had temporarily loosened ever so slightly. This made Carmen come again, of course, but this time, the double-penetrating cocks fighting for space had already made themselves at home and so there was no reason to ever stop making her orgasm.

The vines pulled her down inside the bud while its mouth swallowed the last ray of sun Carmen would see this year. Her physical descent as well as her descent into madness was accompanied by the constant spelunking of hard tentacle cocks inside her holes. They were pushing past the bend of her ascending colon and dilating her cervix to coil into her womb, all the while oozing with stimulating, easy-to-absorb love juice.

When the light disappeared above her, Carmen had a combined ten feet of cock rubbing against each other and her stretched membranes. She was already experiencing such intense pleasure that her future sex life was forever ruined, yet this was just the first minute with hundreds of thousands more to go. Also, the carnasporum was only getting started.

Now in the tight, claustrophobic embrace of the pod, her arms squeezed against her body like a vice squishing her breasts together, there was only the sensation of cocks vigorously plowing her insides deeper than an arm could reach, the wet, disturbing noises of her holes being defiled, and the lining of her chamber tickling every inch of her body. These little worm tentacles were imbued with aphrodisiac themselves and generously applied it against her every pore like a massage from a million little hands. Her tits, ass, and clit had the biggest concentrations of these little rubbery fingers tasked with keeping her coming at all times. The carnasporum was learning from her body’s reaction, dialing in on the perfect method of arousal. It already knew better than her just how she liked her nipples tweaked and her rosebud rubbed.

A fifth cock, as large but stubbier than its four brothers, eventually unwrapped before Carmen’s useless eyes. It was the unmistakable pungent smell of sex that alerted her to its presence. It rubbed and slapped its length on her face as a preview of its size and to assert its inevitable dominance.

A monster cock for the mouth was an essential part of self-pollinating. The victim didn’t normally need to know why she was getting fucked and pumped full of fluids from both ends, but Carmen had done her research. There were two kinds of cum. A more liquidy ooze, easy for her womb and intestine to absorb, that turned her into an orgasm machine burning thousands of calories every minute, and a thick, nutritious white sludge, swallowed by the mouthful every second of every minute of every hour of every day, that would give her the energy to keep living in this orgasmic nightmare. Both cums would saturate her being and meet in her bloodstream. Together they would alter her DNA and unlock more sensitivity, and stronger orgasms. All this work, only for the guest to provide her host with cheap body heat during the mating year while it gorged on the dripping pussy juices. The carnasporum had ‘caught’ itself a 100-pound orgasmic furnace with whom it formed a closed ecosystem.

Carmen didn’t need the plant to rub its poking thorns against her sensitive breasts to tell her she had to take the new cock in her mouth; she did it willingly. Her tongue poking the urethra-equivalent hole was the hair trigger that opened the floodgate. Like four garden hoses, the cocks in her pussy and ass stopped oozing and started dumping. An ultra-concentrated version of the aphrodisiac rushed up her guts and inflated her womb. They would never stop spraying. Whatever squirted out of tiny cracks between the cocks was simply recycled. Like a pool filtration system, exotic semen would pump inside the girl until the long, drawn-out process was completed.

As she gasped from the rush of the new sensation, Carmen's throat filled with the first spurt of thick, lumpy feed that smelled and tasted exactly like nut batter, probably sharing a distant Precambrian ancestor with human spermatozoa. She swallowed the load as best she could, but one gulp was never enough to clear her mouth and the next rope always came faster than the last one could go down. Swallowing the plant’s cum was a race against drowning, a race she would constantly feel like she was losing.

Gulp, Glehb, Gulp...

The guttural sounds of an abused throat, the constant struggle to breathe, and all muscles tensing at a heartbeat's pace from rolling orgasms became Carmen’s entire life. Her mother, her coworkers, her dead goldfish, even her name... she didn't have a single neuron to spare thinking about what might be happening outside the carnasporum's epidermis. They were burning red hot. The gradual sluttification of her DNA from all the semen she ingested made sure each orgasm was stronger than the next so she could never get habituated. Instead, she equally craved and dreaded what the next second might bring, wondering if any new level of intensity would be the one to fully break her. Mind, body, and soul. The weeks she spent inside each felt like months, so she lived an apparent lifetime getting stimulated beyond reason. But because it wasn't eternal, it wasn't enough.

Carmen's soulmate spat her out of the warm bed unceremoniously like a remorseful one-night stand. Bloated and sticky against the floorboards of her loft, she took her first real breath since the fifth cock of the orgasm flower stretched her lips apart.

Existence was cold. Existence was pain. Why was she no longer worming against her bondage at the brink of insanity from body-convulsing orgasms? Why was she cast out of a warm hell and into a frozen one?

As Carmen’s vision returned, so did her memories, slowly. An internet rabbit hole had shown her a grotesque-looking plant reviled and persecuted like an invasive weed in most countries. It was mere curiosity that drew her in but reading deeper into the horrible mating habits of this plant, Carmen couldn’t help but touch herself. She would read recountings of young women getting caught and tortured via violent forced orgasm by giant flower cocks while being force-fed foul-tasting paste, and feel envy instead of sympathy. So, despite all warnings that even the shadiest of dealers cared enough to impart, she had bought a carnasporum at the cusp of its bloom. She had nurtured it, spending many nights giving its stem passionate titjobs while licking its growing bud...

Then she remembered the most important part. She had not just bought one carnasporum but ten of them, so that one of them was always in bloom.

Carmen followed her nose at first, the world still too blurry, then her eyes spotted the red-on-green of the next mouth. Leaving a bubbly trail of semen-mix oozing from her gaping holes, she crawled toward the fresh, expanding cocks for another year of torturous bliss. If she picked the correct maturity for each of the plants. A yearly crawl like this one would be the only drawback of her new life.
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