How did I get caught in this mess? I'm a level thirty-five wizard, I should have noticed what kind of plant this was before I strolled right into its path. A Violent Mantrap, right out there in the open. But I had thought I saw a Green Cabriolet fluttering about – a rare butterfly that was an ingredient in a particular spell of power that would fetch an insanely high price on the open market – and I tried to catch it, and here I am. The Cabriolet flutters about my head, as if mocking me.
The Mantrap had picked me up with four thick tendrils, one for each of my limbs. I struggled, but with only a few skill points in any kind of physical combat (it seemed like a good idea at the time), I stood no chance of getting away so easily. With my hands held immobile, there was no way for me to cast a spell. As I pulled against the plant, the heavy vines gradually spread me until my arms and my legs were taut, allowing me only the slightest movement. I thrashed my head about in my efforts to make any kind of headway against the Mantrap, but stopped after a minute to save my energy.
Sensing that I was now still, the plant sent out its secondary tendrils: thin, with razor-sharp leaves. These moved with precision across my body, slicing and pulling at my clothing until my robes fluttered onto the ground in dozens of tiny pieces. In an academic setting, I would have been fascinated. The Mantrap was unable to digest the spun and processed fibers used in clothing, or the tanned leather of most light body armor, but its secondary tendrils were more than equipped to deal with that. Thinking of the plant's digestive habits made me squirm again, which had an alarming effect on my breasts, making them sway and jiggle in front of me. However, they also reminded me that I possessed a distinct natural advantage in my sex. While the Violent Mantrap is gender-neutral when it comes to trapping prey, its unique method of preparing the prey to be eaten causes it to release female captives at least half of the time, if not more.
Once it had divested me of my clothes, it kept me hanging in the air for a few more moments, which felt like hours as the cool breeze caressed my hips and thighs. Then, very slowly, the primary tendrils pulled my legs apart – still keeping them taut – until I could have straddled a horse or two. The breeze felt even stronger as it blew between my legs, an area I'd never before exposed to the open air. Unconsciously, I arched my back and stretched. It was fortunate that there wasn't anyone coming along the path to see me.
Slowly, the vines pulled me backwards through the air. I kept struggling, for all the good it did me, until my ass hit something solid and I froze. That had to be the Mantrap's bulb: a dozen scales covering up the soft and truly dangerous part of the plant, supported by a thick stalk. I could feel the scales unfolding against my skin, and couldn't resist looking down as the vines brought me right to the middle of the open bud. Although the outer scales were vividly green, the inside of the bud was a shocking pink. It was also smooth and soft, like flesh, with a nub standing up in the center. The vines were positioning me over the nub – then suddenly they were pulling me down until I was pressed against it. The scales began to close again, enveloping my hips and pelvis. Try as I might, I couldn't move at all. And thus we come to my present sorry state. The Mantrap has to rest before it starts the next step in its hunting process.
It moves again – internally. The vines and the scales of the bulb are are stiff and strong as before, but something inside the plant moves, pushing the nub against my sex. It seems to grow, pushing up and actually into me, making me gasp and unconsciously try to fight it again. This would be the first time anything not belonging to me was inside me: there were a lot of men in my classes at university, but I had been more interested in besting them academically than getting involved with them romantically or sexually. I don't want this to be my first experience, but there's nothing I can do about it! Does it count as rape if it's being done by something without a brain, that can't choose to ignore your consent? Oh, gods, I'm thinking such stupid things. I should be more worried about the possible death later on, but the insistent pressure on my sex is taking up all of my attention. My eyes tear up and I gasp some more, still trying to fight against the impossibly strong vegetable. This can't be happening. It can't!
Should I shout for someone to save me? It might just deplete my strength, and I doubt there's anyone around to hear me. I settle for suffering in silence.
The nub grows larger and more insistent. The flesh of the bulb itself has become warmer, pulsating in a steady rhythm against my thighs, my ass, and my sex. Suddenly, a warm rush of sap coats everything encased in the bulb – the Mantrap's venom. Its purpose, I remember, is to increase the prey's libido and make it more susceptible to the plant's efforts to tire it out, but it has the unfortunate side effect of dissolving all the hair on a body at the points of contact. My fighting slows despite myself. Instead, I begin to rock with the plant's pulses as much as I can, a burning need filling me as surely as the hard nub. I need to come. I need to come! Not only does the core of my body want to explode, but I know that the female orgasm can often, somehow, trigger the Mantrap to release its victim. I use the vines around my ankles as leverage and pull myself down, grinding against the plant. I'm closer – closer – and then I stop. Why have I stopped? The plant itself is frozen, not pulsating anymore. My brain is working again, analyzing and calculating. It must be Rozen's Timestop. There must be another wizard nearby.
"Hello?" I call out. "Please, I'm over here, help me!"
"Well, well," a voice drawls from behind me. He's already seen me. "Marradice Sturmbergen. What is a girl like you doing in a place like this?" He walks around me, but I already know who it is. Geoffrey Harper, my closest rival in university. My heart sinks. "And, if I'm not mistaken about the stage you're at right now, what's a plant like that doing in a girl like you? Giving you a good time?"
"Geoffrey, thank the gods, if you get me out of this I'll be in your debt forever – "
He makes a swift motion with one hand (Murray's Silencer) and I'm unable to say anything, so I try to beg with my eyes. "You have no idea how sweet this is. It couldn't be better if I'd planned it. But I really wouldn't thank me just yet, darling. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as they say." He reaches into a pocket and draws out a piece of thread, which he ties into a loop with an odd knot, then elongates and thickens it. Once the loop is big enough, he drapes it around my neck and then tightens it until it fits snugly. "You'll find yourself unable to be more than ten feet from me from now on, and unable to stop yourself from following my orders. Personally, I'd prefer leaving you with free will and controlling you via physical means, but it will be easier to get you home this way." From another pocket, he pulls out a glass vial and uncorks it, then pours it onto the plant's bulb. "This is a little elixir of my own invention."
Making a complicated gesture, he releases the timestop. The plant begins its work on me as though nothing had happened, but after a few seconds it shudders to a halt and slowly opens enough to slip off and fall to the ground, leaving me hanging in midair, spread eagled, with no way of covering myself and no voice. If I weren't already flushed from the plant's attentions, I'd be blushing. Geoffrey can see every inch of my exposed body, and I can see from his smirk and wandering eyes that he's taking full advantage. After a moment, he actually steps forward and runs a hand over my hairless labia, and then pinches my nipples, using them to shake my breasts like I'm just some kind of toy.
"When we get home, I'll have to mix up something to keep you this clean and smooth," he says, mostly to himself. "I like you this way." Keeping his hold on my nipples, he pulls steadily and the vines sluggishly unfurl and let me down. Once they've finally uncurled from my wrists and ankles, I bring my hands up to his to force him to let go of my breasts, but he stops me with an order. "Stop. Put your hands on your hips. No, put them behind your head." I comply, even though without the collar I'd have punched him and then tied his intestines into knots with a spell. Oh, gods. There is really nothing I can do – he's made me into his slave. I try to scream, force myself to run, but there's nothing I can do. He's still staring at my body with the greediest look in his eyes – like he's been living on scraps for years and someone's spread out a feast in front of him and told him that it all belongs to him. At last he lets go of me.
"Time enough for this later," he says, then reaches for one of the vines and severs it with a word. I expect him to tie it to some part of me, either as bondage or as a leash, but in one motion he shoves it up between my nether lips and sticks it there with a word. My look of humiliated surprise clearly amuses him, as he sniggers to himself like a teenager. "Now, let's go back to your rooms and collect your things. I suppose you might have something of value there – a few rare spell components or something." There are, and I want to shout that I'd destroy them before I'd give them up to him, but of course I can't.
During the whole walk back to the village, my attention focuses on the strange feeling of the woody vine-leash filling my cunt and scraping between my thighs. Geoffrey occasionally tugs on it, even though I'm keeping up with him, just to remind me that I'm his object now and he can do what he likes with me. In the village, we pass people – even some I recognize by sight – but they pretend not to see anything. I still can't stop myself from flushing, embarrassed at how I must look, like I just feel like having my hands behind my head and letting my breasts jiggle in full view of anyone who wants to look, and the only explanation for the vine is that I'm clenching it there. Nobody will say anything about it, because nobody interferes with wizards. Common law doesn't touch us, and there's no magical legal system for us either, because that might give ordinary people ideas about controlling us. If I'm going to get free, it will have to be through my own effort.
I'm wrong about the people passing – they pretend that nothing's wrong, but they sneak looks at me, just as greedy as Geoffrey. Most of the men look as though they'd like nothing more than to reach out and grad me with both hands.
Inside the inn, the landlord can't restrain himself from looking shocked for a long moment at my transformation from scholarly, buttoned-up researcher into shameless, wanton whore.
"We're just collecting her things," Geoffrey says. "Which room?" With a wave of his hand, the leash ties itself around one of the roof beams. I stare at the vine rising up in front of me, forcing me to jut out my hips due to the pressure. "Feel free to sample her," he says to the four or five men sitting at tables before he heads up the stairs to take control of my earthly possessions. They look at each other, and I can practically read their thoughts without even having to perform a spell (which I can't, as my hands are immobilized): she's a wizard, so if he's done that to her he's an even more powerful one, and so he might get really offended if we don't take his suggestion and do something horrible. Besides, who doesn't want to get his hands on this piece of ripe flesh right in front of us?
