0 comments/ 50900 views/ 2 favorites Deflowered By: TrillianSorbet They had been exchanging text messages often, most often discussing what their fling might be like. They had met at a concert and kept in touch after a few sparks went off between them. She went to college in a different town and she was going back for her semester break. She invited him home to a party she was having. The plan was to break the dry spell and more importantly for her to deflower him. The party was excruciatingly long and boring. They were conversing with their eyes the whole time. She was wearing a blue silk dress that was crunched up slightly higher on her right thigh then the left. He glanced at her thighs often discreetly imagining sliding his hands up and down them. He was wearing a full sleeved white shirt and a red sweater. She had picked it out for him after she saw an image of him wearing the same on facebook. It took for ages for people to leave or pass out. Hesitantly and rather shy, considering this was the first time she had planned out a 'session', she walked towards her room, signaling him to follow her with her eyes. They were quite drunk having had more than enough beer. As soon as they entered her room, almost instantly he grabbed her and began to kiss her passionately. As they kissed, they walked towards the bed, he lifted her and put her on the bed and got on top of her. Hands everywhere, running up and down her uncontrollable legs, he tries to take her dress off, but she stops him. Instead, pushing him up, she starts to unbutton his shirt slowly pressing her lower body against his. Once his shirt's off, he tries to take her clothes off again only to be pushed back. She kisses him while she unbuttons his jeans and unzips them; without taking them off she goes back to lying on her back. He starts to run his hands up her legs, up her thighs, up her waist lifting her dress up. He unhooks her bra and as he goes on to lift her dress and play with her breasts, she starts to push his jeans away with her feet. Eventually, he gets them off and now only in his boxers and a hard on, he gets back to his meat. Lying on top of her, folded knees on either side, he continues to undress her, kissing, nibbling whatever he can get. The dress is off in one swift move and the bra off next. While he's at this, she plays with his boxers, tugging at them pulling his body closer to hers. Ruffling his hair, she continues to get into the tongue fight. While he plays with her breasts occasionally kissing them and sucking on her now so hard nipples, she thrusts her lower body up against his. Grabbing the hint, he starts to lick her ear, biting it slowly. He kisses her neck, and then going down he kisses her breasts, licking her skin now and then down to her waist and then her lower stomach along her panty line. With his hands pressing her thighs softly, he tugs at her panties with his teeth. Then he takes them off. At the look of her biting her lip at this, it's what she'd been waiting for. She puts her legs around his neck. He starts to kiss her lower stomach, lower and lower, softly planting little bombs of kisses all over her vagina. He then squeezes her buttocks and starts to alternate the use of his tongue and fingers over her vagina. She takes one leg off his neck and puts it into his boxers and starts rubbing her toes up and down his already hard cock. He finds her spot and treats it like a toy, playing with it with his fingers and tongue -- she starts to get really wet. Getting the feeling she's having all the fun; she stops him and pushes him down, lying on top of him. She starts to tongue him but abruptly stops and starts to kiss his neck, moving down his chest, licking, kissing and sucking on his skin all the way down to his boxers. She then takes his boxers off and starts to kiss his crotch almost ignoring his 8 inch cock standing erect. She plays with his balls, tickling them with her fingers. She starts to lick his cock and kiss it a little. She then sucks the top, teasing the tip with her tongue and then puts his cock completely in her mouth and slowly takes it out leaving her saliva to stick around it. As she continues to give him a blow, his hands get everywhere. Saving the best for last, she slides down next to him and starts to rub his cock with her hands up and down. They start to kiss again and he starts playing with her cunt which is already quite wet. He starts to rub two of his fingers about, then putting one finger inside her vagina. It goes in effortlessly sliding through the wet walls, so he tries two fingers and that follows the same. He starts putting them in and out and she starts to moan a little. He tries using three fingers but it hurts a little and she tugs at his hair with her left hand. He puts his fingers in his mouth lubricating them and continues to rub her cunt, inserting his fingers in her. Three fingers go in and she gets ecstatic thrusting her lower body in the air. She gets up and lies on top of him. They kiss as they sit upright and hold each other. They continue kissing as he reaches for his wallet for a condom. She starts to bite his neck as he puts it on. He then lies down on her softly kissing her, then spreading her legs, lubricating her vagina even more. He moves closer in effort to insert his cock in her and she helps by raising her lower body in the air. He puts it in really really slowly pulling his arms towards the side of his torso like he was feeling an exotic change in him. He stops kissing her, concentrating on inserting himself in her. As he slid higher into her, she pulled herself higher and closer to him. He kept pulling back and going further like the scenes from Memento. Occasionally, he looked at her and smiled a sheepish losing boyhood smile. She responded by pulling him closer and kissing him. They started slow and that's how she liked it. They experimented; He raised her upwards towards him while still in her and kissed and caressed her. She was no virgin but she was reliving her first time because of the pace. She enjoyed it and bit his neck and ears softly now and then. Putting his legs one by one of the bed, he laid her down leaning on to her. She put her legs around his neck as he started to go in and out faster. The faint sound of his phallus sliding through her juicy vagina started to get louder. They began to sweat and pant and moan. As they began to speed up, resting himself on one arm, he lifted her with the other. He was still inside her, quickly he turned to the wall and pushed himself into her hard making her let out one sweet moan and pulling his hair in excitement. He was going really fast. She had been with men before and was amazed at how this newbie could hold on for so long. He pushed her hands back, speeding up, putting his tongue in her ear and biting it now and then. He was almost there; she was scratching his back in agony. With one leg in front, leaning towards her clutching her waist, he let out an aggressive moan as he came in her. She wasn't done yet. Realizing he struggled to keep it going and reached for her cunt with his hands. Like a trigger, with his fingers, she climaxed holding a lock of his hair and pulling him closer to her. They stood for a moment frozen in awe of what all those text messages and harmless flirting had ended in. Deflowered On the rare occasion that she was able to stop and take stock of the events that had taken place in her life over the past two years, it seemed odd to Gwen that there were still things that managed to take her by surprise and cause her to wonder if it would all turn out in the end to have been a crazy dream. She almost laughed out loud when she realised that it had once been as likely for a girl from her estate back home to see the inside of a limousine without a gaggle of other women on a raucous hen night as it would have been for her to step foot on the surface of the moon. And yet here she was, familiar not only with the surroundings of a limousine, but now being treated to the interior of a private jet. The more of the world she saw, the more it proved to be a wonderful mixture of delight and madness to her eyes. Gwen sat in her seat, nursing a drink and trying to watch the tiny crew of stewardesses as they went about their duties in the confines of the cabin. Their movements fascinated her as they anticipated the next demand that would be made of them with almost psychic precision born from years spent in the job. As a child she had always wanted to be in their shoes, convinced of the glamour and romance that must have been a part of jetting away on a new adventure every day. As an adult she had been cured of the idea that romance and childish notions of reality made up the lot of a person’s life. Even before her own life had been changed beyond recognition, she had learned to see the weariness in the eyes of women like these stewardesses. She was well versed in the trick of hiding all that fatigue behind smiling expressions, of being strong and pushing on for the sake of making ends meet. She had lived a hard and more often than not unfair life for two decades before taking a chance had given her an escape the likes of which she could never have imagined. For as long as she could recall, Gwen had always been singing. The sound of her voice when she spoke was a jarring contrast to her singing voice, heavily accented and often hard to follow when nerves took her and she began to babble. But in contrast her singing voice was clear as cut glass and naturally able to scale heights that most people could only have dreamed of. It had taken months of urging from her closest family in which Gwen had swung from one extreme of emotion to the other before she was finally persuaded to audition for a televised talent show. Her nerves lasted until the very moment she was stood in front of the cameras, but in that moment she had found that all of the trepidation had vanished and she was able to sing with a passion that took everyone by surprise. The run of fortune had continued as she advanced in the competition, surviving each week as other contestants were eliminated by telephone voting. There was nothing that the public loved more than an underdog and in the girl from a humble background they had found one they seemed to adore. Gwen had been one of the final contestants left on the weekly show when she lost out to another act at the last vote. But that was not the end of her story and her departure from the show was marked by a scramble as the media fought to interview and profile a girl who had been plucked from obscurity and yet still retained her down to earth character and charm. She had done so much in so short a time that it often seemed to have happened to someone else entirely. There had been the album, the tour, the photo shoots and the interviews as well as the biography that was still sitting on her bedside table in the cellophane wrapper. In truth the thought of the book scared Gwen more than a little as it was far thicker than anything she had managed to read in her life and the picture on the glossy dust jacket had been so touched up that it might have shown the face of a stranger. In her most paranoid moments she imagined reading inside stories of a life that had not been her own, so small had been her own involvement in its writing. In truth it had been a relief to her when the commotion surrounding her had begun to die down to a dull roar. Gwen had been able to stop for the first time and actually get back to the things that had been important before fame had taken her away from her family. The only problem was that her management, whom she seemed to have acquired as a result of a process the specifics of which quite eluded her, was not as happy with the downturn in demand as she was herself. In order to keep the face of their charge in the public eye, Gwen was thrust into a series of walk on parts in soap operas, sat smiling on a shopping channel and finally was forced to endure weeks in a remote jungle as part of a demeaning reality TV show that had left the taste of grubs and beetles in her mouth for months afterwards. Coming after all that, the quiet offer to be the public face of a small charity had seemed like a dream come true to Gwen, who had acted quite out of character in putting her foot down and insisting that she would take the job regardless of the benefit to her media profile. The leaflet that she had been sent was still in her jacket pocket and she pulled it out once more to have a brief scan of the contents. Some of the words were very large and Gwen was determined not to make a fool of herself in front of the people she was about to meet with by forgetting just what they were all about. As far as she could tell, the charity had been formed out of concern for the rare species of orchids that were apparently in imminent danger of extinction in far flung corners of the world. Gwen, who was always honest with herself, had been totally ignorant of the plight of the flowers and digested every word inside the leaflet in order to better understand the issue at hand. She was amazed that a simple flower, which looked little different to something that could be found on the forecourt of a petrol station back home, could be so important and inflame the passions of so many obviously intelligent people. “A little light reading?” Gwen looked up and saw that the seat facing her had gained an occupant while she was intent upon the leaflet. “I just wanted to read over the plight of those orchids one more time.” She smiled at the man sitting across from her, showing the slightly large teeth that had inspired less than kind scribes in the media to describe her as horsey and awkward. “Orchids?” “Orchids,” Gwen nodded. She had to admit to being a little puzzled by the look on the man’s face, as though he was vaguely amused by what she was saying and yet thought himself above showing it. “Orchids, really,” the man shook his head, “I mean, whatever will he come up with next?” “Eh?” “Don’t use that term,” the man sounded as though her last utterance had jarred his ears. “Hay is something that you feed to animals; say ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘Beg Pardon’.” “Oh,” Gwen glanced down as she absorbed his disapproval, “sorry.” “And another thing,” she looked up once more as he spoke, “don’t be so deferential all the time. You’re not a whipped donkey and you shouldn’t act like one. He won’t like that at all, I can tell you.” “Who won’t,” Gwen was starting to become lost, “the head of the charity?” “The head of the charity?” the man shook his head. “Oh, my dear, you really haven’t been picking up on the undertones to this conversation have you? Not if you still think that there’s a charity involved in all of this.” Now Gwen really was confused. “But if there’s no charity,” she left the thought hanging in the air. “Do you know,” the man let out a humourless laugh, “I swear I actually saw a light go on behind your eyes just then.” “So who are you?” “I’m no one that you need to worry about, believe me. In fact I’m someone that you’ll forget about before you know it.” Gwen had to admit that the man had point right there. He was so average that he would have blended into a crowd and been lost the second you took your eyes off his face. There was not one detail of his size, build or clothes that really stuck out or lodged in the memory and his voice had an accent that was always just a little too elusive to pin down. If it had not been for his haughty manner of speaking and prim ways, she was sure he could have faded away right before her eyes and into the blurry nothingness that was gathering in the corners of her sight. The glass dropped from her hand and bounced on the thick carpet that covered the floor before rolling into to a stop at the feet of one of the stewardesses. The woman showed no reaction to the sight of Gwen’s head slowly falling forwards and onto her chest as she sank into unconsciousness. Instead she simply scooped up the fallen glass and glanced nervously at the nondescript man who sat across from her. He looked up for a moment, pausing in the act of smoothing the lapels of his jacket. As unremarkable as he may have been, the message in his eyes was clear and the stewardess retreated without a sound to the rear of the plane where she shut herself and her colleague into the tiny galley and made no move to return to the main cabin again for the duration of the flight. Left alone, the man reached across and plucked the leaflet from Gwen’s lap. He flicked through the pages, managing a cynical smile as he did so. “Orchids and doped drinks,” he shook his head. “What is this, a bloody Bond film?” The airstrip was a small affair of tarmac and paint with only a single, lonely windsock to denote its purpose. It stood alone on the small plateau as the one man made feature amongst the pine forest that had been cut back to accommodate it. The trees at the edges stood like a resentful crowd, as if glaring jealously at the ground they had been forced to surrender when it was laid down. Two figures stood silently at the end of the runway, occasionally glancing upwards in the hope of catching a glimpse of an approaching aircraft. They had been waiting for almost an hour in the chill morning air and though they were covered from head to foot in anonymous white hazmat gear, the cold was beginning to seep into their bones all the same. All of a sudden, the first pointed into the distance and turned his head to the second. The tinted visor of the second man’s mask followed his colleague’s gesture and with some effort he was able to see a small dot, approaching and growing larger with every passing second. Finally they were done with waiting and the work of the day could begin. Within mere minutes, the dot had resolved itself into the unmistakable shape of a small, private jet making its descent towards the isolated runway. Soon the landing gear emerged from the underside of the plane and the sound of the engines violated the silence of the plateau. This sound was followed by the screech of the tyres as the jet touched down and applied brakes to slow and eventually come to a final stop no more than twenty feet from the spot where the men were waiting. One of the men hurried to the far side of the airstrip to fetch a set of metal stairs mounted on wheels that would reach the fuselage of the jet and allow access to the nearest exit. The other made a shorter trip to near side of the tarmac apron and retrieved a wheelchair made of heavy duty plastic and boasting wheels that would not have looked out of place on an off road vehicle. Once the stairs were in place, the exit to the rear of the jet swung open and the nondescript man stepped out onto the top step. He nodded to the men as he descended, more due to force of habit than a genuine attempt to be friendly. They watched him as he stepped onto the tarmac in the same silence, only moving when he made a motion towards the jet, as if handing responsibility for the entire thing over to them before walking off down the path that led away from the airstrip and into the pines. The men in the hazmat suits turned to watch until he was lost from view then looked at one another for a moment. The first shrugged his shoulders and then the second shook his head and jerked a thumb in the direction of the jet. Though no words had passed between them, it seemed that something had been decided as the first climbed the stairs followed closely by the second. Inside the cabin of the jet they were alone save for Gwen’s unconscious form, still slumped in her seat. There was no sign of either the stewardesses or the flight crew who must have been behind the controls for the duration of the flight. For reasons that would go unexplained, they chose to leave the men to their task and left Gwen to her fate. The first man checked her over, taking her pulse and the dilation of her eyes. He seemed happy with what he observed, unclipping the belt that had kept Gwen in the seat when she passed out and catching her body with ease as she now fell forwards. Rather than fight to keep her upright, he instead guided her to the floor of the cabin and gestured for his colleague to join him. While he slipped his arms under Gwen’s own, the second man took hold of her under the knees and together they lifted her gently off the carpet. Intending to present a professional image, Gwen had dressed in a fawn skirt suit and tan tights, pinning her long brown hair up at the same time. Without intending to, she had made life easier for the first man and harder for the second in doing so. With her hair gathered and pinned, the man tackling her upper half could see what he was doing with no real problems. But in contrast his colleague was presented with the issue of Gwen’s skirt, which despite being what she would have classed as conservative, was cut above the knee and rather tightly clung to her thighs. She was a tall girl, and as he fought to get a grip of her legs, the skirt was pushed upwards until it bunched around her buttocks. The result was that as the men carried her out of the cabin and down the steps, Gwen was exposed from the waist down and her dignity protected only by her tights and underwear. The fact that she had been so exposed did not seem to cause any concern in the men and they simply completed the task of carrying her down the stairs and towards the waiting wheelchair. Once she was lowered into the seat, the second man pulled her skirt back into place without a seconds pause and then proceeded to strap her down at the wrists, ankles and across the chest. As the first man began to push the chair away from the jet, the need for its sturdy construction became apparent. While the surface of the airstrip was necessarily as flat and even as possible, at its edge the tarmac gave way to a wide path of hard packed earth. This was by contrast made harder going by the contours of the forest floor from which it was made and the points where the roots of trees passed beneath its surface. Though he was silent, the effort on the part of the man pushing the wheelchair was very much apparent and at times his partner was forced to lend his strength to manoeuvre the thing over particularly difficult ground. This became more and more common as the path began to crawl steadily down the side of an incline, which was soon revealed as one side of a deep valley where the pine forest continued on both sides. Now the second man was using his weight to slow the chair and prevent it from running away down the track and his effort was as visible as that of the first. Eventually the strange little party arrived at a point where the path levelled out made for a small, almost invisible delve in the valley side. Up ahead the first signs of habitation were becoming visible as a wall made of slate and a collection of low outbuildings of the same material could be seen through the trees. Soon the path reached a stout double door of dark wood set into the wall, the left side standing open and more than wide enough to allow them to enter. Beyond the wall, the packed earth of the path was replaced by aged slabs of York stone which wound efficiently through terraced gardens of alpine foliage until reaching a house of moderate size, which dominated the grounds around it. The house was built of the same slate as the walls and possessed architecture that placed its origin at the end of the nineteenth or early year of the twentieth century. Its three stories ran over two wings and it was flanked on the eastern side by a large antique greenhouse, positioned to catch the rising sun. Rather than make for the house itself, the men wheeled Gwen around to the rear of the property and made for the largest of the outbuildings that stood across a small courtyard. The look and shape of the building meant that it could have been nothing but a barn in its original incarnation, but modern features and subtle refinements gave away the fact that it had been converted to serve another purpose entirely. The men arrived before the large doors, made of solid wood and painted black they looked strong enough to withstand the attentions of a battering ram. The second man pressed an intercom button set into the wall to one side and waited until he heard a click and a low buzz indicating that a lock had been opened to allow them to enter. Without hesitation he pulled open a smaller door set inside the larger and held it while his colleague negotiated the wheelchair over the threshold. While it might have looked like a simple barn from the outside, the interior of the building had been stripped of all period features and any trace of its original function. Instead the men were greeted with a small anteroom, its white walls made of starkly modern materials and the only other exit being a doorway hung with a sheet of heavy industrial plastic in the place of a door. The only other feature of the room was a basin of chemicals on the floor in which the men washed their boots before once more lifting Gwen from the wheelchair and carrying her through the waiting doorway. The room behind the flap of plastic accounted for the rest of the space within the shell of the barn and was every bit as modern and sterile as the anteroom had been. The rafters of the barn were hidden behind panels of white as was the stonework of the walls; the floor was covered also with smooth white tiles. Harsh and unforgiving strip lights illuminated the space and picked out the trappings of an operating theatre so that they cast no perceivable shadows in the centre of the chamber. The same light fell upon Gwen’s body as she was laid upon the operating table with great care by the men in the hazmat suits. With their charge laid upon the table, the men drifted to different corners of the room and began to prepare themselves for their next task. The first returned to the table with a bin mounted on castors, which he parked behind himself as he lifted Gwen’s left leg. He pulled off her shoe; a sensible piece of footwear with a low heel that she had hoped would complement the outfit, and tossed it into the bin. The right shoe followed a few seconds later before he deftly opened the buttons that held her skirt up and pulled it off in one smooth motion. Next he slipped Gwen’s arms out of her jacket and pulled the garment from beneath her, leaving her wearing nothing but her underwear and a silky blouse. He dropped the skirt and jacket into the bin and began to unbutton the blouse, removing it once he was done in the same manner as the jacket. Now for the first time, Gwen was properly exposed and stripped of her dignity before them. Clad in nothing apart from her cream bra and pants and with nothing covering her legs save for the tan tights, almost every inch of her body was laid bare to be seen. Gwen Livingstone had never been known for having the body of a supermodel, instead she was taller than the average woman and her figure was slightly elongated as a result. Her breasts and buttocks were full as opposed to buxom and her limbs benefitted from her height as it lent them an odd elegance that belied her slightly horsey appearance. Though she was embarrassed by the attention that publicity shots of her bikini-clad form had graced the pages of more than a few magazines, few women would have failed to admire the proportions of her body and few honest straight men would have feigned disinterest. Deflowered Not that any of those facts seemed to matter to the man in the hazmat suit as he peeled the tights from her legs, balled them up and tossed them into the bin. He pulled off her panties in the same manner and rolled her over slightly to unhook her bra, allowing her breasts to settle into her armpits as natural orbs always do. For some reason he left her hair pinned up and wheeled the bin containing her clothes into an empty corner of the room. Gwen lay there, naked and pale on the table, looking at that moment more like an inanimate doll than a human being. The only hint that she was alive at all and not formed of wax came from the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed and the neat patch of hair that covered her genitals. But when the second man came to the table, he took a razor from the tray he had carried over and carefully relieved her of that one patch of body hair. He hunted for more places to shave, but when he could find none he instead busied himself with cleaning the makeup from her face and plucking from her body every item of jewellery he could find, placing them in carefully in a small plastic bag. The two men gave one another a silent glance and then left the room, their responsibilities discharged. Gwen still lay silent and naked on the operating table, awaiting her fate. As it happened, Gwen did not have long to wait before she was again joined in the room by strange men in white. But rather than the hazmat suits of the men who had brought her from the jet, these men wore a combination of protective clothing and the theatre clothes of surgeons. They numbered two more than the original men and they were as anonymous behind their own tinted masks and silent in the same manner. They brought with them into the room a collection of metal containers the size and shape of great trunks, wheeling them in on convenient castors and leaving them at strategic points around the table. Two of the men fussed with the containers while two looked Gwen up and down in a manner more scrutinising than that of the original pair. The lid of the nearest container was opened to reveal a garment folded inside, which when pulled out and opened up revealed itself to be made of a shiny, rubberlike material that caught the light with its striking shade of green. As two of the men carefully inspected every inch of the garment, it became clear that the shape was distinctly unusual, resembling a wetsuit that had been heavily altered for some unknown purpose. The garment started at the head with a hood that would tightly cover the entire skull save for the face and continued as a conventional wetsuit might have done until the eye reached the ends of the sleeves. These continued into a pair of gloves that seemed to be set in the centre of an oval pad perhaps a tenth of an inch in thickness. Within the oval the fingers of the gloves were spread wide and the material filled the space between them so that no one digit could be separated from the whole thing. Below the waist things became even stranger as there was no separate leg for each limb, but instead a single tube-like sheath that would contain them and hold them together. At the base of the tube there was a heavy blub of green rubber which seemed to sit where the wearer’s feet would emerge from the thing, swallowing them whole in the process. Even if she had been awake to see the bizarre garment for herself, Gwen would have had little time to take it in as the men carried it to the side of the table and with the help of their colleagues, began to ease it over her inanimate form. The garment was open from the base of the spine to the nape of the neck, allowing the men to guide Gwen’s legs into the lower portion a little at a time. The fit was incredibly tight and though the material stretched somewhat, the process was still a matter of inching the girl’s legs further and further into the holes provided. While her legs would be held tightly together inside the garment, each of them was accommodated in a separate sleeve inside with a layer of firm and yet yielding substance that mimicked the consistency of her own flesh. Once the entire length of her legs had been fed inside, the effect was such that Gwen’s lower body seemed to have been moulded into a single seamless limb which began at her waist and ended at the ankle. With her legs firmly within the garment, Gwen’s feet had been pushed down into the blub at the very bottom of the garment. Inside this they sank into a mass of the same substance that shaped the space between her legs. This flowed around her feet and held them in a gentle but unyielding grip which rendered them immobile and unmoving. As the garment was pulled over her groin, one of the men guided a series of complicated structures built into the corresponding area into place with painstaking care and attention to detail. These tubes, pads and rubber lips would be essential in allowing the most intimate parts of Gwen’s anatomy to function once the costume was in place. Her arms were fed into the sleeves and her hands into the bizarre gloves before the material of the garment was spread across her belly and over her chest. Each of her breasts was held inside a specially shaped pouch that clung to their surface like a second skin and allowed her nipples to be seen beneath the rubber that covered them. Next was her head as one of the men covered her hair with a rubber cap and the hood was pulled over the top. Gwen’s face was now visible, surrounded in an oval of green and the only part of her own skin that could still be seen as she was turned onto her back and one of the men sealed the edges of the costume together with a heated iron shaped like a miniature pistol. Almost the second the last inch of rubber was sealed together and Gwen was beginning to be turned onto her back once more, the cellular adhesive that lined the inside of the costume began to activate. In a matter of a few moments, the substance bonded the costume to her skin so completely that there was no true way to differentiate the two. The shape of her body that had been traced visibly beneath the rubber became even more defined as it shrank to cling to every minute detail beneath. Another box opened to reveal an object that might have looked more in keeping with the props of a sci-fi movie, it being roughly egg-shaped, detailed with veins and in a green that matched the rubber covering Gwen’s body. Rounded at one end, the other tapered to a slight point and there was a hole in the base of the thing through which her head was slipped so that she was wearing the thing in the manner of a helmet. Gwen’s features were lost from view until one of the men probed a well hidden opening at the back of the thing and the entire front portion slowly opened outwards. The tapered front of the object split into six equal parts, the inside of which were a vibrant orange in colour and framed her face perfectly. At this point it would have been hard not to see the purpose of the costume in which Gwen had been sealed. Her body was wrapped into a shapely green stem, her hands spread in the centre of broad leaves and her face looked out from within a crown of petals. She had been transformed into a human flower. But the men were not yet finished with her. A trolley that bore and huge vessel of carved stone was pushed to the foot of the table and the bulb which contained Gwen’s feet eased off the end at the same time. When her knees reached the bottom of the table, the trolley was jacked up an inch at a time so that the vessel met the blub as perfectly as possible. The opening at the top of the vessel was only slightly wider than the blub and two of the men fought for a short time with the fit before the entire thing slid inside. Once it was within, a small crucible containing liquid rubber from the same source as that which formed the costume was carefully poured into the space that remained. It filled the gaps completely and set so that Gwen’s legs were firmly rooted into the vessel. After all, a flower needed to be planted in a pot. Their work nearing completion, the men closed the petals over Gwen’s face and stood her up from the table. Once she stood vertical in the pot, the men were able to withdraw their support and allow her to stand unaided. Though she remained unconscious, layers of synthetic fibre woven into the material of the costume flexed and stiffened in response to the effect of gravity upon Gwen’s body. Designed to imitate the function muscles, they ensured that she would remain upright while her own remained slack. With their job done, the men downed their tools and left the room as silently as they had entered. In the few minutes that passed before the original men in their hazmat suits returned to move the human flower to its ultimate destination, Gwen was left alone and inert. It would have been entirely possible for a person to walk by her, no more than a few feet away and take her for some species of giant bloom as she stood there in her pot. Her face was hidden by the closed petals of the headpiece and her arms hung lifelessly by her sides with their hands disguised as leaves. Perhaps upon closer inspection it would have been hard to miss the details of her body that were evident in the stem of the flower and from there see the shape of a woman beneath what was clearly a skin of rubber. But maybe upon making such a realisation, the average person would have resisted the temptation to touch the body beneath the rubber and hurried away lest the fate of the human flower befall them as well. None of that seemed to bother the men in the hazmat suits upon their return. Instead they simply took hold of the trolley and wheeled Gwen out of the barn and away. At first, Gwen could not be sure whether the light that filled her vision was blinding her because she had opened her own eyes or not. Her mind was fogged, as though she were waking up with a terrible hangover and it was hard to make sense of her surroundings. While it seemed to follow that she must have been inundated with the light because she had just opened her eyes, there was the inescapable feeling that they had already been looking into some kind of impenetrable darkness when something else changed and admitted the relentless beams. Slowly the barrage of light resolved itself into a discernible pattern of shapes and colours, allowing Gwen to get some vague idea of her surroundings for the first time. She saw walls of glass, held in place by a framework of black metal perhaps ten or fifteen feet from where she stood. A beading of rain was just visible on the surface of the panes and the beginnings of a garden could be seen beyond. So she was in a conservatory, or a greenhouse of some kind. A half recalled saying about people who lived in glass houses sprang into her mind for no good reason and sank back into the background as she ignored the random thought. Tracing her line of sight backwards from the panes of glass, Gwen saw first one and then ever more rows of low benches. Each was filled to bursting with plants of which she had never seen the like before. There were flowers of course, spectacular blooms that looked as though they had been created from imagination rather than the course of evolution. But for every flower there was a non-blossoming plant that was equally strange to Gwen’s eyes, colours and form alien to a person more used to conventional flora. A greenhouse then, she thought. That would make sense for a charity that wanted to save endangered orchids. But then she recalled the jet, and the conversation with the nondescript man. Gwen felt a low cry of dread begin to build inside her chest as she looked around the greenhouse with a growing sense of dread. There was no charity, no meeting and no position as a spokesperson. The entire thing had been some elaborate trick for which she had fallen without a moment of hesitation or suspicion. She cursed her own stupidity, the naiveté that led her to trust the word of strangers and landed her in this situation. She cried out again, not words but rather a sound that represented her feelings of helplessness and fear. The noise echoed around the interior of the greenhouse, but there was no answer and no one came to investigate. It seemed that for the moment she was alone. It was then that an odd though occurred to her: how was she remaining vertical when she could feel the muscles in her body were in a relaxed state as she breathed? Gwen glanced down at herself and took a good few moments to resolve what she saw into something that made any kind of sense to her. At first she thought she was naked, but then she quickly remembered the fact that she had never been possessed of green skin as far as she could recall. Her eyes followed the line of her body downwards, noting in a muddle of confusion that not only did her skin seem to be green in colour; it was also rubbery and caught the light in a manner that made it look almost slick and wet. Gwen moved her thighs to see the extent of the changes that had overtaken her body while she slept and was surprised to find that while she could feel every inch of her form, the range of movement that she was capable of had been restricted somehow. Her legs seemed to move as one limb rather than two and while she could twist and turn herself, there was no way she could move from the spot on which she stood or lift her feet to take a single step forwards. Watching the odd motions of her lower body, Gwen realised that her legs were moving as one because they in fact were one. There was no separation between the limbs as their shapes simply flowed into one below her waist and continued on downwards towards her feet. But when her gaze reached the end of her legs, it did not find her feet as she had expected it to. Instead Gwen saw that the united shape of her legs simply disappeared into the mouth of a large vessel of some kind. She supposed that it was the reason that she was standing, that somehow being trapped in the thing was keeping her from tumbling to the ground. Gwen reasoned that her feet must be inside the thing, held down by some unknown means that remained hidden from view. At least she thought that must be the case. As she started to dwell upon the matter, she was forced to admit to herself that she could feel something inside the pot. But she could not be certain that it was her own feet, not totally sure that the sensation of her body ending in something soft, yielding and yet at the same time firm accounted for familiar appendages at all. She knelt down as far as she was able, all the time seeing more and more of her bizarrely transformed legs, and reached out to touch the lip of the pot where her body disappeared from sight. But when her hands came into view, she was again so surprised that she was stopped in her tracks. Gwen turned her hands over, touching one with the other as she explored their shiny green skin and the wide oval flaps that webbed her fingers, turning them into broad paddles. She clenched them into fists and then opened them out again over and over, trying to make sense of the sight of them. She was at once both disturbed by the outlandish nature of their new shape and reassured by the familiar details of her fingers and thumbs. In an effort to ensure that she was not simply dreaming, Gwen pinched at the green skin of her stomach with her flapping hands. She yelped in pain as the sensation of pulling at the rubbery surface of her body registered the same discomfort as pinching the skin of any human being. With a growing sense of unease at the memory of the way the light had seemed to reach her eyes not as a result of their opening, but of the opening of something as yet unknown, Gwen probed around her neck and slowly upwards. She was rewarded with confirmation of her suspicions as her hands met with a barrier of some kind when they should have been able to slide upwards and onto her face. From there her hands traced the shape of the barrier out for perhaps a foot from the side of her head and then back inwards until they came into sight on either side of her face. Fearing to look and yet compelled to do so at the same time, Gwen turned her head towards the closest pane of glass. It was no mirror, but she was sure that the reflective surface would be enough to allow her to see herself for the first time since she had awoken. A churning feeling had begun to build in her stomach as he mind pieced together the evidence and whatever she saw in the window; it would answer the question one way or another. At first it was hard for Gwen to truly take in what she saw, a large part of her mind struggled to see more than an image of an old fashioned greenhouse filled with exotic plants of many colours and shapes. She was forced to wrestle with her own reason and focus upon the tallest of the blooms in the picture, to truly study the way which it towered over the scene with its broad and curving stem. It was difficult to accept the limbs that sprouted from its sides, the way they moved slowly as if the thing were animated and the way in which they ended in broad leaves so resembling hands. But hardest of all was the need to take in the oval at its crown, surrounded by orange petals like the elements of some elaborate headdress. Gwen would have struggled with the task of seeing any human face staring back at her from the centre of those massive petals; the fact that it was unmistakably her own made it almost too much to bear. Her mind struggled with the information that her senses had provided, trying to come up with some sane explanation for what was happening to her. But at the same time as her rational faculties were being taxed by the reality of her situation, the more wild elements of her mind were spinning lurid theories about what she had woken to find herself transformed into. As the more irrational theories began to gain momentum, the small snippets of information that could have convinced Gwen that she was still a human being were lost in the deluge. Little by little the entire thing began to make an insane kind of sense to her as she added more details to the whole. The petals must have opened with the first rays of the sun, which was the way it was with flowers that needed the light to survive. She looked at the palms of her hands and suddenly she saw that her fingers were the veins of leaves, broad pads of green that she could spread out to catch yet more of the precious light that she needed to live. Her legs were now a single stem in order to carry water up from the ground, and of course she could not feel her feet anymore. What plant had feet after all? The soft and yet firm sensation she felt inside the pot was nothing more than her roots, spreading through the soil in search of the moisture she would need as a plant. This could not have been a trick or an illusion, of that she was convinced. The whole idea of the charity must have been a cover for some grand scheme to take a human being and turn them into some kind of plant creature. Why anyone would want to do such a thing was way beyond Gwen’s ability to theorise, but she saw herself as the living proof that it was never the less the truth. It was odd, but soon after she had come to that conclusion, Gwen could feel a great deal of the fear and anxiety that had spread through her when she awoke begin to dissipate and fade into the background as though it simply did not matter anymore. She had tried to call out for help and no one had come. She could not pull herself out of the pot into which she was rooted either. And even if she had been able to, what then? She did not have legs to make her escape on anyway. Deflowered Was it not better in the long run if she just accepted her fate and stopped fighting what she had become? There was one voice in her head that protested, that insisted that she was a human being and not a plant. The voice tried to incite Gwen to fight the urge to simply bask in the sunlight, to pull her loose and try to return to reality. Gwen silenced the voice with a brief contemplation of what would await her back in the real world if she were to manage to reach it. Where was there a place for a woman who had become a flower in a place where those who were perfectly normal were abused and mistreated on a daily basis? What could she hope for apart from a place in a freak show or a life spent being studied and pored over by doctors and scientist as a medical curiosity? How could she even go back to her family like this and expect them to care for her for the rest of her life? No, there was no place for her in that world now and in contrast there was no better place for a flower than in a greenhouse. Time seemed to lose a great deal of its meaning as Gwen sank ever deeper into acceptance that she was now a permanent residence of the greenhouse. She found that there was a deep sense of peace and stillness replacing the myriad of doubts, fears and insecurities that had filled her head when she was a human being. Things that had always haunted her waking moments and often kept her awake through the night simply seemed to have no hold over her now. After all, what concerns could a simple flower have beyond the need for light and the presence of water? The occasional thought about her former life drifted through her mind and she found that she was a little melancholy for the loss of the pleasures that human beings had access to, but she reassured herself that they were ignorant of the way her new form centred and calmed her being. Gwen was roused from her contemplation by the sound of a rattling overhead. She glanced up and saw that the sound was coming from a series of pipes that ran around the glass ceiling of the greenhouse. She had overlooked it previously simply because she had had no cause to study the structure of the ceiling. All of a sudden the rattling was replaced by a sound like fast falling rain and water sprayed out of holes in the pipes, showering the interior of the greenhouse and soaking every inch. Gwen gasped as the water fell over her face and cascaded from the broad surface of her petals. Where the spray lashed her body, the synthetic fibres in the costume responded to another of their purposes and pulled tightly over specific parts of her anatomy. The rubber that coated her nipples became even tighter and the man-made material pressed down on her vagina, stimulating her over and over again while ever the water ran over her form. Though the response had been a trick of her costume, Gwen was too sure of her transformation into a flower to even question the waves of physical pleasure that she was experiencing. To her this was simply more proof of the reality that she was a plant which required water, she was being doused and her body was coming alive as the liquid revivified her from petals to roots. As the sensations ebbed away with the water from the sprinklers, Gwen caught her breath and shook her head, sending the last few droplets away to the left and right. She wondered if she would have been embarrassed had there been a human being there to see her reaction to the experience of being watered. On one level the thought of someone seeing her stem writhing and her hands gripping her breasts as she was showered in water scared her, but there was another layer to her feelings that was quite different. Gwen realised that there was a part of her that actually seemed to relish the thought of being seen. The other side of the coin as far as the sense of embarrassment was concerned took the form of a deep thrill at the idea of eyes upon her body, studying the contours of her green flesh and taking in her curves. The thought was made all the more salacious by the fact that she would be able to do nothing at all to prevent those eyes from watching her every move. She might cover herself in one place or another with her leaves, but there was no way to escape the prying eyes, rooted as she was into her pot and unable to remove herself from the scene. But then why should she be coy and self-conscious? Gwen had spent years of her life as a human being wrestling with the contradictions that society placed upon the shoulders of a modern woman. She had been told to cover herself up and not be a temptation to men, but in the same lifetime she had been lauded as a sex symbol with her body almost exhibited for public show. Now there was no need to confuse herself with the effort of reconciling two extremes of feminine nature as the requirement to be anything more than a simple object of desire had been taken away from her. The sole purpose of a flower was to entice, to seduce with its natural beauty. What more could she do now that her form was so openly displayed and she was a creature intended for such a simple purpose? Her body existed to be looked at and admired, she was there to be exotic and intoxicating. How could she be blamed and why should she feel any guilt if people were driven to want nothing more than to sample her scent, to touch her body? What would it be like, Gwen wondered, to be pollinated? She was vaguely aware of the way in which flowers attracted insects to spread pollen, although the specifics escaped her. It was ironic that she was now in a position to be closer to that process than ever and yet remained as ignorant of it as she had ever been. She wondered if the feeling would be anything like sex for a human being. Before she had been transformed, she remembered liking the act very much when both parties involved were equals and took care for one another. But she also recalled the feeling of emptiness that had accompanied the act when they were out of balance with each other as well. Perhaps this would be different, a solitary experience that would he hers alone. But surely there was no such thing as a bee big enough to handle her? Gwen was sure that a flower of her size would need a far larger creature to pollinate it. Suddenly her mind was full of possibilities that would have turned her cheeks red, had she still been human. But as Gwen was more than ever convinced that she was no longer anything but a flower, she revelled in them instead. Occupied by her thoughts, Gwen was unaware of the fact that the day was growing old and the sun would soon start to set once more. She was also unaware of the fact that for the first time since her petals had opened earlier in the day, she was no longer alone in the greenhouse. The first that she knew of the presence of another person in the greenhouse was the soft sound of footsteps on the flagstone floor. She looked up and saw a figure approaching down the nearest row of plants. He was male and slightly above average in height, but every other feature of his body was hidden beneath a skin-tight body stocking of pure black. The man made slow progress down the row of plants, examining the leaves and stem of each as though concerned for their well-being. But as he went from one plant to the next, Gwen could not help but form the impression that he was doing more than simply assessing the health of the plants. There was something in his body language that seemed to indicate that he was looking for something more and when he failed to find it in each plant, he resigned himself to a close study of the next in the hope that it would yield whatever he was searching for. With each plant that he looked over, the Man in Black came ever closer to the spot where Gwen stood watching him. As he got nearer, she felt a growing excitement inside her belly, as though the thought of being in the line of plants that he was examining was more thrilling than anything she had experienced in her new life as a flower thus far. There was an inexplicable feeling inside of her that made her believe her turn was imminent and as soon as he felt the texture of her stem and took in the scent of her perfume, he would know that he had found what he was looking for. Time became warped once more as the Man in Black was now no more than a few plants from her, she felt that she wanted to push the other blossoms aside and thrust herself into his sight. It was almost as though her body needed to be the one being touched and measured in the way one needed a drug. Finally he turned from the plant next to her and regarded Gwen alone. She returned his gaze, her eyes half closed in an effort to seem seductive. Her arms she kept by the sides of her stem, but she moved her hips and stomach subtly to show the suppleness of her form to him. She shuddered as he came closer and leaned in towards her face with its halo of petals. By now their faces were no more than inches apart and Gwen lost her hold on the smouldering look she has adopted, her eyes opening wide when she felt the sensation of him pressing his body against her stem. He was warm and combined that unique quality of at once both firm and yielding that characterised the human body. She could also feel his groin so close to her own, and she knew that she was affecting him more with every moment that passed. The Man in Black inhaled gently as though he was sampling the bouquet of her scent. Gwen appreciated the gesture on his part, but there was no way she was going to settle for being sniffed like a delicate little blossom. She leant forward, gripping his buttocks with her leaves and gently seized his lower lip between her teeth, pulling on the material that covered his face. Even beneath the hood of his body stocking, Gwen could see him smile in response, as if he had finally found what he was looking for. Now that she had his attention, Gwen was acting on instinct alone. She had no conception of how she was supposed to allow a human male to pollinate her, so she was forced to fall back on her recalled knowledge of their likes and trust that he would be more knowledgeable on such matters, able to lead her in the right direction. Gwen placed her leaves on either side of his thighs and crouched slowly down before him in order to give him ample chance to understand her intentions. When he head was level with his groin, she slipped a hand inside the cleverly hidden opening in the body stocking and drew out his penis. It was clad in a black contraceptive sheath and now fully responding to her attentions as she teased the tip with her tongue before taking as much of the length as she was able into her mouth. She recalled that human men enjoyed this, and for his part he seemed to confirm her suspicions as he stroked her shoulders in a manner that suggested encouragement. Though she was sure he would have liked her to go on, Gwen eventually slid his penis out of her mouth and pulled herself back up his body. She was not satisfied to simply indulge him, not when she wanted to be pollinated so urgently. He seemed to understand and bent down to retrieve something from amongst the other plants and their pots that she could not at first make out. But when he stood she could see that he had a hosepipe in his hand, one that ended in a nozzle resembling a showerhead. She smiled at the sight of the thing and nodded slowly, leaves running up and down her stem in a gesture for him to continue. The Man in Black pulled the trigger and Gwen was once more bathed in a spray of water that made her entire body seem to come alive with sensation. But rather than simply douse her over the head, he guided the flow of water over her body, moving it from one spot to another to keep the waves of pleasure it induced constantly changing. Gwen performed a dance as the water ran over her body, part seductive movement and part simple manifestation of her physical stimulation. Droplets collected on her curves only to be flung across the room the next second as she moved as much as her body was able and her pot would allow. The Man in Black deliberately trailed the hose over her head and then down her spine, forcing her to arch and bend forwards. As soon as she did he stepped behind her and grasped her buttocks with both hands, allowing the hosepipe to fall to the floor. It thrashed about for a moment as the trigger eased back, forgotten by both of them. Gwen gasped as he placed one hand on her shoulder and steered himself between her buttocks with the other. She gasped a second time as she felt his member enter the rubber lips in the back of her stem and press on through the channel built into the material to reach her vagina on the other side. Rooted to the spot by her pot and deprived of seeing his face by her petals, she could only rely upon the physical sensation of his movements to complete the experience, but it was enough. She almost laughed at the thought of the horror her new life would have inspired in the average woman who lived in the so-called real world. The idea of losing everything that made her independent and in control was the worst thing that many could imagine. But she had been taken against her will, stripped of her humanity and turned into a simple flower that wanted nothing more than to soak up the sun, bathe herself in water and be worshipped as a thing of beauty. Along with her independence and self-determination, she had also lost her anxiety, her self-loathing, her fear of life and living in the cold and uncaring world. Yes she was on display and being used for her body right there and then, but she had been exploited on such different and more damaging levels by the attentions of the media and her supposedly adoring public. The Man in Black had not lied to her since she had become a flower; he had not written malicious lies about her in print or screwed her out of what she was entitled to. He attended to her physical needs with endless care and devotion and as she built to a climax that matched his own, she realised that in a bizarre sense, he was the most honest man she had ever met. By the time she was satiated, the Man in Black simply confined himself to providing Gwen with one last bathing. Of course he could not keep himself from the occasional stroke of a buttock or cupping of a breast, but he was only human after all and she teased him by shaking her stem to emulate the dance she had performed beneath the water of the hose. Soon the light outside the greenhouse began to fade and Gwen was not in the least surprised when the petals around her face began to close once more, blotting out the both the light and the Man in Black. She saw no point in resisting the urge to sleep and smiled to herself as she felt him take a last caress of her buttocks before she slipped into a vivid dream of flowers and giant bees. Gwen knew that there was something wrong the moment she opened her eyes. She was instantly blinded by the light and aware of the fact that she was horizontal rather than vertical. She panicked as she realised that something must have knocked her over in her pot and she was helpless on the greenhouse floor. She was about to call out in desperation for his help, when she caught sight of her hands. They were pink, lined and they moved without their leaves to keep the fingers together. Gwen sat up in a state of shock, seeing for the first time that she was no longer inside the greenhouse. Instead she was sitting on a huge bed inside a hotel room, one that was vaguely familiar as the one she had stayed in the night before she boarded the private jet. She looked down at her body and saw that she was dressed in loose-fitting silk pyjamas, the bed clothes tossed around as if from a night of disturbed sleep. Gwen pulled her knees up to her chest, sank her head in between them and could not fight the urge to cry that seized her right there and then. Soon she was racked by sobs, tears streaming down her swollen cheeks as she felt the weight of the world press down on her shoulders once more. She had lost so much, it was true. But how much of it had been that which she would have sacrificed for the chance to be rid of the things that had made her life a misery? Those things that no one can safely and sanely deprive themselves of even if they make them desperately unhappy? It was not the regaining of her freedom that made Gwen Livingstone weep, but instead the regaining of that which came bundled up inside of it. That which she was not capable of depriving herself of. She looked up at the tulips in a vase on the bedside table, and in that moment she envied them more than any human being in the world. The Man in Black looked out over the terraced gardens that surrounded the house, he often did and told himself that he should really learn the names of at least some of the plants and trees that filled it. It was the same as the contents of the greenhouse, where he had no knowledge of what was constituted one type of plant and differentiated it from another. Gwen Livingstone had been the only use he had gotten from the greenhouse in all the time he had owned the place and he had serious doubts that he would get any use from it again in the future. The need to feed his hunger was becoming ever more frequent these days and he had to admit that his imagination was feeling the strain as much as was his body. But for now he could rest and regain his strength for a while at least. He settled into an armchair and plucked a glossy hardback from the coffee table before him. Her face smiled vacantly back at him from the dust jacket cover and the pages of photos in the middle of the book. Now that he had seen more of her than most people were likely to, he had the sneaking feeling that reading the thing would both tedious and redundant. But he felt the need to perform these small acts of petty penance and so he turned to the front of the book and began to read in earnest. He made swift progress despite his antipathy for the tome, stopping occasionally to laugh as he contrasted the saintly vision on the page with the evidence he had seen for himself. He could not be sure, but for some reason he was certain that he had been treated to a more honest and intimate insight into the woman herself than anyone else could hope to boast.