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You shiver as the cool air of the abandoned temple licks at your skin, heated from the humid warmth of the rainforest. The sounds of wildlife die out as you venture deeper and soon the only light you have is the stripe your torch illuminates on the overgrown, cracked stones. You step between gnarled roots and low-lying, mossy plants, expecting traps at every turn though your progress has been quite smooth; as if the temple wanted you to explore.
A mural catches your eye and you stop, running fingers over the centuries old painting that survived in a remarkable condition. The vivid colours depict a woman tangled in vines though her expression is unclear — could be either pain or pleasure. You're not sure if it's a warning or immortalising a tragedy, and you move on with an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. The feeling only grows as you pass more murals with similar images, and you're on edge by the time you reach the central chamber.
It's spacious and the walls are decorated with even more murals and mosaics of the same theme as before. A large tree stretches upwards, broken through the roof a long time ago and its foliage is spreading wide now, blocking out almost all sunlight. What little comes through seems to dance in the middle of the room, illuminating a pedestal or altar — almost as if it came from a cheesy, 80s' adventure flick. You walk closer, stepping over even more roots and vines that until now seemed to be only present on the paintings.
You crouch by the altar, examining the intricate details it's decorated with. The woman on the first section looks naked compared to the ones you've seen on the murals but likewise entangled in a bunch of vines. You wonder if the vines are a symbol for the men as you don't recall seeing any depicted — and the woman on the middle panel seems pregnant. There's been many theories about what this lost temple was used for between those who even believed in its existence, some of which could be corroborated by the pictograms — fertility rituals of some sort.
The third, and last, part seemed to be more unique than everything else; depicting a woman and an ethereal form you couldn't quite decide the gender of, but looked vaguely more masculine. You've heard the legends from the native tribes you came across in the vicinity of the temple; talking of curses or blessings, the word could be translated either way, and guardian spirits keeping away those who'd disturb the slumbering god, Xicohtencatl. You've read about him, a god of the Mesoamerican pantheon who awoke when the tribes descending from "his children" were endangered in numbers. A lesser fertility god, most academics theorised and you wondered if the figure on the altar could be the same the legends talked about.
A slithering noise startles you out of your musings and you cast about the light in a panic. You don't see anything moving only some dust you kicked up but even that's quick to settle. Despite being alone, you can't shake the feeling of something or someone watching you. You don't believe in the supernatural; it's probably just your mind playing tricks on you. But still, all legends have a morsel of truth and part of you knows it would be wiser to leave — but you haven't finished exploring the chamber.
There's the noise again and you spin around, not seeing anything this time either. Your heart is racing in your chest now, almost too loud for you to hear a vine slithering across the stones — and you only just notice when it wrapped around your ankle. It tugs on you and you're unable to keep your balance, landing on your ass atop the altar. You scramble to sit and pull the combat knife free of the sheath attached to your thigh but another vine coming towards you knocks it away before you could use it. The torch flies from your other hand as your wrists are tied together by the vine, keeping you from reaching for either object. You struggle to pull free but the grip only tightens around your limbs and you flail around before your other leg is caught finally, leaving you to trash around in your bindings.
More vines circle your body, sliding under your clothes and soon the sound of ripping fabric fill the room alongside your meek protests of "no, no, no" and "stop, please stop". You don't remember a time you felt so helpless before and you've been in a few sticky situations during your adventures and hunts. The vines don't listen however, caressing along your naked body; wrapping around your thighs and spreading your legs farther apart. Now you know the vines weren't a metaphor for anything; the mural depicting sex between the plants and their questionably willing partners — which it seemed you'd now get to experience firsthand.
A pair of tendrils separate from the rest, curling around the base of your tits, squeezing and massaging your flesh as the tips spiral upwards to tease your nipples. They are sensitive and erect already when the first tendril pokes at your pebbled skin and despite your apprehension, a whimper escapes your lips. It seems the vine is more sentient and intelligent than you thought at first and only listens to your sounds selectively — the whimper seemingly encouraging the tendrils to rub and flick your nipples more intensely.
Part of your mind is still aware that you should find it disgusting and appalling but your body seems to be quite content with the assault. Without panties on to soak up the slick you leak, you can feel it cool on your heated skin and you're certain it will soon pool between your legs atop the altar. You swallow hard as a thought blooms from the previous one, wondering if the vines would fill you up and then leave your cunt leaking all that precious seed onto the altar like some cheap, used whore — and you're now acutely aware of the lack of attention your cunt receives.
Your silent, or perhaps not so silent, prayers are answered soon and you feel a thicker vine wriggle between your folds. It feels flatter, more leaflike and its surface is slimy unlike the rest of the tendrils hugging your body. It flicks at your clit, teasing it out from hiding and you feel it throb against the leaf as it plays around. Your nerves feel like they are on fire, pleasure spiking with each lick; as if instead of a poisonous coating it had some aphrodisiac on it.
You whine when it leaves your clit in favour of the rest of your cunt but it's replaced by a thin tendril, firmly circling your clit before attaching to it a sucker-like tip. It's a foreign feeling, new to you, but you can't exactly say it's bad; a sweet mix of pleasure and pain as pressure builds in your sensitive flesh. It's overwhelming and momentarily you forget even about the leaf-tongue that's now slickening up your cunt as you moan in your mounting pleasure. The leaf pushes through finally and you can feel it flatten against your walls like no tongue ever could and you're on the edge just from the leaf flexing around a few times.
When it pulls out, it leaves you a slopping mess and you don't know — don't exactly care, either — how much is your own slick and how much is the plant's. Before it's replaced, a vine twists around your waist, lifting you up in an angle that would have your wet cunt on a perfect display for a human partner and you clench around the emptiness at the thought of what a vulgar sight you have to be.
But you aren't given much time to imagine how you have to look as a thicker vine starts prodding at your cunt. The head feels just slightly bigger than an average human and you're surprised to feel almost disappointed by the size. With how wet you are, it pushes in with ease and you swear as it thrusts into you deeper. It's much smoother than a cock but its flexibility makes up for the lack of texture. It curls the head just slightly and you cent help but moan as it starts rubbing your sensitive spot.
Nothing ever stimulated you like this before, so directly and you're left gasping for air as your high skyrockets. Your mind feels numb, overwhelmed with your rising pleasure and you can only think about how perfectly that vine fits your cunt. You're close to cumming even if the vine hardly fucks into you and you whimper and whine for it to give you the final push you need. You almost think it won't when you feel the tendril suck harder on your clit and you're coming undone.
You scream and moan as you orgasm, toes curling and vision blurring as the vine keeps rubbing your sensitive spot even more intensely as you clench and spasm around it. Wave after wave of pleasure washes over you as the vine draws out your orgasm and it feels like you're never going to stop cumming at this rate. Despite the snug fit of the vine, you can feel your slick leaking from your cunt.
More gushes out as the vine finally pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss. It doesn't move far away though; teasing at your folds before dragging across your skin to your ass. You want to protest "not there" but you know the plant would neither listen to you — nor do you want it to. Even with your fair share of experience, the vine, only covered in your slick, is far thicker than anything you had in your ass and you worry for a moment if it could even fit.
But that worry is gone as soon you feel it push inside and you only start to struggle with the size when it's already halfway to bottoming out. You try to relax but it's only making you more aware of all the vines and tendrils teasing your body; thinner ones curling around the base of your nipples to keep them erect, the sucker pulsing around your sensitive clit driving your lust higher and the one wrapping around your throat with just enough pressure that you can feel it with each panting breath.
You're stretched wide when the vine is fully sheathed in your ass and you're so perfectly full — yet your cunt is aching to be filled again. The vine pulsing in your ass is not enough to make you cum again and you're desperate to feel that rush of euphoria as the tendrils keep teasing you to maddening levels of lust.
You feel like you're about to go crazy when you feel the tip of another vine against your cunt; thicker even than the one currently in your ass. It feels different from the others, warmer and more textured — almost like a veiny cock. But it's only when the head is in a few inches deep that you realise it's not veins but thin tendrils wrapped around the shaft, twining into elaborate patterns grazing against your walls. You whimper at the stimulation, oversensitive from all the teasing and fucking and you feel like you're going to cum just from the vine bottoming out in you.
You're stretched around the shaft and, lifting your head, you can even see your stomach bulge around its vague shape. It stays still for what feels like long minutes before pulling out, just the tip inside your cunt, before thrusting into you fast and hard. You cry out as it slams into you again and again, your moans and screams mixing with the squelching sound of your dripping wet cunt. It shows no sign of stopping or slowing down, hitting your sensitive spot with each rough thrust and it doesn't take long for you to break and clench down on it hard with another orgasm.
It's much sharper and shorter that the previous but just as overwhelming if not more. You writhe in your bindings, back arching almost painfully before you go limp and all your nerves feel aflame with the intensity of your climax. The vine twists around as it keeps thrusting into you erratically and you cum hard, squirting all over the altar in delight. You pant hard as it fucks into you almost aggressively, chasing its own release — and you realise you want it to fill you up with all its seed.
You hardly have time to catch your breath when it twitches against your walls, buried deep inside you as cum spills from the tip. It's warm and gooey and you can't help but moan at the feeling as it pulses against your walls with each spurt. You feel the vine in your ass wriggle, massaging and milking the shaft through your walls and, though you're barely through your second, you can feel a third climax building. You're not sure your body could handle it but the vine doesn't stop teasing your ass and soon your muscles are throbbing in rhythm with each glob of cum travelling the length of the shaft.
Seed is already leaking from your cunt when the weak orgasm shakes your body but it only pumps more and more into you as you clamp down on the vine. Your stomach starts swelling as your cunt now grips the vine and you feel like bursting by the time it twitches with the last drops of cum. It's slow to pull out and you're aware of each inch it leaves you empty with and you whimper as the feeling of fullness is gone. It stills when only the head is in your cunt and a wistful sigh leaves your lips; hoping for the vine to slam back into you as cum gushes from your loose cunt. It pulses one last time before flopping to the altar sloppily and and you can feel cold air brush against your soaked cunt.
The brisk temperature helps your mind clear up the fog of lust and bliss — but it still feels like a fever dream as you battle to keep your eyes open. You feel boneless as the vines lower you to the altar, detaching one by one as you lie there motionless with only the seed leaking from your cunt. You don't know how long it's been since you entered the temple or how much time passed before you hear the voice in your head; "You're not one of mine."
It takes you a moment to realise the person is speaking in the language of the ancients and you have a hard time making sense of the words. You do understand that he's amused by some irony you don't quite grasp — but it doesn't matter much when that voice is deep and husky, and despite the words echoing around in your mind alone, you could listen to him for all eternity. You try to answer but the words are lost on your tongue as a finger drags between your folds. The touch is tender against your skin but not quite there; a mix between the brush of a warm breeze and skin caressing skin.
"Still," you jerk as the finger traces your battered clit while the figure speaks, ignorant or uncaring about your discomfort. "You earned my blessing, whore." You panic at the thought of another orgasm but the figure is quick to assure you he has no need for a used cunt like yours and you feel relief despite the crude language and slurs that are lost in translation.
You still whimper as the finger leaves your body but you're not left without attention for long. There's something warm and metallic pressed against your ass; and you can feel it sing with a vaguely magical tingle as it's eased into you with little to no resistance. It's quite thick, buried snugly and it doesn't budge when the figure gives it a firm tug. You do moan at the feeling, though, and the faint arousal that surges through your body as he toys with the jewelled bottom sitting between your cheeks.
The last thing you remember is a dark chuckle as the figure leaves your side and his voice echoing in your mind one last time: "May you always find someone who can fuck you like a god."