Deflowered 2

Part Two

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 her 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.

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 resident 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 her 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.

28.04.12