Laura Croft and the Venus Thigh Trap

Laura Croft and the Venus Thigh Trap

Part 6 of ?

Scrambling over the tumbled boulders of the riverside, Laura begins her bypass on foot of the cascades. She had thought this would be time consuming but relatively simple. However in only the few minutes since she began, some unexpected difficulties have developed.

The least of her problems is that while drifting in the river she had become so used to the feeling of her air-inflated insides, she had forgotten about it. Once she began to walk, her body quickly reminded her whenever she bent or twisted in clambering over the large boulders. She found that while standing upright her inflated bowel didn't seem to be able to expel the large volume of air she'd blown into herself. Not anywhere nearly as easily as she had originally managed it while floating in the river on her back. The result now was a quite distracting and awkward bloated feeling, only lessened gradually each time she managed to produce another sizable fart. At least, she muses, one benefit of being alone in the jungle is feeling free to fart loudly and repeatedly without fear of social disgrace.

She had expected to have some awkwardness finding a route along the jumbled, descending riverbank, that was reasonably clear of pointy vegetation. Mostly naked, with only her boots and gaiters for protection to her upper shins, and the backpack which she could use as a shield of sorts, she definitely did not want to encounter any kind of thorny tangles. Fortunately, it turns out that by staying near the water's course she can progress by a series of boulder climbs, interspersed with sections of pebbly flats and low weedy foliage that is mostly only up to her calves. The river clearly floods frequently enough to scour away any significant vegetation before it can grow large or dense here.

Instead of having to battle with foliage, she finds her worst difficulty is a hindrance from her own body. For despite the scare of nearly being dragged into the grinding whitewater rapids, despite the discomfort of her extremely windy gut, despite the strangeness of naked rock climbing, and the need to concentrate on her movements lest she slip on the spray dampened and mossy rocks and injure herself (which could mean her death, here), she is dismayed to find that her body maintains the exact same aching, powerful, attention stealing state of sexual arousal as she'd been marveling at during her drifting reminiscences of her gynie visit.

On the river she had deliberately teased herself, astonished at the intensity of sensations from her vine-altered clitoris and breasts. Somehow her dreaming recollection of past events seemed much more vivid as well, whether due directly to the vine venom, or to her wildly boosted sexual feelings, she didn't know. Then, the intensely demanding need of her frustrated sex as she teased herself, had formed a perfect counterpoint to her reminiscences. Anticipation of the orgasm she would soon allow herself made the frustration more of a pleasure than drawback.

Now those same feelings are proving seriously distracting. Her rigid, enlarged clit stands straight out, with its relatively unchanged clit hood stretched tightly around the thickened base of the almost penis-like organ. Only unlike a penis, the entire body of her organ is super sensitive to touch, achingly engorged, and pressed on either side by her equally engorged labia. The result is that merely walking is an autoerotic experience, and the greater movements of her thighs required for the frequent bouldering sequences, produce far more unwanted stimulation.

Those sensations by themselves are constantly tugging her attention, and making the business of rock scrambling very difficult. Not only is her concentration off, but the muscles in her thighs and hip seem to be reacting on their own accord to the heat in her sex, no matter how hard she tries to control them. When she is carefully balanced, and reaching for a new foothold, it is extremely disconcerting to feel that slither of labia across tingling clit, and find her hips humping on their own, repeating that slick friction of swollen flesh. In some particular positions the effect is rapid and automatic, rather like the reflexive jerk of a leg when the kneecap tendon is tapped. With each jerk producing another sharp jolt of sensation, her pelvic muscles break into a repeating stutter she finds impossible to control other than by changing position to break the feedback loop. So far she has been lucky, and this hasn't happened while she is in a dangerous climbing situation.

Even worse, in the same way that parts of her body are beginning to rebel, so is her mind. She is trying to concentrate on getting past this river barrier as quickly as possible - both to minimize lost time, and also so she can get back in the river and finish her uniquely enhanced recollection. And also... she had made a resolution that she wouldn't let herself orgasm until she'd finished running through that memory. A resolution made to prove to herself that she was still in control of her body, regardless of the bizarre and very obvious physical effects of the venom.

Yet she hadn't quite finished that recollection, when the rapids forced a halt. She had been very close to the end, and very close to letting herself come. At that point, once she reached the safety of the riverbank, she still very, very badly needed that orgasm. Yet she determined to stick to her resolution; the importance of proving to herself that even with her amplified sexual needs, she can still control herself. To prove to herself that she won't become a compulsive, out of control masturbation addict. Admitting to herself that there was a small chance she might lose control for a while once she did allow an orgasm, just seemed prudent and realistic. Better to put it off till she had passed these rapids. Just in case.

She'd expected the intensely distracting arousal and desire to diminish as she walked. Yet it had not. As if her body's responses were on some kind of mechanical ratchet, there'd been no reduction at all. Even more worryingly, there seem to be other ways in which she is not herself. Such that she begins to suspect the venom may have affected her mind as well.

For despite her best efforts to focus on the task at hand, her mind's thread keeps picking up that memory again, of the late afternoon drive home in the car with her father. Every time her sex thrusts it's demanding ache into her attention as some movement tickles it, there along with the sensations comes that memory again. The trouble is, the sensations she remembers feeling back then in the car are so similar to what she feels now, that the two experiences bind closely together, one inevitably summoning the other. She can't decide if she'd 'normally' be thinking like this. Sometimes she does think about sex a lot. But this seems so compulsive...

In her memory as now, she had been desperately in need of the relief of an orgasm, with her body wound up past all previous experience of neediness. Both then and now, she struggled to hold off having that orgasm, greatly fearing its consequences. In the car she had been sitting, flushed and short of breath, closely adjacent to her father. Now... she is alone, but fears the implications of an orgasm overcoming her own resolution. She fears, barely daring to admit it, that she is not herself, her mind is not her own.

Back then, settling in the car, she had only moments before been experiencing the thrusting of a large dildo in her vagina, followed by the experience of penetration by a pulsating water jet. Sitting there in the Bentley's plush upholstery, her mind had been literally jammed with an overwhelming sense of the emptiness of her vagina, contrasted with the intensely full and deeply penetrated feelings just moments before. She had lain right back in the seat, head resting on the leather, looking blankly up at the car ceiling. Her hands lay limply forgotten to her sides on the seat, as she struggled to hold her body still despite the sense of a powerful and inevitable shape growing within the sexual storm clouds of her mind. A form, an electric potential, whirling around and around that unbearable, empty hollowness of her vagina.

Usually in the past she has put that journey out of her mind, as too acutely humiliating to bear recalling. Her father must have understood it was something that she couldn't help, just a side effect of the doctor's examination that day, because he had not said anything to her then about it, nor ever mentioned it afterwards. But she knew he'd known. Could not very well have failed to know, considering the noises she'd made despite her best efforts to keep quiet. The doctor had warned her she might experience spontaneous orgasms, and he was absolutely right, she had. To her desperate shame, that whirling tension in her body had grown darker, and heavier, and reached down from her mind towards the emptiness between her legs. Before it touched she had known it was inevitable, known that she was about to shame herself in front of her father, and yet still the raging winds of need had blown away her will and control even before the orgasm storm center hit.

She has always preferred not to think of what she did, but now, struggling to concentrate on traversing these jumbled boulders, she finds the memory tumbling unwanted into her mind. Against her will, and with the same crystal clarity and intense accompanying feelings she has been experiencing all this day. She remembers...

Sitting there, the scenery and evening traffic outside unnoticed, as she struggled to control her own body. To keep still, to sit as if everything was normal, even as her breath grew more ragged and halting, and her pounding pulse rushed so loudly in her ears she is sure her father must hear it too. She hoped to pretend to be merely tired, and not draw her father's attention to herself. So she didn't dare look at him directly. From the corner of her eye she could see that he too was leaning back, relaxed and apparently musing on some private thoughts as he gazed ahead, but slightly to her side. Enough that he must be able to see all of her clearly, should some action of hers distract him from his reverie. She wanted to hold still as a mouse.

Yet she had been losing the battle, and known she was losing. The first lines of her control were overrun, and she found herself tensing, straining her muscles against a desire to squirm. Her hands gripped the leather edge of the seat, and clenched, tightly. She took a deep, sighing breath, as her thighs tensed against an urge to straighten and spread. Her feet moved restlessly, bare toes pushing through the pile of the car's thick carpets. Which did *not* help. She had never ridden barefoot in the car before, and that unaccustomed tactile contact on her toes acutely reminded her that under her dress, _all_ of her was bare. Bare, aching, swollen, wet... an image of her private place as she had seen it spread and slick on the doctor's chair invaded her mind. *That* ache... she knows her clitoris must be sticking out again, hard and pink... it almost hurts. Under her, she can feel her dress growing damper, as slickness seeps between her thighs. Thin white dress, thin white dress... she imagines what it will look like if she allows the front of her dress to fall between her legs... if the cloth became drawn tightly down into the V of her crotch... if it was pulled hard against... she must not let her legs spread, she must not... She has to tense her rear and thighs, drawing them closer together. But that is worse, her aching clitoris flares at the pressure, and her legs want to fly apart... she knows it's hopeless, and she is losing control.

What was it the doctor said? The words repeat in her mind. "very likely, very likely... orgasm... spontaneous... very likely... small minority... arousal cannot be relieved... only orgasm... very likely spontaneous... you may be... remarkably persistent... more than one..."

She'd groaned softly then, knowing she was lost, giving up hope of maintaining the pretense. She'd turned her head to the side, away from her father, not wanting to see him recognize what was happening, as that dark whirling cyclone of tension inside her mind had reached down, down... Between her legs, the aching of her clitoris, the unbearable emptiness of her vagina had reached upwards. Contacting, merging, the twin roaring forces had blasted away the last of her willpower, and her body had taken over.

In that first moment her legs spread wide, then closed tight, then opened again of their own will. Her hips had lifted high off the seat, her body arched between her feet and her shoulders pressed hard into the seat back. This time her exhalation came out as a loud, shaming moan, unmistakable. Her sex, her vagina, felt sooooo empty. Unbearable! Her right hand clenched into a fist, wishing all on its own that it still held the base of that dildo. So, so empty...

By the river, Laura is crossing another bank of river-worn pebbles. She shudders to a halt, stricken by the intensity of the sensations of her own body. So empty, so empty... She practically doubles over, hands gripping her knees tightly, as she struggles to disengage her mind from the feelings in her sex. They thunder at her louder than the torrent cascading over a series of jagged falls only meters away, churning her mind into a confusion of broken thoughts. She has to... has to stop this. Has to keep going... Stop the feelings that keep her so confused... So she can concentrate. Got to get down this section of river... so empty.. the emptiness brings that memory... confuses... she could... could...

Still bent over, panting heavily although she isn't out of breath, her eyes gaze blankly at the pebble bank on which she stands. The stones are various colors and shapes, though all darkened with the river's drifting spray. They are slippery, so that she has to be careful with her footing. All shapes and sizes... Most are worn roughly oval, while some are newer and in varying stages of losing their original broken form. Her eye happens on one that is a remarkably extended ovoid, of some smooth white stone. It could not be called a rod shape, but does have a long way to go before it becomes just like its oval companions. Before she even knows why, she is picking it up. Once she is holding it, she knows why.

The white stone is dense and heavy, and she turns it in her palm, running her fingertips over the surface. It feels cool and rounded, with a slightly grainy surface, midway between grit and silk. With its river misted slick dampness, the stone is a pleasure to touch. She thinks it is probably marble - there must be a seam somewhere upriver. It is like an egg, only far more elongated than eggs. A little over six inches long, and three wide at the thickest point. One end is bluntly rounded, the other more pointy. The thickest part is around a third of the way along, from the blunt end.

There is very little thought behind what she does next. Her mind is still filled with the idea that she can't continue, with this empty aching driving her nuts. She has to get going. Just a moment of relieving that empty feeling... help drive that overpowering memory out of her mind while she climbs. She can carry the stone, and repeat as required. It won't slow her down... Just to keep herself together till she makes it back to the river past these rapids, and can finish...

Meanwhile her hand holding the stone seems to have known all along what she would decide. The pointy tip of the stone feels cool against her sex, and so welcome, as she grips the rounder end in her palm and presses into that aching emptiness. She parts her legs wider, for better access, and stands up straighter. The weight of the backpack feels strange in this context, but she doesn't want to take more than a moment, so best not take it off. One small part of her mind visualizes how strange a sight she must make - naked but for her boots, gaiters and backpack. Her whole body gleaming damply with the river's mist, as she peers down between her freakishly large breasts, at the sight of her hips grinding forward against a river stone in her hand.

A river stone that is feeling both divinely satisfying, and also somewhat insufficient. With a couple of inches of it pushed inside herself now, it is feeling deliciously thick. The sensation of her vagina being stretched is like finally scratching an infuriating, nagging itch, that has been impossible to reach for hours. She finds herself crying "Ohhhhh Yesssss ohhhhh! Ahhhh Uh.." in satisfaction as she twists and pushes the stone into herself. Yet further inside, beyond the reach of the stone, that empty feeling remains untouched. She pushes further, and further, frustrated and determined.

By now the widening girth of the stone is straining her entrance, and the stretch feels about all she can take. But also feels so wonderful! The emptiness... it definitely can't remain with much more of this... only that remnant of want, deep inside... Just a little more to get at that, then she'll be able to start moving again. And a little of... "Ahhhh ohhh oh oh..." She lets herself pull it out then push in again, in and out a few times. "Ummmmm oh yes... but don't... don't want to.." She manages to stop herself thrusting it, and decides to try one more deep push, as far as it will go before the too wide part hurts her, to get at as much of that inside itch as she can. Thinks that she should keep an eye out for a longer, thinner stone. One that would fit her.

This last time she'll allow herself, she takes a good grip around the very base with her thumb and first finger, and twists it into herself determinedly. "Ummmmmmm uhhhhhhh... ooooooooohhh" Feels sooooo good... So thick... A bit deeper... "Uuuummmmhhhhhhooohhhhh!" She can feel that thickening straining at her opening, so good, sooo..... it's not so painful, really... so she can... a little more... a bit more... "Ohhhh godddd..... ummmmm..."  Her muscles clamp down on the pleasure and pain mix invading her. Her hand feels the stone shift, moving inwards slightly. "Ohhh soo nice! Ohhhh! Yes!" She relaxes, and her hand holds the stone there, not letting it drop back. It is *sooo* thick, so intense... yet doesn't seem quite as impossibly thick anymore; perhaps a little deeper.... She pushes in with her hand again, and again her insides clamp down in response to the feeling. This time, the stone slides a little further slowly, then suddenly a lot further with a rush. Her fingers holding the base meet the flesh of her sex, then slip off the stubby and by now extra slippery end.

The sudden shift and depth leaves her standing there in shock, hand clasped over her sex and gasping in a high pitched whine. "Uhhh! Uhhhh! UUUUHHHH! OhhhhHHH! Ohhhhh!!! Where she felt empty a moment ago, now the feeling is of incredible, tightly stretched fullness. It isn't as painfully deep as the weighty gold lingam bore into her when she was upside down in the waterfall; in fact it isn't painful at all. However it feels quite different - much fatter and filling. Her inner muscles are spasming, clamping and releasing on the stone, which in turn makes it shift inside her. The lower end is still resting thickly between her labia, but when she clamps it pulls up inside her enough to allow her lips to nearly close over it. She can feel that under her hand. Her hips buck with the sensation, and that rubs her rigid clit against her palm. For a moment she totally loses control, and stands, panting and moaning as she rapidly rubs her hand back and forth over her sex, only seconds from a huge orgasm.

Yet somehow, something at the back of her mind remembers. Through all the wildness, she tells herself "Laura! If you let yourself come now, you are lost. Might as well lie down and die right here." With a mighty effort, she manages to pull her hand away from her pussy, and goes back to her first position - bent over, hands on her knees. Panting much more rapidly, and trying to get a grip on what happened. She looks between her legs - invisible stone, though her labia are not closing as they normally would. Forcing her vagina to relax, she sees it press shyly out from her labia, parting them widely to poke out it's fat, blunt end. When she contracts, it slides back up inside, its rough-polished surface teasing at her flesh. The feelings are... very powerful. At least that maddening emptiness is gone though. But she isn't sure this is any better.

In any case, she thinks, struggling to gather her scattered thoughts, its time she got back on the road. Time to get this pebble out, regardless of how nice it feels. Emptiness problem solved, and she can do this again if it comes back and bothers her. She straightens up again, and puts her hand back underneath her sex, being careful not to touch her clit. She'll just push down, grab the end, and pull. She pushes down, inside, and the end slides out a little further.

It takes her quite a while to realize she can't get it out. After a few minutes of trying to push, and finding her fingers simply slipping off the well lubricated end, she dropped her pack on the ground and tried several variations. Squatting. Lying on her back. Jumping up and down while pushing down. Sitting in a pool at the edge of the water, hoping the water might make the stone less slippery, and so easier to grip. That didn't work either. The blunt, rounded end simply never comes out far enough to get any kind of grip on it. All she achieves with the pushing and pulling, and twisting and fiddling, is to keep herself excruciatingly stimulated and horny. The appearance of that fat white stone end, popping her labia wide open from inside doesn't help either. It looks so obscene, and coupled with her perpetually rigid overgrown clitoris, quite freakishly perverted.

After nearly an hour passes with her still on that same bank of pebbles, she realizes that she simply has no choice. Unless she wants to spend the night here, spray damp and uncomfortable, she will have to keep moving. Stoned or not. The pun had occurred to her with a grim chuckle, as she picked up her pack again, and tried a few paces. The results are not good. She can either walk with her vagina relaxed, and the stone pressing very distractingly between her lips so that her thighs rub... well, make everything down there rub a lot more than normal. Or, she can try to keep herself contracted, which has about the same effect of entirely focusing her attention on rock-filled vagina and rock-hard clitoris.

Sighing, she sets off again. Thinking - 'It's all that bastard Vance's fault. She'll kill him the minute she sees him again. Never mind the police. No wait, death's too good for that swine. She'll crush his balls between two stones, then skin him. Then she'll make him eat his own eyeballs, before extracting his teeth with pliers. Then the nails hammered into his knees, and after that the boiling oil enema.... and that's not even starting on the ancient Mayan sacrificial techniques...'

Two hours later, she has managed to negotiate most of the obstacle course alongside the river rapids. Her rage had kept her mind focused on dreaming of what she would do to Vance and his friends, which somehow made her constant state of severe arousal less of a distraction. She'd negotiated several difficult scrambles in a kind of abstracted fury, constantly fueled by her outrage at having a rock stuck inside herself. The stone's incessant shifting between her lips, added to the perpetual aching hardness of her clit often threatened to induce the orgasm she absolutely refused to allow yet. Then she'd simply hold still for a few minutes, while continuing her imagined and ever more elaborate and bloody revenge.

There comes a moment when she is resting on another raised line of stone, overlooking the last few descending cascades of the river. Not far ahead and below, she can see the river return to a gentle flow, where the valley widens. The rest of her detour looks to be relatively easy, with just a few scrambly bits. Another half an hour, at most. Then she'll be back on the river, and at last can... can...

It occurs to her for the first time since getting the stone stuck, that if she wants to have that orgasm she's been promising herself, it will have to be an orgasm served with stone stuffing. Whatever that will be like. She wonders. Rather dramatic, she suspects.

Then there's the matter of her breasts. It is mid afternoon now, and not long before she'll have to make camp. Already her breasts are quite uncomfortably full, in need of milking. How will that fit with the stone thing? She's finding that her 'Vance tortures' are distracting her less as the topic loses its novelty and she runs out of fresh ideas. And as that distraction loses its effectiveness, the state of her body has been again rising to take the prize for number one distraction. The feeling of that rock popping slickly in and out between her labia, playing peek-a-bo with the outside world as her internal muscles shift, is seriously starting to get to her. She's had to take more cooling off rests the last half hour, and worse, she's finding that now her sex is beginning to develop a kind of automatic muscular tick; clenching suddenly of its own accord, and subjecting the rest of herself to the feeling of the stone doing it's labia jack-in-the-box act. The more this happens, the less control she has over her own closeness to orgasm. The less good the cooling off rests do.

To emphasize that problem her pussy spontaneously clutches at the stone, and she moans, closing her eyes, swaying. It happens again, even though she tries hard to relax. The feelings... so strong. She senses that a moment may be approaching when her sex will start doing that enough to make orgasm inevitable, unavoidable. But she must force herself to stick to her plan - no orgasm till the river! She *must* be resolute! The struggle has become something more than simply a demonstration that her will is still in control - that since she's chosen to put off orgasm till she reaches the river again, then that's what she'll do. She's also developed a hunch that her resolution to delay the orgasm is in some way essential to her survival. She isn't sure why, but her intuition is insisting, so strongly it's become a conviction. With all the growing weirdness of her body and feelings, she's convinced that 'losing control' might be seriously dangerous. Something from which she might not come back. So the stronger the sensation of impending orgasm becomes, the more desperate she is to fight against it.

With the feeling of another vaginal clench coming on, she growls to herself "Arrgh! *NO*!" and firmly smacks herself on her right buttock with her open palm. The stinging pain seems to subdue the building urge to clench, and she mutters under her breath "Thats right. I'm in charge here." For good measure, she repeats the same on her left butt cheek. "So butt out. Wait till the river, and we finish that memory off. Not till then." She shivers, shoulders her pack again, and moves off.

By the time she has nearly finished the final descent, it is becoming clear that her determination might not be enough, and instead there is a race - whether or not she can get into the water and complete her memory play, before her body goes ahead and has an orgasm anyway. She'd tried the spanking thing again several more times, but after a while the stinging of each slap had ceased to be effective, as her tingling rear had started to somehow make her arousal problems worse. By now her arousal has become a serious hazard to her climbing, but thankfully it looks like the worst of the climbing is over. Here as the river banks widen out, there are no more hairy climbs. She is standing at the top of what seems to be the very last significant drop - maybe twenty feet high, a steep sloping bank of mossy stone and dirt, with a covering of weedy vegetation. At the bottom, flat ground and more low greenery. Through the trees ahead she can see a riverbank and calm water. At last! She feels like she is about to explode, what with her pussy contractions coming ever more frequently as her arousal edges up towards the cum zone redline.

Yet, this bank is still a little difficult. It looks very loose, and although not vertical, does need to be treated carefully. Having picked a spot that appears it may have the best chance of footholds under the all-covering greenery, she backs cautiously over the edge, feeling for purchase. Her boot toe finds solidity, and she works herself lower.

She is well started on the pitch, and swinging her leg lower for another hold, when again her cunt spasms, powerfully. Off balance and overwhelmed by the feeling in her sex, she instinctively pulls herself tight in against the bank, to take her weight fully on her one good foothold. At that point it all goes to hell. Her naked chest pushes solidly into the weedy plants in front of her. Which turn out to be some sort of stinging nettle, that she hadn't recognized as such. A wave of fire sheets across her breasts, and she shrieks, jerking herself away from them. Her foot slips off its hold, and her body, with only her hands steadying her, drops downwards and forward - plowing into the even denser foliage further down. Another blast of burning pain, this time spread over most of the front of her body. Her legs are still splayed wide, with no purchase, and so she literally has no way to push back. Her shocked reflexes are confused. Her hands recoil inwards to try to protect her front from the fiery pain, and so she loses her last grip. She starts sliding down the earthy bank, pressed front-in, and semi-spread-eagled.

Effectively, gravity wipes her down through the nettles, scouring her entire front surface with the soft but stinging plants. They whip up along her inner thighs, gathered together by her spread legs to swipe in concentrated masses against and within her spread open sex and over her erect clit. Leaves pulled between the stone projecting from her vagina, and her labia, are channeled deeper within her sex than they'd have been without the stone. Some shred, leaving fragments stuck deeply in her cleft.   Those that gather up between her legs but remain attached to their plants, then rebound to whip across her breasts. She screams in pain, still sliding, and finally her reflexes cut in to avoid the agony. She pushes herself away from the slope, and falls the few remaining feet to the soft earthy bank below. Where she lands on her arse, legs spread wide, her body upright. The blow knocks the wind out of her and cuts off her scream, as the ground thrusts the projecting stone fully inside her. Shredded nettle leaves that were still wedged in her sex get carried inwards along with the stone, adding their stings to the lower first inch of her vaginal interior. The impact and the fresh stings all add their own flares of pain to her general overload.

For a few seconds she sits motionless, dazed. Then she screams again and rolls violently to one side, scrambling to her hands and knees. The ground she landed on is covered with the same nettles, and now not only most of her front is on fire, but so is her arse. Her pussy is the worst - so painful she doubles over, still screaming, clutching at herself. Yet the moment her hands touch the skin there, she whips them away - the touch itself redoubles the agony. She stands, bent over, hands helplessly waving, touching then waving away, as her cries and sobs die away. She gives another yell, this time of rage and pain, as she pulls herself together enough to look around. The whole clearing is covered in that weedy plant. She looks towards the river, sees the bank there is clear, and staggers in that direction, still sobbing. The first nova of agony from the nettle stings is fading already, to a flaming burning heat. Yet every slightest touch anywhere on her stung skin is unbearable. She walks with her arms and legs spread wide, gingerly taking mincing steps, as every movement causes her deeply stung labia to friction excruciatingly against the stone pressing out between them.

By the time she reaches the water's edge, her sobbing has switched to swearing, and she has begun to take stock of the damage. Dropping the pack carefully, trying to avoid letting the straps touch any of her stung areas, she stands, cursing, looking down at herself.

The nettles must have been a very fragile-spined variety, for they don't seem to have had much effect on any areas of stronger skin. Her inner arms have some welts, but her forearms, which certainly contacted plenty of the plants, are fine. Areas of softer, delicate skin such as her inner thighs fared badly - those are already bright red and swelling into numerous long welts where leaves dragged along her skin. Her breasts.... there are welts all over, but it feels like the worst affected areas are their underneath, which she can't see without lifting them, and when she tries the pain makes her give up immediately. For pain though, her nipples and aureole beat the undersides. Her nipples are still the same rigidly extended little fingers they have been, but now they are also even further reddened and swollen. She tries, but simply can't bear the pain that results from touching them.

Most of her curses though, are reserved for the stinging between her legs. The whole thing was so fast that she doesn't recall exactly what happened. Just a sliding blur and lots of pain, is all she can remember. Somehow, not just her outer genitals, but the entire surface of her pussy, labia, clit and crotch have been scoured by many of the nettle leaves. She absolutely can't touch herself there, but it feels as if nettle leaves were dragged deeply through, between the sides of the stone and her inner labia. While inside her cunt, it feels like she is still being stung, continuously. She claws desperately at the end of the stone, but it is still impossible to grasp. The only effect is that moving it at all instantly throws a wave of fresh new searing pain at her, as leaf fragments shift and sting inside, and the stone rubs already stung skin.

Pain, pain, pain... she can barely think for the pain. Her entire crotch is turning bright red and puffing up even more than it already was. Twisting around to look at her arse, she finds that its story is not so bad- just several large and reddening blotches, that must have been where she sat on some of the nettle leaves. Most of her arse is stung, but probably only once. The whole area was already rather rosy from her own self-administered spanks, while the nettle stung blotches stand out as obvious but not terribly serious welts. Unlike her crotch, which feels like it has been flayed alive. She doesn't even attempt to touch herself again there. The idea of trying to squeeze a finger in to extract the leaves she can feel sting her more with every movement, is an obvious non-starter. Far too painful, if it would even be physically possible - which she doubts.

There don't seem to be any other injuries from her fall; only the nettle stings, some minor grazing on her knees and palms, and her totally obliterated pride. What she does find very disturbing is that despite the pain and shock, both her nipples and clitoris have remained fully erect. For the first time she starts to feel distinctly afraid and helpless in the face of what is happening with her body. Its just too extreme - even now, shaking from the shock of falling, and almost beside herself with the burning agony of the nettle stings, especially on her poor nipples and clit, she _still_ feels incredibly horny. She'd first noticed that the arousal was persisting behind the pain as she was walking towards the water. Initially she'd dismissed this as impossible; merely a slowness of her body to react. Yet now, several minutes later, it still shows no sign of abating.

Even more worrying and inexplicable, as she stands there gritting her teeth and trying to come to terms with the awful, incessant stinging, and wonders whether washing in the river might sooth or exacerbate it, she has to also admit the unbelievable to herself. The sexual heat in her body seems to be actually _increasing_, as if the throbbing, burning pain from her clit and nipples is some kind of extreme caress. The touch of a sadistic demon rapist she can do nothing to stop. An elemental demon with a fat stone penis embedded in her; a demon who's etheric caress sets fire to her skin, burning her flesh to ash, yet still driving her lusts to rage like the flames of his realm. She moans, dropping to her knees next to her pack, thighs spread wide to try and lessen the pain between them. Her hips... she can't stop them thrusting, though even that movement makes her skin flare in pain. She is dizzy, near delirious with the hurt and desire, yet can feel that urge to clench down on her stone impaler rising again, demanding, remorseless, a primal reflex beyond her control. She's fairly certain what that will feel like now, as the rock shifts between her swollen and too-painful to touch labia.

Somewhere, amongst the chaos of pain, desire, and fevered sexual imagery churning in her mind, she finds enough will to fumble with the fastenings on her pack, and start to pull out her floaty suit. She can't think clearly at all, only barely able to even remember the plan. She must... on the river... must float.. a jumble of impressions; sitting in the car, with her body exploding into out of control orgasms, the feeling in her pussy now, that same inevitable rising tide of approaching orgasm, the knowledge that at any moment her sex will spasm, clenching hard as the tide flows over her. The golden lingam, shifting deeper into her as she straddled it, trapped. In the waterfall, swinging under the stream of water, one merciless orgasm after another, utterly beyond her powers to avoid.

Blindly, shaking and shuddering, alternately swearing and moaning, she manages to get the pack closed up again. Holding the suit in one hand, she struggles to her feet, swaying, dizzy and uncoordinated as her muscles rebel against her control, wanting more to thrust and sway to the pain-tune of her demon lover. She stumbles the few feet further to the water, dragging the pack behind her. Mostly she's forgotten why, except that she very much wants to somehow stop that ever-rising urge to clench. Its going to really, really hurt, she fears. Maybe in the water...

As she wades deeper into the gently moving water here, there comes a moment when it reaches her crotch. She very nearly collapses from the flare of fresh stinging the water coaxes from her abused flesh, yet somehow manages to keep her footing. But not the plot. There follows an interval in which she just stands there, waist deep near the shore, panting and sobbing, too confused and distracted to remember what she intended to do next. So much pain, and that heat, the maddening heat inside her, demanding... wanting...

After a while, her mind finds some self-awareness again, and she struggles clumsily to get her pack on, then the suit properly arranged. It takes a lot longer than it should, but finally, good enough, she drops back into the water. Now her breasts nova in new pain as the water finds them, and threshing, she nearly sinks before managing to blow air into the suit legs and arms to keep herself barely afloat.

Again her mind loses the thread, and as the current draws her into mid-channel, she simply drifts, awash in the painful throbbing of much of her skin, and the throbbing heat of pretty much everything inside that skin. Too much... Also she isn't floating well; something about extra weight, it's hard to think about. To sustain her body near the surface she has to keep slowly kicking and sweeping her hands in the water. It's annoying and it hurts to move. She wants to just let go, withdraw into herself. All too much. Some small part of her, something to do with survival, whispers among the sensory din and chaos of her mind "you know you're going to cum soon, and you know what happens then, don't you! So you have to..."

She shakes herself. 'Yes. Have to... must concentrate, have to get to the village. Have to..." the thought blurs into confused memories of herself tied to the camp bed in Vance's tent, her legs pulled up and back over her body, ankles to wrists, someone's fingers worked slickly in her rear, and other fingers busy in her vagina and on her clit. That aching need to come, but a body stubbornly refusing to even approach release. Such a contrast to now... Such a contrast... As stubbornly unresponsive then as it is now stubbornly permanently aroused.  For a fleeting moment an idea teases at the edge of her tangle of thoughts, but then is pushed aside as she wonders how to do the air thing, when her whole backside is a mass of painful nettle stings. Can she even touch herself there, let alone stick the tube in? The stone... will it...

"Oooouuuhhhhh! Ohhhh nooo.... " As if just thinking of the stone has set off her sex again, an intense wave of need hits her. She can feel her sex gathering its strength for a huge clench, and what will come with that. Unconsciousness and drowning, a part of her thinks, and she moans loudly as she struggles to concentrate, to suppress that clench reflex. The crest ebbs slowly, reluctantly, leaving her once again intensely aware of the large stone object jammed in her pussy. Aware that despite everything else, it seems inevitable that stone is going to make her come, just by sitting there. Or start to cum, anyway. What the pain of it moving will do to the cum, she has no idea. Better get that air in quickly.

Struggling to stay focused this time, she moves the tube end to her rear. Before it even touches her skin, she blows some bubbles. Ow! Even the delicate touch of air bubbles rising past her labia trigger bursts of hot stinging nettle burn pain. Pain in the shape of hypersensitive, stung labia stretched tightly around an unmoving fat stone. That will soon be moving... hurry...

She grits her teeth, and gingerly moves the tube in. Fire. Pain. Its tip leaves a trail of white hot burning as it brushes against her welted backside. Her anus turns out to have been only slightly stung, and is comparatively painless to touch. Since she is also having to more or less tread water the whole time, it takes a few attempts to hit the spot, but then the tube end slips inside. She blows, and blows again, pausing only when it becomes uncomfortable, letting the air redistribute, then continuing. She thinks "I must float! I must... must ...float.. even if I... don't... if I... Ohhhhh... don't..." So many powerful feelings, they tend to get mixed up. She can't really tell how full of air she is. Her pussy feels so full, and she can feel the air bubbling deeper inside her. Her eyes fall closed on their own, and now she has a strange feeling of spinning slowly, as if she is floating in space, weightless. Feeling dizzy.. faint.. "No! I mustn't faint! I'll drown... Must float..." She puffs more air down the tube, and faintly, amongst the din of pain and aching heat and dizziness, feels it inside her. Stretching... like the stone... that stretching feeling seems to help reduce the demands her pussy muscles are making, that they need to clench. Fullness... everywhere. She blows some more. And another breath. And another... More shifting, stretching sensations, now clearer in her overloaded senses. "Must be pretty intense" she thinks "But at least this is one thing that doesn't hurt.  Hmmmmffff.... if it doesn't hurt... more..."

She has been still moving her hands back and forth in the water, and kicking slowly, as she needed to stay afloat. It occurs to her that she really feels pretty stretched now, and maybe she should give free floating a try. But still, it's a strange feeling. Almost... despite all the pain... interesting. A few more puffs, slowly. Now its really an intense feeling, not far behind all the others. Which in a way is kind of good, since it helps distract her mind from the stinging welts, and the aching need in her sex. She doesn't want to open her eyes - that spinning feeling is rather restful; sort of dreamy. But she must... Must check the river, and try just floating.

She opens them, and looks down at herself. Gasps! "My goodness! I look... pregnant!" Her abdomen is absurdly bloated, sticking up out of the water like a domed, welt-streaked island of skin. She lets herself hang, motionless, and its obvious that she isn't going to be sinking anytime soon. Her belly doesn't even come near to submerging, and she floats quite stably. In gasping, she'd let go of the tube end in her mouth, and it 'fwooshes' away, whipping around at the water's surface, blowing bubbles. She can feel herself shrinking! Reflexively she grabs the end, and holds a thumb over it. Among the jumbles in her mind, she thinks "Was that how Alice felt, shrinking? Like someone pulled out a cork? Where was the cork?" She tries to judge if she shrank... sank much - it doesn't seem like it. All the same... she brings the end back to her mouth, and  blows again. This time, with her eyes open and looking at the results, the whole thing seems quite different. With eyes closed, it was just an odd stretching feeling. Now...

Somehow the sight of herself seems sexually exaggerated in every imaginable way. Her breasts are huge, swollen and tight, feeling both achingly full, and stinging from the nettles. Her nipples are the same; absurdly large, hard, and aching both from their hardness and the nettle welts. Then her abdomen, looking like a pregnant fertility idol. Its so large she can't even see her crotch, but she remembers what that looks like. Her bizarely enlarged clit, now even more swollen from nettles, projecting from engorged, stung labia like a hot dog in buns. With a large white rock in there as well, like some kind of salad dressing for Trolls. A Troll fertility idol... complete with cartoonish constant extreme sexual arousal. A Troll sex doll... Her thoughts go round and round, chased by pain, broken into fragments by the storm of conflicting sensations.

Still, the sight of herself seems to give her mind some focus, by bringing one set of sensations to the fore. She can't believe it, thinks she must surely be losing her mind. But even with all this constant, burning pain, that flares up excruciatingly at the slightest movement or touch in her worst stung areas, she still feels an urgent need to orgasm. A need that regains more dominance of her mind with each new small puff of air she blows through the tube into her arse. Its as though the tightness of her abdomen somehow offsets the pain, somehow makes it less dominant in her mind. She isn't thinking clearly at all; rather her thoughts drift around, pushed back and forth in the conflict of needs - to escape the nettle pain, to relieve her desire, to not drown, to ease the overfull ache of her breasts, to continue her... her plan...

She still has the tube end clamped between her teeth, and for a moment, absently, lets  some air escape. That shrinking feeling - its really... quite pleasant. She blows more back in, and her desire flares more. Without considering her actions, she repeats this, and again. Again. She moans softly into the tube as she blows "Unnnnnmmmmmmmmmhhhhh..." With her legs straining wide and back in the water, she can almost forget how badly her sex hurts. Somewhere, lurking among the pain, waiting for its moment, is her orgasm. But she fears to clench, it will hurt so much. 'Perhaps if she can bear to push the stone in with a finger before she clamps down to come, her coming won't hurt so much?' It seems like a reasonable idea, so she tries it. With the tube clamped between her teeth again, she gingerly places one fingertip on the end of the stone wedged between her sex lips. tentatively, she pushes inward lightly. The stone shifts, slightly. She screams at the blaze of pain, as its not-so-smooth surface drags on her inflamed most tender membranes, and she snatches away her hand.

In the moment it takes her to recover, the tube end has been whipping around, letting her deflate again. She collars it, and in a daze, blows to replace her lost air. With the same effect also - her need flares, just as the pain had. This time, she pulls the tube out of her arse when done. Now her mouth is free, she curses wildly, on the verge of hysteria, till she runs down. "Ha ha ha oh fuck FUCK! **FUUUCK** IT! ha ha.. a rock and a ... a hot place... caught between... oh fuck I need to come... and that FUCKING HURT! FRICKING NETTLES! FRICKING VINES! FRICKING everything aching hot but too sore to even FUCKING TOUCH MYSELF! FUCKING SHIT FUCK MOTHERFUCKER! I've got to get this FUCKING ROCK out of me! But I FUCKING CAN'T and even if I FUCKING COULD, it would hurt too fuckin MUCH to move the FUCKING thing. ARRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHHH! I need to come! I need to FUCKING COME so FUCKING, FUCKING... ArrrghHHHH! FUUUUUUCK! Ha ha ha Fuck fuck fuck FUCK! Oh god I've got to get it out... get it out... maybe if I... ha ha ha oh right Laura, now you're gonna... shit fuck... stick a finger up ha ha..."

Still laughing like a crazy person, she reaches behind herself, and gritting her teeth at the pain from brushing against her moderately stung arse cheeks, she works her middle finger up into her arse. Her half-formed idea is that maybe she can push the stone out far enough from inside, to grip it's end enough to pull it out. Hoping she can just ignore the pain of its friction on her stung sex. Her first surprise is the sensation her finger encounters inside. Past the tight sphincter, her insides are... open space. Distracted, she feels around, her fingertip stroking along surprisingly silky smooth, taught membranes. Its interesting... actually, quite... pleasant. But returning to her purpose she feels to the front, where the large bulk of the stone rests on the other side of a thin wall of herself. The stone... she works her finger in further, attempting to reach its top, or somehow get some purchase on it. After a while, she realizes she can't. She can barely reach the point of greatest thickness, and then only just perceptibly. Nothing to push down against. Failure.

What she has achieved though, is a vivid mental sensory image of how very large the stone is inside her; how massively thick it feels to her finger, how her vagina is stretched around the stone, how the whole thing forms an enormous bulge into the front of the tightly inflated space of her anus. Of how that bulging ridge seems to go on forever deeper inside her; much, much further than her finger can reach. The problem is, that this image joins forces with her arousal, with her need to come. Like she planned. Her plan... the car, with her dad after the doctor visit, she remembers... images fly through her mind, jumbled together with thoughts of her situation here on the river. She couldn't touch herself then either. Such severe embarrassment, as her body built to a spontaneous orgasm exactly as the doctor had warned her would happen. The sense of being doomed, the same as now - then doomed to the shame of losing control in front of her father, now doomed to the certain agony of an orgasm's contractions, stone rubbing on stings.

Now she floats naked on a river, a finger still up her arse just for the pleasure; its original purpose futile. Then, in the car then she'd suddenly lost the battle to sit demurely still. Her hips had thrust up into the air, knees spread wide. With her body arched up, supported only by shoulders against the seat back, and her naked feet splayed in the car's rich carpet, her dress had fallen down between her spread legs as her clenched fists pressed into the upholstery and her ragged breathing formed into gasping pants. She'd turned her head away from her father, unable to bear to see if he was watching her. Unable to think of anything at all except the incredible strength of feelings in her loins, and the recent memories of her own hand thrusting the dildo within herself, the pulsating water jet, and the sensations of being overpowered by waves of orgasms during the doctor's tests. How she'd totally lost control during the tests, and how she was certainly losing control in the same way in the car, her up-thrust hips bucking obscenely as she cried out loudly in the delirium of her first spontaneous orgasm.

After a while the paroxysm had subsided, and she'd come to her senses absolutely mortified. Still with her head turned aside, she'd stared out the window beside her, unable to deal with the situation. She was simply pretending it wasn't happening. Her father was silent, perhaps he too was pretending it didn't happen. Even worse, her orgasm had passed, but not the feelings of intense excitement, as if her body was a tightly wound sexual spring. The doctor had said... had said "one or more ... highly likely ..." It seemed like it was going to be 'more', if the feelings in her private place meant anything. That 'thing', her... clitoris, he'd called it, was still hard and aching, throbbing with her racing pulse. She had brought her knees back together, but now her dress was bunched up down there, and sticking wetly to her. She was afraid to look. Afraid to draw attention to the dampness she could feel there, by pulling the cloth free from where it was wedged into... into her there. The back of the dress had somehow also got wedged between her bottom, and felt even damper. She squirmed uncomfortably in the seat, but froze, shocked. Somehow the cloth pulled into her private place was pressing against her clitoris, and when she moved... She shivered, remembering the vibrating thing Dr Prott had held there. The dildo... Was she one of those girls who "couldn't relieve their excitement except through orgasm"? Did that mean she would have to either masturbate, or feel like this a lot of the time? She didn't want to be weak, and masturbate herself. Surely her will would be strong enough, she'd be responsible enough, to avoid that? She tried to imagine what it would be like to feel like this, for days on end. Maybe even weeks... years?

In the car she could feel the tension building rapidly inside her again. Just as it had moments ago, and over and over back in the doctor's rooms as he'd checked her body's health. He'd said she had 'strong responses'; was she going to be one of the 'shameful ones' who made a habit of masturbating? Oh God, she'd probably be caught doing it! What would... Ahhhhh ohhh... its getting so strong! At least now... he'd said these were spontaneous, just a side effect of the tests. Not masturbation. But she still felt so ashamed. Uhhhhh.... oohhh its going to happen again... her hips were squirming by themselves now. She should try to pull her dress out of there, at least, so the feel of it bunched in there didn't keep her feeling excited after. Easy, just hold the sides of her dress... her hands wanted to clench again anyway. By now she could barely coordinate her movements, as she tried to prepare to demurely shift a little to pull her dress loose from her sticky rear cleft. In theory... except an image of herself alone in her room, naked before her mirror as she changed, panting in a desperately aroused frustration that had lasted for days and she knew would go on indefinitely, suddenly popped into her head. He'd said she had 'highly responsive sexual physiology. With unusual persistence...'. How unusual did he mean? Did he mean... that she'd be like this *all* the time? That the desires would never go away; would torment her always? She tried to imagine feeling that aching need all day, every day, when she woke in the morning, through her meals, as she spoke with her tutors, as she went riding, as she swam in the pool, as she undressed, as she bathed, as she lay awake hoping for sleep, and... in her dreams.

She could imagine it would become unbearable. Perhaps, willpower or not, she would be one of those girls who ended up masturbating for relief, after a long, desperate struggle with her desires. Each time.

"Ohhhhhhh..." Something about that thought destroyed her self-control, and burst like a fireworks in her crotch. Her hips raised up into the air again, gyrating as an even more intense orgasm swept thought her. Only now her hands, clenched on the seat, were holding fistfuls of her loose skirt. She hadn't noticed, but she had gripped not just the rear of the skirt, but the cloth of the front that had fallen between her legs during her first orgasm. Now as her hips pushed up, that front cloth pulled short, forcefully yanking folds tight into her pubic cleft, dragging them firmly across her clit with every hunching thrust. With dramatic result.

Any trace of conscious control had been booted right out of her head by that sensation. This was another part of the memory she'd invariably skipped over in the past. How to admit to herself that she'd persisted, thrusting her hips hard against the pull of the tight cloth in her sex, gasping in an orgasmic daze, for several long minutes, at least? She really couldn't tell how long that had gone on for. The worst part was that at one point when she'd happened to open her eyes and glance at her own humping crotch; the thin white material of her dress was completely soaked there with her own fluids, making her hair-shaded mound, and the cleft into which the bunched cloth sank, entirely visible.

She had never dared to glance in her father's direction, so she had no idea what he made of all this. By the time the Bentley pulled up outside Abbingdon, she'd had two more, lesser but still impossible to disguise orgasms. The butler was awaiting their arrival, and opened her father's side door to take the briefcase and packages her father passed him. Then her father had got out first, walked around to her side of the car, and taken her hand to help her out, in the manner one assists a frail relative. In truth, she had been nearly too weak to stand, and had staggered a little before she could stand straight, eyes downcast to the paved drive. He'd then suggested in a perfectly normal tone that she might prefer to retire to her room after such a taxing day. He would arrange to have supper sent up to her, if she wished. She nodded, too tongue tied to speak, more concerned with the large wet spots front and back on her dress, and her unaccustomed bare feet on the flagstones. After a moment's awkward silence, during which the Bentley drove off to be garaged, her father had exclaimed "Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot - your shoes and things - George has taken them inside with my parcels. Hmm... well, you'll be all right going up alone? I'll have your things sent up later with supper, so you can rest now. I hope you take any advice the doctor gave you to heart. Fine fellow, and a clever man, Dr Prott. Your mother thought much of him. Good evening my dear."

He'd strode away into the entrance. She'd followed, somewhat dazed and rather less sprightly, taking the stairs to her room on the second floor, while hoping very much to meet none of the staff on the way. She'd made it, un-met, and heaved a sigh of relief once she locked her bedroom door behind her. The remaining problem was that she seemed to be building up to _another_ of these mortifying spontaneous orgasms. The sticky state of her dress was easily solved - she quickly threw it off, into the wash basket. That left the sticky and heated state of her body. A shower would fix the stickiness, but first... she recalls the image that had come to her in the car, of standing naked and excited in front of her large mirror. She never actually... stood naked... Now she walks over and gazes at herself, full length and naked. Aroused. Now she knows what that is, it's very obvious. She can see that her face is flushed, her breathing deeper than normal, her nipples are stiff.. and between her legs is swollen and darker red. The hairs are damp and matted, and there... the thing that so scared her a few days ago, her clitoris is standing stiffly out. Again.

She hopes her vision was not prophetic, of herself standing here before this mirror hot and frustrated, day after day, fighting a slowly losing battle of willpower to refrain from masturbation. No! She will be strong, she'll never do things to herself. But... come to think of it she just did. In the car she'd been unable to stop herself tugging the dress across her clitoris, until the orgasm had spent itself - rather slowly. At Dr Prott's the small vibrating thing, and the water spray had felt very exciting. But the feel of the dress's coarse cloth dragging over her clit... She'd been masturbating. In front of her father! With the dress now in her basket. So really, she already is 'one of those girls.'

Well, she won't do it again! Even if thinking of doing that in the car, and of getting the dress out again and pulling the cloth between her legs right now does make her sex flare up in heat. She must be careful to avoid things that might rub down there when she is excited. Which pretty much means avoiding any sort of clothing, if she's already excited and her clit is sticking out like that. Lucky her room has a lock on the door. But... why does just thinking about being naked in her room whenever she's already excited, feel so exciting? Seems like this sex business is going to be complicated. She pouts at her reflection. Its a shame a girl has to have an exam like today, to check everything is working, if the result is that everything starts working so demandingly all at once. And the memories... she recalls lying back, her hand working that large dildo in and out of her vagina. To familiarize herself with the sensations of penetration, for tampons. She hadn't been allowed to come then, and he'd instructed her to do that, and so it wasn't masturbation. But she can see now why sexual intercourse must be very intensely pleasant. Perhaps she would need some more familiarization. So long as she didn't come. "Ohhhhhhh!" Just the thought of pushing that big thing inside herself, is making her feel so much tenser down there, and a bit weak in the knees. Maybe the shower first isn't a great idea. She stumbles over to her bed and falls backwards onto it. She lies still for some moments, then her hips begin a slight rocking wiggle, with the rewarding effect of rolling her clitoris between the folds of her labia. After some more moments of this, she sighs in exasperation, and spreads her legs wide apart. "So, when I'm excited I have to lie on my back naked, with my legs splayed, or even just moving my hips is a kind of masturbation. Terrific. This could grow stale real fast."

She lies still for several more minutes, hands clasped behind her head. Whispers to herself. "In fact, it gets worse anyway, even if I do nothing. Since I can't stop thinking about it. Great! But I suppose that's just the buildup to another of the spontaneous orgasms doctor said I'd have after. I guess its inevitable now... by the feel... uh of it. He said not to worry... ohhhh my hips... so hard to hold still... Hmm... but should I have to? If it doesn't rub... if I don't touch... I'll keep my hands behind my head, yes... I can do that... won't masturbate! Ohhhhh god! Its... so strong." She'd decided she could simply let her hips thrust as they wanted to, since it couldn't do any harm, and seemed easier than simply refusing to allow herself to move at all. It didn't appear to make the building tension in her belly grow any faster, so could hardly be considered as masturbating herself. It didn't relieve it either. Just seemed that her body felt more comfortable, with her hips bucking and thrusting up into the air, her body straining and arched on the bed.

After a while, lying there and allowing her body's reflexes to do what they wanted, it occurred to her that actually, now she wasn't in the car with her father and so didn't feel so ashamed, and since this was happening just as the doctor had predicted, and since she knew her body was going to have an orgasm all by itself, so this feeling of intense need she felt now would relieve itself soon and there was nothing she could do to stop it, that in fact... really, it was quite nice. More than nice... Lovely.  She closed her eyes, and let herself relax into the feeling, imagining. Dreaming, of what it must feel like to submit herself to a lover, letting her body respond as it would, to his touch and caresses. To let her body speak to him of her eagerness, in its movements, in the wetness between her thighs, in the swollen openness of her sex, the aching stiffness of her clitoris, and the panting urgency of her breath.

To know that he would bring her to climax, that with his large manhood thrusting inside her belly she would convulse and cry out in ecstasy, her insides exploding in that temporary death of all conscious thought, as pleasure filled her world. To let herself go, abandoning her life and will to his demands, to his own needs, to the trust that she would receive such joy that it would drive her mind out of her own body, at least for a while. Joy that would relieve all her wants, at least until next time. Joy for which she would sweat and pant and abandon all modesty, that she would obey him for, that she would... for whom she would do as he wished. Her lover, her hero, her beast.

It was such a pleasant, enthralling dream, with so much agreement from her body, that she had entirely lost track of the time. She'd come up to her room with the sun still not set, and its rays beaming horizontally into her room, warming her naked body on her bed. Her panting daydream had gone on and on, with the point of orgasm approaching, approaching, closer and closer... At some point, she'd begun to realize that the approaching certainty of release was taking longer to arrive than she'd expected. She'd opened her eyes for a moment, and been surprised to find her room in gloomy twilight, the sun long set.  As one hand switched on her bedside light, she'd returned to her fantasy with a thought that the spontaneous orgasm should happen soon, so she'd still have time for a wash before a servant arrived with supper. Her hips thrust franticly; so close, so achingly close as she gasped between long straining holding breaths. The tension felt intense, unbearable! He'd said there'd be multiple orgasms, there must be one more coming, for her to feel this way!

There on the river, floating in much the same posture and pickle as she remembers herself being that day long ago, sixteen and suddenly encountering her own sexuality, she grimaces painfully at her naivety then. She had been so desperately aroused, and growing increasingly desperate as it slowly dawned on her that there wasn't going to be another spontaneous orgasm for her. Not that night, and apart from immediately after each of her her once-yearly checkups with Dr Prott, never again. She had lain there in the pool of light from her bedside lamp, gasping and hunching, completely unable in her need to admit that it wasn't going to happen. Eventually, a knock at the door had forced her to stagger up, stifling an exasperated moan of frustration, and quickly snatch a robe from her bathroom so she could open the door. The housemaid handed her a tray with her meal and a bag containing her apparel from the doctor's visit, curtsied, and left.

Laura had sighed, dumped the bag on her floor, and sat down at her work desk to eat. Trying but failing miserably at holding her agonizingly aroused body still. Still thinking that perhaps after she ate, relief would come to her. Unaware that tonight was the beginning of an entirely new life for her- one of frequent aching torments, and a rarely absent battle of her will against the demands of her body. Of whole days struggling to ignore the aching need. Of nights frequently spent naked, spread-eagled atop her bedclothes, wishing her hands and feet could be bound to the bed to remove the strain of temptation from her will, as her wet and swollen sex called like a siren to her fingers.

She'd lasted nearly six months, till her will had first shamefully failed.

The irony now, not to mention her nettle stings, is painful. How many years had it taken her to accept that sometimes masturbation is simply a practical necessity? Even though she has never been able to shake off the sense of shame and guilt, eventually she came to intellectually accept that sometimes she simply has to have relief. Even so, there's still a disapproving little voice in the back of her head that can be relied on to butt in at the worst, most delicate moments of approaching climax. Stupidly of it since this always knocks her some way back down the slope, and so prolongs the very acts which her conscience voice tells her she shouldn't be doing. Often she even finds herself swayed by the guilt, convinced she must stop. Resulting in a kind of extended see-sawing self-torture of repeated close approaches to climax, interspaced with intervals of remorse. During which her body twists in feverish arousal, desperately complaining against the denial of its closely anticipated release. Usually the need eventually overcomes her conscience again, she resumes her efforts to gain relief, approaches... and as she feels the wave beginning, again comes the little voice of guilt. What should only take a few minutes, often drags out to excruciating hours of panting, writhing autoerotic sinfulness. She knows it's foolishness. Knows that if she didn't feel that nagging guilt she could achieve her release easily in just a few minutes.

Except now here she is, more frustrated than she can ever recall, for once free of guilt due to the extremity of her circumstances, and she daren't do it! She has even fulfilled her own resolution, her test of her self control, and waited till she finished her recollection of that first day, her introduction to a modern feminine medical checkup, and how it had turned out for her. Only now it isn't guilt stopping her, it's the fear of intense pain. Now with her weirdly over-excited body, and massively stone-filled cunt, it feels like a spontaneous orgasm is once more on the cards- yet that prospect terrifies her. Every part of her body is pouring a deluge of sensations into her mind, well past what she can handle. Her breasts throb with aching over fullness. Her nipples combine rigid arousal with nettle stung hypersensitive pain to touch. Her abdomen feeling stretched, full, pregnant and penetrated. Her vagina - filled with massive, heavily thick hardness, and her own finger in the stretched cavity of her air-filled rear seconding that impression. But betraying it all, her sex - clit and labia - so painfully stung and swollen that the slightest touch or rub feels like a sledgehammer blow of agony. The stone stuck in her pussy - that will move and rub her stung flesh if she clamps in orgasm. The orgasm that feels like it is an oncoming slow freight train. The pain she expects. Her mind, whirling around and around the need for relief, her pain, the throbbing ache through all her body. Her finger inside her arse - she can't help shifting it, feeling the satiny sheath of flesh around her stone impalement. Sitting in the car with her father, an oncoming inevitable orgasm building, building, her breath breaking into pants, and her hips rising in irresistible orgasmic spasm. Her breasts, aching, throbbing, overfull. Doctor Prott, the tests, her own hand obediently thrusting and twisting the large dildo inside her vagina. How right he'd been, in predicting her tendency to persistent arousal, even on her first visit. The vine and its strange changes to her body - her now giant clit. Her aching nipples. Orgasm... so close... the feeling inside her arse, so smooth... her cunt, the stone... she's afraid, but no more able to stop than a whirlpool can reverse itself. She feels it begin, the flush of intensity, sucking away the fragments of her mind, building, the sea going out, drawing down before rising in a devastating tidal wave to sweep all... she can feel it... her vagina quivering, ready, aching to cramp, the peak rising up, nerve clusters subtly altered by the vine's venom fire up, her muscles bunch, cle....

"ARRGGGGH! AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" PAIN! Pain strikes her in the center of her being, at the core of her need. A reflexive recoil, a drawing back. Her whole body had tensed, as her pussy tried to clench. Her body is still tensed, but her pussy! Such pain! It moved, the stone moved and scraped across her poor, stung inner lips and the base of her clit. Like an eye jabbed with a sharp object, her body drew back, the clampdown in her center recoiled, reversed. But the orgasm... it has tried to begin, and it won't be denied! It demands! Her brain has begun, has embarked on the little death, no thought is possible. It demands! Her body, straining tightly in anticipation, demands! Her vagina, her womb, aching to clamp down, demand. There is no mind to control, to recall what is inevitable. Her vagina contra... "OHHHHHHHHHHHH! AGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!" Contractions of her chest, and vocal cords. The messages of pain strike again in the core of her orgasm, travel to her spine. Reflexes act. She cries out. Her vagina halts, relaxes before completing contraction. There is no one home, just her body, an orgasm machine with a shorted circuit preventing completion of the program. The orgasm program runs, but hangs, suspended. Retries. Her vagina con... "AHHHHhhhhOOOOOHHHH! OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH! OOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Spinal reflexes, basic, hardwired like a leg jerking from a tapped kneecap, halt her clench. The orgasm process, too long delayed, vine-amplified, sensation boosted, will not stop. Like childbirth, inevitability is in force. Her body shudders, jerking in spastic shock, no mind at the controls. Her mind... is in an orgasm that cannot progress. Sensations cross wired, pain, pleasure, it simply pours in, uninterpretted. Her body draws a breath, her vagina contracts... "AAAAAAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE!!!! NNNNNYYYYYYYAAAAAAAUUUUUUHHHH!!!!! NNNYYYYYOOOOOOOOOOHHHHH!!!" but is halted and releases before it barely begins, the stone shifting only slightly but excruciatingly against her nettle-tenderized membranes. Like a bare foot placed on an unexpected sharp object, instant protective reflexes in the spine act, and jerk away. But just as the body's weight must find ground somehow, the orgasm requires a clench. The foot descends again, her pubes thrust forward to meet the source of such intensity as all sensation is confused with orgasmic pleasure overload by other nerve centers, her vagina contra...  "AAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH! OOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHH!!!! UUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHH!!!!!" The simple pain-avoidance reflex can thwart nothing but the muscular contraction of her vagina and uterus. But that is enough. Swollen, engorged flesh, the nerve ganglias, the hormone releases, all are blocked from resolution. Most of her body, her mind, her general vascular system, are all hanging in the peak onset of massive orgasm. But the key to release, the vaginal and uterine components, are thwarted. They cannot even begin their orgasm response. Cannot achieve relief. The rest of her body demands they do. Her vagina begins to co.... "UHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAOHHHHHHHHHH! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! AAAAAAAAAAAAA!!" Chemical messengers of orgasm are flooding her body. Normally released in a short burst at onset, they continue to pour into her bloodstream, as the counter-messengers associated with relief fail to arrive and shut down the initiator systems. In her mind the orgasm draws its coils more firmly around her thoughts, tightening, intensifying. Orgasm, orgasm, nothing else. Massive intensity, no relief. The stone rests hugely within her aching, needing vagina, motionless. She craves... Her vagina tries to tense.... "UUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH! UUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHH! UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHH!" It orgasm-hurts to tense, it orgasm-aches to not tense. Her pussy cannot tense. It cannot. The orgasm fullness aches. It aches. Intensity. Orgasm, orgasm, intensely aching, pleasure, unbearable intensity, unceasing, inescapable. She aches to clench. Her vagina tries to clench... "WAUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHH AAAAAHH! AAHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH! AH! AH!" The pain is a kind of pleasure, orgasm pleasure, but it repels her center, and down in her lower spine something says "No!" persistently at each clench. Forces her back away from relief, away from the clench. To a place where there is aching, needing pleasure, a place that does not jerk away when her body tries it. Orgasm, without relief. Contradiction, impossible, unbearable, yet she is stuck.

Her mind and nervous system, like some simple pleasure/pain programmed neural net, flails around for a solution. Orgasm, her thoughts flatlined by the brightly burning orgasm centers in her brain. Her body shudders, hips juddering back and forth in uncoordinated thrusts. There is no pain, but no result either. Orgasm engaged, locked, fired, unfailing. Pleasure, desire, desperate need. In her sheath, thick unmoving stone. Engorgement, heat, need, fuck-need, fullness. Her hands waver randomly, finger pulling from her rear with little attention, fists clenching and unclenching. There is no coordination, no intent. She does not even think to use them. Something in her is learning, adapting. Slowly. Another clench tries to begin, more tentative... "AH!! OOOOOOWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! OHHHHHHH!!    Uh Uh Uh....." A lesson is absorbed, by lower body nerves acting on their own. Clenching is suspended, unworkable. The unending mind-jamming intensity of orgasm-onset is accepted as part of a new operating state. Desire, fullness, orgasm, need... it doesn't stop, it doesn't stop.. Her hips buck wildly, threshing in the water, as her reflexes refine to fucking herself jerkily on the feeling of unmoving fullness, suspended completion, pure blinding pleasure in the frustrated absence of relief.

It goes on and on, beautiful, beautiful agonizing frustration overload... Her body has learnt that clenching is useless, does not work, brings only pain. Her vagina aches, full, throbbing, unrelieved, her mind submerged in glorious roaring ecstatic peak, at the pinnacle where excruciating pleasure should trail off into relief and resolution. But it does not. Cannot. On and on she orgasms, flying, floating, drifting, strange patterns flickering across the neural folds of her mind. Arms loose, forgotten. Aware, conscious, but unthinking. Floating, cumming and not cumming at once, mindless. Shut down, hallucinating dreams of erotic fragments, senseless, disjointed. She drifts. Eyes closed, head pulled back, till her face is nearly underwater. Mostly all that is visible above the waterline is her rounded abdomen, and swollen breasts, bobbing irregularly as her hips shudder randomly and futilely, humping at nothing, each reflexive jerk bringing only twinges of stinging pain lacing through the constant pleasure. Captainless, her body adapts on its own - movement brings pain. Her shudderings grow smaller, fewer, then cease. She drifts motionless, legs wide under the water, stone unmoving in her pussy, oblivious to her surroundings.

On and on her snarled orgasm blazes, mercilessly, unfading, uncompleted, as vine venom altered neurochemistry combined with pain conditioning holds her in that mindless sensory fire as firmly as the vines once held her over the pool. Time has no meaning, she does not perceive time, only the beautiful agony of endless orgasmic tide flowing into her, and into her, and into her, like some vast symphony of pounding sounds and lights far too complex and grand for her to comprehend even the tiniest part. So richly dense it feels like roaring white noise, a universal static pounding on all her senses. Overwhelming, as blinding as suddenly gazing into the full Sun with eyes that had lived only in twilight. Yet as her uncomprehending and battered mind's focus flails about unguided, any small thread of the whole it bumps upon sears her with a white hot hallucinatory torrent of vivid, interwoven detail. Self-awareness failed, she is merely experience without thought. A mind's eye without mind. She cannot analyze, cannot even form the concept of 'I', to begin "I cum, therefore I..." For she is not. In the mind of the woman floating down the river, there is only 'am'. The whole Universe... am. With no one home to hold the floodgate closed against a crowding universe, the barrier swings open.