The Morning Wood Tree

by Siggy Shade

I’m wearing a bespoke Valentino gown with a Chantilly lace bodice that minimizes my huge boobs and cinches in my waist. Fortunately, the skirt is detachable, as is the ten-foot train, otherwise going to the bathroom would be impossible.

There’s a couple on the bed. The woman sits on the edge of the mattress and the man lies stretched out with his head resting on her lap. Her large breasts are exposed and the man is sucking one of her nipples while the other is pinched between his fingers. I can’t see her face because it’s obscured by a curtain of blonde hair, but there’s no mistaking the identity of the man.

He releases the woman’s nipple, which dribbles with milk, and turns to meet my gaze. “Milly,” he says with a broad smile. “You look breathtaking.” My eyes widen at the man’s audacity. It’s one thing to have a lactation kink, but how dare he cheat on me and not give a shit that he’s been caught? “Is it time for us to leave already?” The other woman raises her head and offers me a serene smile. It’s his mother.

I just caught my fiancé breastfeeding from his mother.

Erik rises from his mother’s lap, his lips still shining with her milk. His mother cocks her head to the side with a confused frown, as though I’m the strange one for gasping. I step backward, my stomach roiling, only to bump into Mikael.

Footsteps creek on the floorboards behind me, and my back stiffens. I can’t look at Erik. Not now. Not yet. I can’t believe he’s been kissing me this entire time and fully intended to kiss me as my husband with those milk-stained lips. I can’t believe I had sex with a man who still feeds from his mother’s breast.

What if I had children with Erik? Would his mother want to breastfeed them, too? No. No. No. That’s never going to happen.

It’s Mikael who answers. “Erik was supposed to bring back a girl eager to continue the family tradition.” My lips part. I’m not sure whether I should ask, but Erik pulls me back into his chest.

“If I spend too much time apart from Mother, then her milk will run dry. Since Father’s also accompanying Mother, he will need to feed from Grandma.” I turn to Mikael. “Then who’s going to breastfeed you?” The old man’s gaze drops to my cleavage.

That comment he made about time running out wasn’t about the wedding. It was about him. He’s failing fast without a source. “Please don’t tell me you expect me to feed you,” I rasp. “It’s all part of the training,” Mikael says, his eyes never leaving my breasts. “You will drink a tea made of lactation-inducing herbs, and I will stimulate the production of milk with a combination of hand expression and suction.” “What?” I whisper, my stomach curdling. “It’s natural,” Erik says. “I won’t do it.” My voice trembles. “If you make me go through the ceremony, I’ll say no when the priest asks if I take you as my lawfully wedded husband.” Mikael’s eyes flash. “Then you won’t be leaving here alive.”

“Don’t fight it,” Erik says. “Just go through the wedding and lactation training. Once Grandpa’s health improves and I find your replacement, we’ll set you up with a nice divorce settlement.”

“I’m going to enjoy sucking your teats,” he growls. “Erik tells me they’re even longer and thicker than his mother’s.” “Why don’t you feed from her?” I hiss. “Or your wife?” Mikael chuckles. “They’re both taken. On a serious note, their milk is attuned to their sons. When we induce yours, it will be attuned to mine.”

removes my veil and stares deep into my eyes before inching closer. Sour milk carries on his breath, making me gag. Bastard knows what he’s doing. Before our dates, he always brushed his teeth and smelled minty fresh. He grabs me by the back of the neck and leans in for a kiss. On instinct, I jerk my head to the side, and his lips land on my cheek.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask. “You liked it when I sucked your tits. Your nipples are nearly as sensitive as your clit.” I flinch. “That’s different.” “I will speak to Grandpa and ask him to be gentle.” “Did you even love me?” I ask. Erik releases a long sigh as though I’m the one being tiresome. “I like you. You’re down to earth, submissive in bed, and fun. But I don’t know you.”

“Kiss me.” I need to do this so I can get the hell out of this room and plan my escape. My limbs tremble as he leans in and plants a kiss on my lips. It’s cold and hard, just like the life I’ll suffer if I continue with this sham of a marriage. My nostrils fill with the scent of sour milk, and I gag. Erik pulls back with a smug grin. “Welcome to the family.”

Leaves sprout from the wood and tickle my skin with soft caresses, and one of them brushes against my nipple, infusing my skin with tingles. This is unexpected. Not even Erik was this gentle.

“I’m talking about menstrual blood.” The tree makes a pleased hum. “Show me.” Humiliation rushes through my veins, burning every inch of my skin with shame. I have never let anyone see me remove a tampon, let alone a menstrual cup, but this is a matter of life and death. With a groan, I lower myself into a squat. “What are you doing?” it asks. “There’s something inside me that catches the blood.” I reach between my legs, but a branch slaps me on the hand. “Ouch.”

“Allow me,” the tree says, its voice low. “Um... okay.” I continue squatting with my hands on my thighs and try not to tremble as a tendril the width of my forearm glides through the air, aiming straight for my sex. “Wait.” I rise and try to step back, but the branch returns to wrap around my waist. “That thing is too big.” “Hush.” The branch splits into five smaller tendrils, each with blunt tips. My breath turns shallow and I force myself to stay still. Is the tree making a hand?

I expect the tree to plunge its wooden fingers into my passage, but its leaves brush over my clit with caresses that coax it to a state of gentle arousal.

Sensation spreads through my core, down my thighs, and across my belly, and my nipples harden until they ache. Moisture slicks my folds and drips down my thighs. I can’t believe I’m in the clutches of a carnivorous tree, letting it pleasure me with its foliage. My clit is so needy and swollen that I can’t seem to care. “Oh, fuck,” I say through panting breaths. “Are you alright?” the tree rumbles. “Tell me what you need.” My eyes roll to the back of my head. I’ll be damned if I beg a tree for pleasure. “N-nothing.” “Then I will take my fill of your blood.” “A-alright.” I’m so hot and slick and wet that I barely feel the friction of wooden fingers sliding into my pussy and pushing against my inner walls. They clamp around the stem of the cup and give it a gentle tug. It doesn’t budge. More wooden fingers slide into my pussy, trying to dislodge the cup. The tree explores around the silicone, pushing against a sensitive spot on my inner walls that makes them tighten.

Its fingers brush against that spot once more, making me moan. “You like that?” My eyes squeeze shut. Of course, I like it. At least my body does. This tree might want me dead but he’s still doing a better job than any other man, including Erik.

“Fuck, yes.” I almost feel guilty for not telling the tree how to get to the blood but I’m so close to the edge that I can’t form complicated sentences. The tree continues to probe my pussy while rubbing the leaves back and forth against my swollen clit. Pleasure builds up around my core. I gasp, arch my back, and spread my thighs, needing the tree to continue its sweet ministrations until I can climax. The fingers increase their pressure and speed, seeming just as eager as I am to tumble over the precipice. I jerk and spasm within my restraints, begging over and over for release. “Take your pleasure, little human,” the tree rumbles.

The tree continues trying to remove the cup, its stiff fingers prolonging my pleasure until I collapse into my restraints, sighing, spent, and satisfied. “What an interesting flavor,” the tree says, its voice drifting through my consciousness. “But you haven’t reached my blood.” “Your slippery sap,” it replies. “It is most refreshing.” Oh, fuck. It’s talking about my fluids. All this time I was chasing my orgasm, when the tree was consuming my juices. I didn’t think such a thing was possible with a menstrual cup but then I remember advanced level Biology. The Bartholin's glands that secrete lubrication are located at the entrance of the vagina, while the cup is halfway to my cervix. A rumble spreads through the darkened space, followed by the words, “I want more.”

The tree pulls the branch and its fingers out of my pussy, allowing me to catch my breath, even though I’m still suspended above the ground. My skin tingles with a tension that lingers in the air. It’s hard to explain. I’m inside the equivalent of the tree’s belly, yet its gaze feels like a brand. I can’t give him any more. My body just wasn’t built for multiple orgasms. Sex with Erik was good. He always made sure I climaxed, but it was nothing mind-blowing. I always found him to be more of a breast man than anything else, but I suppose it makes a sick sort of sense.

“I’ve never had more than one orgasm. Most men lose interest after they’ve cum and don’t care if I’m ready for another round.” “That sounds most unfulfilling,” the tree replies. “Much like how I am feeling now.”

It takes several moments to explain the concept of a shower and how a woman can use it to masturbate, but eventually, I make the tree understand. A branch emerges from the ground and thickens into a lotus seed pod, complete with tiny holes.

The tree tilts me vertically, presumably so the makeshift shower can stimulate my clit without washing away my arousal. A shiver runs down my spine as I wait for it to start. I’m now being held upright with my arms behind my back, my knees bent, and my ankles pressed into my ass. The restraints around my thighs pull them apart, exposing even more of my pussy.

The bullrush-shaped branch tip nestles between my folds with back-and-forth movements. The coarse texture creates a delicious friction that reawakens my clit. As it drags over my sex, it absorbs all the wetness like a regular tampon. The wooden shower head positions itself in front of my clit and lets out a trickle of warm liquid.

The flow increases, and tiny jets of fluid pummel my clit. It’s heavier and more slippery than water, making it even more intense.

“That’s it.” I buck my hips and writhe against the intensity. “More.” The flow increases, bringing me so close to orgasm that my breath hitches and my eyes roll in their sockets. Just as I’m about to climax, the water pressure recedes. “What are you doing?” I shriek. “You are producing copious amounts of delicious sap,” the tree says. “I must keep you in this perpetual state of neediness.” “Why?” I cry.

The bullrush between my folds clenches and releases, seeming to pump my arousal into its branch. As soon as my pussy dries, the tree increases the water flow and builds me back up to a climax. Sweat breaks out across my skin. I’m gasping, panting, and shaking. This is so peculiar. I’m being edged by a carnivorous tree and all I can think about is getting that orgasm.

A deep chuckle echoes through the cavity. I think my orgasm-deprived mind is playing tricks until the tree speaks. “Patience, little human. You will be satisfied once I have taken my fill.” “Fuck,” I rasp. I’m a mess. This tree has reduced me to a mass of banked lust and unfulfilled desire. All thoughts from the outside evaporate into the ether. I no longer care that I’m a runaway bride hiding from a family of psychos—I just want to cum.

“You have pleased me, little human.” Its voice echoes through my skull. “Now, you will enjoy your reward.” The water pressure intensifies, hitting my clit with jets more powerful than the ones he used when he was teasing me. When the orgasm finally hits, pleasure surges through my system like bolts of lightning, and my world explodes into a rain of sparks. Spasms wrack my core, pushing the cup further down. I’m panting, thrashing, lost in the throes of ecstasy. The tree inserts two wooden fingers into my pussy, extracts the cup, and moves it out of sight. Then the digits return to stroke my g-spot.

It’s as though every ounce of sensation that built up through the night is returning to burn me into ash. “Oh, god,” I scream. “Correct,” the tree says. “I am your god and I am pleased with your offering.”

Wooden limbs part my legs and leaves part my folds. The tree inserts a fresh bullrush that nestles against my cervix. “No more of those objects,” it says. “From this moment forth, I will soak up your delicious blood.”

The stiff object pulsing in my pussy says otherwise. Oh, shit. I’m still in the clutches of that carnivorous tree. Last night, it edged me to an inch of my sanity just so it could feed off my fluids. When it decided I’d had enough, the tree removed my menstrual cup and plugged me up with one of its branches. Now, it wants my attention.

“What is a dragon?” the tree asks. I rear back, my eyes going wide. “Don’t you have them in your forest?” “No.” “They’re huge reptiles that fly.” “Like birds?” “But the size of ten deer and covered in scales as tough as your bark, but I haven’t told you the best part about dragons.” “What is it?” the tree asks, its voice breathy. “They exhale fire.” The ground rumbles. “Impossible.”

Maybe the tree will open up a doorway through the walls? I walk away from the bed of moss, only to feel a tug in my pussy. How could I have forgotten about the bullrush the tree stuck in my vagina to soak up my blood? Instead of a string, there’s a thin branch that bends like a vine. I wrap my fingers around it and tug, only for the object lodged in my pussy to swell.

“Your blood has stopped,” the tree says, its voice flat. “Maybe it’s the angle of my seat?” I shift to the side. “Is that better?” The plug inside my pussy pulses. “Give me more.”

Last night was the most excruciating and satisfying experience of my life. The tree learned all my pleasure spots and teased them until I cried for mercy, only to deny me release. Then when I was about to pass out from sexual frustration, it gave me the orgasm of a century.

The plug in my pussy makes a strong pulse, infusing me with waves of pleasure. I drop the berries onto the picnic mat, my breath quickening.

“How will you make me bleed?” I ask. “I will massage your belly and encourage the blood to flow faster,” the tree replies. “Will it hurt?” I whisper, my voice breathy. “Only if that’s what gives you pleasure,” it says. “Do you enjoy pain?” I shake my head. “Will you be gentle?” “Of course,” it replies with a growl.

My pussy squeezes around the plug, which throbs in response. I should be thinking of escaping, but I already have a plan.

After laying me on my belly with my legs hanging down the sides and my head facing the wall, a pair of branches spread my thighs wide and expose my pussy. “Excuse me,” I squeak. “Yes?”

“Are you ready?” the tree asks. “Yes,” I whisper. Thick fingers rise from the platform and stroke my belly. Unlike the ones that probed my pussy, these have a covering of moss. Or rose petals. It’s hard to tell when they’re out of sight.

“Humans call it Angel’s Hair Artemisia,” it says. “You are very sensitive there, so I chose something soft.” Tiny hairs rise from the leaf and tickle my clit, making my walls clamp around the plug. I exhale a breathy moan. “It feels like velvet.” “Where else are you sensitive?” the tree asks. My nipples harden and press into the moss. “Ummm... nowhere else.”

The platform beneath me shakes with a deep, rumbling chuckle. “I think I have found another point of pleasure. May I massage them?” “My nipples?” I whisper. “Yes.” “A-alright.” Two indentations form in the platform and expand to make space for my breasts. The moss moves back and forth to stroke the skin, while a pair of velvety fingers roll my nipples. Pleasure shoots down to my clit, and I release a moan. It looks like the tree wants more than just my blood. “Please don’t tease me like you did last night.” “How else will you provide me with that delicious sustenance?” it asks. “Y-you could make me squirt.” “Tell me more.” The leaf rubbing my clit clamps around it, making me gasp. “K-keep going,” I say with a moan.

“And the plug?” The tree asks, making it expand. “Bigger.” I gulp. “Please. And less absorbent?” The tree pulls out the plug, leaving me empty and clamping around ...

branch rises from the floor ahead of me, obscuring my view of the forest. Its tip softens to form a bud, which then expands to the size and shape of an average penis. The wood gleams in the sunlight, looking so polished that I almost mistake it for stone. “Is that to your liking?” the tree asks. “Longer,” I rasp. “Thicker, with a bulbous mushroom tip.” The tree’s deep chuckle rumbles across my front, and the leaves caressing my clit tighten to form a cocoon. Every fine hair on it sways back and forth, each stroking my sensitive bundle of nerves. A pleasant shudder runs down my spine and settles in my empty pussy. All thoughts of the tree wanting to murder me vanished, replaced by a desperate need for the wooden dildo. Within a few heartbeats, the dildo transforms into a ten-inch toy. I’m panting so hard that I can barely say the words. “It’s perfect. Give it to me, please.” The branch rises in an arc over my head and circles my opening, making me buck my hips. “Please,” I whisper. “Stop teasing. I need your wooden cock.” “Eager little human. If you want this cock, then you must give me what I need.” He wants blood. And a little pussy juice. There’s little I can do to speed up the flow apart from writhing around like I’m in heat. The tree withdraws the dildo, and the last part of my dignity snaps. I grind my hips and press my belly into the massaging fingers, trying to encourage the flow.

The fingers press into my belly deeper, sending a gush of sensation into my pussy. Warm liquid trickles down my folds, while the leaves cocooning my clit forms a delicious vacuum. I’m so aroused and wet and slick. With my wrists pinned to the platform, I can’t even stroke myself to orgasm. And all I can do about it is groan.