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.
