The Morning Wood Tree

by Siggy Shade

To everyone who can’t get enough of that sweet, sweet morning wood.

It’s probably a bullshit old wives’ tale, but I read somewhere online that it’s bad luck to get your period on your wedding day. Thank goodness for menstrual cups because no super-maximum tampon can hold back this flow.

What in the Sigmund Freud? This is some Norman Bates-level weirdness.

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 okay,” he whispers. “This is how things are with tight-knit families.” My stomach roils with disgust. I may have been born to addicts and spent my formative years in foster care, but nobody gets to use my background as fodder for gaslighting.

“I can’t marry him. Not after this.” Mikael turns his gaze toward Erik. “You told me this one was different.” Erik takes in a sharp breath. “Milly is open for anything. She’s just shocked.” I whirl around. “What does that even mean?” Erik jerks his head to the side, unable to look me in the eye. There’s no sign of his mother, who I guess has disappeared into the ensuite bathroom. It’s Mikael who answers. “Erik was supposed to bring back a girl eager to continue the family tradition.”

“Don’t worry about Milly,” Erik mumbles. “I’m the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to her. She just needs time.”

It’s funny how quickly desire can turn to disdain. I no longer find Erik the least bit likable or attractive.

First, I need to stay alive. Second, I need to keep that old man's hands off my body. Third, I need to free myself from these monsters. As much as I don’t want to marry Erik, it looks like I don’t have a choice. I need to play along with these psychos until I can escape.

The tiara on my head now feels like the edge of a guillotine, and the bodice of my gown a straight jacket.

The hatred I have for Erik pales in comparison to my loathing for Mikael. He isn’t just going to feed from my body against my will. This sick bastard plans on enjoying my suffering.

“I like you. You’re down to earth, submissive in bed, and fun. But I don’t know you.” “So all that bullshit about not being able to live without me was a lie?” “Grandpa won’t live much longer without your help,” he mutters.

“We’re surrounded by hectares of forests,” he says through harsh chuckles. “If the lynxes and wolves and bears don’t get you, I will.”

“Hide, little Milly. We will enjoy the hunt.”

I didn’t endure shitty foster homes and I didn’t dream of a better life only to become the human cow of a rich old man I despise. I need to escape, even if it means breaking my neck trying.

I can’t fight, can’t outrun them, can’t do anything else but hope they get bored of staring at me and leave.

“This human is my prey.”

“Your presence has awakened me, and I hunger for blood.” “But who—” “You chose the wrong time to trespass into my territory, human.”

Erik and the others will hunt for me eventually. All I need to do is keep the tree fed until the others are in earshot and then lure them to their deaths. But first, I must ingratiate myself with the tree.

This is so peculiar. I’m being edged by a carnivorous tree and all I can think about is getting that orgasm.

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.

“I can’t kill you, no matter how delicious you are. All I want to do is keep you pleasured and safe.” “Then why am I tied up with a ginger root up my ass?”

“With a touch of my magic, the being I plant inside your husband will use his body as a host to incubate our offspring. When the time is right, it will break free.”