5132!

You punch the digits into the keypad. Your palm is sweaty, and it's not just from your recent sex games.

The door lock issues a harsh, "Beep!" and stays a furious red. Frowning, you key in the number again--still no luck. So you try a few other combinations. But after your third failed attempt, the keypad freezes, refusing to let you enter another combination. The lock begins giving a high-pitched alarm.

"Shit!" You turn to Christina. "We're screwed now."

What an apt assessment of the situation: your father is none too pleased when he discovers your attempt to escape. He decides that the two of you need to be more closely contained, your freedoms curtailed until you are ready to accept your new lives as the company's plant producers. "I was going to give you back some clothes, let the two of you go back to the cabin, let you do whatever you want, really, within reason. But I guess you've still not learned your lesson," he says, as he has you bound and gagged.

The ropes chafe against your tanned skin. They snake around and between your ripening breasts, criss-crossing at your swollen belly. Your hands are tied behind your back, so you can just barely manage to crawl around the room on your knees. A collar is connected to a chain set into the wall, so even that modicum of movement is restricted to a smaller part of the room. Mercifully there's an actual toilet within reach, though maneuvering yourself atop it is a chore, and there's no way to wipe yourself afterwards.

Twice a day, Michael or your father come to fuck you. They unbind you temporarily, but keep you collared and chained. You moan through your gag as you flex your arms, willing circulation to return to them. After filling you with cum, they take out the gag and give you a meal of warm broth and bread and glasses of water. The spartan fare fills your hungry stomach, and at each meal you and Christina eat ravenously before being gagged and trussed up again.

At first you remain rebellious. You curse and spit every time the gag comes out of your mouth. You call the men all sorts of foul names. You struggle to the point of being sedated during your next round of labour. But as the weeks go on and nothing changes, your spirit flags.

What's the point of struggling? Your father remains steadfast--in this, as in all things in his life--in his resolve to tap you as a company resource. And bondage play aside, it's actually a pleasurable experience. Your body soon becomes adapted to frequent pollination/pregnancy. Your tits reach a sort of equilibrium, settling at an enjoyable, albeit hefty, E cup. Your skin becomes paler as your tan fades and you continue to be trapped inside. Otherwise, you look and seem very healthy, considering your condition.

Weeks turn to months, and soon enough you've been trapped in the lab for over a year. You've lost count of how many plants you've produced for the company. Twenty? Thirty? Somewhere near there. As you become more compliant your father loosens your bonds, metaphorically and literally, until you're nearly no longer a prisoner. You have access to multiple rooms, and even to clothing, should you want it--which you don't. You and Christina spend most of your time making out, or playing with Rayna and Carrie. Resigned to never returning home, let alone to college or the life you once knew, you give up any thoughts of study--school wasn't that interesting anyway. When you're not playing or fucking, you watch TV and read.

It's not such a bad life, you guess. You never imagined before leaving on vacation that this would be your fate: to become an object to be pollinated by plant women, fucked by your own father and a lab assistant, used to create aphrodisiac plants for his shadowy company. But every time his cock thrusts into you or Rayna's stamen slips between your pussy lips, you shudder with unbounded pleasure. Every part of your body says that this is right, that you should give in. It feels so good.

So you do. Who are you to argue with your body? Some people never figure out what they're meant to do in life. At nineteen, you've realized your dream is to be a submissive, plant-producing sex ****.