Coccoon

Luna becomes entombed in the vines, which wrap around her with surprising agility. She lets out a startled cry which is immediately silenced by thick vines engulfing her face. Her vision is blocked, and she struggles fruitlessly against the writhing plant. It hoists her up into the air and tumbled her end over end, new layers wrapping around her, tighter and tighter.

Luna’s arms are pinned to her sides, and her legs to each-other. She can barely even wiggle her fingers and toes beneath all the tight tendrils. They squish her breasts, and she feels the warmth of her subsequent horniness hang about her, trapped inside the cocoon just like she is. Her wetness is also trapped, clogging the gap in her thighs, seeping slowly out through the smallest gaps.