Don't Move...! Wait For An Opening...!

Another firm tug from the vine squeezing your ankle has your rump skidding along the cool evening glass, stealing another few inches of freedom. The jolt does well to break the paralytic effect the mounting fear holds over you. Acting on survival instinct alone, your leg jerks against the pull of the leathery thing binding you. Your thoughtlessness is rewarded with another, stronger yank, sending a spark of misery up your limb to dance across your previously wounded torso. The fresh pain communicates clearly the price of rash action as an unsteady breath fills your lungs. More mistakes could not be afforded and as such, it is apparent that you’d need to find an alternative to brute ****.

Apprehensive eyes scan every possible angle that might be brought to bear against the coming threat of ensnarement. It is difficult at first to pull your gaze from the slowly encroaching tentacles, slowly making their way toward whatever their counterpart had snagged. They hang lazily in the air, turning their ‘heads’ this way and that, almost appearing as if they were trying to view their target from afar. With considerable effort you are able to **** your eyes in another direction, though most of what you find only confirms how screwed you are. All roots, bushes, half buried rocks, anything and everything you might hope to grab for leverage against your captor is far from reach. No, the trap, if it could be called that, had been laid expertly, with nothing around to slow your progress toward the slumbering beast.

The coming tendrils are closer now, with two of the three dropping easily to hover just a foot above where the first was drawing you. The third approaching appendage curiously hangs back, perhaps out of a mindless sense of caution, perhaps because it knew that its three partners would be more than enough to deal with anymore escape attempts. Either way, the nagging voice in your head continued to demand some kind of reaction to your coming capture.

Thoughts turn to your claws, and how they could make short work of the one arresting your ankle. Doubt is fast to cloud that choice, though, for ever if you could fend off all four of the vines, it’d be a miracle if the Venusaur remained asleep after your strike. Normally, the concept of out running such a massive creature would be quite simple; a few hopped logs, a misdirection here, a false trail there, and you've been up a tree and gone in a blink. Weakened as you are from that devious cat’s ambush, it’d be a tall order to out pace a charging feral only to be left with an impossible climb afterwards. **** could solve this problem and there were no other options available to you. Your jaw clenches tight at the realization as to what you must do…

…Nothing.

Just.. Nothing. At least until a better chance came along. You hated the prospect of more vines joining their friend to aid in your imprisonment, but despite this worrying predicament, you still didn’t know the purpose that drove these things. The beast yet slept, and aside from wrapping your wayward calf, likely in some kind of innate curiosity, what had they done to you? Were you really certain that their intentions were hostile? It was going to be hard to convince the rational parts of your tired mind that this was the best course, but until a better choice revealed itself, those thoughts of preservation would have to be ignored.

Your willpower is tested immediately as one of the leading tentacles makes contact with your other leg, its cool natural texture nearly forcing a reactive kick. Gritted teeth and narrowed eyes see you though the jarring graze, however, and you remain motionless as it snakes along your limb. The war with your better judgment goes on, the new arrival constantly testing your resolve. The cool tendril roams freely over your thigh, occasionally teasing the fur of your hip, but the expected coil and subsequent pull never come. Even as the third joins the party, coming down to lightly drape across your chest, the first tentacle ceases the steady crawl toward the snoring face of its master, now seemingly content to keep you in place. Rather than a creeping trek to certain doom, you are instead made to lay there as the curious things paw over your form.

The treatment, while invasive, is surprisingly gentle with the floral ropes rubbing against your fuzzy hide. The first remains snug around your ankle, denying your flight, but you could swear it has gone ever so slightly limp as its friends are allowed to explore. And explore they do, winding up past your stirring bosom to drag against the underside of your chin; snaking alongside your left hip to give a shameless grope to your squishy rear. All the while the fourth member of the group hangs back, looming up above, possibly to get a better look at the trio’s new plaything, or perhaps to stay cautious of nocturnal threats. Regardless of the unexpected attention, you remain still, deciding that being toyed with by these overly affectionate vines was preferable to being a midnight snack. So on went the molestation, evergreen leather tickling teal fuzz, rub after rub, squeeze after squeeze. The uninvited massage had even begun to feel something close to pleasant, especially after the day you’ve had, and your muscles begin to unwind allowing their tension to melt away.

At least until you feel the abrupt spark of delight shoot from your loins to relay the message to your relaxed mind. Eyes snapping to attention, you are shocked to see the vine casually wrapping around your quickly stiffening member. The soothing caress of the vines had blinded your senses to just how MUCH you’d been enjoying the treatment and now, one of them had beat you to it. The startled intake of air hisses between your teeth, and the dogged resistance you’d shown thus far slips for only a moment. Hopes that your spasm had gone unnoticed are quickly dashed when all three of molesting appendages go still, the only movement for acres being the miniscule thumps of your heart in your breast. Their response is quick and less enjoyable than their previous motions.

In a blink, the tendril that had been going slack on your ankle tightens to the point of numbness as you feel another wrap your chest, compressing your lungs harshly. Not to be outdone by its siblings, the vine that had broken your façade with the accidental fondle coils roughly about your sensitive member, the half swollen shaft being squished against your fuzzy purse in equal parts pain and pleasure. Now that the deception has failed, your hands come up in a flash with one instinctively attempting to free your chest for fear of oxygen, whilst the other goes to see about the one strangling your poor balls. With proper resistance to their whims now clear to all, the vines resume the work of the first and resume tugging you toward their owner.

With the now unified tentacles working in tandem (much to the misery of your groin), the distance to the massive Pokemon disappears much more quickly than before. Seeing no other option, your claws are unsheathed and are brought to bear against your unthinking captors. You wind back your left for a slash and release it toward the one binding your torso. It never makes it to its target as the fourth and final tendril at last joins the fray, likely waiting for this exact moment. Taken by surprise, your left wrist is bound and extended painfully above your head, denied by the vine. In panicked desperation, the claw that had been preparing to swipe at the testicle stretcher comes up to free its counterpart. Again you are thwarted, for as your right speeds passed your chest to aid the other, you feel the air rushing into your lungs as the vine that had once restricted them snatches the passing claw.

Twice tricked and twice restrained by these devilish tentacles, you are all but fully bound with only your free leg left to kick uselessly. Another yank, another clench of your pained nutsack, another meter lost. And so it goes, fruitless struggle rewarded with a painful squeeze before more of your precious distance is stolen. It isn’t more than a few moments before you are laid out before the still snoozing face of the Venusaur, his hot breath bathing your shaking form in a heavy waft. With nothing left to offer in the way of resistance, your overburdened mind conceived of a last ditch effort to free you from your fate, to cry out in foolish hope that some passerby might be able to assist. When you open your quivering mouth to execute your ill-fated plea, however, it is immediately filled with the rubbery texture of plant flesh, trapping your scream in your throat. If it wasn’t obvious by the sudden lack of pressure on your aching penis, the salty flavor on your tongue confirms that the one now **** you had been the one **** your member just seconds earlier. Apparently a depraved part of you had enjoyed the rough treatment as the pre-coated vine now settles tightly in your groaning maw.

It isn’t known why the vines thought to gag you so; perhaps they hadn’t wanted the highly unlikely possibility of some would be rescuers to interrupt their capture, or maybe they didn’t want to share you with their master just yet… Either way, you couldn’t do much to bring about any scenario now, weakened and silenced as you are. It’s not long before they have all your limbs secured, with your arms high above your head and your legs stretched to deny even the barest of movements. You are spread out like a morsel on a spit just a couple feet from the drooling maw of the massive creature, still fast asleep and likely dreaming of its next meal.

Gagged and trembling, it’s all you can do to watch as the last free vine, the one that had trapped your leg and started this whole miserable affair, dangles teasingly just inches above your throbbing cockhead. Unable to do anything more than squirm and whimper, you are **** to watch as the bulb-like ‘head’ of the tendril slips around the base of your member to give it a firm squeeze, before sliding up the length of it. You might have gasped were it not for the vine muffling you as the subsequent strokes, slow but deliberate, precede to run the whole of your shaft to tug playfully at the tip before descending once more. The violation continues and the offending vine grows bolder, tightening its grip at the base of your cock before quickening its pace.

Try as you might, last vestiges of shame hanging on for dear life, you cannot deny the feels bubbling up in your loins and it’s a pitifully short time later that you are writhing in the tentacles grasp, moaning for release. The edge is fast approaching and the searing heat has almost reached the final threshold when suddenly; cruelly, the stroking vines halts its play, wrapping painfully about your base. With the forces of unwanted lust and primal fear clouding most of your higher cognition, it’s hard to decipher whether or not you’d just been denied orgasm. The following pangs of agony pulsing in your abused balls has the final say on the matter as tears begin to well up in your eyes and a furious scream catches in your chest.

Allowing you your tantrum, the devious creeper waits out the predictable angst, patiently ensuring that any eruptions are left to stew in their sack. Exhaustion eventually dims your wrath, leaving you a gasping, whimpering mess with nothing to show for the effort. Apparently satisfied with how it’s left you, the sinister tentacle loosens its grip, allowing some relief in the wake of its bullying. Though the more ‘potent’ essence had been sent back to broil, you can barely make out through shuddering eyes the stroking vine nuzzling at your cock, coating itself in the generous precum that oozes from the tip. The curious thing then leaves your member in peace, rising up to face the **** toad. Weary as you are from all that has happened, your eyes go wide when they watch the tentacle, still slickened with your sticky offering, slips between a pair of bulging lips to deliver the message.

*Snnnzzzzzz… SnnnNNRKK!*

Your heart freezes as the, until now, rhythmic snoring coming from above is interrupted and to your horror, replaced with the subtle sounds of wet slurping. A few lines of drool escape the smoldering maw as the suckles continue, each gurgling smack causing a flinch within you. Without warning, the vine pops free, sending an excess of saliva to fleck against your pinned form. Low, rumbling moan, escapes the Venusaur, his stifling breath enveloping you in a heat you’d never known. You’ve little time to consider this worrying development, as a sudden yank from above pulls your bound wrists skyward, dragging the rest of you along with them.

Wanting nothing to do with what these damned vines have planned, you thrash and growl through your unyielding gag. The tentacles care not for the preformative struggle, instead focusing on drawing up close to the sweltering maw, ignoring your protests entirely. As that yawning void inches ever closer, the anger that had strengthened your struggles dissolves and a horrible sense of inevitably closes in around you. Suspended as you are, it is impossible to resist the pull of the tendrils as the saliva slimed vine joins its friends in spreading your legs apart. Another muggy exhale caressed your nethers, reminding them of how badly they need attention. As it would turn out, that’s just what they’d get.

There is nothing that could prepare you for what the vines have planned as you are abruptly lined up with the moaning mouth and propelled forth through the lips to collide with a wall of spongy flesh. The shock of the furnace like atmosphere along with the explosion of instinctual alarms sieging your mind are all encompassing. The overwhelming stress of ever present danger… being pushed to the limits of physical exertion… it’s all too much to bear, and your body simply shuts down, content to accept its place in the wretchedness of it all…

That’s no fun for your tormentors, though, and you are dragged from your self-pity, both mentally and physically as you feel your front begin to slide across the gooey surface, tugged along by your coiled limbs. A raspy groan is all you can manage in response, so completely drained are you from the last 24 hours, as the lumpy tongue glides beneath you. This **** interaction, unsanitary as it is, has the dubious secondary effect of slathering your **** length in viscous warmth and stirring depravity deep in your subconscious. Wanton moans gurgle around your tenta-gag, so gone is your psyche that the primal lust thought buried beneath years of discipline comes bubbling up. Gentle tugs send you sliding back and forth across the undulating organ and after a shamefully short amount of time, your back arches and a stifled scream announces your release.

Your body spasms as your member fires thick shots of seed, unfettered and joyful in its expulsion. In this moment, nothing matters more than each cascading spurt as your tortured testes are finally able to find peace, their frothing bounty forming a tidy pool beneath your twitching body. After an unknowable amount of time, your **** orgasm slows to an ebb, its salty secretion mixing with the Venusaur's oral juices to cling to your matted fur. You feel the world falling away and know that your beleaguered consciousness has had it. There is no denying that this is the end… For you, for the search for a cure, all of it… But to see the stupid look of white hot pleasure plastered across your face, it is doubtful that you could bring yourself to care.

Unbeknownst to their saurian owner, the tentacles would continue to toy with their Sneasel plaything for the rest of the night. The foolish cat who’d done nothing to quell the spread of the plague would at least serve as some form of entertainment to the quartet of tendrils. Front to back, left to right, on and on the morsel would be tugged and slid across the heavenly surface of that coated tongue, only to be brought to yet higher highs. When the tug of war over the thoroughly glazed feline failed to yield the desired effect, the vines would take turns invading his orifices, poking and prodding until another unintelligible groan sounds the arrival of fresh cum.

The fiendish cycle would continue until the first rays of sunlight would pierce the treetop, calling their radiance upon the slumbering Venusaur. As their master’s cognition begins to filter in, the vines feel their own will slowly subverted, and as with every morning prior they begrudgingly withdraw to return to their own bud pods for rest. The next catatonic Sneasel doesn’t feel their retreat, nor does he miss their presence, nor their diabolical touch. His mind has long since shattered beneath wave after wave of blissful debauchery. Most of his senses are lost to him by the time the feral awakens proper and as such, barely registers the pull of flesh toward the back of this ravenous maw…

Enormous emerald lips smack away the previous nights drool as the monstrous infected stirs from his peaceful rest. Most of his mornings since turning had resembled this one; thick limbs stretching away the daze, watery eyes blinking away the last fragments of sleep… This morning was different though, as the briny flavor roiling upon his tongue could attest. With some soft suckles and sloshing of the tasting appendage, the Venusaur would discover the tiny occupant with his grumbling maw. This was no cause for alarm, of course, as he’d been gifted small morsels like this one in nights past by those oh so mischievous vines adorning his back petals. With little fanfare, the titan gave a mighty gulp, claiming whatever tiny snack had been foolish enough to test his loyal tendrils the night previous. The small bit of breakfast, however insignificant, would nevertheless give the immense predator a welcome boost of energy for the hunts this new dawn would bring.