Pinocchio enters

Have you ever been sculpted into being?

Its a very strange feeling, especially if its done to you the way Gia did it, in parts.

I was always sentient, but it was more like a tree sentience. Trees don't care about much. There's weather, soil quality, whether or not you're on fire, but that's about it. We don't really notice humanoids. Sure one of us will vine-**** a cute girl every now and then, but thats more for sport and curiosity than lust. I remember catching hold of a young milk maid as she was gathering flowers in the meadow below me who had gotten just close enough to one of my roots. She was feisty too, bit down as hard as she could on the vine I shoved down her throat. She quieted down after about a half an hour of painting her insides with sap. I dropped her to the ground and she landed, ass up, exhausted. I think I made her cum at least 3 times. Very satisfactory. A little bit of human warmth does a tree's body good.

Than I got cut down, and had to spend 2 stinking years in a drying warehouse. My only entertainment was the workmen and the slatterns they would bring in to gangbang (the poor suckers couldn't afford one prostitute each. They had to share). Even that wasn't all that much fun. Trees don't sense like humans you see. Without my roots or branches, I had to settle for the scent of human pheromones wafting through the air as they got it on.

Human senses though, those are something else. I had felt humans before but looking at one adds another layer. And I was fortunate enough that the first human I ever lay eyes on was Gia.

Almond dark eyes; a royal, sculpted face with high cheekbones and a cute chin; a body out of a renaissence painting; smooth flawless olive skin. I just stared at her tits as she worked, mere inches from my newly created eyes, watching them rise and fall as she worked.

When my arms were formed it was all I could do to keep from groping her perfect ass. I didn't want to distract her. Keep in mind, at this point my appreciation was purely like appreciating a painting, or a sunset. I had no concept of libido or pleasure.

Then she made my dick. The woman poured every ounce of her 40 years of pent-up lust into 10 inches of wood. It all came online at once. I groaned as a warmth and pleasure I would grow to crave started from my cock and radiated into the rest of my body, intensifying every one of my still-raw human senses. Sap started to spew out the tip of my new penis, covering the closest thing I had to a mother with what was essentially my jizz.

TO her credit, she didn't recoil. She just ran one finger along her breast, gathering some of the gooey sap, and lick it seductively, smiling as she found it sweet, like maple syrup.

"Well hello to you too, Pinocchio." She said.

Pinocchio huh? I like that. Pinocchio.

My name is Pinocchio. This is my story. As you read it, you'll find that I am not a very good puppet. But try not to judge. With an origin story like this, how could I not help but be a hopeless pervert?