Struggle through.

You moan in frustration, but fear and adrenalin do their work, and you pull sharply away. It is only just in time ? the arousal from the pollen is almost painful, and your inner thighs are slick with your juices, but years of training and experience come to the fore. Your hand is between your legs, you?re frigging yourself like a madwoman, but you drive yourself to stagger on.

A moan of lust is the closest you can come to a cry of delight as, after an eternity, you see the greenhouse doors up ahead. You throw yourself forwards, pushing them open. With perhaps the last shred of conscious thought and self-control you have, you plunge forwards into the wide ornamental pond which lies just beyond the doors.

It?s a gesture of survival, the product of a lifetime of honing your instincts. But, God be praised, it works! As you stagger into the warm water with a splash, you feel the pollen washed away, and your mind returning.

But you?re still incredibly horny. Now the immediate danger has passed, you hope, the need overwhelms you. You lie back in the shallows of the pond ? which seems deceptively deep further out ? and begin to thrust your fingers into your quim in earnest. Your mind flickers through a parade the lovers you?ve had in your life, imagining what each would do to you, and trying to recreate their actions with your fingers. Perhaps it?s an after-effect of the pollen, but you find your mind going down darker channels, remembering the times your monster hunts have gone wrong, and you?ve been at the mercy of vile, lusty creatures.

What would your girls think if they could see you now, you wonder? Your panties are askew, and you?ve ripped your top open so you could get at your breasts. What would your students think if they could see their prim and proper teacher naked except for some wet rags, writhing and splashing and moaning as she pleasured herself? At the thought of their watching eyes, you come with a scream.