The Rose Bushes

Velma just didn’t like the nature of the extended clear path in front of her. It was just far too inviting, far too obvious. She felt certain that five feet down the walkway; a giant boulder would come barreling down upon her or she would be dodging flaming arrows or a maniac with a chainsaw would appear in the doorway behind her or that a section would give way to a pitfall trap with alligators or something. Thanks to all of the **** she had endured thus far on this horrific adventure, she just wasn’t sure she was up to running away from another threat. She had already worked up a bit of a sweat from the exhausting beating her ass had taken and in her heavy wool turtleneck, more running and more sweating, inside an already unpleasantly humid greenhouse was not something she thought she could take.

She would have to **** herself through the veritable wall of thorns before her. Besides, given the notion that the other path was so obviously bobby trapped, maybe this one wouldn’t be so bad, some snags some tangles, maybe getting her hair or sweater stuck and tearing her skirt in a place or two, nothing compared to the spanking machines that she had been subjected to already. Her hand slid down and gently rubbed her well-battered and tender bottom. She winced as she felt her bruised skin, which was still very hot to the touch. She wondered at the kinds of marks that would be left behind in the coming days. She wiped her brow on her sweater, thinking about how cold it was outside and how balmy it was in here.

She realized at that moment that she was indeed stalling; unsure she was prepared enough to ford the beautiful but dangerous rose bushes. She stood up straight, took a breath and strode towards the bushes with more confidence then she felt she really had. She stepped into the mess of vines petals and thorns and immediately was grateful she wore glasses, as the sharp spikes grazed the lenses and pricked the exposed skin on her hands, legs and face. She tried to move slowly and deliberately, trying to push the bushes out of her way without thrashing. Losing control amid this danger could very well mean she might end up stuck in its clutches forever. The thorns stung and scratched but the pain was fairly minor compared to the other room and she knew that she had made the right choice. It took some time for her heavy thick wool sweater to become caught up in the mess of spines. She wasn’t sure if she was happy the heavy turtleneck protected her from the endless rain of pinpricks, or whether she cursed herself for wearing such a heavy bulky top while wading through the spiked minefield. Then again, what else would she have worn while on the case? She had only made a few feet more of progress and already the tiny bites of the thorns began to take their toll. She felt her hands and cheek suffering dozens of little jabs as well as the exposed skin of her thighs but still she was determined to press on. She **** herself to take several defiant steps further, feeling several of the branches and vines give way, but as she made her way deeper down the path less travelled the vines naturally just seemed to close in, making it hard to even tell she was going in the right direction. She was in the literal thick of it now and turning back was as bleak an option as pressing onward, although she was still grateful she wasn’t being spanked again.

She felt a hard snag on her clothing behind her, nearly yanking her off her feet as her skirt caught on a stubborn branch. She groaned in frustration as she tried to turn herself around, the skirt dragging her back and allowing several of the sharp thorns to scratch and nip into her bottom, making her wince and moan in agony as she began to regret her decision. She had to grab at her skirt and yank it hard to free it but the **** drove her back-first into more brambles, catching her turtleneck and hair, many jagged spines pressed up against and digging into her round, red, well-beaten ass. For a brief moment, Velma hung helplessly, pinned up by the endless rows of thorns and she couldn’t hold back a scream of pain, her hands desperately grabbing at the vines for support in order to regain her balance. Tears were streaming down her face as she fought to continue on and she just managed to maintain enough self-control to stand still and gingerly untangle herself from the key branches holding her captive. Willing herself to continue, Velma endured the pain and moved ahead. Despite the heat, she had broken out into a cold sweat at the thought of becoming truly ensnared in the heart of these bushes, with only the pleasant sent of roses to comfort her.

As she felt herself move a good distance forward, she noticed the crush of vines was slightly starting to thin out and she was certain she could see light at the end of the corridor but at the same time, she felt more sharp branches extending down to the floor now, making every step more treacherous then before. She was certain she could finally see the end and in a rush of adrenaline; she tried to charge forward but once more her skirt was snagged on several thorns and the sudden torque of being caught **** her to trip completely into the throng to vines and she became completely and hopelessly entangled in the mess of spikes, her skirt as well as her sweater now truly enveloped in the thorny bindings. In a burst of panic, Velma began to wriggle and writhe but every movement only seemed to tighten the grip of the bushes around her as well as cause her hands, legs, face and ass to become even more scratched and cut by the organic iron maiden. Hung in bondage, Velma began to break down and cry, tears falling and welling up in her glasses, threatening to **** them to fall from her face, which for her would be a fate almost worse than ****, to lose them in this spiked **** trap. Her body was drenched in sweat from the effort of fighting off the beautiful curtain of thorns and the turtleneck only made it even less bearable. She tried to crane her neck to keep her face upright when she saw that she was dangerously close to the end, she was only a few feet away from victory. She tried to calm herself down and formulate a plan. Carefully moving on leg at a time, suffering a dozen more tiny slices and nicks upon her thighs as she did so, Velma managed to find the floor and regain her footing. As she did so, her body-weight was supported by the knot of vines currently underneath and biting sharply into the flesh of her butt, causing her tears to stream freely down her face. She was still caught by her skirt and her sweater, which was now drenched in sweat and despite the hot and humid air of the greenhouse a cold chill shot through her body as she made a terrifying revelation. Her clothing was just too tangled to break free as she was. She would have to sacrifice something in order to move on. She continued to struggle and pull, hoping she could free either her skirt or her turtleneck as she was so close to escape, but it seemed hopeless. If she was going to get herself out of this one, something was going to be left behind, the question was how much?