There's no way out

"Somebody, do something!"

Your panicked voice echoes through the greenhouse, but there's no help in sight. Furiously, you fight for freedom, your muscles straining as they attempt to break through the viney binds. But with all your wriggling, you upset your balance, and topple over backwards before you can even let out a shriek. Your body strikes the wet soil with a squishy thud, knocking the air from your lungs and leaving you stunned.

Of course, you regain your senses in just a matter of seconds, but by then it's far too late. Another set of green tendrils is worming around your wrists, leaving you terribly unarmed. On the way down, your panties were snapped away entirely, leaving your tender cunny dangerously bare. You kick out at the vines to the best of your ability, but they simply use that to their advantage, tugging your struggling legs in separate directions. It doesn't help that the thick tendril from before is still grinding against your juicy lower lips, the texture of the plant feeling downright alien against your tender womanhood.

Their purpose is growing clearer by the second, but it appears that the villainous vegetables have you entirely at their mercy. Another phallic vine slithers near, this one sliding past your plump lips, muffling your groans of protest with it's earthy girth. Strangely, it doesn't taste as bad as you expected, but it's testing it's limits, wiggling ever deeper into your mouth. In fact, it so distracts you that you almost forget about it's companion, until the vine begins to push inward, slowly forcing you open. While the tendrils aren't the thickest of invaders, it's the largest thing you've had inside of you for months.

The rough "flesh" of the vine grinds against your moist inner walls, teasing your poor pussy with a careless lust. You're still wriggling within the grasp of the mutant plants, but it's due more to throes of perverse enjoyment than any real resistance. As if sensing your failing resolve, the vines begin to truly show their worth, slowly receding before shoving themselves back inside of you, building a steady rhythm.

Perhaps it's only from the friction, but the alien appendages actually seem to be growing warm, as if building up some strange inner heat. You try to groan a complaint, but the vine in your mouth has other plans, instead forcing it's way down your throat, causing you to gag uselessly around the terrible tendril. Whatever they have in store for you, you know that it can't be far off now.