Vanna at Parrot Island [F][Fantasy][Non-con][Plants]

The sky was wide, without a single cloud to mark the vast blue expanse. Vanna resented it. The sun hung in it low and heavy; a seething ball that held her in its’ death-grip gaze. She pulled at heavy oaken oars with worn arms, dipping them deep into the mirror-still surface. She’d repeated these same motions over days now, and they taken a harsh toll on even her well built musculature. *What a cruel joke*, she thought, to be surrounded by water and dying of thirst. But she had sailed the sea before, and knew well the dangers in drinking from it. Instead, the sea mocked her, the glistening pane of blue unbroken in the windless day, reflecting the sun’s torturous visage from below so she was afforded no shelter from it. Still she dipped her oars deep into it. She bent low her bronzed shoulders, marked with lash-scars. Her strength had faded long ago, but she knew every moment spent resting was simply a moment spent dying.

Vanna had been born among the warriors of the north, and hardship had followed her from that savage land. She’d been a hunter, then a sailor, and finally a raider. The toils of those lives were now apparent on her skin. Her skin was tinted copper, and across her lithe body muscles flexed like a jungle cat. Her blonde hair was equally touched by the sun, the blonde curls tied with little regard, matted against her head with sweat. She wore only the ragged garments of a slave, for but days ago she had been one. One of the few survivors of a raid that had gone poorly for her northern peoples, she’d been taken, kicking and fighting to the last moment. Manual labour was her lot, under that same cursed sun. The work had come easy to her as one would expect of a woman born to the wild, but the disposition of her captors had been cruel. She winced as she thought back to her lashings, her memory seeming to inflame the scars across her back. She pulled the oars hard, her residual anger giving her the fuel she’d need to survive.

She didn’t know how far she’d gone. She knew it’d been two days, during which she’d barely stopped rowing. She sat near delirium, her body simply going through the motions of rowing. She looked up, blinking sweat from her crusted eyes, and shook her head in surprise. She strained against the blinding glare of the sun and sea, but even they couldn’t hide the vibrant strip of green on the horizon. With renewed vigour she dipped her oars. Her body had been ready to give out just moments before, but now, with a real chance to fight for her own life, she held no doubts.

Her stolen boat rocked heavily as it ground ashore. She leapt from it, dragging it up the sandy beach with arms of molten lead. She trudged across the sliver of beach, the white-bleached sand scorching her bare feet. The isle was flecked with tall trees, which grew denser further from the beach. Their wide palm leaves seemed impossibly green, giving Vanna’s eyes a respite from the endless blue. Reaching the edge of a small outcropping, she collapsed beneath them. The grass there felt impossibly soft, and the shade the tall grove provided from the sun slowly breathed life into her worn body. Hours she lay, eyes closed, not sleeping, but simply recovering from her ordeal. It was the first time since she’d escaped her bondage that she felt the overwhelming vitality of hope.

Her eyes shot open as a dull thud sounded off near her, warrior instinct undulled. Her hand shot to her waist, grasping the handle of the stolen dirk secured in her cord girdle. Easing to a crouch with all the sound of a panther, she turned to look at the sound. There, hopping along the ground, was a bird, but a few feet from her. It was coloured in the deep reds and vibrant yellows of the sunset itself, and had a long curved bill which glinted like a hooked sword. She’d heard of island birds that shone like rainbows, but had never seen one herself. It let out a cry that sounded closer to the bark of a dog than any bird she’d known. She watched it curiously. If it had seen her it paid her no mind, instead hopping across the sandy grass towards a strange discarded fruit she hadn’t noticed on her approach. A quick glance up at the top of the grove revealed an abundance of the same round brown skinned fruits, high in the grove she had been resting under. Nestled there, she could see a few more of the crimson birds perched among the high branches.

The bird on the ground tapped at the fruit with its’ heavy beak, first softly and then with more confidence. Vanna watched as the rough hide of the fruit split, and the bird began to dig into the soft flesh of it. Juice dribbled from the bird’s beak, and Vanna swallowed reflexively. She had ignored her hunger in her fight for survival on the boat, but now, presented with the scene in front of her, it rose again. Her mouth watered as her stomach churned, empty, and she wanted nothing more than to gorge herself as the island bird did. Her savage instincts held her in place though, simply observing. She’d heard more than one story of islands such as this: rich with fruit that, while delicious, lulled men to sleep, or worse. Intently, she watched the bird as it took its’ fill of the dark red flesh, and rose back up to perch among the trees. Still she watched it, her eyes immobile and unblinking, lest she lose that particular birds among the treetops. If the fruit was poisonous, the creature showed no signs. It neither slept nor looked like it knew any distress. Finally, the hunger in Vanna’s stomach pushed her to act. She knew well enough that the fruit may still be poisonous -that the toxin may simply not affect the birds the same way it would her- but she would have to take the chance.

She staggered to the discarded fruit, her limbs still not fully free of their soreness. She dropped to her knees in front of it. The thick juice still slowly flowed from the hole, and the bird had only eaten a small amount of the flesh from inside. Pulling roughly, she torn it the skin apart, and brought a portion to her lips. She bit deeply, the soft flesh easily giving way. Before she’d even finished chewing, she’d shoved more into her mouth. She gorged herself, uncaring of the deep crimson juice running down her face. She didn’t know if it was her hunger, the detestable slave food she’d grown accustomed to, or the natural flavour of that strange fruit that made the meal better than any feast she’d partaken in, nor did she care. She sat back, having stripped the hide completely of flesh, near gasping for breath. It renewed and invigorated her, and for the first time in many moons, she couldn’t help a smile creeping across her juice-stained lips.

She sat there for a spell longer, watching the crimson birds peck more fruits down from the trees. She did not chase them away from their prizes, knowing that eating too much after such starvation would only make her ill. Instead she simply observed the birds going about their ritual; cracking the rough hides, eating deeply, and perching again. To her curiosity, each one seemed to make a different sound, though none were like birds she had heard before. Some sounded of dogs barking, others of the wind through the trees, or creaking wood. She swore one even crackled with the sound of a roaring bonfire. She considered trying to catch one. It would be trivial to fashion a spear, wait for one of them to drop for a fruit, and strike. She decided against it. There was some natural peace about these birds, and she couldn’t abide ruining it.

Instead she stood, made sure the dirk was still tightly lashed to her girdle, and made off away from the beach. The trees grew thicker the further she went, but the grove was mostly free of underbrush, making the going easy. The island hadn’t looked very large from the sea, but she would make sure to scour it thoroughly. If anything, harvesting enough fruit to further sustain her journey would be easy enough. But she was already here, and knew she would need several days of rest before she felt ready to brave the sea again. And anyways, exploring was in her blood.

She wandered further inland, though she walked more with wonder than with purpose. The trees had grown thick, but this was like no grove she had seen before. There was a thin carpet of discarded leaves from the trees above her, but otherwise there were no signs of underbrush. In fact, she saw no signs of any life apart from the trees and the occasional flutter of red wings among their branches. She was a hunter born, but even to her tuned senses signs of any creatures beyond the strange birds eluded her. It was an uneasy feeling for her; one so used to the dense needled forests of the north, but she pushed on undeterred.

Then she was at the edge of a treeline. It wasn’t the other side of the grove like she’d expected. No, instead of looking out onto another thin beach and the sea beyond it, she was at the edge of a field. The trees surrounded the expanse, hemming it in, making it feel like some hidden place not meant for her eyes. Unlike the grove around it, the field was full. It was carpeted not by grass, but by a singular plant which grew as a weed across it. Thin vines weaved across the earth there, intermingling with each other under the small leaves of the plant. Along these vines grew small purple flowers, so many that the field looked at first glace of a great purple woven fabric. Even there at her feet they grew, and curiously, she kicked away a few of the discarded palm leaves beneath her feet. The vines grew there too, though the shade of the trees must have discouraged growth of the purple blossoms. She had found the reason for the lack of vegetation; the vines must have choked out all but the roots of the large trees.

“Help!”, a voice called just as she was turning away from the field. Instantly she dropped into the stance of a predator, ducking low behind a trunk of a great tree. She drew her dirk. It had been a low, strange call, carrying an accent she didn’t recognize, but it was unmistakably human.

“Please, help!”, it called out again, and she peered back to the field. She scanned it, her cobalt eyes searching for the source. She squinted against the sun, spying something white among the purple. It was difficult for her to make it out, but it looked like the thin arm of a woman, reaching upwards. Her call came again. Bristling, Vanna ducked out from the tree. If this was some pirate ambush she surely would have noticed signs of them elsewhere on the island, but still she was cautious. She made her way forward with slow, silent steps. Her dirk glimmered as she stepped into the field and out of the protection of the grove.

The sun beat down on her once again, and the air was deathly still. She stepped carefully through the vines, the sharp spines of the plant’s leaves biting into her bare feet. The stings made her feet and ankles burn, but it was nothing compared to the lash, and she pushed on. Her eyes narrowed as she approached the caller, still a dozen paces back, and she spoke.

“Show yourself!”, she commanded, her voice cracking with disuse. There was no reply. Crouching low, she picked up a fist-sized stone from amidst the creepers. She hurled it with the accuracy of a trained warrior. She watched as stone struck the white object, sending it flying across the field in a peculiar way. She recognized it easily, even from a distance: bone. From there the stone had landed came a shriek, accompanied by the flapping of wings. From that spot flew one of the crimson birds in a panic, all the while screaming in a low, almost human voice. It carried the same unrecognizable accent.

Sensing something wrong with her situation, Vanna turned back towards the ring of trees. She took a step, wincing in pain. The burning from the biting thorns was growing more intense. With a glance at her feet her eyes widened in fear. All the way up her ankles she could see the redness of the stings, and it looked significantly worse than it felt. She started to run, ignoring her previous caution. She didn’t bother trying to avoid the vines now; instead dashing headlong through them. The thorns lashed at her bare feet, though she could hardly feel it anymore over the intensifying burn. Her feet felt like lead beneath her; heavy and unresponsive, but she did her best to keep her balance in her mad rush.

She was only a dozen paces from the edge of the trees now. She’d lost all feeling except for the smoldering heat all the way up to her knees now. Only the force of will of the northerner had kept her upright thus far, but finally her feet failed her. One of the vines caught on her ankle, snaring her numb foot. She tumbled with a yelp; her momentum causing her to tumble through a thick patch of the creepers. Instantly the burning started across her exposed arms and shoulders where she’d contacted the plants. Still gripping her dirk, she tried her best to stand, but her legs wouldn’t listen. Instead, she started to crawl. Using her powerful arms, she pulled herself towards the ring of trees as fast as she could.

She didn’t feel fear, even as her arms went numb. The fight for survival had taken over her brain, and steeled her against her panic. Her tunic snagged against a creeper, halting her progress, and without a second thought she tore it from her body, freeing herself. She was only a few paces from freedom now, but she was dragging her entire body bare against the plants now. She strained, using every shred of her considerable strength. But much like her legs, her arms were finally too limp to pull her. Her entire body felt on fire, though there was no pain.

Her mind raced, wondering how she was going to get herself the rest of the way out of the field. There was little chance of help coming, she knew, as the island was unmarked on any naval map she’d memorized. She wondered now if that had been on purpose. She also knew that if she was rescued, it was only to be taken back to the slave pits. No, she was on her own, though as many scenarios as her mind went though, she couldn’t think of a way out of her situation.

She flinched as she felt something, dull against the numbness of her ankle. She’d done well enough to keep her head and neck away from the stinging leaves, and was able to strain herself to look. Wrapped around her bronze foot was the vine she’d tripped on, still wrapped around her ankle. She squinted in confusion. It seemed to be moving. It was slow, but she was sure of it. A few hours ago she’d have blamed the sun for her delusions, but she’d seen enough of this devil island to trust her senses. She shifted as best she could, straining her hand out as far as she could. She could just barely feel the softness of the tree’s wide leaves beneath her numb fingers. She’d made it nearly to the edge of the field, but had fallen just before, and now was too numb to pull herself free.

She watched as the creeper around her ankle crawled slowly across her skin, wrapping several times around her ankle. It knew of her presence, she was sure. She tried vainly to kick it from her, but her feet didn’t respond to her command. The heat had spread all across her body now, settling deep in her chest and groin. The vine then began to pull, and at first she imagined it dragging her deep into the field, to where the bird had tried to lure her. It didn’t seem to possess the strength to pull her limp body though, instead tugging slowly at her leg. Again she tried to fight it, and again her body refused. After an excruciating length of time, the vine had pulled her leg so that her naked form was spread wide. The heat hadn’t stopped building in her crotch the entire time, and she wondered why the stinging of the plant felt just like lust did.

She didn’t have time to ponder it for long though, as something seemed to stir the plants around her further to life. She watched as they shivered, undulating with wicked, sorcerous movement. All around her they started to crawl, moving towards her. They moved between her spread legs, out of her sight.

She gasped as she felt them. They slithered across her half-numb thighs, intensifying the burning wherever they touched. She clenched her teeth, expecting what was to happen next, if not entirely believing it. Still she winced as she felt the creepers against her lips. Yet again she tried to wriggle away from their intrusive touch, but she was unable. The plants slid across her groin with purpose. The burning began, but to her surprise there seemed to be no numbing. If anything, it was the opposite, and she became more aware of each tiny movement as the vine slid against her pussy.

She grunted through gritted teeth as the plant pushed slowly against her. She felt the pressure building against her entrance, slow, but inevitable. Finally, her lips parted for it, and it slipped inside her. She felt it writhe, pushing to get deeper. Her body gave it little resistance. Deeper and deeper it slithered, spreading the heat wherever it touched. She closed her eyes, trying her best not to think about her unwanted intruder, but its’ movements made it difficult to ignore. Her face flushed red as it continued to squirm deeper. She felt the lust building, but did her best to stifle it.

A gasp was forced from her as she suddenly felt herself being spread wider. She looked down again. Between her legs the vegetation had become thicker; many of the other vines slowly joining and entangling with the first. She knew they were slowly pushing inside her too. Her lips, now soaked, proved little barrier to them, and they stretched her ever wider around them. She couldn’t tell how many were in the tangle, but every time she was sure she could be spread no further they proved her wrong. Ever more slowly entered her overstuffed pussy. A mass of them writhed inside her, pressing uncaring against each of her most intimate places at once. The heat came to a crescendo; strengthening her sensations tenfold. She fought against it, if not with her body with her mind. She couldn’t let it happen, but she knew she couldn’t stop it.

Her moan echoed throughout the field as the tendrils forced her over the edge. Her body might have been unresponsive to her, but it acted on its’ own just fine. Her numb muscles spasmed, and her pussy desperately clamped down on the vines spreading her too-wide. Their movement didn’t slow, working her pussy through her orgasm. The heat had made her so sensitive, and her climax refused to fade. Her useless body writhed on the ground, mimicking the movement inside her. There was no relief though, as the vines forced her immediately into a second orgasm. She howled like an animal. She did her best to endure it, but wave after wave of pleasure wracked her helpless body. Her outstretched hand gripped hard at the palm leaf bed over her head.

It was only in the lull of after-orgasm that her body slightly relaxed and her mind stopped reeling. The vines hadn’t stopped their onslaught, and she knew she only had moments before they forced her to cum again. She looked up, away from them. Half-dazed, she looked at her own hand, which had been grasping tightly at the leaf bed. It had been laying outside of the bed of creepers, and with a quick test, she confirmed it was no longer numb. Her warrior spirit reignited, she grasped for the dirk she’d dropped in her orgasm. Even as she did, she could feel the lust building in her core again. Grasping the short blade, she plunged it into the soft earth as far as she could manage.

She took a deep breath, bracing herself as best she could. The vines writhed in her searing pussy, bringing her to another body-wide climax. She gritted her teeth, and her eyes closed involuntarily. Each one seemed more intense than the last, and her ravaged pussy was already sore from abuse. There was nothing she could do to stop the guttural moans escaping from between her teeth as the pleasure peaked again. Her pussy clamped down hard on her assailant, and she felt a gush of fluids escape her. Finally, it subsided, though just slightly. A sharp tinge of sensation signaled that another orgasm wasn’t far behind. She needed to act now, or be lost to it.

She gathered all the strength left inside her ravaged body, and pulled on the embedded blade. It would have been difficult to pull herself like this normally, but between her sore muscles and the vines still inside her, it was a monumental task. She was born a survivor though, and with an animalistic grunt she bore down on the blade. Her corded muscles bulged with her weight, but she began to move. She felt the vines between her legs being pulled out of her as she moved, though they seemed to try to grip her; to keep inside her. She did her best to focus on her task rather than the sensation of emptiness that had started to creep into her mind. Finally, she’d pulled herself to the edge of the field, where the vines thinned and the purple flowers ceased. She reached with her numb hand, laying it on the bed of leaves. Before long it would be strong enough to pull the rest of her body out of the patch, and then she would be safe.

She felt a wriggling, and groaned. There was still one of the tendrils inside her. Doubtlessly it was the first, longest one. The sensation wasn’t nearly what it had been with all of the rest inside her, but it still pushed into her deepest places. It wasn’t enough now to push her over the edge, only remind her of what it had felt like to be stuffed full of them. She felt an unmistakable craving. To be back in the field. To be stuffed to bursting by the vines again. To experience those orgasms endlessly as the plants used her body. She knew that it would be death, but it didn’t stop her, or her pussy, from wanting it.

Finally, with both arms no longer numb, she was able to pull herself more easily. With an exhausted heave she was finally completely out of the field, laying beneath one of the tall palms. All she had to do now was wait until her body recovered. She reached down, between her soaked thighs, grasping for the remaining vine within her. To her dismay, there was no protruding vine to grasp. The wriggling within her told her it was still inside her, yet no part of it extended out of her pussy for her to use to wrench it out. She rolled her eyes, too tired to make further attempts at removing it. It was just going to have to stay where it was until she could find some other way to be rid of it.

It wasn’t long before she was able to stand, and she slowly made her way back to the shore on wobbly legs. She quickly gathered up as many of the discarded fruits as she could and piled them into her boat. She took up her oars with a final curse at the crimson birds among the trees. Her plan to rest there a few days had been discarded; she wanted nothing more than to be off of that cursed island. As she rowed back out to sea, naked but for her blade, Vanna wondered when the wriggling in her pussy, or the heat that made her so sensitive, would finally cease.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/o9hye7/vanna_at_parrot_island_ffantasynonconplants