TH fic "Pixie Trap" (Bill/Flower, explicit, WARNING: RAPE)
I wrote yet another toho_kinkmeme fic! The prompt: "Bill is a little fairy / pixie / fae / whatever. He gets trapped by a flower and fucked by its stamen/pistil."
Thanks to steinsgrrl for the wonderful beta. ♥
Warning: Rape. If you want to know more, please feel free to contact me!
Pixie Trap
Bill landed on a big floating leaf. He kneeled right by the water to wash his face when a huge croak startled him so that he almost fell into the lake.
He swung around, ready to take flight if needed. But it was only an ugly old frog that was sitting on a tree root that stuck out above the water level.
"You startled me," Bill said haughtily. He turned his back on the frog to show how little he thought of the ugly creature, even though it was a little dangerous. Frogs sometimes tried to eat Bill's kind.
"I could say the same about you," said the frog, with a grating voice. "What on earth are you?"
Bill straightened his back even further. How preposterous that this stupid frog didn't even know what he was!
"I'm a pixie," he said, turning his head so that the frog would be certain to hear him. "Haven't you ever seen one before?"
"I sure haven't," the frog replied. "I'm still not convinced you're even real."
Bill sniffed. "I'm definitely real," he said. He kneeled by the water again and admired his reflection. Of course, it was possible that the poor old frog was blinded by his beauty and unearthly shimmer. Bill looked so good he seemed unreal. He felt more understanding toward the frog for a moment.
"Are there more of you around?" the frog asked.
"Uh-huh," Bill said, distracted by his reflection. His long, black hair was shiny and his face was absolutely stunning. It was also covered with pollen at the moment, so Bill reached down at last and cupped his hands to wash his face with the cool lake water.
The frog remained silent while Bill washed. He was powdered with pollen and sticky with nectar, but it was washed away easily, and then he was as good as new.
He stood up, shaking little droplets of water everywhere, and tensed his wings, ready to be on his way.
"I must say," the frog said annoyingly, "you're still the queerest little thing I've ever seen."
Bill drew his head up high and gave the frog a withering glare. "I'm a pixie, and pixies are the most beautiful creatures in this forest," he said. "You should be happy you got to rest your eyes on one before you die!"
"I don't know about happy," the frog said. "You've got wings like a dragon fly, thighs like a grasshopper, and the middle part I've never seen anywhere before."
Bill squawked. The frog could clearly not appreciate the luminous beauty that was Bill: his small, perfect face, his delicate, pointed ears, and his gorgeous body that was barely covered with a flimsy, ethereal dress.
"Whatever," he muttered. The frog was beyond his help, he decided.
"But you might still taste good," the frog mused, and then its thick, sticky tongue shot out and swiped the air where Bill had been a fraction of a second ago.
"You brute!" Bill screamed, flying away as fast as he could. "You ugly, horrible thing!"
He was so incensed he could have kept going, but the frog was too far to hear him anymore. Bill could fly fast. Certainly faster than any old frog tongue. He shuddered. How barbarian and repulsive!
Bill flew as far away from the frog and the lake as possible. By the time he felt safe and calm enough to flitter down to rest, he was hungry again. That was usual, though; Bill's days consisted of eating and washing and flying and eating again, and nothing else. Except preening and making the whole world better with his beauty, but that was a given.
Knowing where to find food, Bill flew to a sunny spot where there were lots of flowers and wandered this way and that in the air, waiting for an extraordinary flower to catch his eyes or his acute sense of smell. There were bees and butterflies everywhere. It was a lovely day, and soon, Bill spotted a lovely flower to go with it. It was a lily that was a little shorter than the neighbouring plants. Bill thought it very likely that there was more nectar in it because it wasn't as easily reached as the others.
Bill landed on one of the soft petals, his weight barely moving it, and breathed in the exquisite scent of the lily. It made his whole body quiver with pleasure, as if he could sense it all over. He could sense the nectar, too, and the sweetness of it made his mouth water.
Bill got down on his hands and knees and crept closer to the centre of the flower. It looked almost untouchable, and its stamens were covered with pollen. Bill extended his index finger and stroked the closest stamen carefully. Then he brought his finger to his lips and sucked the tangy pollen off. He liked pollen for its flavour, but what he mostly ate was nectar. He slid forward, looking for it.
There was more pollen at the tip of the sturdy pistil. Bill wrapped his hand around the stem and licked at the tip thoughtfully. It was sticky with fluid that didn't taste much like anything, and there was very little pollen. Obviously, not many bees or butterflies had stopped by. Bill licked at it a couple of times more, even though he knew that the flower would have preferred him to leave the pistil alone. Then the wish to taste the flower's nectar won and Bill peered into the centre of the flower. The nectar was somewhere in there, and he could probably reach it with his hand if he got near enough.
It was warmer, somehow, and darker near the centre of the flower, but Bill paid it no mind -- until the petals closed up behind him suddenly, tipping him so that he lost his balance and fell uncomfortably on his head in the dark.
Bill was all right because the distance hadn't been that great, and now he could reach the nectar, since there was a good deal of it smeared on his face, but he wasn't feeling very lucky.
The flower trembled, possibly because of the wind, and Bill was filled with fear. "No," he gasped, scrambling upright. This wasn't a flower that ate insects, was it? He'd been sure it was an ordinary lily, but what if he'd been wrong? What if it was going to think he was an insect and eat him too?
He planted his feet on the bottom of the flower and got up, feeling his way by touching the petals, trying to find the seams to open them again and getting the hell out. There were some almost imperceptible ridges on the petals, but Bill wasn't sure if they were a way out or just part of the texture.
The flower didn't seem bent on eating him, at least not yet, and his heart rate slowed down a notch. He crawled up, trying to find something that would support his feet and hands.
He could climb by gripping the petals, and felt hopeful about reaching the tips of the petals soon and being able to pry his way out, but then the petals suddenly squeezed tighter around him, trapping him in place.
"Ah!" Bill exclaimed, startled. His heart was picking up speed again. He couldn't move his hands, and he couldn't turn his head very much. "Help!" he pleaded, pitifully, with a voice that probably didn't even carry outside the petals. Now the flower would eat him, he was sure of it. He tried to kick it, and squirm so that the flower would release him, but the petals only pulsed slowly around him, like they were making sure he wouldn't get away.
This is the end, Bill thought and sobbed. He didn't want to die. He didn't know whether to be grateful that he could still breath, or to hope that he'd die before he was eaten.
He could feel something soft tickling his thighs, and he realised that it was the stamens. He tried to kick at them, but the attempt was weak. The petals were gripping him so tightly that he didn't really believe that he'd be let go, no matter what he did. It was hopeless, and there was nothing he could do. Tears stung his eyes.
The stamens tickled him some more, and Bill's eyes widened as he realised that they were moving. Maybe they were how the flower would eat him.
Bill's eyes widened even further when he felt that the stamens were slithering their way under his dress, and then something less fuzzy and stickier poked at his buttock, making Bill forget about his tears entirely. "What's this?" he whispered, fearing for a moment that it was the beginning of an indescribably horrible eating process. The stickier thing that Bill guessed to be the flower's pistil was poking between his buttocks now, though, and Bill didn't feel like he was about to be eaten anymore.
For a moment, Bill was frozen in horror, but then the pistil's invasive presence between his legs became too much. Bill yelped and closed his legs, trying to squirm away from the pistil, but it was impossible when the flower had trapped him so effectively.
Bill didn't know what the flower was going to do, but he was certain that he didn't want it to happen, whatever it was. He pressed his legs together and crossed them for good measure, and he squeezed his buttocks together to keep the pistil out of places it had no business going.
The fuzzy stamens stroked his legs, waving aimlessly like seaweed under the water. After a while, though, they pushed between his knees and his thighs, surprisingly strong. To Bill's shock, they twined around his legs and levered them mercilessly apart, no matter how much Bill tried to keep his legs together. In a moment, his legs were secured wide apart, and struggling against the stamens felt like struggling against stone. It was impossible to make them waver, even in the slightest.
The pistil resumed its explorations, and it didn't matter that Bill was squeezing his buttocks together. When his legs were apart, the pistil nudged its flared tip against the spot right under Bill's balls, and there was nothing Bill could do about it.
The pistil felt a great deal wetter and slipperier, and it smeared the fluid between Bill's legs with purposeful insistence, like a bee collecting nectar. Every few moments it slipped against a place where Bill wasn't used to being touched, and Bill jumped every time, startled by the feeling. He was still afraid, his breathing uneven and quick, just waiting for what would happen.
When the pistil situated itself right against that spot and started to push against it, like the pistil wanted in, Bill was dismayed.
"Aaahh!" His voice was hoarse and it didn't carry, but the pistil was still pushing against him, and Bill gasped a breath and yelled again, louder. "Aaaahhhh!"
The tip of the pistil felt huge, and even though it wasn't all hard and gave in a little, it didn't help much. The pistil was still trying to get in, determined. "No no no!" Bill wailed. It was scary and it hurt. He tried to wrench himself free, but to no avail. He couldn't move at all.
The pistil didn't cease, even for a moment. Bill realised that it wouldn't stop until it got what it wanted; it was a plant, single-minded. His face was still crunched up with pain and his eyes smarted with the tears of being so helpless and afraid. But he knew he had to do something. He had to stop resisting.
Bill gulped a breath and closed his eyes, trying to consciously relax and let the pistil in, as much as the thought made him blanch. He relaxed his muscles and tried to open up for it.
The pistil pushed in at once, its huge tip stretching Bill and making his poor bottom clamp down again.
"Aaaahh!" Bill yelled, trying to thrash and get away. It was pointless, as he'd known it, but he couldn't help himself. The pistil was so big and invasive. Tears spilled down Bill's cheeks. His breathing was nothing but shuddering pants. How had this happened? How was it possible that he was here, hurting like this, and couldn't get away?
The pistil was trying to get even further, Bill could feel it. Bill's bottom was gripping it but every now and then it slipped a little deeper. Bill had no idea what it wanted. Maybe the flower wanted to skewer him and consume him then. Bill still didn't have any way to stop it. He could only prolong it, and the pain wasn't worth it. He wanted a quick end, rather than to live slightly longer like this.
Bill relaxed again, as best he could when he was in pain and terrified. The pistil was eager to move forward, though, and it took advantage of even the slightest easing of Bill's bottom. When Bill relaxed as much as he could, the pistil pushed its tip deep inside Bill, making Bill whimper with the uncomfortable pressure inside him, and the feeling of the pistil's stem sliding into his hole.
The pistil stopped somewhere deep inside Bill, and for a moment, nothing happened except that Bill was drawing ragged breaths that were almost sobs. There was a full feeling in his nethers, and he could feel the stem between his buttocks.
Then the pistil started to draw back. Bill's eyes opened with wonder and even hope that the torment would be over, but no; when the pistil was almost completely out, and the tip of it was stretching Bill's hole, it thrust back in.
"Ah!" Bill said. There was much less pain now, but he was miserable with how helpless he was and how invasive and humiliating the pistil's presence inside him was. He could feel the stem sliding in against his hole, and the pistil's tip was still so huge and uncomfortable inside him.
The pistil stopped once more when it was deep in Bill, and then it slid almost all the way out. Bill knew what to expect now. He didn't try to fight it anymore, didn't try to move. He was just lying still with his eyes closed, waiting for it to end.
Bill's body was able to relax even more because the pain lessened and then stopped altogether, and it became easier for the slick pistil to move inside him. It helped that the pistil's movement was so predictable, too. Even the tip stretching his hole with every stroke didn't feel bad anymore. Actually, it kind of itched, but not in a painful way at all.
Bill tolerated the itchy feeling for several strokes, but then he tried to squirm a bit, irritated. The pistil's tip was so big, it should have scratched the itch and make it stop, but it felt like it was just making it worse.
Finally Bill gave up squirming, because he really couldn't move. He tried to ease the itchy feeling by clenching around the pistil, instead. It didn't help when the tip of the pistil was near his hole -- that only felt uncomfortable -- but clenching around the stem surging inside him did help.
Bill met every upstroke by clenching his bottom for a while, and the itchy feeling got much better. It didn't exactly stop but it was much more tolerable. Bill took deep, steady breaths and squeezed around the stem every time it slid inside him and out, relaxing only when the tip almost reached his hole.
Gradually the feeling around his hole spread further, deeper inside him. Bill pressed his hot cheek against the flower petal and concentrated on getting the most out of the pistil's movements inside him. The petal was soft against his cheek and against his whole body, now that he thought of it, gripping his body everywhere, putting pressure on his stomach and chest and all of his back.
Bill tried to shift a little, and the petals pulsed around him, sending ripples of sensation everywhere. Especially his dick. It was surprisingly ready to receive this kind of sensation, and the next time the pistil was thrusting inside him, Bill writhed more vigorously to make the petals close tighter around him again. It worked very well, and a petal pressed against his dick exactly as the pistil was stretching his hole, and Bill grunted, trying to push against the petal. The pistil slid in again, and its tip rubbed against a place inside Bill that made sparks scatter everywhere in him like glittering droplets of water.
"Oh," Bill mumbled. He tried to wriggle and speed up the pistil's movements, but the only thing he succeeded in was making the petals squeeze around him. The pistil was as mercilessly steady as always, but now Bill wanted it to move more quickly, and now he wanted to be able to move himself -- not to get away, but to better meet the pistil's thrusts.
"Ah," Bill moaned, frustrated because he still couldn't move. It was good, though. Every slide of the pistil felt good inside him and the petals trembled and closed around him more frequently, pressing against his nipples and pushing against his dick and making a wonderful, heated feeling build inside him that reached all the way down to his tingling toes.
The pistil worked inside him and Bill tried his best, despite being immobilised, to angle his butt so that the stem surging inside him would feel as glorious as it could. He was very different from the startled, panicking pixie who had been freshly trapped by the flower. He was flushed and panting for breath with his eyes closed, his dress was hiked up on his waist. The flower's pistil pushed between his bare buttocks again and again, and he only wanted more. His dick was hard and leaking against the shivering, vibrating flower petal.
For a while Bill was afraid that it would never end -- that he would be trapped in the amazing but frustrating position of receiving the pistil deep inside him time after time, pleasure and need building in his body without relief, forever. The pistil obviously didn't care for how he felt at all, moving insistently and regularly, without speeding up like Bill wanted it to. The petals reacted to his struggling but nothing reached for his aching dick and stroked it, soothing the ache.
The regularity of the pistil's movement ended up being his undoing, though. Bill could feel it building deep inside him, responding to the flared tip that was stretching him and filling him, and it was exactly the thought that he would be trapped there forever, the flower uncaring what he felt, that suddenly tipped him over the edge. The thick tip of the pistil was spreading him and the warm, smooth stem was rubbing him endlessly, and it turned out that there was a limit his body could take. The next time the petals squeezed around him and gave his dick some delicious friction, the feeling just burst inside him and he spilled all over the petal and himself, shuddering and clenching around the pistil's stem, emitting little, overwhelmed whines as he almost blacked out in his pleasure.
For a moment, Bill worried about the pistil continuing its torture, but it stopped almost right away. When Bill became aware of the world once more, he felt the pistil deep inside him, moving in little twitches like it was shivering. Then it abruptly stopped and pulled completely out of him, making him groan in oversensitivity and discomfort. The flower's petals opened, and then the petal Bill was resting on tipped and he fell right out of the flower.
Startled by the striking sunshine and cool air, Bill almost fell right down to the ground, but his instincts were quicker than his brain and he flapped his wings to slow his fall into a graceful landing. His legs were so weak they didn't hold him up, though, and so he ended up sitting down in a most ungraceful heap anyway.
Bill felt disoriented. His body was still pulsing, his skin warm and sensitive, his nipples peaking and his dick satisfied. He felt very warm inside him, too. His hole was a little sore but altogether his nethers felt good, little aftershocks reminding him how thoroughly he'd been had and sated.
Bill's face burned at the last thought. He tugged his dress down and looked quickly around him, to make sure no one was watching him in his un-pixie-like state. He felt sticky and he was covered with pollen, nectar and fluids, some of which were his own. The first order of business had to be washing up.
Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, Bill flew to the lake. He remembered how he'd met the frog there earlier, and how he'd said he was the most beautiful sight the frog would ever lay his eyes on. Now his reflection was flushed, his hair was sticky with nectar, and he hoped more than anything that the frog, or anyone else who'd ever met him, wouldn't see.
Bill washed himself thoroughly, straightened his dress, and lifted his chin. He told himself that he was fine, and he would just be more careful from now on. When he started to fly, it was a little wobbly at first, but soon it was like nothing had happened at all. No one else, after all, knew that his bottom was still hot and tingling from what the flower had done to him.
Thanks to steinsgrrl for the wonderful beta. ♥
Warning: Rape. If you want to know more, please feel free to contact me!
Pixie Trap
Bill landed on a big floating leaf. He kneeled right by the water to wash his face when a huge croak startled him so that he almost fell into the lake.
He swung around, ready to take flight if needed. But it was only an ugly old frog that was sitting on a tree root that stuck out above the water level.
"You startled me," Bill said haughtily. He turned his back on the frog to show how little he thought of the ugly creature, even though it was a little dangerous. Frogs sometimes tried to eat Bill's kind.
"I could say the same about you," said the frog, with a grating voice. "What on earth are you?"
Bill straightened his back even further. How preposterous that this stupid frog didn't even know what he was!
"I'm a pixie," he said, turning his head so that the frog would be certain to hear him. "Haven't you ever seen one before?"
"I sure haven't," the frog replied. "I'm still not convinced you're even real."
Bill sniffed. "I'm definitely real," he said. He kneeled by the water again and admired his reflection. Of course, it was possible that the poor old frog was blinded by his beauty and unearthly shimmer. Bill looked so good he seemed unreal. He felt more understanding toward the frog for a moment.
"Are there more of you around?" the frog asked.
"Uh-huh," Bill said, distracted by his reflection. His long, black hair was shiny and his face was absolutely stunning. It was also covered with pollen at the moment, so Bill reached down at last and cupped his hands to wash his face with the cool lake water.
The frog remained silent while Bill washed. He was powdered with pollen and sticky with nectar, but it was washed away easily, and then he was as good as new.
He stood up, shaking little droplets of water everywhere, and tensed his wings, ready to be on his way.
"I must say," the frog said annoyingly, "you're still the queerest little thing I've ever seen."
Bill drew his head up high and gave the frog a withering glare. "I'm a pixie, and pixies are the most beautiful creatures in this forest," he said. "You should be happy you got to rest your eyes on one before you die!"
"I don't know about happy," the frog said. "You've got wings like a dragon fly, thighs like a grasshopper, and the middle part I've never seen anywhere before."
Bill squawked. The frog could clearly not appreciate the luminous beauty that was Bill: his small, perfect face, his delicate, pointed ears, and his gorgeous body that was barely covered with a flimsy, ethereal dress.
"Whatever," he muttered. The frog was beyond his help, he decided.
"But you might still taste good," the frog mused, and then its thick, sticky tongue shot out and swiped the air where Bill had been a fraction of a second ago.
"You brute!" Bill screamed, flying away as fast as he could. "You ugly, horrible thing!"
He was so incensed he could have kept going, but the frog was too far to hear him anymore. Bill could fly fast. Certainly faster than any old frog tongue. He shuddered. How barbarian and repulsive!
Bill flew as far away from the frog and the lake as possible. By the time he felt safe and calm enough to flitter down to rest, he was hungry again. That was usual, though; Bill's days consisted of eating and washing and flying and eating again, and nothing else. Except preening and making the whole world better with his beauty, but that was a given.
Knowing where to find food, Bill flew to a sunny spot where there were lots of flowers and wandered this way and that in the air, waiting for an extraordinary flower to catch his eyes or his acute sense of smell. There were bees and butterflies everywhere. It was a lovely day, and soon, Bill spotted a lovely flower to go with it. It was a lily that was a little shorter than the neighbouring plants. Bill thought it very likely that there was more nectar in it because it wasn't as easily reached as the others.
Bill landed on one of the soft petals, his weight barely moving it, and breathed in the exquisite scent of the lily. It made his whole body quiver with pleasure, as if he could sense it all over. He could sense the nectar, too, and the sweetness of it made his mouth water.
Bill got down on his hands and knees and crept closer to the centre of the flower. It looked almost untouchable, and its stamens were covered with pollen. Bill extended his index finger and stroked the closest stamen carefully. Then he brought his finger to his lips and sucked the tangy pollen off. He liked pollen for its flavour, but what he mostly ate was nectar. He slid forward, looking for it.
There was more pollen at the tip of the sturdy pistil. Bill wrapped his hand around the stem and licked at the tip thoughtfully. It was sticky with fluid that didn't taste much like anything, and there was very little pollen. Obviously, not many bees or butterflies had stopped by. Bill licked at it a couple of times more, even though he knew that the flower would have preferred him to leave the pistil alone. Then the wish to taste the flower's nectar won and Bill peered into the centre of the flower. The nectar was somewhere in there, and he could probably reach it with his hand if he got near enough.
It was warmer, somehow, and darker near the centre of the flower, but Bill paid it no mind -- until the petals closed up behind him suddenly, tipping him so that he lost his balance and fell uncomfortably on his head in the dark.
Bill was all right because the distance hadn't been that great, and now he could reach the nectar, since there was a good deal of it smeared on his face, but he wasn't feeling very lucky.
The flower trembled, possibly because of the wind, and Bill was filled with fear. "No," he gasped, scrambling upright. This wasn't a flower that ate insects, was it? He'd been sure it was an ordinary lily, but what if he'd been wrong? What if it was going to think he was an insect and eat him too?
He planted his feet on the bottom of the flower and got up, feeling his way by touching the petals, trying to find the seams to open them again and getting the hell out. There were some almost imperceptible ridges on the petals, but Bill wasn't sure if they were a way out or just part of the texture.
The flower didn't seem bent on eating him, at least not yet, and his heart rate slowed down a notch. He crawled up, trying to find something that would support his feet and hands.
He could climb by gripping the petals, and felt hopeful about reaching the tips of the petals soon and being able to pry his way out, but then the petals suddenly squeezed tighter around him, trapping him in place.
"Ah!" Bill exclaimed, startled. His heart was picking up speed again. He couldn't move his hands, and he couldn't turn his head very much. "Help!" he pleaded, pitifully, with a voice that probably didn't even carry outside the petals. Now the flower would eat him, he was sure of it. He tried to kick it, and squirm so that the flower would release him, but the petals only pulsed slowly around him, like they were making sure he wouldn't get away.
This is the end, Bill thought and sobbed. He didn't want to die. He didn't know whether to be grateful that he could still breath, or to hope that he'd die before he was eaten.
He could feel something soft tickling his thighs, and he realised that it was the stamens. He tried to kick at them, but the attempt was weak. The petals were gripping him so tightly that he didn't really believe that he'd be let go, no matter what he did. It was hopeless, and there was nothing he could do. Tears stung his eyes.
The stamens tickled him some more, and Bill's eyes widened as he realised that they were moving. Maybe they were how the flower would eat him.
Bill's eyes widened even further when he felt that the stamens were slithering their way under his dress, and then something less fuzzy and stickier poked at his buttock, making Bill forget about his tears entirely. "What's this?" he whispered, fearing for a moment that it was the beginning of an indescribably horrible eating process. The stickier thing that Bill guessed to be the flower's pistil was poking between his buttocks now, though, and Bill didn't feel like he was about to be eaten anymore.
For a moment, Bill was frozen in horror, but then the pistil's invasive presence between his legs became too much. Bill yelped and closed his legs, trying to squirm away from the pistil, but it was impossible when the flower had trapped him so effectively.
Bill didn't know what the flower was going to do, but he was certain that he didn't want it to happen, whatever it was. He pressed his legs together and crossed them for good measure, and he squeezed his buttocks together to keep the pistil out of places it had no business going.
The fuzzy stamens stroked his legs, waving aimlessly like seaweed under the water. After a while, though, they pushed between his knees and his thighs, surprisingly strong. To Bill's shock, they twined around his legs and levered them mercilessly apart, no matter how much Bill tried to keep his legs together. In a moment, his legs were secured wide apart, and struggling against the stamens felt like struggling against stone. It was impossible to make them waver, even in the slightest.
The pistil resumed its explorations, and it didn't matter that Bill was squeezing his buttocks together. When his legs were apart, the pistil nudged its flared tip against the spot right under Bill's balls, and there was nothing Bill could do about it.
The pistil felt a great deal wetter and slipperier, and it smeared the fluid between Bill's legs with purposeful insistence, like a bee collecting nectar. Every few moments it slipped against a place where Bill wasn't used to being touched, and Bill jumped every time, startled by the feeling. He was still afraid, his breathing uneven and quick, just waiting for what would happen.
When the pistil situated itself right against that spot and started to push against it, like the pistil wanted in, Bill was dismayed.
"Aaahh!" His voice was hoarse and it didn't carry, but the pistil was still pushing against him, and Bill gasped a breath and yelled again, louder. "Aaaahhhh!"
The tip of the pistil felt huge, and even though it wasn't all hard and gave in a little, it didn't help much. The pistil was still trying to get in, determined. "No no no!" Bill wailed. It was scary and it hurt. He tried to wrench himself free, but to no avail. He couldn't move at all.
The pistil didn't cease, even for a moment. Bill realised that it wouldn't stop until it got what it wanted; it was a plant, single-minded. His face was still crunched up with pain and his eyes smarted with the tears of being so helpless and afraid. But he knew he had to do something. He had to stop resisting.
Bill gulped a breath and closed his eyes, trying to consciously relax and let the pistil in, as much as the thought made him blanch. He relaxed his muscles and tried to open up for it.
The pistil pushed in at once, its huge tip stretching Bill and making his poor bottom clamp down again.
"Aaaahh!" Bill yelled, trying to thrash and get away. It was pointless, as he'd known it, but he couldn't help himself. The pistil was so big and invasive. Tears spilled down Bill's cheeks. His breathing was nothing but shuddering pants. How had this happened? How was it possible that he was here, hurting like this, and couldn't get away?
The pistil was trying to get even further, Bill could feel it. Bill's bottom was gripping it but every now and then it slipped a little deeper. Bill had no idea what it wanted. Maybe the flower wanted to skewer him and consume him then. Bill still didn't have any way to stop it. He could only prolong it, and the pain wasn't worth it. He wanted a quick end, rather than to live slightly longer like this.
Bill relaxed again, as best he could when he was in pain and terrified. The pistil was eager to move forward, though, and it took advantage of even the slightest easing of Bill's bottom. When Bill relaxed as much as he could, the pistil pushed its tip deep inside Bill, making Bill whimper with the uncomfortable pressure inside him, and the feeling of the pistil's stem sliding into his hole.
The pistil stopped somewhere deep inside Bill, and for a moment, nothing happened except that Bill was drawing ragged breaths that were almost sobs. There was a full feeling in his nethers, and he could feel the stem between his buttocks.
Then the pistil started to draw back. Bill's eyes opened with wonder and even hope that the torment would be over, but no; when the pistil was almost completely out, and the tip of it was stretching Bill's hole, it thrust back in.
"Ah!" Bill said. There was much less pain now, but he was miserable with how helpless he was and how invasive and humiliating the pistil's presence inside him was. He could feel the stem sliding in against his hole, and the pistil's tip was still so huge and uncomfortable inside him.
The pistil stopped once more when it was deep in Bill, and then it slid almost all the way out. Bill knew what to expect now. He didn't try to fight it anymore, didn't try to move. He was just lying still with his eyes closed, waiting for it to end.
Bill's body was able to relax even more because the pain lessened and then stopped altogether, and it became easier for the slick pistil to move inside him. It helped that the pistil's movement was so predictable, too. Even the tip stretching his hole with every stroke didn't feel bad anymore. Actually, it kind of itched, but not in a painful way at all.
Bill tolerated the itchy feeling for several strokes, but then he tried to squirm a bit, irritated. The pistil's tip was so big, it should have scratched the itch and make it stop, but it felt like it was just making it worse.
Finally Bill gave up squirming, because he really couldn't move. He tried to ease the itchy feeling by clenching around the pistil, instead. It didn't help when the tip of the pistil was near his hole -- that only felt uncomfortable -- but clenching around the stem surging inside him did help.
Bill met every upstroke by clenching his bottom for a while, and the itchy feeling got much better. It didn't exactly stop but it was much more tolerable. Bill took deep, steady breaths and squeezed around the stem every time it slid inside him and out, relaxing only when the tip almost reached his hole.
Gradually the feeling around his hole spread further, deeper inside him. Bill pressed his hot cheek against the flower petal and concentrated on getting the most out of the pistil's movements inside him. The petal was soft against his cheek and against his whole body, now that he thought of it, gripping his body everywhere, putting pressure on his stomach and chest and all of his back.
Bill tried to shift a little, and the petals pulsed around him, sending ripples of sensation everywhere. Especially his dick. It was surprisingly ready to receive this kind of sensation, and the next time the pistil was thrusting inside him, Bill writhed more vigorously to make the petals close tighter around him again. It worked very well, and a petal pressed against his dick exactly as the pistil was stretching his hole, and Bill grunted, trying to push against the petal. The pistil slid in again, and its tip rubbed against a place inside Bill that made sparks scatter everywhere in him like glittering droplets of water.
"Oh," Bill mumbled. He tried to wriggle and speed up the pistil's movements, but the only thing he succeeded in was making the petals squeeze around him. The pistil was as mercilessly steady as always, but now Bill wanted it to move more quickly, and now he wanted to be able to move himself -- not to get away, but to better meet the pistil's thrusts.
"Ah," Bill moaned, frustrated because he still couldn't move. It was good, though. Every slide of the pistil felt good inside him and the petals trembled and closed around him more frequently, pressing against his nipples and pushing against his dick and making a wonderful, heated feeling build inside him that reached all the way down to his tingling toes.
The pistil worked inside him and Bill tried his best, despite being immobilised, to angle his butt so that the stem surging inside him would feel as glorious as it could. He was very different from the startled, panicking pixie who had been freshly trapped by the flower. He was flushed and panting for breath with his eyes closed, his dress was hiked up on his waist. The flower's pistil pushed between his bare buttocks again and again, and he only wanted more. His dick was hard and leaking against the shivering, vibrating flower petal.
For a while Bill was afraid that it would never end -- that he would be trapped in the amazing but frustrating position of receiving the pistil deep inside him time after time, pleasure and need building in his body without relief, forever. The pistil obviously didn't care for how he felt at all, moving insistently and regularly, without speeding up like Bill wanted it to. The petals reacted to his struggling but nothing reached for his aching dick and stroked it, soothing the ache.
The regularity of the pistil's movement ended up being his undoing, though. Bill could feel it building deep inside him, responding to the flared tip that was stretching him and filling him, and it was exactly the thought that he would be trapped there forever, the flower uncaring what he felt, that suddenly tipped him over the edge. The thick tip of the pistil was spreading him and the warm, smooth stem was rubbing him endlessly, and it turned out that there was a limit his body could take. The next time the petals squeezed around him and gave his dick some delicious friction, the feeling just burst inside him and he spilled all over the petal and himself, shuddering and clenching around the pistil's stem, emitting little, overwhelmed whines as he almost blacked out in his pleasure.
For a moment, Bill worried about the pistil continuing its torture, but it stopped almost right away. When Bill became aware of the world once more, he felt the pistil deep inside him, moving in little twitches like it was shivering. Then it abruptly stopped and pulled completely out of him, making him groan in oversensitivity and discomfort. The flower's petals opened, and then the petal Bill was resting on tipped and he fell right out of the flower.
Startled by the striking sunshine and cool air, Bill almost fell right down to the ground, but his instincts were quicker than his brain and he flapped his wings to slow his fall into a graceful landing. His legs were so weak they didn't hold him up, though, and so he ended up sitting down in a most ungraceful heap anyway.
Bill felt disoriented. His body was still pulsing, his skin warm and sensitive, his nipples peaking and his dick satisfied. He felt very warm inside him, too. His hole was a little sore but altogether his nethers felt good, little aftershocks reminding him how thoroughly he'd been had and sated.
Bill's face burned at the last thought. He tugged his dress down and looked quickly around him, to make sure no one was watching him in his un-pixie-like state. He felt sticky and he was covered with pollen, nectar and fluids, some of which were his own. The first order of business had to be washing up.
Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, Bill flew to the lake. He remembered how he'd met the frog there earlier, and how he'd said he was the most beautiful sight the frog would ever lay his eyes on. Now his reflection was flushed, his hair was sticky with nectar, and he hoped more than anything that the frog, or anyone else who'd ever met him, wouldn't see.
Bill washed himself thoroughly, straightened his dress, and lifted his chin. He told himself that he was fine, and he would just be more careful from now on. When he started to fly, it was a little wobbly at first, but soon it was like nothing had happened at all. No one else, after all, knew that his bottom was still hot and tingling from what the flower had done to him.