Nate and the Pitcher Plant

The sun had several more hours left before setting, but Nate took no chances; the deeper he could escape into the woods, the better for him — and the safer for everyone else. He stopped and looked around, listening closely for any sounds but heard nothing, not even a bird or a squirrel in the forest.

He walked down into a small valley where stood several thick trees and their dense network of leaves. Soft, dense mosses covered the ground, and three pitcher plants grew by a small spring. Otherwise, the covered clearing was empty of any other living thing.

Good, Nate thought to himself. Can’t risk hurting anyone. He began to peel off his sweat- drenched jacket and shirt. The air in the vale was cool, making his nipples tight the fur on his chest and eight-pack stand up, but he didn’t want to destroy his clothes during his transformation; he couldn’t just walk back into the city nude again. Nate pulled off his jeans and jock too, to set them neatly in in a folded pile. He looked at the jock, thinking of the last time he’d worn it: three days ago when he’d met those two travelers at a bar. Nate began to think of the things they’d done in the back alley, the noises they made and the people watching them from the upstairs windows while they —

Nate shook his head and walked away, towards the spring. His dick was getting hard thinking about fucking and getting fucked. True, he hadn’t cum since that night, and his testicles were needy, but if he started jerking off now the desire and hormone rush could set off his transformation early, perhaps as soon as the full moon crested the horizon before the sun fully set. And he knew that the longer he was in wolf form, the further afield he could go and the more damage he could do.

He threw himself down on the moss with his back against a tree, sighing, knowing that the sun still had plenty of time to go down. Nate looked at the water and the pitcher plants to distract himself from the temptation to jack off. He didn’t know what kinds of trees were around him, or what type of pitcher plant was growing just a couple feet away. He’d seen plants in the same family before, but not ones like these. These had huge purple flowers growing at ground level, and from three blooms sprouted green bulbs the size of basketballs; a vine rose from the end of the closest giant bulb and ended in the pitcher: a massive green tube the length of Nate’s

forearm with a glossy, ruby-red opening covered by a leaf. Nate could smell a fragrance coming from the pitcher, even with the leaf sealing it.

He was planning to tell Ceth or someone about it once getting back to town, when he began to doze off. He didn’t fight the sleepiness either; napping was good, since it made the transformation feel like some hazy, half-forgotten, horrible dream.

Nate was dreaming that a thick, heavy ass drenched in lube was hovering over his hard cock, slowly coming closer to his glans. He wanted to see it press onto his dick and pump his load out, but his subconscious fear of turning too soon made him jolt awake.

As his eyes opened, Nate smelled that sweet scent from before, but now it was powerful. He looked ahead and saw the closest pitcher plant’s lid was open, and inside was a shiny, viscous liquid sloshing gently as the red-lipped opening came closer and closer to his —

Nate leapt up and tried to run, but he felt his wrists and ankles restrained. All he could do was stand up and look at the vines that had tied him back to the trunk. His head snapped back to the pitcher plant; the tentacle growing from the bulb slowly stretched up and closer, inching it’s way to his naked loins.

Nate jerked against the vines, but they were too densely layered on his ankles and wrists to pull away. He grunted, thrashed, and started to sweat, but his struggling was useless. The pitcher was inches away now, and Nate realized with horror that the drenched opening of the carnivorous plant was indeed aiming straight for his cock head.

“No, wait, fuck NO!” he yelled, trying to pull back from it. He could imagine the digestive juices pooled inside that tube working on his heavy dick, dissolving it for plant food. “W-wait, NO! Fuck it, someone, HELP!” No one was close enough to hear, much less help, and he knew it. “Fuck,” he muttered, tensing all his muscles to fight as hard as he could, to keep his twenty-one centimeters of thick, flaccid cock intact for as long as possible.

He stared down, unable to look away as the red mouth of the plant slowly reached his soft dick. As soon as it touched his foreskin, the vine snapped forward, engulfing his whole piece. Nate could hear the plant juices splashing inside, and he could feel his dick getting drowned in them. The pitcher plant opening closed tightly on the base of his cock, keeping every drop of its

chemical trapped inside, bathing his meat. He could watch in panic through it’s semi-translucent walls.

Nate grit his teeth and clenched his eyes tight, preparing for the tingling and burning of plant acid he knew was coming to liquify his cock. Seconds passed, and he opened his eyes to stare at the squishy prison around his manhood. The viscous fluid inside wasn’t burning. He wondered, perhaps, if it was numbing his cock. Of course, so prey won’t struggle as much, was his grim thought.

Then, after a gasp, Nate let out a low groan. The juices felt warm, not burning; and instead of pain, it felt — good. Really good. Like liquified silk on his dick. He sensed his cock relaxing, loosening. It felt like it had been dipped into a jar of warm massage oil, soaking his dick and working its way through his skin and into his body.

“No!” he shouted, shaking his head and trying to focus. The juices indeed felt like they were affecting his cock; they might still be trying to dissolve his dick, but they certainly were absorbing into his sensitive skin. “The fuck is this!?” He tried again to pull his hips back, even though the sensation was increasingly pleasurable. His balls felt warm and relaxed now too, and hung low as if he were in a warm bath. The blood flowing through his cock pumped harder, and as it coursed through his body, he could feel his arousal hormones release. His breathing grew heavier, like when seeing a hot ass or cock he wanted to pounce on. His cock was growing from his flaccid length to its full, girthy thirty-one centimeters.

Nate threw his head back, “Stop, you bastard!” He pulled again, but this time the plant pulled back. Nate groaned as it did so, undulating its wet, succulent walls on his cock like a snake swallowing prey. The attached vine pulled back, dragging Nate’s hips forwards from the tree trunk.

“Ufff, fuck....” His aroused brain was tempted to just think about the best sex experiences of his life, to just enjoy the pulsing, pulling, sucking, warm, chemical pleasure in his dick. “Fuck... grrr, gah!!” he yelled, trying to pull away.

The plant kept sucking harder, like a vacuum, and the walls of the pitcher kept oozing fresh slime, keeping his dick lubricated. Nate was no longer afraid of losing his cock; he could

feel and see every vein standing out hard from his intense erection. His foreskin was stretched out revealing his full glans, where the plant chemical soaked most easily into his body.

Nate could feel his balls filling with cum; they hung heavy and started to hurt, as if he had been tied down and edged for hours by an expert. His body wanted to cum; all his animal instincts begged for it. But glaring at the insistent, hungry plant, Nate knew something was wrong, and he struggled to resist the urge to cum.

But the pitcher sucked harder, pulsed faster. Soft, supple, insatiable milking kept working his cock. Sweat poured off Nate’s pecs and ran down his abs, ass, and legs. His whole body was in heat, forced against his will into a lustful frenzy.

“No, wait!” he yelled, but he felt in his groin that it was too late. His balls tensed, ready to submit. Nate’s mouth opened wide as he yelled, half protesting and half intoxicated with pleasure. He groaned and roared as thick ropes of cum shot from his cock. He gasped with each of the eight spurts of seed, and, panting, he watched the cum sucked down through the vine into the bulb at the plant’s base, where it sat in a pool like —

No, fuck no!

Where it sat like milk in a collection tank.

The pitcher kept drawing on his meat with no slowing. After cumming, Nate’s cock was too sensitive, and the stimulation made him yell and writhe. The poison, however, kept his cock hard, and within minutes his balls were on the threshold of exploding again. He could feel them hanging low and full.

Nate gasped. Another load of cum blasted from his cock, just as much as before. “Shit, no! Please!” he begged, but the plant kept sucking.

I’ll run out of cum soon, at this fucking rate, he thought. Then what?

He fought to hold onto his loads, but four more were extracted. His body tingled all over with arousal; his cock was purple from being so hard; his balls kept filling with cum. Nate felt exhausted, and as he looked again at the bulb he saw how it had swollen even larger to accommodate the mass of jizz milked from his body. There was much more cum than he could possibly have churned out in a day, much less the three hours he’d been worked on by the pitcher.

He realized with renewed panic that his exhaustion wasn’t just from cumming. Whatever chemical was pulsing through his veins, his balls, and his cock — it was taking more than his natural cum volume. It was robbing his energy and strength, his life force, using his seed for hell- knew-what. He could feel throughout his body the sense of being drained.

Nate looked up at the sky through the trees, at last remembering the moon. It was his only chance of getting free: to survive as long as he could and hope to change before....

Nate looked at the plant. “Get the hell off me,” he growled, trying to rally what strength he had left to keep from cumming more of his life away. He succeeded, for a while, lasting longer than he had yet.

In response to the lack of fresh cum, the plant secreted more fluid and slurped its way down to his balls before sucking them inside the pitcher. The pressure hurt Nate for a moment, then he groaned louder, with both anger and increased pleasure. He could see his hard cock and balls through the stretched walls of the pitcher, its tube barely long enough to contain his meat and massive eggs. The poison was now going straight to the source of his cum, and Nate could almost see the testicles swelling with more of his juice — more of his essence.

“Uh, fuck... oh, ffffuck,” he moaned. His head swam, and he tried hard to cling to the determination not to cum. But the chemical seeping thoughout his blood and brain forced him to think of every massive cumshot he’d ever erupted, made him remember the pleasure of filling every hole he’d drenched.

Nate was groaning, and his mouth began to drool a little down his scruff. His cock was in pure bliss. He groared loudly as the largest load yet — fourteen heavy spurts — left his body.

Shaking and panting, Nate looked up, begging for the moon to rise soon and desperate to know how long he had to keep trying to survive. Then, he gasped one more time, very faintly; he saw the moon’s bright edge already risen a few degrees in the dusk sky.

Why am I not turning!?

He looked at the pitcher in the pale light, then at the bulb. His head was too tired to raise again, and his body felt too good to struggle any more.

His thoughts came sluggishly. Have I ... lost too much ... energy? Nate groaned again. Six more ropes of gooey cum left his cock.

Shit ... fuck ... no. ... ... fuck, it feels so good.

He moaned and surrendered more seed. Nate could barely keep his eyes open as he glanced at the bulb one more time; it was almost bursting with liters of cum. “Feels — too good,” he muttered, giving up more of himself.

Nate came again, again, and several more times, even as his eyes closed. He felt a faint tingling in his hands, spine, and feet, then lost consciousness.

The sun was shining yellow and warm. The heat of it on his skin woke Nate. He groaned, feeling sore all over, which was normal after a full moon; but he also felt sore inside his body, especially in his cock and balls.

Nate slowly opened his eyes, feeling as if his whole body had sunk to the bottom of a lake. Carefully he pushed himself up, weak despite the hugeness of his triceps and biceps. Once he could sit up he looked around. Slash marks gouged a few trees, the grass around him lay shredded and scattered, and he smelled of sweat and wet dog. Yep, another full moon. His memories crawled back to his consciousness until, with a sharp turn of his aching head, Nate looked behind him.

Dozens of yards away stood the entrance to the vale. The tree where he was bound leaned to the side, half of its trunk ripped away. The pitcher that milked him — nearly to death — lay crushed. Nate smiled, but then he looked at the bulb. The reservoir of his cum, it seemed, was empty; however, all around the one crushed pitcher plant grew ten more, newly sprung up while he was unconscious, lying in wait for more unwary wanderers and their seed.