Grabbing her small 35mm.camera again, Janet lifts her shapely leg much like a ballerina, over the pool rim and places her foot atop the muck inside. Gripping the pools tubular rim, she gently places the pressure of weight upon the foot, feeling the warm mud as it slides across the top of her foot and press in on her ankle. Her leg is submerged with ease to mid-calf, and then she encounters solid bottom. This is great she thinks. Now I won't be getting as muddy as I thought I would be. She wriggles her toes and feels the ooze squishing between them and knows a fall will get her muddy indeed. Pushing off with the leg already inside the pool, Janet hoists her other foot into the pool in a manner similar to mounting a horse with stirrups. It disappears from sight to a depth similar to the first leg.

The garage floor looks to be far below her, as she stands erect at nearly half again her normal altitude. The plants are much more impressive in visage from this perspective. Janet is awed by the flower's massiveness. She glances back at the camcorder to reassuringly see the red light that tells her the camera is properly recording.

Janet tries to pull her foot out of the mire, but encounters astonishing resistance. The warm, inky silt presses in upon her swallowed flesh and her feet feel like they are stuck to the bottom with suction. Then, she intuitively keeps her toes pointed toward the bottom and her foot slides much easier from the muck, punctuated by a slurping sound as it exits. The enmired wader realizes that she will have to raise her foot very high at each step. She wonders if she will look like a flannel- caped, thong wearing Majorette to her friends when they view the camcorder's tape. Janet takes small steps, not wanting to fall and ruin her 35mm.camera, or provide her friends with distracting comedy.

The morass encompassing Janet's lower legs in its warm embrace feels like a sensuous foot massage at each plunging step. She feels her nipples growing taut with arousal in their contact with the soft sliding flannel. Janet also feels a warm dampness growing between her legs and the urge to slip her fingers inside the thong and pleasure herself flits across her mind. She smiles a wicked little smile at the thought of what a movie that would make. She might confide her feelings to her girlfriends later, but she would never demonstrate them for the camera.

Within minutes, Janet's wade places her three feet away from the edge of the smaller plants ringing the huge blossom's base. Looking down at them, she wonders whether it's her imagination, the lighting or if she sees a stirring. Each individual plant seems to be dilating and contracting the visible amount of their white centers. It must be the effect of the ripples on top of the ever-soupier mud.

The smell of her tangy perspiration, earned by the exertion of her trek, is wafted to her. Janet also smells the thick aroma of the plants before her and decides she likes the bouquet of the blended scents, although the plant aroma makes her feel a little woozy. Standing almost knee-deep in the tepid muck, with her senses massaged so richly, she resolves to masturbate later when she returns to the shower.

Janet's next step feels different. The woman's foot comes to rest on an incline and the mire changes to the consistency of thin fudge topping. Her forward foot starts sliding away from her back foot and she tries to shift her weight backwards with the alarming effect of pulling that leg towards her foremost leg. For a perpetual moment, she hangs on the verge of going deeper or executing a split. Then, slowly and irresistibly, Janet begins to slide down a hidden slope towards the center of the pool. The muck is now reaching above her knees and with both feet planted against the slope, she slides in deeper yet. Janet dares not lift a foot, lest she lose her balance, fall, and slip beneath the surface. She pinwheels her arms slowly in an effort to maintain balance. With legs braced and knees locked, she looks down in horror as the mud swallows her to just above mid thigh. All the time her eyes remain focused on the large flower at the center of the pool. Then the bottom levels off again and her descent ceases.

At the edge of the smaller plants, Janet feels the coarse texture of their bulbs against her soft upper legs. She looks back at the camcorder's red indicator light and she muses, no harm done. This is much closer than intended, the huge pod's stem now was only two yards away. Janet raises her small camera and snaps off several more shots. With false bravado, she turns toward the camcorder and waves with a smile to be recorded for posterity.

Janet places her foot, back up the ramp she has just slid down, but several attempted steps reveal that she cannot gain the traction that will allow her to climb back out. Turning around, she looks across the center and wonders if a spot on the other side might allow for an easier exit.

The mud at the center has the consistency of tomato paste and Janet wades into the perimeter of the smaller plants. Floating atop of the shifting muddy soup, the smaller plants flow in around her, closing upon her trailing wake as she labors on towards the center. Get going girl, get tough, Janet thinks again with resolution. At least it's not getting any deeper; she muses.

Unexpectedly, the smaller plants are bustling with activity. Janet stifles a scream of surprise and freezes in place as the small, white centers of these plants thrust upward. Grub-worm white, and fully an inch and one-half thick, the lengths of the appendages vary from four to ten inches and the disturbing piece of commonality that they all shared was their undulating movement. They all seemed to be searching for something in their serpentine contortions. They all seem to be reaching out for her.

Instinctively, Janet raises her camera. She feels the slippery tendrils moving against her thighs and buttocks. Janet twists her hips in a futile effort to avoid their slick caress. With a short audible exhale, Janet starts to move as quickly as the muck will allow her, towards the far side.

Beneath the surface of the quaking slime, a network of shoelace sized roots are engaged with enwrapping her legs. She can feel a growing resistance to her progress and then an audacious binding pressure on her flesh as the lattice of filaments constrictively encircles her legs. They are small, yet the fibers have the resiliency of parachute cord. Janet's advance is halted as the root system holds her fixed like a moth in a spider's web. Janet's struggles cause waves to pass through the pool's center and the tentacle pods to bob about atop the ooze.

A white tentacle squirms inside of the front of her thong and she reaches down with her right hand to block its advances. It is incredibly strong though, and sinuously slides through her fingers. Janet is at once horrified and aroused as the thick tendril rubs up and down her crotch, exerting a continually increasing pressure against her recently shaved womanhood. A low moan of arousal escapes her lips, yet she is galvanized by fright as she drops her camera and moves to block the invader's advances with both hands. The slick muck is an effective lubricant that bargains away any hold the dismayed girl tries to negotiate on the eel-like appendage. It slides easily through her straining grip. Other tendrils begin to join the probing search, nudging her flinching thighs and withers. Janet is out-muscled and outnumbered. While applying all the pressure her inner thigh muscles could muster to keep herself tight, she feels herself dampening inside in unsolicited arousal.

Abandoning attempts to grab at the aggressive probes, Janet grabs her upper thighs, forcing them together into a tight lap. The root system that has entrapped Janet responds by slowly and steadily pulling her straining legs apart. An inch, then two inches as she groans with the effort of her resistance.

A tendril hooks through the rear of Janet's thong, pulling tightly on the brief's fabric. The suit is drawn tautly over the appendage, which is accosting entry to her heated love nook and the thin top band digs deeply into her trembling hips. The two cable-like probes abandon their explorations of Janet's flesh and engage in a tug of war with her garment. Their yanking lurches her pelvis about in obscene surging gyrations, until the stitching at the crotch of her thong fails with a snap. The ruined garment hangs from her hips and the vandalous vegetables immediately renew their arduous attentions to Janet's exposed genitals. They are joined by several more of the serpentine tubers and Janet can feel the muscular writhing along her inner thighs as the gang of them press their quest upwards.

A tentacle breaches all barriers and slides into her. "Oh! Oh God!" Janet weeps and laughs simultaneously in response, as it reaches deeper and deeper into her dampness with each undulating thrust. First, an inch, then two, then three inches. Janet clenches the penetrating plant in both her fists and powered by a fear granted adrenaline, grips the shaft so hard that her shoulders crackle and burn. Her resistance is to no avail, as the probing invader squirms through her hands with impunity. The serpentine growth dilates itself eight inches into her torso, then withdraws a third of the distance. It begins to plunge and withdraw repeatedly, writhing from side to side; up and down with a sinuous strength her arms are powerless to control.

Janet is now breathing in deep, rasping gasps and she learns that the plants are not just satisfied with vaginal penetration. She feels the same increasing rubbing pressure as before, but now it is at her sphincter and she frantically looks up for any missed avenue of escape.

The enormous pod is looming only two feet above her and clear gel slavers down from the slot that marks its orifice like spittle, reaching towards her. The bottoms of the deep pink petals are marbled with throbbing crimson veins that are as thick as clothesline ropes.

Janet's breathing comes in ragged gasps, which punctuate the thrusting ravages of the tuberous cord that is stretching her labial walls. With a shaking hand, Janet slides her fingers into the front of the shirt and tears open the flannel garment. Quickly shrugging it off, Janet flails and snaps it at the huge flower to drive it back. The strategy seems to be a successful defense when several things happen in rapid succession.

A tendril hooks through the waistband of Janet's tattered thong. Alternately pushing against the small of her back, and pulling backwards at her apparel, it causes her to struggle for her balance. As she sways forward and back, another tendril slithers into her ass. The tentacle pushing up into Janet's colon is cunningly gentler in its intrusion than the one that is ravaging her vagina. Very slowly, it slides two inches into her, then stops. Surprisingly, the invading appendage in her rump begins to tremble; increasing in its speed until it is vibrating so hard and fast, that she can feel it by placing her hand on her tensed stomach.

Janet feels her juices rushing to her loins and closing her eyes, she is rocked by wave after wave of trembling. As if coming out of a fog, Janet regains cognizance to the sound of a slurping cadence. The sounds declare the plunging movements of the worm-like stem as it roots into her unresisting vagina. She drops her hands to brace her hips and steady herself. Janet's knees feel weak and looking down, she is amazed to see her own body betraying her as it thrusts forward and back seeking its own further fulfillment.

Returning her half-closed eyes skyward, Janet gasps with alarm as a large glob of plant spittle descends upon her chest. Surprisingly, it feels cool and soothing when it touches her skin that had been scraped earlier. Besides its Aloe-like ability to sooth, the liquid has a lubricity and an intoxicating aroma. Janet's hands move to her chest to clear the gelatinous spew from her skin. The heady aroma of the substance fills her lungs and a warm brandy glow washes over her. Janet's hands brush over her taut nipples and a shudder of pleasure shakes her shoulders. All thoughts of removing the ooze from her skin flee from her mind as her fingers plow into the fragrant slime and she begins kneading her firm breasts.

One of the entranced woman's hands glides upwards and over her collarbone. She reaches along her throat leaving a trail of the greasy aphrodisiac across the skin shielding the main blood passages to her brain. Janet's finger traces along her jawbone, she smears the goo on her cheek, then paints the erogenous elixir on her lips.

Janet feels a pressure against her forehead and opens her eyes widely again to see the bloom throbbing and drooling and slightly parting its two huge petals, much like a huge excited vagina itself.

Her reaction was to raise her arms to push it away. This seems to work at first, because the large plant deceptively withdraws a couple of feet. But as she holds her arms out straight to ward off the flower, it suddenly lunges back at Janet. Her juice- smeared arms are easily enveloped to the elbows by the cavernous maw. Before she can pull them back, the giant petals clench them in their grip with force far beyond hers, a strength that bars all hope of escape.

Weakened by recent events, Janet looks on with growing terror in her heart as the blossom slowly and methodically devours more of her arms, a quarter of an inch at a time. Release, push and grip.

Looking down again, Janet sees a bubble of thickness in the tubular invader as it is seething in and out of her. It increases the tendril's girth by almost half again. Much like the water bubble in a cartoon hose, it is moving swiftly up the plant, towards her.

As the bulge enters her, Janet feels the resistance of its growing width on her labial walls and trembles in supplication. She feels increasing pressure on her anus and knows a similar intrusion is reaching into her from behind. The pressure from behind begins to burn and she feels like she is being split in two, or her ass is on fire. Then, the bulge moves up into her colon and the relief to her tortured sphincter is as a soothing balm.

Janet feels an exploding wetness shooting up into her from below, and the larger plant that has captured her arms trembles ever so slightly. Janet sees slick, luminescent green fluids gush out of her orifices and paint her inner thighs as the two tentacles inside her begin their thrusting and thrashing with renewed vigor.

In her predicament, as dire as it is, she feels the arousal of fires stirring again within her. Janet knows that they will not be denied.

The blossom has gained her arms nearly to her shoulders as Janet leans her head forward to avoid its grasp. Dribbles of the blossom's juice run down the nape of Janet's neck and along her twisting spine. Her hands and wrists can feel a writhing mass inside the flower, similar to the tendrils below. It occurs to Janet for the first time, below and above, that it's all one plant having its way with her.

With her head forced down, she sees the tentacles probing her below with a steady, rhythmic motion. Janet watches with almost a detached fascination as she feels the two tendrils inside her occasionally bump against each other. A third tendril attempts entry to her by means of her pussy as if it were her next suitor, ready and waiting.

Looking across the room through a haze that swims before her view, Janet sees the red light of the camcorder, still filming. The bloom thrusts forward again in an unusual leap and grips Janet's head from behind, fully encompassing her shoulders and her face up to her jawbones. She can move her arms around inside the flower now and feels again, the serpentine tendrils. They grip her arms firmly in their coils and Janet shivers as she feels them touching the back of her scalp. A copious quantity of drool erupts from the blossom and Janet holds her breath a moment, for fear of drowning, as her entire torso is flooded.

The beleaguered lady squirms to avoid further capture, but the flower uses the opportunity her movement provides to gain more of Janet and it slides down her lubricated body to the bottom of her ribcage. With her head and arms swallowed into the cavernous bloom, Janet finds her arms pulled into its tropic depths by the tentacles that have encircled them. The muscled petals of the bloom pause to mouth a masticating massage against Janet's breasts with shifting pulses of pressure.

On the inside of the flower a dim pinkish light comes through the thick, translucent petals. Janet views a cluster of five tentacles, much longer than the ones having their way with her below.

A sudden increase in the pressure on walls of her lower openings signals to Janet that the plant is moving its slippery, warm juices into her for a second time. In anticipation, she starts to rock her own hips as hard as she can, hoping to capture as much of the event into her as she is able.

Janet realizes that she is feeling irrational about her predicament and although her every energy should be focused on escape, she is feeling an attachment towards her tormentor. A mysterious affection causes Janet to dismiss any other such musings and concentrate on the ecstasies being delivered at the moment.

Once more, she feels pints of the hot fiery juices from below spurting deeply into her and again she feels her excitement building as her own body prepares to return the compliment. Janet feels a primal need to have her own body's juices join with the broth that her captor is pumping deeply into her. Losing any vestige of composure, she thrusts out her lower jaw and starts a growling yell that ends as a trembling moan. Her legs twitch spasmodically as a cocktail of their combined sauce seeps out of her, and blend into the swirling morass below.

The ropy tentacles within the pod release their grip on Janet's arms. Her hands seek her breasts and she clenches them, pinching her nipples with an energy that hurts so, and yet feels so good.

As she rides through spasms of blissful climax, two tendrils snake forward, encircling her neck while another slithers over her moaning lips and deeply into her throat. Her jaws ache with the accommodation. The captive woman now is now reduced to breathing exclusively through her nose and she knows the next surge of the plant's liquids will probably drown her.

A beset Janet feels a second tentacle entering her vaginally and also feels its movements are opposite of initial invader. Thrusting as the other withdraws, and withdrawing as the other thrusts. She also realizes that the root system, which had earlier captured her legs, has released its hold on her.

The pod-like flower thrusts downward once more and inhales Janet's body to the middle of her hips. Exerting more pressure, it accentuates the tentacles that are rabidly probing her lower orifices. Janet is wracked with surge upon surge of orgasmic tremor as the sinuous petals bear down on her buttocks with their relentless chewing activity.

When the bulbous bloom next eases its grasp, it pushes three feet into the slushy mire, to rest loosely on her calves. Janet slowly and mechanically draws her own knees up, into the blossom, to better spread her legs and facilitate the progressively deeper penetrations of the plant within her.

As Janet's world grows dim, she is aware of the uncontrollable writhing her body is going through. She is also aware of her tongue's welcoming the oral invasion with a gentle cradling of the tendril passing it. Janet and the plant engage in a death dance of pleasures. She wants to be entered in every imaginable way, and offers herself to the flower, reaching for a cellular level of total submission. Then, she is aware of nothing more. The red light on the camcorder winks out.