Evanesce
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Joined: 9/14/2005
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OF HUMAN PLANTS
Copyright May, 2000
Bondage is an art form, and Master is a true artist.
For Halloween, he turned me into a scarecrow and staked me out in the yard. It was truly a masterpiece and, my face unseen by anyone; I smiled as I listened to the many compliments he received from passers-by.
He had driven the stake deeply into the ground and, as with all scarecrows, the crossbeam was passed through my clothing. I wore his favorite color; a purple plaid work shirt that was quilted and warm. Over this, I wore a very old, faded pair of overalls that were several sizes too large and had holes in the knees. He had stuffed straw into my clothes, against my flesh, and it was unbearably itchy. It stuck out from my collar, sleeves, pant legs and the holes in my overalls. Master said it looked “cute.” Oversized, white work gloves were also stuffed with straw and placed on my hands, and I wore a pair of his old work boots, which made my feet appear comically large.
My arms were bound to the crossbar, and my waist and ankles to the pole. He placed a burlap sack over my head, with holes cut for my eyes and exaggerated, painted on features. The sack was loosely bound with a hemp rope about my neck. A big straw hat was placed on my head and, with a gentle pat, he commanded that I remain motionless. That was hard, let me tell you, but no one ever discovered that underneath the old clothing, burlap and straw was a living, breathing woman, and it excited me immensely. Master took several photographs to show me later, and I glowed when I saw what a great scarecrow I had become.
Thanksgiving was truly a feast, and I was to be the centerpiece – a cornucopia. I rather enjoyed the idea of lying in the center of a large table… a mute decoration surrounded by food and friends. For this endeavor, Master enlisted the help of a few friends in making a papier-mâché gourd. It was crafted in two pieces, which allowed for proper access to bind me into place, and hinged on one side. On Thanksgiving morning, I was bound in sheer red and gold crepe paper, with small flowers in my hair. The gourd had been set on the table. Master opened it, and bade me lie down inside. My ankles and wrists were then fastened securely to the sides of the gourd, and it was fastened shut. Then he set to work, placing nuts, berries, fruits, pine cones and flowers both inside the gourd with me, and all about me on the table, topping it with a large red bow. A bright red ball gag finished his decoration. Again, He took photographs of me, and I was amazed at the beauty he had created.
As the guests arrived for dinner, food was set upon the table around me. The aromas of the meal of which I would not be partaking caused me to salivate around the gag and a few of the guests, noticing my predicament, teased me affectionately. This, of course, did nothing to ease my embarrassment and, by the time everyone sat down to eat I was blushing profusely.
In the weeks prior to this feast, Master had told me that my role would be nothing more than a centerpiece, but as the wine flowed and their inhibitions loosened, the guests quickly changed that. When dessert arrived, two of the men opened the gourd and cut the crepe paper from my body. With my wrists and ankles still bound, I was helpless to resist as they set about spooning desserts onto my flesh. Master watched, smiling, as I was soon covered head to toe with ice cream, pumpkin and other assorted pies, whipped cream and other desserts. With a wicked grin, Master looked at me and said, “Dig in, everyone!” In a split second, thirteen mouths set upon me, licking and nibbling every inch of my body, exploring every crevice and devouring every morsel. I’d never felt anything so wonderful in my life! My body strained upward, greedily begging for more, as I exploded with pleasure. Later, after the guests departed and I was allowed to have my dinner, Master and I relived that afternoon, and it was even better the second time around.
At Christmas, I became his Christmas tree. In the course of a single afternoon, Master crafted a wire mesh encasement that left about an inch of space between my body and the wire. It was hinged on one side, with clasps on the other, so that I may be released for bed or to make my toilette, but I was that tree during every waking hour for a week.
My arms were held slightly out to the sides, my feet spread at a distance comfortable enough to stand for long periods. Then he set about adding the greenery. Lengths of narrow garland were woven through the wire. Stiffer wires of evergreen were attached for the branches. The bits of garland tickled; some of the wires poked me; and when I halfheartedly complained, Master laughed and threatened to gag me. I giggled and fell silent. He worked for hours, getting the branches just right, and then he decorated me. Ornaments hung from every branch, and the final addition was several strings of small, twinkling, lights.
Master had a party that night, and when they saw me, everyone marveled at his ingenuity. The sights and sounds of merriment were all around me yet all I could do was stand and watch, a mute evergreen, as slaves were paddled and clamped and flogged. Oh, how I longed to join the festivities! But then I remembered that I WAS part of the festivities, in the manner my Master had chosen for me, and I was content. I was rewarded with a wonderful flogging just before bed that left welts on my body for the remainder of the week, the slight touch of the garland upon those welts reminding me daily of that night with each small movement I made. I can’t wait for NEXT Christmas!
Spring has arrived, and with it a new project. I am now staked out in the garden, where my body feels the morning sun and the cooling shade of afternoon. My arms are raised just slightly above shoulder height and anchored to the eaves; my legs spread wide, and a broad wooden bench is placed at an angle behind me, which allows me to lean back just a bit in order to relax my aching muscles. Master had planted ivy and climbing roses earlier in the season, and they are growing quite quickly, thanks to his careful feeding and watering. He placed me out here several days ago, and I know that I will be here a very long time. After binding me here, he wound ivy and roses around my ankles and lower legs. The ivy tickles, and the climbing roses have thorns that seem to enjoy using my flesh as anchor points. Each day, the vines grow longer and thicker, and my torso is now covered in tiny leaves and flowers, with small tendrils reaching for my arms. The thorns scratch my flesh, and the sting is annoying, but tolerable. I am grateful that they do not penetrate my skin, as I will not be released from this spot until his work is complete, and I am completely covered in green and pink.
My meals are all liquid, and he has set a small bucket beneath me, in which I am allowed to relieve myself, but I must be careful not to let any get on the plants’ roots, lest I kill them. I am bathed with only the hose, when he waters these plants that grow about me. I think I hate that hose. But as he waters me, he tells me how beautiful I am becoming, and my heart soars at his words.
He spends a great deal of time in the garden, sometimes watching me silently, sometimes speaking to me about his day, and always there is the camera. He visits me twice each day for the sole purpose of taking numerous photographs, chronicling my transformation from human to plant. Sometimes, if he is not home, I will try to sleep during the day, as it makes the time pass more quickly, but I am becoming quite bored, and exhausted from the heat and trying to sleep on my feet.
If the days are boring, the nights are horrible. When he retires to his bed, I lean back against the bench and try to sleep. I listen to the sounds of the night creatures, desperately seeking the solace of slumber, and longing for the feel of his flesh against mine. But mostly, I strain to hear the sounds of his sleep... that little snore that is so endearing. If the night is quiet enough, I can hear him through the open window at my head, and the sound helps to comfort me and lull me to sleep.
Another morning comes, and I welcome the day with a sense of dread as a torrent of thought floods my mind. We’re expecting rain today. Can’t these plants grow any faster? But I am his masterpiece. I will be beautiful for him, no matter how long that may take. I only hope it doesn’t take all summer.
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