Enchanted Dreams: Erotic Tales Of The Supernatural. Nancy Madore

her pulsing flesh with even more vigor, and hampering her poor little petals with even more of their nectar. Although the nectar was administered one tiny bit at a time, it was astounding how much she had accumulated so quickly. The heavy discomfort was almost completely giving way to desire. Catherine could feel her arousal welling up, strong and full. She whimpered helplessly, wishing suddenly that it would never end.

      But already her bonds were tightening and the wind was dying down. The flowers at last receded. Catherine closed her eyes for a moment and tried to still her disappointment and quiet her trembling limbs. Her flesh stung and her legs quivered violently. Her nether lips struggled and quivered under the burden of the nectar.

      Her attention was suddenly caught by a peculiar, highpitched sound, seemingly far off in the distance. She opened her eyes and saw that there was a dark but luminous mist of something moving in the sky in the direction of the sound. Whatever it was, it was quickly approaching. Catherine hardly had time to consider what it might be when the first of its arrivals landed.

      The shrill whistling had actually been the fluttering of hundreds of tiny wings in flight; once the swarm arrived the noise immediately quieted. Butterflies touched gently down, elegantly and politely, and immediately began to dine on the nectar. There were so many of them, each smartly dressed in their own individual mixture of bright colors so that no two sets of wings were precisely the same. Catherine stared with wide, disbelieving eyes as they each, in turns, feasted on the banquet that had been so painstakingly spread out before them. Their activity tortured her in the most delightful way. The already oversensitive flesh had been made even more so by the extraordinary whipping she had received. She could now keenly feel each and every little butterfly that tapped relentlessly upon her flesh in an effort to capture the sweet taste of nectar through its sensors. Then, slowly, their tongues emerged, unfurling to nearly three times the length of their bodies to painstakingly begin lapping up the sticky nectar. Catherine was acutely aware of the butterflies’ wings as they fluttered and moved, gently battering her with their sheer numbers.

      Catherine moaned loudly, straining once again against her bonds, which seemed to tighten in response and draw her legs farther apart. The multitude of butterflies produced a rainbow of lush, colorful activity between her trembling thighs. But they were gracious and well-mannered; they did not battle over the sumptuous meal that was spread out before them. Rather, they each in turn feasted elegantly and leisurely, while the others fluttered their wings and tapped their little feet as they patiently waited. Seven or eight could partake in each sitting, and it tantalized Catherine’s burdened labia when they supped on the sticky nectar. Those that finished moved graciously aside but still lingered, loitering so close as to be nearly on top of one another, but comfortably so, nevertheless.

      Catherine’s sensitivities were so acutely awakened by these events that she was keenly aware of every single touch, no matter how feathery light or minute. The butterflies dined enthusiastically but unhurriedly, cleaning their little appendages meticulously as they ate so as not to waste a single drop of the precious nectar. They each worked at her flesh mercilessly with their feet and tongues as they feasted, prodding and kneading her inflamed labia in an effort to remove the sticky nectar from her body. They roamed freely over every part of the feasting area, clinging agilely to her sticky slit and meandering restlessly over and around her clitoris.

      Catherine’s hips bobbed and jiggled as much as was possible under her restraints. She felt as if hundreds of tiny hands were actively massaging and stimulating her. But each time she came within a feather’s breath of relief, either the intensity or the location of the stimulation would shift and change, taking her opportunity for release with it. Yet the relentless buildup of desire never stopped; it kept building and growing until she feared that she might burst.

      In the course of all this activity, even with such refined diners as these, the nectar could not help but be spread even farther over the area. As this occurred it allowed more butterflies to partake. Catherine knew all of this without actually seeing it, for she could feel them feeding over every part of her, from her clitoris to her anus, and she could do little more than shudder violently as the sensations of pleasure their feeding gave her racked her body. Each little tap from the butterflies’ feet felt like dull little pins pricking her flesh as they tapped and tasted and tapped again, until she had endured thousands of the agonizing little touches. Her body was a living, quaking mass of frothing desire, churning inward from where the butterflies gathered.

      It was late afternoon and the wind had died down for the feasting, but the sky was still darkish. Catherine’s body was held at an impasse between desire and euphoria as she was obliged to await the pleasure of the butterflies, who remained maddeningly leisurely at their meal. In the end, it took them the better part of an hour to accomplish their goal, but they left her without a single trace of nectar left over from the incredible flower thrashing she had endured. The wind suddenly picked up again and the butterflies left Catherine in a fluttery explosion that was no less spectacular than when they had arrived.

      Catherine’s exposed flesh was now bright red and burning hot; the cool wind upon it caused her little lips to shiver uncontrollably. They were parted slightly from all the activity and a bit of her own nectar was squeezing out between them. Catherine waited eagerly, trusting that she would be given relief at the determined time—and no sooner—and knowing that that time would be designed for her optimum pleasure. It seemed that this forest was dedicated to giving her the very best delights that the world had to offer, and it simply would not allow for less.

      The sky was coming alive once again, and now, in her present state, even a stray breeze was enough to give Catherine a tantalizing thrill. She arched her back and tried to thrust her hips upward, delighting in the cool air touching her overheated flesh, even as she caught sight of the next portion of her pleasure approaching.

      A single bud was coming up out of the ground and growing, right before her eyes, into a broad stem with massive leaves. Within a blink of her eye, it sprouted and grew and now, at its tip, a large flower was blossoming. The plant was approximately four feet high in the end, having grown that entire length within a single moment.

      The flower looked something like an oversized iris and was covered all around the outside edges in rich, purple fur. She saw that it was opening, and held her breath as she waited to see what was inside. The accelerated speed with which the flower was coming to maturity suddenly seemed terribly slow to Catherine.

      From deep within the iris’s center, perhaps coming out of its very stem, there sprung forth a thick shaft that Catherine immediately recognized as its stamen. This stamen was like any other in that it had a bulbous pollen sack at the end of its stalk. But aside from this, Catherine saw that it was not like other stamens at all. First and foremost was its exceptional size. As Catherine eagerly watched, it continued to grow and thicken to the incredible length of nearly a foot, and expand in diameter to the thickness of a ripe plum. Catherine’s back arched reflexively. She had no uncertainty about what the stamen was for.

      The flower had risen out of the ground from a spot that was centered directly between Catherine’s legs. All it had to do was to lean toward her, bending slightly in the direction of her hips. Her labia was still quivering, and it seemed as if they suddenly parted in anticipation. The flower continued to lean and tip in her direction until the stamen touched her. The pollen sack at its tip was pliable to a point, but it was so large and protruding that this did not help much as it began to push its way into Catherine’s body. She moaned loudly as it entered her, and her flesh continued to burn and pulse. Yet there was palpable relief just to have it inside her, pressing its way through her inner walls, filling her. She felt almost depraved in her desperation to have it. It inched its way in slowly, backing out a hairbreadth periodically before advancing farther. Catherine relished each and every advance, gasping and moaning in time with its movements forward or back.

      Soon Catherine was taking more of the stamen inside her than anything she had ever taken before, and her body bucked slightly against the intrusion. But she could do little to escape in any direction so she remained rooted to the spot, with her hands still held firmly behind her and her feet held far apart and firmly attached to the ground. There was nowhere for her to go, but she wiggled and squirmed as best she could anyway. Her body arched and contorted, and she moaned and whined as the flower