tapping roots

Against the tree I rested, my spine against a firmness of touch. The smooth bark of the beech that towered above to the sky and probably beyond to the somewhere unknown where I could all too easily fall and fall and fall towards forever.

Beyond the trees a sun beat merciless but here beneath the canopy dappled the heat is a miscellany of broken shadows and fractured light that dance with the foliage to an improvised score, to the kind of sound that wishes make when they’re wondering whether to come true or not. It felt as though I could feel the heart of the tree beating, steady, sure, strong and vital, feeding me whispers of safety, security, cosseting me and the longer I stayed the closer it enclosed me surrounding under the gaze of onlooker trees of every possible age and history.

I sat among the less-than tidy roots, some straying along the ground before plunging deep into the damp earth through leaf litter, top soil and humus, a carpet of seeds flagrantly strewn, thrown by an unknown surrealist at a canvas waiting to bear fruit. I was held between two larger roots each thicker than both of my arms put together and held the tree as sure-footed feet. I pulled my knees to my chest and let my head fall back against the trunk and for a moment felt my eyes squinting against the stabbing light piercing the canopy in their struggle to reach the earth, to reach me. Most failed, dejected, deflected by this great green umbrella.

My eyes closed……

… and through my lids I still saw a loosely choreographed light twist around the shade flickering, fluid, an unceasing summery ballet.

My sandals fell from my feet, wrapping my black skirt tight around my knees held as I felt all thoughts dissolving. Their usually crowded hustle and bustle fading until few remained making me feel lighter than air, lighter than light and into a daydream I drifted persuading me to doze, skimming the surface of sleep half-aware of my surroundings, its air, its caress, between the inscape and the outscape.

My legs slipped down and I crossed my ankles while my arms felt heavy but unburdened, fingers interlocked as I felt more at ease in the company of this this ancient soul. I hoped it felt the same. Warm and soothed by the tree’s near-imperceptible swaying up and down my spine.  The roots either side grew and from where I sat felt them closer now touching my hips, now holding more surely.  I thought, if the whole world should tremble I wouldn’t fall off, that’s for certain.  Subtle wayward breezes sneaked and dipped beneath the low-hanging branches to ripple around my legs nudging under my black skirt where it rest above my knees.

Goosebumps played and skittered from ankles to knees, higher, refreshing and enticing as they were invigoratingly infiltrating my semi-conscious state.

Pinpricks of light persisted from a cloudless sky making new occasional patterns on my button blouse, on my naked arms. My jumper discarded earlier to one side being far too warm for that now, even under here in shade. Some leaves came to life periodically, briefly, only soon to return to mute and unkempt. One landed on my lap its bright, fresh green standing out against the black weave.  All very dreamlike, panning in and out of focus, snippets, edited highlights seeped and tip-toed.

Feeling lighter now, enough to feel my entire body lift, in that way from staring up through the night sky for too long can make you feel and I found myself upright, my back still pressed against the bark, spine, buttocks, legs all as though part of its unyielding trunk.  Both of my arms were gently pulled from behind, encouraged backwards around its girth as far as they would stretch. I could hear the pulse of the tree.

Something touched my feet, a movement, slithering, soft and dry, not like a snake but smoother, quieter, benign.  It touched again; roots began tangling around my ankles, once then twice then thrice they twisted. Behind the tree the same, around my fingers and wrists they grabbed and wrapped themselves once, twice, then thrice.  I was now bound, held fast. Shadows and light still danced on the ground around me and across my body, over my clothes, my face and still closed eyes.

Another something swam across my waist, from the left then the right, more roots, branches, fingers? They found their way over my blouse criss-crossing my tummy and chest from which smaller roots, tendrils, sprouted and moved deliberately over my breast swirling in patterns indiscernible, undeniable, caresses. They tugged at the collar until one button, then two, then more, then all came away and my blouse fell open to expose my bra as blue as the sky beyond.

But I’m the only one here, surely, aren’t I?

The tendrils played on my bra until slipping beneath one cup then the other to wrap even tinier ones around each nipple and gently contract while more fine filaments were unhooking, one then two then three and my bra fell away freeing my breast to the dappled woodscape.  Onlooker trees looked on in what felt like anticipation as more shadows and light sketched unintelligible runes onto my skin.

I took a deep breath having realised several minutes had gone by since I last did. These roots, tendrils, filaments tenderly explored enticingly across my skin, my nipples now erect and filling me with thoughts unimaginable. Yet here I was imagining, or was it?

More tendrils emerged from the soil, edging aside the woodland litter and sliding up my legs entwining around and around each limb, coiling until I was now fully immobilised against the beech trunk.  Higher they snaked over my knees and up my thighs constantly wrapping around and around as they reached my underwear and momentarily paused undulating as though pulsing.  Tendrils still tempting my nipples, soothing my waist, I stood trapped and helpless as they possessed my limbs and most of the rest of me with little left untouched.

That is until they found the unexplored and into my knickers the smallest of tendrils progressed unhindered by the blue cotton and elastic they eased underneath insisting my submission become total. What choice did I have?

The took their time slipping over my mound and vulva, labia, my sex, intensely intimate, discovering more and yet more of me pulling the knickers aside sending even more tiny tendrils between my legs to stimulate everywhere at once. Around to my buttocks then, oh, how delicately they touched my clit sending shivers and shudders erupting right through me.  Not an inch was left untouched, unfelt, unexposed.  There was no running away.

The tendrils pulled and pulled at my knickers until they came away from my hips, down my thighs, over my knees and ankles and gone and again I was ‘encouraged’ to the ground and laid between the two thickset roots.  I was on show to anyone who saw as plenty of trees seemed to be doing, watching, waiting.

My skirt was edged upwards, my wrists and ankles still firmly held and being eased spread apart.  Tiny tendrils ran quickly now, excitedly, up and down my legs tickling tenderly, invigorating, enticing, letting me let myself be opened, not that I had a choice.  The breeze was everywhere free to be itself, no longer being coy as I now lay enmeshed in this arboreal seduction.

Despite myself I felt excitement, enthralled and locked in an anticipating nervousness when a root, much thicker than the tendril, was loosed from the soil by my feet and using both legs guided itself purposefully towards my thighs until touching my now naked sex, moist and open and clearly inviting. What was I inviting?

My folds quivered at its first touch which surprisingly felt wet. It didn’t linger before pushing itself, its phallic expression, in between my spread thighs stretching me, stretching me, opening me, opening me, making me, making me take its inevitable progress, its thickened girth forcing a gasp from my lips, almost screaming as it entered me invading my body. Through gritted teeth I felt it pushing ever deeper, its familiar shape being both welcome and terrifying.

It stopped, but not for long, just a moment to that I could breathe again, after which it moved in earnest, thrusting its taproot still attached to the something somewhere underground now unequivocally fucking me, arousing me, demanding submission, acquiescence. The tree, or perhaps this entire woodland, was taking me, using me, having me, this taproot moving increasingly inside me lovingly, ravaging.

I did surrender responding to its rhythm as it thickened inside me, deeper it bore dragging me further into unbelievable disconnect, almost out of body but feeling everything. It insisted I want it (I do), need it (I do), crave it (I do), until I was uncontrollably overwhelmed by my orgasm and then another in rapid succession, each stronger than the last, my thighs stretched to their physical limit. It thickened again with every thrust encouraging further tiny outbursts and fucking me faster, harder until… until I felt a flow, a rush, a release, an intensity unlike anything else inside my hips and thighs filling me, feeding me until I was forced to come again, intense and pure, the sap exploding it kept coming and coming as I writhed still tied now overflowing with its warm sticky nectar.

Tears streamed, of pleasure, of disbelief, of bliss.

I opened my eyes.

I was all alone, laying between two thick beech roots, still fully-clothed, tidy but for a few stray leaves on my skirt and blouse and in my hair. My wrists were no longer bound. Were they at all? My ankles were no longer tied. Were they at all?

No signs of the tangle of tendrils, of any roots I had just felt in me, over me, use me, fuck me, fill me with the softest, warmest and thickest orgasm, only those which were there when I first arrived quietly unmoving. I checked myself and found nothing awry, out of place necessarily, nothing different except I was now lying flat on the ground instead of propped against its trunk. For some reason I lifted my skirt to find one tiny scratch on my upper inner thigh which I was sure wasn’t there before.

Before? Before… before what?. What happened? I could imagine but, surely not, surely not.

© 2018 Emmaleela