Irene’s return to the affini districts was, understandably, a complete blur. The xenodrugs she was on alone were enough to nix her ability to concentrate on just about anything save Curbita, but when combined with the affini’s constant physical and verbal adoration, Irene was hopeless—in a good way. As though in a dream, she felt herself lifted into the air, suspended comfortably by a cradle of vines holding Irene tightly, but gently against her affini’s chest. The warm, melodious voice of Curbita continued to coo and fawn over the girl, but the meaning of the words—or even if they were in a language Irene actually spoke—was lost entirely; at the very least, Irene was certain everything she was hearing was good. She was good.

The entirety of Irene’s awareness narrowed and sharpened onto the fixed point that was Curbita’s smiling face. She was so fucking pretty. Her face, despite being made of tightly woven leaves and vines, bore striking resemblance to a gorgeous, perfectly sculpted human face, while simultaneously being so ethereally uncanny and alien in the most captivating ways. Her hair was a colorful blanket rich leaves glowing in all manner of autumnal colors. Just looking at Curbita, Irene knew the golden twinkle in eyes, and the wide, ‘toothy’ smile on her face were made specifically for the precious human in her arms. It was a look of adoration, of care, of control, of possession, and it was made just for her. 

Perhaps Curbita hadn’t first created that face with Irene in mind, but her affini had labored over the details of her appearance, made herself as simultaneously gorgeously familiar and stunningly alien to both soothe, astonish, and captivate the minds of any terran she met. That face, that smile, they were perfected for one purpose: to find a suitable human, impress Curbita’s love and care upon them, and claim them as her own. To claim Irene as her own. And now, Curbita’s smile was hers, just as she was Curbita’s. Knowing that was enough to stop Irene’s heart just so Curbita could will it to start back up again—after all, Curbita had already made it abundantly clear that she would not permit any harm to come to Irene. 

How long it took for Curbita to actually spirit Irene away back to her home, Irene could not say. One moment, Curbita was hoisting her into the air, the next was a timeless, eternal haze of loving strokes and gentle sounds. At some point, Irene thought she detected the sound of Curbita’s aircar, but her awareness of it was quickly doused by a single stroke of her cheek. Mental clarity wasn’t even a distant memory; it was an unknown. She’d been plunged into the blinding darkness of Curbita’s love, and needed nothing more than to let the light of the affini’s will guide her way forward. 

Floating in the warm depths of Curbita’s will, Irene felt a flicker across her mind. Something urged her upward, a gentle tug at her mind in the shape of a curling vine. Irene allowed it to latch onto her—not that she could ever hope to resist, or even think of it. That light became brighter, urged her toward reality with a beckoning call. Slowly, awareness began to coalesce in Irene’s mind. Her eyes fluttered, the embers of coherent thought starting to glow. Irene was on… a couch? Whatever it was, it was fucking huge, and comfortable. She was laid out on her side, blinking up at a warm overhead light. 

A small sigh escaped her lips, and Irene began to stir—or rather, she tried to. The second she tried to move, she found herself running against a layer of tightly bound vines all over her body, holding her, restraining her, protecting her. From above, Irene heard a familiar voice. “Were you trying to stretch, darling? Here, let me.” Without warning, some of Curbita’s vines loosened, while a select few around her limbs and torso remained in place. Her arms and legs were gently pulled apart and extended into a comfortable stretch as her back was arched, Curbita’s vines puppeting Irene with what felt like practiced ease. A soft groan rumbled in Irene’s throat; somehow, her affini had known exactly how to move her, exactly which muscles were tense or tight. 

Next thing she knew, Irene was being lifted back into Curbita’s lap, and pulled tightly against her affini’s chest. Curbita’s body was contorted so just about every inch of Irene’s top half, from her face, to her hips was flush against the affini’s body. Vines held her in place, practically cocooning her. Just as Irene was about to grumble some form of insincere complaint at being marionnetted around, a hand came to rest atop Irene’s head, and gently stroked her hair, silencing any hope of or desire to protest. Her arms were gently maneuvered to wrap around Curbita’s waist, and with no further encouragement, Irene squeezed herself closer, nuzzling her cheek against Crubita’s chest. “That’s my good girl,” she rumbled, visiting another possessive stroke through Irene’s hair.  

“Mistress,” Irene moaned. Again, the word came so naturally to her. Like Irene was uttering a natural truth to the world. With it, smothered memories awoke in the recesses of her mind; Curbita had claimed Irene, taken Irene back to her hab unit. Did that mean she was a pet now? Was Irene a floret? Curbita’s floret? She hoped so. 

Her head was tilted upward, made to look up into Curbita’s eyes. Stars, her Mistress was so pretty. “Focus, dearest.” She did. As her pupils contracted, Irene could literally feel pride and praise radiate out from Curbita and sink into her consciousness. She was being good. She was obeying. Mistress was pleased with her. There was no feeling in all of existence more wonderful than Curbita’s love and pride saturating every cell in Irene’s body. 

Silently, Irene looked up at her Mistress, waiting in attentive anticipation for whatever might come next. Strangely, she wasn’t the only one looking expectant. Mistress… wanted something from her, but what was it? Fortunately, Irene wouldn’t need to wait long to find out. “You called out to me, sweet pea.” She had? She had. She’d called for her Mistress. Irene nodded, then continued to look up at Curbita expectantly. A bemused look crossed her face, and Curbita gently rubbed the top of Irene’s head, emitting a small giggle. “What was it you wanted, little one?” 

Oh. “Oh.” Irene blinked hard, scrunching her face up in some attempt at clearing her mind. She lightly jostled her head side to side, causing her to once again nuzzle into Curbita’s chest, sending electric delight coursing through her body, evaporating any hope of clarity. What was it she’d wanted? Dazed, Irene looked up into Curbita’s eyes, and was hit with a wall of adoration radiating off her Mistress. Curbita’s smile widened, causing Irene’s heart to leap in her chest. “Please,” she breathed. 

“Please what, darling?” 

“Please Mistress.” 

An adoring purr rolled through Curbita’s vines. “Perhaps you’re a little too far gone for this, my sweet. Don’t worry though. I’ll take care of everything. All I need for you to do is just relax, okay?” 

That sounded wonderful, like everything Irene could ever want and more. She bobbed her head in a slow, lazy, rhythmic nod, which quickly turned into nuzzling herself against Curbita some more. Before long, Irene had forgotten what they were even talking about. Awash in a sea of contentment, Irene sank into her Mistress’ grasp, and closed her eyes. She had no intention of sleeping, which wasn’t to say she intended to stay awake. In all honesty, Irene didn’t have much intention for anything at all. Mistress had told her to relax, so she did. From there, if Curbita wanted her awake, she’d stay awake, otherwise, she was certain sleep would creep over her in no time. Concerning herself with such things was not Irene’s place. 

In the end, it seemed Curbita wished that Irene stay awake for the time being, as, moments later, Irene felt a small collection of roots collect around Irene’s jaw and chin. Slowly, they crept their way up, their tips slipping into Irene’s mouth and wrapping around Irene’s lips, tongue, and the floor of her mouth. Helplessly, Irene moaned and squired, her face growing flush as sudden awareness returned to her. This was not the soft, sleepy touch of cuddling and comfort. Curbita was worming her way across Irene’s face and into her mouth, lighting her flesh up in erotic delght. 

The taste was so wonderful, too. The Curbita’s vines were coated in this sweet and nutty flavor, a bit like a sweet potato or squash, but without the hearty heaviness. She was just the slightest bit sharp, and incredibly refreshing, almost spicy, and undercut by a slight tanginess akin to citrus. It seemed almost deliberately cultivated and balanced, like an actually well-prepared meal. Only, instead of sustaining Irene, the flavor brought with it the delicate, grasping sensations of Curbita’s invading vines. 

Needily, Irene attempted to run her tongue along the surface of one such vine, desperate for the taste and mind-numbing pleasure of her sensitive flesh flickering across her Mistress. To her surprise, and dismay, however, Curbita simply pinned Irene’s tongue in place unceremoniously. Just as a whine of protest surged up from her chest, the affini’s vines delicately stroked Irene’s tongue. Irene’s back arched and her eyes rolled backward as she thrust her chest forward, tilting her head back as far as Curbita would allow. More vines crept inward, coating the roof of her mouth as well, even beginning to trickle back into her throat. The worst part was, whatever Curbita’s vines were coated in was still inviting sizzling pleasure wherever the affini touched. Point being, Irene had never felt something so strange, yet indescribably erotic as her fucking esophagus being tickled from the inside. 

Panting helplessly, Irene felt herself being lifted upward, and held limply before Curbita’s face. She was made to gaze into her Mistress’ eyes; Curbita winked, and then sent another volley of vines to begin to wrap around her lower chin, cheeks, and upper lip. A muffled scream of pleasure roared from Irene’s throat as she squirmed helplessly in place. Panting, Irene shut her eyes tight, only for a pair of vines to gently pry back her eyelids. “I want you to look at me, my precious little flower.” A command, Irene’s brain knew how to respond to commands. Her eyelids relaxed, and the vines holding them open slid away, moving to help with covering the rest of her face and head. 

Everywhere the exploring vines touched, Irene felt sharp, blazing pleasure. Her breath hitched; her body writhed helplessly. Irene tried to give a simple affirmative, “yes, Mistress,” in response to Curbita’s command, but her mouth and tongue were not longer hers to control. Instead, she simply drooled out a sound which could maybe be considered words if one had never actually encountered spoken language before. Still, Curbita seemed pleased, rewarding Irene with an emphatic headpat as her vines slid loving strokes all across Irene’s face and head. 

Below, Irene felt something shift within the cocoon she still found herself trapped in. Each of Curbita’s many vines tightened around her, conforming to the contours of her body and prodding under her clothes. A moment later, a slight tearing sound rose from beneath the vines, and Irene’s shredded clothing was pushed outward and away. For her part, though, Irene didn’t have the sense to notice such finer details. Her entire body was singing with the white-hot pleasure each vine inflicted on her. 

Even without the vines in place, Irene was helplessly pinned in place by Curbita’s piercing gaze. Drinking in the sight of her floret, Curbita smiled, then hummed. A slight breeze drifted from the affini’s simulated lungs, tickling Irene’s bare neck, highlighting the nakedness of the one place Curbita had yet to cover. She let the reality of her situation sink in on Irene, allowed the human to feel how thoroughly secured she was, and how thoroughly naked her neck was. It felt so bare, so exposed. Despite being completely encased in Curbita’s vines, Irene felt unbearably vulnerable in that one place she’d been left untouched. 

The moment that look, that realization crossed Irene’s face, Curbita grinned knowingly. Irene did her best to silently plead with her eyes; she needed to feel Curbita across every inch of her body. Apparently that was enough as, with another pleased purr, one last vine slipped up to slowly wind its way around Irene’s neck. Before she could even react, Irene found herself suspended in air, unclothed, covered from head to toe in a writhing mass of vines. Curbita fixed Irene with a pleased, adoring, but intent look. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” She asked softly. “Blink twice if you’d like me to release you.” 

There was no doubt; Irene knew what she wanted. Whining and moaning, she gave a single, definitive blink. Curbita’s smile widened, an all-consuming blast of pride and approval rocked Irene’s waiting form; she melted further into her Mistress’ vines. “If you think this feels good now, just imagine how it will feel with my implant in you, little pet. I can’t wait.” Irene couldn’t either. 

Satisfied with her pets response, Curbita began to slowly, lasciviously run the entire mass of her vines along Irene’s exposed form. Like one great organism, the vines snaked along her, caressing her everywhere. Her neck, her thighs, her wrists, her breasts, her crotch, and so much more, Irene was hyper aware of every little piece of herself as she bucked uselessly in place, eyes rolled back in her head, breaths heaving. 

She could do nothing but watch, writhe and moan as Curbita looked onward with an amused, possessive, but protective and loving look in her lovely, captivating eyes. And Irene felt loved; she felt protected and safe. Most of all, though, she felt owned. There was no better feeling. That ultimate feeling of Curbita’s ownership gathered and coalesced all those concepts into one simple truth: Irene was a pet. Pets were loved; pets were safe and protected; pets were cared for; pets were owned. With that Irene knew without a doubt, no matter what happened, for the rest of her life she would always have Curbita to provide all of those things for her and more. So, so much more. 

Irene felt Curbita maneuvering her body back down into the affini’s lap. Her arms were once again placed around her Mistress’ waist. Her head was pressed tight into Curbita’s chest. Two arms rose to wrap tightly around Irene, a third forming to rest atop Irene’s head; the vines encasing Irene moved aside to make room for Curbita’s hands and arms to rest against the human’s flesh. Satisfied, Curbita resumed her ministrations. As she stroked Irene’s hair, the feeling grew less erotically charged, again returning to that comforting, soothing feeling of contented relaxation. It still felt amazingly pleasurable, but quiet, relaxed. Curbita had set Irene down to a slow simmer instead of a boil. A coo of satisfaction drifted from Irene’s lips, and Curbita gazed down at her pet, smiling wide. 

“Irene, dearest? We still haven’t fed you, have we?” Instead of bothering to respond, Irene let herself go limp as she felt Curbita gently shake her head for her. “Let’s fix that, hmm? While you were sleeping I wound up popping that pizza of yours in the oven. It's been cooling for several minutes now. I think it should be good to eat without burning your little mouth.” Pausing,  Curbita looked Irene in the eye, seeming to be waiting for something. After a moment, Irene realized what her Mistress was expecting, and gave another single blink. Stroking Irene’s hair, Curbita whispered a quick, “good girl,” then reached a vine off somewhere behind Irene. “Close your eyes, my little flower,” Curbita instructed. 

Irene did as she was told, waiting patiently for her Mistress to bring her food. Luckily, she didn’t have to wait long; her eyelids had barely fluttered shut when the overpowering aroma of fresh, hot food wafted through the air. Before she could so much as wonder how she was going to eat wrapped up as she was, Irene felt the vines, still covering the inside of her mouth, gently tug at her jaw. Relaxed as she was, Irene offered no resistance, allowing her Mistress to open her mouth. A single vine pushed past her lips, and the taste of the most delicious freshly baked pizza she’d ever had erupted onto Irene’s tongue. She exhaled an elated moan, then attempted to bite down, only to find her jaw held firmly in place. Just as Irene felt a hint of frustration creeping up through her xenodrug addled mind, the tug of her Mistress’s vines gently worked her jaw up and down, before more vines moved to gently push the food down her throat. 

Through the whole process, Irene hadn’t been able to move a single muscle in or around her mouth. Instead, she’d simply sat helpless, but relaxed as her Mistress quite literally took care of everything. A small voice in the back of Irene’s head piped up, telling her she was allowing herself to be treated as something pathetic and useless. Then Mistress gently pried her mouth open once more, and placed another delicious morsel inside her mouth. This time, Irene made no attempt to move on her own, instead allowing Curbita to do everything. As Curbita helped her swallow, Irene was awarded with an especially diligent bit of petting. Never in her life would she have expected she could go even more limp in her Mistress’ arms. Apparently she was wrong. “Good girl!” Curbita cheered. Indulgently, Curbita gently nuzzled Irene’s face into her chest the exact way the helpless little pet had done many times before. 

Just as she recovered from Curbita’s adoration, Irene found her mouth opened once more. Soon, a rhythm was found. Curbita would gently open Irene’s mouth, place a bit of delicious food into her mouth, then work her jaw, then throat muscles to ensure she properly chewed and swallowed. After each bite, Irene would be showered with praise for being such an obedient pet, and somehow, every time she would find herself even more relaxed. Then the cycle would start anew. 

By the end, Irene was barely conscious. The only muscles she was even moving on her own anymore were those she needed to breathe. Honestly, Irene wouldn’t have even been surprised if Curbita found a way to do that for her, too. In a daze, she was carried off to a bathroom that was nearly the size of her former apartment. Hanging limp in Curbita’s grasp, she again felt her jaw open. An invading vine proceeded to scrub her teeth, leaving a delightful tingling sensation on her gums and tongue that left Irene even more distantly hazy. Irene was instructed to spit, did so, and was then returned to her proper place, clutched tightly with her head against her Mistress’ chest and her arms around her Mistress’ torso. From above, she heard Curbita give her one last set of instructions. “Sleep for me, my darling floret.” Irene obeyed. 

As she drifted off, Irene’s last thoughts were of her future. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. She didn’t know what would become of the remnants of her old life. She didn’t even know where she actually was. None of that mattered. All Irene needed to do was relax, and her owner would take care of everything.