She’s lying on the couch. Almost facedown, her elbows prop her up enough to view the screen suspended on the wall across; though she’s close to its edge, her feet still don’t reach the cushions behind her. She fixates on the scene playing out, two characters on a building’s roof locked in a deep conversation, partway through an episode of the animated series she’s watching.
It’s her newest obsession; having learned of the trove of Terran media liberated from corporate vaults, she’d wanted to jump in and explore everything. Her efforts had led her through stacks upon stacks of cultural touchstones lost to time and intellectual property laws that she’d–
A wave runs down her spine, spreading from the base of her neck, first down, then out, flowing to cover everything she feels. She feels the hairs on her arms stand. Though she still faces the screen, she’s noticing less and less of what it shows; it’s difficult to notice much of anything at all around her. Except the desperation, the overwhelming need for touch, that begins to overlay everything. She feels her eyes begin to lose focus. She doesn’t understand. She should know what’s happening, but she can’t put together a single coherent thought. The need fills, replaces her mind.
She feels, at first, the sense that something is near her. The movement of air making contact with the hairs on the exposed back of her neck. It’s so much. It further overwhelms her. But it’s not enough. And she reacts, first with an intense shudder, with an involuntary, shaking moan. She feels the vine move to clasp her neck from behind, lifting her head, dissolving any faculties still retained and flooding her with waves of overtaking pleasure, emanating from the one, now most important, point on her body, and–
Vines grasp first her wrists, then her ankles, holding, pinning them in place. She can’;t move. She couldn’t have moved, she couldn’t have wanted to move, everything felt like so much and it’s still not enough and all she’s capable of expressing is her almost pathetic whimpers as more vines slide up through the back of her companion dress, touch running up her spine, even more vines taking her by the waist too, tearing through the dress. She feels herself lifted, suspended, exposed, though this doesn’t last; the vines wrap around her, covering every inch of her skin, every contact leaving a nearly electric rush of pure pleasure until it becomes everything, vines stiffening to lock her in place as even her ability to move to breathe is taken.
Something is familiar. She can’t comprehend. There’s too much, nothing in her entire scope of reality other than what’s encompassing her, but there’s somehow something familiar. It feels deeper than anything else, underlying all she’s feeling, underlying her entire being. She feels herself breathe, in, then out, then in, then out again. She can’t see, vines holding her eyes closed. It resonates through every vine holding her in place, through the waves going down her spine from the back of her neck, through the core of all reality. It’s like there was a void inside her she couldn’t see until it was filled again. She feels, through her restraints, safe.
As she breathes, in then out, feeling her movements align with the patterns in the vines that cover her, cohering with every level she can understand, she calms, slowly. Her eyes open, taking seconds, nearly minutes to readjust and focus. She stares into the golden eyes that she can see, their facets’ evolving colours coupled to the rhythm flowing through her. It’s beautiful. She can’t pull her gaze away. She can’t look away, until they blink, dimming briefly before relighting into colour.
She hears her Owner’s voice, almost in double. “Hi Rose!! I’m back from my meeting!! You’ve been good for me?”