Chapter 8: The Third Bloom

Diana’s second orgasm hadn’t finished rolling through her when Ivy’s hips drove forward again. The cocks inside her—both of them, the impossible fullness of plant flesh stretching her cunt and ass to their limits—began to move with a new rhythm. Not the steady pounding of before. Something different. Something deeper. Ivy’s green eyes had gone dark as forest shadows at midnight. “You’re not done,” she breathed. “I can feel you clamping down on me. Your body wants more.” Diana’s head thrashed on the pillow. Her hands—free now, the chains long since removed—clawed at the black silk, gathering fistfuls of fabric. The Lasso still circled her throat, humming its golden warmth, amplifying every sensation into impossible sharpness. “I can’t—Ivy, I can’t —” “You can.” Ivy’s hips rolled forward, grinding both cocks deeper. The one in Diana’s cunt pressed against her cervix with insistent pressure. The one in her ass had grown thick enough that Diana felt it in her stomach, a dull ache that somehow translated into pleasure. “You will. The Lasso says you want this.” She did. God help her, she did. Harley’s voice came from somewhere to Diana’s right—breathless, reverent. “Look at her stomach, Red. You can see the bulge.” Ivy’s hand pressed down on Diana’s lower belly. The pressure from outside met the pressure from inside, and Diana saw stars behind her eyelids. Not the metaphorical kind. Actual pinpricks of light, like the night sky over Themyscira. Like the visions Antiope’s obsidian dildo had given her decades ago. “There.” Ivy’s voice tightened with satisfaction. “Right there.” She fucked into that spot. Diana’s third orgasm felt different from the first two. It wasn’t a wave or a storm or any of the metaphors she might have reached for. It was an unraveling —as if someone had found the loose thread at the edge of her consciousness and pulled. Her back arched off the bed.

Her mouth opened. No sound came out. The cocks inside her seemed to sense it. They grew again, thickening, lengthening, filling spaces Diana didn’t know she had. Ivy’s hips slammed forward with inhuman precision, the vine-and-thorn shafts writhing inside Diana’s cunt and ass, the tiny thorns scraping against her inner walls with just enough bite to blur the line between pain and ecstasy. “ Come for me, “ Ivy commanded. Diana did. The orgasm ripped through her like a blade. Her cunt clamped down on the first cock with convulsive force, milking it, while her asshole spasmed around the second. Hot fluid gushed from her—not just her own juices, but something deeper, something that had been locked behind years of Amazon discipline and warrior restraint. She screamed. The sound echoed off the bedroom walls. Harley’s name might have been in it. Ivy’s. Someone else’s—a name from her past, from Themyscira, from before she’d learned to be a hero. Through the haze of pleasure, Diana felt something new. Ivy’s body was changing again. The leaves and moss of her bodysuit rustled against Diana’s thighs. The vines on her arms tightened, thorns lengthening. And between them—emerging from Ivy’s groin just above the two cocks already buried inside Diana —a third shape began to form. Diana’s vision swam as she watched it grow. Thicker than the others. Longer. The vines that composed it were darker green, almost black, with thorns that curved backward like fishhooks. The head was not a bud this time but something that resembled an orchid— petals of deep purple and crimson, folding open to reveal a dripping core. Nectar spilled from it in thick, viscous drops that landed on Diana’s stomach, warm and tingling. “Red.” Harley’s voice cracked. “You’ve never—I didn’t know you could make three.” Ivy’s eyes had gone white. Not rolled back— white, the irises and pupils swallowed by a pale glow that emanated from within. Her red hair lifted around her head like flames frozen in place. Vines crawled across her cheeks, her shoulders, her breasts. “I didn’t either.” Ivy’s voice was distant. Altered. “She brings it out of me. The Amazon. She makes me bloom.” The third cock stretched upward.

It rose along Diana’s torso like a serpent, leaving a glistening trail of nectar on her skin. It passed between her breasts—Harley’s hand darted out to touch it, fingers tracing the veined surface, and she moaned at the contact. It climbed higher, past her collarbone, past the Lasso’s golden glow. It reached her lips. Diana’s mouth had been hanging open, gasping for breath. The orchid head of the third cock hovered there, dripping nectar onto her tongue. The taste was— Sweet and bitter at the same time. Like honey mixed with poison. Like flowers that grew on graves. “Open wider.” Ivy’s white eyes stared down at her. “Take it.” Diana’s jaw stretched. The petals of the orchid brushed her lips, soft as velvet. Then the head pushed inside, filling her mouth, pressing down on her tongue. The nectar flooded her taste buds—thick and warm, sliding down her throat in pulses that matched the rhythm of the cocks in her cunt and ass. Then it pushed deeper. Into her throat. Diana gagged. Her body convulsed, hands flying up to grab Ivy’s hips. But the vine-cock didn’t stop—it slid further, past her gag reflex, down her esophagus, until the curved thorns were scraping against the inner walls of her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She didn’t need to. Her Amazonian physiology could survive minutes without air, and something about the nectar—some property Ivy had never explained—seemed to bypass her lungs entirely. Oxygen flowed into her bloodstream from the contact alone, keeping her conscious, keeping her aware. Aware of all three cocks now. They moved in unison. The one in her cunt thrust deep as the one in her ass pulled back. The one in her throat pushed forward as the other two reversed. A rhythm emerged—complex, counterpointed, symphonic. Ivy’s hips rolled and thrust and ground, her body a conductor’s baton guiding the orchestra of Diana’s ruination. Diana’s hands fell away from Ivy’s hips.

They grasped at nothing. At the sheets. At Harley’s arm when the blonde pressed closer, her body a warm presence against Diana’s side. “Look at you.” Harley’s words came out thick with lust. Her fingers were back in her own cunt, pumping furiously. “Taking all three of Red’s cocks. Fucking choking on that big pretty vine-dick. You look so fucking beautiful, Princess.” Diana’s eyes rolled. The cocks moved faster. She felt her fourth orgasm building—or was it still the third? Time had stopped meaning anything. The only reality was the fullness, the stretching, the relentless pistoning of plant flesh into every hole she had and one she hadn’t known she possessed. The cock in her throat withdrew slightly, letting her gasp a single breath. Then it plunged back in. Her throat bulged visibly. Harley reached out and touched it—the outline of the shaft moving beneath Diana’s skin—and let out a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh. “ Fuck, I can feel it. I can feel it moving. Red, she’s—she’s perfect. She’s taking everything you’re giving her.” Ivy didn’t respond. Her body had gone rigid. The white glow of her eyes intensified, spreading to her veins, illuminating them beneath her pale green skin like rivers of light. The vines on her arms had grown so thick they obscured her flesh entirely. Her hair lifted higher, tendrils of red and copper reaching toward the ceiling. The cocks inside Diana began to pulse. Not thrusting anymore. Pulsing. A rhythmic contraction that started at the base and traveled upward, pushing something through the shafts. Something thick. Something voluminous. Diana knew what was coming. The third orgasm—or fourth, or whatever number she’d lost count of—hit her at the same moment Ivy’s body locked into place. Ivy’s head fell back. Her mouth opened in a silent cry.