The Simulacrum Pt. 02

Note : These events occur several years after The Simulacrum Part 1. Originally a throwaway one-time story, I realised it could grow into a longer, multi-part series. This is a long slow-burn.

1. HYPOTHESIS

Doctor Clarke removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe away the fatigue. He'd been staring at the monitor screen in his dark bedroom for hours, working on compiling the notes from this week's field research. His vision was beginning to blur. He decided to review the draft of his paper one last time before bed.

The first thing that had seemed wrong was the declining birth rates.

All across the north-western border of Brazil, spreading into Peru, Columbia and Venezuela, there had been a drop in birth rates over the past few years. Not enormous, but statistically significant enough to be picked up by census data and to cause curiosity within certain niche sections of the scientific community. At first it was thought to be a social issue. This was discounted when further analysis showed the drop only occurred in specific locations, on the border regions with the Amazonas, mostly in rural or isolated areas. Further inland and in major urban centres, the birth rate remained normal. When the patterns were analysed, the decline in birth rates seemed to be spreading outward from the edges of the Amazonas region, which contained the vast Amazon rainforest.

Then it was thought to be an environmental or public health issue, perhaps caused by pollution of some kind. But this was also discounted, when further field research proved people in the affected areas were completely healthy -- normal sperm counts, no increase in death rates, no increases in cancers or other sickness. Babies that were born in those areas were completely healthy. The birth rate had simply dropped and continued to drop, for no discernable reason. After months of study with no conclusion, it was beginning to become both a worry and a scientific curiosity. It was as if large numbers of heterosexual men in those areas had simply stopped having sex with partners.

That was what started it. The investigation, led by Professor Cabrera, a South American expert in population biology. Doctor Clarke had joined the small team, travelling from the US a few months ago, himself an expert in epidemiology data. Their field research took many months, trying to find the root cause of this mysterious and alarming problem. Each member of the team worked their own geographical area, some covering many hundreds of square miles. Their team was small, focusing on what was in all honesty a niche problem in the grand scheme of the world. They had only a tiny amount of resources and manpower.

Then came the early breakthroughs. The first dark rumours. Unsettling stories. Local legends turned sinister. Of men becoming isolated and withdrawn. Leaving their communities, leaving their wives and families, or sometimes just vanishing, never to be seen again. Some fantastical tales were told of local men being seduced by strange, green-skinned women from the jungle. Different areas had different names for them. In Colombia they were called 'Ninfa del bosque' -- Nymphs of the forest. In Venezuela, 'Bruja de la selva' -- the witch from the jungle. But the original name for them seemed to come from somewhere deep in Brazil, 'Mulher fatal' - the femme fatale.

Men were said to become so enamoured of these mysterious women that they quit their jobs, left their towns, let their marriages fester and fail and became completely isolated and removed from the community, showing no interest in dating or partnerships. At first these rumours were dismissed as local superstition. Whatever the reason, the population data did not lie. Something strange was going on.

Then came the harder evidence. Blurry photos, shaky videos shot on mobile phones and even the occasional physical sample. Nothing conclusive, or that couldn't be written off by sceptics as an A. I. created hoax, but enough to put the fear of God into the team. Something was out there in jungle. Something strange, and it was spreading into human populated areas. Put altogether, the field research, scientific findings and local evidence began to paint a terrible picture, like something out of a sci-fi movie.

It appeared some highly evolved, hitherto uncategorised plant from deep within the jungle was able to grow near-perfect replicas of human women and was spreading at a rapid rate. The replicas had been given a scientific name -- simulacrums. Copies. Duplicates. Externally resembling human females, but actually just a physical extension of the plant itself.

The simulacrums remained part of the plant, which itself was said to be just a collection of large, pulsating, fat green vines. They were physically connected to it by long green stems and appeared to be given a vital role in the reproduction of the organism. acting like lures to unwary men, similar to the bait on angler fish, or the sirens of ancient Greece. They grew in large seed pods before ripening and revealing themselves. They could not operate independently, collapsing into lifelessness if their stems were severed, like puppets with cut strings.

For some unknown reason, the plant had evolved these simulacrums as biological bait, designed to trap and ensnare men, so that the plant could extract human semen from the victims. For what exact reason was still open to conjecture, but Clarke's working theory was that the plant required fresh sources of human DNA in order to grow and create new simulacrum copies and that they were somehow vital in the plant's procreation strategy. In other words, the more human DNA that could be acquired, the faster the plants could spread. This theory did not have much traction within the team -- it was considered impossible for plant and human DNA to be compatible in any way. But Clarke was sure it was connected.

His hypothesis was that this was the cause of the declining birth rates. His conclusion was that large numbers of men were becoming secretly addicted to these mysterious simulacrums, deep in the isolated rural regions of South America. Doctor Clarke had run the calculations, extrapolating the data. What they had was patchy and full of holes, but filling in the gaps and making estimates, he still had enough to make him extremely worried. Correlating the drop in birth rates and associated time frame, he concluded there could be tens of thousands of these plants out there, possibly hundreds of thousands. And they were spreading, multiplying at a rapid rate.

They had been trying to capture a live specimen for some time, but had not yet been successful. They were often destroyed on sight by vengeful locals, or vanished back into the jungle once disturbed, leaving no trace. Doctor Clarke even had a rudimentary containment unit built in the basement of his rented apartment on the edge of Iquitos in Peru, ready to store one. Iquitos was the biggest settlement near to the Amazon this side of the border and a good place to base himself. The containment room was a huge box in his basement, sealed with perspex panels, for specimen storage and observation. As of yet, it remained empty and unused.

All of the evidence was truly bizarre and flew in the face of all known evolutionary biology. Plant and human genomes were so far apart that this should have been utterly impossible. Various dark rumours began to circulate that the only way this could occur was if the plants themselves were not terrestrial in origin -- which would certainly explain why they had never been encountered before -- but such wild theories were whispered about only in the discredited margins of the scientific community.

These simulacrum were remarkably lifelike in most regards. They moved and looked extremely human. They were designed to appear sexually attractive to men, usually beautiful and physically tempting. They were green skinned, naked and hairless, as the plant seemed unable to replicate human hair follicles or human skin colour. They could not talk or make sounds, but could copy human movements and motions and seemed extremely adept at mimicking human sexual responses, clearly for convincing their targets to take part in the intercourse required for extraction of their ejaculate. It was unknown by what method they tracked and targetted their prey, for they had no real human sense organs.

But despite all their physical sophistication, their tactics were fairly crude. They seemed to require men to willingly take part in the mating and be interested enough to get close to them. Their lures seemed simple. If males were incautious enough to get within touching distance, some theories suggested they might attempt to dose the man with various liquid chemical secretions, perhaps to lower the man's inhibitions and heighten his sexual responses and drives. Much remained unknown.

The simulacrum were not always successful. Many men rejected them, appalled by their bastardised appearance, or unswayed by their attempts to get them to come closer. Some men were rescued by friends or family, torn away from their unnatural matings. The plants seemed to require access to isolated, vulnerable populations, hence their spreading mostly in rural locations and needed room outdoors to grow. Clarke had concluded that if one was aware of what the simulacrum's were and their tactics, it was relatively easy to avoid predation. They relied on simple sexual temptation and ignorance of their methods. Yet across the vast distances of western South America, they seemed to be spreading at an alarming rate.

They did not seem to pose any physical danger to men -- there were no reports of harm or violence coming to the men who had mated with them. The real danger was more insidious. It seemed to be psychological. Men gradually became addicted to the simulacrums, becoming mentally dependant on the sexual intercourse with them. This process seemed to occur over a number of weeks, with the simulacrum somehow gradually altering the brain chemistry of the victim, making him more and more addicted. It was unknown by what mechanism this occurred.

There were some disturbing reports of men who had to be confined to psychiatric care facilities for their own protection, unable to shake off their desire for the plant. Men in such a state who were not confined often returned to their simulacrums willingly, or, if the plants had been destroyed, vanished into the jungle, seeking out a new mate. The psychological grip that these plants were able to exert on the male mind was unsettling to say the least.

Early on in their research, they had spoken to a tribe of indigenous peoples living in the far reaches of the Amazonas. They described a western man, a white man, claiming to be a biologist, who had come stumbling out of the jungle a few years before, lost and confused, his mind seemingly gone, ranting about what he called the 'simulacrum' who had trapped and enslaved him. This tale was where the name had originally come from and it had stuck. The tribe thought the man mad. They attempted to care for him, but before the sun came up on the next morning, he had vanished, disappearing back into the jungle, his last words inbetween hysterical sobs apparently being 'I have to be with her again... I can't live without her. She needs me.'

Doctor Clarke leaned back, his tiredness growing. He was expecting a video call from Professor Cabrera, his boss, for one of their weekly catchups on research progress. He sat and watched the video call indicator. Minutes passed. Their slot came and went. Again, no call from the professor.

This was concerning. He had missed the last two planned calls and he wasn't answering his emails either. He had a growing worry that something was wrong. He decided tomorrow he would need to pay him a visit. He hadn't seen the man in almost six weeks.

With that he went to bed, his sleep disturbed with unsettling dreams of smooth green bodies sliding over him.

2. OBSERVATION

The eighty mile drive to Professor Cabrera's hacienda was long and tiring, taking much of the day, the roads in this part of eastern Peru nothing more than winding dirt tracks, surrounded by parts of the encroaching jungle. The professor's hacienda was an isolated, large one-story building, a good few miles away from the nearest village, set near the edge of the jungle. It was of a good size, colonial in appearance and fronted by a large covered veranda.

When Clarke arrived, it looked quiet. No lights were on inside. The professor's truck was still parked outside, a good sign at least the man was at home. Clarke walked up the wooden steps onto the veranda and noticed a pile of newspapers next to the front door. He picked one up. It was dated from a few days ago. They were regular deliveries, but had not been taken inside. He rifled through them. They went back weeks. The deliveries had kept on coming but for some reason, the professor had never brought them inside.

He knocked on the front door. No answer.

'Professor Cabrera? Are you home?' he called.

Silence.

He stood, hands on hips, unsure what to do. He gave the door an experimental push. It was unlocked and opened easily. The inside was dark and silent.

'Professor? Are you there? It's Doctor Clarke. I'm coming inside. Are you okay?'

Again, silence.

The front lounge, sparsely decorated, was empty and dark. The air-con had not been turned on and the inside of the house was hot and sticky. A coffee cup had been abandoned, half drunk on the low front table. A sheen of mould had grown on top of it. It obviously had been left here for some time. He walked through to the connecting open-plan kitchen. There was a thin layer of dust on all of the work surfaces. It was empty, no plates or sign of any cooking activity. He opened the fridge. Strangely, a lot of the food inside was out of date and going mouldy.

Something was very wrong here.

Then he heard a sound, coming from down the hall. It was a soft, insistent grunting. He followed it and realised it led to the bedroom. He stepped closer, suddenly feeling the need to move quietly and slowly. The grunting came louder, although muffled somehow. It was a male noise. The bedroom door was slightly ajar. He could also hear a wet, slapping sound, repeating over and over again. He reached out and pushed open the bedroom door a little further.

He was greeted with an alarming sight. Professor Cabrera had his back to him, fully naked. He was balls deep inside the largest simulacrum he had ever seen, fucking her as hard as he could.

They were both standing up, the simulacrum resting her ass on a desk, facing the professor. The simulacrum was absolutely huge, easily seven foot or more in height, her head almost touching the low ceiling, built like an amazonian goddess of legend. She was gigantic, thick, muscular and incredibly curvy, her breasts enormous, her buttocks two juicy slabs of strong glute muscle. Everything about her was hugely exaggerated and massively voluptuous. She had strong shoulders, a curvy stomach and huge muscular thighs that were so thick they were easily the width of the professor's torso. Powerful leg muscles rippled, constricting underneath her smooth green skin.

Her thick legs were splayed open, one of them hooked around the professor's back, holding him in position, her strong thigh and calf muscles bunching, gripping him tightly and trapping him in her warm embrace. Her leg was so large that as her calf gripped his lower back, her knee was above his head.

She dwarfed the professor, towering over him, dominating him, not just in height but in every aspect of her size. She was engulfing him, her massive breasts hanging heavy, at least double the size of the man's head. His face only came up to the height of her chest and was pressed deep into her never-ending cleavage.

Like all simulacrums, her skin was completely green and she had no body hair, her head bald, her face a picture of vital beauty, strong, mature, with defined cheekbones, thick pouting lips and heavy, sultry eyelids. Her lips and eyebrows were a darker shade of green. Her eyes were human except for their colour -- completely gold, twinkling gently in the gloom of the bedroom. Her eyelids were half closed, as if in pleasure herself, a flush of red spread across her green face and nose, mimicking a human glow of sexual excitement. Her tongue was as big as the rest of her, thick and fat, bright red and hanging out, lolling from side to side as she was fucked, incredibly long, hanging almost to the bottom of her chin. A long string of golden drool slowly coiled down from her tongue into her huge gap of cleavage, into which the professor had plunged his face, licking and sucking at her juices. The professor was completely lost, his mind unresponsive to anything other than the attentions of the simulacrum giantess. She seemed completely in control of his body, overwhelming him with sexual pleasure.

Her large green palms smothered the man's buttocks, covering them almost completely, her fingers gripping his flesh, helping to drive him deeper into her, helping him to fuck her, as his hips rocked into her again and again, the wet, squelching sounds of their mating loud in the otherwise quiet room. The man's head remained buried inbetween her gigantic breasts, his face pressed into her, squeezed deep into her dark cleavage, lost in the ecstasy of her impossible body.

'Mmmm... hhhughhh... uuugghhhHHH... ughhh... ugHHH!!'

The man was making moaning, desperate sounds of animalistic bliss as he fucked and fucked her, the noises muffled by her gigantic breasts engulfing most of his face. He seemed completely oblivious to anything else, a willing participant in this depraved mating. Clarke continued to stare, silent, absolutely shocked. What he was watching was insidious and unsettling. The plant was using the Amazonian-sized simulacrum to milk the professor, bringing him along to what looked like it would be an intense orgasm. The professor was completely enraptured, lost in ecstasy.

He watched as the professor slid halfway out of her, slowly, his rock-hard shaft coated in her dripping sexual juices, which were translucent gold in colour, like a lubricating syrup. He plunged powerfully back inside her with an obscene, sucking, squelching sound, assisted in his efforts by her firm grip on his buttocks. She helped drive him back inside her again and again.

He stared, transfixed, as the professor and simulacrum continued to fuck. The man rocked into her as if he was wracked by some never-ending compulsion to mate with her as hard as he could. It was slightly unnerving to witness, but also strangely fascinating and as he continued to observe, realised he was beginning to find it arousing. He was surprised to find now his own cock gently swelling, as he enjoyed the sights and sounds of this unholy mating occurring right in front of him.

Clarke remained quiet, standing just outside the room, watching through a gap in the bedroom door. He decided not to call attention to his presence, curious to see what would happen. His dick slowly grew further, pressing against the fabric of his shorts. He found it distracting and had a nagging urge to pull them down, to let his now heavy cock swing out, free and ready for stroking. A brief, evil thrill swept through him, of indulging in this sinful act, caressing himself up and down in time to the fucking he was witnessing, until he too could enjoy a climax. He tried to push the thought away, remaining focused on a scientific observation of what was happening in front of him.

The simulacrum was looking fondly down at the professor as he fucked her, a calculated look of sexual satisfaction on her own face, watching carefully, making sure he did exactly what she wanted, keeping him trapped and wrapped in her affections. The professor's moaning was now reaching a higher pitch, louder and louder, as it became clear he was reaching climax. His thrusting accelerated, slamming into her again and again, his cries of pleasure coming louder.

The man suddenly stiffened, his back arching, crying out in ecstatic joy, the sounds still muffled slightly as his face remained buried deep in the curving flesh of the simulacrum's enormous breasts. He could see the man suddenly bucking violently as a powerful orgasm swept through him. It seemed to go on and on and he could only speculate on how hard the man was cumming, or what insane ecstasy he was feeling, pumping god knows how much ejaculate inside the Amazonian-sized simulacrum. Her huge, iron-thick thigh muscles squeezed, the leg which she had hooked around him clutching him even tighter, the way one might squeeze a toothpaste tube to get out the last of the liquid. He cried out louder in desperate elation as the last few drops were milked from him by the strength of her.

The man came up for air, gasping and panting, his intense orgasm cooling and ebbing away. The simulacrum let him rest for a few moments, still inside her, catching his breath. She then gently tilted his head back, using her free hand to direct one of her gigantic breasts towards his mouth. Her nipple was as enormous as the rest of her, fat and throbbing. Clarke saw a few droplets of some kind of golden dew already leaking out of it, the same colour as her sexual fluids. The professor opened his mouth in readiness, craning eagerly for the engorged nipple. It slipped inside, filling him. The man started sucking, making greedy noises of delight. It was clear the simulacrum was pumping fluid into his mouth from her breast and the professor was eagerly drinking it down, his throat working, making sloppy glugging noises as he swallowed whatever liquid the simulacrum was feeding him. Trickles of the golden nectar spilled out over the man's lips and down his chin, his mouth completely filled. The simulacrum nursed him gently, almost tenderly, holding the back of his head, letting him drink his fill.

Clarke was baffled by her huge size. Why was she so large? Had she always been like that, formed that way in her birthing pod? Or had she grown over time? As he watched, he realised with a shudder what an unholy cycle it was. The simulacrum had somehow seduced the professor in order to extract his ejaculate, milking him for his cum, bringing him to an intense orgasm. Now in turn, she was feeding him her own juices, which the man was greedily drinking in, for reasons unsettling and unknown. Despite this, right at the back of his brain, he found viewing it intensely erotic, wondering what it would feel like to be dominated by the plant in this way himself. He chased the thought away.

The professor suddenly sagged, as if overcome by fatigue. He lolled in the simulacrum's arms. She held him close and carried him gently to the bed, before carefully laying him down on it. Within moments his eyes began to close and droop. The giant simulacrum curled up next to him, hooking one huge leg over him, both trapping and protecting him, watching him closely, stroking his back gently with one giant hand, lulling him into a deep sleep, locked in her warm embrace.

It was clear from the state of the house this arrangement had been going on for some time. The professor had been completely enthralled by the simulacrum in the truest sense of the word, giving in fully to her corrupting attentions. The plant seemed completely in control of the man's mind. How many times a day were they fucking? Was that all he was allowed to do? Fuck her, then drink her nectar, then sleep until he awoke, recharged, ready to continue the cycle anew? How long had this been going on for? Perhaps weeks? The only conclusion he could draw was that professor had been trapped in a loop of intense sexual stimulation and desire. The plant was keeping him here on purpose, essentially farming him for his cum, over and over again.

He realised this is what the final stage of the addiction must look like, the simulacrum keeping the human victim docile and completely submissive, either asleep, drinking her nectar or fucking, the only purpose of the male prey to be milked for the plant to reproduce, harvesting the cum from the enslaved man over and over again.

Was that the eventual fate of any man who gave in to the sexual temptation of a simulacrum? Trapped forever in a pit of submission, nothing more than cattle to be farmed, a human crop to be milked endlessly, unable or perhaps worse, unwilling to escape? A strange frisson of curiosity at this sizzled through him, of what this must feel like, how powerful the sexual reward must be to have this effect, again forcing himself to bury the intrusive thought.

How had this happened? The professor was the foremost authority on these bizarre new plants, knew more about them than anyone, even himself. How had he fallen into its trap and given in to it? It should not have been possible. He knew what they were. He should have known of the dangers. It was an unsettling thought. If this had happened to the professor, it could happen to anyone.

He looked around the room, less distracted now the fucking had stopped. He could see a long green stem trailing out of the lower back of the simulacrum, snaking across the floor and out of a patio door which was slightly ajar, leading to the back garden. That's how it must have got in.

He could see now a rippling, peristaltic motion coming from the thick green stem. It was pulsating slightly, as if something was being drawn down it. He realised it must be the professor's cum, mixed in with whatever other fluids were in there, being drained away, the successful. extraction being taken to the main body of the plant, somewhere outside. The ultimate goal of this insidious organism.

He realised that if he entered the room and slammed the patio door shut, there's a good chance it would sever the stem and free the professor from the clutches of the plant. He went to move, then paused. This was a unique opportunity. They had not yet been able to conduct live research on a simulacrum and a victim. And, with the professor otherwise distracted, Clarke realised he would be in a perfect position to take advantage of the situation. Whoever completed the first research into this incredible new life form would be well on their way to winning a Nobel prize. The professor didn't seem in any immediate physical danger. Perhaps he could let this play out for a few more days and take notes for his research paper using this unwitting subject.

Something caught his eye. He glanced back at the bed. Somehow, the simulacrum had noticed him and was looking directly in his direction with her twinkling golden eyes. There was a sly expression on her face, maybe of detached amusement, or hungry interest. If she had been human, perhaps it could have been described as a look of 'You're next.'

A wave of fear shivered through his body. He had no wish to end up in the same state as the professor, letting himself be milked dry by the plant at the cost of his mind. He backed off and shut the door. He headed away, glancing nervously over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed. Calm returned. Simulacrum's did not move fast, nor give chase to their prey, relying instead on curiosity and trickery to draw male victims close.

He needed to see what was outside, what terrible thing was growing in the professor's back garden.

3. DISCOVERY

He left the hacienda by the front door and followed the covered porch around to the secluded back garden, which he knew opened out onto a large portion of wild jungle. As he rounded the corner of the house, he saw something which left him reeling.

'Holy mother of God...'

A large old dead tree stood in the middle of the rear garden, near to the house. Coiled around it were dozens of fat, dark green, pulsating vines, each the width of his leg. They were sinister things, rippling with an uncomfortable throbbing life. From the vines, high up from the ground, hung around half a dozen fat seed pods, each roughly the size of a human body.

Inside each pod was the shape of a human silhouette, clearly female, with thick curves and long legs. The green skin of the pods was pulled tight, like latex, revealing the voluptuous bodies stored within. He could see feminine, deeply sensuous shapes, some with gentle wriggling movements inside, each pod promising an unholy birth of human-like sexuality. The sight before him was an utter abomination. This plant, he knew, must be the mulher fatal, the very organism they had been seeking all these months. It had not been here the last time he had visited the professor, about six weeks ago. He was shocked. In that short time, the plant must have taken hold, grown huge and fat, coiling around the dead tree as an anchor. From there it had then sprouted the seed pods, each clearly ripe with a new simulacrum gestating inside.

The full implication suddenly hit him. The plant must have produced one initial simulacrum, the Amazonian-sized giantess, which had somehow seduced the professor. Then over the last few weeks, it had been farming him for his cum, relentlessly draining him as much as possible. The professor was being milked, used, nothing more than a means to an end, his cum being carefully, methodically extracted, in order for the plant to reproduce and grow further. He was being harvested, like a mammalian crop. And it wasn't even against his will, as far as he could tell. The professor was a willing participant, fully engaged in the process, fucking the Amazonian simulacrum as hard as he could. He saw the long green stem of her trailing out of the patio door, across the lawn and up to a section of the vines.

Using that reservoir of human DNA, the plant had then been able to grow a large new batch of simulacrums, by the looks of them soon ready to be unleashed, to predate any unsuspecting nearby males, to propagate and spread the plant further. It's tactics were unsettling and insidious. They didn't just produce one simulacrum. Each individual plant could produce many, provided it had enough genetic information to use. The speed at which it could reproduce was frightening.

One of the pods, quite low down, suddenly writhed and spasmed with strong peristaltic motions. He stepped back a few paces in alarm. The pod began to split softly open at the base, the skin peeling gently back, like the petals of an opening flower. He watched, horrified, as a green pair of pretty, dainty feet slowly poked out. Following them out slid long, shapely legs, tucked together, sensuously rubbing against each other. Gravity did the rest of the work, dragging the simulacrum out into the world. She slid out slowly at first, then faster, as voluptuous hips and juicy buttocks pushed through the opening. The rest of her followed quickly, with a slick, soft organic sound. The simulacrum collapsed wetly to the grassy lawn, a tangle of legs and arms. She was covered in a thick layer of viscous pink ooze, some kind of protective coating or birthing fluid. Clarke got ready to run. He had no wish to be here should they all hatch and make some kind of aggressive play for him. He would be badly outnumbered. The newly birthed simulacrum coughed and spluttered, her chest rising and falling as she took her first breaths, long black hair covering most of her face.

Clarke stopped in his tracks. Hair? Breathing?

The simulacrums couldn't breath. They didn't have lungs. They didn't respire at all, they weren't alive, in the traditional sense. He looked closer. A stunning revelation hit him. There was no connecting stem!

This simulacrum was new, different. She was not like any others they had previously documented. Their research team had confirmed simulacrums never had hair and were always connected to the main plant, remaining part of it. Yet she wasn't. She was completely independent and still moving, still aware of her surroundings. He approached cautiously, wanting to confirm these new findings. The simulacrum lay still on the grass, on all fours, her legs tucked under her, arms pressed onto the ground. She seemed to be catching her breath, adjusting to this new world. Fear gripped him. He reached forward very slowly and brushed her damp hair aside to get a look at her face.

Like all simulacrums, she was green-skinned and utterly beautiful, but unlike anything he had seen before. All of them, including the Amazonian-sized one currently enrapturing the professor, had older, mature faces, in human years perhaps late thirties or early forties. This new simulacrum was very different. Her face was young. She looked shy and demure. She couldn't have looked older than about twenty. She had wide innocent eyes, golden, like all simulacrums, hiding behind thick eyelashes, soft, round cheeks, a cute tiny nose, and large, lush, pouting lips. Her long black hair, slick with the pink goo, framed her face, falling down to her chest. It was difficult to make out her body as she was still covered from head to foot in the pink birthing slime, which dripped thickly off her like gunge. He could however see thick feminine curves, from which the slime was slowly flowing down and dripping from. Her chest, huge and heavy, was mostly covered by her long hair, the swell of it hidden. The rest of her, her overall height and proportions, were normal in size, more realistic than the massive Amazonian inside the hacienda.

She seemed apprehensive and withdrawn, noticing him for the first time, cringing back, hiding behind her long hair. She made no move on him. If anything, she looked slightly afraid of him, curling her legs and hugging them in a protective manner, as if warding him off. She shivered, almost as if she was cold. She was clearly not sexually aggressive like most other simulacrums. She was something completely new.

A thought occurred. Could she be something fantastic, something genuinely astounding -- perhaps a hybrid? Part mammal, part plant? That would be an even bigger discovery. He was torn. This could be the scientific finding of not just the century, but perhaps, all of human history. A sly thought slid into his brain. He had a unique opportunity here. While Professor Cabrera was out of action, under the sexual control of the Amazonian simulacrum, he could take the opportunity to study this amazing new discovery on his own and claim all the rights to it. He would be magnanimous, of course, sharing his data and discoveries with the scientific community, once he'd made sure to be seen as the father of this new field of biology. If he played his cards right, this would be a guaranteed Nobel prize, fame and money.

A small pang of guilt led his thoughts back to the professor, enslaved in the bedroom, behind the closed curtains of his hacienda. Doctor Clarke quickly chased the thought away -- the professor seemed in no physical danger. He didn't even seem malnourished in any way, the juices from the simulacrum perhaps providing her prey plenty of calories as well. He did briefly linger on the psychological addiction. By taking this selfish course of action, he would be consigning the professor to his fate, trapped in inescapable, depraved mating with the Amazonian simulacrum.

But he shrugged if off -- that wasn't his concern and besides, judging by the amount of time the professor had been missing calls and emails, he was no doubt well on the way to full addiction anyway. It was probably too late to save him regardless. Clarke would take this new simulacrum for his own study. He'd worked hard. He deserved some plaudits here. If the professor had been stupid enough to fall into the clutches of this plant, that was his own problem. They couldn't have a man that simple leading the research into the greatest natural find of the 21st century.

Yes. Better to keep things as they were. After all, no one knew Clarke was here, no one knew he had made this visit. Why not let one of the other researchers discover and save the poor professor in a few days? In the meantime, he needed to get this remarkable new specimen into his truck and back to his own apartment, to be stored safely in his basement containment room, for further study.

He raced back to his jeep, put on PPE gloves, mask and goggles, before bringing out a rain jacket. He covered the simulacrum with it, to partially cover her naked body, as well as trying to wipe off some of the birthing slime with a spare towel. He helped her to her feet. She was unsteady and off-balance, like a newly born deer still trying to sort her legs out, but she did not resist. She came with him, padding shakily towards the vehicle. As he pushed her gently inside the rear of the truck, Clarke smiled. The perfect plan. Nothing could go wrong.

Clarke's truck pulled away from the drive, leaving the isolated hacienda dark and silent. In the back garden, the fat vines of the mulhar fatal continued to throb and grow. In the bedroom, the Amazonian simulacrum continued to watch her enslaved prey, her golden eyes twinkling in the darkness, waiting with vegetable patience for another harvest.

4. ANALYSIS

It was night by the time he arrived back at his apartment, after many hours of driving. It was easy to smuggle the simulacrum inside under cover of darkness. He lived alone and was expecting no visitors. He could spend weeks carefully studying her before revealing his discovery to anyone. She was docile and co-operative, following his lead into the building. He took her into the shower room first. She was still covered from head to toe in the greasy pink slime, leaving wet footprints as she tracked through the apartment.

He hosed her down with warm water. She seemed to enjoy it, drinking it in, refreshing her. The slime dissolved quickly, sliding off her green body under the hot spray of shower water. The liquified goo began pooling down between her breasts, over her stomach, dripping down through the crack in her firm, juicy buttocks. She titled her head back, enjoying the water, exposing her body fully for the first time, letting the water spatter onto her face, running her fingers through her hair.

He took her in properly now, able to see her clearly for the first time as the slime trickled off her.

She had a soft, innocent face, large eyelashes and wide eyes, which made her look shy and vulnerable. Although her face was innocent and pure and still wore an expression of demure coyness, her body was another matter, telling a different story entirely. It was curvy, sinful and voluptuous, fully mature. She had long, sensual limbs, wide Latina-sized hips, a tiny, athletic waist, giving her an exaggerated hourglass shape. Her buttocks were thick, heavy and juicy, with a muscular strength. Her breasts were simply enormous, straight out of an extreme fantasy. They were vast heavy curves, swaying with her movements as she washed herself. They were firm and ripe, but the sheer weight of them meant gravity had plenty to grip on to, giving them a natural, slightly pendulous shape. Her nipples were also large, as fat as his thumb, dark green, the same colour as her lips and large areola.

Her face, a picture of shy purity, was completely at odds with the thick, tempting curves of her body, which was a promise of secret delight. This juxtaposition somehow made her even more attractive to him. How could a face so demure and vulnerable have such a body? A body of an utter goddess, thrilling just to look at, her tempting curves a promise of exquisite sin.

He found himself staring dumbly as she continued to wash herself, her hands sliding up and down her slick body. She seemed to fit some kind of perfect template in his mind, the most extreme fantasy of what a woman's body could look like, an ideal genetic match. He couldn't stop staring at her as she let the warm water flow over her, trickling down inbetween her curves, sensuously washing herself, her eyes closed in what looked like pleasure.

He finally tore his gaze away, cognisant that he should not get sucked into her enticing shape. He felt a splash of water on his feet. The shower water was splashing up and over, onto the floor, pooling around him. He must've lost track of time, been staring at her for minutes, a pleasurable feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. He snapped out of it.

He dried her with a towel and did his best to cover her sinful body, so as not to distract himself further. She was difficult to dress, but in the end he was able to fit a loose grey cotton t-shirt over her, one of his, larger than her, hanging down to her upper thigh. After that, he led her to the containment booth in the basement and the observations began.

*****

He watched the simulacrum carefully over the next few days, taking notes. She seemed to be aware of her surroundings, calmly exploring the basement area enclosed by the clear perspex panels of her confinement. Her favourite place was near the window, where she would often curl up for hours, seemingly asleep, enjoying the pool of sunlight. She didn't seem to need to eat, rejecting any food he offered. She appeared to live solely off sunlight and water, photosynthesising like a plant, apparently with enough reserves of minerals inside her not to require any other sustenance at this point. Her behaviour was calm and relaxed. She made no attempt to escape, nor any sexually aggressive moves on himself. Whenever he entered the basement room she simply watched him, her large, soft eyes carefully following him, shyly observing.

He began to realise she was no threat to him. He felt increasingly safe and reassured by his observations that she was not the same as previous simulacrums they had documented. She was something new, something different. Possibly the next stage in whatever strange, accelerated evolution the plant was capable of. He had no idea how she remained mobile and functioning without a connection to the main plant body. She seemed totally independent of it, unlike normal simulacrums, who were merely a physical extension of the plant. She was an organism in her own right, at least in outward appearance. He was unable to determine her internal makeup, as he had no tools with which to scan her. He had no idea if she had organs, or bones, or even a brain.

He spent more and time with her inside her cell, observing her behaviour. For some reason, he felt calm and relaxed in her presence, which he began to find enjoyable. She had some kind of translucent, golden gel which sheened her lips and coated her tongue. She was quite accepting when he decided to take some swab samples from her. It was the closest he had been to her. He noticed she had a very pleasant, alluring body scent. Something dark and complex, but with fruity, almost apricot-flavoured undertones to it. He drew in deep breaths of her, finding it soothing, warm and rich. He became more and more relaxed in her presence, no longer feeling the need to wear his protective gloves or mask. He did not know if she had blood, so did not attempt to take any samples from beneath her skin, at least not yet.

On the third afternoon, he was in the cell again, making notes on a paper pad, when she started making vocalisations. This was another first. All previous research indicated simulacrums were completely silent, incapable of speech. Her noises were not speech per se, but rather, soft sounds coming from deep within her throat. They were light and melodious, pleasant to listen to.

'Mmm... mmmmhhmmm... aaahhh.'

He listened carefully, trying to understand what she was attempting to communicate. She fixed him with eye contact as she made them. He found the sounds relaxing and peaceful and staring into her gently twinkling golden eyes was also strangely calming. He felt himself entering a soft flow state.

Her soft mmms and ahhhs continued and he enjoyed listening to them. They tickled the back of his neck, almost a form of ASMR, calming his mind. Her noises were quiet and soft. He found he had to lean in close to her to try and understand them.

She came closer, still making her soft sounds, beginning to sway slightly in a slow walk. She slid onto the small bed next to him, curling her legs up underneath, sitting right next to him. He found he did not want to look away from her face and soft, all-consuming golden eyes. She still looked shy and vulnerable, nothing like the more mature, predatory versions of the simulacrums that had been documented before. She watched him carefully from under her thick eyelashes, eyeing him cautiously, her long hair framing her face. She seemed so innocent. She was amazingly realistic, blinking, tiling her head in a curious manner as she looked at him. He felt a strange pang deep inside, a need to protect her, to look after her. To be next to her.

She laughed. A soft girlish giggle, warm and friendly. She slid closer to him on the bed, tucking her knees up closer. He didn't move away. She was no threat to him. She came closer still. There was a pleasant feeling in his chest, a warm tingling, like butterflies. Part of him was enjoying the closer proximity to her.

'Mmmm.... mmmMMM...' she made her soft vocalisations again. Whatever she was trying to communicate, he couldn't fully understand it, but the sounds she made continued to comfort him. He felt his eyes glaze over. The sounds were light and tonal, almost like a gentle song, rising and falling in pitch.

'Mmmm... ahhhmm... mmmahhh....'

Her vocalisations were not overtly sexual, but still gave him a quiet thrill. They were on the border of erotic, between relaxing and sensual, just on the cusp of turning into sexual moans, not quite there. She moved slowly and carefully, leaning closer in, looking at him from under her thick eyelashes, keeping eye contact with him, as if she was slightly wary of him, almost afraid. He wanted to reassure her, to let her know he wasn't a threat, that he just wanted to study her, to make her feel comfortable and secure.

Why was he letting her get so close? He wasn't quite sure. He was gradually slipping deeper into some strange pleasant feeling, a soft, comforting embrace of something, like being held in a tight hug, like slipping into a warm bath. His thoughts weren't quite coming in the right order. It just seemed like a good idea to stay here, right next to her, for a moment. He couldn't help but take in her body in again, her face, her eyes, the swell of her curves underneath her makeshift clothing enticing him. He wondered what it would feel like if he sent his hands snaking under the t-shirt she wore, to feel her heavy breasts.

She leant forward, giving him a coquettish look, her arms squeezing her huge breasts together, causing her cleavage to cream up around the top of the tight t-shirt. He knew what she was doing. She was trying to make him look at her body. Despite knowing this, his eyes still slipped down to stare into the warm, green curves of her huge cleavage, thick and heavy. He found he couldn't look away. They were so big, hanging heavy in the tight t-shirt. She was breathing right next to his ear, soft pants of excitement. The effect was subtle. Just enough to disengage a few neurones in the right places, to lower the fight or flight response of her prey, her vocalisations precisely calibrated to the human mind, designed to lull it into a peaceful feeling of safety and contentment.

While he had been distracted with staring at her, she had come closer still, moving her face right up next to his, still making her gentle noises, lulling him deeper into her soft control. He suddenly realised her cheek was next to his. He looked up to face her and her huge golden eyes filled up his world. He felt himself falling into them, tumbling down into her gaze. They were fascinating, deep pools of molten gold.

He watched her closely, her mannerisms amazingly human. She brushed a stray strand of hair away from her head and looked at him coyly, fluttering her eyelashes. Her eye contact was intense and flirtatious. Her full, lush lips were close now, thick and plump, a darker shade of green than the rest of her skin. He could feel the warmth of her body next to him. He shouldn't do this. He shouldn't be so close to a simulacrum. It was risky. Yet, he had an inexplicable, enjoyable urge to stay where he was. It felt very pleasant. He felt his heart rate increase and a frisson of sexual tension wash over him. She was within his personal space, still still softly humming to him. She coiled a string of hair teasingly around one of her fingers. She bent down slowly, getting closer to him. She watched to see if he moved away. He didn't.

She reached forward and he shivered in unexpected delight as she planted a soft, warm kiss on his neck. It was gentle, affectionate, just a quick peck. It felt good. It felt right. She pulled back and looked at him again, her big innocent eyes watching him, almost concerned, as if she had done something wrong. When he made no move to leave, she leant back in and planted a deeper, wetter kiss. It felt amazing. She kissed him again and again, with soft wet smacks. He closed his eyes in pleasure, the hot, liquid touch of her lips sending tingles down his spine. Her kisses left slick wet marks from the golden gel which coated her, like golden lipstick.

There was a tempting pleasure uncoiling in his groin, as very slowly, almost unnoticed, his cock began to gently swell, his body automatically responding to her careful foreplay.

Then he felt a delicious, warm, wet pressure as she licked his skin hard, drawing the flat of her tongue, up the side of neck with a deep, slow stroke, all the way up to his ear. Her tongue was extremely long and fat, coating his skin with a slick layer of her golden gel. It gave him an even deeper shiver of pleasure. Her hot breath washed over him, her body wriggling closer to him on the bed. She cupped a warm hand around his chin, holding him in place as she kissed and licked his neck more and more, making soft wet sounds with her mouth as she did so. His cock began to throb, swelling sideways. He gently leaned his head to one side, allowing her more access to him, sending her kisses deep into the crook of his neck. He let out a sigh of contentment. Her touches were wonderful, so realistic, like being kissed by your lover, with a deep, intimate touch.

Outside of the containment cell, on a bench, his phone rang. The jarring noise snapped him back to reality, breaking the spell. He blinked, suddenly realising how far down a slippery slope he had gone.

'Shit!' he said, pushing her away. A shiver of alarm and fear spiked through him. She gently flopped down onto the pillows of the bed, giving him a coy look and a sly smile, seemingly pleased with herself. He stood up and backed off, only now realising his cock was half-hard, feeling thick and excitingly heavy. He skidded backwards and slammed the door to the cell, locking the metal padlock which secured it.

Fuck! How had that happened?! One minute he was in there taking samples, the next she was all over him, her kisses ensnaring him, leading him down into temptation he hadn't even seen coming. How had he let her get so close!? He reached up and touched his neck. A few drops of her gel remained, the rest gone, already absorbed into his skin.

'Oh shit.'

He looked down and realised he had spilled most of her gel sample onto the floor, rendering it useless. He could have to make do with the small dregs he had left.

He took a few deep breaths, then picked up the phone.

'Hello. Yes, it's Clarke. Yes. No. No I haven't heard from the professor either. No, I'm sure he's fine, probably on a field trip and forgot to tell us. Ok... yeah sure. Look I've got to go. Let's catch up on a video call in a few days. Yup. Ok, see you later.'

It was Doctor Gonzalez, one of the other researchers. She was working a patch of land about 150 miles to the west. He'd lied to her about the professor. He just needed a little more time to study the captive simulacrum here before upsetting everything. When the others found out the professor was in the clutches of the plant, all hell would break loose.

He had a basic, small lab set up in a spare room. He analysed the sample of her gel under a microscope, but all he could determine was that it was a rich biological fluid, full of complex compounds and molecules. He had a very expensive, home-sized spectrographic machine, but he would need a larger sample if he wanted to run anything through the machine and analyse it in greater detail. He had to find out more about these bizarre new organisms. He needed to figure out how they worked, to help determine a way to stop the spread of these insidious, unnatural plants. He would have to go back inside her cell tomorrow to get another, larger sample for further analysis. At least this time, he would be prepared for any tricks she might pull.

That night, he slept well, but had strange erotic dreams, of thick green vines coiling around his body, around his neck, around his cock, pumping and sucking at him as he was trapped in their strong embrace. These dreams were not entirely unpleasant. He awoke to find his himself thick and hard, a strange need inside him to see the simulacrum again. He would get it soon enough.

5. EXPERIMENTATION

Later on that next morning, he prepared to re-enter the cell. He had his PPE gear laid out on a bench next to him and a fresh collection kit of swabs and tubes. His heart was beating. He was nervous. Or rather, he was lying to himself that he was nervous. Deep down, it was a secret excitement.

The simulacrum was curled up like a cat, seemingly asleep in her patch of sunlight near the high basement window. She must've sensed him entering the room. She slowly woke, stretching her limbs out sensuously. The t-shirt barely covered her, her enormous chest pulling the fabric tight across her, her heavy nipples clearly visible. somehow turning a very simple piece of clothing into something erotic, like a woman wearing her boyfriend's clothes the morning after.

He stepped carefully into the cell. The enclosed space smelt of her, a dark rich scent. She was waiting for him, like she knew he would return to her. His heart rate increased. He tried to get it over with quickly. He attempted to get another swab sample from her mouth without getting too close, but she backed off and wouldn't open her lips.

He tried stepping closer. This time she consented to parting her lips slightly, luring him in. She opened them more and more the closer he got, her thick tongue sliding wetly out. It was so long it came down almost below her chin. He found it distractingly erotic. She leaned forward a little. She was staring at him, her demure eyes half closed, her tongue out, panting slightly. Her smell filled his lungs, rich and fragrant. His head was feeling light. He wasn't quite sure why. He had to get closer. He leaned in and finally got a good heavy sample, sweeping up some of the gel from her thick tongue, which curled back up into her mouth as he did so, licking out at him in a teasing motion.

As she did so, her tongue curled around one of his fingers, drawing it towards her. It caught him off guard and his finger suddenly slipped into her warm mouth. Her thick, lush lips enveloped it and she sucked on it, suggestively and wetly, fixing him with eye contact as she did so, looking up at him. She sucked deeply on it, the erotic comparisons obvious. Her mouth was hot and wet and inviting. In a daze, he finally pulled his finger out of her mouth with a wet pop.

One thick drop of her gel dropped from tongue to the floor. Her lips were coated in it. He found her lips completely fascinating, this close. Thick and plump and pouting. So realistic, warm and inviting. He couldn't stop staring at them. She took half a step closer. She smiled at him, for the first time. It was devastating -- coy, disarming, sweet, yet richly sensual, with her wide mouth, perfect teeth and fat, lush lips. A part of him suddenly realised he had forgotten to put on his PPE. He had no mask or gloves on. He couldn't quite think why he forgot to do it.

She blew him an air-kiss with a wet smack, her lips pressing towards him. He felt a sudden thrill. He shouldn't. He shouldn't be this close, but the exhilaration in his chest was too good to ignore. Her lips came closer... closer... he should run, get out of here... but... they looked so tempting... so close... so real... filling his world... so wet and kissable... dripping with her gel...

Her lips gently pressed into his, just once, just briefly, before she quickly pulled back, as if she was just testing the waters again, an experiment. He was shocked. She was utterly realistic. Her lips were thick and hot. The kiss felt taboo, illegal, wrong. He knew he shouldn't do it. This only increased the potency, the desire to feel her warm lubricated skin again. She looked at him slightly concerned, her long eyelashes fluttering. A surge of adrenaline spiked through him. He didn't move, waiting to see what she would do next.

She paused, then, haltingly, carefully, leaned in again, still smiling warmly. He held himself, waiting for her. She pressed in again, her lips melting into his, this time with slightly more force. A warm hand cupped his face and the other rested on his chest. She was soft and affectionate, almost loving. She pulled back again, staring at him, fixing him with deep eye contact. His heart was pounding in his chest. He found himself immediately missing her touch. He found he couldn't look away from her eyes. Her light kisses had felt incredible. This time, he couldn't help himself. He initiated. He leaned into her and she welcomed him. He sank into her lips again.

Now her kisses came harder, increasing in energy. They felt authentic and passionate. They were the dark, sinful kisses of a toxic ex who still craves your body. The greedy kisses of someone lusting after you for years, seducing you to cheat with her behind your girlfriend's back. The kissing became more forceful, wet and sloppy, her mouth working his with slick, obscene noises. Her lips were still coated with the light sheen of her gel, which smeared over his own lips and mouth, with low, liquid smacks.

She gripped his collar, holding it tight in her fist. Her other hand nestled on the back of his head, her long green fingers running through his hair, pulling him in as she kissed him hard. The thrill of enjoyment flared harder inside his chest, as she began to take firm control of him. To his guilty relish, he found his cock beginning to swell again, as his body enjoyed her powerful kisses. She pressed her body into him hard now, her chest squishing into his. Through the thin t-shirt she wore, he could instantly feel the intense, hot, heavy heat of her huge breasts, radiating out into him. They were firm, with barely any give, pressing into him strongly, an exquisite feeling. His cock thickened, growing pleasurably fat.

Her long, hot tongue lapped out at him, brushing his lips, slipping into his mouth, a thick, molten coil of lust. Her lips gripped his occasionally and she pulled at them slightly. He should stop. This was getting out of hand. His cock grew further and he decided to just enjoy the kisses a moment more.

'Mmmm.... mmhhhh.... mmmmmmmm...'

The noises were hers, made deep in her throat again, a low, sensuous hum of feminine want. He loved hearing her sounds, lustful and demanding, sinking into his mind. The kisses came harder and harder and his body responding automatically, pressing into her, needing her, wanting her to take it further.

They sank onto the small bed together, still in a deep embrace, her wet kisses coming harder. A green hand gripped his thigh, squeezing, working its way up, the simulacrum seeking its target. It was close. She knew her prey's resolve was weakening. Her palm gently cupped his groin and he felt himself get harder still. He unconsciously, automatically, opened his legs, allowing her more room to gently squeeze him.

He needed her touch. It was too much. The stimulation was overwhelming him. Fumbling, unable to stop himself, he slowly unzipped his shorts and tugged them open with one hand, the other holding onto her warm shoulder, wriggling his underwear down just enough to give himself freedom. His cock slid slowly out, a fat, heavy, throbbing slab of flesh. It felt so good to let it swing into the open, finally free. His consciousness was receding, the only thought in his mind the feeling of his cock, pulsating with need, wanting to be stroked and gripped.

She obliged. Her slender green fingers slid up his thigh and found their target quickly, curling around him.

'Fuuuuck YESSSS!' he exclaimed, hissing through his teeth, as she rested her hand on his shaft, gently squeezing, just a little bit, just to get his attention. His cock instantly grew harder and fatter under her electric touch, thickening up fully for her. Her hand was hot, her grip firm and commanding. She began a gentle, soft, up and down motion, in the middle of his shaft. He groaned in pleasure and responded by leaning back on the bed, pushing his hips toward her, allowing her to grip him fully, totally vulnerable to her now, his eyes closed in bliss, as her strokes got longer, sliding up to the bulbous head of his cock and back down, deep and powerful, satisfying.

'Ughhhhh... fuck yes...'

His mind was slipping, the pleasure of her fingers causing his consciousness to gradually dissolve. He leaned his head back further and closed his eyes, enjoying her hand working him. She was so good at this. Her grip was just right, firm but slow, her strokes perfect, a slick, addictive pressure, just the right pace, each upward and downward stroke causing irresistible waves of erotic bliss to wash down his cock and into his core, building up and up. It was incredible, he couldn't have done better with his own hand, despite a lifetime of practice. How did she know exactly how to grip him, exactly how much pressure to apply? The way she squeezed ever so slightly as her fingers reached the head of his cock, the slight rotation from her slick warm palms as she went back down. Her strokes were still slow and deep, and now he looked at her. as she kept eye contract with him the whole time, her sweet innocent face helping him along, bringing him to a state of arousal so intense he didn't think was possible. He wanted her to start speeding up, to start going faster, to start milking him hard...

A tiny, ancient part of his hindbrain, a forgotten remnant from the very earliest years of mammalian evolution, finally flared a warning. Something was wrong here. Something wasn't right. There was danger. Alarm blazed in his mind, suddenly and painfully cutting through the haze of lust. He pulled back from her, gasping. What was he doing!? Oh fuck!

He scrambled back, sliding off the small bed, tripping over his shorts as they tangled up his ankles, sprawling on the floor. She slid off the bed and paced gently toward him, hips swaying, her curvy legs disappearing up into the t-shirt. She stood over him, hands on her waist. The innocent look on her soft face was totally at odds with her lustful body, stood over him, ready to dominate him. He lay on his back, his cock still hard and straining upwards. She positioned herself as if she was going to straddle him, to lower herself down. A brief, betraying thought slipped into his mind, of letting her do it. He could just lay here, on the floor, letting her squat right down onto his dick, letting her absorb his throbbing cock inside her.

No! He couldn't! He couldn't let that happen. In a panic, he scrambled back further, hauling up his shorts and opening the cell door, stumbling out and locking it behind him.

Fuck! It had happened again! How?!

His dick was pulsating and rock hard, a coil of excitement in his stomach. He stuffed his cock back into his underwear, trying to get it under control. She had lured him in once again, tempting him into coming close, then smothering him with her deep, dark kisses. When her hand had closed around his cock, he had almost gone over the edge and lost his mind.

This was getting out of hand. That was twice now and it had happened even quicker the second time, despite him stepping into the cell with as much care and resolve as he could muster. He absolutely could not afford to enter the cell with her again, lest he lose all self control. He had to figure out how the simulacrum's were able to exert this powerful influence. Clutching the sample of her gel in his hand, he ran back upstairs. The simulacrum watched him go, a sly smile of her face. The prey had ran. But it couldn't escape.

6. METHODS

He returned to his small laboratory set up in the spare room. He needed to examine the sample of light golden gel taken from the simulacrum's mouth, which seemed to pass for her version of saliva. He decanted the sample and ran it through the liquid chromatography spectrometer. It was a sensitive analytical instrument, used to identify and quantify the exact molecules within a complex mixture. The result should tell him what substances were in the mixture and in what quantities.

The results of the scan came back after a few hours. They were baffling and filled him with dread. Her liquids were a rich complex of biochemical molecules - phenols, analogous hormones, even what looked like neuro-transmitters. Her saliva seemed to be a behavioural-altering narcotic, perfectly designed to be absorbed into a human body. He realised from his analysis that the liquid could most probably pass through the human skin barrier and perhaps even be turned into an aerosol. This filled him with two worries.

The first was he had already been exposed to her liquid -- the kissing. Secondly, if it had the potential to be distributed as an aerosol, how and why? Then it hit him. Her breathing. Or rather, her simulated breathing. She wasn't actually taking in air for its oxygen or carbon dioxide content. It was just a simple pumping mechanism, designed to expel air out -- air that had been dosed with her chemicals, a tiny amount turned into aerosol form. A horrible thought occurred to him. She had been with him inside his house for days, breathing it out. He had been breathing in the same, contaminated air. She had been micro-dosing him with her behaviour altering chemicals this entire time. Was this why his inhibitions were so lowered and his decision-making askew? Was he already being manipulated? Was she somehow altering his behaviours, gradually, subtly? Why else had he given in to her advances? Could even her vocalisations be having some kind of auditory effect, lulling him into passive behaviour, turning off his normal sense of caution?

It seemed the kissing had a purpose - not just to arouse her prey, but to dose him with her powerful chemicals, to make him more likely to submit to her sexual advances. That was how they were able to seduce so many men. That's why the birth rates were dropping. The simulacrums were dosing human targets with powerful brain-altering hormones, which massively amplified the human sexual response and lowered inhibitions. He had already been dosed with it himself and had almost succumbed to her advances, twice. He realised he absolutely could not afford to enter her cell again, no matter how strongly he mentally steeled himself. No matter how tempting, he could not take the chance of being in the same room as her.

In addition, his work under the microscope told him her cells were still all completely plant-based. She was no hybrid. She was not in any way mammalian. She was still 100% part of the mulhar fatal, perhaps the next stage in the plant's strange growth cycle. He realised with a shiver that the plants were evolving. He guessed that the more human DNA they absorbed, the more realistic they became. Extrapolating from this, they could potentially one day become physically almost indistinguishable from normal human females, at least externally. They had already begun to develop human mannerisms, mimic emotions and this new one had even begun vocalisations that could lead one day to speech... this was a mammoth problem and quite terrifying.

He realised the plants were developing further, somehow using human DNA to work out exactly what attracts males the most, the most potent tactics, the weak points, the strongest temptations, becoming more and more sophisticated. The more cum they absorbed, the more devious and intelligent they got, as well as more mobile and independent from the main plant, perhaps communicating over vast distances with pheromone signalling.

If they continued to multiply at the current rate and to evolve more complex predatory patterns... essentially, humanity, or at least a large proportion of human males, could becoming unwitting slaves to the plant, ensnared by the increasing sophistication of its tactics. This would have devastating consequences on global birthrates and could even plunge humanity into a crisis. Eventually there might be no easy way to tell the difference between a simulacrum and a real woman, with the mulhar fatal now free to milk humanity as much as it wanted, as a cuckoo might parasitise a nest, burrowing into the population, almost invisible.

Clarke thought back to the professor, drinking down the golden fluid from the Amazonian's breast - he guessed it would have been laced with even more powerful version of her narcotics and hormonal, brain-altering chemicals, used to keep the victim docile and susceptible to the simulacrum's attentions. That was why the Amazonian simulacrum was feeding the professor her liquid, to enhance her ability to keep him in a sexually-drugged and submissive state.

All of this filled him with dread and a strange sense of foreboding. He would need to summarise all this information and have it ready to present, quickly - or at least, when he had confirmed the findings. It was valuable information. He needed to pass it on, so that some form of defence could be created., some way to stop the spread of these insidious plants. He spent the rest of the day writing up his notes, then decided to sleep on it, figuring out how best to use this new information to his advantage.

***

Later on, deep into the night, he tossed and turned, trying to sleep, but it was proving impossible. His arousal from earlier in the day was not going away. If anything, it had gotten more intense as the evening wore on. His balls were physically aching. His dick was half-erect, thick and throbbing. His heart rate was elevated. And there was a strange but very pleasant tingling sensation in the core of his stomach, like butterflies. It was molten excitement, a pooling ball of it deep within him. He couldn't get the image of the simulacrum stroking his cock out of his head. Her body, so close to him. So warm and inviting. The way she had so easily caused him to submit to her, wrapping her slender arms around him, her thick tongue slipping inside him, how nice it had been to fall into her embrace, her huge heavy tits pressing into him. The soft, liquid kisses on his neck. It was a slow, insidious, tempting corruption and he found he couldn't stop thinking about her.

She was just downstairs. Two flights, in the basement. He could go and see her again, just to run some more tests. He was lying to himself, he knew. It would be nothing but an excuse to be in the same room as her again. What was going on? Why couldn't he stop fantasising about her?! He kept fighting the urge to swing his legs out of bed and go to her. It was an insistent, nagging want.

He tried to focus. To slow his breathing and relax, to think calm, non-sexual thoughts. The house was silent and peaceful. For a moment, he had clarity.

Then, came a creak of a floorboard, right outside his bedroom door. His eyes snapped open in the dark. That had been movement. A gentle swish, a near silent displacement of air as the door behind him slowly swung open. He froze, not daring to move, yet scared to remain still. He finally turned over to look. The intruder stood in his doorway in the gloom, a female silhouette. He instantly recognised the slender legs and voluptuous curves, as she stood tentatively halfway into the room. His heart skipped a beat. It was the simulacrum. She was out of confinment and sneaking into his bedroom!

How? How did she get out? That should have been impossible. He sat up in bed, alarmed. She froze, her head turning his way. She made no move to leave. He should run. Turn on the light and push her out, locking the door and getting out of the house, or escorting her back to her cell. Yet, something in him, some frisson of excitement, stopped him from moving. He sat there, waiting to see what she would do.

She held the padlock to her cell in her hand, partially crushed. She squeezed slightly and the metal deformed more, crumpling under her slow, terrifying strength. She dropped it to the floor with a thunk. A horrible realisation hit him. She could have broken out at any time, but had chosen not to. He wasn't the one who had been studying her. She had been studying him.

She grasped the hem of the grey t-shirt she still wore, then in one easy motion, pulled her arms up over her head, peeling it off. Her enormous tits rolled out, freed from the constricting fabric, bouncing into place with a firm, jelly-like wiggle. She stood still, holding a pose, a perfect, silent silhouette of extreme, erotic beauty.

Daintily, she padded softly across the wooden floor toward him, like she was sneaking about, to commit some illicit crime. Moonlight cut in through an open slice of curtain, revealing her smooth green skin and a partial curve of a huge, heavy breast, bouncing as she moved. She loomed over him in the dark, standing right next to his bed. He could smell the waft of her sweet, dark scent, a pleasant, relaxing aroma. Excitement and fear hit him in equal measure. The butterflies in his stomach were building, a liquid anticipation pooling down into his groin. He still didn't move. Why wasn't he moving?! The answer was simple. He didn't really want to.

He found he couldn't take his eyes off her. The curve of her hips was incredible to look at, accentuated massively by her tiny waist. She was so thick, so sensual, her shape slotting into his mind as the perfect realisation of the female form. Her curves triggered something deep within him, some genetic memory of the ideal female body, exaggerated and perfected by the plant, slotting into his mind as a mate he needed to have, that he must have. To unload every drop of his cum into her precious, perfect body.

A slender green hand reached down and patted the blanket, working out what it was.

'Mmm mmhh?' came her soft call, one of her quiet vocalisations, almost a question.

It made him feel immediately more relaxed in her presence, comforted by her body looming over him. He did not answer, but his hand moved, slowly, almost of its own accord, betraying him. He raised up the blanket for her, holding it there, inviting her in. She grasped it and then smoothly slid into bed alongside him. This caused a hot surge of liquid excitement to squirt into his chest. She had come for him. She wanted him.

She snuggled up next to him, the soft press of her body delicious, sending tingles through him. She was seeking his warmth, seeking his comfort. Her bodyheat was intense, radiating over him. She looked at him, her golden eyes sparkling in the dark. She smiled shyly, looking at him coyly from under her thick eyelashes. She eased her body closer to him and they touched, naked skin to naked skin, for the first time. Her flesh was soft and smooth and so exquisite to feel against his own. She snuggled close and her enormous, hot, heavy breasts pressed into his chest. It was a wicked, intense thrill. He could feel her fat nipples pressing into him. His cock, already swelling, rose up faster, his erection suddenly on him urgently. His dick extended upward as it grew, sliding slowly across the smooth bare skin of her stomach, feeling slick and heavy against her warm flesh. He let out a little involuntary moan of pleasure at this contact. He shouldn't do this. But she felt good, so soft, so tempting. He felt safe in her presence.

A gentle palm rested on his cheek as she stared at him. Her innocent face. Her sinful body. He couldn't help himself. He just wanted to feel her, to touch her. Just for a moment. He reached around her and ran his hand down her smooth back, feeling her feminine muscles, the curve of her lower back. His hand travelled lower, sweeping over her ass. She was plump and juicy and huge. He couldn't help himself. He squeezed. Her ass was muscular and firm, barely any give in her cheek. She let out a quiet, girlish moan of delight herself at his touch, right into his ear, wriggling closer into him. His fat dick pressed hard into her stomach. His hands moved up to her breasts. The sexual excitement inside him multiplied and his fingers grasped her, feeling how huge she was, her heavy tits hanging down, weighing on his hands. She was perfect and enticing, her skin warm and soft, her nipples erect and almost throbbing for him. He gave her breasts a gentle squeeze. She was firm and ripe. She was so massive and heavy he could barely fit his hand around half of her. His erection grew further, strengthening, thickening, his mouth hanging open in excitement.

He squeezed again and this time, to his surprised delight, it caused fine droplets of some hot, lubricating liquid to spray out of one of her nipples, spattering over his face, from chin to forehead. Some of it went inside his open mouth, landing on his lips and tongue. Instinctively, he licked and tasted it. The warm droplets of her golden liquid melted onto his tongue, sweet and pleasant. He swallowed and her delicious chemicals sent a surge of electric delight through him. Her nectar was rich and dark, deeply flavourful, leaving an almost alcohol-like warmth on his lips and back of his throat. He wanted more.

She shifted her body slightly, sliding half on top of him, moving down and forward, making her soft noises again, mmms and ahhhhs, gentle and feminine. She was lowering her enormous breasts down onto his face. He did not resist. They gently squished him, covering him, blocking out all light. They were so, so heavy, and warm, enveloping his face. He buried himself into her cleavage, drowning in her endless curves, licking and tasting her perfect skin.

She shifted again, trying to manoeuvre one of her nipples toward his mouth. He knew he should avoid it, he knew it was one of her tactics to administer more of her liquids into him. He tried to turn his head to one side as a fat nipple almost brushed against his lips. He wasn't going to fall into that trap. He was smarter than that. He was just going to enjoy her body for a few moments, have his satisfaction, then return her to her confinement.

His balls were still aching, with a deep, pounding throb. He could feel it every time his heart pumped a beat. Then, as if she knew, very gently, almost lovingly, she cupped her slender fingers around his testicles. Her touch was soft and sweet, sending tingles of electric pleasure through his entire body.

'Ughhhhh!' He let out a sound of grunting satisfaction.

Almost immediately, the painful throb in his balls began to fade under her gentle touch, her palm resting against him, to be replaced by a slick, building excitement. She had taken the pain away and replaced it with pleasure. He knew, with a thrilling certainty, that if he was to slide inside her, the throbbing in his cock would also vanish. She was the solution. She would make him feel good. She was here to help him. To help take the throbbing away, to help him get all of his cum out, the cum that was blocking him up. She would extract it for him, milking him as hard as he needed.

His dick was ramrod hard now, so stiff it almost curved upwards. A fat, throbbing, obscene thing, seeking her, its one purpose, what it was designed for, what it was made to do. To plunge deep inside her and give her what she wanted. She removed her hand and he was disappointed to find not only the pleasure of her touch fading, but the pounding throb beginning to return, even more intensely this time, the pumping of his own blood causing him discomfort as it flowed through his engorged testicles.

Fat droplets of her juices dripped out of her nipples, landing on his stomach and groin, hot and lubricating. Her hands snaked down and with a firm grip, she began massaging the liquid into his dick with twisting, squelching sounds. Her touch, the slick greasy grasping of her fingers, caused him to screw his eyes closed in extreme delight,

'Ughhh! Fuck yes... FUCK!' he exclaimed, unable to stop himself, enjoying himself more and more as she continued to work at him, gently massaging his dick, which somehow got even harder. His cock, balls and entire groin was now greased by her juices, lubricated and slippery.

She withdrew her hands and went to slide into his lap. He helped her, eagerly lifting her smaller body up and onto him, with both of them now half sitting up, his back up against the pillows, the simulacrum about to straddle him. She fixed him with another of her innocent, sly smiles. He knew what she wanted from him. She wanted his cum. And he was so close to giving it to her. He wanted, more than anything, to plunge his springing, aching cock inside her, even though he knew he shouldn't, even though he knew she wasn't real, just a simulation designed to trap him. He was so close to giving in... and then she did something which pushed him over the edge.

6. CONCLUSION

As she slid into his lap, she slowly parted her legs. She was sopping wet, literally dripping for him. Long thick strings of her golden juice dripped down, as slow as honey, like drool, coiling onto the bed. His dick strained, desperate, reaching for her, seeking her juicy pussy out of its own accord. He was overwhelmed by her arousal, needing her beyond words.

She slid her warm arms around his neck, continuing to make her soft vocalisations.

'Mmmm... uhhh... mmm... muuwwahhhh...'

They were now deeply sexual, wet noises of dark desire and urgent want. Hearing such sounds from a face so pure and innocent only heightened his arousal further. She was calling to him, telling him without language what she wanted him to do. She leaned forward and squeezed her huge, endless tits into his chest, pressing up against him, pinning him against the back of the bed with their heavy warmth, her soft hair falling around him. His cock strained, growing closer towards her dripping wetness. Plunging into her would be an overwhelming, sinful promise of unholy ecstasy. She was beyond perfect, everything he could ever want or fantasise about, her hot body close, her heat radiating over him.

He was being manipulated, he knew. The plant was manipulating him, his genetic desires, his automatic sexual responses. But what was worse was knowing this, because knowing it made the experience even hotter, even more tempting. Knowing he should not give in to this biological trap made his dick throb and swell even harder. He wanted to give in to it so badly. His entire consciousness was flooded with an overwhelming compulsion to plunge into her.

He knew he shouldn't, because he would be giving the simulacrum exactly what it wanted. By giving it access to the fresh DNA in his cum, he would be contributing to the problem, helping the plants spread, making it worse, helping them evolve further. He was also endangering himself, potentially having her suck him deeper into her clutches, risking permanent addiction to the simulacrum. Yet the temptation to give in was indescribably intense.

She slid into him more, parting her legs further. His dick was only inches from her now. He watched, transfixed, as her hand descended slowly toward his cock. He was powerless to stop her, desperate to feel her warm touch again. She slowly took his cock in one hand and guided it to her, holding him towards his base, then very gently swiping the head of his cock up against the lips of her pussy.

He screamed in pleasure, a wordless burst of sinful joy escaping his lips. She wiped the head of his cock up and down, across her engorged lips, her lubricating liquid coating the head of his cock, warm and delicious. Her hands slowly massaged her liquid all down his shaft, fully greasing him, preparing him for what he knew he could not resist. She then let the head of his greasy cock rest gently against her dripping, hot pussy, just the tip of it touching her lips. All it would take is one little push, one little thrust and he would slip inside her. From there, he knew, there would be no escape. She wasn't forcing the issue. She was gently waiting, letting him make the decision when to do it, to commit to this blasphemous sin. His cock pounded with his heartbeat, each pulsating throb causing him to twitch slightly into her flesh. It was making him lose his mind.

Both of them were now drenched in her slippery wetness, her golden lubricating gel thickly coating his cock and balls. He knew he would slide inside her so easily, so deeply. She removed her hands, placing them on his shoulders and opened her legs fully, positioning herself, ready for him, waiting for him to do it.

'Mmmhhh... mmmmMMMM.. ' she begged, the pitch of her vocalisations rising, urging him inward, encouraging him. Communicating to him that she wanted him inside her, that she wanted him to cum inside her, to pump her full of it, to give in to her.

He knew he shouldn't.... he knew he shouldn't... but he wanted to so, so much, the waves of overwhelming desire washing away the last shreds of his self control... and finally, inevitably, his own body betrayed him. Very slowly, his hips pushed forward and the head of his cock slid softly inside her.

'YESSSSSSSSSSSS!' he cried out loud, with the delicious, satisfying triumph of finally feeling her beginning to absorb him. Her juices were hot and slippery, the inside of her enveloping and satisfyingly tight, swallowing him perfectly, as if she was exactly moulded for him. Her pussy pulsated, with a strong, internal peristaltic motion, drawing his cock inevitably inward, deeper and deeper, sucking him, gripping him, inch by delicious inch. With great satisfaction he looked down and watched her pussy suck him deeper inside. Each peristaltic suck was accompanied by the liquid noises of her juices creaming up thickly around him, dripping out over him. He watched, fascinated, as his cock slowly sank into her, liquid squelching out of her with obscene wet sounds. She was producing such a quantity that as he slid into her much of it was pushed out, flowing up around his cock and dripping down.

He slid into her more, slowly, deeply enjoying every inch of him plunging into her slick wetness.

'Yessss... you feel amazing... so so fucking good...'

He knew the plant was trying to tempt him, to coax him towards orgasm, but he couldn't help himself. She was so exquisite, her body so sinfully sweet, he tried to rationalise what he was doing. He would just fuck her, just for a little bit, then pull out and finish. He fit inside her so perfectly, so completely, it was like she was made for him, designed for him. Or rather, he was designed for her. To give her exactly what she wanted, his only purpose, his only goal, to squirt endless torrents of his thick, hot cum into her. The thought of this gave him a feeling of urgent excitement, the idea of committing to this blasphemy was an utter thrill, a hot, intense desire growing uncontrollably in him, to pump her full of his ejaculate, as much as she wanted.

Watching her shy, innocent face as he slid inside her was an extra, amazing delight. Her soft eyes opened wide in surprise and pleasure, her mouth forming into an O of sexual contentment, her vocalisations coming once again. It seemed as if she was gaining as much pleasure from the mating as he was. A part of him knew it wasn't real, just a simulation of an emotion designed to trigger a response from him, but it was so realistic, so exciting to see and feel, that he did not care.

'Aaahhh... mmmmm... muuuuhhhmmmHHH!'

They were sounds of sexual excitement, perfectly mimicking a woman's moans of desire. The sound drove him crazy, to extra heights of arousal.

The sexual satisfaction from sliding inside her was indescribably intense. His eyes narrowed as he started to fuck her, sliding in and out of her deeply and slowly, his mind beginning to be washed away by the building ecstasy.

'Nooo... I can't, I shouldn't... I can't cum inside you, I know what you're trying to do... it's... it's not going to... fuck!... it's not going to... work... ummmmhhhh... fuck you feel so amazing... jesus fucking christ... I cant... I can't... I... uhhhggMMMMHHH!!!'

He leant forward, needing to be as close to her as possible, pressing against her, his hands gripping her back, pulling her in to him, causing her massive hot tits to cream up around him. He touched his forehead against hers, feeling a deep, intimate connection with the simulacrum, still straddling him on his lap, as he slowly, deeply, plunged himself into her again and again.

'Yessssssssss..!!' he hissed, in submissive delight at giving in to her.

He noticed she now had a strip of flushed red colouring her cheeks and nose, her mouth giving out soft wet pants of desire, perfectly mimicking a woman's sexual excitement.

He grabbed her tiny waist, holding her tightly Her waist was so small he was almost able to wrap his hands entirely around it. It contrasted starkly with the thick, heavy curves of her hips and her juicy, globulous buttocks.

'Ugggh! Mmmmhhh! Nnnngg!'

Her noises joined his, high pitched squeaks of girlish, sexual enjoyment, driving him further under her control.

'Oh god... fuck... I need to... stop... I need to stop...' he was pleading with himself, begging with himself. His words had no effect on his body. His hips sped up, his orgasm building, accelerating towards evil, endless pleasure.

He gently rolled her, flipping her over so he was now on top of her smaller body and she gladly followed his lead. He was pinning her down, rocking her hard up against the back of the bed as he fucked her. He held her small waist tightly, now accelerating, slamming into the thick curves of her hips again and again, beginning to fuck her harder and harder. He used his grip on her waist to help push her down on to his cock in time with the deep, satisfying pumps from his hips. He could feel the cum building, already flowing up out of his balls, through him, beginning to fill his dick, pooling into it from the base upwards. A sweet, hot bulging pressure was building up, inexorably, a biological positive-feedback loop of impending ecstasy which was impossible to resist, making him want to fuck her more and more.

He felt his self-control slipping away, like sand falling through his fingers, until he forgot what he was even trying to hold on to. He was sliding down a spiral of submission, sliding, sliding, down and down, deeper and deeper for her, until finally, wonderfully, he felt himself slipping past an invisible tipping point, surrendering to her completely. He didn't have to fight it any more, he could just give in, submit to her, give her what she wanted from him. It felt amazing. He finally fully gave himself to her.

He didn't know if the simulacrum could hear him, but he couldn't help the words slipping out.

'Yessss... fucking yessss... uhgghhHHH... I want to cum in you.. so much... I'm going to cum in you... so hard...' he whispered, mostly to himself, his hips working, plunging into her harder and harder, slapping wetly against her, losing himself in the desperate need to fuck her as hard as he could.

Her vocal mmms and squeaks became more insistent and demanding. He knew what she was trying to tell him. She was begging for his cum, commanding him to keep going. He knew what she wanted. She wanted him to spray every last drop of his hot load deep inside her. He found he couldn't stop, didn't want to stop. His hips started speeding up as he plunged into her faster.

'Yessss... oh fuck... you feel... so... fucking amazing... fuck! Yes...' his eyes slid closed in mindless pleasure as she began to overwhelm him with her body.

'MmmmmMMMMM!' she squealed, in a perfect mimic of sexual delight, matching his intensity, drawing his cock in deeper, helping milk him with the massaging suction of the muscular walls inside her, the wet slapping noises of their unholy mating echoing loudly around the bedroom. She opened her legs wide, raising them up and sliding them around his torso, locking him in position with her, helping him, using her strength to help him rock into her, an intense, blissful submission to her flooding through him, with a deep and intimate mutual need between the both of them now.

As he stared into her golden eyes, her face so close to his, he saw her innocent look began to change and dissolve away, leaving a steaming, sultry, predatory stare, a mocking half-grin on her face, a look of evil triumph as she fucked him again and again, relentlessly milking him, undulating her hips under him, driving his cock deep into her. There was no hope of escape from her and the pleasure she was overwhelming his mind with. She grabbed his hands, pinning them to her own waist, helping him to milk himself with her bodyweight, up and down, up and down, faster and faster.

He looked up and realised now as her facial expression changed, at last, too late, that it had been a trap. All of it had been a trap, from the very beginning. She had been designed to ensnare him, to weaken him, to fool him into letting his guard down and allowing the simulacrum close enough to get what it wanted. The plant had adapted and changed tactics, becoming more subtle, more cunning. She had imitated a version of innocence to lure him in, to trick him into thinking she wasn't a threat, weakening his will further over time with her auditory vocalisations and aerosol-spread chemicals. Now that innocence had vanished, revealing her real persona underneath, one of a devious sexual predator, gladly mating with her now submissive prey.

She had been innocent, shy, young-looking, drawing him in by being gentle and vulnerable, before gradually seducing him. Now, he was mounted on top of her, her legs wrapped around him and he was fucking her dripping wet pussy as hard as he could, willingly submitting to her, letting her milk him. He had fallen for it. It had worked.

And he no longer cared. Knowing it was a trap designed specifically for him, created solely to seduce him and harvest his cum, pushed him even further over the edge into her control. He pounded into her, desperate to deliver his liquids deep into her, desperate to give her anything she wanted. He wanted to impregnate her so badly, to cum deep inside her. The only thing that mattered, the only thing that ever mattered, was cumming inside her, giving in to her, filling her up completely with every drop inside him, draining his balls into her until there was nothing left. The last barriers of his willpower crumbled away.

He started rocking into her hard, fucking her with everything that he had, all restraint gone, losing any remaining semblance of control, slamming her into the bed, desperate for her.

'Yes.... fucking yessssssss... I'd give you anything you wanted... anything...' he found himself saying, the words just slipping out, his orgasm reaching its peak, as he fucked her deeper and harder. And he meant it. Deep down in his core, he really meant it. He would give her everything that she asked of him. His body, his cum, his soul. He was losing himself, losing his mind to her pleasure.

'Fuck... yes, yes, yes, fuck, I can't... stop... I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum... fucking yes baby I'm gonna cum... so much... for you...'

He was now close, so close, moments away from losing everything to her and the pure, unfiltered joy of this washed over him, filling him with a anticipatory delight, so happy that he was about to cum in her, to give everything to her. His cock was a slick, hot spear of bulging, molten need. He rode into her again and again, slamming her down, squeezing her tightly, pumping, thrusting, fucking, deeper and deeper and harder and harder and faster, more and more and more and... YES YES FUUUUUCKING YESSSSSSSS...!

The abyss was suddenly on him, his words silenced, as he found himself falling into a gulf of insane ecstasy. The crest of the orgasm rose, getting higher and higher, until finally, at last, the gigantic earthquake of his climax exploded inside him, wiping away his consciousness as he plunged into shattering rapture. His whole body clenched hard, his back arched and with one final thrust into her, right to his base, he screamed a guttural howl of endless joy, as fat ropes of cum suddenly gushed out of him, spraying deep into her, again and again, an endless pumping, a straining, delirious delivery of his ejaculate, creaming deeply into her. He could feel the thick, heavy globs of his hot cum spurting out of him with incredible force, being sucked into her by her greedy pussy, devouring his juices.

His mind had gone, everything wiped blank except the blazing, body-shaking ecstasy, an urgent, overwhelming need in him to give her everything his body could possibly deliver, every single drop, a compulsion to have her suck him dry. Each pump caused his body to rock hard into her, a deeply satisfying full body clenching, as each individual heavy rope of cum was sprayed into her with a powerful biological rhythm, before he grunted hard again and delivered another long, spurting load into her.

'YEEESSSSSS... Yes..! Yes..! Yessssss!' he hissed in utter, mindless delight, as he finally pumped the last thick glob into her, giving his all to her, filling her up with his precious DNA, his actions a betrayal to his own species, but utterly irresistible.

Her locked legs around him squeezed. Her slender limbs held a terrible strength, gripping him tight. Her powerful muscles plunged him even deeper into her, her irresistible grip causing the last few droplets of remaining cum to squirt out of him, as if she was squeezing a sponge. He screamed in one last gasp of sudden ecstasy, lost inside her.

Finally the flow ceased, his tubes feeling used and empty, a hollow feeling of aching pleasantness. His balls had been sucked dry and it was the most wonderful, contented feeling he had ever experienced. She made soft sounds of happiness and pleasure, telling him without speaking that she was pleased with his efforts. It felt so good, so utterly satisfying, to please her, to know he had done exactly what she wanted. His brain was being flooded with dopamine and endorphins, the happiness and reward chemicals, his reward centres driven into overdrive by her narcotic intoxications, prompting his own body to overdose him with its hormones.

His orgasm began to cool and he started slipping down into a post cum-contentment, burying his face in her warm neck, panting, gasping for his breath, his heart pounding, feeling absolutely delighted. He felt a soul-deep, eternal satisfaction, a warm, liquid post-orgasmic happiness flushing through him, spreading through his cheeks and limbs and brain. But on top of that, he felt relief. Relief that he had unloaded the heavy, aching throb from inside his balls, relief he had creamed endless globs of his thick milk into her, relief that he was able to give her what she wanted from him.

She spent long moments softly kissing his cheeks and neck, like a pleased lover, and he enjoyed her warm affections, deeply connecting with her. He felt exhausted from the intense fucking, both physically and mentally. The soporific after-effect of her strong chemicals were already at work, triggering her prey to rest with her. He felt sleepy and soon had trouble keeping his eyes open. He would just rest for a minute. Just rest here, in her warm arms, her hot body underneath him, his face buried in her soft neck, breathing in her scent, feeling her fingers running up and down his back. Just for a minute. Just for a moment... then he would... then...

His eyes slid closed and deep, contended sleep quickly took him.

7. AWAKENING

He opened his eyes. It was morning. Sunlight filtered in through the curtains. He lay there for a while. He felt like he'd had the best, deepest sleep of his life. He felt warm and content. He realised he was still in his bed... and still conscious and in control. He was himself. Huge relief, with a flood of guilt washing over him as he realised what he had done. He had given in to her. The plant had successfully manipulated him into intercourse and he had barely put up a fight. Guilt and shame... but also satisfied contentment, a pleasurably tingling at the memory of creaming a heavy load of his cum into the simulacrum, the orgasm incredibly intense, stronger than any he'd had before, penetrating his very soul.

The simulacrum was still right next to him. She seemed to be asleep. She lay close to him, her eyes closed, hands tucked under her head. Now was his chance to escape, to slip out and lock the door. She lay on her side, peaceful, her enormous green breasts rolling out in front of her, slightly squished together, her curvy hips tucked up with her legs curled under. He lay there for a long few minutes, composing himself, getting ready to move, watching her carefully.

He gradually realised something about her had changed, almost imperceptibly. Had her tits somehow gotten even bigger? Were her thighs ever so slightly thicker? What was happening here? Was she growing? Changing? She somehow looked even more tempting. Was this what had happened with the simulacrum in the professor's hacienda? Was she somehow able to read his most depraved desires, perhaps absorbing information from the DNA in his cum? Was she going to grow more and more into his ultimate fantasy, the more and more he fucked her?

He could also see a single bead of her honey-coloured dew welling up out of one her nipples. He suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to lick it up. The accidental taste of her liquids he had last night came back to him. It had been utter delight. He wanted to taste it again. Another thought conflicted with this. He could leave. He still had a chance to escape. He needed to get the data he had collected and warn others about what the plant was capable of. Yes he had made a mistake, yes he had given in to her temptations. But it wasn't too late. He could just slip out of the bed now, walk across the room and close the door, locking her in here and he would be safe. He would be free. But the thought of kissing her tits, of tasting her liquid again, was nagging at him, almost like an aching withdrawal symptom, pulling at him. It had been utter delight. He needed to taste it again. Just a little bit. Just once more. Just one drop.

Her dark areola were huge and hypnotic, exciting just to look at, covering a large portion of her enormous swelling breasts. He wanted more than anything to lick them. He reached over and gently brought out his tongue, drawing the flat of it across her breast, sweeping up the drop of her juice from her springing nipple, feeling her warm smooth skin. Her drop of dew dissolved on his tongue, delicious, dark and rich. It was even better than before, sending erotic sizzles through the back of his neck and spine. He wanted more. She opened her golden eyes, looking down at him as he finished licking her. She knew what he wanted. She slowly eased her body forward, pressing her gigantic bosom toward his open mouth, urging him to suck on her. Her huge curves loomed toward his face, filling his world.

This time he could not resist. He reached up himself, helping her, heaving as much of her huge heavy breast into his mouth as he could manage, squeezing her ripe, juicy flesh with pleasure as he did so. Her nipple was thick and plump on his lips, warm and fat, filling his mouth nicely with its size. As soon as it slipped inside him, he felt an instinctual, overwhelming urge to suck on her. He eagerly did so and was instantly rewarded with a mind-melting burst of delicious hot nectar into his mouth, spraying out of her nipple and over his tongue, filling him up. He drank it down, his head beginning to swim from the narcotic chemicals in her fluids. He sucked and sucked, making eager noises of submissive happiness, his mind slowly slipping further away, drowning under the tide of her corrupting juices. The feeling of reward was overwhelming, his brain now flooded with her chemicals, analogous to oxytocin and serotonin, plunging him not only into a feeling of contented, erotic bliss but also a deep emotional connection with her. He trusted her fully, bonding with her.

He continued to nurse at her, more and more liquid squirting inside him, each suck delivering a wonderful hot spray of her addictive nectar into the back of his mouth. He felt it flowing warmly down his throat, into his stomach, being absorbed into his bloodstream. He looked up. She was smiling down at him, pleased with his actions, cupping his chin with a warm hand, helping him to drink his fill. His dick hardened, with an intense feeling of rapidly growing need. Her liquids not only made him submissive and pliable, they also massively amplified his already highly charged sexual drive, her nectar a potent aphrodisiac, akin to a fast-acting liquid Viagra. Within a few mouthfuls, his cock went from semi-thick to rock hard and straining.

He had meant to get up and leave the bed, to trap the simulacrum in his room. Now the tables had been turned. He had been the one to slip into the trap, locked inside a cage of submissive arousal, unwilling to escape even though all he had to do was walk out of the open door. A final, fading part of his lucid mind now understood why the professor had given in. There was no other option. This was pure, unfiltered heaven. This was what he was meant to do. It was what his life was for. To give in to her, to let himself be milked by her over and over again, feeding her his cum, giving everything to her. The addiction was not just sexual. The over-production of oxytocin was driving a real emotional connection to her as well. He was gradually slipping into a perverted form of love for her, his mind warped by her attentions and biological substances.

He was delighted to see her slide on top of him now, mounting him, pinning him down with her strength, golden dew still leaking heavily from the nipples of her swelling, heavy tits, dripping over his chest, hot, thick droplets of it landing on him. Her breasts were drenched with her juice, covering her like a sheen of sweat, leaving her slippery and glistening.

There was no slow seduction this time. This morning it was all about getting her biological goal as efficiently as possible. Her target had been made ready, was fully submissive to her now, easily slipping into his role as a willing slave to be farmed for his cum. She lowered herself onto his cock and he instantly slid inside her again, growling in blind pleasure as he did so, slipping in so smoothly. She was already sopping wet and receptive for him again. It felt perfect to be inside her once more. Like he never wanted to leave.

Unknown to him, the application and absorption of her chemicals the night before had driven the semen-producing parts of his body into overdrive. They had spent the night refilling and recharging, driven to unnatural overproduction, filling up his balls and vesicles with an immense amount of sperm and seminal fluid. He felt full to bursting, desperate to unload his throbbing sacs, now filled with a huge excess of cum. He was slowly being turned into an organic factory, designed solely to produce as much as possible for her.

She starting riding him, up and down. Last night had been warm, soft, almost affectionate, a slow seduction that had begun days before. She had let him take the lead, enticing him into it. This morning was very different. She was in control now. He was being used, pumped, roughly milked for his cum and he loved it. He loved the way she was aggressively fucking him, controlling him, using him like a object, bringing him towards his orgasm quickly and efficiently, her body a tool to extract what she wanted. He willingly went along with it, letting himself be manipulated further.

She grinded on him, slowly circling her hips, swirling on his dick again and again, around and around, before changing her motion, now bouncing heavily up and down on him, bouncing, bouncing, forcefully driving him inside her again and again, her huge, juicy ass slamming down into him again and again with loud wet smacks, both of them covered in her creaming lubrications.

'Yes..! Yes..! Yes..! Fucking yesssss, drain me, fucking drain my balls please...' he begged, the words slipping out of him in a quiet hiss, each word timed to one of her bounces, as she slapped down her meaty buttocks again and again, relentlessly, her pussy remorselessly milking him hard as she bounced up and down on him faster and faster. Her tits were covered in her own liquids, glistening, dripping, slapping together with soft wet smacks as she fucked him.

He wanted to impregnate her so badly, to give everything again, to squirt it all out, to fertilise her as hard as he could. He couldn't wait to do it. She wanted it, she needed it and he knew his reward for giving it to her would be overwhelming, brain-melting ecstasy, far beyond the intensity of normal human orgasms. She gripped his wrists with a slow, terrible strength, pinning him down. His cock strained even harder at this, the thrill of submission to her exploding inside him, filling him with a deep sexual thrill.

Her sweet face no longer held a shred of innocence. She was riding him hard, like she'd been fucking all her life, like she'd been born to fuck him -- which in fact, she very much had. She had an intense look of dominating concentration on her face, biting her bottom lip as she fucked him ruthlessly, her vocalisations no longer soft and meek. Now they were urgent grunts, a deep feminine growl, urging him onwards, urging him to impregnate her as hard as he could.

'Mmmmm! Nnnnghh! NHHHGGHH! UhhhHHH!'

The volume of her was getting louder and louder as she fucked him harder and harder, bringing him along fast, his orgasm racing toward him, the goal already in sight. She had already improved her technique, having read his body, knowing now exactly how to please him, exactly how to trigger his sexual gratification to the maximum extent, the right pressure, the right suction, the correct force to apply to his greased dick as she slid up and and down his shaft with deep, obscene squelching sounds. She looked deep into his eyes as she fucked him and he suddenly thought he saw a flash of the predatory, hungry mind behind them.

*****

The simulacrum looked down at her prey as she continued to milk him.

She had felt the thick, erect flesh of his reproductive organ easily slipping inside her again for a second mating. This was good. The mammal was fully submissive to her now, eager to squirt more of his sexual juices into her. Her prize was his genetic information, which she could tell he was ready to give. She gripped his cock firmly using her strong muscles, beginning the process of milking it using her internal peristaltic suction. She would draw it out of him soon. He was already close, being farmed for his cum, an eager slave.

She was not conscious in a human sense. She had no real independent mind or thoughts. She just reacted to stimuli, as a flower might turn toward the sun or send out questing roots for water. Yet the complex web of fibrous entanglements within her that simulated a rough version of a brain felt some satisfaction. Her target was correctly following her instructions, had drunk of her nectar and was now ready to give her more of what she wanted, what she was designed to collect.

She was a perfect biological mechanism, evolved solely to extract as much cum from human males as possible and she did it well. His ejaculate would be well harvested and then stored deep within her, used to make new mulher fatal seeds, which she would then spread. The seeds would grow, deep in the earth, ripening quickly, each with enough human genetic information stored within to create a new simulacrum when it grew to maturity, ready to start the cycle anew, to accelerate the spread and production of the plant over a wider and wider area of the globe.

But that was for later. For now, her only goal was to bring this creature to intense orgasm, to make his body comply to her demands, his automatic sexual responses hijacked to deliver his reproductive juices inside of her. Like a plant drawing in moisture from the ground, she simply did what she was evolved to do, responding to his desires, using her instinctual movements to milk him hard.

She bucked and bucked, sensing the mammal was close to giving her what she wanted. Yes. He was almost there already, unable to help himself, no longer able to resist her at all. A few more bounces and his greased sexual organ would discharge its creamy load inside her once more. She bounced down hard on him again and again and again, until... yes... yes... YESSSSS...!!

The mammal suddenly arched its back, its body shuddering with powerful spasms, making loud noises, which she knew was the sign of her prey feeling the most intense pleasure his body was capable of. She felt the hot, strong spray of his sexual liquids squirting out of him, suddenly coating her insides, pumping deep into her. She began absorbing it. He continued making his sounds of excitement. She matched his noises with moans of her own, knowing it would only drive her prey into deeper depths of pleasure and submission, her auditory response carefully calculated to trigger his desires. He came and came, his balls emptying their unnaturally heavy load, gushing endless thick rivers of white-hot cum into her.

As a plant-based organism, she did not feel pleasure, at least not in the same sense he did, but this mating was nonetheless her goal and it was biologically satisfying to achieve, to feel the mammal's warm liquids being pumped into her, sucking his essence inside her, to become part of her. To feel him submitting to her with both his mind and his body, She arched her body and squeezed, absorbing his juices fully, carefully milking the last few drops out of him. He howled in further ecstasy as she did so. The spray of cum finally ceased and the mammal's body suddenly relaxed, spent at last. Her vegetable mind was pleased. His liquids would mean new life, new growth. New plants could be made, harnessing his genetics to birth new simulacrums. His species would feed the growth of hers.

The mammal lay under her, panting, its blood still pumping hard, sweat sheening it. She could not see it, as she did not have eyes in the same sense humans did. She did not observe the world using the visible spectrum of light. Nonetheless she could sense his body temperature, his movement, his carbon dioxide exhalations, his sweat and pulse.

She began her careful aftercare, soft kisses and touches, stroking the mammal gently with her fingers, hugging him, planting wet smacks of her lips on his neck. This was another instinctive part of her routine, designed to trigger the mammal's own brain into caring for her, needing her, all part of the complex web of interactions designed to subvert his emotions and drive him into her clutches.

The mammal was exhausted from the mating, but she knew, with rest, he would readily go again. That was his role now. He would be milked hard, a willing victim, eager to give his juices to her whenever she wanted. She would keep him here, farming him for his cum as long as she could. This was how it worked. He could not resist her any more.

*****

Days passed. The mulher fatal vines back at the professor's hacienda lay forgotten. The pods attached to the vines were now slack and empty, half a dozen new simulacrum already birthed, long gone, each as effective as the one in Doctor Clarke's bed, hunting for mates in the nearby villages. Clarke, the only person to have seen this new evolution, to understand what it meant, the only person that could have done something about it, was now lost in a haze of submissive lust, no longer caring, himself now being milked endlessly, helping the plants evolve further, willingly creaming his cum over and over again into the simulacrum which had seduced his mind and body,

There was nothing to stop the simulacrums from spreading further. And so they did.