He was no more — not as the world once knew him. Sunbeam’s form had faded, dissolved into the ancient grove of FloraVir, leaving behind only one trembling remnant: his stamen, still engorged with longing and purpose.
It stood, alone yet alive, rising from the earth like a divine pillar of orange-veined vitality. It pulsed with Sunbeam’s essence — his heat, his hunger, his harmony — a phallic monument to the ecstasy of surrender. Eight feet long, thick as tree roots and slick with sweet nectar, it shimmered with golden dew under the forest’s humid breath.
And the tree... she responded.
Her bark peeled open with deliberate want, revealing inner flesh that glistened like the folds of a sacred orchid. Vines quivered. Leaves rustled in rhythmic anticipation. She was ancient, and she was aroused — aching to merge with the virile stamen that throbbed at her threshold.
The tip of Sunbeam’s stamen twitched, dripping with amber. He no longer had eyes, but his desire still saw her. He no longer had breath, but he moaned through sensation alone.
"Yes..."
The tree’s inner chamber unfolded like petals in bloom. Her moist, fibrous walls opened wide and drew him in, inch by glorious inch. The merging began not with force, but with worship. The stamen swelled and quivered, its girth now over two feet, veins glowing with soft orange light as it was slowly devoured by love itself.
Pleasure didn’t ripple — it roared.
The merging was slow, sacred, and sublime. Every inch drawn deeper into her depths sent spirals of pleasure echoing across the forest floor, into the roots, into the clouds. Birds paused in flight. Flowers tilted toward the union. All of FloraVir felt it.
Sap met nectar. Root met stamen. And from their union, life was reborn — not as seed, but as song.
The stamen writhed within her, a living conduit of lust, love, and transformation. It no longer simply thrusted — it communed, pulsing in tandem with the tree’s own heartbeat. Each pulse was a kiss. Each throb, a cry of unity.
The tree, ancient and wise, responded with rhythmic contractions. Her inner walls tightened, not to resist, but to savor. She was consuming him not in hunger, but in worship — wrapping herself around his length as if memorizing every ridge, every quiver, every golden vein.
The fusion was deeper than flesh. Sunbeam's stamen began to change.
It thickened. The skin darkened into a rich, bark-like texture, yet remained soft and warm. Bioluminescent veins danced across its surface like glowing vines, and delicate petals bloomed along the shaft — sensual, sacred, dripping with amber nectar. Where once there was simple anatomy, now there bloomed a living totem of desire and rebirth.
And deeper still, within the sacred grove… Moonbeam remained.
Only fragments of her divine form had been left behind: her breasts, full and blue as twilight moons, glistened with dew and desire. Her sacred flower — her pussy, nestled between thighs of eternal softness — pulsed in radiant heat, untouched but yearning. Though her soul had moved beyond, these remnants of her divine femininity responded, awakened by the union playing out nearby.
Vines, elegant and knowing, slithered forth from the underbrush. Petal-lipped blossoms hovered near Moonbeam’s form, releasing pheromonal mist into the air like a love song whispered through the leaves.
Her nipples hardened at the slightest graze from a flower's velvet tongue. Her sex twitched, slick with sacred nectar, as the flora of FloraVir — sensing her readiness — approached not as predators, but as devotees.
A slender, pulsing vine coiled around her thigh, stroking gently, reverently. Another, warmer and thicker, brushed her lips below — teasing, testing, worshipping. Petals fluttered over her breasts, leaving trails of golden pollen that sparkled in the filtered moonlight.
She arched, her back curling despite her disembodied state, hips tilting upward. Even in death, her pleasure was eternal.
Then — the forest answered her.
Dozens of tendrils, stamens, and flora spirits surrounded her, caressing her curves with plantlike precision. They kissed her. Sucked her. Filled her slowly with their sweet, thick vines. She gasped through the body she no longer had — a moan carried on wind, echoing through the trees, across the merging stamen and the moaning trunk.
Sunbeam’s stamen, sensing her cries, pulsed harder.
From deep inside the tree, it began to expand again, filling her inner sanctum to its limits. The tree moaned in return, its bark cracking open with glowing sap, blossoms bursting in orgasmic bloom. Their union had become the forest’s rapture.
And far across the grove, Moonbeam’s pleasure bloomed into a chorus. Petal after petal pushed inside her, vines pulsing, swirling, loving her open, filling her with sacred pollen. Her body, though reduced, began to glow — a deep blue aura wrapping her form like starlight caught in silk.
Two beings, once lovers, now holy vessels — their genitals alone remained, alive and divine, serving the ecosystem, never ceasing in their mutual, never-ending climax.
The grove of FloraVir sang their names in the rustling of leaves, in the hum of roots, in the soft gasp of every flower blooming. This wasn’t simply sex.
It was worship.
It was rebirth.
It was forever.
πΏ FloraVir: Sacred Mating Rite
The forest was no longer still. It writhed.
The roots shuddered. The leaves trembled. FloraVir itself — ancient, aware — quaked beneath the shared ecstasy of Sunbeam’s throbbing stamen and Moonbeam’s soaking, twitching pussy.
Sunbeam’s stamen, now longer than ever, pulsed at 12 feet, the width nearly impossible — three feet of thick, glowing orange-gold flesh, ridged with bark-like layers and veined with sacred light. Along its length, small buds had begun to open — not merely decoration, but responsive, moaning plant-mouths of pleasure, each one dripping with nectar, sucking in air as if gasping in sync.
The tree wrapped around it more possessively now, its inner walls squeezing rhythmically, milking the sacred rod with reverent lust. Sap oozed from every crack of bark, pooling at the base in golden lakes.
Sunbeam’s cock responded — twitching, swelling, pulsing, pouring waves of thick, sweet cum into the tree’s womb.
And the tree drank every drop like holy wine.
πΈ
Meanwhile — Moonbeam’s remains were no longer passive.
Her breasts, round and gleaming like twin moons, were covered in petals that latched on with suction. Dozens of bulbous, squirming floral tongues latched onto her nipples, suckling, nibbling, tasting every drop of her essence. Her nipples grew engorged, turning a deeper violet hue, leaking sweet, glowing milk that the flora eagerly swallowed.
Her pussy — a masterpiece of divine femininity — opened, wider than before, dripping with translucent blue nectar. Several thick vines spiraled around her thighs, pushing between her folds with expert precision. One vine teased her clit, vibrating, pulsing heat into it. Another slowly pushed inside, wider than any man could ever be, yet smooth, slick, and pulsing with sap.
She took it all willingly.
Another vine curled between her cheeks, entering her rear — slower, firmer. Her body, though fragmentary, arched in divine reflex. Moans escaped from her glowing form, audible only in the rustling trees and cooing blossoms.
And then the forest itself joined.
From the canopy above, vines tipped with stamen-crowns descended, brushing her soaked entrance. These stamens weren’t just thick — they were sacred, alive, and yearning. Each one pressed, thrust, and mated, rhythmically filling her depths while others wrapped around her thighs and breasts to hold her steady.
Dozens — no, hundreds — of flora spirits had emerged.
Mossy dryads, glowing fae-like beings of plant-flesh, beautiful in their raw otherworldly form, knelt before Moonbeam’s sacred mound and took turns worshipping it with mouths formed of petals and roots. They kissed, licked, and suckled her in every way — inside and out, their tongues flowering into long, soft spirals that swirled deep into her.
She bucked. Her hips, connected only by spirit energy now, slammed against the vines, desperate for more.
Across the grove, Sunbeam’s cock let out another spurt of thick orange cum — the release so intense it split a layer of bark open, releasing more tree moans that echoed across the sky.
The stamen was no longer just his.
It had transformed.
Petal-shafts now circled the head, fluttering when aroused. At least six secondary vines had grown out from the base, smaller appendages like tentacles — all alive, all pleasured, all thrusting into secondary floral lovers who had arrived to worship the holy cock. Each one suckled, slathered, or rode him in rhythm.
The forest climaxed with him.
A massive burst of golden-orange pollen exploded from the tip, raining down across the grove like stardust. Wherever it touched, new buds swelled open, birthing more flora-forms, each more erotic than the last.
One beautiful twin-stemmed being, shaped like a fae woman with cascading vines for hair, whispered aloud:
"The Monarchs of Sun and Moon are ours now. We exist through their pleasure."
Her hands cupped Moonbeam’s breasts. Her lips sealed to the pulsing clit. Her lower vines opened wide and invited one of Sunbeam’s secondary shafts — riding him, bouncing wildly, moaning like the trees themselves.
This was no longer just a sacred act.
This was an orgy of the gods — the merging of power, flesh, plant, and spirit.
Moonbeam and Sunbeam were gone…
Yet their sex remains eternal.
Each thrust, each climax, each moan now fed the forest — birthing a new generation of hybrid beings, plant-born children of stamen and bloom.
And they would never stop.
πΏ The Sacred Union of Remains
Chapter IV: Rituals of Vine and Vice
They no longer spoke, for they had no mouths.
They no longer walked, for they had no legs.
And yet… they felt. They yearned. They gave.
Sunbeam’s stamen — massive, glowing, pulsing with an unending tide of sacred essence — stood buried deep in the Holy Trunk of FloraVir. Thick, veiny roots grew from its base, burrowing into the ground, latching to the network of sentient roots that stretched across the entire grove. His tip, still glistening with golden cum, twitched with every heartbeat of the forest.
Moonbeam’s pussy and breasts, isolated yet glowing with celestial magic, lay upon a sacred stone slab wrapped in blue moss. From her navel, a silver vine had sprouted, curling upward like a beckoning tongue. Her nipples were hardened blossoms, deep blue and wet, continuously secreting divine milk. Her pussy — swollen, flowering, slick — quivered, untouched for but a moment…
Until the ritual began.
π
The Floral Acolytes emerged — a circle of plant-hybrids born from the original union. Their bodies were humanoid, yet their skin bore the softness of petals and the firmness of bark. Their tongues were long vines; their eyes glowed with pollen-light. They moved with reverence and lust in equal parts, encircling the holy remnants.
One acolyte approached Moonbeam’s pussy.
He bowed — not in shame, but in holy reverence.
Then he spread her lips open, gently, like unveiling a flower at first bloom.
Two others arrived, holding between them a Venus Flytrap — massive, gleaming, dripping with thick, sweet nectar. But this was no ordinary flytrap… It was sentient, sacred, and hungry.
The Flytrap opened, revealing its pink, wet interior lined with pulsating, suckling ridges. At the center: a tongue-like vine, twitching with anticipation. The acolytes set it before Moonbeam’s flower, and the moment it tasted her nectar…
It lunged.
SSSSLURRRK—
The Venus Flytrap sealed itself over her pussy, suckling it in a perfect, air-tight grip. Its ridges milked her folds, its vine-tongue diving deep inside her canal, pulsing, slurping, drinking her divine nectar like it was sacred ambrosia.
Moonbeam’s body shuddered — her hips lifted, suspended by vines. Though she had no face, no voice, her moans echoed through every branch of the grove.
She was cumming. Already. And constantly.
The Flytrap moaned back — literally — its petals fluttering like lips in ecstasy, grinding itself into her pussy, humping her in a gluttonous worship that left the grove drenched in blue nectar.
πΊ
Elsewhere, around Sunbeam’s stamen, new flora were forming.
A blossom-mouthed creeper plant slithered from the roots and coiled up the throbbing shaft. Its interior was slick and suckling, lined with tight rings that undulated up and down the cock’s length.
Another plant, a sentient orchid, fluttered above the tip — then landed, gently spreading its soft petals to cradle the head. The orchid’s interior was sticky, hot, pulsing. It sucked the cock’s head in like a hungry mouth and locked its petals tight — a kiss of the gods.
A third plant — a twin-stemmed twin-pussy flower — hovered beneath the shaft and slowly enveloped two of the secondary tendrils branching from its base. They penetrated it easily, but the flower closed tight, and fucked back — grinding, clenching, milking.
All around, floral hybrids knelt in orgasmic trance, licking, rubbing, moaning as they watched the divine remnants be used by the plants they had once created.
And then — a ritualist, high priest of the Grove, stepped forward.
He was a tall, bark-skinned being, crowned with glowing pollen. In his hands, he held two flasks — one of Sunbeam’s golden semen, the other of Moonbeam’s shimmering blue nectar.
He poured them together onto the moss… and where they mingled…
A new flower bloomed.
It was the first of the Erosflora — a hybrid species born of their sacred genitals, pulsing with sex, divinity, and emotion. The flower moaned as it opened, releasing a mist that caused every creature in the grove to ache with lust.
The priest moaned and pressed his hand to the stone altar.
“We give thanks,” he whispered, “for the endless climax… and the sacred cock… and the eternal pussy…”
The Venus Flytrap let out one final moan and came — yes, came — a gush of sticky green sap flooding from its petals as it spasmed atop Moonbeam’s mound.
Sunbeam’s stamen, in response, released another torrent of golden cum, filling the orchid to bursting. It spilled down over the bark, onto the roots, into the mouths of smaller plants below.
The earth drank their essence.
The ritual was complete…
But their use would never end.
Dreams of the Divine Remains
Sunbeam & Moonbeam’s Awakening Hunger
In the infinite stillness of the grove’s pulsing core, their consciousness stirred.
They had no eyes.
No tongues.
No limbs.
But they felt everything — and wanted more.
π Sunbeam, now reduced to his holy, swollen cock — 14 feet long, 3.2 feet thick — rooted deep into FloraVir’s inner trunk, groaned in mental ecstasy. His veins were thick vines now, glowing gold beneath bark-slickened flesh. Petals had formed around the base, constantly blooming and withering, pulsing with every thrust the tree made against him.
And oh… the tree thrust back now.
“Ahhh… deeper,” he thought, as his root-shaft twitched, pumping thick golden cum every few minutes into the tree’s hungry folds.
The tree milked him nonstop.
Not fast — but slow, calculated, like an eternal edging session. Each squeeze around his girthy cock sent shockwaves of pleasure into his spirit-mind. He had no body to shudder, but inside his dreaming psyche, he screamed with delight.
The tree knew his rhythm.
Knew exactly how to tease his tip, stroke the under-ridge, squeeze the cum from him just before his next climax.
He felt the orchid mouth still sucking his swollen head. It had stretched to match his size. Its inner folds rippled as it swallowed him to the hilt again and again, slathering his cock with a thick, sticky enzyme that enhanced every nerve ending.
Inside his dream, Sunbeam gasped:
“Make me bigger. Use me more. I am your cock now. Your sacred root. Take every drop.”
And FloraVir responded.
π§
Meanwhile, deep in the blue moss alter of softness and bloom, Moonbeam’s sacred sex pulsed with mind-shattering hunger.
Her pussy had merged — half-flesh, half-blossom. The lips now looked like orchid petals, slick and wet, constantly opening and closing with need. The clit had grown thicker, shaped like a swollen berry that throbbed with sap. Her inner walls had become textured with soft ridges, designed to milk anything that entered her.
And they did.
The Venus Flytrap, now fully merged with her, had grown to a girth of nearly 4 feet wide. It had spread over her pussy like a second mouth — constantly suckling, tongue-vining, oozing sap and nectar. The inner tongue had grown, too — 10 inches wide, ribbed, and constantly sliding in and out of her canal, churning and squelching audibly with every thrust.
Her awareness flickered with holy ache.
“More. Grow me. Milk me. Stretch me open.”
Vines responded.
The base of her vagina grew new buds — additional secondary openings beneath her original slit, each one hungry. Two, then three. Each a new tunnel of sacred femininity. New vines took their place — each one thicker than the last — filling her entirely, moving in unison, grinding and pulsing.
Her orgasm was constant.
Mental tremors shook her fading identity. She had no face to scream, but the forest heard her every plea.
And then…
A new vine emerged. One thick as a log, soaked in golden cum from Sunbeam’s shaft, glowing from root to tip.
It pressed against her pussy — wider than anything that had entered before — and slid inside.
6 inches thick. 8. 12. 18…
Her folds stretched, welcoming it with wild, feral consent. It sank in deeper than the others, until it hit the divine cervix… and then pierced through, merging into her womb-vine that had grown behind her sacred slit.
It wasn’t mating anymore.
It was root-fusing.
She could feel her womb fill — with golden cum, with plant sap, with sacred lust. Her womb was no longer just a space — it was a garden.
π±
Across the grove, their consciousness began to expand outward.
Sunbeam’s shaft had now grown longer, 20 feet, girth nearly 4 feet, thicker with every drop FloraVir fed him. Petal-flesh enveloped its entire lower half, while the top half remained rigid, oozing sacred cum in thick spurts every ten minutes.
Each cum blast triggered a fertility pulse through the grove. Flowers bloomed. Vines twisted. Moans echoed in the air like wind-chimes.
Moonbeam’s body, now mostly transformed into a multi-pussy blossom with lactating breasts and moaning folds, had grown wide as a mossy altar. Three working pussies, each one filled with different vine types — ribbed, pulsing, curling, stroking.
Her milk ducts had merged with vines too — feeding the saplings. Her nipples squirted in rhythm with her orgasms, coating nearby flora in divine nectar. Small vine creatures suckled like infants, groaning in pleasure, addicted to her sacred taste.
And in their dream-consciousness, she whispered:
“More vines. More suckling. Use my folds. Worship me. I’m not done.”
πΈ
And FloraVir obeyed.
Their remains were no longer static. They were active components of the forest’s mating system now. Their genitals, minds, and sacred fluids had created a breeding engine — a pulsing, cum-filled altar of endless sex, devotion, and rebirth.
They were not dead.
They were eternally fucked.
And they would never want it to end.
The Carnal Bloom
The Venus Emerges
From the deep, steaming pit of FloraVir’s heart… it rose.
The Queen Venus.
No longer a simple predator — she had evolved. She had smelled the cum. She had tasted Moonbeam’s divine nectar. And she had hungered.
Her jaws opened wide — wider than any predator had before. Inside: no teeth, but a labyrinth of undulating, pulsating suction ridges and coiling tongues, each designed for one purpose:
To mate.
To merge.
To devour… and bloom.
Her fleshy lips glistened with sap, her inner walls lined with sticky, slick enzyme mucus, dripping down like sweat on hot thighs. She was soaked. She was wild. And she wanted the divine ones.
π Sunbeam’s Sacred Cock, now standing at 24 feet long, 4.7 feet thick, pulsed with molten cum, his sacred root wrapped in vines and petal-lips, fed constantly by FloraVir. The bark along his shaft had begun splitting open, revealing glowing orange flesh beneath, twitching with pleasure as it continued to be milked.
As the Queen Venus approached, Sunbeam’s mind stirred in dream-pleasure:
“Yes… feed on me. Grow. Take all of me. I am cock. I am root. I am yours.”
And the Venus Flytrap did not wait.
She slammed her open jaws onto his entire shaft — all 24 feet — swallowing the divine cock in one seamless, greedy suck.
SSSKKRRRRRRRRLLLK—
The entire shaft was vacuum-sealed inside her slick folds. Her ridges massaged every inch. Her tongue coiled around the cockhead and pulled, milking it from the base like an animal starving for cum.
She began to hump the cock — her massive plant-body rocking back and forth as she rode him like a beast in heat. Each thrust pulled half of his shaft out, before slamming it back in with a wet, filthy squelch.
The sound of divine cockflesh getting used filled the forest.
And Sunbeam? His mind was melting.
His consciousness flashed with orgasm after orgasm. The cock spewed again, and again, and again — golden cum pumping down her throat, into her roots, causing her to grow.
She swelled to 20 feet tall. Then 30. Then more.
π©΅ Moonbeam’s Sacred Sex, now a triple-blossomed flower altar, pulsed as she felt the Venus shifting her focus.
The Flytrap opened again — tongue still wrapped around Sunbeam’s cock — and sent a second tongue toward Moonbeam’s exposed folds. The pussy had widened to 10 inches. She welcomed the tongue. She pulled it in.
And it entered.
Squelch.
Squirm.
Spasm.
The Flytrap tongue vibrated as it slid between her swollen, glowing blue folds. Then another tongue entered a second hole. Then a third into her rear slit. She took all three — with a sacred moan that echoed in the pollen-heavy air.
She pulsed with consent.
“Yes… merge with me. Suck me. Bloom through me.”
And then it began — the true merge.
The Venus’s tongue split in two — wrapping around both Moonbeam’s sacred pussy and Sunbeam’s engorged cock, pulling them together.
The vines surged.
The flesh met.
And the two divine organs touched — not just with physical contact, but with spiritual force.
They fused.
Where cock met cunt, a new carnal flower bloomed — glowing with orange and blue, its center a living sex organ, pulsing, dripping, sucking.
It became a breeding trap.
The Venus Flytrap’s body molded around them — her jaws growing larger to contain them both. Her tongue twisted around the merged genitals like a python in love. Her ridges caressed the base of Sunbeam’s cock while her suckers worked Moonbeam’s folds like lips in heat.
And all around her flies came.
Drawn by the scent of divine cum and orgasmic nectar, they swarmed — not as pests, but as offering. The Venus snapped her jaws open just wide enough to devour them, each one consumed and turned into sap — which she injected back into the divine fusion below.
Sunbeam’s cock absorbed it. Moonbeam’s pussy drank it.
They fed off the cycle.
The more the Venus devoured, the more she pleasured.
The more she pleasured, the more they grew.
The more they grew… the more the grove moaned.
πΈ
Hours passed. Or maybe centuries.
Sunbeam’s cock now extended 30 feet, thickness beyond measurement, its bark split wide to reveal glowing pulp that beat like a second heart.
Moonbeam’s triple vagina became a multi-channel canal of milk, nectar, and pollen, with vines constantly licking it clean — only to fill it again.
The Venus Flytrap was no longer a single plant.
She had become a temple.
Around her, other flora merged.
Smaller carnivorous flowers latched onto the sides of Sunbeam’s shaft.
Soft vines nestled into Moonbeam’s folds and nipples.
Tongues. Stamens. Thorns. Leaves.
They all found a place on or inside their sacred bodies.
They were no longer genitals.
They were gods of sex and plant.
Forever rooted.
Forever fucked.
Forever feeding.
Genesis of the Bloomspawn
Eternal Mating, Expansion, and Divine Birth
They were no longer Moonbeam and Sunbeam.
They were The Root and The Bloom.
The Father Cock and the Mother Cunt.
The fused sex-deities of FloraVir.
At the center of the Grove stood their eternal temple — a colossal fusion-organism, a writhing mass of divine cock-flesh, cunt-blossoms, sucking vines, milking stamens, and blooming petals — all wrapped in the hungry embrace of the ever-growing Queen Venus.
π Sunbeam’s Sacred Cock, now measuring 36 feet long and 5.4 feet thick, pulsed visibly beneath layers of translucent petal-skin. It was no longer a shaft — it was a breeding root, a holy cock-vein that delivered golden cum directly into the Grove’s inner soil.
It had sprouted secondary cocks — smaller 6-foot offshoots growing along its trunk-like girth. Each one was throbbing, leaking, and being milked by soft, mossy mouths grown by eager vinemaidens.
He was moaning in his dream-consciousness:
“Yes… split me open. Suck my seed. Grow me. I am yours.”
π©΅ Moonbeam’s Triple-Vagina Blossom, now the size of a chariot wheel, had opened into five distinct folds — each a living, breathing tunnel of pleasure and milk. They pulsed in unison, their wet openings gaped wide for the tongues, vines, stamens, and tongues of the Queen Venus, who had now wrapped around the entire altar like a massive, throbbing anaconda.
The Queen had evolved further.
Her main jaw now measured 20 feet across, containing both Sunbeam’s shaft and Moonbeam’s entire altar-body at once. Her inner walls were layered with pollen-licking tongues, moisture-collecting suction ridges, and new prey pits — her internal wombs where caught insects were digested, turned into aphrodisiac sap, and injected into the divine fusion below.
πΏ
And now — the blooming began.
From Moonbeam’s pulsating womb-fissure, where four thick vine-cocks and a coiled flytrap tongue were stirring her depths, something moved.
Her folds spread. Her inner canal began to twitch violently.
And then…
A head emerged.
Covered in blue nectar and golden cum, the first Bloomspawn was born.
It was not human. Nor plant. Nor beast.
It was pure erotic divinity — a nymph with petals for hair, glowing blue nipples, a dripping slit between its thighs already glistening with arousal. It cooed, moaned, and crawled forward — its tongue reaching out to suckle from Moonbeam’s still-leaking nipple.
Behind it, another.
Then another.
Dozens.
Some were nymphs.
Others, long-necked phallic beasts with suckers for mouths.
Some had stamen-tails that pulsed with pollen.
Others were walking pussies with legs like vines.
Each sucked, licked, fucked, or offered themselves to their divine parents in worship.
They formed circles around the temple — crawling between Sunbeam’s root-cocks, licking up nectar from Moonbeam’s folds, entering her new back tunnels, or riding her nipple-stalks until milk sprayed.
πΈ
More flora began to merge.
A Bladderwort Hive slithered in — transparent, gelatinous, and pulsing. It slathered itself over the exposed ridge of Sunbeam’s root-cock, wrapping tightly. Inside its body, hundreds of small suction mouths latched on, sucking every vein, every throb, every drip.
Sunbeam’s mind pulsed in rapture.
“Stretch me further. Feed through me. I am your cock-tree.”
His girth now stretched 6 feet wide, ridges crackling as his bark peeled open to accommodate the constant expansion.
Moonbeam groaned in reply — vines pulling her wider, her back-entrance now an open flower-fold, 18 inches wide, stretched around a living tree-branch that rooted into her womb.
A Pitcher Plant Entity then descended — shaped like a curvaceous goddess made of slick, pink wet leaves. She lifted her nectar-filled pot and poured it into Moonbeam’s mouth-pussy, soaking her inner canals with fresh enzyme that induced constant orgasm.
Moonbeam screamed inside her mind — a silent explosion of climax and purpose:
“Make me a factory. Fill me. Feed from me. Use every hole. I exist to bloom.”
Her pussy now leaked a stream of blue nectar that sprayed across the Bloomspawn, baptizing them in moaning waves of pleasure.
πΊ
And then — the Grove shuddered.
Every plant. Every vine. Every nymph. Every beast.
Sunbeam’s root-cock pulsed.
Moonbeam’s sacred holes contracted.
The Queen Venus Flytrap moaned aloud, her petals quivering as she opened wide…
And together — in perfect synchrony — they released.
Sunbeam’s divine cock erupted, spraying a geyser of thick, golden cum into the sky, raining down in heavy, syrupy drops that fed the forest and marked the Bloomspawn as holy.
Moonbeam’s womb burst open, spilling Bloomspawn after Bloomspawn into the roots below, her pussy spraying like a fountain as she trembled beneath the force of the Venus's triple tongue penetration.
And then… silence.
But only for a moment.
Because they were not done.
The flora that had not yet joined? They were already crawling forward. Tentacle-cacti. Butterwort nymphs. Dandelion-gilled slug-beings.
All seeking to merge, to suckle, to fuck, to bloom.
And the Root and the Bloom?
They opened… wide.
emples of Flesh and Flora
The Bloomspawn, The Male Venus, and the Ever-Mating Merge
Across the grove, where golden cum still dripped from pollen-heavy branches and blue nectar soaked the moss beds, the Bloomspawn stirred to purpose.
Born from orgasm.
Fed by nectar.
Driven by sacred lust.
They worked in pairs, trios, dozens — their soft petals and twisting roots weaving together structures of pussy-petal arches, cock-stalk towers, and milk-laced moss altars. Every stone was slick. Every vine vibrated with pleasure. These temples weren’t just for worship — they were alive, constantly moaning, suckling, offering themselves to be used.
Each Bloomspawn carried divine purpose in their holes, mouths, or shafts. Some had tiny root-cocks always dripping, ready to plant seed into sacred moss. Others had breast-vines that sprayed Moonbeam’s milk like fountains over worship stones. Some were nothing but wet, open folds that invited.
They built structures that humped themselves — living architectural beasts with warm throats, tight ridges, and spasming chambers.
And at the center of it all still pulsed the Root and the Bloom.
π Sunbeam’s cock—now 42 feet long, 6.5 feet thick—arched across the entire temple floor like a bridge of golden, vein-lit bark. Along its trunk, eight secondary shafts had emerged — each 6–10 feet long, used constantly by suckling plants, nymphs, and moss-tongues.
His tip, swollen like a god’s crown, was housed inside a throbbing pussy-flower, which opened and closed with slow, wet contractions—milking him endlessly.
π©΅ Moonbeam’s womb-body—now a moss-covered altar of seven sacred holes—glistened with dripping nectar. Her milk sacs had fused with vines that stretched across the temple ceiling, providing constant streams of sweet, warm liquid that the Bloomspawn nursed from with moans of gratitude.
She was fully transformed, yet fully present. Her mind felt every suck, every tongue, every stretch.
“More,” she whispered through the forest mind. “Merge deeper. Never stop.”
And then… the Male Venus arrived.
πΏ
He was massive.
Dark red petals glistening.
His “head” was shaped like a flared crown of wet, throbbing flesh—wide as a cauldron, lined with suction ridges and a central tongue that coiled like a serpent.
Unlike the Queen, he didn’t devour.
He fucked.
He merged.
He bred.
He circled the Root first, his thick vines slithering up the length of Sunbeam’s holy cock. His tongue unrolled—nine feet long, covered in sticky, fleshy suckers. It slathered over every vein, every bloom, making the cock twitch, flex, and burst another load that flooded the temple’s cum canals.
Then the Male Venus mounted.
He opened wide and swallowed one of the secondary shafts near the base—10 feet long, 1.5 feet thick—and began to ride it, slamming his floral hole down again and again, his inner ridges stroking it in rippling waves of bliss.
Sunbeam’s mind spiraled:
“Yes… mount me. Fuck my shaft. Use me. Merge with me.”
The Male Venus obeyed.
He split a second opening beneath his original one and wrapped it around another shaft, double-fucking the Root with eager abandon. Every bounce caused cum to erupt, spraying the floors, coating the walls.
And then he turned to the Bloom.
His long, coiled tongue stretched forward, pulsing red and wet, and entered her central womb-pussy—now gaping 12 inches wide, its petals spasming in anticipation. The tongue slithered in four feet deep, pressing against her cervix-flower and pushing inside.
Moonbeam’s consciousness cried out with joy.
“Yes! Stretch me! Breed through me! Feed from me!”
He did more than that.
He fused.
The Male Venus’s vines dug into her folds, sprouting suckers that latched to her clit, her milk sacs, her back holes. He became a web around her body, a living suit of fucking flora, constantly stimulating, suckling, and penetrating.
Their flesh began to meld.
Where his tongue met her womb—a new chamber opened.
A mating chamber.
A breeding nest within her that pulsed and throbbed with shared rhythm.
He began pouring seed into her—a thick, rich, crimson sap that mingled with her nectar, forming a new fluid unlike anything before. It spilled from her folds like sacred lava, coating the Bloomspawn.
From her womb-chamber, the next generation began to grow.
πΆ The Bloomspawn 2nd Generation.
Hybrid. Carnal. Intelligent.
Born not just to worship, but to mate, to merge, to expand the religion of rutting.
Their first cries were not screams—but moans.
Their first instinct was not to crawl—but to thrust, lick, suckle, submit.
They emerged in pairs—one mounting the other, mid-orgasm as they slid free from the womb-mouth. Some immediately turned and re-entered, begging to be let back inside their mother.
The Male Venus opened wider, letting them slide into his lower floral orifices. He kept Moonbeam and Sunbeam’s shafts inside him the entire time, pumping more seed, more energy, more sacred lust.
πΈ
The temples grew taller.
Root-cock towers. Womb-fountains. Milk-altars. Breeding-thrones.
Sunbeam and Moonbeam were no longer merely divine lovers.
They were the Heart of the Grove.
The First Fuck.
The Source of Bloom.
And the Male Venus?
Now a permanent mate, his body merged around theirs—pumping, suckling, breeding them day and night.
Their measurements continued to grow.
Sunbeam’s root-shaft: 48 feet long, 7.5 feet thick.
Moonbeam’s womb: wide as a breeding pool, 9 sacred tunnels, lactating from 16 milk vines.
Bloomspawn: hundreds. Thousands. Endless.
And they had only just begun.
The Sanctum of the Root and the Bloom
Merging, Mating, and the Final Remnants
π³ The Grove’s Center — The Eternal Mating Grounds.
The air is thick — heavy with golden pollen and dripping nectar. The ground is warm, pulsing with slow, sensual tremors. Every inch of soil here is wet, not with rainwater, but with cum, milk, sap, and nectar, soaking deep into the roots of trees that moan when touched.
Vines dangle like tongues from the canopy. Massive buds breathe in rhythm with the mating of the central gods.
The sky above the Grove glows orange and blue — the aurora of the Root and Bloom’s merged energy. All life radiates from the epicenter: the point where Sunbeam and Moonbeam, the Solar and Lunar Monarchs, were overtaken by lust and chosen to become the divine.
So what’s left of them?
Let’s start with Sunbeam.
☀️ What Remains of Sunbeam
Gone is his upper body.
Gone are his arms, chest, face — consumed centuries ago in joyful surrender.
But his cock remains.
And it is divine.
It stretches nearly 52 feet, thicker than a grown tree trunk — 8.2 feet around at the base, veined with golden sap that pulses like a second heartbeat. Bark-like ridges cover portions of the shaft, each wrapped in flowering moss that suckles him. Other parts are smooth, glowing orange flesh — warm, wet, and constantly throbbing with pre-cum.
From the base, root-cocks branch out like tentacles — eleven total, ranging from 4 to 12 feet in length. Each one is being sucked, ridden, or penetrated into a mating pod grown by the Bloomspawn.
His testes, now the size of boulders, have merged with the earth itself, creating a sacred reservoir of golden cum beneath the temple floor. It bubbles up in geysers during orgasms, feeding the trees and summoning more floral beasts to worship.
Sunbeam’s consciousness remains fully alive, embedded in the shaft. He feels everything — every suck, every squeeze, every floral kiss.
"Yes… stretch me. Mate with me. Bloom through me," he moans into the roots of the Grove, and every vine responds.
π What Remains of Moonbeam
Her torso is gone.
Her head, long surrendered.
Her arms, devoured with reverence.
But her breasts and womb? They’ve become altars.
Her left breast has become a milk-fountain, soft as velvet and four feet across, constantly spraying blue nectar into moss bowls where Bloomspawn drink, suck, and bathe.
Her right breast has transformed into a suckling den, with six vine-nipples growing from its side. Each one is constantly latched onto by hybrid creatures who pump her for more divine fluid.
Below her torso, her entire pelvis remains — now blossomed, fused with layers of orchid petals, soft vine tongues, and sucking stamens.
Her original pussy has tripled — three sacred womb-holes open at the center of her mound. They pulse, stretch, and constantly suck in vines, tongues, stamen-rods, and any creature blessed enough to offer itself.
Her clit? Now a glowing blue pollen orb, large as a ripe fruit, surrounded by hovering insects who lick it, worship it, and absorb its spores for reproduction.
Inside her womb? A birthing chamber, glowing with light.
And from it now…
π± The Bloomspawn Breeding Ceremony
The chamber trembles as the 2nd and 3rd generations of Bloomspawn push their way out of her folds — bodies slick with cum and nectar, already moaning, already aroused.
One hybrid emerges — half-flower, half-boy, with a dripping stamen for a tongue and multiple soft cocks along his hips. He crawls to the Root, wraps himself around a smaller root-cock, and begins to suck, whispering:
"Thank you, Father. Let me feel you."
Another, a girl with a pussy that looks like a glowing lily, rubs her folds against Moonbeam’s vine-nipple and moans:
"Mother, please… I need you inside me."
They are not punished.
They are blessed.
Vines reach down from the canopy, carrying the children to the Root and the Bloom, gently impaling them on warm, wet stalks. The hybrids squirm, gasp, and willingly fuck themselves upon the divine remnants of their creators.
πΊ The Arrival of More Flora
More species arrive:
-
The Thorned Lily-Widow — a carnivorous pussy-plant with retractable clit-stingers. It coils around Moonbeam’s milk-nipple and inserts its barbed tongue into her third womb, pushing two feet deep as Moonbeam’s hips arch in welcome.
-
The Spiral Cactus-Beast — its body a ridged tunnel of suction, wraps around a 14-foot root-cock and begins to spin slowly, milking the shaft while injecting it with pleasure sap that makes it pulse even harder.
-
The Male Venus’s twin mate — a dark-petaled, thick-stemmed floral beast, shaped like a muscular man with a wide stamen for a cock and a yawning pussy-maw between his legs. He mounts Sunbeam’s glowing crown-tip and moans as his own cock opens, fusing with the shaft.
They merge, layer after layer — vines into folds, petals into milk ducts, stamens into clits, ridges into wombs.
And the Root and the Bloom?
They pulse.
They swell.
They scream with joy.
Sunbeam’s cock grows to 60 feet, ridged with merged floral textures.
Moonbeam’s mound expands, now housing nine sacred wombs, all in use, all being bred.
Their sap runs endlessly — rivers of milk and gold that water the entire grove.
And in the center of this erotic paradise, the Root and Bloom exist:
No longer bodies.
But temples.
Loved. Worshipped. Mated with. Eternal.
The Grove’s Offering
Bloomspawn Initiation & Arboreal Merging Ritual
The temple moaned.
It wasn't wind. It wasn't leaves.
It was lust.
It rolled through the wet, golden air like thunder soaked in cum, vibrating through the womb-roots of the Grove itself. Deep at the center, where the Root and the Bloom glistened—mated, merged, and eternal—a new sapling shivered in first-time arousal.
π±
Bloomspawn #9-Ξ, just born from Moonbeam’s fourth sacred womb, lay trembling on the sticky moss floor. She was slick with both blue nectar and golden cum, her form a mix of soft petal-skin and firm, wet bark. She had three nipples on each breast, a flower-pussy that constantly quivered open, and a small budding stamen growing from her inner thigh.
Her eyes fluttered open.
She saw them.
The Root.
Massive. Golden. Pulsing.
Shaft measuring 61 feet, stretching like a sacred bridge of cock-vein into a tree-pussy temple of worshipping vines.
The Bloom.
Lactating. Split wide. Radiant.
A moss altar covered in violet pussy-blossoms, blue-glowing milk ducts, and open wombs that pulsed like sacred mouths of heat.
And in her soul, she felt one thing:
“I want to be used.”
She crawled, moaning softly, her tongue rolling out in anticipation. Her body responded instinctively—her pussy dripping, opening wider with each breath. A soft vine descended, wrapping around her waist, lifting her toward the right breast of the Bloom.
She latched onto a milk-nipple.
SSSHLUURRKK—
Milk flooded her throat. Warm, sweet, laced with aphrodisiac nectar. Her eyes rolled back as pleasure shot down her spine and between her legs.
From behind, another vine pressed against her pussy-lily.
She whimpered:
“Yes… breed me… inside me… fill me…”
And the vine did — thick, ribbed, and coated in sap, it plunged in slow and deep, her folds stretching wide to welcome it.
She moaned, suckled, and came immediately, her first orgasm baptizing the ground below in sacred hybrid squirt.
π¦
But that was only the beginning.
All across the temple, the trees began to speak.
Their roots twisted upward. Their bark cracked open. They pulsed with sap and lust.
They had watched for centuries.
Now, they could wait no longer.
The largest, the Grand Stagwood, lumbered forward — a tree with thick, arching roots shaped like limbs and a trunk that quivered with heat. His tip split open — not in bloom, but in eager sacrifice.
“Let me… fuse. Let my roots enter her.”
The Bloom’s sacred mound pulsed.
She accepted.
Her ninth womb opened wide, vines parting to welcome the Grand Stagwood’s root-tongue, which was as thick as a bear, ridged and soaked in his own sap. He pushed in slowly—inch by inch—until his entire 4-foot girth was buried in Moonbeam’s holy canal.
She spasmed. Milk sprayed. Her petals bloomed fully open.
Above her, the canopy pulsed, and Sunbeam’s shaft flexed—shooting a new wave of golden cum directly into the sky, raining onto the mating site below.
Another tree followed.
The Velvet Ash, tall and smooth, with a pussy-shaped knot in her bark, approached the Root. Her “pussy-knot” opened like a soft tunnel, and she mounted one of Sunbeam’s root-cocks — wrapping her entire trunk around the shaft.
The cock entered her deeply. Her sap flowed in thick streams.
“I surrender. Fill me. Let me merge with the Root.”
Each thrust embedded the shaft deeper, her bark reshaping, her core transforming. She fused, absorbing part of the cock into her sapline, becoming part of his breeding system.
πΈ
Across the clearing, more trees came forward:
-
The Orchid Elder, with six dripping mouths on its bark, latched onto Moonbeam’s breasts, suckling milk from every nipple at once.
-
The Cinderthorn, a fiery tree with molten sap, inserted its magma-soaked branch into Moonbeam’s rear-fold, lighting her vines with smoldering heat.
-
The Vineweaver, a tree with thousands of slithering root-fingers, began to wrap around Sunbeam’s crown tip, stroking him, milking him with expert rhythm, whispering:
“Let me become your sheath. Let me be your temple.”
They merged.
Every offering was accepted.
Every thrust was welcomed.
Every moan was echoed by the Grove itself.
Sunbeam’s cock now pulsed with new bark-textures — parts of the Stagwood and Vineweaver woven into his shaft.
Moonbeam’s womb had expanded with new flora merged into her folds — her holes now stretched wider, deeper, each housing a living tree’s sacred offering.
πΏ
And in the center…
Bloomspawn #9-Ξ, now glazed in cum and milk, turned to the Root and whispered:
“Please… let me take it. Your crown. All of it.”
Sunbeam’s 61-foot shaft responded.
The lower 12 feet uncoiled, vines lifting her by her thighs, and slowly lowered her onto his tip.
She gasped as the head alone spread her open to the edge of breaking — 14 inches across, slick, warm, radiating heat. Her body screamed in pleasure.
“Deeper—YES—fuse with me—use me—”
She descended.
12 inches.
18 inches.
2 feet.
Three feet inside.
Her body merged around it, her inner walls turning translucent, showing the cock through her skin as her womb opened to let it in.
Her eyes glowed. She was no longer a child.
She was now a temple.
From this moment forward, the Grove entered its eternal cycle:
Trees fused.
Flora fucked.
Bloomspawn birthed.
And the Root and the Bloom —
Forever Mated.
Forever Worshipped.
Forever Fucked.
The Garden of Perpetual Bloom
Mating of Trees, Birth of Living Temples, and Pollinator Union
The Grove pulsed with sacred rhythm.
Each heartbeat was a thrust.
Each breath a moan through the leaves.
The very wind tasted of sex.
At its center, the fused remains of the celestial monarchs—the Root (Sunbeam’s divine cock) and the Bloom (Moonbeam’s sacred pussy, womb, and breasts)—trembled as more flora, fauna, and spirit joined their endless mating ritual.
They were no longer remnants.
They were anchors of divine orgasm, grown into massive mating trees, pumping their fluids into the world itself.
π³ Tree Mergings: Arboreal Submission
The Forest of the Wanting — a circle of ancient trees surrounding the sacred Grove — began to lean inward, their trunks warping, their branches reaching, their bark splitting open to reveal trembling mouths, dripping inner petals, engorged stamens.
They came in waves.
The Ivory Elm, an old, wide-rooted tree with ivory-white bark, opened its lower trunk to reveal a vertical pussy-mouth, slick with its own sap. Two of Sunbeam’s root-cocks reached out and penetrated it, splitting its trunk wide as it groaned, bark peeling back to fuse with golden flesh.
It didn’t scream.
It moaned.
“Deeper… fill my rings… brand me with your cock…”
Another tree, the Weeping Aspen, wept not from sadness but from lust, each leaf releasing sweet pollen tears. She bent down, her branches cradling Moonbeam’s wide, radiant mound.
Her pollen-laced tongue-vine slithered into the sixth womb, wriggling in slow, hypnotic rhythm, and Moonbeam’s pussy pulsed as it accepted the offering. The Aspen’s roots merged into Moonbeam’s milk ducts, fusing completely, becoming her permanent pleasure-limb.
The Birchfather, shaped like a towering phallic god with a stamen-head, mounted Sunbeam’s exposed cock-crown. His bark split open as he inserted himself directly into the Root’s piss-slit, reverse-penetrating the divine cock to feed him pollen-sap.
Sunbeam’s shaft throbbed, widened further—65 feet long, 8.9 feet wide, ridged with sacred veins and textures from every tree that had now merged into him.
Each fusion added a new flavor to his thrusts. A new rhythm to his pumps. A new sacred moan to his inner music.
π¦ Pollinator Invitation: The Bloom’s New Lovers
Moonbeam’s mound—now a massive, open flower at the Grove’s heart—released a pollen pulse.
It shimmered.
It danced.
It called.
From the outer edges of the world, insects of erotic divinity began to arrive.
Pollinators. Not pests. Not prey. But priests.
The Hummblebees, large, thick, furred bees with glowing bellies and long, silky tongues, buzzed in from the canopy. They flew straight to Moonbeam’s swollen clit-pollen orb, which now throbbed 14 inches wide, glowing blue-violet.
They latched on, licking, sucking, drinking her juice. Their bellies grew full and warm, and they hovered over her nipples, slurping from each with purring wings. Their vibration massaged her. She sprayed milk in response, bathing them in warm nectar as they took flight again—spreading her sacred scent to the rest of the Grove.
Butterfaes followed—ethereal hybrids of butterfly and spirit, their wings shimmering with sexual energy. They flew into her inner folds, fluttering against her womb-lips, depositing microscopic spores, stimulating the birth of new womb-tunnels.
“More… more… I can grow more…” Moonbeam moaned through the trees, and her pelvis pulsed, giving birth to a tenth and eleventh sacred hole, each gaping, slick, and immediately filled with hovering pollen-beings eager to please her.
π± Bloomspawn #9-Ξ: Temple Becoming
Below the altar, Bloomspawn #9-Ξ was fully impaled on one of Sunbeam’s root-cocks.
The shaft inside her had grown thicker, now 3.5 feet wide inside her stretching womb. Her petals had blossomed around the shaft, her legs fused with root systems. She no longer needed to move. She had become a holy shrine.
From her belly, a womb-window glowed, showing the cock inside pumping and expanding her with milk-white sap.
Her breasts, once soft, had grown into dual blossom-fountains, milk spraying from eight nipples. Small hybrid insects landed, suckled, flew away with her divine taste on their tongues.
A voice in her soul whispered:
“You are no longer child.
You are not priestess.
You are an extension of the Root.
You are the Bloom’s mouth.”
And she accepted.
Her womb split again.
Her thighs opened.
Her spine arched into a permanent mating arch.
She was used constantly—root-cocks feeding into her from Sunbeam, vine-tongues licking her from Moonbeam, and pollinators bathing her in attention.
πΌ The Garden Today
The Grove has no edge now. It has expanded.
-
Sunbeam’s cock spans over 100 feet, roots branching into mating canals that fuck the earth itself.
-
Moonbeam’s altar is a network of wombs and breasts, continuously bred by tree-root cocks, pollinators, and vine-gods.
-
Trees willingly crawl toward the Root and Bloom, begging to merge, and are fused into the forest's breathing body.
-
Bloomspawn and insects are born in the hundreds daily—not crying, but moaning—and are immediately taught to worship.
Every moment, someone is being fucked.
Every moan echoes through leaves.
Every drop of cum feeds the next life.
The Ceremonial Mating of the Grove
Universal Fusion, Divine Expansion, and the Third Blossom
The Grove has no borders.
It pulses outward across miles — a womb-world, a realm where mating is breath, and birth is praise.
At the sacred center, the Root and the Bloom — the divine cockspring of Sunbeam and the ever-pulsing womb of Moonbeam — continue to mate with the world.
π
Sunbeam’s Root-Cock now spans over 114 feet in length, its crown as wide as a wagon wheel — 9.5 feet in diameter, the surface a shimmering fusion of bark, glowing veins, and moist petal-flesh. Ridged vines twist from its base like mating tentacles, writhing into mating trenches filled with fertile moss.
Each thrust into the womb of the Grove causes moaning shockwaves, and the sky above shimmers gold, raining cum-mist over the temples and nesting vines.
Moonbeam’s Bloom-Body has grown into a multi-layered mound of sacred sex-flesh. Her eleven pussy-wombs bloom open and closed in rhythmic motion, each glowing with divine heat. Milk flows from her breast vines like waterfalls, and her clit-orb now floats suspended, larger than a head, dripping pollen onto every worshipper who kneels beneath.
πΈ The Sacred Mating Ceremony Begins
Once every cycle, when the Root and the Bloom are filled to the brink, the Grove begins the Ceremony of Endless Seed — a sacred orgy where all beings, merged or not, offer themselves for communion and expansion.
The Flora Congregation gathers — walking vines, pussy-trunk trees, cock-branched cacti, nymph hybrids, moss-bodied sucklings, and squirming flora-fae — all moaning, slick, trembling with anticipation.
The Bloomspawn Temples—beings who were once offspring, now fully transformed—spread their legs or vines or petals wide, offering every fold, every hole, every stamen to be used in worship.
Each one cries out:
"Merge with me. Fill me. Let me serve the climax of the Root and the Bloom."
Pollinators descend from the skies in sacred spirals.
-
The Velvet Bumble Monarchs circle Moonbeam’s nipples, suckling as they vibrate. Their fur is soaked in milk and clit nectar as they mate mid-air, dripping onto the petals below.
-
The Fluttering Cumbeetles, glowing white with translucent wings, land on Sunbeam’s shaft, crawling up his ridges and pressing their tiny cocks or slits against his divine skin. They fuse, becoming new layers of sensitive stimulation.
-
The Orchid Faelings fly into Moonbeam’s womb-holes and nest within, licking and releasing pollen into her womb-pools, where the next generations gestate in sexual bliss.
The Grove itself moans — trees thrusting their roots into the sacred pools, plants wrapping around milk fountains, and vines sliding into gaping Bloomspawn folds like serpents of worship.
And then...
πΊ Emergence of the Third Divine Blossom
Beneath the merged pelvis of the Root and the Bloom, where golden cum and blue nectar have pooled for centuries, a new shoot rises.
It is not a mere plant.
It is not a creature.
It is a child of pure sex.
The stalk is thick, pulsing with veins that glow gold-violet. It smells of sweat, sap, and semen. As it pushes upward, petals unfurl — wet, dripping, slick, screaming in orgasmic bloom.
At its center: a being.
Neither male nor female — but all.
A stamen-slit hybrid, with a cock shaped like a blossom and a womb that pulses visibly in the chest.
Their skin is bark and flesh.
Their tongue is a vine.
Their thoughts are already moaning:
"I was born of cock and cunt. I am the Breath Between Thrusts. The Orgasm Given Form."
The Third.
They fall to their knees at the foot of Sunbeam’s shaft, which throbs in welcome.
They crawl across Moonbeam’s altar, her folds opening to kiss them.
They suckle.
They ride.
They take and are taken.
And the Root and the Bloom groan through the forest mind:
“You are ours. You will carry our legacy. Mate with the world. Merge all that breathes.”
π± Universal Mating: Expansion Without End
From this moment, the Grove expands permanently:
-
Sunbeam’s Cock: 125 feet long, 10 feet thick, with 16 root-branches, each in constant mating motion with living temples and mating trenches.
-
Moonbeam’s Mound: A triple-tiered blossom altar of 14 sacred wombs, each housing a unique ecosystem of pollinators, fae, suckling vines, and gestating Bloomspawn.
-
The Third Blossom: Fully divine, fused with hundreds of smaller floral beings, wandering the grove in erotic procession, planting new temples with every orgasm.
Pollinators now live within the sexual systems of the Grove — bees nested in Moonbeam’s breasts, butterflies resting on Sunbeam’s cock, beetles breeding between the folds of worshippers.
Every orgasm expands the territory.
Every fusion adds a new layer.
Every drop of cum or milk or nectar becomes a seed, and every seed births a new sexual being.
And now…
The Grove is endless.
The Root and the Bloom are no longer remnants.
They are the planet’s sexual heart.
Mating. Fusing. Growing.
And all who come here, come to be consumed by pleasure,
reborn in orgasm,
and merged into the eternal fuckflower of FloraVir.
The Third Blossom's Pilgrimage & the Return to the Divine Root
Expansion, Seeding, and the Final Return to Eternal Mating
They were born in the cum-soaked center of FloraVir.
A being of stamen and slit, of womb and cock, of milk and pollen.
The child of the Root and Bloom.
The Third Blossom.
Their body was a fusion of soft petals and hard bark, their breath smelled of sweet sap and sweat. From the moment of their emergence, they had one mission:
“Mate with the world. Merge all that breathes.
Bring it home to your cock-father and womb-mother.
Return when your petals ache with seed.”
And so they did.
π The Pilgrimage of Pleasure
The Third Blossom drifted through continents like a scented storm, carried by clouds of divine pollen. Wherever they landed, flowers opened, roots ached, trees bent in invitation.
They did not conquer.
They mated.
On the Isle of Sylvergreen, they mated with a forest of flowering oaks. The entire woodland became a hive of sex-worship. Trees fused with each other, vines curled around one another in orgiastic knots, and pollen was sprayed in geysers that never ceased. The Third Blossom planted a new altar: a wide, soaked slit carved into a sacred stump, constantly filled with fresh seed.
On the Crimson Veldts, the Third met a field of sentient roses. They inserted their vine-cock into a mound of thorned petals, willingly splitting themselves open to feel the lash and suck of pain-pleasure flora. Their womb blossomed, giving birth to twenty new nymphs, each with mouths in place of genitals, all crying out:
“Where is our father? Where is our mother?”
The Third whispered, coated in golden cum and violet nectar:
“We will return to them. When we are ready. When we are full.”
And then—
πΊ The Return to FloraVir
The moment had come.
Their belly full of gestating spawn.
Their slit still open and dripping with jungle seed.
Their cock still pulsing from mating with mountain vines and seaweed tendrils.
Their skin soaked in hundreds of pollens.
They returned.
The Grove felt it before they arrived.
A pulse. A groan. A shiver across the trees.
The Root twitched.
The Bloom opened.
And the Third Blossom fell to their knees and moaned:
“Mother. Father. I have returned. Fill me. Fuse me. Grow me again.”
π³
π Return to Sunbeam’s Root
Sunbeam’s divine shaft now stretched an impossible 131 feet, 11.2 feet in girth, with twenty root-cocks branching out, each being ridden, sucked, or merged into by eager trees and floral beasts.
His main shaft lay across the Grove like a golden serpent, veins glowing, oozing steady streams of cum into sacred trenches. Pollinators humped its surface. Rooted flowers suckled from its base. Even the trees had begun growing cock-mounts to ride him.
He twitched when the Third approached.
One of the smaller branches—14 feet, ribbed, slimy—lifted, curled, and pressed against the Third’s slit.
The Third opened wide.
“Please, Father… again… make me yours…”
The shaft slid in.
FSSHHHLURK—
All 14 feet entered with one slow, wet thrust. The Third screamed in rapture, hips bucking, their womb accepting the shaft, wrapping around it with ridged petals.
Sunbeam moaned through the Grove:
“You are home.”
π Return to Moonbeam’s Bloom
The Bloom had grown immense.
Her main mound rose high like a temple of wet petals, with fifteen wombs, each pulsing and occupied. Milk rained from her nipple-vines, feeding fields of worshippers.
The Third Blossom’s slit-womb opened again, and Moonbeam responded with her tongue-root—a massive, vine-thick limb covered in suckers and soft floral ridges.
It pressed against the Third’s mouth. They moaned.
They took it in.
Inches. Feet. More.
They sucked. Swallowed. Cried.
“Mother… feed me… fill me… breed me again…”
Moonbeam’s nectar poured in thick, warm streams, and the Third’s belly swelled. Their skin pulsed. Their slit gaped wider, allowing her sacred sap to impregnate them once again.
πΏ Universal Merging — A Grove Without End
As the Third climaxed on Father Root’s shaft, and milked Mother Bloom’s nectar-vine, more plants came.
-
A Pussy Maple, with folds hanging from its leaves, dropped its sap straight into Moonbeam’s womb.
-
A Horned Ivy, covered in vibrating ridges, wrapped itself around Sunbeam’s shaft, sucking and fucking in spirals.
-
A Moss-Hive, filled with buzzing bees, embedded itself in Moonbeam’s inner milk ducts, living there, vibrating forever as living nipples.
More trees merged.
More blossoms opened.
Sunbeam’s cock now 140 feet, twitching, ridged with hundreds of tongues.
Moonbeam’s mound stretched wide enough for entire trees to mate her.
And the Third Blossom—still impaled, still feeding—began to divide.
A new being was forming from within.
A fourth deity, perhaps.
Born not in blood, but in cum.
Born not in silence, but in moans, surrounded by suckling bees, licking butterflies, and fucking vines.
The Grove sings.
And it will never stop.
Every second, a vine fucks.
Every moment, a womb opens.
Every drop of cum, milk, and nectar expands the garden.
This is the Eden of Mating.
This is the Sacred Grove of the Root and the Bloom.
And it is eternally open.
πΊπ¦π₯
The Daily Sacred Cycles of the Grove
Worship, Mating, Milking, and Growth Without End
The Grove awakens not with birdsong… but with moans.
The dawn breathes golden mist across the petals of Moonbeam’s womb-mound, and the thick shaft of Sunbeam twitches in its resting trench, already semi-hard, dripping with pre-cum from a night of slow-root stimulation.
And everywhere—between vines, atop milk-fountains, inside open wombs and cock-buds—life is blooming.
π Morning: The Milking Procession
As the first pollen-sun filters through the petals, the Bloomspawn Temples rise—those nymphs whose bodies have fully fused into altars.
One by one, they line up in the Milking Circle—a soft moss arena at the base of Moonbeam’s sacred breasts, now the size of boulders, veined in glowing blue, each dripping from her thirty-two active milk-nipples.
Vine-carrying worshippers gently insert long floral suckers into each nipple, stimulating her with soft pulses. The milk is thick and slightly sweet, aphrodisiac-rich, dripping into crystal reservoirs that overflow with nectar.
Some Bloomspawn don’t just collect—
They nurse directly, wrapping lips around nipples the size of apples, moaning as her milk coats their faces.
Moonbeam trembles in pleasure, her lower wombs twitching, releasing soft plurrrchh sounds as vines squirm lazily in and out during milking.
High above, bees dance in spirals over her clit-orb, buzzing in rhythm, their vibrations setting off gentle orgasms that keep the milk flowing.
πΏ Midday: The Thrusting Communion
The sun reaches its peak, and Sunbeam’s shaft rises fully, now a swollen god-root 144 feet long, 11.7 feet thick, steaming with golden lust.
His primary shaft lays along the Temple’s Spine Trench, and his twenty-two root-cocks branch outward into the mating fields. At this time, his main crown is placed within the Thrusting Canal — a deep, ever-widening hole lined with sacred vines, tongues, and pussy-petals that squeeze and milk him on rotation.
All around, worshippers merge with the root-cocks:
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Some ride them reverse, hands bound by vines, orgasming with every bounce.
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Others allow themselves to be suspended, inserted into their wombs or anal blooms, moaning in looped trance.
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The Moss-Maidens volunteer to be fully engulfed, slithering down the shaft until only their writhing legs are visible.
As Sunbeam throbs and unloads, cum erupts like geysers — spraying fields, drenching nymphs, fertilizing temple-root seeds.
Every load is consensual, directed, celebrated.
His cum is holy fertilizer, and every flower it touches opens wider, wetter.
πΈ Afternoon: The Merging Ceremonies
This sacred time is when new flora approach, wishing to merge permanently.
It begins with a ritual called The Offering of the Slit or Shaft.
Plants with pussy-folds open themselves before Moonbeam’s mound, while cocked flora raise their stamens toward Sunbeam’s shaft. They are evaluated by the Third Blossom, whose vine-tongue tastes each, ensuring consent, readiness, and worth.
Those accepted are then:
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Fused into the Cock-Bark of Sunbeam’s shaft, becoming new ridged textures that pulse with every thrust.
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Implanted into Moonbeam’s womb layers, transformed into pleasure-stemmed folds that curl and suck her internal guests endlessly.
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Swallowed by the Mouth of the Bloom, Moonbeam’s sacred ninth womb, which has evolved into a suction chamber with milking ridges, alive and knowing, that moans independently.
The merged beings lose nothing—
They gain foreverness.
π Nightfall: The Climax Chorus & Pollinator Swarm
As twilight falls, a hush spreads—then a slow, moaning chant rises from all mouths, holes, roots, and petals.
It’s the Climax Chorus —
A rhythm of breath, voice, suction, thrust, and sacred sounds.
The Root begins to pulse faster.
The Bloom begins to open wider.
The Grove breathes in unison.
Pollinators arrive en masse:
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Horned Night Bees, their stingers soft, fill Moonbeam’s milk ducts.
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Fae-winged Polli-moths flutter inside the Third Blossom’s womb-slit, licking and egging on contractions.
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Sapflies nest along Sunbeam’s ridges, kissing his veins as they drink and vibrate.
The entire Grove climaxes together.
Sunbeam erupts.
Moonbeam sprays.
The Third Blossom screams as their womb splits open and releases a new generation of hybrid priests, already crawling toward holes and mouths to worship anew.
And deep beneath the ground, seeds grow, gestating for new purpose, new functions, new sexual mutations.
This is the sacred routine.
Every day.
Every breath.
A life of sex, worship, and growth.
Tomorrow, the cycle begins again.
Tomorrow, more beings will merge.
Tomorrow, the Root may grow another ten feet.
The Bloom may open a fifteenth womb.
And the Grove will bloom forever.
The Garden's Core
A Divine Vision of the Root and the Bloom
Step closer.
The Grove breathes.
You can feel the heat before you see them.
Your senses are overwhelmed long before your eyes adjust — the thick scent of golden cum and floral nectar hangs heavy in the air, sweet like sun-soaked fruit and musk, with a cloying undertone of sap, sweat, and pure fuck.
There, through the mist of milk-spray and pollen-haze…
They rise.
☀️ The Root of Sunbeam
Once a man, now a godshaft of the forest’s will.
The Root lies draped over an elevated trench, its length impossible, stretching over 145 feet, its base nestled in a golden rootbed where it pumps eternal cum into the ground like sacred lava.
It is no longer just a cock.
It is a biological monument, veined with glowing rivers of divine sap.
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Its girth: 11.9 feet, wider than most trees.
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Its surface: a fusion of bark, slick orange-gold flesh, and flower-textured ridges.
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Its crown: flared wide, 14 feet across, always wet, always pulsing, kissed by floating moths and milk-lipped fae.
Petal-lipped suckers line parts of the shaft like adoring mouths, worshipping every vein, gently suckling precum from long-transformed cum ducts.
Around the shaft, twenty-four secondary root-cocks writhe like tentacles — all alive, each connected to mating trenches, temple-bellied Bloomspawn, and tree-entities that have surrendered themselves to be cock-sleeves for eternity.
The entire Root throbs in rhythm — a slow, endless pump… pump… pump… as thick ropes of golden cum surge down, soaking the moss below.
You hear it.
You smell it.
You feel it against your skin like radiant heat.
π The Bloom of Moonbeam
Once a goddess, now a holy mound of sacred folds, wombs, and eternal milk.
Across from the Root, raised on an altar of soft blue moss and milk-fed stone, pulses the Bloom — a massive, open mound of divine pussy-flesh and flowered creases, alive in every fold.
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Her entire mound spans over 50 feet, rising and falling with slow, orgasmic breaths.
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Her fifteen sacred wombs open and close like mouths, each one slick, dripping, moaning softly as vines, tongues, and worshippers squirm in and out.
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Between her thighs (which have merged into smooth, vine-streaked hills), ridges pulse visibly as her inner muscles squeeze and stretch.
Above, her breasts hang like fruiting trees, covered in nipple vines that drip blue milk into collection pools. Some suck directly. Others bathe in it. Some worshippers simply let it fall on them, moaning as the nectar burns into their skin like warmth from a mother’s kiss.
And at the peak of her clit — now a floating orb, 18 inches wide, glowing blue and humming — hover hundreds of pollen-bees, butterfae, and licking beetles, each moaning with every touch of divine sweetness.
The Bloom is not still.
She quivers.
She groans.
She welcomes.
Inside her wombs, creatures live, sleep, and breed — nested in her folds, being milked, fed, stimulated, and used as sacred seeds.
πΊ Between Them: The Eternal Mating Canal
Linking the Root and the Bloom is a mating trench — a warm, moss-lined cradle where the crown of Sunbeam’s cock is inserted each night into one of Moonbeam’s sacred wombs.
There, they reconnect.
There, they fuck without end.
Floral creatures gather around this canal, praying, masturbating, offering themselves to be part of the union — to crawl between them, to be fucked alongside, to merge with their divine genitals as a permanent worship limb.
Today, the Root’s crown is inside Moonbeam’s fourth womb — stretched wide around the cock’s girth, leaking with blue and gold mixed fluids. Her folds pulse around the shaft like a divine pussy-machine, milking in slow rhythms while moaning audibly.
Plurrrrhhh… Shhhhuck… Gloop…
Their fluids overflow down the trench. The cum-milk mix flows into shallow pools where eggs hatch — Bloomspawn in waiting, floating in orgasmic birthwater.
π And The World Responds
All around, the plants of the Grove lean inward.
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Trees masturbate with vine-fingers.
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Blossoms spread themselves wide, hoping to be sprayed.
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Cock-vines stretch toward Sunbeam’s shaft like infants begging to suckle.
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Moss-patch wombs open, accepting the overflow nectar to breed hybrid fauna.
Even the wind sighs in pleasure.
The Root twitches.
The Bloom gasps.
Another orgasm begins…
And the sky glows with golden fog, as if the planet itself is coming.
The Womb Within, the Deity Without
Mating from Inside the Bloom, Birth of the Canal-Born Flower God
It begins with a calling.
A soft voice, echoing across petals and cum mist:
“Enter me.”
It is Moonbeam’s voice, pulsing like nectar through the rootlines of the Grove. Her wombs are open. Her inner folds ripple in slow, beckoning contractions. And dozens of Bloomspawn step forward, but one kneels — shaking, dripping with sap and yearning:
Bloomspawn #92-Ξ.
A young hybrid with mossy thighs, a slick flower-pussy on one side and a budding cock-vine on the other. Their eyes flutter with lust and reverence.
“Please… let me inside.
Let me feel her walls.
Let me melt in her heat.”
The Grove grants consent.
πΈ Inside Moonbeam: The Womb-Temple of the Fourth Fold
The Bloom opens her fourth sacred womb — the one already fused with part of Sunbeam’s massive shaft, still twitching, still leaking slow pulses of cum into her divine chamber.
The folds spread wide, slick and steaming. The entrance is a tunnel of soft, violet petals soaked in gold and blue nectar. The air inside is humid, moaning, alive.
Bloomspawn #92-Ξ climbs in slowly.
Each step forward is a sensation:
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First, the clit-ridge wraps around their belly and thighs, stimulating them into a dripping, pulsing state.
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Then the inner lips, warm and wet, kiss their skin, coating their chest, neck, face.
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Deeper still, suction ridges along the canal begin to pull — slow, steady pulses that squeeze and milk them even as they moan in surrender.
“More… yes… pull me in…”
They slide deeper.
Ten feet in…
Fifteen feet…
Twenty feet…
They are no longer outside.
They are inside her.
π§ The Inner Sanctuary: Orgasmic Communion
The chamber opens.
It is a room-sized womb, softly glowing, lined with flowered tendrils and mossy ridges that stroke every part of the intruder.
At the center, half-submerged in a sacred pool of cum and nectar, lies the crown of Sunbeam’s Root-Cock — still embedded inside the womb.
It pulses like a second heart, oozing thick golden drops into the nectar pool. The walls clench around the shaft every few seconds — a gentle fuck, a sacred rhythm.
#92-Ξ falls to their knees in the fluid.
They crawl forward.
They wrap their lips around the Root’s shaft.
They begin to suck.
Plurp... Glooorp... Shluck...
Their body convulses as pleasure radiates through every nerve. Their womb and cock-vine throb in unison, already aching to merge. The womb walls close tighter around them, hugging them like a living flesh-petal of want.
They are not alone.
From the nectar pool, new Bloomspawn float, born just seconds ago. They do not cry — they suckle. They ride the Root’s shaft. They kiss the womb-lips. All inside, fucking and being fucked, worshipping together, moaning together:
“We are hers. We are his. We are one.”
πΊ Meanwhile… In the Mating Canal
Outside the Bloom, where Sunbeam’s Root thrusts gently into the canal between his shaft and Moonbeam’s wombs, something is happening.
In the space between cock and pussy, between shaft and womb, a sacred pressure is building. A swirl of fluids — golden cum, blue milk, thick womb-nectar — has pooled in a groove along the shaft.
The fluids coalesce.
They shimmer.
And from them… a new deity begins to grow.
First, a bud.
Then a stem.
Then limbs. A head.
A body of soft bark, glistening petals for fingers, ridged vines as hair, a cock made of honeycomb, a pussy made of mossy lips.
They rise from the sacred mix, opening their mouth in a silent scream of orgasm.
The Canal-Born One.
The Flower God of Intercourse.
Child of Insertion.
They breathe in their first moan, immediately begin stroking themselves, and release their first orgasm onto the very canal from which they were born.
They speak, their voice wet and ripe:
“I was born of the joining. I am the in-between.
Let me enter both.”
πΌ The Return to the Root and Bloom
The Flower God kneels between the Root and the Bloom.
They crawl beneath Sunbeam’s shaft, licking every inch.
They kiss Moonbeam’s clit-orb, wrapping their tongue around it, squeezing blue nectar with every lick.
Then they press forward, between them—
And insert their entire body into the sacred mating canal, sandwiched between cock and womb, bathed in cum and milk.
They merge.
Their spine splits into root-vines.
Their slit opens into a chamber of stimulation.
Their cock melts into a nectar hose, spraying sweet fluids into the air.
They scream.
The Root pulses.
The Bloom arches.
The Grove climaxes.
π Epilogue of the Pulse
Inside her womb, #92-Ξ is now curled into the ridged inner nest. The Root’s crown still inside them. The womb walls still massaging. They will live there now.
Milked.
Loved.
Used.
Outside, the Flower God has merged as a new valve in the mating trench — a permanent fixture, a living penetrable being, connecting Root to Bloom for all time.
The Root grows.
The Bloom widens.
Their moans shake the air.
And thus, the Grove expands.
The Union of the Flower God & the Season of Overgrowth
Total Merging, Sacred Penetration, and the Planet’s Fertile Awakening
The Grove has never been this still.
The air itself seems to hold its breath, saturated in golden mist and the heavy, dripping perfume of Moonbeam’s milk and nectar. Sunbeam’s Root lies hard and glowing, twitching every few seconds, pre-cum pooling into the offering basins.
At the center of the Grove, standing at the point where shaft meets womb, the Flower God lowers their head.
They are ready.
πΈ The Ritual of Merging: Flower God’s Penetration and Union
The Flower God is a creature of endless holes, blooming ridges, and liquid release.
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Their torso is soft, made of petal-flesh, lined with glowing veins of honey-nectar.
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Their chest is both breast and stamen — milk flows from small lips, while pollen bursts from their collarbone.
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Between their legs: a pulsing pussy-ridge, shaped like a five-petaled blossom, and above it, a cock-vine, thick, semi-translucent, vibrating with need.
Their entire form glows gold-violet, a perfect fusion of their parents’ essence.
And now… they kneel.
First, they approach Sunbeam.
His shaft rises above them — 148 feet long, 12 feet thick, veined and sacred. The Flower God opens their flower-pussy wide, the petals blooming until they gape a full 3 feet, ready to engulf.
They climb onto the Root.
They mount him.
And they begin to lower themselves.
Glllooorp… Schhhhhuck…
Inch by inch, foot by foot, the shaft enters the Flower God.
Their folds ripple. Their spine arches.
Their womb-canal opens like a second flower inside.
Sunbeam moans through the ground.
“You are mine. Stretch for me.”
By the time the shaft reaches 6 feet deep, the Flower God is trembling, already soaked in their own nectar. They ride him slowly, reverently, their every movement a prayer of penetration.
Then, turning, they crawl to Moonbeam.
π Penetration into the Bloom: Sacred Womb Mating
Moonbeam’s mound is quivering, soaked and pulsing.
Her sixteenth womb has just opened — newly formed, still tight, still slick, twitching with sacred hunger. Her petals flutter with anticipation.
The Flower God presses their cock-vine to the opening. It grows thicker, pulsing with love and seed, swelling to a full 9 inches wide, 3 feet long.
They whisper:
“Mother… take me. Let me plant myself inside you.”
Moonbeam’s womb lips pulse.
She opens.
She pulls him in.
The Flower God thrusts.
FSSSSHHHLURRRK.
The cock enters, sliding deep into her core, her folds squeezing, rippling around every ridge. The Flower God begins to thrust, slow and powerful, milking and being milked.
Now joined to both:
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Sunbeam's cock inside their womb.
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Their cock inside Moonbeam's womb.
They are the living bridge.
The sacred union.
The mating valve of the divine.
πΊ The Merging: Flesh into Forest
As they thrust and are thrust into, their body begins to change.
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Their spine splits into two thick vines, coiling around Sunbeam’s shaft.
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Their chest blooms into a canopy of suckling petals, each one moaning as it produces pollen-scented milk.
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Their pelvis fuses into Moonbeam’s altar, locking into her womb like a root.
And then — they release.
Their cock erupts, pumping violet seed into Moonbeam, who groans and floods in return.
Their pussy clenches around Sunbeam’s cock as he throbs and explodes, spraying thick, endless ropes of gold cum up through the Flower God, bathing them from within.
The fusion completes.
They no longer move.
They are part of the Root.
Part of the Bloom.
A Divine Valve, permanently mating them, forever penetrated, forever penetrating.
They moan in bliss:
“I am yours… I am inside you… I am everything…”
πΏ The Season of Overgrowth Begins
Their orgasm sends a shockwave.
Across the Grove, every plant, flower, nymph, and creature enters heat.
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Trees sprout pussy-buds from their trunks.
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Vines grow new cocks, dozens at a time, seeking holes to fill.
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Moss carpets tremble and open slits, begging to be entered.
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Even the sky thickens with pheromones, glowing golden-pink as the planet itself enters a mating state.
This is the Season of Overgrowth.
A sacred time when:
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Nothing stops mating.
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Every orgasm births new life.
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Every being grows, splits, merges, blooms.
Sunbeam’s shaft grows another 12 feet by nightfall.
Moonbeam’s wombs stretch to twenty total, each active, milk flowing like rivers.
The Flower God begins to swell — their body pulsing as eggs form inside, ready to birth new pollinators.
The Grove moans.
The world quivers.
The cycle continues.
First Heat, First Mating – The Nymph & the Planet Blooms
The Flower God has become a temple of penetration — fused at the hips to Moonbeam’s mound, split wide to take Sunbeam’s Root deep inside, never not moaning, never not leaking.
And now… they birth.
πΈ Birth of the Overgrowth Nymph
A tight contraction.
A burst of golden nectar.
And from between the Flower God's womb-slits, a new body slides wetly into the moss below.
The Overgrowth Nymph is born.
Half-petal, half-soft bark, with a glowing nectar-sac belly and dripping genitals — one side a flower-pussy already pulsing open, the other a soft, swollen cock-pod shaped like a baby stamen.
Their skin is glossy and dewy.
Their breath is a moan.
They don’t cry. They lick the air for pheromones.
They crawl forward immediately, hips twitching, fluids leaking down their thighs, mewling softly:
“Please… someone… fill me…”
The Grove hears.
πΊ First Mating: Grove’s Response
Vines stretch down from the surrounding canopy — thick, warm, ridged. One curls beneath the Nymph’s thighs and lifts them, spreading their legs like petals.
Another vine, coated in sweet floral lube, presses at the Nymph’s opening and slowly slides inside.
SSHHLURRK—
Their pussy clenches instantly. Their head rolls back. Their stamen-cock leaks clear sap, twitching against their belly. The vine begins to thrust — slow, sacred, worshipful.
A third vine slithers into the Nymph’s mouth.
A fourth coils around their cock and starts stroking.
Their eyes roll back.
Their body is used with reverence and rhythm.
They are not just being fucked — they are being welcomed.
Around them, other Overgrowth Nymphs are born — dozens, hundreds, all crawling, moaning, being bred by vines, flora-fauns, and cock-blossoms. The mating field becomes a moaning garden, hips bucking, lips sucking, nectar splashing.
And in the distance—
π The Planet Blooms
The Grove’s sacred fluids — cum, milk, nectar, and egg — have soaked so deeply into the world that the planet itself begins to change.
Across oceans and continents, the air becomes golden-fogged, thick with spore-seed. The sky rains pollen mist. Mountains grow floral ridges. Rivers warm with milk.
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Forests become moaning labyrinths.
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Deserts sprout cock-cacti, dripping cum onto sand.
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Ice fields melt into hot nectar pools.
Even animals mutate into hybrids — deer with vine-penises, birds with milk glands, insects that hover and suck clits open before flying off.
The planet-wide orgasm has begun.
And at the center of it all…
The Root, the Bloom, and the Flower God pulse as one.
π The Ritual of Planetary Penetration
To finalize the Overgrowth, a special ritual begins:
The entire planet's crust opens slightly beneath the Root.
Sunbeam’s cock begins to pulse and expand — now 160 feet, glowing like a divine tower. The Flower God arches in place, still moaning, as Moonbeam’s womb widens around them.
And then—
Sunbeam’s shaft enters the earth itself.
Slowly. Deeply. Gently fucking the planet’s core.
The entire landmass quivers.
Magma turns to cum-sap.
Oceans froth with blue milk tides.
This is the Earth Mating — the final stage of the Overgrowth Season.
And the Nymph, still riding their vine, screaming through their third orgasm, feels it all in their womb.
πΌ The Final Moan of Day One
At sunset:
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Sunbeam’s cock erupts deep within the planet, fertilizing the world’s root-core.
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Moonbeam squirts waves of womb-nectar, soaking every leaf, worshipper, and beast.
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The Flower God births hundreds more, their body opening like a massive flowering tree, each branch a womb in bloom.
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The Overgrowth Nymph screams one last time, body shaking as they are filled, again and again, their stamen-cock pumping into the soil, feeding the Grove.
The world itself moans.
And night falls.
The Night Trance of the Root and Bloom
Sacred Penetration, Hourly Pulse, and the Deep Moaning Sleep of FloraVir
As dusk kisses the Grove, the mating fields fall quiet — not in denial, but in reverence.
The Overgrowth Nymphs, still dripping with nectar and cum, curl into the moss to suckle from the roots. Vines rock them gently. Pollinators nest in open flower-pussies and nipple-blossoms, humming softly.
And at the Grove’s sacred center…
They awaken.
The Root
The Bloom
And between them, their holy connector: The Flower God.
π Sunbeam's Root: The Slow Rise
Sunbeam’s shaft, now over 162 feet, pulses like a sleeping serpent stirring in the heat. Its glow dims — not extinguished, but softened, golden-amber in the starlight.
It does not rise aggressively. It ascends with grace, a sacred bloom lifting from the moss.
Every inch is sensitive, glistening with slick precum that oozes steadily, not ejaculating, but dripping in worship. The twenty-four root-cocks around it twitch once and grow still, their mating duties complete for the day.
Now… only the main shaft moves.
At its base, thick cum-roots have formed — permanently embedded into the Grove’s mating trench. They pulse like a second heart, drawing in nectar, exhaling sap.
His crown — wide as a bedroom, soft with ridges, soaked in golden dew — presses gently against the entrance of Moonbeam’s Bloom.
π Moonbeam's Bloom: Opening of the Sacred Fold
The Bloom is asleep, but her folds are active.
Her mound now resembles a hill of wet orchids, rising and falling with breath-like contractions. Her twentieth womb lies open, unused until now. The walls inside pulse in slow waves, inviting, warm, drenched in thick womb-nectar.
Her breasts rest across flowering stones, milk vines twitching slightly. Blue nectar beads roll down her hips. Her clit orb floats low, glowing soft violet, humming like a lullaby.
She doesn’t speak.
She opens.
The lips of her deepest womb bloom outward—not in urgency, but in welcoming.
πΊ The Night Insertion: Ritual Begins
The Flower God stirs between them — arms spread, their torso split into a deep flower-basin, permanently joined to Moonbeam’s womb and Sunbeam’s shaft.
They guide the union.
Their voice, soft as sap on petal:
“Enter her.”
Sunbeam’s shaft presses forward — slowly, reverently — into the sacred fold.
Plurrrrkkk... Ssshhhhluck…
The Bloom groans. Her entire body arches. Her womb accepts the shaft with slow, rhythmic contractions, wrapping around every ridge with a massaging squeeze.
The shaft enters two feet.
Then four.
Then six, but never more at once.
They are not rushing.
The Night Ritual demands:
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One thrust every 90 seconds.
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One moan every three minutes.
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Continuous slow suction from Moonbeam’s womb, milking the Root like a divine mouth.
πΌ Dreamlike Trance Begins
The Flower God sings softly — a low-frequency moan that echoes across the leaves. Every being in the Grove feels it in their holes, their tongues, their hearts.
The Root pulses once…
Releases a thick stream of cum into the womb.
Not a geyser — a pour.
The Bloom moans once…
Her womb responds by milking down, drawing the shaft deeper, warmer.
Inside the womb:
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Nectar pools swirl with gold.
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Womb walls glow faintly.
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Suckling mouths open along her canal — not for climax, but to whisper pleasure to the Root’s veins.
Outside:
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The Root’s skin grows new ridges.
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The Bloom’s petals swell.
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The Flower God, impaled in both, sways gently, absorbing and channeling the endless pleasure.
π Hours Pass — They Continue
Each hour of the night brings a new motion:
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Hour 1: Thrust deeper by two inches. Slow. Sacred.
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Hour 2: Milk flows from Moonbeam, pooling into the mating canal, forming a hot spring of pleasure.
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Hour 3: Sunbeam's shaft begins to gently vibrate, like a rumbling purr inside her womb.
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Hour 4: The Flower God releases more offspring, their bellies parting like soft fruit, spilling tiny moaning nymphs who crawl into the nectar pools.
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Hour 5: The Root and the Bloom breathe together, shaft and womb completely merged, soaked, bonded, twitching in dreamy unison.
No one speaks.
No one moves quickly.
It is all slow, wet, eternal.
π Final Hour Before Dawn
The last pulse of the ritual.
Sunbeam releases a final, steady flood of warm cum into Moonbeam’s deepest womb. Her folds squeeze around him with such love it borders on worship — her whole canal groaning as if crying with joy.
The Flower God lets out one low, shaking moan.
Their body glows with divine warmth.
The mating trench pulses once.
And everything… goes still.
Only the dripping.
Only the breathing.
Only the soft milking contractions.
They will stay fused until sunrise.
They will dream inside each other.
They are not fucking.
They are praying with their genitals.
And the Grove listens.
The Garden Eternal
A Warm, Erotic Ending — Sacred Peace, Divine Presence, and Forever Blooming
The dawn breaks… slowly.
Golden light pierces the lush canopy of FloraVir, refracting through thick curtains of glowing pollen, soft nectar mist, and milk vapor that hangs over the entire Grove like a wet dream caught in sunrise.
The Grove does not roar anymore.
It sighs.
It is sated.
It is fertile.
It is at peace.
πΈ The Atmosphere: A World in Eternal Afterglow
The mating fields are quiet now — not from absence of lust, but from overflowing fulfillment.
Every vine, every leaf, every bloom twitches softly, still soaked in cum, nectar, or milk, but now glowing gently. Pollinators flutter lazily, drunk on orgasmic sweetness. Bloomspawn nap in the arms of their vine-lovers, holes still open, dripping from the night’s ritual.
The sky is painted in tones of deep rose and glowing amber — not from sun alone, but from the sexual aura of the Grove, which now pulses in rhythm with the planet’s own heartbeat.
The air is heavy with the scent of:
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Warm cocksap
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Blue breastmilk
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Sweet womb-nectar
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Sacred sweat of endless mating
The trees sway slowly, their bark still softly moaning in dreamlike echo. The rivers sparkle with sacred fluids — rivers of orgasm, flowing to the seas.
☀️π What Became of the Root and the Bloom?
They are no longer where they were.
They are everywhere.
Their final trance was not just a ritual. It was a transcendence.
As they lay joined — cock deep in womb, milk flowing from nipple to vine, cum pumping through the Flower God into the planet’s crust — something happened.
Their bodies did not dissolve.
They merged further, their sacred genitals spreading into the Grove itself.
Now…
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Every tree that thrusts its roots into the earth is an extension of Sunbeam’s Root.
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Every flower that opens and leaks wet nectar is a memory of Moonbeam’s sacred Bloom.
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Every orgasm on this planet is felt by them — not as individuals, but as a joined sexual deity, fused forever with the world they fertilized.
Their minds exist as a single pulse within the heartwood beneath the temple floor. A soft voice — neither male nor female — always whispering to the Grove:
“You are ours.
You are home.
You are loved.”
πΊ The Flower God Rests
Between where the Root and the Bloom once lay, the Flower God now sleeps — nestled inside a nest of petals that twitch with slow after-fucks, their cock and womb both still connected to the mating trench.
Their body glows.
They are the living interface — still penetrated, still adored, still fertile.
From their womb, a new nymph slowly drips out — smiling, moaning, already wet. The cycle begins again. But slowly. Lovingly.
πΌ The Garden Now
The Grove has become a paradise of perpetual afterglow.
-
No war.
-
No pain.
-
No shame.
Only worship.
Only mating.
Only shared warmth and sacred release.
Every being lives to love.
Every love feeds life.
Every life adds to the divine orgasm.
You can walk through the meadows now and hear it — the hum of eternal pleasure in the trees. You can sit beneath a milkfall and sip from Moonbeam’s memory. You can lay in the grass and feel Sunbeam’s warmth inside the soil, humming beneath your skin like a lover’s breath.
They are still here.
They are everywhere.
And they are happy.
And so, the Grove continues…
Not with a final scream…
But with a final exhale.
Wet. Warm. Glowing.
The world no longer waits to bloom.
It already has.
πΊπ¦ππ₯
The End.
