1. The Tegmen Flower (The Fluff)
Withania was sitting in front of an enormous plant situated in the corner of her vegetable garden, biting her lower lip slightly in anticipation. The plant was the size of an upturned cart, a stem the size of a small tree trunk flanked by broad leaves that were two or three feet wide and nearly twice as long, all overshadowed by a single flower the size of an armchair at the top with golden yellow petals that overlapped like petticoats of a ballgown, showing slivers of their pure white underside.
It was morning, and the sun was bright, but not yet hot, creating Withania’s favourite time of the day. Later on this spot of her garden would fall into the shadow of one of the large green houses that occupied the majority of her yard, but for now her beautiful creation stood proudly drinking in the solar rays.
This amazonian sized sample was the product of several seasons of work that had commenced after a lucky discovery in the Everfree forest, all of which were documented in a diary left on her workbench titled; “Tegmen flower, Magnus”
Entry 1 – On my way home from a herb delivery in the Everfree forest I had a chance encounter with the most unusual plant I’ve ever seen. It is a simple, single-headed flower with a large stem and broad, linear leaves that peel back from the stem. What initially caught my eye was its strikingly warm honey coloured petals, but on closer inspection I noticed that it had a surprisingly small stigma at its centre and curly, tendril-like stamen that seem much too small for the overall size of the flower. A sweet aroma floats around the flower, and I found that the upward facing side of the petals are steeped in a rich honey-like nectar, giving the flower its colour.
As I observed the plant, a humble bee graced us with its presence by landing on the flower. This demonstrated the remarkable strength of the stem, which barely moved under the weight of the insect crashing into it. With the stigma being so small, I wondered what the bee would hang on to, and I saw that it was sitting on the petals getting positively covered in nectar like an indulgent mud bath on a spa day.
To my astonishment, the flower began to close upon the hapless bee! It was not the quick, decisive motion of a flytrap, but a slow and almost lazy contraction back into a bud, trapping the bee inside. Either the bee was not aware of what was happening, or it was too distracted by the abundant supply nectar it had discovered – and there must have been a significant amount of nectar, as it was visibly seeping from between the petals as the flower bud tightened shut.
Curious as to the bee’s fate – as I must confess I have a morbid fascination with carnivorous plants – I waited for about twenty minutes to see if anything else would happen, but there was no visible change from the outside. Careful not to disturb the flower or its occupant I dug the entire plant up and placed it in a sapling bag for transport home, whereupon I repotted it and observed it for a further six hours.
After this wait the flower began to bloom once again – opening up as if the sun had just risen. I fully expected the bee to be no more, and was astonished to see that it was very much alive and well. It moved about as if stunned, and after a short while spread its wings and buzzed away, presumably to seek its home. It seemed none the worse for wear, begging the question; If the plant was not intending to consume the insect, why attract and trap it?
The vacant flower is now pure white, with beautiful stripes highlighting the sturdier veins of the petals, the stamen are either gone or seem to have receded into the stem, and the nectar is also gone, leaving the flower smooth and dry. It is quite beautiful, seeming to have undergone its own transformation like a caterpillar in a cocoon. I am alight with curiosity to better understand this amazing specimen.
Entry 2 – A plant that behaves as if it were carnivorous but without the awkward side-effect of death ignites a great desire of mine. The problem is that even among the carnivorous species there is nothing large enough to indulge a pony. And so I have myself a challenge. Many of the plants and specimens in my greenhouses are larger than their native species due to my daily work with them – bigger plants bring bigger yields. But I have never deliberately attempted to grow anything up to an enormous size.
I can use a growing potion to immediately increase the size of the Tegmen flower (as this is what I have named the plant) but giant plants are not that simple. As mass increases, so does weight, and the corresponding structural strength of the plant will fall out of balance, causing potentially catastrophic problems. But if I were to combine a growing potion with my natural earth pony magic, theoretically the sky would be the limit.
With Earth Pony magic, plants grow naturally stronger and fuller. They also grow faster, but without the instantaneous results a growing potion would yield. Earth pony magic is a strange entity, being passive in nature. I cannot speak an incantation or wave my hooves around, but through my loving attention my plants display remarkable health and potency compared to any control specimens left to their own devices.
I believe that a drip-fed potion combined with my own brand of TLC could, in time, grow a monstrously large specimen of the Tegmen. Big enough to hold a pony perhaps…
Entry 3 – Checkpoint update. I have, through accelerated growth and twice daily attention, cultivated two further generations of the Tegmen. The second generation (with the original being the first) was noticeably larger than its parent. Nothing that could be experimented with, but evidence that my growing method is not damaging to the plant. The flower shows no signs of extraneous growth on other plants that I have in the past attempted to grow at two or three times the natural speed. This means that I can easily increase the dosage of growing potion and also my own care. I have now cultivated several specimens, which I can crossbreed to further increase the size of the next generations – although this level of growth that I am attempting is getting increasingly ambitious, and I may need to reduce the number of plants as I go to ensure I can maintain full attention.
The third generation of the plant is where things are getting interesting. It is large enough, and strong enough, to hold a small rodent. I have ‘procured’ a field mouse I discovered merrily chewing through my supply shed and I will ‘feed’ it to the plant.
It pains me to perform animal testing of this ilk, but all of my observations and knowledge of the plant to date lead me to believe that Mr Whiskers will come to no harm during his stay. If anything I am rather jealous, and would gladly take his place. But the Tegmen is not ready for me. The best I can do is verify that its remarkable behaviour is not being diluted by my meddling.
Entry 4 – Mr Whiskers has survived his stay inside the flower. Interestingly it lasted longer longer (approximately 10 hours) than the insect-class flower, so it would seem that some of the plant’s aspects are being scaled up.
My test subject seems to be in a perfect state of health, exiting the flower in a daze, but with a furry coat looking like the finest veterinarians in the land had lavished their attention upon him. He was not even keen to escape, despite me making no effort to contain him.
Additionally, the Tegmen flower post-bloom is now the most beautiful specimen I have yet seen, noticeably more vibrant (if one could refer to a white flower as vibrant) than its siblings in the control group that were hand pollinated, rather than fed. This confirms my suspicion that the plant does gain some kind of boost or sustenance from its guests, although since I am not a biologist I cannot examine my test subject to determine exactly what happened. Nor am I brave enough to ask a scientist for laboratory equipment that would allow me to see what is happening inside the bud during pollination. I can’t believe that an animal squirming around inside the bud is a more effective pollinator than my pollon probe carefully transporting pollen from the stamen to the stigma in the most thorough way I can, so something more must be occurring.
Entry 5 – The size of the Tegmen specimens is now as such that I have narrowed the next generations down to pairs, with all spare examples now in the control group, which is not being fed the growing potion to slow them down to the point where they do not require daily care. If something happens to my experimental specimens, I will only lose one generation at worst, as I can simply begin feeding one of the control plants.
As the plant gets bigger, so do the effects of my accelerated growth plan. The first few generations were increasing in size by inches, but I am now working on a scale of feet. I think the fifth generation is going to big enough, and I will most likely grow just one of them for now. I’ll have to dedicate an entire plot of the garden for it as it is.
It’s hard to believe that it’s gone this far. I’m not sure if I really thought this was going to happen at the start of the project, but seeing the fourth generation being large enough to hold a cat or even a dog I can no longer avoid the truth. I am growing a gigantic plant big enough to envelop a pony and I’m going to feed myself to it.
2. Into Stasis (The Interesting Bit)
Withania stood up in front of the Magnus Tegmen flower and gave a snort of determination. It was time. She was ready. She was going to give herself to this plant and it would return her about half a day later – if the estimates held true – and bloom into its beautiful second-stage.
She walked up to the trunk-size stem of the plant, as thick as the barrel of her chest and rubbed her neck against it longingly. It was rough, but softened by fibrous hairs that flowed up to the neck of the flower above her head. The leaves were strong enough to bear her weight – she could lay in one if she wanted – but her sights were elsewhere, high up in the heart of the flower, ready to be its captive.
And as she looked dreamily up at the white underside of the huge petals, between the gaps of the leaves supporting the bowl of the flower, it suddenly occurred to her that she had no idea how she was going to get up there.
This glaring oversight in her months of planning struck through her reverie like a bolt of lightning and she scrunched her muzzle in annoyance. The flower was about six feet up in the air, not a huge height, but its wide open petals overhung the stem far too much to have been able to climb it. Plus, she didn’t want to risk damaging it. She still didn’t know how strong it really was, and she couldn’t bear the thought of destructive testing on something she’d put so much love into.
Stepladder, she thought, looking at the larger greenhouse behind her. She turned and walked around to the entrance, head down and tail low to cover her now slightly dampened anticipation. The workbench where she had spent hours studying the Tegmen was mostly clear, except for her notes and an emergency letter explaining what she was going to do. Just in case. She had told everyone she was spending the weekend away, so she had at least three days before anyone would miss her, and then the letter would explain everything should someone come looking. This would cost her all of her pride, but that was better than accidently dying in a giant plant.
Withania found the stepladder and shrugged it onto her back, poking her head between the rungs to stop it falling, and trotted back outside into the cool morning air. With a practiced motion she nudged the ladder upright with her head, letting the two halfs fall open and self-balance. Now she was ready. Again.
She climbed the step ladder, carefully balancing her weight so as not to wobble, and peered into the open bowl of the flower. Her face was softly illuminated by the warm golden glow of the yellow top side of the petals, glistening with what she knew would be sweet nectar. Being careful to remain steady on the ladder she used one hoof to press against the underside of the flower, making sure it really would bear her weight, but she could barely move it. It really was as strong as it was large.
“Okay Withania,” said the earth pony to herself, “Be the Bee.”
Shifting her weight she placed both forehooves onto the petals near the neck of the flower, feeling them immediately slip on the slick coating of nectar, and flopped down on her front. Pushing with her hind legs, she managed to wriggle the bulk of her weight onto the plant– unbalancing the stepladder and knocking it over. She instinctively scrabbled slightly before managing to get her rump over the edge and into the flower – feeling about as graceful as a dog falling into a river – and she was in.
She craned her neck over the edge to confirm that the ladder had fallen over, which it definitely had. Still, she wasn’t all that high up – she could make the jump to ground level if she had to.
Hooves slipping on the moist petals, drawing lines in the paper thin coating of nectar, she scuffled into a sitting position and paused for breath. She’d made it. She’d grown a giant sized flower and was now sitting in it.
“C’mon girl,” she said, rubbing the nearest petal with her hoof, “Mama’s here. This is the bit where you close up.”
Nothing happened. Maybe it wasn’t going to work this time? She hadn’t done any control tests with the fifth generation Tegmen, she’d gone all-in on this specimen, banking on her previous tests on the smaller generations to hold true.
Well, she thought to herself, laying back on the petal so that her coat became thoroughly covered with sticky nectar, It is rather nice up here. I’m in a giant flower, I’m already messy, I’m high up off the ground, and no one’s going to disturb me. May as well enjoy myself…
Withania arranged her hind legs on either side of the stigma so that they pressed lightly into the neck of the flower in a pool of nectar, and brought one forehoof to her mouth, tasting it on her tongue. It was sweet like an exotic fruit, sticky, but not quite as viscous as honey. She shifted her back slightly so she wasn’t crushing any stamen and looked up into the sky, idly licking her hoof. She kept sliding down the petals, and finally got into such a position that the short stigma in the very centre was pressing into her crotch.
Falling into a dirty reverie she propped herself up slightly, and gently guided the stigma into the nectar-lubricated folds of her own flower. Her new found toy was stiff, being an extension of the flower itself, but it deformed just enough that she could slowly begin to take it inside of her passage, her legs sliding more firmly into the neck of the flower so that the nectar pool was up to her cutie marks.
Her breath quickened as she began to gently ease herself up and down. She wasn’t sure if this was what she intended to do here, but it was happening and she wanted to roll with it. She placed one hoof on the button guarding her pussy, spread open by the flower, and swirled the other hoof on the glazed petals before licking it clean again.
Withania’s hind legs were not stuck, but she’d gotten them pleasantly lodged in place so that she was no longer laying on the petal, but perched – or nearly impaled – on the stigma. With the stigma deep inside her, she felt like she was an extension of the flower, the missing piece. The tendril-like stamen surrounding her curled inwards, wrapping around the curves of her thighs, her flank and her front-left hoof, not tightly, but holding her up, securing her in place.
Over the rush of her heartbeat and the lewd squelch of the nectar around her intimates, Withania’s ears picked up a faint rustle, and from the corner of her eye she saw the petals of the flower beginning to shift, tips curling up, sides overlapping as the plant began to close. Was this what it had waited for? It certainly wasn’t what her test subjects had done, but she didn’t care, her Tegmen flower certainly didn’t seem to mind what she was doing.
“That’s it, that’s it…” she panted, increasing her rythamn, “Take me, I’m yours…”
She tasted the sweet nectar on her hoof one more time and then lowered it to stroke the gently swaying stamen. She knew she’d be getting more of the nectar soon enough, and the stamen were clearly looking for contact with their guest. No sooner did she touch them before they curled around her foreleg, guiding it slightly behind the shoulder to help keep her upright.
As the rising petals reached eye-level, cutting off the view of the garden and the town beyond, her world turned dazzlingly yellow as the flower caught the bright sunshine overhead and bathed her in a golden glow – and then she came.
Her love-tunnel twitched and contracted, causing her body to settle deeper into the flower, and her love juices seeped out to mingle with the steadily rising nectar pooling above her hips. She was momentarily exhausted, her rocking motions slowing down, but as the flower closed around her, the neck had opened up a little further, enabling her to sink lower. The stigma slowly pressed deeper into her body, filling her out in a way that not even a sex toy could accomplish, beyond what she would normally dare attempt.
The nectar-greased petals closed like an aperture over her head, leaving Withania in a golden twilight that made the outside world seem much quieter and farther away. Sensing her relax after the climax the tendril stamen of the flower mimicked her body’s release of tension and also relaxed, still curling against her body, but no longer holding on, leaving her free to move her forelegs again.
The air inside the flower was quickly heating up, a mixture of the sun’s rays on the outside of the flower and her own overheated breath – but the slowly rising pool of nectar was cool, sapping the heat off of her coat. She explored her new chamber with one hoof. There wasn’t enough room lift her foreleg high – the walls of her enclosure were each about half a foot from her sides – however she could rub the petals reassuringly, feeling their silky smoothness against her hoof, and then her skin as she rubbed her face against them.
There was no part of her not covered in the sticky fluid now. Even if she hadn’t been deliberately spreading it across her body the threads dripping from the petal roof would have finished her coat. She wasn’t actually sure what came next. The flower had closed, and wouldn’t open for many hours yet. The nectar would continue to rise, probably to nearly the top by her reckoning. She decided to check in on the lower half of her body below the fluid line. Her sex was still impaled on the stigma, where she intended to leave it, and her hind legs were enveloped in the base of the petals. She had a small amount of movement down there, but she could feel a vacuum form when she tried to move, as if she were stuck in quicksand.
On closer inspection, she noticed her joints were at odd angles. Her hips should not have been able to rest at this extension without great pain and she realised her fetlocks down in the neck of the flower were just as bent. Probing with her forehoves, she carefully rubbed her cutie marks. Everything felt normal – amazing in fact, given her sense of fullness – but her body was softening in the nectar. She stretched her shoulders backwards and the same thing happened, the joints moved far beyond what she was used to, resulting in the most satisfying stretch she’d ever exerted.
Biting her lip with dirty thoughts again, Withania twisted slightly, feeling the stigma move deep inside her. She had thought that it was as deep as she’d manage, but now… she flexed her rump and drew a sharp breath as felt her pussy open up even further, accepting even more of the stigma inside. It felt up to the top of her abdomen now, past her centre of gravity, stretching her out in ways she never thought possible. With renewed energy, her forehoof went back to work at her clit, stoking her inner fires back up to an inferno.
The nectar had now reached her neck, rising quickly as the remaining space it had to fill narrowed. She eagerly dipped her muzzle into the pool, gulping a mouthful of the sweet sticky liquid. It was gloriously self-indulgent, as if she were bathing in chocolate sauce or honey, feeling it coat her all over, seeping into every gap and orifice of her body.
Taking deep lungfuls of the hot and humid air, she tilted her head back to keep her mouth above board, and her ears were immediately flooded. Her hearing was dulled to vibrations alone, the sound of hear heart thumping in her chest, the blood coursing, and now an entirely new sensation, the creak of the plant as it swayed gently, its motion transmitted up into her body. She was part of it now, standing tall over everything around her, enjoying the caress of the wind.
Somewhere deep in her lewdly-addled brain her common sense suddenly shouted out; The nectar is still rising… it’s going to go over my head!
Had she sabotaged herself by mating with the plant while her test subjects would have floated in the nectar and been able to reach the top? Panic began to duel with exhilaration as she fought with the decision to give herself to the moment or try to escape – but no sooner did she consider this decision than the rising pool did accelerate. As the neck section of a bottle fills suddenly after the slow rise through the body, Withania’s air gap was gone before she could even hold her breath.
Her body’s sex-fuelled rush made Withania ill prepared and without even thinking she gasped, inhaling the nectar into her lungs. The earth pony’s body convulsed reflexively, coughing bubbles, but there was nothing else to replace the air than more nectar.
She moved to lift her forelegs up and try to punch through the top of the flower, but found the stamen around her had tightened their grip, once again mimicking the tension in her own body, binding her in place. Just as her sense of self preservation told her that she was about to drown, she realised that there was no pain. Her diaphragm burnt for a moment as a result of a do-or-die coughing fit, but her lungs felt completely fine.
She dared to open her eyes, blinking as the strange liquid that seemed to be far more than just nectar settled around them. Air bubbles rose slowly in front of her, the last remnants of her normal breathing, and she felt the swirl of liquid in her lungs, a strange alien feeling that somehow exhilarated her further, given that it didn’t seem to be killing her.
Was the nectar oxygenated? Did the Tegmen flower dump all of its waste oxygen from photosynthesis into its nectar, to support a potential catch? There was no air pocket at all above her, the remaining bubbles getting pushed out from the top. She had seen this with her test subjects, and they’d all survived with no visible discomfort.
There was no opportunity to come to any conclusions now, the experience of becoming essentially an extension of the flower’s stigma and now entirely under the spell of its nectar was kindling to her fires, and she writhed in pleasure, alternating between breathing the nectar and swallowing it. Something was compelling her to fill herself with the nectar in every possible way, to let it soften every part of her body and renew it into something more beautiful than before, aided by the pressure of the nectar pool around her increasing. The flower was still secreting more and more into the bud, thickening the pool, forcing it into every space not already flooded.
Bordering on the edge of consciousness, Withania felt another orgasm explode from her core, twitching her stretched muscles, shaking the ingrained stress out from her fibres and replacing it with a silent calm. The thickened syrup that surrounded her resisted quick movement, holding her firm if she convulsed or jerked, but permitting gentle motion, training her body into a slow, plant-like state itself.
The feeling of being pumped full of the nectar had initially felt odd, the sense of being overfull, or feeling movement in otherwise involuntary muscles like her stomach and gut, however the softening of her body had made all of these alien sensations painless. Falling into a trance, she lost track of the time. Inside her suspended body, the fluid flowed, pushed through by involuntary muscles. Everything from the remains in her stomach to the dust on her flank was drawn off and sank to the bottom of the flower, into the neck of the stem. The current fuelled her fire, building the heat back up again, her clit calling out for more attention. But moving was effort… it was easier to relax as a flowerbud, swaying gently, massaged by the nectar. The stigma that filled up half her body felt like part of her now, the stamen no longer binding her, but supporting her. It was tantalising to the point of torture, but a steady unrelenting pleasure that didn’t let up no matter how many hours passed. Most of her mind was lost in a fog of bliss, the remainder just awake enough to experience it.
Hours passed. If Withania had been lucid, she might have realised that the flower was holding her for far longer than she had anticipated, but she would’ve have cared. What had started as an elaborate solo role-play for her had turned into something beyond her wildest imagination. As the sun light faded, the warmth and internal growth of the Tegmen flower slowed, and the pony suspended inside fell asleep.
3. Epilogue (The Epilogue)
She dreamed about the seasons that night, existing on a scale of days that passed in seconds, the beat of leaves and flowers that grew and stretched and moved as if they were creatures themselves. The trees were alive and complained about the hurry of the plants, and the plants laughed at the mad rush of animals moving about them in a blur of speed.
Withania slowly opened her eyes as the glow of dawn fell upon the garden. She could hear normally now, the change from being suspended in the nectar making it seem like she had a universe of space around her, instead of being enclosed in another entity. Above her head the Tegmen flower was slowly opening to greet the dawn, and bathing her in a dappled white glow.
She remembered to breathe, and coughed, splattering leftover nectar on her forehoof. But rather than sticking, the golden liquid beaded and rolled off her fur like fresh dew, before falling down into the neck of the flower.
She was laying back against the half-open petals, her hind legs arranged around the stigma, no longer over it. Part of her brain missed the feeling of it already, but the weightless feeling of being a seperate creature was a refreshing change after her experience. She watched the flower slowly open as she mused. It was probably the early hours of the morning, just before proper daybreak. The flower had held her much longer than she had intended, but she regretted nothing, a thoroughly satisfied smile resting on her face.
Once the flower was more or less in full bloom she stood and moved to the edge with the balance of a mountain goat, quite unlike the heavy sack of potatoes she’d been akin to yesterday, and looked down. The ladder still lay to one side, but there was room to jump. The cold flagstones between the garden plots hit her harder than she expected, bringing her mind thoroughly back to earth, and she heard a strange rustle from her mane and tail. She twisted her neck to asses herself and her jaw dropped open in astonishment. The dappled pattern she’d seen in the flower wasn’t the light. She had petals.
Like the spots on a leopard, small pale green petals dotted her coat, running inline with the fur. Her hair too, had undergone transformation, thin ivy-like tendrils were interlaced into her mane and tail alike, revealing the source of the rustle she’d heard. She looked up at the glass wall of the green house next to her to see her reflection – and nearly fainted.
She was beautiful. Withania was an earth pony of the most literal garden variety and although she cared about her looks, she knew herself to be more of a country aesthetic than the high-fashion of a boutique – but staring at her dim reflection in the glass, she felt like a show stopper in the ballroom of the Grand Galloping Gala.
Coming back to her senses for a moment, the chill of the morning was setting in. She frowned at the eastern glow and made her way indoors and put the kettle on to boil.
As the water hissed she sat down and looked more closely at her foreleg. The petals were a mix of the pure white Tegmen flower and her own green shades. They were smooth, but slightly fibrous in nature, as if strands of fur had dreamed of being something else. She took a deep breath and used her other forehoof to pluck one out.
It came out easily, and she felt no discomfort, however the slight tug at her skin under the fur revealed that it really was attached to her. The same thing happened with her mane-tendrils. They were finer than any ivy she’d seen, and grew tiny leaves of their own.
She would later discover that the vines and petals were not permanent, and fell out with the slightest brush – but for the moment she felt like the high princess of the earth ponies. She finished making her tea and carried it back outside into the brightening dawn.
The Tegmen flower stood proudly in the corner of the garden, its enormous pure white flower reflecting light across the other plants, the new mother of her garden. She sat down to admire it, mane-tendrils falling across her face, and sighed deeply.
“Well… that sure was something.”
