Travel Advisory (Patreon Commission for @hyphyhusky)

TAGS: Inflation/Vineflation, Vines!

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In retrospect, he really should’ve paid more attention to where he was going.

The travel advisory did warn him there was a bloatvine infestation in his intended destination, and if it weren’t for his own belief that he was totally capable of handling it, then maybe Hyphy would’ve actually prepared for the eventuality that he might just get caught up in some; as opposed to what ended up happening, with himself tripping on a piece of loose rock a good mile away from the camping grounds and landing directly on a thicket with nothing he could use to call for help.

At the very least, it wasn’t fatal; eventually, someone would run past him and find out where he woopsied his way into bloatvine, or someone back at the receptionist’s desk would notice that he was missing and send out a rescue party… hopefully. The last thing he needed was to be forgotten about while being assaulted by plants, even if they were plants that were likely to leave him in constant ecstasy.

In fact, the husky didn’t even know why he was wasting time thinking about that when he could instead be attempting to escape; it took a few tries before he remembered that bloatvine was incredibly resilient, and standard advice was to get someone else to cut through the tendrils rather than attempt to break free from them, at least if one didn’t want to rip the fur from their arms.

In the meantime, the vine itself was free to do plenty of ripping of its own. It was still unknown whether the damned thing was sentient, or if its behaviour was simply selected for through years of “incidental” encounters, but the end result of bloatvine accidents was always the same: if the person didn’t have a phallus, the plant would squeeze them for a bit before letting them go; if they did have one…

Hyphy was afforded a few seconds of peace and quiet amidst the tangles before the first vine tendril wrapped itself around one of his legs, squeezing just tightly enough that he could feel it snaking around closer and closer to his groyne. He knew what was going to happen; he might not have taken the necessary precautions, but he was aware of what bloatvine did… hence why he only winced and whined a little bit when the vine pulled down on his pants and yanked them down unceremoniously, an uncaring lover who wanted only the prize that lay beneath.

And what a prize, given that Hyphy was nothing if not well-endowed; the vine didn’t have to look for long to find a dick big enough to hang down to his knees with a pair of balls of comparable girth! Under normal circumstances, a perfectly reasonable thing to be proud of; under those, a stark reminder that he was about to undergo a change he wouldn’t like until he had no choice but to revel in it.

The first insertion would be the hardest, that much he knew. Hyphy breathed in, preparing for the tendril to enter him as it made its way down his shaft, coiling around it before poking at the tip; he couldn’t watch, not when he knew it was going to happen. It was just like getting his blood drawn… only, in reverse, he supposed. And far less painful, now that he thought about it; in fact, once the vine actually entered his cock’s tip and began making its way further inside, he barely even felt it, what with having blanked out entirely.

When he came to, he was already cumming. This was unsurprising; bloatvine was notorious for causing excess leakage in its early stages, though the sheer output was enough to make Hyphy’s eyes go wide when he properly took it in… and then go right back to half-lidded when the sensory backlog slammed into him after his brain properly rebooted. Took a while for things to get back on track, but once they did, the husky could barely even function; by then, it was too late.

Once inside of someone with a functional male apparatus, bloatvine immediately beelined for two places: the prostate, and the testicles. It was unknown whether this was part of its reproductive process or merely a defence mechanism, but what was known was that the vine released a highly volatile and reactive chemical directly into its victim’s shaft, causing near-immediate ejaculation. In practice, what this meant for Hyphy is that rather than a constant, low-level stream of pre that could easily be handled by absorbent pads, he was suddenly in full flow, splattering the vines all around him in thick, near-creamy spunk.

This would not get any better; if anything, the longer it was allowed to go on, the harder the husky began to release, until he wasn’t so much letting loose spurts of it as he was practically turning into a living hose; it was the sort of near-continuous climax that was reserved only for when he and someone else were lost in a breeding frenzy, and even then it took significant effort to reach that state. Meanwhile, the vines were simply forcing it out… yet his balls were not shrinking.

That, above all else, was what set bloatvine apart. As the name implied, no matter how much ejaculate came out as a result of its naturally-produced serum, the vine’s victim would never experience any reduction in size; quite the contrary, as production rates would skyrocket to such a degree that whoever had a vine stuck inside their cock would more than likely go through a swelling process, leaving their nuts visibly larger and fuller than before!

For Hyphy, suspended as he was on and in a bed of bloatvine, this was… an experience, to put it mildly. He could try to run, but that’d be about as useful as trying to breathe underwater; he could try and make himself be as comfortable as possible, but then he had a vine stuck in his dick, going deeper with every second, forcing his balls to swell with so much more seed that he could feel their weight pulling him down.

At least, at first. The serum initially affected only one’s nuts, but the effects on the victim’s prostate, while subdued at first, could not be understated: not only did it cause the damned thing to go into overdrive, further paying into the swelling of the nutstack below, but it led to the prostate itself becoming very rapidly engorged… which itself led to a far more serious problem than just big, swelling nuts.

The latter was still an issue, and would be for a few minutes more still; the continuous cumming, as well as the effect this had on Hyphy’s ability to think, would leave him so utterly insensate that he failed to notice the vine moving onto the next stage of its “infection”: making his prostate be so big that it began cutting off flow to the outside.

It almost felt ridiculous, but the serum injected by bloatvine was more than capable of altering the interior of its victim’s reproductive system such that it could be backed up to begin with; from there, it would then further alter it so that cum production would never slow down, mostly by ensuring that the interior of the nutsack itself was rendered far more malleable than it should be. This way, it could be bloated to a degree much higher than it normally could, allowing it to become a more efficient form of storage for all that backed-up spunk.

Unfortunately, the rest of his body was still in the way, and with very few directions for it to go, most of those afflicted by bloatvine would find their cum starting to invade their belly. In some cases, the serum being injected even went so far as to modify the stomach lining as well, rearranging the interior of the victim’s reproductive system in order to directly reroute all excess production into this secondary storage… and, in Hyphy’s case, that was exactly what was happening.

Now, he wasn’t a stranger to swallowing large amounts of spunk; half the time, he was the one responsible for it, given how massive his cock could get and how flexible his back was. He knew how it felt: the taste on his tongue, on the back of his throat, the warmth, the heat, the sense of fullness permeating him from top to bottom once the electrical signals were properly processed, it was all… expected. And for the most part, it was there.

There was just no ingestion, which made it… weird. He wasn’t swallowing cum by having a cock big enough to stretch his jaw out lodged in his throat, and while definitely a novel experience, it wasn’t one that the husky knew how to process. He was just getting fuller with every heartbeat; after all, he was filling himself, a sensation he was well-acquainted with; he was just skipping the usual middle steps, resulting in quite a bit of confusion for a brain that was already at risk of collapsing from the strain.

A collapse that was, itself, part and parcel for the bloatvine. For it wasn’t just enough that its victims found themselves unable to move as their nuts grew to unmovable sizes and as their bellies bloated so much that they couldn’t begin to waddle; even the prostate swelling was only the middle stage, meant to prime the body for the radical alterations that would occur after the bloatvine took over completely.

But this dominance couldn’t take place within an unwilling victim, so much so that even those who deliberately gave themselves up to the vine, believing it to be able to discern their intent, found themselves being targeted in much the same way. No, the plant required a host that was, to put it mildly, not there, and for that, it had to take whatever resembled a conscious self and chuck it into the proverbial rubbish bin, leaving behind nothing but the most primal of urges, the need to breed and be bred that could be exploited for the vine’s purposes.

Hyphy knew it was coming. He knew it was coming, and, much like so many others before him, believed that he could resist it… initially. The first signs of confusion were the easiest ones to miss: the sense of absence, the seconds lost in between individual blinks, the inability to truly generate any complex thoughts without it causing a mild headache. They grew more prominent and powerful over the course of the first thirty minutes of the contamination, yet slowly enough that many just didn’t notice them until it was too late.

For those, among which Hyphy was definitely counted, by the point they came back to and realised they were effectively drugged into compliance, it was too late. They were lethargic, far too weak to resist the plant’s tendrils, and even if they managed to wriggle free from its grasp, what were they to do? Two nuts the size of a barrel each and a swelling, bloating gut full of cum that was even bigger still, controlled by a brain that could barely tell up from down or perform simple maths.

Better if they just… rested. Better if they just accepted the fact that they were stuck to the vine, and nothing they could do would ever be able to save them; this was, at least, what the bloatvine itself expected to happen, as the constant doses of serum wormed their way into its victim’s brain and made it more pliable, more malleable in a way, able to be warped and moulded such that it welcomed the change, rather than resisted it.

Self-defence mechanisms had to be extricated and cauterised, until nothing remained of the original mind but the most baseline of primal urges. The husky, just like with many others before him, would find himself unable to even consider the option of running away; it felt so ludicrous that it bordered on the comical: why would he try running away? He was so comfortable there, swaddled in his bed of vines, pumped fuller and fuller, allowed to cum to his heart’s content… sure, he wasn’t cumming outside, but he was no stranger to filling his own belly with his own seed, so it was hardly an alien experience.

If anything, it was… familiar. It was just like it used to be back home, just like when he dropped his pants on the floor after a hard day’s work of keeping himself contained and was finally allowed to get his arousal out. It was just like those times when he spent hours holding back, trying not to show to the world at large just how horny he was, before slamming the front door shut and spending a good half an hour filling himself.

And if that was the case, then why should he resist? He was already in the perfect position: surrounded by a thick, cushioning blanket of greenery, softer than any bedsheet he could ever ask for, while his body was suffused with chemicals whose only purpose was to relax his muscles to the point of immobility. Had he not dreamed of this very scenario multiple times before? Of just letting go and forgetting about things until he was ready to fall into an endless, blissful form of ecstasy?

Sure, his belly was creaking now that the amount of cum inside of it reached a critical level; the serum had to make it even stretchier after the plant clearly underestimated how much Hyphy could produce, but that was just it: the serum could do that. Even when he felt the taste of his own spunk on the back of his throat, this time rising from further below, the husky knew that he was in good… well, not hands, but, close enough.

So, why not just let himself fall into a fugue state? It wasn’t as if he was going to die; it might take a while for people to find him, and even longer before he was pulled out from the tangle, but until then, he was perfectly safe! Bloatvine needed a live host in order to survive, so he was in absolutely no danger whatsoever; yes, his clothes definitely were, and wouldn’t survive more than an hour after he was pulled deeper into the seedbed, but that hardly mattered. Just as long as his body was intact, then he couldn’t care less.

The sunlight would start vanishing after a while; surrounded by vines on all sides, being pulled over and around him until he was practically entombed like a mummy, he would be left in complete darkness, to be stuffed and filled and used as a breeding ground for more bloatvine. At some point in the future, maybe someone would swing by and cut him out. Or not; frankly, Hyphy didn’t quite care either way.

He was perfectly fine the way he was there. More than fine.

He was happy.