A MINTY FATE (Patreon)

Because it's 3am and I can't sleep...

A MINTY FATE

Alright, sugar, get comfortable. You've heard the rumors, the whispers, the scandalous myths. But it's high time you heard the real story. Straight from this horse's – or should I say, plant's – mouth. I’m Minthe, and this is the horny, twisted reality of what really happened between Persephone and me.

I used to be a nymph - a tantalizing piece of ass, if I may say so myself. My hair was silver, so shiny and lustrous it made moonlight jealous. My eyes were the kind of blue that had the sea green with envy. My tits, ripe and pert, had the kind of bounce that could inspire poetry. My pussy, a juicy delight, was a feast that could make the gods drool, and my legs – long, sinewy – were crafted for sinful nights and nothing less. I was fucking perfection, but as smart as a sack of wet leather.

Then there was Persephone. My ice queen, my sizzling sin. Dressed in shadows and frost, she was an icy-hot paradox that made my pussy pulse. Her body, goddamn, was like a finely tuned instrument, made for playing the sweetest, dirtiest symphonies. Those perky breasts, her tight little pussy, that firm, round ass – she was a wet dream dressed in moonlight.

And Hades, despite all he went through to get her, seemed to have an attention problem with Persephone. As in, she wasn't getting enough of it - or enough of any of Hades, when Persephone wanted it. And one day, when she was out walking the fields and really wanting it, we crossed paths. And then lips. And then legs. In short time, whenever her hubby was out, she was mine – or I was hers. Doesn't matter. We fucked like a couple of wildcats on moonshine. It was raw, hard, and it made the Underworld shake like a leaf in a thunderstorm. Each orgasm was a seismic event, a soul-shattering eruption that left me weak, breathless, and craving more.

Of course, shit like that gets you noticed. And Persephone soon decided she didn't want to get noticed with me. So, she tried to cut me off. "We're on a path to disaster, Minthe," she warned. Did I listen? Nah. My lust-clogged brain was too busy chasing the next orgasm. I was high on the thrill, drunk on her, too deep in the intoxicating mix of lust and adrenaline to give a rat's ass. I told her, I told a goddess, that our fucking was done when I wanted it done.

You can imagine that such an attitude was recieved well, with a thoughtful and reasonable response.

Before I knew it, she was all aglow, like the damn northern lights. Then comes this jolt, like getting fucked by Zeus's thunderbolt. It made every orgasm we'd ever shared seem like a mild tremor. Imagine the most intense orgasm you've ever had, then multiply it by ten – that was the feeling of becoming a plant. Every cell in my body cried out, a wave of intense pleasure-pain that left me breathless and trembling. My once soft skin hardened into a thick greenery, my limbs morphed into rigid stems, my feet rooted to the ground, and my hair transformed into aromatic leaves. Voila! One second, I was writhing in terrifying bliss, the next, I was a goddamn plant. Talk about a downgrade.

Being a plant is like being a BDSM pinup for Mother Nature. Trapped in place, unable to budge, but remembering how it felt to raise a leg or shove fingers into a pussy that no longer exists. Each drop of dew is a cool, erotic tease, the wind is a sharp slap on my ass that gets my internal juices flowing, the bugs crawling on me a disturbing kind of ticklish thrill, and the sunlight, my new fuck buddy, a warm, lingering caress setting my leaves ablaze.

The cherry on the shit sundae? My fucking former lover keeps coming back to the field she planted me in.

The sight of her sauntering through the grass, barefoot and radiant, always gets my heart racing - or whatever the plant equivalent is. Each step, each press of her divine soles is an exquisite dance of pleasure and pain. Her feet – damn, those feet – are like works of erotic art. Perfectly manicured toes that look like they were designed to be sucked on, soles as soft as sin, and an arch that could make an impotent man rise from the dead. Every contact is a cruel, tantalizing dance of pleasure and pain. The feel of her heel grinding into me, her toes curling and uncurling – it's all a symphony of sensual torment that leaves me shuddering in pleasure, releasing this new, vibrant scent Persephone also "gifted" me with. It's like being stepped on by a goddess. Which is literally the case.

So, there's the tale of Minthe – once a nymph who thought with her pussy and now a mint plant with a serious foot fetish, sentenced to an existence of twisted pleasure under the feet of an ice queen. If you think you can fuck around with the Queen of the Underworld and not pay the price, you're dumber than I was. But hey, at least I still get off on Persephone's divine feet grinding into me. So, I guess it's not all bad, right? I am totally enjoying my  new, rooted life full of foot fetishes, photosynthesis, and the sadistic dance of a goddess's feet.

Sure I am.