The days before Thanksgiving, everypony in a rush to get those last minute preparations and shopping done. But even with all of that, it doesn’t stop celebrations from happening early. A Harvest Festival is ongoing, perfect to unwind for anypony, or anygryphon, before the holiday.
She strolls through the aisles of booths, trying little samples of the food they serve and trying a game here and there. It’s a nice way to relax, and a good way to advertise for her business as small talk comes up at each stop. As she crosses the festival grounds in her journey, she reaches the big attraction of the year. Towering stalks that run almost as far as the eye can see in either direction, with a large sign that reads “The A-Maize-ing Maze” over the entrance. Ponies cycle in and out, some running straight back in from the exit to beat their time. Rarely can one resist the temptation of the maze, and this isn’t one of those times.
She enters, feeling the excitement in the air as she starts to work her way through, wondering how quickly she can complete it. The start of the maze is naturally congested, ponies falling for the dead ends and having to double back, or simple disagreements as groups come to standstills in intersections debating which path to go. Naturally this clears up as her walking continues, ponies finding their way, or knowing it as they sprint past on their second or third attempt as they race. She meets one such speedster closely after turning a corner, and feeling a hard impact in her rump, turning to see a dazed colt on the ground behind her. She offers a claw to help him up, being met with a stammered apology as the red-faced pony looks up at the shapely gryphon he got a facefull of. He quickly runs past after, leaving as she chuckles over his reaction.
The sky starts to warm, turning shades of orange as she treks on through the maze, starting to grow exhausted with how long it’s stretched on. She hasn’t seen or heard another pony in what feels like ages, but there’s been no dead ends and surely there weren't any loops. She runs through the path she’s taken in her head, confirming her thought. She looks up, seeing the day grow late, and trudges on forward, not going to be beat by some maze no matter how long it takes.
That energy does not last long, still only stalks for as far as the eye can see. The sign sold amazement but so far it’s giving frustration. Tempted to just fly out, she turns one last corner and comes to an opening in the maize. A small field, like a room nestled among the hallways of the maze. Odd, considering there was an exit point outside, so there wasn’t a goal to reach in the middle. She steps forward, looking around. Small shrubs and clumps of hay, little plant sprouts dotting the dirt, it almost looks like a spot they forgot about or couldn’t plant in. She then notices a few odd things as she passes the center of the ‘room’. Plates of food, sliced potatoes, cranberry sauce, broccoli and carrots, bread rolls, macaroni and cheese.
“All that’s missing is the…” She mutters aloud, joking to herself.
A chill runs down her spine, seeing the side dishes all circled around her, and how flat and neat the ground is beneath her. She suddenly feels the need to leave, taking a step back, only to stumble, a root risen behind her paw. She attempts to lift a talon, but a vine now sits snugly over it, giving resistance. She yanks back hard, ripping the vine up, only for another to spring forth and tie around her claw.
Don’t leave so soon, you took so long to get here. A voice echoes on the breeze.
“Alright, jokes over whoever you are. Real funny.” She calls out, not buckling to whatever little prank is being pulled.
Why would we joke, we’ve waited so long for the main course to arrive. The voice whispers again.
A pumpkin rolls forward, wobbling side to side over the dirt until it comes to rest before her, a face carved into it that stares up at her perfectly with a big, wide grin.
All that’s left is the stuffing. The voice comes, louder this time, resonating from the pumpkin.
She goes to spread her wings, not putting up with any more of this nonsense. Vines surge out of the ground, lassoing around her limbs and looping around her torso to bind her wings tight to her sides. More coil around her, squeezing into her plump form and lifting her off the ground. In moments, she dangles a few feet off the ground, trussed up like a bird before the feast. One last vine twirls around her beak, tying it closed before she can react to the suddening binding. She squirms and struggles against the plants, but to no avail.
The pumpkin circles around her on the ground, the face always starting up at her, almost enjoying the display. It finally stops, facing up towards her rear, still with the grin. The vines pull gently, spreading her legs apart and exposing her all for the empty field to see. A blush runs across her face, the public display, even if not so public, still a far cry from her usual work. The dirt splits apart as a large vine rises up, nearly as thick as her leg. Her eyes widen as she sees the end of the vine pointing right to her, swaying as it draws near. She twists in her bindings, barely able to move as the vines hold her steady, the pumpkin almost glowing as if lit as the vine draws to her folds.
The tip of the vine presses against her, the plant cool from the chilling air, sending a shiver through her body. The vines cradling her rock her body back and forth gently, easing her onto the floral phallus. Despite the size, her body is steadily accepting it, her beak leaking muffled moans through the vine muzzle. Soon, the vine leaves her, only to thrust back with gusto. If it wasn’t for her beak tied shut, her would’ve let out a squawk that the whole town would have heard. The vine pumps into her, sinking deeper and deeper with each movement.
The cradle rotates, flipping her upside down as the vine now stands high above as it plunges down into her. Her struggles against the bindings intensify, her body being flooded with pleasure as the vine fills her, a mixture of their lust dripping down to the soil below. The vine throbs, the movements quickening as it delves into the turkey gryphon. She tries to close her legs to lock the vine into her, but still the vines keep her held just how they want. A pulse travels up the vine, her eyes following the slow swell rising up, then down. It reaches her lips, pushing inside her with a wave of pleasure that overtakes her body. Hot seed fills her as it sprays out from the vine, pushing her over her limit against the now crisp night air. Another swell rises, followed by another, and another. The vine continues to pump itself into her, filling again and again. Her body relaxes, leaving her exposed fully to the vines, eyes looking up to see her stomach bulge with the ‘stuffing’. Her eyes flutter, feeling the vine continue as exhaustion of the journey and her reward overtake her. The last thing she sees, is the glow of the pumpkin below.
…
The turkey gryphon rises up in her bed, groggy and worn. She looks out the window, seeing the moon high in the sky.
“My, what a strange dream…” She mutters, taking a glance at the clock and settling back into bed. She’ll need her rest for the holiday.
As she drifts back off to sleep, a vine retracts from outside the windowsill, leaving her to sleep her worries away.
