Adamonde. Benjamin Vance
chortled in agreement, rubbed his chest with pulsating velvet fingers, and snuggled up to his chin while laying her right lethal weapon comfortably across his groin. He quietly inspected his arm where she grabbed it to stop his inspection. There were red finger hash-marks which would probably bruise. She somehow tinkled she was sorry and hugged him closer, entangled him more and pulled up the covers with the toes of her right foot, handed them off to her right hand, covered them both and snuggled down into the covers and his body.
After that strange episode and all their love-making, he wondered how she could not be hungry. He was famished and his stomach growled at the thought; she opened her eyes wide, looked at him, and then slid her head down under the covers toward the sound, placing her left ear on his abdomen. Her right hand still toying with wet cinnamon-smelling things at his groin, she turned to look at him with surprise and curiosity written on her face, and within his/her mind. He said, “Another kind of peristalsis, beautiful.” She smiled and emitted a low growl while looking at him from under the bedclothes like a sexy Mother Teresa.
“Would you like something to eat? I have just about everything in the larder.”
She whispered the question, “W-hheat?”
He made a motion of eating, by inserting his fingers into his mouth.
She squeaked and looked surprised. He smiled broadly and said, “No, not eat me; other food.” He pointed to the kitchen and then took her there. He put a robe around her; she shrugged it off. He mimicked being cold and she wrapped herself around him again. She was still very wet with his semen and her sweet fluids, so before he wrapped his own robe around them both, he grabbed a few soft moist towelets and tenderly dried her. She seemed to enjoy it.
As he went through his samples of food; cheese, meat, vegetables, bread and such, she seemed to like the taste of the cheeses most of all. Then he opened a can of potato soup and she attempted to take it from his hand and eat it cold. However, he did manage to keep her from devouring it until it was warmed. She took her choice of utensils, which was a fork and when it leaked too much for her satisfaction, he showed her how to use a spoon. It was like feeding himself, with her wrapped around him. He finally managed to un-monkey her and get her seated on a cushioned dining chair and covered her with a bright yellow flowered scarf, which she found appealing. She put it over her head and let it cover her breasts, which he frankly found a bit relieving.
She sang some catchy little crystalline song as she ate, and looked at him periodically with a big incisor smile. She had potato soup all over face and chin, but it wasn’t due to being sloppy; it was the huge spoon she selected after discarding the fork on the floor. It was much larger than her mouth. When she finished the soup, she went to the pantry to sample other things. He noticed she left a wet spot on the cushion, so he put down a bath towel. When she came back squeezing some marshmallows in a bag she removed the towel, noticed the wet spot and replaced the towel with a smile and dilated pupils. She squeezed the first extracted marshmallow between two thumbs, growled and looked at him for approval. He said, “Go ahead they’re good.”
She bit it and he thought he heard another muted growl. Next, she put it all in her mouth and moved it around. She looked very pleased with herself, smiled, started to sing or something and got choked. Then she looked disconcerted and very pitiful. He rushed to help, realizing she couldn’t breathe. He said, “Open your mouth.” She wouldn’t. He tried to stick his fingers in and got as far as her gums. She then saw what he was trying to do and did it herself. Why it hadn’t occurred to her, he simply couldn’t understand. To humans it was a simple reflex action.
Then he realized through her, that in her home they ate only solid foods and thin liquids, which never caused a problem, but didn’t taste as wonderful as the soft white things. She wanted more marshmallows, got them and caused him no little anxiety as she ate five more without choking. However, he noticed she kept one ever-pulsating finger at the ready, in front of her ever-smiling face.
He just sat and watched, utterly enthralled. At one point, she went by the dining room mirror and glanced at her own reflection. She stopped, did a double-take at the food on her face and he swore she giggled. She came to him smiling innocently with her chin tilted up, to show the remnants up close and he removed a small bit with his finger and put it in his own mouth. Her face suddenly lost all expression, she straddled his lap and her irises began to fluctuate. She moved to his face and licked his lips.
The hot texture of her tongue startled and thrilled him, and he intuitively knew what she wanted. He started tentatively by delicately licking her lips; she growled, held her chin high and closed her eyes. Then he began systematically removing every vestige of food from her face, chin and lips by slowly and tenderly licking them clean. He stopped licking her face after they were both adequately aroused, and after she was fairly clean; inserted his tongue under her upper lip, moved it slowly back and forth over her dental arcade and felt her trembling hot tongue move to the underside of his. Judging by her cacophony of sounds, it seemed to drive her wild. She finally growled deeply, opened his robe, positioned herself to pull him inside, hurled the scarf to the floor and presented her breasts for licking too. He soon smelled sweet, warm cinnamon again.
3.
Guilt and doubt are powerful twins. They drove him to teach his new horizontal dance partner to wear pretty things for more than a few minutes at a time. It took some effort, but neither seemed anxious to go anywhere else and there was really no hurry anyway, so they experimented … a lot. The thing she most enjoyed wearing, were wigs. He bought her four via the internet and she cared for them like they were pets.
Dresses that could be shrugged off were her favorites. Anything with elastic at the waist was worn around her neck, bodice, waist, hips or legs; upside down or sideways. Panties were out of the question, and the one pair he did get on her was removed in shreds when she decided the panties should not come between their bodies in any way. Shoes were not possible, but socks were okay once she learned they didn’t obstruct her poison heel spikes, and of course she could playfully slide on his hardwood floor in socks.
Leaving his house to shop was terror for them both. She would only hide in the pantry while he was gone and he worried constantly she’d get choked and suffocate. He finally deigned to order most things from on-line stores. He even had a problem leaving her to go to the mailbox, and the post-lady; always the suspicious type, smiled at him when packages were delivered from dress makers and perfume stores.
He found she loved warm, perfumed baths above all things, except him, which his world provided. She would play in them, make love to him in them and it was the only method she could find to efficiently scrub her feet. He finally convinced her to wear socks all day during the day and she continually slid on his hardwood floors while wearing only one red and one yellow sock, which could never be worn on the opposite feet … ever. He was helpless before her when she wore only a sideways blonde wig, colored socks and a grin.
He asked many times for her name, but she always whispered gibberish. Finally, he refused to touch her until she expressed it. She chased him around the house, enjoying the new game of sliding hide and seek and wearing nothing but socks and a wig; sometimes on straight, sometimes on backwards to make him laugh. He found when she was more than 50 feet or so from him, he couldn’t completely feel her emotions. Then the game got old because she couldn’t sense him either. She chirped and chimed like she was lost. He didn’t like the distance, sounds and other perceptions and would usually give in and whistle at her until she found him. She knew he wanted to hear her name.
She finally anchored herself in their bed one rainy day and chirped at him earnestly until he approached it. She reached for him and knew he would recoil. She sat cross-legged with arms at her sides, back straight, breasts at their little positions of attention and attempted to chortle her name. After three excruciating, choking attempts, she chirped, rasped and whispered something that sounded like, “Al-k … te … mont-de.”
He smiled and gave his best rendition, “Aktemonde … Aktemonde, is that right?”
She clicked, chirped, and rasped, like her throat was sore from trying, looked down and shook her head. She took on the down-trodden look she’d quickly learned