Heavy Petting

8. Vanya

8

VANYA

H e wants to feed me himself.

It doesn’t make much sense. Does he think me so important he would give up his time to do something so trivial? When I tried to relieve him of the chore, he clicked his tongue in a scolding way, so that was the wrong thing to do. I haven’t eaten much for days, and I’m starving. The soup he’s offering smells amazing, so I open my mouth for him to give me some.

“Je be Mahz-uhrr du, Spraah,” he rumbles happily.

I’ve pleased him.

I open my mouth wider and lean toward the spoon. He carefully delivers the soup, and it spills over my tongue, lighting up my taste buds like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. It’s cooler than I expected. Warm, not hot, and the texture is strange. It’s like slippery honey that rolls down my throat and makes my heart beat twice as strong. I lick at the spoon, and then look at how much more there is in the bowl. I want it. All of it. Now .

“More,” I demand, forgetting my manners. I shuffle closer and tilt my open mouth upward, ready for the next spoonful.

My monster grins, and he obliges. I think my appetite surprises us both, but Mahz-uhrr does not seemed displeased. If anything, he’s excited by it. He sits on the edge of his seat, feeding me as quickly as he can, as if it’s a game and we’ll win if I finish faster. I try to do him proud, and it gets a little messy, but I’ve soon taken the entire bowlful.

I wipe my mouth and lick my fingers clean, while I look at the soup I’ve spilled down my front. It gets stickier when it’s cold, but it still tastes delicious. I scoop some from between my breasts, suck it from my fingertips, and risk a glance at Mahz-uhrr, hoping he’s not angry that I’ve made such a mess of myself after he took the time to wash me.

He doesn’t look upset. He looks very pleased, actually. My face warms under the glow of his pride. I collect another big dollop of soup from my breast, take it to my mouth, and savor its taste as I clean my hand with my tongue.

“More?” he asks.

I frown. Is he speaking his language or mine? Either way, I understand, and I would definitely enjoy some more, but when I crane my neck to see into the big bowl, it’s empty.

He pats my sticky belly that has grown round from my meal. “ Hmm .”

He sets the bowl aside, gathers the last of my mess from my breasts, and feeds it to me with his fingers. I suck it from him, and he grunts softly. “Mo bre-shay, Spraah.”

His other hand fondles my ear, and then he strokes my hair, trailing his clawed fingers gently down my spine. For the first time since we arrived, I remember the welts on my back. I twist and press my lips together in a whimper as his touch crosses a stripe that’s still tender.

Mahz-uhrr pulls his hand back in a hurry, his expression one of concern and regret. “Oh, mo Spraah,” he whispers. He gathers me into his arms and carries me through his big monster-sized house.

He takes me to a room I recognize as the clinic, where he put things in my bottom and made me feel good. It looks and smells much better than the frightening doctor’s surgery I had to go to when my mistress found me after the whipping, when I was in pain and covered in blood. Mahz-uhrr is a much better healer. And much more handsome. Am I allowed to think that about a monster?

I cling to him and hide my face when it heats.

He mumbles little hushing sound and lays me face down on a soft, puffy cloud that makes my full belly feel warm and happy, but I’m still nervous about what’s coming. I twist to look back at him, but he easily pins me with one hand while he reaches into a drawer with the other. He pulls out a white capsule about the size of my thumb, and holds it under a nearby canister, to collect a glob of clear gel.

The white thing has a strange chemical smell, and I don’t remember him using it last time I was in here. I only recall waking up with his finger giving me pleasure in a place I had no idea could feel good.

“What is it?” I squirm to get away when he brings it toward me.

He increases the pressure he’s using to pin me in place. “ Surrmahd, Spraah,” he says, spreading my buttocks with the slippery thing and pushing it inside my bottom with his big finger.

My back passage is stretched and full, and I like how it feels when he pushes his finger in and out of me while he rubs at my inner walls, but I don’t understand why he’s doing it. Until the stinging pain from the skin on my back begins to fade.

It wasn’t hurting earlier, either. Is he giving me medicine?

“ Mo brah Spraah, ” he croons, massaging me inside in a way that makes me lift my ass to give him better access. “ Mmm… Je mo en du, Spraah. Je mo en du. ” He slides his finger back and forth a little faster, and I lower my head to the heating pad with a moan. Why do I like this?

And then the full, warm, slippery sensation is gone. He’s removed his finger from my bottom, and the pressure he was pinning me with is gone.

I miss both. I like the way he touches me.

I shiver and cling to the soft heating pad below me. It makes the needy feeling less intense. He’s only washing his hands across the room, but he seems far away. Nobody has made me feel as wonderful as he has, and I’ve become very attached to my monster very quickly. I want him close all the time.

Relief washes through me when he pats my bottom. “Obdee-oop, Spraah,” he says, helping me to roll over.

My back doesn’t hurt at all, and I smile up at him in gratitude. He touches a fingertip to my nose and smiles back. “ Boop .”

I giggle at the silly sound, and he holds his hand to his chest as he gazes down on me with what feels like great fondness. My cheeks warm, and he brushes one lightly with his finger. “Za bre-shay,” he murmurs, before pressing the backs of his fingers to my forehead. His expression settles into one of great concentration, and then he reaches for a thick glass tube with lines on it.

It looks sort of familiar, but I’m not sure what it is. One end of it is big and rounded light a lightbulb, the other end is shaped more like the big end of a trumpet, and it has some sort of writing on it that glows. He holds it under the gel-dispensing canister, and collects a few dollops of the slippery stuff onto the bulbous end.

Memories flood back in. I’m sure the one he used last time was smaller. Is he going to stick this one inside me? It’s huge .

I panic and start to scooch off the heating pad, but my monster captures me and pins me back down with ease. “ Scurrah ,” he says firmly, and I get the distinct impression he means stay .

He releases me but leaves his hand hovering, as if ready to pin me again if I try to get away. “Nah bre spavenzana, Spraah. Bre-en du .” He holds a finger up, as if asking me to wait, and then reaches under the big metal platform my heated pad is on. He sets a big jar of the crimson fruits next to me and taps the lid. “Scurrah, ana tahg mun dalla.”

Is he offering me a treat if I behave? I glance at the glass bulb-tube thing again and shake my head. It’s too big. No amount of tasty treats are worth taking that inside me.

Mahz-uhrr narrows his eyes. He spreads my legs, places his hand to my belly to keep me in position, and then lowers his mouth to my sex. He laps at the wetness I made when he put the medicine in my bottom, and I arch my back, as pleasure grips my core. His tickling, teasing tongue brings forth the needy ache inside that has only existed since I met him. I writhe and rock my pelvis without any sense of control. The draw of the pleasure is too much to resist, and I seek more, thrusting at him.

My monster hums, and I moan as the vibration travels through me. He suckles at the little bud he’s turned into an incredible source of pleasure, and when I feel him press the cold, slippery tool to my tightest hole, I’m ashamed of myself for wanting it.

I tilt my tail and pant as his nudging gives way to a firm, pushing stretch that spreads my back hole wide open.

It doesn’t hurt, and the cool, smooth glass feels oddly exciting when it penetrates my heat. He pushes it deep, until the trumpet end bumps against my buttocks and thighs. It’s wide enough to keep me from closing my legs, and still he flicks his tongue at me.

He’s making me even wetter, and when I gush a trickle of fluid, he slurps it up, and then pushes his tongue inside me to get more. He probes at me with the tip of his tongue but he never pushes deep, the way my body craves.

I buck at his face, encouraging. Begging .

He grips the end of the thing in my ass and slides it back and forth. The big bulb rubs against my inner walls, massaging them like he did with his finger, only differently. More . I thrust at him, wanting more tongue, more tool, more something .

“ Maah-zuuhrr ,” I beg on a moan, when he presses more firmly on my belly to hold me down.

He shoves the bulb deep, bumps his knuckles at my sex, latches on to my little bud, and growls .

The pleasure takes my body by storm. A rush of fluid sprays from me to soak his neck and chest, and I throw my head back and cry out. My frantic limbs kick and lash out, in an attempt to cope with the intensity of every sensation, but my monster holds me trapped in it, forcing me to feel every powerful, gripping jolt of bliss until I’m overwhelmed and can only surrender to its strength.

He gives a deep, satisfied hum, and I feel it everywhere .

I close my eyes and float in a state of pure joy. My body is learning a new language, it seems, and I listen carefully, memorizing every beautiful nuance. A new sensation washes over my sensitive pleasure nerves, soothing their rawness in a thick coat of warmth, like a comforting, fluid-like blanket. My eyes are too heavy to open, my limbs, too heavy to lift. I am totally vulnerable to him and happy to be so. If this is how life will be in my new home, it’ll be fine by me. Mahz-uhrr is treating me very, very well.

Spent, I drift in a state of half-sleep, and he slips the tool from my bottom. It leaves me feeling used in the best way, and I hope I pleased him by doing as he wanted. I won’t be scared next time, now that he’s shown me what impossible-seeming miracles my body can do.

I lift my nose to the air and breathe deeply. The new aromas I’m encountering in my monster’s world are becoming familiar. This is a good sign. They are smells of home — like the sweet scent of his delicious soup filling the room. He must be making a new batch for me, and even though I’m not especially hungry, I would definitely have some more. It made me feel sated and vibrant and strong, and I liked everything about it. I wet my lips and open my mouth like a baby bird. Will he feed me some, or will I have to force myself to open my eyes and be awake enough to beg for more spoon-feeding?

“ Tah-nes, mo Spraah ,” he whispers, pressing a warm soupy finger into my mouth. I suck at it and hum as happily as he does. It tastes good, and once I’ve licked him clean, I open my mouth for more. It’s so nice to not have to do anything but lie back and let him care for me.

When my heat pad slowly spins with me on it, I don’t get scared or try to stop it or run away. I let him do as he pleases, trusting that he’ll make me feel good. He is so very good at it. I have never felt this wonderful in all my life.

He slowly turns my resting place around, until my face is near his. He smells of the place between my legs, but now that I know he likes that, I like it too. Though I prefer his soup and could definitely use the energy it gives me.

“Mahz-uhrr?” I make sure I pronounce his name as best I can.

“Tah- nes ?” he purrs near my ear, before he kisses my forehead and each of my fluttering eyelids.

“More, please,” I request in a breathy voice. I keep my eyes closed, open my mouth, and wait.

A drop of warm soup hits my chin, and I reach for it with my tongue, flick it into my mouth, and swallow it down. I feel stronger already.

“Ohm-bah, Spraah,” my monster instructs. He crowds closer, places his finger on my chin, and gently opens my mouth.

Does ohm-bah mean open ?

I do as I’m told, and he drips soup onto my waiting tongue. It feels so cozy and nice to have him this close when I’m so sleepy. His musky scent mixes with the sweet soup smell and makes me shiver, and when he presses more of the delicious liquid to my lips, I lick and suckle happily. He must be feeding me with his thumb, because it’s much bigger than his finger. I can only latch on to the tip when I suckle, but I get a lot more soup. He has a little dimple or divot that seems to be full of it, and I sweep my tongue through it, testing how deep it is and how much more I can get, but Mahz-uhrr pulls away with a surly rumble.

He spills soup all over me, and I rise with a gasp, but he pins me back down with a huge hand over my eyes, so I can’t see. He mutters soft words that sound like an apology and scoops globs of soup from my breasts and belly and thighs. It tickles like crazy, and I wriggle and shiver as the air cools it on my skin.

“You’re rubbing it in,” I say with a giggle when his cleaning attempts only lead to it being smeared all over me.

When he finally lets me up to see, I’m covered in it. We look at each other and laugh. I scoop some from my breast and take it to my mouth, before I hold my hands up for him to collect me the way we both like. “I may need another bath, Mahz-uhrr.”

He grunts softly and collects me into his arms. I clamp my legs around his thick sides and loop my arms around his neck. My slippery chest slides against his, messing his soft pelt, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I guess we’re both going into the pool.

He’s very careful not to drop me and constantly shrugs me higher if I slip. Every time it happens, the little pleasure bud between my legs rubs against his dark, damp fuzz, and my nipples drag against his firm sueded surfaces, until they’re hard and tingling.

My monster takes care to clean me very well, and when he washes my breasts, he spends extra time stroking me and rubbing my nipples.

It feels wonderful, and the more he does it, the more luxurious my new life appears to be. The time and care he takes with me makes me feel very special. He hasn’t made me do a single chore to earn my keep, and he showers me with praise and pleasure and affection. I almost can’t believe what a sweet and loving male he is.

Real monsters aren’t at all as bad as the imagined ones people made them out to be. I’ve always been treated poorly by men, but I could get used to being this monster’s favorite little friend.