Heavy Petting

10. Vanya

10

VANYA

I rouse in the darkness, but don’t feel afraid. I don’t bother to fight the heaviness of my eyes, and still exhausted, I nuzzle closer to my monster’s warmth, comforted by his closeness. I’m safe with him, and I easily drift back to sleep, believing he’ll smell this good even in my dreams.

“Eat your soup, Vanya-Spraah,” he says, bringing it toward me on the spoon like a swooping bird. Warm drops land on my thigh, and he swipes them up with his finger and brings the spillage to my lips. “Make sure you get every little bit, my love. It helps you feel healthy and full of love energy.”

I suckle at his fingers, and he hums. He likes it as much as I do. I suck harder, but he grunts and pulls away.

“More,” I beg. “It tastes so good, and it makes me feel love energy between my legs.” I’m having trouble describing the sensation, but there’s a wetness slicking my thighs again.

“ Mmm …” he moans.

I find his big thumb and guide it to my mouth, to taste a little of the creamy goodness from the dimple he has there. He tries to pull away, but I grip him with both hands and suck at the soupy sweetness.

“Vah-nyah,” he rumbles in a low, warning tone.

I don’t stop. I rub and squeeze his big thumb from base to tip, hoping to get more soup.

He grunts, and then growls loudly. “ Vah-nyah .”

I snap my eyes open, lift my head, and stare at my monster’s strained expression. He’s gripping his bedsheets, tensing every muscle to beautiful perfection, as if he’s trying to keep himself still.

I lower my gaze to where I’m holding his huge cock with both hands. A glistening bead of soupy goodness sparkles at its tip in the morning sun. Am I dreaming? I lean forward, swipe my tongue over the pearlescent drop, and flick it into my mouth.

It tastes like his soup. But I am not dreaming.

Mahz-uhrr, tugs his cock from me and rolls over with a groan. He stands and tugs at the hair on his head before glancing over his shoulder at me.

I wasn’t meant to touch him this way. He’s practically shaking.

“I’m sorry, Mahz-uhrr. I didn’t know what I was doing. Did it hurt?”

He frowns and turns back to me. He’s gripping his cock much more firmly than I was, so I don’t think I hurt him. I wet my lips and inch closer. He eases back, tilts his head, and searches my face. His expression lights up after a moment, and he gently strokes my cheek before hurrying from the room.

When he returns a short time later, the jar of fruit treats is in his hands. He unscrews the lid, gives me one, and pats me on the head. He holds his cock, collects a new shiny drop from the tip, and presses it to my lips. “En du, Spraah.”

That’s what he says when I do something he likes, and his tone is full of praise.

He likes that I was sucking at his cock? Does he like other parts of him suckled, other than that and his fingers? I crawl closer to him and open my mouth, wondering what he’d like to put in it.

He points at the fruit treats, and then at his cock, as if asking which I want.

I look from one to the other, confused about how he got soup on his penis. Did he put it there?

I point to his cock, and he grins. He pats my head and steps closer, presenting me with it. I study it closely. Lick the tip. Lift its thick shaft and run my tongue along the underside. He has soup in the dimple at his tip but not coating his shaft. Strange.

I absently trace my fingers along the ridged veins on his balls, and Mahz-uhrr moans and lets his head fall back. It’s the kind of moan I was making when he pleasured me. He likes the way I’m touching him. I’m giving him pleasure.

I stroke his big balls, cup them in both hands, and squeeze gently. Another bead of yummy soup swells into a big pearl at his tip right before my eyes, and I suck it into my mouth.

He makes it with his body? That’s… amazing .

I tug him closer by the cock and stroke the way he did yesterday. He moans again and feeds me another treat. I chew with a grin, and some of the juice drips down my chin. I lick it up, and once I’ve swallowed the reward he gave me, I wrap my mouth over the juicy slit in the bulbous knob at the end of his cock as best I can and suck with all my might.

I’m not prepared for his excitement. He stamps his foot, holds my head, and rocks back and forth, stretching my mouth until I squeal.

He quickly eases back, breathing hard while his cock drips a little soup on my face. He wipes it from my cheek and rubs it at the corners of my mouth, where he stretched me. The discomfort eases immediately, and I gaze up at him in wonder. Is there anything he can’t do?

I open my mouth again, and this time, he doesn’t try to push inside, but rather slides his tip against my tongue and lets me lick and suck at him. He soon wraps one of his big hands over my two and guides them into a fast, firm rubbing rhythm. He starts to thrust with the movement, but makes sure to keep enough space between us that he doesn’t ram his cock into my mouth. “ Ohm-bah, Spraah, ” he commands through gritted teeth. “Ohm-bah var .”

The last time I was given a similar instruction, he expected me to open wide, so I do so now. I open my mouth as wide as I can.

“ Umberree ,” he breathes in a tone so appreciative, I’ll keep doing my very best to please him. “ Foigin umberee, mo spraah .”

Thick, warm fluid pours from his cock into my mouth, and I swallow as fast as I can, grateful it comes in bursts, so I have a better chance to catch up during the ebb in his flow. I drink what I can, but there’s so much, it spills down my chin and breasts, drips to my thighs, and dribbles down to slick them in between. I cinch my legs together and smear it over my skin, and it feels oddly wonderful.

His wildly bountiful spurting tapers off, and I latch on to the tip of his cock with my mouth and milk his shaft to produce more for me to swallow. I’m so hungry for it, he’ll probably think me greedy, but I can hardly help myself.

He grunts and moans, and his cock strains in my hands. He pulses another creamy rope of fluid onto my tongue, and I let it roll around in my mouth before I gulp it down and go back for more.

I must have been dreaming earlier, because I understood every word he was saying, but I do recognize a love energy. For him. From him. I feel excited and alive and strong and ready for something . I don’t know what it is, but I know it has to do with the beautiful monster standing over me. He gazes down with heated adoration, and I can’t help but blush. He has the biggest, goofiest smile on his face, and I’m so happy. I have clearly delighted him.

“Je mo en du, Spraah. Je mo en du.” He brushes his thumb over my smile and strokes my face, before he drops his gaze to stare at my dripping tits and the way I’m sliding my legs together.

He guides me to lie back on the bed, and I’m pleased to find the skin on my back is no longer sore or even sensitive. It’s as if he’s healed my wounds completely.

My monster spreads my legs and looks at the mess I’ve smeared between them. His soup has left a shine on my skin, and even my curls have trapped some of the pearly droplets. I feel a bit silly for having enjoyed the feel of soup down there, and I try to close my legs to hide it from him, but he rumbles and shakes his head. “ Nah .”

He pries my thighs apart and grunts. “ Scurrah .” His command is firm, as is the pressure he uses to urge me to keep the position he wants before he slowly lifts his hands.

When I stay as he’s asked, he says, “En du, Spraah,” and gives me a treat.

I suck at the juicy fruit and chew it slowly as I watch him.

He drags his fingers through my sex. I’m wet and slippery again. Why does that happen so much around him?

He presses at me and dips his fingers just inside my entrance, stretching me in a different way than when he pushed things into my bottom. He probes deeper, and I push my head into the mattress with a gasp. It feels surprisingly nice — a whole new kind of wonderful.

I whimper when he slips his fingers from me, but I quiet when he sucks at them. He seems to like my taste as much as I enjoy his, and it’s hypnotizing to watch.

He runs his fingers through the streaks of his fluids on my chest, drags some downward, and watches my face as he pushes it inside me. My core lights up, and my sex ripples around his fingers. He smiles and leans in, sliding his fingertips in and out of me, faster and faster.

My head falls back as I pant. How can he make me feel so good?

He gathers more of his spill, and smears it over my pleasure bud, making it slippery and sensitive with tingles. He pushes more inside me, but not as deeply as I want it.

I buck my hips, but he draws his hand back. “Nah, Spraah,” he warns before probing at me in a way that makes me understand. I only have a shallow sex for him to play with.

A wave of helplessness crashes over me.

If he can’t reach the yearning ache I feel in my depths, he can’t relieve it.

I gaze up at him. Will the craving pass? My body thinks not. The more I look at his big handsome everything , the needier I get. He’s been so kind and given me more than I ever knew to want, yet still I want more .

He raises his eyebrows, and I hide my disappointment. I couldn’t bear for him to think me ungrateful.

He withdraws his fingers, as if maybe he’s done something wrong. Then he scoops me into his arms and takes me to the clinic room, where he positions me on my back with my knees raised and open in a set of stirrups. Without any fuss, he squirts the slippery jelly onto the bulb of the big glass instrument and pushes it into my bottom.

I shift restlessly, to not only accommodate the size of it in my back passage, but also make it move around a bit, as he did the first time when he made it feel good. He watches me with interest but doesn’t rub or lick me like he did before, so I’m left to feel full and awkward.

Did I do something wrong?

He lowers his face between my legs, taps the flared end of the glass tube enough to make me moan and rock my hips, and then he slides it out of me. The emptiness is as intense as the fullness was. Maybe more so. I’m relieved when he returns wearing a glove and holding another thick, white, medicine capsule that he then slides into my bottom.

My propped and spread position makes it easy to see everything he’s doing to me. I watch his finger pump in and out of me, as he massages the medicine into the inner walls of my back passage, and by the time he pulls out and removes his glove, he’s dripping with my scent. Can he smell it?

He flares his nostrils and gives a pained hum, as his cocks swells and strains at me. Did I hurt him earlier? I could have sworn he enjoyed feeding me with it.

He releases my stirrups and climbs onto the big metal table to stand on his hands and knees over me. He stares down at me a moment, and then moves forward, until his big cock is bobbing near my face. It’s dripping again.

“Tahg, Spraah,” he commands in a no-nonsense tone.

He’s said this before. When he wanted to put things in my mouth,like the red fruits.

He grunts and lowers his cock to my lips, painting them with the warm, tasty fluid he makes for me.

I open my mouth and suck at his penis. I don’t get a lot of his soupy fluid, so I milk his thick shaft and massage his big, pulsating balls until I get another downpour.

Mahz-uhrr lets out a low, hungry growl, and I gulp down what I can, while the rest runs into my hair. I’m going to need another bath, which is something he seems to realize when he climbs back off the table. He drags his clawed hand down his face, pops a fruity treat into my mouth, and carries me off to the bathing room.

He gives me a little purple grape-like fruit, which tastes even better than the other treats, but about thirty seconds after swallowing it, a sense of urgency rushes through my system. I squeak, clench my buttocks, and desperately look around for the chamber pot.

Mahz-uhrr gives me a knowing smile, sets it on a little bench nearby, and then sits me atop it. He stands over me and stops me when I get up to take it somewhere more private. I struggle against him, doing all I can to hold on, but he won’t let me conduct my business in private.

“ Surrmahd , Spraah,” he rumbles in a firm tone. I don’t know what it means, but I can’t hold on any longer. I give up fighting. I hang my head, sit on the pot, and defecate in front of him, the way he wants me to.

It turns out to be far less traumatic than I thought it would be, because when I stand, all I’ve left behind is a pale-purple ball of waste that smells of flowers. I stare at it until he drags me away to the big pool.

“Purple fruits do that?” I ask, while he gently washes his fluids from my hair.

He simply raises an eyebrow at me and keeps lathering. It’s clear he doesn’t understand what I’m saying.

“Well, I prefer it,” I say anyway, relaxing safely in his arms as he guides me to lean backward, for a rinse. “It’ll be easier to poop in front of you if it smells like flowers. I won’t be as scared next time.”

He’s very quiet and barely touches my sex or my bottom while he washes me. Not like last time.

I tremble slightly as I recall the immense pleasure he gave me, and he grips me harder.

I’m rinsed again and sat in another fluffy towel, while he dries himself and pulls on trousers that do not disguise his engorged penis.

Terribly confused, I wait patiently for him to look at me, so I can gain better insight from his kind eyes, but he appears to be avoiding me.

I miss both his devoted touch and his loving gaze, and as the day wears on, I wonder time and time again, what I did that made him stop offering them to me.