Heavy Petting

12. Vanya

12

VANYA

H e doesn’t put me back in the soft bed. Instead, I sit with him at his desk, feeling very important, but also restless.

I’m naked on his bare lap. He took his pants off after we shared pleasure, and I love being so close to him. His pelt is soft against my skin, and I like the way his cock juice makes everything so slippery between my legs. I can’t move without sliding along him, and from the way he shudders and grips me so he can run my sex back and forth along his cock, I’m pretty sure it’s pleasurable for both of us.

I’m definitely enjoying my new home and spending time with my monster, and I’m glad he likes keeping me close, because it’s very boring and lonely when he ignores me. His big office is very impressive, so he must do something of value for the world. I was never taught to read, so the amount of books he has is rather daunting. He must be a very intelligent monster.

I don’t understand his letters, but the beat-up and swollen, wibbly-paged book he was looking at earlier remains open on his desk, and it has illustrations. If I crane my neck right, I can see a picture of a smiling monster holding a leash, which is connected to a collar around a human male’s neck. They look to be walking together in a park, but the human is on all-fours, like an animal.

My first thought is that this book is about taking humans as slaves, but the crawling man is smiling, and in the next picture, there is a happy looking human being cuddled the way my monster sometimes snuggles me. The way I used to hug the house cat at my old mistress’s home.

The book is too far away for me to turn the page. I climb onto the desk to reach for it, but Mahz-uhrr pulls me firmly back onto his lap.

“Scurrah,” he says in a stern tone before moving the book closer for me.

I smile up at him. “Thank you.”

He captures my chin before I turn back to the book, and he looks into my eyes with intensity. “Taganataat, Mahz - uhrr ,” he says.

Is he correcting me?

I try to repeat the phrase. “Tagana…?”

“ Taat ,” he says with a nod. “ Taganataat, Mahz-uhrr. ”

I mimic the phrase — including his name — and earn myself a brilliant smile and a red fruit-treat. I whisper it again to myself, committing the words to memory, and then I flip through the pages of the book.

There are pictures of monsters bathing humans, feeding humans, putting them to bed, taking them for walks… There’s one of a human in a clinic, with something in their bottom like Mahz-uhrr put in mine, and there is a heat gage next to the picture, with a snowflake symbol at one end and a fire symbol at the other. It was for taking my temperature?

That makes sense. Sickness and infection fevers make people hot, and he must have wanted to know if I was ill from my whipping wounds.

There are red fruits, purple fruits… I point to an illustrated jar of blue fruits and turn back to my monster. “Mahz-uhrr?”

He leans closer and shakes his head before he wraps his big hands around my breasts. He tweaks my nipples between his fingers and thumb and squeeze-strokes them downward, like he’s milking me. Then he points to the blue fruit in the diagram.

Confused, I turn the page to learn more, and there, staring up at me, is a happy monster drinking a glass of milk. Next to him, is a woman trapped inside a metal frame on all-fours. She has funnel-looking things attached to her breasts, connected to a machine that has a little hose dripping milk into another glass.

I point to the picture, and then to myself as I meet my monster’s gaze. “Mahz-uhrr?”

He nods. “Tah-nes, mo spraah.” He kisses the top of my head.

That’s a yes . I’m sure of that now.

I turn back to the picture and imagine myself stuck in such a predicament. I shake my head. “Nah,” I say, the way he does when he tells me no .

He turns me to face him, strokes his finger up my throat, and gazes into my eyes. “ Tah-nes .” He bows his head low and suckles at my breasts.

It feels incredible, so I’m not about to stop him, but I don’t have any milk, and I’m not going to be put between some cattle-like jail bars, to be milked by a machine. I’ve enjoyed the perks of my new lifestyle, but if he tries to make me do that, I’ll try to escape. He hasn’t shackled me the way my old Mistress used to.

He gives a sharp tug at my breast, and I instinctively rub myself along his slippery cock as I moan. It’s like he’s pulling pleasure through my breast from my core — like all the beautiful sensations he makes me feel are connected . He pulls off my breast to watch me squirm, and then latches on to the other one and pulls just as fiercely with his suction.

The bulbous tip of his cock is shaped sort of like the thermometer he used in my ass, and I can’t seem to keep myself from thrusting at it. The damp, sueded surface rubs against my sex in the most compelling way, and I love how juicy it gets between us when he leaks his fluid directly onto me.

He stops sucking at my breasts and stares at me with eyes so dark and hungry, they make me shiver. “ Tah-nes ,” he says in a tone that invites no argument. “Mahz-uhrr vol maleshdi es Vah-nyah-Spraah.”

I glance at my breasts, and he does too. He’s made my nipples swell to twice their usual size and turned them a deep shade of crimson. They’re still pulsing from the sensation of his suction, and it’s hard to catch my breath, because my sex is pulsing too. It practically throbs with need. Again. Being milked will bring me pleasure?

What is he doing to me?

“Tah-nes?” he asks.

I nod. “Tah-nes, Mahz-uhrr.”

His face softens. He smiles and caresses my chin. “Je mo en du, Spraah.”

His praising tone makes me flush with warmth, and he grips my hips and grinds me against his big cock, making my sex slurp with our combined wetness until more of his fluid bursts forth and bubbles into me.

I jerk my pelvis, chasing the friction of my pleasure, and the massive head of his cock nudges hard against my slippery sex.

A maddening, frenzy-inducing stretch pushes at my entrance, like he’s trying to force his cock inside me.

But he doesn’t.

He keeps himself pressed hard against me, rubs at my sensitive little bud, and watches with a smile while I shake and shudder and cry out another release of the pleasure he’s built inside me.

I collapse against his chest, limp, and he folds his big arms around me protectively.

“En du, Spraah. Slumburdy nor.” He rubs my back, and waves of sleepiness wash over me, until I drift out to sea with them.

I wake alone in my cozy nest-like bed, and when I peek over the side, I see my monster working hard at his desk. His quill scratches at the parchment with speed and aggression. What’s he writing about? What is it my monster does for a living?

He is very kind, pleases me in wonderful ways, and has medical knowledge, but I don’t know what to make of his office or his collection of quills. He has barely left my side since he found me, giving me all the love and attention I could need, but I have done nothing in the way of serving him.

I tilt my head as I study him. He hasn’t expected me to wait on him or cater to his needs like a servant. He’s treated me as if I’m special and require extra care, and most strangely, he seems to simply want me around. It’s a nice feeling, to be wanted. When I was dropped on the doorstep of my mistress’s home as a child, I was very un wanted, but apart from the moments when he obviously needs his space, Mahz-uhrr acts as if he enjoys me very much. I’m more of a companion to him. One he’d like to milk .

I look down at my breasts. Are they bigger? They feel bigger, but they’re definitely not milky. How does he expect to pump milk from me? I give one of my nipples a squeezing stroke, but no white liquid shoots out the way it would from a cow. Don’t only mothers make milk? I’m not a mother. Does he want to make me one? How?

I lean against the side of my bed, watching his hand write. Will he make me marry a man? I don’t want to do that. Men are mean to me. I want to stay here. With him.

I glance around my new home. It’s warm, it smells nice, and there are lots of things to see.

I climb out of my nest and wander over to the bookshelf.

“Kung, Spraah.” Mahz-uhrr follows and picks me up. He sits me on his desk and boops my nose, before he snuggles me to his chest.

He’s put on fresh trousers while I slept, but I’m still very naked. I reach down and tug at the fabric of his pants. “Do I get clothes?” I ask.

He blinks at me, a confused expression on his face.

I cover my breasts and the curls between my legs. “Clothes for Spraah?”

My monster frowns. “Garab?” He shakes his head and removes my hands from their positions so I’m no longer covering myself. “Nah fo desh.”

“What if I’m cold?” I rub my arms and pretend to shiver.

He gets up and taps at a small set of buttons on the wall, and then collects me into his arms and carries me to a warm room that smells of leather and spices.

“What is this place?” I stare at the leather straps on the walls.

Mahz-uhrr doesn’t answer, but he does open a drawer and pulls out something that looks like clothes. Stockings?

He sets me upon a velvet cushion on a nearby countertop, and then kneels before me. He kisses my foot, holds up one of the thick stockings, and taps my toes. “Pazzan.”

I don’t know what it means until he gives me a treat for pointing my toes. “En du, Spraah,” he praises, sliding a stocking onto my leg.

They’re obviously high-quality garments. The deeply brown fabric is soft and luxurious against my skin, and his fingers drag the long sock higher and higher. It’s padded at the knees and reaches all the way up my leg before stopping about an inch shy of my curls.

He dons the next one on me too, massaging my leg as he goes, until I’m putty under his retracted claws. With both stockings on, my legs look warm and plush, and I kick my feet with glee before I lean forward to see what else he pulled out of the drawer for me.

It looks like a leather belt, but when he fits it around my waist, it’s softer than any leather I’ve ever felt. It’s velvety, like him, and I shiver when he strokes my thighs and connects the tops of the stockings to the belt, so they won’t fall down.

He leans back to look at me and gives an approving grunt. He returns to the drawer and pulls out another set of stockings and belts. He shakes them out, and requests my hand by holding out his.

Oh . They’re sleeves? Ones that are held together by a crisscrossing little harness. I raise my arm, and he slides the fabric up to my shoulder. I study the strange design while he pulls on the second one. The elbows are padded, the ends are sealed like mittens, and there’s also padding on the palm-sides of my hands, like the soles of slippers. I pat my thigh, and then look at Mahz-uhrr, because it’s like wearing a sock on my hand, which seems silly. How will I do things?

He tugs the second sleeve up to my shoulder, and the supple leather straps form an X over my chest, crossing in the center of my breasts, so those remain free. He steps behind me and cinches it tight enough for the straps to lightly press into my skin, and buckles them behind by back, between my shoulder blades.

I glance down at myself and clap my padded hands together. I no longer have use of my fingers, and I can’t reach behind my back to fumble with the buckle to remove it. I’m trapped. I’ll be utterly dependent on Mahz-uhrr for absolutely everything.

I look to my monster in alarm. He’s been so kind to me, but what if I need to do something? Clean something? Protect myself?

“Bre brah, Spraah.” He lifts my chin with his finger, puffs out his chest, and waits for me to do the same. I do as he bids and receive a fruity reward and a pat on the head.

He takes a step back to appraise me and nods in approval before raising his finger. He goes back to the drawer and retrieves a strip of matching fabric with loops and a buckle on it. He holds it to my neck, and I swallow hard as he straps it on. It feels like a soft, warm scarf, but it’s a collar.

“Umberree,” he rumbles in a tone I feel between my legs.

He lifts me from the counter and positions me on my hands and knees on the floor. He says my name and indicates that I should crawl around him in a circle.

Unsure, I take one step forward with my hand. He gives me an encouraging grin and gestures for me to continue, so I take another one.

Mahz-uhrr cheers, gives me a treat, and then gives my bare pussy a playful swat that gets me moving in a hurry.

I crawl around him, and he claps his hands and gives me another treat. He seems so happy, that I do another lap. The padding on my hands and knees makes it feel as if I’m floating on cushions, and if I’m honest, it reminds me of a time when I was allowed to play with the other children in the orphanage. Before my only friends were a mop and a bucket.

My monster gets on his hands and knees too and bends down, to nudge at me with his nose, like he’s an animal too. He nips at my side, and I gasp.

I swing my gaze to the spot, but I see no pink mark on my skin, and if I think about it, it didn’t actually hurt. It made my heart pound, and my mind assumed the worst, but it also excited me — the same way as when he’s touching parts of my body nobody else ever touched.

He grins with his slightly pointed teeth, and heat fills my face. He crawls around behind me to inspect my rear, and then he licks at my sex and my upper thighs. I’ve made them wet again, and I’m beginning to understand it’s because of the pleasurable sensations he creates inside me.

My muscular monster is a much bigger animal than I am. We’re on our hands and knees, but he seems much larger somehow. He’s easily double my size — probably closer to three times. And when he moves his huge body over mine, like we’re a pair of nesting tables, the thrill in my core ramps up to a curious degree. His big arms block me in at the front, and he slots one of his legs between mine, urging me to spread myself wider at the back end. I do as I’m bid, and he slides his cock between my upper thighs, pumping his hips and rubbing us both slick with my arousal.

I look between my arms and legs, to see him dripping his tasty fluid on the floor. My belly gnaws at me with a sudden hunger, and I stomp my hand-paws on the ground because I’m trapped where I am. “Mahz-uhrr,” I plead, trying to break free of his barred limbs. “Spraah… How do you say eat ? Spraah tahg ?”

He stills his thrusting and lifts one arm, so I can crawl out from under him, turn around, and crawl back in, facing the other way. I suck at his cock, and before long, he’s spurting his hot goodness down my throat.

I’m getting much better at catching it all in my mouth and not wasting a single drop, and when my monster rests back on his heels, breathing hard and staring at me, he must be pleased he doesn’t have to wash me again.

I lick my lips and smile. “Taganataat, Mahz-uhrr.”

“Taganataat je, Spraah,” he says with a grin and stands up.

I make to stand too, but he stops me. “Scurrah dew, Spraah.” He pats his leg and starts to leave, but pauses at the door to wait for me. “ Kung , Spraah,” he commands and slaps his thigh, more aggressively this time.

I follow, crawling, and he beams at me. “En du. Kung. Kung, Vanya Spraah,” he says.

I crawl behind him on my hands and knees, in my sleeves and stockings and collar but with the rest of my body on full display. My breasts swing beneath me, and my thighs slide against each other, greased by the slick from my twitching, needy sex.

He presses a hand to his chest. “Mo bre-shay spraah,” he croons and comes to pick me up.

I’m treated like a princess for the rest of the day. An animal princess, which I may like even better, because I won’t have to be sent off to marry a prince. I’ll get to stay with my monster and feel loved and precious, while he brushes and braids my hair.