Page 18 of Heavy Petting

Her knees buckle, and I push her down on the desk, following with my tongue until she spasms around it and squirts her juices into my mouth. I drink them down, and then keep her spread and pinned there while I flog my cock at her shining holes. My seed splatters over her, soaking her curls and dripping down her legs.

“Fuck.”

How am I going to get anything else done?

I fall back into my chair with her, unfazed by the slippery mess between us, because she’s smiling now.

Was this what she needed? More love?

“I’ll give you all the love you can handle,” I promise her. “Too much, maybe.” I tuck her close and pull my seat toward the desk again.

I push the handbook aside and massage her nipples some more while I re-check the list of tasks I needed to complete, to order my affairs back in the monster realm so I can commit myself fully to Vah-nyah. It’s an essential chore that I must complete, no matter how badly I’d rather go and snuggle with my human. My pretty,cleverhuman, who needs lots and lots of love.

I chuckle at the recollection of her begging me to eat her, but I stop laughing when a wave of heat floods my body from the sac up. It was hot as fuck. What else could I teach her to say?

The thought of helping her learn new words delights me so much, I grab the nearest notepaper and ink my quill, ready to note down some phrases I’d love to hear her say.

Please fuck me, Master, is top of my list.

12

VANYA

He 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.

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