Adamonde. Benjamin Vance

warm water continued to caress them both, and he continued responding strongly to her touch. While at the same time wrestling with guilt and passion, a part of him was visibly overwhelmed with her exotic lure. She responded even more then as their bodies coalesced, and as their minds joined he could feel her passion gaining strength. Both of her hands found his penis and she used her 12-pad pulsing fingers in direct response to his lust. He felt like he would die if he couldn’t enter her, and she knew ... she knew.

      She sang to him in his mind and asked him to honor her with whatever he would do. It was a strange request; he felt it with every fiber of his rising passion. Then he abruptly exploded. It had been so long, he couldn’t hold back. She’d been singing silently in his mind, but she screamed audibly when he climaxed. He was so overcome with pleasure and acceptance that tears poured from his eyes, camouflaged by the shower, but not from his own heart, or from hers.

      For a while, they both remained anchored and quivering under the warm shower. Once he regained his composure he began to slowly wash her with a body wash he’d purchased, but until then waited, unused. She seemed thrilled, both with his touch and with its fragrance, and her eyes dilated. She tasted it delicately and he glimpsed her flat, pink tongue which wasn’t quite human, but beautiful nonetheless. Immediately upon touching the soap with her tongue she spat and made a very human grimace. He laughed and she chimed several times with a chagrinned smile and pin-point pupils. He thought he smelled cinnamon.

      After big bath towels and slow drying, they took each other back to her bedroom and on the way passed her button-poor pajama bottoms, and then her button-less torn top, neither of which would ever be used again. The shower episode had warmed him enough so he was in no hurry to re-cover her or his own body. Instead he began to explore her body, with her eager encouragement.

      Everywhere he touched or kissed or explored with his tongue or lips or fingers, she silently cheered. When he touched a special place she would chime, ting, growl or purr with a high pitch. He found that a very high pitched purr meant “Please, no more”, and a low stochastic growl meant “Please, never stop”. Somewhere between the two there were hundreds of sounds which, with the help of their connection he would learn meanings for. In that way she told him what intensity of delight she was experiencing, and he was a quick and willing student.

      He found she was very bi-lateral; more so than any human. She had two clitori, two ample breasts, with two supernumerary nipples or petite breasts below them about three inches. All four nipples responded to stimuli as she did. Her umbilical button was not in the center of her tummy, but about two inches above her pelvis. She had ribs, but he didn’t think as many as humans. Her spine had two separate rows of spinous processes; not protruding or ugly, but subtly there.

      As he gently touched his tongue to the little lumps above what he hoped was her fragrant, soaked vagina, she sang a symphony in his mind and audibly rumbled like a small storm cloud. The little bumps responded to his caresses and began to tremble under his tongue as he moved the fraction of a centimeter from one to the other. She began to give off another scent again; something resembling cinnamon, and started raising her pelvis to push against his tongue. Just as his mind was reeling with her senses, it suddenly went blank and she wrapped her legs around his neck, her hands stroking his hair with rapidly fluctuating finger tips; fluctuating toes caressing his back. At the height of their passion he felt like she was all over and in him, except for his mind.

      He couldn’t understand why she was no longer in his thoughts, but he accepted it when she quivered, arched her back and squirted him with a tiny stream of cinnamon-smelling lubricant. To his surprise, she immediately pushed him away from her pelvis and spread the liquid from his face and her legs to her swollen pinkish vulva. The look on her face was one of unalloyed passionate urgency. She pulled him toward her, guided the tip of him into her vagina and once in, its walls reacted with strong peristalsis, pulling in his erection and moving it into the upper reaches of her eager wetness. Once seated, the peristaltic rhythm slowed and stabilized; she stared directly into his eyes. She then immediately re-entered his consciousness and her pupils began a rhythmic expansion and contraction, effectively mimicking the peristaltic tempo in her vagina. It drove him mad, and over the edge quickly, and as he delivered his contribution to their bodily fluids, the peristalsis peaked; she shuddered, rumbled and whispered his name.

      “Jon-tathan, Jon-tathan, Jon-tathan!” He had no idea where she found his name within the recesses of his dark mind, or the mechanism with which to speak it. Her eyes were shut and she maintained a closed-lipped smiling countenance. She didn’t respond to his mental question, but started a rhythmic squeak-pop breathing rhythm. She was asleep! He smiled and reminisced about how quickly his wife fell asleep after they made love. He knew he was too heavy to sleep on top of her so he managed to slowly turn over and position her on top, without her fully waking.

      There was no question of them separating, because when he started to slip out, her autonomic peristalsis pulled him back in. He got comfortable and became dreamily aware of her shallow breathing. At one point he was almost asleep when he felt her arms and legs attempt to grasp his body like she did on the ferry, and the periodic peristalsis continued to assure her drowsy mind that he was still well seated within her. Then he smiled, she smiled, and all went black.

      2.

      A throbbing somewhere in his body woke him. All was confusion until he realized it was his penis throbbing. It was so hard it felt like blue twisted steel; hot inside of her again … or still. She raised her head and smiled at him, sleepily. Then she yawned with a little long crystalline twitter, surprising even herself, and smiled. He got a front-row seat to her strange pink, feminine mouth.

      At the base of her tongue was a fenestration which matched one in the roof of her mouth, when her mouth was closed. That arrangement apparently allowed her to breathe through her nostrils, but he wondered how she swallowed. Her tongue curled a little on the end and was connected well to her mandible via a thin vertical membrane. It was as long as a human’s tongue, but flatter and more beautifully translucent somehow. Apparently, there were no vocal cords, so he wondered how she “spoke” when she whispered.

      Birds and reptiles have similar arrangements and birds have bifurcated major bronchi containing a structure called a syrinx; similar to vocal cords. That’s how some parrots form words and phrases, and how birds vocalize. He wondered if reading minds could have evolved through lack of other speech capabilities, but why would it? She chimed her approval, but he didn’t know if it was the wonderful peristalsis she was generating or confirmation of what he was thinking at the time.

      Later, while idly inspecting her small, six-toed feet, which were still a bit dirty on their bottoms, he noticed a small, crusty, vaginal-like orifice on the rear of her dimpled heels. The area distal to the orifice was depressed, similar to the indented area of a cleft chin. Cautiously, he examined the opening by laying his little finger in the indent and pushing against the opening, she chirped, withdrew her foot and tried to distract him with her hands and fluctuating irises. He looked at her and asked, “What are those holes for, beautiful lady?” He smiled a little, but he didn’t put his finger in the channel again. She cocked her head to one side, then grabbed his inquisitive little finger and held it under his own nose; it stank like musk. He said, “Ah, musk glands, huh. I wonder what you use musk for. Do you spread it when and where you walk? Can you control it, like your cinnamon?”

      Presenting her beautiful wet posterior for his private enjoyment, she crawled her little naked form down to reciprocate by inspecting his heels. Finding no holes during her exploration, she moved back to luxuriously entangle herself in his legs, body and wet spots again. Lying on her left side with her head close and on his pillow, she used her right hand to move his head and direct his eyes to her right leg which she held above them both. He watched as she flexed her knee to a 45 degree angle, and then rapidly extended her leg toward the ceiling producing an audible snap. A bony, moist, serrated spike about six inches long protruded from the rear of her heel.

      He turned to look at her and said, “My God girl that’s quite a weapon. I wonder how it’s used.” She smiled and chortled, but when he made a move to feel it she quickly flexed her leg to retract it, screeched and firmly pulled his arm away. Not having fallen off the turnip truck yesterday, he raised