Patterns I'm finding
As pain and joy and sorrow mingle.
Patterns we're finding
Our faces raised in adorations.
– Killing Joke
She claims there are many reasons she makes me sleep in the dollhouse. I didn’t entirely disagree with her assessment. She moves constantly when she sleeps, and despite the distance she puts between our bodies and the purchase of the largest mattress in the country, I wake up every time my ground shifts. Even when she can’t sleep, I catch the tinny sounds of music or porn coming from her earbuds, and they invariably wake me up before her hand does.
Though I’m grateful for those nights I’m allowed to sleep, I’m far happier the nights she steps out of the shower, gets ready for bed, and picks up the pair of panties she’s worn that day, that she’s shed on her way to the bathroom. Panties that are still damp with her scent, threads stiffening as they dry in the shape she’s carved into them for an entire day. Panties she then wads into a bed for me, and places on the pillow next to hers; a pillow that might have belonged to me, had she not transformed me into what I am now, almost the very moment she laid eyes on me.
Those nights she gets ready for bed, and find me. Sometimes I’m asked to crawl into her palm, but most of the time she simply grabs me, no matter what I’m doing, or where I am. When she’s done with me, and before my wet body dries or cools, she places me into that wad waiting for me next to her pillow. This was one of those nights.
I couldn’t sleep. I burrowed deeper into the folds of her panties, and tried to keep warm. My temperature rises so much when I’m put to use, the subsequent drop feels like walking into a fridge. I shivered, but my brain was on fire. She had gotten what she wanted, and several times. I was still “fully charged”, as she likes to call me, the same way she describes her collection of dildos and vibrators. She’d been too eager, too fast to notice I’d not spewed anything from my cock, and honestly, anything I produce always gets washed away in the wave of her juices.
I turned onto my back and felt myself spring into the gusset of her panties, which covered me like a blanket. The tip of my cock twitched against each rope-like thread, and I think I could have stayed there and done nothing, and it would have emptied into them; but I wanted more. I wanted to get up, and exert myself calmly and quietly, without fingers wrapped around me and pumping me into walls too distant from end to end for me to effectively fill them. I wanted to be the one in control, for a change.
I emerged from that pile of cold fabric, and looked at her sleeping form. It swept over the surface of her bed, the loose braid of her long hair the darkest curve on her white pillowcase. Then the outline of her head facing the bedroom window and the full moon’s light pouring in for a moment before a cloud shrouded everything in gloom. I could still see the range that was my goal, and I also saw that her blanket pooled around her feet. There was nothing between us but a flicker of time. I stepped out of my own bed, and climbed down the side of the pillow as quickly as I could. My feet negotiated the woven terrain easily after months of practice, but as the moon emerged again, I walked into obscuration.
The bright outline of her body was my guide, as well as the gentle slope of the mattress where her wide hips sank mercilessly onto springs that would never recover. I ran now, and I knew that when my body hit that wall, it would indent and spring back ever so slightly, and no matter how loudly I shouted my glee, she would not wake up. The volume of my voice was no match for her slumber; but she moved, and often. I reached the fallen summit of her ass with a slam, and it returned the favor. I felt that thick layer of fat shift and send me sprawling onto my own insignificant bottom.
I shivered anew, but this time not from cold. It was the heat of that shape, the shape of that heat that plucked at my body and made me ravenous for it. I got up and closed my eyes as I stretched my arms and palmed her with my entire body. My lungs felt like rags when I pressed myself into her, and inhaled deeply. I dug into her ass with the side of my face so hard, my cheekbone hurt. She smelled of her cum and clean sweat. I licked her, my tongue playing over goosebumps and a swelling the size of my eyeball I would tend to the next day. I tasted salt and a thousand other things, and I prayed some of them had melted down from her asshole. I’d lay planets to waste to reach it, but climbing a wall of grips that only come when a cool breeze tattoos her body, and disappear into nearly perfect skin moments later, is not only stupid, but likely lethal.
What I was doing, licking and kissing and beginning to sway my hips into her ass cheek, was dangerous enough. I had already taken too long. She was bound to move at any moment the way she always did, but I had to fuck the pulsing mountain of her. I had to write on her walls with white ink; to reach any part of her on my own, even though she could punish my transgression of free will with a simple turn; the mountain crashing down on me without knowing. So I thrusted faster, pushed into flesh that had no give when hours before I had seen it tremble and swing from one side to the other like dancing moons. I wanted it to move like that again, and I wanted to be the one that made it move, but it was impossible.
I was picturing it in my head as I felt the tingling in my cock rise to unbearable pleasure, when she moved. It was a warning jerk at first, a sharp inhale that didn’t necessarily mean she was awake, but my time was up. For a moment I considered dying for an orgasm, but somehow found the strength I have in no other way, and pulled away. I looked up at the dozens of feet looming over me, and took a few steps back, each faster than the previous one. It didn’t make any difference. She came down on me in a second.
If only I had turned away, I could have cleared her ass, but I didn’t. I had to walk and look, shuffle and admire, and now I was half buried under her. My body pinned under a world of flesh; between sheet of fabric and sheet of fat and muscle all the way up to my chest. Only my shoulder and head were free, if freedom can be defined by a trap so immense it flattens your body into a sweep that bends it inescapably towards it. My shoulders and head were not under her, but they might as well had been. I couldn’t move at all. As soon as I gathered enough air in my half-crushed lungs, I screamed her name. I shouted and begged for help, to no avail. She was dreaming, and could not hear me where she had gone. I swallowed nothing past my raw throat, my mouth dry with fear, and I tried to think.
That was a mistake, because that’s when I felt it. The pounding. The colossal beat of her heart sending rivers of blood through her body. She had made it a point to teach me the map of her veins and arteries, her reasoning unsound to me at the time, but now I got it. Now I understood why. What had she called it? Her interior something. Internal. The internal Iliac artery that fed every part of her ass and sexual organs. That’s what I was feeling right now. I tried to focus on the names of all the arteries, but the pressure was too intense. I felt it all center on my cock, as though her ass had aimed at it, and was pounding on it even though she was asleep, and had planned none of this.
Gluteal. It was her Superior gluteal artery doing this to me. Again, and again. Her heart gave the order, but the flow of blood feeding her ass was the hand wrapped around my cock, pummeling up and down without stopping. My body followed each wave, dragged deeper not into the calm orgasm I had wanted, but a cum against my brain. That final heartbeat, the one that finally sent me over the edge, felt eternal. I screamed as loud as I could, then panted her name, my body trying to recover. I then realized there was no final beat. Her heart didn’t stop. My cock was being assaulted again, with no time in between.
My next scream was silent. I had no air in my lungs to weave past my vocal chords, but I screamed anyway. There had been a violent pleasure burning between my legs just a moment ago, but now there was only pain. When it should have been soft and left alone, it was forced to get hard again, and not slowly. There was very little patience in her heart when she was awake, and apparently none when she slept. I found enough oxygen to whisper at her, to beg her to move off me, but nothing happened. Her ass thumped on and on, and my cock came again. I felt it through my eyes, and realized I was weeping. I should have felt my heart racing, but in my chest there was only a burning coal with claws around my lungs. They felt like a caress when compared to what was happening to my penis.
More pounding, more heartbeats, more superior blood tugging at my one string like a sex puppet, unraveling me into threads that got lost under her. I lost track of time, and finally all my senses when I fell into a dead faint that should have provided relief. Even when gone to the world I have a memory of one continuous scream, and one continued line of cums that followed the rhythm of her chest as faithfully as though my cock truly belonged to her, more than it ever did being my own appendage.
I might have died. I don’t know. All I remember is light, and the sound of her voice. Words of alarm when calling my name, then her voice breaking when she finally found me. I wished she had just finished crushing me, because when I woke from that nightmare, the next one began. I was purple from the chest down, and in constant pain. I don’t remember peeing or shitting. All I know is that it took forever to get me to the hospital, and drugged enough to stop crying and feeling. Modern medicine has not caught up to modern homo minimus yet, and it takes a fully staffed emergency room a long time to sedate one of us, for fear of killing us. My body healed faster than my mind did.
I had nightmares for a while, and became overly fearful of her ass. I mentioned before she’s a woman of little equanimity, but she must have truly been afraid of losing me, because she waited longer than usual for me to heal, before deciding I had been afraid long enough. I decided she was right.