House of Holes (29 page)

“My pants?”

“I think, yes. I need to experience curving shapes to make my bowls. What lovely hips.” He cupped her cameltoe for a moment. “Do you like to eat salad? I do.”

Luna nodded, stepping out of her pants.

“Turn around, please, so I can have a look at your—”

“Panties, or no?” She turned.

“Panties are fine. Oh, my. Don’t move. Bend forward just a little.” Jason walked across his studio and unhooked a very large salad bowl from the wall. He stood behind her and pressed the bowl around her ass. Then he leaned against the bowl, humping at it with his hips. Luna felt well and truly cupped. “Now that’s what I call a Cobb salad,” he said.

Luna touched the smooth, perfect grain of the bowl. “This is lovely. Who inspired this?”

“Oh, a woman Lila sent me a few months ago. Her name was Jackie. She tried out some of my dildos, and I made three huge bowls in her honor, and then of course she went on her way. Those were the last dildos I made. I make friends with women, and it’s nice, but they just don’t want to live out here in the woods with me. They want be in town.”

Luna looked around the studio. “Well, you are quite isolated,” she said.

“Yes, it helps me concentrate. When I come I can shout as loud as I want. Will you dance for me? Let your breasts roam for a moment—I need to see how they dance.”

“Okay.” She danced, and as she danced she tried to think of the most delicious salads she could imagine—with artichokes and sundried tomato and blue cheese dressing, and beets, lots of beets.

Jason nodded. “Good, good. I’m beginning to get the gist of them. Now I’ll need you to help me clamp both my hands in these vises.” He placed his hands, palms up, between two battered, smooth wooden vises. “Just turn the cranks.”

“How tight?”

“Uh, not so tight that my hands are crushed, but tight enough so that they are immobilized. I must be immobilized in order to feel your breasts completely. Sorry my fingers are such a mess. I’ve been staining today.” Luna tightened the screws till she reached a point that seemed right. “Good,” said Jason. “Will you give me another sip of that brew? And help yourself. And if you could stroke my palms with your fingertips for a moment to sensitize them, that would be very kind of you.”

She brushed lightly over his palms with her fingertips. His eyes fluttered, and he began breathing through his mouth as if in a trance.

“Mmm. And now the big event.”

“My breasts?”

“Yes. Take them out for me, please. Unfetter them. I want your bosoms naked as jaybirds. Big honking jaybirds.” Jason began to sway from side to side, and he looked at her with a look of heavy, slow-blinking lust. “Are you ready?”

“I think so.” Luna took off her sweater and her tank top and then, without breaking her gaze, reached back and flicked open her bra and shrugged it off, holding it momentarily like a baby when it landed loose in her hands.

“Let me see. Oh, my, oh, my. Now please lower them, almost to my hands.” She reached forward and held his shoulders and leaned, looking down at the hanging outline of her breasts as they came closer to his immobilized hands. She stopped when she was almost there.

“Ah, I can almost feel their warmth. Now very slowly lower. Lower. I want to almost hold them. Just graze the nippletips, graze the nipples, oh, that’s it, that’s good. I feel the aureole energy. Now give them all to me. Give me those glories!”

“Nope, wait,” Luna said, and she lifted her chest and shook her breasts for him.

“Oh, you freaky teaser!” said Jason. “I can’t wait any longer for it, right now, please.” Strange things were happening under his leather apron.

Luna again descended, as gradually as she could, on the verge of filling his hands with her boobflesh. At first it was just her nipples, then a little bit of the tips of the cones, and then her boobosity began settling in, and they reformed themselves, fattening on the side fill as they gave their titfat to his upturned palms.

“Ohhhhhh, I can feel you forming the bowls for me, Luna, the fullness, the brimmingness of your breasts, there’s more of you and more of you, you’re so good with your hot boobfat, I can feel the salad bowls in your beautiful knocker-jug-bosom-boobs, that’s what I need. Mmmmmm. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

She could feel his hands trying to clench and grasp and pull from her all the knowledge of her palm-smothering abundance. Then he sighed and nodded, indicating that he was done.

“How will you remember them?” she asked.

“I have ‘absolute shape’—I never forget any shapes I really care about. Come, unvise me. I’ll walk you out to the peckerwood tree.”

“Should I put my pants back on?”

“Absolutely not. Never put that bottom away!”

The light snuck in sideways through the trees as they walked, and Luna felt that it was a sexual sneaking in, as if the trees were long legs that could be seen beneath the skirt of the leafy canopy. Then she saw a different angle of trees, and they seemed strong and male. Her underpants, she discovered, were wet.

They stopped. “This is the pearwood penis tree,” said Jason. He took off his leather apron. They listened. “Hear the fluids in it, the sap?” he said. “Hear the mushrooms growing at the base?”

She listened. “Yes.”

“Good, cause you’re going to hug it while I fuck you.”

“I thought I was going to fuck the tree.”

“After me. That’s how we wake the sleeping giant.”

He grabbed her ass and pulled her panties down, turning her so that she held the tree. He shoved himself deep into her. It felt sudden and tremendous, and she made a surprised sigh: “Ooof!” Then she began to hear different sounds—a cracking and a ticking as several small buds of bark appeared on the tree trunk about three feet off the ground. The bark split open, showing a pale, smooth, fleshy branch, and then the branch, thus exposed, began to straighen, while the nodular wooden balls remained covered with a finely wrinkled bark.

Jason was slamming his hips into her. He thumped into her hard, so that she almost lost her grip on the trunk. “Oh, oh, oh, god, Oh, shit! Oh, fuck! Here it comes, baby, ooooooooohhhhhhhhhh! Aaaaaaaaah!” Jerk after jerk of Jason’s artisanal come filled her rejoicing twathole. “Now quick, hop on this new cockbranch.” She grabbed it and held it—it was still warm from its accelerated growing. And then she heard the summer wind begin—a warm wind that made a different kind of rustling in the leaves because the leaves were drier now—and the light that snuck in between the boughs and boles was splaying and scattering, half of it reflected off the water, half direct from the setting sun. “Fuck me deep, tall, strong penis tree,” she said.

The cock shape grew longer and pushed into her, and then the whole tree seemed to branch into her core and out her arms and legs and lift her far above the earth. “Hold on!” called Jason, as she was swept up on a high bough impaled on old boreal growth. She looked out from her high-splayed vantage, and she said, “I’m a treefucking woman!” Dappled sunlight shone and emptied itself onto her. She squeezed her Kegeling love muscle around the smooth, thickened branch within, and when the wind came up again all the leaves twittered and shook. The tree itself shuddered: It was having some kind of orgasm. The new growth of penisbranches fell off. Panting and quivering, Luna climbed down. Jason hugged her, then gathered the fallen branches. “I’ll polish and stain these tomorrow,” he said.

“Dendro dildos?”

“Yes, inspired by you.”

“Can I come back and get one?”

“Please do,” said Jason. “I’ll make a salad for you.”

Henriette Goes for a Walk

H
enriette decided to take her new extra-big ass on a walk to the noisy quay where the Masturboats docked. She wanted to feed the gulls and see what was up. First she got in the shower to wash herself so that she could be clean all day and the world wouldn’t know what a totally freaky, filthy-minded, cocksucking whore of a princess she actually was. She washed her hair and her face and her body, and last of all she washed her pussy and her huge deep asscrack. Her pussy she washed by holding it spread open with her right hand and splashing water up at it a bunch of times, and her asscrack she washed by jamming the cold soap between her pleasantly joggling cheeks and working it around a few times. Washing the asscrack wasn’t really that difficult; rinsing was trickier. Soap could burn later if you didn’t rinse every bit of it away, Henriette knew from experience—burn like a bastard—and you couldn’t just rely on the water that was coursing down your back to do the job.

So Henriette employed what she thought of as the Aswan Dam method. She cupped her left hand in the shape of a C, and then she pressed this C below her anus, but before her pussyhole, in the no-man’s-land known as the perineum, which is a word that comes from the Greek word for “pine barrens.” She cupped her left hand there and made a seal against her asscheeks so that the water as it coursed down her back would be caught in this temporary well or spillway that she had created. She had in effect dammed her ass temporarily. When her hand was full she began agitating it, still keeping the seal intact—steadily slooshing the water in waves against her anus for ten seconds or so. Then she opened her fingers to let that rinse effluent fall away. Again she made the C-cup with her left hand and let it fill, and again sloshed it vigorously. At last she knew that she had a truly clean, well-rinsed asscrack, ready to greet the day.

She dressed in her new form-fitting ass jeans and went strutting outside. She walked down the Avenue of the Men Who Need to Suck on Twat Every Day and took a left on Upskirt Street. There she heard a voice calling, “Wait, stop, hello, wait!” Ruzty hurried up in his torn jeans, out of breath. His T-shirt was old and red, and it said “Phillies.” “I request to squeeze your ass,” he said, in his foreign voice. “You will notice that I have the ass-squeezer’s license.”

“Do you now?” asked Henriette. “Good for you. What else do you have?”

“Basically, that’s it,” said Ruzty. “Everybody is trying to keep going, but then they turn out to be broke. The size of what they owe is how rich they are. If they can borrow a billion dollars, that makes them rich. Really they have nothing. But never mind, because I have”—he pulled out a folded sheet of paper and patted it—“an ass-squeezer’s license, signed. This means I can walk up to a girl like you with a big, beautiful ass and tell her I want to squeeze it, and she has to let me.”

“Let’s see the license,” said Henriette.

Ruzty waved it at her.

“Very well. Where?”

“My hotel.”

They went up to his suite at the Portalino Extended Stay Suites.

“How do you want to squeeze it?” Henriette asked.

“I want you up on the bed, as soon as possible.”

Henriette took off her roomy denim ass pants and arranged herself bending forward on the bed like a person skiing down a slalom course.

She felt his hands on her, squeezing their way along her backthighs and finding her lower backcheeks and massaging her deeply, with an interest in all her cores and centers. Then she felt his cock pushing strangely at the seams of her underwear. “No, now, Ruzty,” she said. “You have an ass-squeezer’s license, not a pussy-fucker’s license.”

“Wait a second, yes, I do, I do, I just forgot to show it,” Ruzty said, rummaging in his pockets. He had a slightly desperate sound. He waved another folded piece of paper. “I’ve been saving it for this moment.”