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From: nostrumo@nienor.IN-Berlin.DE (Nostrumo)
Subject: Repost TG: Adsorbing Passion   by S. B. Douglass   (1/1)
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Hi.

  One of the real weird, but well written stories.

  As usual I DIDN'T write this story and haven't any claim on it. If
you have some usefull hints or some good coments, your mail is then
welcome. Flames, you know, they will be piped to /dev/null.

  If you are an author and wish to remain anonymouns or just try to
avoid the replies to your work. I offer you the chance of posting your
stories and collecting the response for you. This offer only stands for
story postings and for nothing else.

Enjoy the story.

Ciao
	Nostrumo

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> cut here with a sharp knife <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<


Adsorbing Passion

                                                         by S. B. Douglass
 

My eyes closed as his hands slid over what was left of my face, and I knew
that they would never open again.  It's funny, I still think of him as a
man, even though in the last week or so, he's begun to look quite feminine,
and even though he's surely not a human.

I was beyond panic as his hands slid over my lips and cheeks to my chin,
then up over my breasts, gently massaging me, giving me intense pleasure by
merely touching what little flesh I could still call my own, and then
stopping, leaving me alone with no sensation.  I was separated from the
world, alone with my thoughts and memories.

My memories?  At least I still had my own memory to draw on.  I was Cheryl
Anne Smith, I knew that, and I held onto it as the one personal posession I
still owned.  As long as I had my own name, my own identity, I was still
there, no matter how little of the rest of me remained.

How long had it been since I had a proper body?  It seemed like only
yesterday that I'd gone out dancing, dressed to kill, and yet it must have
been much longer.  I remembered too many sunsets, too many long talks with
Ron.  How long had it been?  What had happened to my sense of time?

How long had it been since I'd first set eyes on Ron as he stood by the edge
of the dance floor?  He'd been wonderfully handsome, attracting me from the
moment I saw him.  Had I really walked up to him and asked him to dance?  He
was a perfect handsome stranger, and when he spoke he was hypnotically
romantic.  I'd been so taken by him that I hadn't even asked his name until
after I'd made up my mind to try to get him into my bed.

Thinking about our meeting made me want to scream, or at least it made me
wish I could want to scream.  There's too little of me left to actually
scream, and worse yet, there's not enough of me left to even want to scream.
It had all started so well.  Perhaps I was foolish to bring him home with me
when I left the bar, but it felt so good at the time, and who'd have
imagined what he really was.

I'd gone out to pick up a guy and have a fun evening and some sex, and I
remember thinking as I let Ron into my apartment that I'd done very well.
Ron and I had sat down on my couch to talk, but we didn't talk for long.  A
comfortable romantic silence had fallen over us as we looked into each
others' eyes.  There's a turn of phrase that fits what we'd done, we'd
undressed each other with our eyes.  We'd done it silently, and then we'd
gone on to undress each other with our hands.

Everything had seemed not merely normal but better than normal as he'd
undressed me, gently unbuttoning my sheer blouse and peeling off the tight
little miniskirt I'd worn.  He'd carressed my body with such love, or at
least, that's how it had seemed.  He'd gently touched every part of me from
fingers to toes as we'd played on my bed.

He'd said that he hungered for me, and I'd responded with such lust, pulling
him to me after I stripped off the last of his clothing.  Would something as
simple as a condom have saved me?  I'd cooperated with him; there was no
doubt about that.  Worse than that, I'd enjoyed it even after I discovered
that things had gone awry.

That was the aweful thing.  Even now, the memory is pleasant, now that I
know exactly what he wanted from me.  I can't help but enjoy it.  After I'd
undressed him, I'd pulled him to me on the bed, thrusting my hips at him,
lusting for his penis within me.  He'd entered me swiftly, and it had been
wonderful.  I'd never had multiple orgasms before, but that night I came as
he entered me, and then I remember coming again and again, long into the
night.

I must have blacked out with the pleasure, because the next thing I remember
is the morning sun streaming in through my bedroom window.  His penis was
still deep inside me, and I was in mid climax.  I remember his smile after
he climaxed, and I remember eagerly clenching him to me with my legs, happy
to keep him in me as we relaxed.

He rolled off me without pulling free, then helped me up into a sitting
position on his hips.  "Good morning," I remember saying.  He smiled up at
me as I enjoyed the sensation of his penis within me.

"Want to call in sick?" he'd asked, gently carressing my breasts with his
fingertips.

I remember giggling as I sat on him, then calling the office from my bedside
phone.  I didn't want to let him out of me, and as I talked to Jeanne at the
office, I remember idly rocking my hips on him, starting the two of us along
the road to another orgasm.

--

I was startled back from my memories by the feel of his thighs against my
cheeks.  Was he walking?  The rhythm was right, and then there was a pause
and I felt myself start to gag.  I felt the familiar pressure in my throat
and moments later, I vomited.  I was used to it, but it was horrible
nonetheless.  It wasn't so much the taste of it as it was the thought.  What
was I throwing up, how was I reduced?  What could there possibly be left for
me to throw up?  He wiped my mouth, and then I felt the pace of his walk
again.

I returned to my dreams, remembering the moment I'd discovered that Ron had
trapped me.  It had been shortly after I'd called the office, and we were
talking quietly on the bed, still locked together as we worked our way
towards another orgasm.  I'd been on the bottom at the time, and I laughed
as I pushed him up and rolled us over so I was sitting on his hips.

"I've never met anyone who was so good at staying in a girl before," I'd
said, smiling down at him.

"It comes naturally with me," he'd said, returning my smile.

"Want breakfast?" I'd asked, pulling away from him.  I'd asked it more from
habit than from hunger, but as I pulled, I discovered that I couldn't pull
free of his penis.

"Hey!  I'm stuck!" I remember saying.

"Yup," he'd said, still smiling, and then driving me to another orgasm.  The
orgasm hadn't peaked like a normal one; instead, I remember it continuing to
rise in intensity forever, driving through my body with ever increasing
waves of pleasure, making any questions I might have seem completely
irrelevant in the face of such a total and immediate experience.

How long did he keep me under?  I can't say, but the next thing I remember,
it was dark outside as he held me in his arms.  "You're still in me?" I
remember asking.

"We're joined forever," he'd said.

I remember laughing.  "Don't joke," I'd said, "we've made love all day.
Let's take a break, wash up, go out for dinner."

"We can't," he'd said, and I lost track of time again as a wave of intense
pleasure swept from between my legs and crashed through me.

He touched me, startling me back to the present as I felt his fingers ond my
sensitive areolas.  There was so little of me left that any touch, any
sensory stimulus was heavenly, and as his hands left my breasts and slid
down what was left of my chest to my clitoris, I lost all interest in what I
was and how I'd gotten there.

It was over too soon, though, and I thirsted for more.  I was hungry for
orgasm, and it wasn't the same anymore.  Why?  Was there too little of me
left?  I wanted the intense love Ron had given me in our first days
together, and he wouldn't or couldn't give it to me anymore.

It took me a while to get over my disappointment, and then I drifted back to
dreaming.  When had I first understood what Ron was doing to me?  I remember
drifting back from an orgasm, lying face to face with him as I slid my hand
down his body to where our hips were joined.

I'd thought he was asleep at the time, so I slid my finger down between our
bodies to see if I could dislodge his penis.  I remember being confused for
a moment about what I found.  I ody, it had felt like his skin simply
blended into mine.  I remember finding my clitoris, and below it, the skin
had simply folded back to became the skin of his belly.

I don't think I screamed, but I remember gasping, startled, and then he'd
touched my arm and slid his hand down to join mine, feeling what I was
feeling.

"It's fun, isn't it?" he'd asked, grinning.

"But how do we I" I'd begun to ask.

"We don't," he'd answered, pulling me to him and silencing me with a kiss as
he gave me yet another overwhelming orgasm.

"It is fun, isn't it?" he'd asked, when the orgasm ended.

"Yes," I'd said, terrified but speaking honestly.

"Good.  It always is, you know."

"What's happening to me?" I asked.

"We're one, joined in body and soon in soul," he'd said, sliding his hand
down my side to my hip and then off.

I remember looking down at our hips some time later.  I'd rolled myself,
onto him, it was daylight again, and I'd just called the office to say that
I was still very sh larger than the size of his penis, and as I looked down,
I remember being startled to see the smooth blending of our bodies.

Why didn't I object?  Why did I call my office regularly, why didn't I
struggle?  Looking back on it, there are so many things I could have done
that might have changed the outcome, but I'd done nothing.

Looking back on it, it's easier to measure time by how we were attached to
each other than by what day it was.  For example, it wasn't until my thighs
were joined to him all the way to the knees that I asked why I wasn't
hungry.  It was a question I should have asked far sooner, but it was hard
to think coherently when I was constantly interrupted by such glorious
orgasms.

I was sitting on Ron when I asked the question.  We were in what had come to
be our usual daytime resting position; he was on his back with me squatting
over him, my ankles by his hips and my knees beside his ribs.  At first,
there'd been other possible positions, but once my thighs ha the bathroom?"

He'd smiled and pulled me to him to kiss me, then let his hands slide down
my chest to finger my breasts.

"I never eat," he'd answered.  "Right now, I'm adsorbing you."

I remember wanting to scream as his answer hit home, but I knew that there
was no point to it, and he rewareded my patience by pulling me to him and
gently kissing me before bringing me to another orgasm.

He'd kept me up, cresting from one orgasm to another for what must have been
at least a full day after that, preventing me from asking questions or
learning more about my fate.  At that point, I can't imagine that either of
us had much left in the way of genitals, other than my clitoris which was
still exposed at the point where our bodies joined, but it didn't seem to
have any effect on my ability to experience wonderfully intense orgasms.

--

My attention was wrenched back to the present by a growing pressure in my
throat.  I had to vomit again.  Judging by the feel of his thighs on my
cheeks, he was just sitting down, probably on the toilet.  Why hadn't I
noticed him walking to the bathroom, had I slept?  Had I been so intent on
my memories?  Quite some time must have passed.

I vomited, and then, as he gently wiped my lips, I remembered the first time
it had happened.  "You've got to go to the bathroom," he'd said, pulling me
up into a sitting position on him, then shifting his legs over the edge of
the bed.  "It's OK, I know how to do this," he'd said, and then he'd stood
up, holding his hands under my armpits to support me as he carried me to the
toilet.

His comment about my needing to go to the bathroom hadn't mad sense to me at
first.  As far as I knew, I was incapable of it because he'd adsorbed that
part of me.  I'd reached the point where my legs were almost gone.  My hips
emerged from the front of his, and somehow, it had begun to look almost
natural, as if we were supposed to be joined that way.

With the bulk of my legs gone, I guess I was easy to carry, and the way he
held me was even comfortable, but as he knelt by the toilet, I was overcome
with the need to vomit.  It had started as a barely noticable pressure in my
gut, but it expanded almost instantly into severe nausea.  I remember him
helping to turn my head moments before I vomited, and then my memory fades.
I have only dim memories of the next few minutes, but it seemed that I
emptied myself of gallons of creamy yellow liquid before he helped me rinse
my mouth and drink glass after glass of water.

"Better?" I remember him asking as I recovered.

"Yes," I'd said, "but I feel dirty."

He'd smiled at me, then sat on the edge of the tub and began filling it.
For the next hour, I remember having a very enjoyable bath.  I washed him,
he washed me, we combed each others' hair, and generally behaved like
childish young lovers, alternating useful cleaning with sex games.

It was like that for what could have been another week.  I suspect that I
was physically addicted to the wonderful orgasms he could give me, and I
suspect that his body was taking control of my hormones, preventing me from
feeling any sense of panic, terror, or anger.  Intellectually, by then, I'd
gotten used to being bound to him.  I can't say that I accepted my fate, but
I could face it calmly.  I remember feeling twinges of regret about projects
I knew I'd never be able to finish, but they were only twinges.

At night, we slept and made love, and during the daytime, we talked, danced,
made love, and kept the apartment in shape.  A few times, very early in the
morning, we'd even gone down to the apartment mailbox and collected my mail,
and then I remember spending enjoyable days looking things over, paying
bills, reading magazines, and generally, keeping up the pretense that I was
still a person.

I genuinely enjoyed that week, even as I noticed the changes in what was
left of my body.  My waist grew slim, until it was no thicker than my neck,
rising from between his thpenis.  Ron never hesitated to let me see what was
happening to myself, but whenever I questioned it, whenever I objected, he
silenced me with his universal answer, another orgasm.

--

I was pulled back to reality by a splash of water on my mouth, and then the
water entered me briefly.  What was it?  I tried to guess what was going on,
and then it was obvious.  Ron was taking a bath.  I felt the water lap up
over my nipples, and then I felt his soapy hands slide over them as he
relaxed in the tub.

Another bath?  How much time had passed?  Why was he keeping my breasts?
Why wasn't he adsorbing my mouth and cheeks?  For that matter, why was I
still alive at all?  What perverse purpose was served by what was left of my
body?

And then it dawned on me as his fingers slid down to my clitoris and touched
my lips.  He was using me to become a female!  The way he'd adsorbed my body
had let my chest fold back against his abdomen, with my head sinking slowly,
over the days, ings, my chin was becoming his pubic bone, my clitoris was
almost in place, slipping slowly towards my lips, and I suddenly knew that
my breasts were sliding slowly up his body to grace his chest.

I felt a wave of anger, but I was horny; it had been a long time since I'd
had an orgasm, and he gave me one, sliding his hand to what had been my
chin, pressing on my clitoris, then sliding a finger to my mouth where I
kissed it.  He drove me to an orgasm, but it seemed like a hollow ring of
what I wanted.  Deep in what was left of me, I felt a growing hunger for
something more.

I felt his touch again as he toweled himself dry, and then I felt his thighs
move against me as he walked to bed.  What would Ron call himself as a
woman, I wondered.  He'd never told me more than Ron, and that could as
easily be Ronda as Ronald.  What would Ron do as a woman?

The answer to the last question swept over me without warning.  Ron was
hungry, it was time to find a new person to consume.  That expla froze in my
mind.  Part of me wanted to die before participating in such an awful act.
I wanted no part in consuming Ron's next victim.  Or did I? Ron didn't
victimize people, when Ron consumed someone, it was a wonderful experience,
and I suddenly felt certain that part of every person Ron had ever consumed
was still there, somehow, inside him the way I was inside him.

I drifted off to a dreamless sleep, and then it was morning.  I knew it was
morning even before I felt anything, and then I felt motion against my
cheeks, and I knew it was time go get out of bed.  What had changed?  The
answer came to me not as words, but as certain knowledge.  My brain was
being consumed.  It was now attached to his nervous system, being blended
into him as thoroughly as my body had been blended with his body, and there
was nothing I could do to stop it.

I still had no sensation other than on my breasts, clitoris, lips and
cheeks, but I knew.  It was morning, Ron walked over to my bedroom mirror
and looked at the reflection there.  I knew that Ron was a beautiful woman,
slim, intensely desirable, and hungry for a man.  I knew that Ron stood in
front of the mirror approving her looks as she combed her hair.  I suddenly
knew that it had we'd met, now it was September.

Ron walked to my closet and began to consider my clothing, pulling out
dresses and looking at them.  I felt it as she pulled on a skirt, and
suddenly, it came over me that she was pulling on the very skirt I'd worn on
that fateful evening when we'd met.

I felt the skirt slide tightly over what had been the skin of my neck and
cheeks, but now that skin was on her belly and fanny, and then I felt the
light touch of a blouse against my breasts.  Was it the same sheer blouse
I'd worn that night a month ago?

It was, I knew it, and I was powerless to do anything about it.  I knew that
Ron was stepping into my shoes, and then she stood at the mirror, admiring
herself as she buttoned my blouse and tucked it into the elastic waistband
of my skirt.  She turned, smiled at her profile, then decided to shorten the
skirt, pulling the elastic fabric up a few inches and turning the excess
under at the waist.

Suddenly, I understood that the woman Ron had become looked like me.  Ron
had lost weight, moulding her body until it had my proportions, sculpting
her face to have my looks, and even changing her voice to be my voice.  Had
she done it deliberately or was it a natural consequence of consuming me?

I could feel her hunger for a man, and I knew that hunger.  I was desparate
for the orgasms I knew she could give, I was desparate to feel a man's penis
within my mouth, and I felt no remorse.  Part of me wanted me to feel
remorse, part of me wanted me to feel angry, but I couldn't.

She took a last look in the mirror, admiring the way my blouse almost hid my
breasts, yet drew attention to them by the very fact that they weren't
entirely hidden.  She checked the hemline of my skirt, noting that it was
almost indecently short, then she reached down and gently patted what had
been my chin.

"Cheryl Anne Smith, let's go get us a man," she said.  I didn't hear the
words, but I knew what she was saying.

We walked out of my apartment, and I knew that we'd never return.  I
wondered how she'd go about adsorbing a man, and she answered my question,
letting the knowledge flood into my mind.  She'd adsorbed countless men in
her long life.  If a man chose to have sex with her orally, she could adsorb
him head first, allowing her to keep his legs and genitals and adsorb her
own if she wanted.

If she had conventional intercourse with a man, she could adsorb him the way
she'd adsorbed me.  She preferred to do it that way because it was more fun,
allowing for weeks of pleasant conversation and play.  The knowledge washed
over me.  I knew that the middle weeks were best.  The first week with a new
partner was solid orgasm, a necessary part of taming her victim.  Then there
were twer partner and preparing for the next.

While I grappled with this flood of knowledge, I knew that she was walking
down the street, enjoying the approving glances of the men she passed on the
sidewalk, drawing on centuries of experience in the art of attracting a new
partner.

It was important to find the right man, someone who could provide a secure
house for a month, someplace where there wouldn't be any interruptions.  I
knew that physical security wasn't enough, though.  She wanted company while
she adsorbed her next partner, so she needed a man she could like, someone
fun to talk to.  If she liked her partner enough, I knew that she'd keep
part of him and integrate it into her own personality.

Was that what she was doing with me?  The answer was obvious even before the
question came to mind.  Yes.  Part of me wanted to back out, to die, to
accept any end other than merger with this monster that consumed people.  I
knew what she was doing, though, I knew that she was slowly until all that
remained offered no resistance to a complete merger.

It was still before noon, and I felt her decide to visit the university.
She walked there, arriving around lunchtime, and then she took a seat on a
bench in the shade of an old oak tree.  I knew this without seeing.  I could
feel the bench pressing comfortably against what had been my cheeks as she
relaxed and watched the early fall crowds on the campus sidewalks, but it
seemed like I could feel more, my sensation wasn't confined to what had been
my own skin.

I knew that she didn't want a student, students couldn't meet her need for
privacy and security during the time it took to adsorb them.  She wanted a
single faculty member, or even better, someone from the research staff,
someone who lived alone but was old enough to own a small house.

Her glance fell on a good prospect, and she smiled politely as her eyes met
his.  I could feel the anticipation as he walked over to talk, and even
though I couldn't see st after.

As they talked, he mentioned his roommate, and that made him a poor
prospect.  Part of me cheered as a victim escaped, but that part felt
smaller every time I noticed it.  The larger part of me shared her
disappointment as the man got up to leave.  More and more, it was our shared
hunger that I felt, not her hunger but ours.

As afternoon came, we met others, and our feeling of need heightened.  I
knew that Ron could adsorb any mammal, in desparation, but she preferred to
hunt by stealth, finding partners she could enjoy instead of merely flesh to
consume.  How had she begun?  There was no answer.  Her oldest memories were
only a few centuries old, and there were few from before my lifetime.  She
was a composite of her partners, yet there must have been something from
before.  I slowly became conscious of the fact that others among her many
partners had speculated about what she was, and none of them had ever found
a good answer.

--

My attention was pulled back to the present.  She'd caught sight of a man I
recognized, Roger Stearns.  I'd dated him a few times and gone to bed with
him once.  A tiny part of me wanted to yell at him to turn away, but he was
such a nice guy, such a good lover, and there was nothing I could do.

"Roger?" I called, as the last shred of resistance fell away from me.

He turned my way and then looked surprised.  "Cheryl?"

"That's me!" I said, getting up from the bench and walking up to him.

"I heard you were sick," he said, looking concerned.

"I was," I said, smiling, rewarding him for his concern.  "I was out of work
for a month, but I'm OK now."

I knew what Roger liked.  I knew him, and I'd had years, lifetimes of
experience with other men like him.  In no time, he offered to drive me to
his place for dinner.  All the while, his eyes were on me, entranced by my
face, by my short skirt, and by my breasts.  In the car on the way to his
house, I set my hand on his thigh, and by the time we reached his n sweeping
through me was intense as I helped him undress, and as I freed his penis, I
kissed it, full in the knowledge that if I wanted to, I could join with him
right then and adsorb him through my mouth.

That wouldn't be fun, though, so even as the animal deep within me called on
me to bond with him on the spot, I pulled back and finished undressing him,
then let the desire build to almost orgasmic intensity as he undressed me.
We laughed as he sat in the center of his waterbed and invited me into his
lap, and then I came to him, squatting over him and taking his penis into
me.

We bonded as he entered, and then I sat in his lap, gently stroking his
wonderful body, content in the knowledge that it was now mine.  My clitoris
pressed firmly against his pubic bone, sending a thrill through my body, and
then I pulled him to me and kissed him as we shared what I knew was only the
first of many wonderful orgasms.



                                  1

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