"Consuming Passion"

"This is beautiful," Lynnette exclaimed, surveying the land behind
the estate.  "And a Japanese rock garden!  With a pond!  I love
these!"

Lynnette bent down to swish her finger in the water.  Her short black
skirt raised a bit, and her shapely legs stretched within black
stockings.  So tall, such a lovely body.

"Here, fishy-fishy," she cooed.

"Here, fishy-fishy, indeed," he snickered under his breath.

She walked a few steps back, to sit on a marble bench, crossing her
long legs.

"What's wrong?"  He walked to her.  "Fishy not biting?"

"No," she sighed, "just taking in the view.  You have a beautiful
home.  At least from the outside."  She took his hand, and smiled up
at him with her beautiful pale-blue eyes.

"Then I'll show you the inside of my house, too," he said playfully,
and tugged at her hand.  "Kick off your shoes.  Come on."

"What?  All right, all right!"  She flicked away her heels and rose to
her feet at his insistent pulling.

Instead of heading to the house, he darted across the expansive
lawn, with her in tow.  They approached the stand of tall trees which
lined the back of the property.

"Alan!" she called breathlessly.  "Where are we going?  Hey!"

"We're going to my house," he called behind him.  "My favorite
house."  He stopped and pointed up at the trees.  "My treehouse."

Lynnette squinted for a moment, then discerned it.  "Cool!"  She
dashed ahead, now dragging him along.

They arrived huffing at the base of a giant tree, and she
immediately scurried up the makeshift ladder-rungs nailed up the
side.  She stopped three-quarters of the way up, and leered down at
him.

"I know what you're looking at," she goaded.  "Don't wait too long,
or I might make this clubhouse off-limits to boys."  She had a vitality
he craved.  And such tiny panties beneath her hose.  He watched
her scamper over the edge and inside, then he clambered up with
vigor.

"This is nice," Lynnette said with admiration.  "I like it."

"Thank you, Lynnette."

"Definitely a bachelor's pad.  Could use a woman's touch."
Lynnette's eyebrow cocked suggestively.  "Right?"

Her voice lowered aggressively.  "It really turns me on being up
here."  She nimbly flew through her blouse buttons, staring at him,
and quickly reached behind her to unhook her bra.

"Yum," he murmured.

The skirt fell to her ankles, and she hooked her thumbs into her
pantyhose.

"Leave those on please, Lynnette," he insisted.  "But remove the
panties.  Please." 

Lynnette's smile twisted wickedly.  She squirmed her pantyhose to
midthigh.

Her scanty white panties appeared fluorescent against her lithe
tummy and darkly tanned skin, and across her hips they were no
more than lacey elastic strips.  Lynnette bit her lip and pulled at one
side with both hands.  It did not snap, but merely pulled tight against
her crotch.  She pulled again vigorously, and the elastic ripped from
the tiny, fraying fabric.  With a third tug and an angry grunt, she
wrenched it off her body.  With a sigh of accomplishment, she
tossed the tatters at his face across the room, and snapped the
hose back over her hips.

"Is this what you wanted?" Lynnette teased, posing hands on hips.
She cocked one knee before the other, twisting it on flexed toes.

"And how," he answered.  He removed his loafers, khakis and
underwear, and sat on the bench across the clubhouse.  "Are you
as hungry as I am?"  His red cock stood stiffly toward his navel.  He
spread his knees.

In response, she slunk to the floor, and crawled on hands and
knees across the wooden floor to him, slow and catlike.  Her smoky
eyes were fixed on her target.  It was excruciating, how she made
him lust.

Finally, he could run his fingers through her hair.  Her breath broke
in hot waves against his erection.

"Yes, Lynnette, do it," he begged, "please, do it."

Lynnette shook her head free of his hands, raised her head and
gathered her hair back from her face.

"Yes," he moaned.

Instead of going down on him as he anticipated, Lynnette loosened
her hold on her long hair, and it cascaded around his cock.  She
pinned his wrists to the bench on either side of him, then lifted and
swayed her head in a rhythmic dance, draping her hair in sensuous
circles around his penis.  He wished to thrust within the silky
cockbath, but played along, even when she released one of his
hands so she could pull her hair tight by the ends.  She swirled a
taut lock around his shaft, twisting her hair along his penis.

"Oh, baby, don't make me wait."

Mercifully, she capped one of her sweet frictions with a wet, sucking
kiss.  He moaned loudly when he felt his head squeezed lovingly
between her wet lips.

Her mouth smacked.  "So tasty," she whispered huskily.  Her other
hand moved from his wrist to the base of his stalk.  He locked his
ankles together behind her and drew his knees in tightly, pinning
her arms at her sides.

"Now, Lynnette, suck me!" he commanded.

Lynnette seemed to revel in her predicament, and plunged her
head deeply onto him.  She bit down through her lips on the middle
of his erection, scraping his cock as she pulled off him.  She did this
again, this time dragging her tongue against the underside.   He
groaned insanely.

At this signal, she sucked him in earnest, bobbing rapidly.  He
cupped her head in his hands while she worked her magic.  She
was so talented, so sexy, those sucking sounds escaping her lips.
His head snapped back against the wall, as he abandoned reason
and let her suck it all out of him.  He screamed. 

"Oh, Lynnette," he gushed.  That was when his tail snaked around
her her waist, wrapping over her wrists and forearms.  The tail and
legs constricted their grip, and Lynnette shot a panicked look up at
him.  She saw only the back of his throat.  Then warm darkness.

She wiggled within his grip as he lifted her up and in.  Her
squirming was delightful and endearing, although it necessitated
that he eat slower than he craved, so as not to rouse his gagging
reflex as he opened his gullet.  He slid her torso in, to her waist.
She was luscious.  So special.

He stared down at Lynnette's beautiful stockinged legs.  This was
his favorite part.  He liked to do it this way, even though he had to
be careful to hold her ankles, as his snout was especially sensitive
while mating.  But seeing her like this, he could wait no more.

His powerful tongue gripped her crotch, and pulled her in.  He
sucked in her hips, her buttocks, her thighs and calves, down to her
ankles.  Lynnette's feet and toes fanned and wiggled outside his
mouth.  He chuckled, and ran his fingers over her soles through the
nylons.  He swallowed, and with a smack of the lips, she was gone.

He sank in sated exhaustion against the wall.  A burp reminded him
of what was to come--the pantyhose always gave him gas, but the
turn-on was worth the inconvenience.  After a short nap, he would
have to find a warm, secure place to lay his fertilized compost.
Lynnette might make a good mother.

He lazily pulled a rib from between his lips and tossed it out the
clubhouse window, then drifted to sleep.




Alan watched a red Corvette pull into the long circular driveway.  He
rose in greeting.  His palms were wet with anticipation when the
sportscar stopped and went silent.  After a few seconds, the door
opened, and a long, sweet leg stretched to the ground.

He walked to meet her, careful to measure his pace and not betray
his eagerness.  Another leg became visible, and she rose from the
car.  Mara was a beautiful creature indeed; not as pretty as the one
earlier that day, but her body and demeanor attracted him so.  She
was the one he wanted.  When they met on the computer network
while he was en route to this place, she immediately impressed him
as being more creative and intelligent than most earthwomen.

Now, seeing her tall, curvaceous figure clad in a tight red minidress,
he was nearly overcome by giddiness.  She had sent a digital
photograph of herself, but still he was overwhelmed by the sight of
her in the flesh:  her full breasts, her generous hips, her long,
muscular legs.  He wanted to spawn her children.

Mara closed the door and stood waiting, finally cracking a smile
when he produced a long-stemmed rose.

"You're even taller in person than you are on the computer," Alan
said.

"Why, thank you," she replied sweetly.  Mara locked her eyes on his
as she drew the flower to her nose and sniffed deeply.  Holding his
gaze, she slowly licked a long outer-petal from stem to tip, her
tongue pale between the velvety crimson of flower and lips.  At the
end of the stroke, Mara caught the tip of the petal between her teeth
and plucked it from the bloom, then kissed him firmly, leaving the
rose petal stuck to his lips.  He stood dazed, as she chuckled from
the back of her throat and walked past him toward the house.

"Let's go 'round back," he called ahead.  Mara turned and waited for
him to catch up.  He took her arm, and they walked to the patio,
where he held out a chair.

"Drink?" Alan asked.

"Some wine, please.  How about Sauvignon?"

"Er . . ."

"You mean you don't have a single bottle of wine in that shack?"
Mara jerked her thumb at the estate incredulously.

"I'm sure I do," he stammered, "but how about gin and tonics?
They're handy."

"OK."

Alan watched her gaze sweep the grounds and finally rest upon
him.

"You really are very lovely," he smiled, and handed her a glass.

"So I've heard," she said, and drank at his uneasy giggle.  "Actually,
I'm pretty nervous as well.  I was very taken by you."

"Then we should both relax," he said, raising a toast.

"We can do that later," Mara quipped, and slugged down the rest of
her drink.  "So tell me, little boy, where is this treehouse where you
do all these abominable things?  Back there?"

"Mm-hm."

"Well now, you promised to show me."  Mara stood and kicked off
her heels.  "Didn't you?"  She grabbed a bottle from behind the bar,
and walked out into the grass.

He followed a dozen paces behind.  Mara lifted the bottle to her
mouth and twisted off the cap, turned and walked backwards,
leering at him.  He tugged off his sportshirt and tossed it to the
ground as he stalked her.

Mara spit the bottlecap away.  "Ooh, I'm scared," she taunted
coquettishly.  She belted down a healthy swig, and shivered in
sarcasm.

"You'd better be scared," he warned.

In defiance, Mara stopped and swallowed another mouthful.  He
swooped upon her, grasping for a kiss.  Then his eyes began
burning, and he realized she had baptized him in the liquor.  He
heard her squeal and run as he clawed his eyes.

When he opened them again, she was already running along the
stand of trees, trying to locate the treehouse.

"Here I come, little girl!" he yelled, and sprinted after her.  "I'm
coming!"

She screamed excitedly, then spotted the ladder rungs, and
shrieked in delight as she scurried up, oblivious to a few ivory
bones littering the grass.

"Get ready, Mara," he called when he reached the foot of the tree.
"Here comes the big, bad wolf.  How-howwllll!"  He scrambled up
the steps, half expecting some hard object to drop on his head.  He
loved her games.  He wanted her so.  He could just eat her up.

He paused on the top rung, just below the entrance.  Nothing.  His
heart pounded.  He bounded inside, and froze.

Mara lay across the wooden bench on the far wall, clad only in pink
panties and her dress held in a bunch above her breasts.  She wore
a vulnerable, pouty look, pulling the hem with her teeth, cooing
petitely, "Whatever can a girl do to soothe such a savage beast?"

She let the dress fall to the floor.  He leapt upon her.  Their mouthes
and hands were a blur of frenzied, clumsy lovemaking.

"I've wanted you . . . so bad," Mara choked out.  He couldn't even
answer.  "I want you," she gasped, "all of you."

Alan rose to his feet to undo his pants.  Mara poked a pointed toe
into his stomach, scraping a red toenail down to his navel.  As he
tugged at his zipper, she slid her foot to his crotch.  Alan fumbled
desperately against her interference.  He glared down her
outstretched leg in a carnivorous lust bordering on insanity.  In
frustration, he pushed her leg aside with both hands, and the
trousers fell.  He stepped from them and was set to pounce when
she slipped to the floor, to his feet, homing on his swollen scarlet
cockhead.

"Oh, baby," Mara panted, drawing nearer.  His large hands cupped
her head to fuck her face.  She slapped them away.  Not the result
he'd desired, he did it again, but once more she knocked them
down.  Instead, she guided his wrists behind his back, holding them
together above his buttocks, appeasing him with her oral purring,
sucking like a demon.  He blissfully resigned himself, allowing her
to perform her magic, at last content to only rock his pubus to her
expert ministrations.

He wanted to explore more of this woman, to discover the many
facets which comprised such a complex creature, or even just to
exchange more of the prurient banter they once traded over the
computer network.  It was an ironic shame, but her carnal
prodigiousness rushed him too far--her talented sucking pushed
him too quickly into that consuming ecstacy--and he could already
feel the change coming upon him.  His head craned back and
thrashed about, growling loudly into the air.

He would have her now, he thought, now!

But he lay motionless instead.  The heady euphoria had so
disoriented him that he did not understand until moments later that
he had lost his balance.  Something kicked at his head.  When he
opened his eyes, it was his own heels clanking against his skull.

He was being drawn into her mouth, bent backwards and in half.
He tried to wriggle, but his body was numb.  He could only stare
glassy-eyed at her, drawn ever closer to her muzzle, and the
darkness.




She slouched to the floor in a stupor, rocking gently, not only as a
means of digestion, but also from her feelings of warmth.  Her
mother had always said that the Gizhbotts were nothing but a race
of insurance salesmen, but all the same, she thought she loved this
one.  Or would have grown to love him.  He was delicious.

Finally, she could move enough to lift herself onto the bench.  A
short nap was in order, until she heard the racket outside.

A shrill male voice cried below, "Right there, officers, there, there!
Look.  What are these?  Bones they are.  I come home to a strange
car in my driveway, and bones!"

Then she heard the static of a communications device.

"That!  Right there!  That shouldn't be there!" barked the shrill voice.

"What shouldn't be there?" asked another.

"That.  That treehouse!  That's not mine!"

"You're saying the treehouse wasn't there when you left on
vacation?" a third voice asked sarcastically.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," whined the first.  "Don't look at me.
Get up there and apprehend.  The robber is up there!"

She started in surprise at the blaring bullhorn.  "All right, we know
you're up there.  We've got the area surrounded, so come out with
your hands up."  Silence.  "There is no escape.  Come down, and
nobody gets hurt!"

Long silence.  Her eyes searched the interior of the small room.
Unexpectedly, she belched.  She knew they heard that one.  She
had eaten too fast.  She tried not to, but belched again, louder.  She
pulled a cleaned tibia from her mouth.

Then, just as she looked up, a uniformed peace-officer popped his
head in the doorway.  She hurtled the bone at him, striking him on
the forehead.  He made a thud against the ground outside.

"Krauthammer!  Are you . . ."

"I'm all right, I'm all right.  Just get that son of a bitch!"

The standing officer pulled his pistol and wheeled around to fire.  As
he turned up at the treehouse, a footbone bounced off his noggin.
He recoiled, stunned, then sprang up again to fire.  This time a
pelvic section knocked him squarely in the face, and he fell.

The short man who had called the police had gathered a handful of
discarded bones from the grass, and began throwing them up at the
treehouse window.

"Stand back!" ordered the officer who had fallen from the treehouse.
He pushed the short man away, then blazed a magazine of bullets
into the wood shack.

Inside, she brushed away a torn pair of white panties, revealing a
handheld console beneath.  "Ah," she exclaimed.  "They are such
slobs."  She pushed two buttons.

The wooden rungs on the side of the tree slid rapidly upward,
arranging themselves as slats covering the door and window of the
treehouse.  Another click lifted the treehouse slowly from its perch.
It hovered above the treetops, while both officers pumped lead into
its undercarriage.  Then the vehicle zipped away into the sky.

"I've got to stop lying in that Florida sun," said the short man.

"I've got to switch to decaf," said one officer.

"That's it, I'm going back to beauty school," remarked the other
officer.