Chapter 12 Dodie
DODIE
I’ve never slept so soundly as I do next to Hordan.
Living on my own has been the safest, most peaceful time of my life, but I’m beginning to think I’ve never known what it is to relax. To feel wholly safe and at peace. To be able to simply… be.
He wakes early and even though I rouse from the movement, he takes care to extract himself smoothly from my furs, so as not to disturb me more.
He strokes my hair and bids me to continue my rest by sending a wash of relaxing energy over me before he begins his preparation to leave.
There’s a war out there he’s in a hurry to end — for me.
Last night, as I lay in his arms, he shared his story with me through energy and visions.
He showed me the dark, lonely place full of shadows that he and his fellow monsters inhabited.
How legend had it, that monster-kind had been banished there millennia ago, due to their poor choices, and that they’d been made to learn the error of their ways ever since.
And for those who had done the work to evolve, the lessons had eventually paid off, because the universe had granted an opportunity for his generation of monsters to redeem themselves.
It was an offer of hope for a new and different way of life, if they were willing to fight for what was right — if they could protect the vulnerable instead of taking advantage of them, as their ancestors had.
He expressed that many monsters had declined, but that he’d felt a great pull to use his gifts to assist this rebalancing of the realms. With a sense of detachment, he showed me how at first, his role has simply felt like any other job to him…
until he met me. The moment he learned of my existence, clarity had hit him, and ending this war became his soul mission.
Or perhaps sole mission. He looked deep in to my eyes and flooded me with his absolute certainty, that made me feel it with every cell of my body the he was meant to be here for me.
That I am his highest priority. That his life is to be dedicated to creating a world of safety for me to exist in, because the happier I am, the happier he will be, and that would make our life together proof that miracles exist.
I had hung on his every strange word, facial expression, gesture, vibe, and mental imagery he gave me, and every facet of his story had resonated deep within my bones.
Even now, I feel the truth of it surrounding us, and I trust. I trust. That in itself is a miracle, and I am so filled with gratitude I don’t know how to express it best.
While he’s pulling on his trousers, I slip from the furs and move to my hearth space to blow life back into the dying embers.
“What would you like for breakfast?” I ask, checking my meager stores.
I don’t have a lot to share, but he can have it all if it’ll help him win this war faster so he can stay with me always.
I poke around for something substantial enough to give a monster his size enough energy to fight battles, but my findings are pretty disappointing.
He comes to stand next to me with a frown.
He strokes my chin and sends a wave of optimism over me, before showing me cupboards overloaded with every kind of food I could wish for, including a lot of blue berries and jars of his cum.
He grins, pats my belly, presses a hand to his chest, and then strokes my chin again as if to assure me that my days of poverty are over.
That he will provide me with all I could ever want.
A little taken aback, I place my hand on his chest and bow my head in thanks for such an offer, before tapping my chest and rubbing his belly. “I’m trying to feed you,” I say, sending him the mental inventory to see which thing his energy will respond most favorably to.
He shrugs and shakes his head to everything I have.
I stare at him a moment, and then picture him getting out of his monster bed in the morning and then getting some food out of his own kitchen cupboards. “What do monsters usually eat?”
Hordan wrinkles his nose and shows me a bowl of lumpy, beige slop.
“Gruel?” I reach for my nearly empty ceramic jar of oats and barley and open it to show him the few husks remaining.
He confirms with a nod, makes a face, and guides my hand to return it to my shelf.
“But… if you don’t like it, then why eat it?”
An image of his kitchen cupboard appears in my mind. It’s full of row upon row of boxes with pictures on them of bowls of lumpy slop. All gruel. Nothing else.
“Well, I have some other things, so I don’t have to make gruel.
” I put the jar away and consider our options.
“I can make you something else, and I’ll make it delicious, so it’ll make you happy, because that’s what I want for you.
” I beam at him, excited that I’ve just been presented with the perfect opportunity to express my gratitude to him.
I pat my belly, draw the shape of my smile, and then point at him. “What do you like to eat?”
He walks in close behind me and runs the backs of his fingers down the centerline of my body while he projects an image of him happily slurping at a river of juices flowing from between my legs.
I give him a playful swat. “No. Seriously.” I broadcast a ginormous table full of every kind of thing I can imagine and then I imagine nudging him forward to choose what looks best to him.
“If you could have absolutely anything, what would be your favorite thing to eat in the whole world? I want to make it for you. Or try to, if I can find similar ingredients.”
Hordan kisses the top of my head, and then proceeds to sow little kisses down my neck. He strokes my breast and shares a moment from one of our little fantasy sessions, where he’s gulping milk from my breasts as if ravenous for it.
“Mmm.” I lean into his big, strong body and let myself feel the energy of that a moment. “I like that fantasy too. But what do you want me to make you for breakfast?”
He flashes my milk-dripping breasts into my mind again, and I roll my eyes. “Hordan, I’m serious. I want to be able to make you your favorite meal, so I can make you happy.”
He lifts his head and turns me to face him so he can look into my eyes while he palms my breasts and nods at each of them.
I stomp my foot. “Quit messing around. I’m trying to do something nice for you. Why won’t you let me? You make me feel good, and I just want to do something nice for you.” Tears well in my eyes, and he looks panicked by it.
He shrouds me with love energy and shows me so many images of him licking my breasts and sucking my nipples that I start to get aroused and overwhelmed all at once.
Then my mind goes quiet, and all that’s left is an image of him having pushed everything off the massive feasting table I’d shown him except for a glass of milk.
I gaze up into his warm brown eyes. “Milk?” I picture him with a milk-mustache, grinning. “That’s your favorite?”
He nods and shows him filling another glass from my breast.
I tilt my head and study his lit-up expression, and his seemingly inappropriate suggestions begin to make sense. “Breastmilk?”
He grins, strokes my breasts, and tugs gently at my nipples. “Doe-dee.”
“My breastmilk,” I conclude.
He confirms with a deep rumbles of agreement and is careful not to get his horns too close to my eyes when he dips his head to kiss each of my breasts. When he stands tall again, he gives one more decisive nod, apparently satisfied that we’re finally on the same page.
I look down at my very non-productive breasts and frown.
“I can’t make you that for breakfast,” I sulk.
“I don’t even know how I’d make that for you, short of having a baby, and that would take months and…
a human male.” I wrinkle my nose worse than Hordan had about his having to eat eternal gruel.
“Will cow milk do?” I ask, hopeful he’ll accept the alternative.
“There’s a farm not too far that sometimes I—”
Hordan presses his finger to my lips and holds up his other palm, beckoning me to stop. He moves away to retrieve the goodie basket he left me yesterday, and then proceeds to feed me. Blue berries and monster cum. The breakfast of champions.
Both are delicious, but I can’t quit pouting between mouthfuls.
Hordan grunts at me, demanding to know why.
I fold my arms and show our roles reversed. That it was going to make me happy to care for him for a change.
Which is when he gestures to the berries and cum, pats my belly, and shows me a mental story, where I eat these things each day and then my breasts grow bigger, until milk starts flowing from my nipples, into his grinning mouth.
Confused, I give him a sideways look. “Seriously? That’s possible?”
I’m given the same little story over and over, except he gets more sexually explicit and creative with his drinking positions each time the milk starts dripping from me.
I want it. All of it. And we both know it.
He sends me more scenarios, and quickly hot and horny to the point of panting neediness, I have to push him away so I can catch my breath. “Stop that.”
I seek a little space and study my breasts.
Are they… bigger? Shit. They’re definitely bigger.
I’ve been to distracted to notice, but know I really look, they’re significantly bigger.
My nipples too. I’d sort of noticed them looking different, but had put it down to all the action they’ve been getting. The glorious, pleasurable suction.
I cup my breasts, noting the increase in their weight and fullness.
They’re definitely rounder. Bigger, rounder, firmer.
This is happening. My heart starts to race, and while my mind is trying to grapple with this new knowledge and strange twist of events, my body is already thrilled at the idea of feeding my monster his favorite snack.
I squeeze my slick thighs together and return my gaze to Hordan.
“How long?” I demand to know, unable to keep from imagining all the pleasurable scenarios that could soon become reality.
He comes to study and fondle my breasts with me.
For a moment, he stands in total stillness with his eyes closed, and when he opens them, he shares his intuitive guess in the form of the sun traveling over the sky twice.
And maybe once more. He tilts his hand back and forth and moves some berries and cum closer.
He holds up two fingers, then he moves the goodies away and holds up three.
“The more of these I eat the faster it’ll happen?” I pull the whole basket of cum and berries closer and hold up one finger.
His eyes widen. He considers the basket’s contents, smiles, and gives me a half-shrug. “Pegarnd.” He holds up two fingers, but then bobs one of them up and down.
I show him one or two suns passing in my mind, and he gazes lovingly at me as he strokes my cheek. “Bunta spraah.”
I look at how few jars are left in the basket and do a little math before unbuttoning his trousers and kneeling in front of him. “Give it to me fresh, Sir.”