CHAPTER 10
CELESTE
Razul bathes me and moisturizes me again, and in the tingling warmth of the afterglow, every touch of his fingers against my body feels incredible. It hardly even hurts when he re-bandages my calf, and the wounds the cactus left seem mostly healed.
A quiet, distant voice suggests I should feel guilty for getting hurt, for causing Razul trouble, but it’s easy to ignore. He seems to welcome whatever trouble I cause him.
For once, my inner monologue quiets. I don’t miss it.
Once I’m dry, Razul tucks me into my basket in the kitchen. He leaves me with a bowl of neatly sliced berry halves—each and every one checked for quality—and I end up with their dark magenta juice covering my face, hands and breasts by the time the bowl is gone.
Razul wipes me clean with a damp cloth, then I curl up in my basket and nap.
He returns several hours later to feed me more fruit, surprising me with another pill. I hardly even wonder what it was; I trust him completely.
I stir hours later to the cool light of dusk.
Razul isn’t in the kitchen.
I crane around, looking for him, but there’s no hint of his ochre skin or iridescent green.
Unease fills me. I don’t like that he’s not here, but I’m not supposed to leave my basket.
I lean out as far as I can, carefully balanced on the edge.
The woven cactus creaks underneath me, suddenly tipping over.
I yelp and throw myself backwards, only barely managing to stay in the basket.
There’s a scuff of scales, then a puff of sand suddenly erupts from the floor.
When it settles, a tiny caimite stands there, looking at me. It’s only three feet long, like a miniature version of the adults, albeit with extra bulgy eyes. It’s… very cute.
Still, its mouth is lined with sharp, interlocking teeth, and I’m sure it could rip off my limb in a second.
I keep tightly tucked in my basket as the crocodile-like caimite slithers over on its six legs. It rears up, tilting its head and sniffing at me.
It sneezes again.
The dust reaches my nose, and I sneeze back.
We both blink at each other, startled.
Then the caimite thumps his tail against the ground happily.
There’s a distant, deep rumble, which the little reptile turns toward, as if it’s a summons for him. It probably is.
He turns back to me with a little half-sneeze, then dives under the sand, sending it rippling as he easily swims away.
I’m reminded of the danger of my new life. But I don’t feel afraid. Razul’s basket kept me safe, like he said it would.
Every little detail has been considered.
I snuggle down into the soft blankets beneath me and wait for him to return.
It doesn’t take long.
Razul strides into the kitchen covered in dust and sweat, and his spiced scent washes over me, smelling of comfort and home.
He steps over and ruffles my hair affectionately, making that noise that’s my name in his language, then turns away again, washing his hands in the kitchen sink.
My heart tightens. He has more to do. I should be patient.
But then his words echo in my mind.
You deserve to be impossible to please.
A whine forms deep in my chest.
Razul pauses and turns toward the quiet sound. I reach for him, and my whine gets louder, more demanding. I frown at him, pouting.
The warmest, most beautiful smile I’ve seen yet spreads across his face, and he dries his hands, then comes and scoops me up, cradling me to his chest.
I nuzzle against his neck, humming happily.
Razul carries me to the pool, setting me on the edge as he washes the sweat and dust from his skin.
I kick at the water, splashing him playfully.
His rich laugh fills the room as he flicks me gently in return.
After drying us both thoroughly, Razul tucks me into the sling on his chest as he carries blankets and pillowcases out to the river, washing away the myriad fluids.
He hangs the linens on a line to dry, then stokes a fire in a clay stove nearby.
Whatever’s inside it burns without smoke, and he produces a pair of giant green speckled eggs, each the size of my head, setting them in a pot of water over the heat.
I watch in awe as his feet are able to fish the eggs out of the boiling water without injury, and then he sets the eggs in the sand to cool.
He cracks open the top of one, peeling back chunks of shell to reveal the white.
As I peek out of my sling and sniff at it, he offers me a small piece. I take a little nibble—then immediately spit it out as the texture violently disagrees with me.
Razul just laughs and pets me behind my ears, continuing to eat his egg. He reaches the yolk, which is an odd blue color.
He dips a finger into it, offering that to me.
I hesitate, but Razul maintains the offer patiently.
I tentatively lean forward and tap just the very end of my tongue against the yolk.
It has a silky texture and a rich, fatty flavor that lights up pleasure in my brain. I especially crave fat now after the hucow transformation.
I eagerly suck the yolk off Razul’s finger, and he offers me more.
The rich fat goes straight to my chest, and by the time Razul finishes his dinner, my breasts are full and tender.
Thus, I become Razul’s dessert. He sits me up on the low roof of his house, leaning into my breasts and methodically draining me. The way he massages me with his fingers, gently but firmly forcing the milk out, feels so fucking good.
I cling to his head to keep from falling over, and my fingers play absently over his halo of horns.
Razul shudders and moans; they’re sensitive.
Full of greed, I eagerly rub the horns closest to my hands.
He snorts, catching my wrists in one hand and easily holding them behind my back, forcing me to politely endure my milking.
I squirm and whimper as the heat pangs harder and harder between my legs. I press my thighs together, desperate for friction.
Once my breasts are empty, Razul pries my thighs apart, plunging his tongue between my legs.
My eyes roll back with sheer pleasure as I cum fast and hard, squirting into Razul’s mouth. He eagerly drinks it down, sucking at my clit to keep me cumming.
As relaxation settles over my body, I surrender to it, slumping off the roof.
Razul easily catches me with a light laugh.
I spy his dripping cock and reach greedily for it, but Razul clicks his tongue and stuffs me back in my sling.
By the time the sun sets, the pillows and blankets are dry again. Razul reassembles his nest and settles on his back, pulling me across his chest. I’m too tired for further mischief as the steady beat of his heart lulls me to sleep.
He carries me with him at dawn, collecting eggs from boxes lined with straw. He settles the eggs in a wide basket like the one he made for me, then carries them back to the house and places them underground in a cool, humid cavern.
Once the basket is empty, he carries it over to the shady area by the river and sets me in it.
I stay warily back from the edge, rubbing my calf as it prickles in memory.
Razul pulls out another smaller woven basket with holes between the strands and scoops sand into it. Then he shakes the sand out, leaving behind a pebble and a dried palm frond. These contaminants are set aside.
With methodical precision, Razul sifts through the top foot of sand, removing all manner of plant detritus, odd little bugs, and pebbles. He’s particularly careful with the chunks of dried cactus, setting them far away from where I am.
I tentatively wander out into the sand he’s already cleared. Now that I trust it, I dig my hands down underneath, wiggling into the silken texture.
It’s cool and soothing against my skin, and I feel a little like a caimite.
Razul glances back at me with a smile.
I find the pile of pebbles he left and hold each in the sun, cooing when I find veins of glittering sapphire or pretty pink splotches. I sort the rocks by color, then aimlessly make a spiraling pattern. Razul passes each new rock he finds to me for inspection.
I roll around in the sand, loving how it feels on my cheeks and in my hair, trusting Razul’s thoroughness completely. I don’t remember the sand on Earth ever being this soft. If I get it in my mouth, I taste a subtle mineral flavor, but it doesn’t leave a gritty residue behind.
Once Razul is done with his inspection, he burrows again, just a little of his iridescent green shell visible in the sun. I wander over and lean my forehead against his stomach, loving his rich laugh and how he rubs my cheeks and ears.
He says that musical word again, that note followed by clicks that is my name. Since I don’t understand the syllables, I hear all the warmth and affection woven into them.
I understand the meaning of this name.
It means I’m loved. Cherished.
And that’s all I need to know.
I lean harder into Razul, rubbing along his body and earning an affectionate pat on the rump. He massages my thigh, and I lean more of my weight against him.
He tests the weight of my breasts—steadily gaining since breakfast—then nudges me back out into the sand to play.
I stack my little rocks in piles next, seeing how high I can get them before they topple over.
When the day’s heat makes me sweat despite the shade, Razul scoops me up.
I reach back toward my pile, and he holds me over it so I can grasp my two favorite rocks: one is glittery, translucent pink quartz, and the other has a brilliant vein of green with black speckles. The stones, polished smooth by the river and the sand, sit comfortably in my palms.
Razul gently takes them from me and sets them near the pool as he washes me. I go limp in his hands, basking in the attention.
How quickly I’ve taken to this spoiled, charmed life. Razul is impossible to resist.
He’s tapped into this well of neediness at my core I didn’t know existed. When he’s done with the lotion and his hands leave me, I whine unhappily, and he indulges me with another full body rubdown.