by Bonnie Dee
"Patty. She had long brown hair until you cut it. By the time you retired her to the memory box in the attic there were only patches and tufts of hair left and one of her eyes was stuck open." He grinned smugly. "She's still packed away up there now."
Her eyes widened. "Now that's just scary." Actually it was kind of sweet that he knew that kind of personal detail about her, even if some magical force had fed him the information.
One of his hands stole under the sheet and up the inside of her bare leg. "I have another question for you. How do I prefer sex, top or bottom?" His eyes closed partway in a seductive glance.
She laughed at the unexpected question. He'd seemed content with her taking the lead at first so she thought maybe he liked her astride him. Then she remembered how confident he'd been moving on top of her only a few moments before. "On top. You like to be in control."
He shook his head. "Wrong. The answer is either. Both. From behind. Kneeling. Sitting. Standing. Up against the wall. On a table. In a tree." He lowered his voice to a velvety growl. "Anyway at all, as long as it's with you."
Considering he was only created to please her it didn't mean a lot and yet the compliment sent a thrill through her. "A tree, huh? I'd like to try that."
"We can go outside right now if you want. But it's a little wet." He smiled at the understatement. Rain was still lashing against the windowpanes.
"How about on the dining room table then," she said huskily. "I can make us something to eat first and then you can sweep the dishes off the table and have your way with me."
"Sounds like a plan, as long as you do the cleaning up afterward. Or…" His fingers slid all the way up her thigh underneath the sheet and tickled her still throbbing pussy, bringing on a new wave of lust. "We could stay right here. I like being in your bed."
"I like having you in my bed." In fact, she wished they could stay here forever, in this precious moment of this particular night with the pouring rain making their cocoon seem all the more cozy.
Then Sam's stomach rumbled loudly, breaking the silence. "The kitchen it is," she said. "I'll make us an omelet and we'll see what happens after our strength is built up again."
He rested a hand on his flat stomach as though pressing back the growling beast inside. He gazed down at it. "What an odd feeling. Empty and wanting… Kind of like the way I feel when I look at you. How strange a human body is."
"What was it like … before?" Marie asked as she got an oversized T-shirt from her dresser and slipped it on. "What did you feel when you were in the field?"
He rose and stood by the bed, hugely naked and gorgeous, filling her small room with his larger than life presence. "Sun. Wind. Rain. Daylight. Nighttime. The sky. The fields around me. The blackbirds that landed on the corn. The field mouse that lived in my boot. And you, sitting nearby sometimes or moving through the field picking pumpkins. That was what my life was."
She paused with one arm in her sleeve, awestruck by his brief recitation. "How did it feel? I mean, did you feel emotions, desires, what?"
He crossed the room toward her, shaking his head. "No. Not in the way you're thinking. I was an observer, but with no reaction to the world around me. I felt … very little." His eyes narrowed as he gazed at her, as though trying to fathom the mystery of his own being. "Except when I saw you. Then sometimes I would feel vague stirrings, curiosity about what you did when you weren't in the field, an unfocused, yearning that was beyond my comprehension."
Her heart sped at the knowledge that what she'd seen as a bundle of rags and straw had possessed the rudimentary elements of a sentient being. It was disconcerting, creepy, and also strangely sexy—that even in that state he'd had a primitive lust for her. "And after?" she asked. "After I made the wish?"
His broad smile turned the harsh, seriousness of his angular face to an expression of boyish delight. "The difference between a faded black and white movie and Technicolor. Life pulsed through me, waking every body part then unfurling in my mind. With every minute that passed, I understood more and felt amazing things. Emotions!" He shook his head and pressed a hand to his chest. "The depth of passion a human being is capable of is a more powerful force than anything in this world. It hurts, it's so strong."
Marie exhaled the breath she'd been holding and nodded. "I'd never felt it before tonight. Not ever. Not really." She thought of the pale imitation of emotion she'd felt toward the men she'd dated throughout her life. "Now I feel like I've gone from black and white to color, too."
It was impossible to imagine resuming her previous bland life. And relegating Sam back to a primitive figure on a pole stuck in a field was criminal. "What do I have to do to keep you here?" she asked him. "Anything. I'll do it."
Shaking his head, he grasped her hand and pulled her into his arms, bending his head to kiss her. Afterward, he pressed his forehead to hers and gazed into her eyes up close. "For now … make me an omelet."
Laughter bubbled through her, momentarily dispelling the heaviness in the air. She led the way downstairs to the kitchen and got the ingredients they needed from the fridge. After setting Sam to work dicing onions, tomatoes and peppers, she got out the skillet and greased it, then whisked a bowl full of eggs.
He looked up at her, eyes streaming from the onion, as he passed her the plateful of diced vegetables. "Some parts of being human are not so fun," he commented, wiping the tears away.
"Ooh, poor baby. I should've let you beat the eggs." She stood on her toes and kissed his wet cheek. "My bad."
With a growl, he tucked an arm around her and pulled her against him. Although Marie wore a T-shirt, he'd chosen to cook naked and his erect cock pressed insistently against her belly. He took possession of her mouth once more, kissing her deeply, his hands roaming her back then gripping her naked buttocks under the hem of her shirt, pressing her harder against his length. When he released her mouth, he muttered gruffly, "Fuck the omelet. Let's fuck."
A quiver of lust stabbed through her at the rough words, but she smelled the smoking grease on the griddle and pushed him firmly from her. "Cook first. Sex after." Although she knew their time together was limited, part of her fantasy included domestic companionship. Her desire wasn't just for a nightlong fuck-fest.
She sauteed the vegetables, and Sam added the egg and grated cheese. Soon the fragrant meal was ready and on a pair of plates along with buttered toast. It was the perfect simple yet filling meal for a blustery night. As they sat at the kitchen table, Marie thought she could get used to eating her meals across from a powerfully built, bare-chested man, who looked at her like he'd rather eat her than his food. She'd read about eyes "glittering" but hadn't seen it until tonight. It was as if there were shards of diamonds in those black depths twinkling at her. For a moment, she could hardly swallow her mouthful of food past the tightness in her throat.
Then his attention left her as he took his first bite of the omelet. His eyes closed and an expression of bliss suffused his features. "This is amazing! So good!" He groaned, the same ecstatic sound he'd made during sex.
Marie smiled and tasted the omelet as if eating for the first time ever. Food really was a profoundly moving experience. Just wait until she fed him chocolate—maybe drizzled over her body.
He stopped talking then, diving into the gourmet feast they'd created and demolishing it, only pausing to give a grunt of approval when he sipped the glass of orange juice she'd poured for him. When he was finished, he set his fork across his plate, suppressed a contented burp and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Wonderful!"
"Glad you liked it." Her own plate was only half empty, but she wasn't hungry. The press of time weighed heavily on her. She could feel the minutes slipping away. Rising, she picked up her plate and reached for his to carry them to the kitchen.
He grabbed her wrist, stopping her. "Wait a minute. I believe you mentioned a fantasy involving sweeping the table clear and shagging like minks on top of it." Before she could protest or save her dishes. He rose to his feet, towering over her and w
resting her plate from her hand. Taking her fantasy quite literally, he pushed the plates and glasses, the salt and pepper shakers and the napkin holder onto the floor. They fell with a clatter. Luckily the glasses were plastic rather than actual glass and were empty. The napkins showered across the floor in a white drift.
Marie's stomach leaped at the brutish display as he grabbed her waist and hoisted her naked bottom up onto the table. He yanked her T-shirt over her head in one swift move and tossed it aside then stepped between her legs, grabbing her thighs and pulling her into a fierce embrace.
"Oh!" was all she had time to gasp before he covered her mouth with his, kissing her as hungrily as if he hadn't just eaten. His tongue plunged into her mouth, colliding with hers. He tasted salty and sweet, savory from the omelet and tangy from the orange juice. She slipped her hands up his hard chest and hooked them around his neck. Tilting her head back, she allowed him to ravage her mouth with his hard, demanding kisses.
She was breathless and disoriented as his body pressed her backward onto the table, his hand supporting the back of her neck until he had her laid out flat. He climbed on top of the table and on her, pinning her to the hard surface with his hulking body. The table creaked and Marie spared a thought for the ancient legs which might not have been built to support two bodies screwing on the tabletop. Then Sam reached between their bodies to touch her clit and delve his fingers into her pussy, and she stopped worrying about the table collapsing. He remained awkwardly supported on one arm while his fingers did amazing things to her crotch, tickling, stroking, rubbing and pinching.
She moaned, writhing beneath him as he brought her to the edge of coming. Soon her body was slippery wet and wide open for him. Her sex throbbed with her heartbeats, clenching and releasing rhythmically. He guided the head of his cock to her entrance and drove inside. The force of his thrust rocked her, pushing her across the tabletop an inch or two and rumpling the cloth beneath her.
He pulled out and thrust again with a grunt.
Marie pulled her legs up, bracing her heels on the table and holding onto his bulky shoulders as he plowed into her a third time. The old, wooden table shrieked at the onslaught. Marie thought she might scream too, it felt so good. His cock was long and thick, perfectly proportioned with his big body, and filled her so well and so deeply it was like finding a missing part of herself. She imagined a satisfying click as two jigsaw pieces fit together.
In. Out. Sam thrust over and over, not slowly and carefully as he'd done earlier, but with a callous roughness that raised an answering excitement in her. She whined and lifted her hips to meet him. As he pummeled into her with abandon, the gathering clouds inside her piled one on top of another like a thunderhead building. Lightning flashed, thunder rolled through her, then… Boom! The storm broke and rain washed down from her inner sky in sheets.
Marie groaned and bucked up, her eyes rolling back in her head at the force of her coming. Incited by her orgasmic rapture, Sam thrust once more, driving her backward so that her head slipped over the edge of the table, then he froze, caught in his own thunderstorm. A low throaty growl that sounded like thunder tore from his chest as he released into her.
Marie panted for breath and clung to his sweating shoulders. She let her head fall back and it drooped over the edge of the table. Eyelids flickering open, she noted what her kitchen looked like upside down. "Whew!" she gasped, drawing in a breath while his heavy body lying on her chest tried to force all the air out of her lungs.
"Grr." He grunted, climbing off her and the table, which gave a last groan of protest. He offered his hand and helped her to her feet, then hugged her to him. For a moment, the pair of them stood, swaying slightly, as they regained their equilibrium.
Sam cast a glance at the floor where the scattered remains of dinner was strewn among a snowfall of napkins. "Remember the part where you promised to clean up afterward if I took you on the table?"
She laughed and turned her face to his chest to nip his pectoral—such a massive muscle, such a hard, beaded nipple. "Help me clean up or I'll deny you access to my body for the rest of the night."
"Yes, ma'am."
Together they tidied the kitchen, stacking the dishes in the sink. Then Marie grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses and led him upstairs to her bedroom again. They climbed under the covers with pillows plumped behind their backs, and sat side by side, drinking wine and talking about every subject that crossed their minds. Sam seemed to know a bit about a wide variety of topics. For example, although he'd never tasted wine, he had the implanted knowledge of a connoisseur. He savored a sip from his glass and pronounced it full-bodied and rich, an earthy, elemental bouquet.
"What else would you like to do?" he asked after a while, setting his empty glass on the nightstand. "I could give you a full body massage, temples to toenails. I could bathe you and wash your hair. Tie you to the bed and tease you 'til you beg for mercy. Smear you with honey and lap it up. Whatever desire your mind can conjure up, I'd be happy to fulfill."
His offer alone, spoken in a matter-of-fact rather than submissive tone, was enough to set Marie's flesh prickling again. The idea of having a six-foot-something mountain of muscles at her command was thrilling, and all of his suggestions sounded wonderful. But, as she glanced at the clock and saw they'd talked until nearly two-thirty in the morning, Marie realized she'd rather simply be held in his strong arms.
"Can we just cuddle and talk some more?"
"Of course." He moved down under the covers, laying his pillow flat and resting his head on it. He stretched luxuriously and yawned until his jaw cracked. "This bed is so soft and comfortable. It's a wonder you can ever get out of it in the morning."
Morning. The word struck like a bell tolling doom. A few more hours and the sun would rise. It was impossible to imagine Sam diminishing from vibrant life to an inert mannequin again. She lay down too, and reached out a hand to touch his hard chest. His heart thumped faithfully, steadily behind his breastbone, as if it would never slow or stop.
Marie blinked stinging tears from her eyes and rolled over on her side. His big arm came around her and pulled her back against him. His hot breath blew against her neck. "Comfortable?"
She nodded, too upset to speak.
"Are you all right?" He pushed up on one arm and leaned over her shoulder to see her face. He wiped a trickling tear from her cheek with his finger. "Crying? What's the matter? Is there something I didn't do to please you? Whatever you want, whatever you need to make you happy, please, tell me. That's what I'm here for." His voice was low and anxious.
She shook her head and, to her annoyance, began crying harder. "No." The word came out choked and thick. She cleared her throat and fought her voice under control. "There's nothing you can do—unless you can figure out a way to stay."
"Shh. Shh," he crooned, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. "Don't think about it. Sunrise is hours away. Just rest, relax, sleep a little and I'll hold you." He pressed his lips to her shoulder.
"Don't want to sleep," she snuffled. "Then it will be over even sooner."
He pulled her hair aside and kissed her cheek, her temple, the corner of her mouth. He nuzzled her jaw and the soft spot behind her ear, all the while crooning comforting words. "It will be all right. Don't cry. I love you."
His hand caressed her tit then cupped it in his warm hand. He held her close against the solid wall of his chest and stomach, his legs wrapped around hers, and nestled between her buttocks—the heavy, solid weight of his cock. It stirred and he rubbed it along her groove, tickling over her anus, setting her pussy lips quivering again.
Marie smiled through her tears and shook her head. "You're insatiable! How can you possibly get it up again? You're not human." The moment the words were out of her mouth she remembered their truth.
"Human enough for this," he murmured, nipping her earlobe. He reached between her legs to test her readiness and she was already creaming for him. Grasping his cock, he slipped it inside her once m
ore. "Don't think now. Just feel. Enjoy this moment."
"I won't let you go," Marie said fiercely. "Keep making love to me and it won't end."
He pulled out slowly and pressed into her just as slowly, over and over, filling her then pulling back like a tide rising and receding from the shore. Reaching over her hip, he rubbed her clit with a soft, circular motion, applying just enough pressure to keep her on edge—not enough to push her over. When he finally gave her that last little nudge, she came with a soft, whimpering moan and let go of her tension with a sigh. He drove into her once more, deeply, and shuddered against her with a contented sigh.
"Love you," he whispered near her ear, and it sounded like the breeze rustling through dry corn stalks.
They lay in drowsy comfort afterward, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, enfolded in one another's arms. Lulled by the warmth of his body and his beating heart, Marie relinquished consciousness and drifted into deep, dreamless sleep.
New Scene
When she woke, she was alone in the bed. Pale gray, pre-dawn light shone in the window. She sat bolt upright. Her hand swept over the depression in the bed next to her, feeling for residual body heat, but there was none. She jumped out of bed, tugged on a T-shirt and jeans and raced downstairs and out the front door.
The storm had stopped and the ground was muddy, the grass wet and cold on her bare feet. She ran around the side of the house and her gaze went straight to the scarecrow post in the pumpkin field. Her stuffed mannequin was back in place. It hung exactly as she had left it yesterday afternoon. The clothes were sodden and sagging from last night's downpour, the brim of the fedora dripping raindrops. The sleeves of the coat flapped slightly and the whole mannequin shifted slightly on its pole in the stiff breeze, creating the illusion of residual life.
Marie ran to the scarecrow and clutched the soggy coat. She thumped her hand against the figure's straw-filled chest. "No!" Throwing her arms around its legs, she pressed her face into the pants. They smelled like musty, wet straw. The rough material scraped her cheek. The front of her T-shirt quickly soaked through. Hoarse sobs wracked her body. "No." She cried out her anger and frustration, then, still clutching the fabric of its pants, stepped back to stare up at the cloth mannequin.
