Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: b1223@ix.netcom.com (b1223 )
Subject: Lisa's TG Library: "Absorbing Passion"
Date: 3 Sep 1995 19:53:44 GMT

			  Adsorbing Passion
			  by S. B. Douglass
				 1991
		This work may be redistributed freely
		 over USENET and connected networks.

	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. s.p
				 -

	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.