The Artifact of Foex by James L. Wolf Page B

considered,
except... Chet
had
felt this way before.
    “Yes," he finally said. Admitting the truth
hurt.
    Journey leaned back and took in his reaction
with a practiced eye. “
This
is why people are frightened
of us: so many don’t know that they’re flexible until we show up on
their doorstep. And in their beds. Some have blamed us—even killed
us—for helping them discover their own innate sexuality. Are you
going to blame me, too?”
    “No, mostly I plan to blame Fenimore.”
    “That’s all right, then.”
    Journey curled up beside him and undulated,
rubbing himself lightly against Chet. Chet hesitated. He wanted to
kiss Journey, kiss him deeply, but did he have the guts to do so?
Oh, Abyss.
Chet climbed on top of Journey and kissed him.
Chet felt Journey’s lips smile beneath his. Journey was writhing
under him, his hands stroking Chet’s hair. Chet drew back to
breathe and found that Journey was in the exact position under Chet
he’d been in as female. His legs were spread and everything.
    Yet when Journey spoke, he said, “I want to
be inside of you. Think you can withstand another dick today? I’ll
be far more gentle than LaDaven, I swear.
    Chet gulped. His ass still felt sore from
Fenimore’s sundering, yet that had felt so good. Journey might feel
even better. “Um. Okay. Please be gentle with me!”
    “I’ll be better than gentle. Roll onto your
stomach,” Journey said as he got up to riffle through his luggage.
Chet complied hesitantly as Journey plunked a familiar bottle on
the bed. “That delightful young woman threw this in gratis when we
were decamping. She said we’d probably need it again, the way we
were going. She was right.”
    Despite his words, Journey did not squirt
some of the oily liquid into his hands. Instead he spread Chet’s
buttocks and stared between them.
    Chet squirmed, gazing at Journey over his
shoulder. “What are you doing?” Why did it feel so alarming to have
someone study his ass with such intense scrutiny?
    “Fenimore really did plunder you open, didn’t
he?” Journey leaned in and—oh.
Oh
! Chet squealed like a
girl as Journey’s tongue pierced his anus. How soft and wet his
tongue was, but this
couldn’t
be hygienic.
    “Aren’t you afraid of getting sick?”
    Journey chuckled, withdrawing his tongue to
speak. “No. You just took a shower and I’m Flame. Like I said, we
don’t get sick—
any
sort of sick. Just deal with having my
tongue in your ass, boy.”
    Chet
dealt
with it. He wondered
whether this was the way women felt. The noises emerging from his
mouth were womanly enough—high pitched squeaks and tiny moans—as
Journey lapped him out. After a time, he drew back and slapped Chet
on the ass.
    The pain was sharp and palpable compared to
his ethereal tongue. Chet yelped involuntarily. “Don’t stop!”
    “Stop? Why should I stop when you are so very
sweet?” Journey said, diving back in. This time Journey suckled his
balls, too.
    Chet was beside himself with pleasure; spread
and sundered. He didn’t know how long he writhed. Minutes, hours,
it was all the same. Occasionally, Journey would draw back and slap
or pinch to make him squeal. Chet could almost
feel
Journey’s grin, feel his enjoyment of Chet’s reactions. His skin
was too small to hold him, and he came without warning, spurting
onto the bedspread with vigor.
    “That’s better. Now you’re relaxed.”
    Chet realized Journey had the bottle in hand
again. He squirted an oily trail directly onto Chet’s ass: it felt
bizarre and dirty, and Chet reveled in the sensation. He really was
dirty. A dirty little slut, spread before a Flame, ready to take
his dick and fully intending to
enjoy
it.
    Journey didn’t disappoint him, but when he
inserted himself, Chet frowned. Journey seemed rather too small,
more like a finger than a cock. Chet didn’t think he was
that
relaxed.
    “Um...” he said hesitantly.
    “I’ll grow when you’re ready for me.”
    As Chet had suspected,