Fuzzy_Peach
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Sep 15, 2007
- Posts
- 127
Fuzzy's NaNoWriMo thread - Nov 10th - 17,246 / 50,000 words
l8 - Thx.
I appreciate it. I wanted to stop by your place earlier, but I tied myself to Word all day.
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“Let’s call him pigment.”
“After the powder?”
“Of course. The blue stuff though. He had red stuff and blue stuff, but I’d rather name him after the blue stuff.”
“It’s almost done,” said Pith.
“He’s very strong.” Stipple took the bracelet from Pith. She sniffed the rock. “It smells like coal. I think it’s just polished coal, but it’s very hard.”
“Maybe.” Pith took back the bracelet.
“We’ll give him a bath. I bet he can carry us.”
10 Tame
“Get under there.”
“Oh. What the hell is under there?”
“That’s not good.”
“We’ll have to let that air out.”
“Open its mouth.”
“Squish the sheet back and forth. We’re going to have to leave that here anyway.”
“Should we touch the toenails?”
“I’ll get the knife.”
“Keep it soaking.”
“We’re running out of soap.”
“Maybe scrape his butt on the rock?”
“Something fell from the back of its ear.”
“Get in between those bumps.”
“One is higher than the others.”
“There’s one really long hair on that ball.”
“I’m less hungry now.”
“Same here.”
“The soap fell in.”
“What?”
“Yeah. It’s gone.”
11 Carriage
The sun opened up along the trail and they followed. They were passengers on the ogre Stipple named Pigment. Their packs hung on pigments thick neck. They sat cradled in his arms. Pith was stone-faced, controlling the ogre. Stipple hugged the massive trunk of Pigments arm. She tucked her hand into the space between his forearm and bicep. If he only twitched he could probably break her fingers. The ogre carried each of them on one arm. He palmed their bottoms. They held his arms. The pair leaned back and bounced upon his chest. He was as fast as a horse. Their only complaint was his rough skin, but it was soft if you didn’t grind against it.
“Let’s stop. I get a terrible sense that it’s thirsty,” said Pigment.
“Okay,” said Stipple. “I am too.”
Pigment, with his movements controlled by Pith, stopped at the rivers edge. The stream was a hundred yards wide now and the water ran high. Stipple guessed it might even be over her head. The water was brown and dark, too disturbed and choppy to reflect the sky. The song of this river was a rush to the great river and ultimately to the sea.
Under Pith’s direction, Pigment bent low and Stipple stepped off. She rubbed her butt-bone. Pith’s somewhat-unoccupied body was set like luggage to stand beside Stipple.
Pigment walked into the river. The water at the river’s edge was only a few inches deep, but he sank to his knees in the mud.
“Good thing he has no shoes,” said Stipple.
“Either do I,” said Pigment. The massive ogre spooned palmfuls of the sandy water. They were easily each worth a bucket.
“Hey, you got my seat wet,” said Stipple. “Hmm. This water smells a little salty.”
“I don’t smell it,” said Pigment. The water poured over the creatures head and across its chest. The gray skin turned a matte black wherever it was wet.
“How does your sniffer work in there?” asked Stipple.
“Oh. It might not at all. I didn’t noticed until now.”
“Well, the water is smelling just a tiny bit brackish. That’s weird because I don’t smell the sea or sea grasses or gross fisherman or something fishy like that.” Stipple wrinkled her face. “It tastes a little salty too.”
“I can’t taste either,” said Pigment in low ogre monotones. “It’s hungry though. It might be starving. I don’t think we should have had it run in wet pants either. There’s a burning on my legs, its legs. It might be chaffing.”
They were in a scrubby area, a deserted floodplain. The pines had tapered off. A lot of sweet gale grew in the area. The resinous scent would have been stronger if it weren’t in flower. Stipple once drank a sweet gale tea to quiet some nightmares. It was too strong and she developed a dislike of the smell ever since.
“Come up here,” said Stipple. Hi did and she untied Pigment’s braided rope belt and pulled down the knee-high pants.
“You could have rolled them up,” said Pigment.
“Pith?”
“Yes,” said Pigment.
“How the hell do you run with this stuff hanging here.” The ogre’s balls were the actual size of men’s fists and the sat in a pouch the size of a watermelon. Stipple imagined that the dangling cock, as wide as a women’s arm, must be even more unwieldy. “You don’t beat yourself up with this as you run?”
“I always managed it in my regular body.”
Stipple laughed. “Orders of magnitude here… I don’t know what this thing is then, but it’s not what you got.” She thought that there was actually some truth to that. It looked pretty much like a human penis, but the head had a weird angle to it and didn’t taper like a man. She only saw the head when pushing back the foreskin to wash it. Stipple imagined that it would be easier to wedge a foot in her than to have that thing go poking around. That being said, it had an enjoyable heft to it. “It’s not even stinky anymore.”
“You’re supposed to be looking for chaffing.”
“The thighs are a little sore. I think. They’re pink and gray. That’s probably sore.”
“Stipple? I actually do smell something,” said Pigment. The ogre pulled up his pants and made a clumsy knot in the belt.
“Well, get back in the river.”
“No, this is food.”
“Oh. Is something cooking? Is it dogwood? I think I smell some bunchberries, but they’re probably dried up and they must be far.”
“No,” said Pigment. “This is meat.”
“Ew. Is it alive?”
“Definitely. It smells like urine and must, but it’s not bad.”
“Oh, that’s disgusting.”
“I’ll be right back,” said Pigment.
“I’ll just stand here with your body. I reserve the right to fiddle with you.”
Pigment ran across the scrub fields in noisy leaping bounds. A few times he hunkered low and sniffed at the air like some wild thing.
Stipple saw it. There was a peccary out there. Pigment scared it out of a black willow and it darted back and forth like a squirrel. The long sun cast a frantic and chaotic shadow of the scared animal.
Pigment leaped at it. He missed. The ogre broke into a sprint from off the ground, propelling himself with monstrously strong arms. By chance or Pith’s skill, he stepped on the little pig.
Stipple looked away. She heard awful squealing.
Pigment returned, carrying a limp pig by the scruff of its neck. It was not any bigger than a plucked turkey. “I got it!”
“I know.”
“Something in me wanted to eat it on the spot,” said Pigment. “In fact, it’s not only harder to control it the farther I get from my body and the bracelet, but that voice in there gets much louder.”
“Should I be worried?” asked stipple.
“Not if we cook this soon.” Pigment smiled.
Stipple wondered if Pith realized how frightening it looked when he smiled as Pigment. She imagined that the face didn’t naturally twist in that direction. Left to its own devices, Pigment would be a very, very different creature.
“Can we risk a fire?”
“If we head for those hills.”
“Pigment likes cooked meat?”
“I don’t know,” said Pigment. “But, humans always cook pigs and they get sick if they don’t.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Stipple. “We need to eat too. So, let’s find that dogwood. Bunchberries are bland, but they’re worth a stop on the way. That pig has such a cute belly. How will we cook something with such a cute belly?”
12 Aperture
They had fished fleshy cattails roots from the mud and picked three handfuls of perfectly ripe bunchberries. Now, the sun had set. They had a large fire going. It was the first fire they burned a week. Although they made it to the hills, they were far lower and more gradual than they had looked. They were sparse too, like burial mounds that grassed over. So, Stipple assumed their fire would signal for miles. At least they had Pigment.
It turned out that spending a lot of time in Pigment made Pith’s real body tired. He wasn’t weak, just sleepy. So, Stipple was alone with the disgusting smell of roasting pig, a shell of an ogre with a penis the size of her arm, and her brother who wasn’t any more alive than a sack-cloth.
The incident in Crawford seemed years away. She wondered if it was the ridiculousness of traveling with an ogre or the mystery of a harvest moon coming up over the fields, but Stipple felt painfully bored. She tried to read the dwarf’s journal. She counted the gold dollars. She tasted every one of the stolen stones. She even arranged them in their smallest pouches by size and color. She painted Pigment’s nails and toes. She used their false-ultramarine pigment. The best they had. She even waxed the fingernails, but she didn’t bother with the toes..
The pig sizzled. The ears were especially noisy for a while. Stipple took up the bracelet.
She slipped it on her wrist and pulled it off immediately. She didn’t feel anything. She tried again. She left it there, ready to yank it off.
Nothing.
No. There was. She wasn’t looking through her own eyes. A mild vertigo hit her. She couldn’t feel her legs or arms. She looked to her left and right. There she was, sitting below her. She looked so impossibly small with her little porcelain arms and dark hair. Pith looked like a doll beside her.
Stipple thought she heard something. She actually felt like someone had just walked behind her, like a hand would lay upon her shoulder any moment now. She didn’t like it and she moved to take off the bracelet. She realized she was moving the ogre hands and grabbing for a bracelet that wasn’t there.
Where was she exactly? She remembered a deep sense of herself. She imagined her old arms and her legs. They were ghost sensations. She imagined her left hand encircling her right arm and wiping down. The felt only a dream-like sensation of it, but it wasn’t much, not more than a memory. The scent of the roasting pig competed with her own ghost image – it smelled wonderful. She tried again.
Stipple came back to her body in a warm flash. She felt like someone just dropped her in a hot bath. She had pins and needles everywhere. She wiggled around. Pith rolled off of her lap. He curled up on the ground, but did not wake.
Stipple stood, exhilarated by the sensation of her own muscles and her breath in her chest. It felt great to be back. It was a little creepy inside Pigment, but Pith was right; it was incredible. She walked around to the front of the ogre. She stared for minutes at the tiny wet-black dot eyes, the lumpy muscles on top of muscles, and the hanging bucket-jowl. She had crawled in that empty head. She had moved that body.
It wasn’t empty though. She thought about that presence. If she heard it, would it have been like an animal. Would it be a guttural moan like when Pith spoke through Pigment? Would it hate her? She was curious, but she was thrilled.
Stipple played with the ogre’s mouth. She pulled its lips back to expose it’s twisted teeth. She mimicked a growling. She rubbed the surface of its tongue. It was gritty like a cats tongue. The ears were warm.
She put the bracelet back on. She took it right back off. She realized she was holding some curiosity back. There is sometimes no open-sky independence that can shake away the fear of embarrassment. Who would notice? Pith? In all seriousness, he had proven himself to be a complete slut. He would rather swallow a stranger’s cum than go broke and sleep outside. Sometimes he did it out of necessity, sometimes out of love for her, but really, Stipple sometimes didn’t think it bothered him nearly enough. So, Stipple thought it wouldn’t hurt if she explored a bit more. She wanted to play with Pigment’s cock.
She untied his belt and reached down his pants. She labored to pull his huge unit out to hang over the edge of his pants. It may have been the fire, but she broke a sweat in the effort. Pith was still sleeping. She circled her fingers around the tip. Her thumb-tips met at the bottom, but her index fingers barely reached. She pulled the foreskin back. She sniffed it. He wasn’t any smellier than a human’s. She squeezed the top. It was spongy. It squished to half its size.
There was barely any apex to the head. In fact, Pigment’s peehole sat in a slight caldera-like depression. The hole was big too. Stipple pulled it apart a bit. She couldn’t see very well in the firelight, but there was a smaller hole in the big hole. She wiggled her pinky finger against it. It was stretchy. She licked the tip and pushed it in to her first knuckle. It was very hot. It felt hotter than the fire on her back. She realized her other hand was getting really tired. It was very, very heavy penis. Flaccid like this, it still ran the length of her arm. Stipple verified it. The shaft was smooth too. It wasn’t so spongy either. She massaged it from the balls to the tip. She didn’t expect anything. And, nothing happened.
She pulled the skin back with two hands and put the flat head to her mouth. She laughed out loud because it covered half her face. She opened up and tried to put her lips around it. The spongy skin compressed and she made some gains, but she gave up. She kissed the tip and stuffed the whole unit away. She didn’t feel very sexual about it. It was just there, and it was soft.
She sat in its lap. It was warm, especially under her tush. She put the bracelet on.
Stipple looked down at her little body. She looked sort of dead. Stipple, now moving as Pigment, didn’t dare touch her real body. She was afraid of breaking it. Pith must have labored to be so gentle when he carried the pair of them.
She felt the presence again. It was hairs on her neck. It was like something behind her blocked the natural flow of air, invisible but unavoidably there. She decided not to ignore it.
“Hello?” thought Stipple. She waited. The pig smelled so ripe. She wanted to taste the pig like she might want a strawberry after gathering a hot handful of them in their fullness.
She smelled something else too. It was minty and had a hint of anise. She sniffed. She felt a numb sense of her ogre nose wrinkling.
“Hello?” called Stipple again to the depths of her own head. Nothing.
She moved to stand, wanting to find out what smelled like a licorice mint. Her real body fell under her and she caught it in two hands. It felt so soft. She wanted to lift it up and hug it. She didn’t. She was sure she would break it. She was already vaguely aware of the feeling of her ogre hands on her elf body and Stipple feared she already used too much force. She set the body to its feet. It stayed as Pith’s body had stayed.
She caught the smell of anise and mint again. The roasting pig was like candy, but this smelled like real food. She walked to their packs where the smell was strong. Their things were so small. She found the box in Pith’s pack. She noticed she was actually drooling. She pinched the box at the sides like she remembered the ogre doing. The top popped open slightly. The licorice smell was so strong and magnetic. Had that been someone else’s echo command? What did Pith mean about the echo? There was no other voice in here with her, just an uncomfortable presence.
She set the box down. On the right side was a bag. That pigment-like stuff had gone in there. The left side was full of mints. They were small, like little pills from an apothecary counter. She didn’t dare.
A whimper. She heard a whimper, like the whine that pig had made when he was stuck between the ogre and the dirt. She listened for the whine. It grew stronger like she was moving towards it. The presence was strong here.
“I can hear you,” said Stipple. She said this to no one, but she expected a response. She heard an echo.
“I hear you.” It was awful. The voice was small and deep in her mind, but it was not dreamy, it was clear and just awful and it trembled with anger. She heard it again. “I will hear you.” The final syllable trailed off into a scream that grew louder. She thought her head would burst.
“Go calm,” said Stipple.
“I am calm,” said the voice. It was own voice. She was sure of it. It certainly did not sound like an ogre. And, it was an echo. However, it was not calm. “I am calm. I am calm.”
Stipple realized she was reaching for one of the little pills. She did not will this. When she noticed it she had control of the arm again and she coiled back. The voice cried out in slow old pain. It sounded like her own voice. Her attention returned to the little pills or candy or packed powder somet,hing.
“No,” said Stipple. “You cannot have any.”
In the dark theater of her mind the presence move along her sides. She swore she felt a real breeze on her ogre shoulders. Then, a face. In the dark, somewhere between the night all around her and the black imagined depths of her mind, she saw the contorted face of the ogre with its black hole eyes materialize. It slipped back into the darkness just as quickly.
“I am calm,” said the echo. She could barely hear it.
“I am hungry!” The echo returned as a roar. It was barely her own voice. She understood it, but it was deep and rang with unmasked rage.
Stipple realized her hand was at her face. Her mouth closed on a little candy. It was licorice and strong mint. She crushed it uncontrollably against the roof of her mouth. The taste was painfully hot and divine. A lightness swept through her arms and legs and cramped and tickled her chest. It loosened her jaw. Then, she felt pleasure. It was an almost sexual thing, like a relief, as an end to all pain. It fell upon her and she closed her ogre eyes.
She opened them again. The feeling had passed. She was still in the ogre, but the presence was gone. She felt her ogre limbs more vividly. She was more aware of her real body too – it was a vision easily held. She could actually feel the fire’s intermittent warmth against her elf body and the same fire also throwing heat upon her left ogre shoulder. This was better than before. She had much more control than before.
The listened for the voice. She heard a dreamy murmur return in obedient response. It sounded like her own but also like an ogre rumble. She thought about putting the box away, carefully, and tucking it into the pack and sitting back by the fire. She could see these things and they came back like an echo, like she was thinking of them again, in reverse. Hidden amongst the images, the commands, she heard a tiny little voice like her own that said ‘yes’, ‘yes’, ‘yes.’
Stipple turned her awareness to her body. She pulled off the bracelet easily. She fell back into herself. She watched the ogre pack the little box into the sack and sit down obediently. She remembered that other voice. It was not small. She knew intuitively that it hungered for the pill and in a perversion of need and want, it was the pill that so weakened the ogre.
Stipple realized she had been sweating. She was far too close to the fire. She sat beside Pith, feeling a little drowsy. Were ogres animals or people or somewhere between. Stipple knew many animals that ranked higher in her evaluation than most people. Pigment may be somewhere in between. He may even be cruel or carry on with a casual sense of corruption like most humans do. But, his body was beautiful and the memory of that voice hurt her.
She knelt to wake her brother.
“Pith? Wake up.” She rocked his shoulder. He felt so small compared to Pigment. “We need to feed pigment before we turn in.”
“All right.”
-fp
l8 - Thx.
I appreciate it. I wanted to stop by your place earlier, but I tied myself to Word all day.--------------------------
“Let’s call him pigment.”
“After the powder?”
“Of course. The blue stuff though. He had red stuff and blue stuff, but I’d rather name him after the blue stuff.”
“It’s almost done,” said Pith.
“He’s very strong.” Stipple took the bracelet from Pith. She sniffed the rock. “It smells like coal. I think it’s just polished coal, but it’s very hard.”
“Maybe.” Pith took back the bracelet.
“We’ll give him a bath. I bet he can carry us.”
10 Tame
“Get under there.”
“Oh. What the hell is under there?”
“That’s not good.”
“We’ll have to let that air out.”
“Open its mouth.”
“Squish the sheet back and forth. We’re going to have to leave that here anyway.”
“Should we touch the toenails?”
“I’ll get the knife.”
“Keep it soaking.”
“We’re running out of soap.”
“Maybe scrape his butt on the rock?”
“Something fell from the back of its ear.”
“Get in between those bumps.”
“One is higher than the others.”
“There’s one really long hair on that ball.”
“I’m less hungry now.”
“Same here.”
“The soap fell in.”
“What?”
“Yeah. It’s gone.”
11 Carriage
The sun opened up along the trail and they followed. They were passengers on the ogre Stipple named Pigment. Their packs hung on pigments thick neck. They sat cradled in his arms. Pith was stone-faced, controlling the ogre. Stipple hugged the massive trunk of Pigments arm. She tucked her hand into the space between his forearm and bicep. If he only twitched he could probably break her fingers. The ogre carried each of them on one arm. He palmed their bottoms. They held his arms. The pair leaned back and bounced upon his chest. He was as fast as a horse. Their only complaint was his rough skin, but it was soft if you didn’t grind against it.
“Let’s stop. I get a terrible sense that it’s thirsty,” said Pigment.
“Okay,” said Stipple. “I am too.”
Pigment, with his movements controlled by Pith, stopped at the rivers edge. The stream was a hundred yards wide now and the water ran high. Stipple guessed it might even be over her head. The water was brown and dark, too disturbed and choppy to reflect the sky. The song of this river was a rush to the great river and ultimately to the sea.
Under Pith’s direction, Pigment bent low and Stipple stepped off. She rubbed her butt-bone. Pith’s somewhat-unoccupied body was set like luggage to stand beside Stipple.
Pigment walked into the river. The water at the river’s edge was only a few inches deep, but he sank to his knees in the mud.
“Good thing he has no shoes,” said Stipple.
“Either do I,” said Pigment. The massive ogre spooned palmfuls of the sandy water. They were easily each worth a bucket.
“Hey, you got my seat wet,” said Stipple. “Hmm. This water smells a little salty.”
“I don’t smell it,” said Pigment. The water poured over the creatures head and across its chest. The gray skin turned a matte black wherever it was wet.
“How does your sniffer work in there?” asked Stipple.
“Oh. It might not at all. I didn’t noticed until now.”
“Well, the water is smelling just a tiny bit brackish. That’s weird because I don’t smell the sea or sea grasses or gross fisherman or something fishy like that.” Stipple wrinkled her face. “It tastes a little salty too.”
“I can’t taste either,” said Pigment in low ogre monotones. “It’s hungry though. It might be starving. I don’t think we should have had it run in wet pants either. There’s a burning on my legs, its legs. It might be chaffing.”
They were in a scrubby area, a deserted floodplain. The pines had tapered off. A lot of sweet gale grew in the area. The resinous scent would have been stronger if it weren’t in flower. Stipple once drank a sweet gale tea to quiet some nightmares. It was too strong and she developed a dislike of the smell ever since.
“Come up here,” said Stipple. Hi did and she untied Pigment’s braided rope belt and pulled down the knee-high pants.
“You could have rolled them up,” said Pigment.
“Pith?”
“Yes,” said Pigment.
“How the hell do you run with this stuff hanging here.” The ogre’s balls were the actual size of men’s fists and the sat in a pouch the size of a watermelon. Stipple imagined that the dangling cock, as wide as a women’s arm, must be even more unwieldy. “You don’t beat yourself up with this as you run?”
“I always managed it in my regular body.”
Stipple laughed. “Orders of magnitude here… I don’t know what this thing is then, but it’s not what you got.” She thought that there was actually some truth to that. It looked pretty much like a human penis, but the head had a weird angle to it and didn’t taper like a man. She only saw the head when pushing back the foreskin to wash it. Stipple imagined that it would be easier to wedge a foot in her than to have that thing go poking around. That being said, it had an enjoyable heft to it. “It’s not even stinky anymore.”
“You’re supposed to be looking for chaffing.”
“The thighs are a little sore. I think. They’re pink and gray. That’s probably sore.”
“Stipple? I actually do smell something,” said Pigment. The ogre pulled up his pants and made a clumsy knot in the belt.
“Well, get back in the river.”
“No, this is food.”
“Oh. Is something cooking? Is it dogwood? I think I smell some bunchberries, but they’re probably dried up and they must be far.”
“No,” said Pigment. “This is meat.”
“Ew. Is it alive?”
“Definitely. It smells like urine and must, but it’s not bad.”
“Oh, that’s disgusting.”
“I’ll be right back,” said Pigment.
“I’ll just stand here with your body. I reserve the right to fiddle with you.”
Pigment ran across the scrub fields in noisy leaping bounds. A few times he hunkered low and sniffed at the air like some wild thing.
Stipple saw it. There was a peccary out there. Pigment scared it out of a black willow and it darted back and forth like a squirrel. The long sun cast a frantic and chaotic shadow of the scared animal.
Pigment leaped at it. He missed. The ogre broke into a sprint from off the ground, propelling himself with monstrously strong arms. By chance or Pith’s skill, he stepped on the little pig.
Stipple looked away. She heard awful squealing.
Pigment returned, carrying a limp pig by the scruff of its neck. It was not any bigger than a plucked turkey. “I got it!”
“I know.”
“Something in me wanted to eat it on the spot,” said Pigment. “In fact, it’s not only harder to control it the farther I get from my body and the bracelet, but that voice in there gets much louder.”
“Should I be worried?” asked stipple.
“Not if we cook this soon.” Pigment smiled.
Stipple wondered if Pith realized how frightening it looked when he smiled as Pigment. She imagined that the face didn’t naturally twist in that direction. Left to its own devices, Pigment would be a very, very different creature.
“Can we risk a fire?”
“If we head for those hills.”
“Pigment likes cooked meat?”
“I don’t know,” said Pigment. “But, humans always cook pigs and they get sick if they don’t.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Stipple. “We need to eat too. So, let’s find that dogwood. Bunchberries are bland, but they’re worth a stop on the way. That pig has such a cute belly. How will we cook something with such a cute belly?”
12 Aperture
They had fished fleshy cattails roots from the mud and picked three handfuls of perfectly ripe bunchberries. Now, the sun had set. They had a large fire going. It was the first fire they burned a week. Although they made it to the hills, they were far lower and more gradual than they had looked. They were sparse too, like burial mounds that grassed over. So, Stipple assumed their fire would signal for miles. At least they had Pigment.
It turned out that spending a lot of time in Pigment made Pith’s real body tired. He wasn’t weak, just sleepy. So, Stipple was alone with the disgusting smell of roasting pig, a shell of an ogre with a penis the size of her arm, and her brother who wasn’t any more alive than a sack-cloth.
The incident in Crawford seemed years away. She wondered if it was the ridiculousness of traveling with an ogre or the mystery of a harvest moon coming up over the fields, but Stipple felt painfully bored. She tried to read the dwarf’s journal. She counted the gold dollars. She tasted every one of the stolen stones. She even arranged them in their smallest pouches by size and color. She painted Pigment’s nails and toes. She used their false-ultramarine pigment. The best they had. She even waxed the fingernails, but she didn’t bother with the toes..
The pig sizzled. The ears were especially noisy for a while. Stipple took up the bracelet.
She slipped it on her wrist and pulled it off immediately. She didn’t feel anything. She tried again. She left it there, ready to yank it off.
Nothing.
No. There was. She wasn’t looking through her own eyes. A mild vertigo hit her. She couldn’t feel her legs or arms. She looked to her left and right. There she was, sitting below her. She looked so impossibly small with her little porcelain arms and dark hair. Pith looked like a doll beside her.
Stipple thought she heard something. She actually felt like someone had just walked behind her, like a hand would lay upon her shoulder any moment now. She didn’t like it and she moved to take off the bracelet. She realized she was moving the ogre hands and grabbing for a bracelet that wasn’t there.
Where was she exactly? She remembered a deep sense of herself. She imagined her old arms and her legs. They were ghost sensations. She imagined her left hand encircling her right arm and wiping down. The felt only a dream-like sensation of it, but it wasn’t much, not more than a memory. The scent of the roasting pig competed with her own ghost image – it smelled wonderful. She tried again.
Stipple came back to her body in a warm flash. She felt like someone just dropped her in a hot bath. She had pins and needles everywhere. She wiggled around. Pith rolled off of her lap. He curled up on the ground, but did not wake.
Stipple stood, exhilarated by the sensation of her own muscles and her breath in her chest. It felt great to be back. It was a little creepy inside Pigment, but Pith was right; it was incredible. She walked around to the front of the ogre. She stared for minutes at the tiny wet-black dot eyes, the lumpy muscles on top of muscles, and the hanging bucket-jowl. She had crawled in that empty head. She had moved that body.
It wasn’t empty though. She thought about that presence. If she heard it, would it have been like an animal. Would it be a guttural moan like when Pith spoke through Pigment? Would it hate her? She was curious, but she was thrilled.
Stipple played with the ogre’s mouth. She pulled its lips back to expose it’s twisted teeth. She mimicked a growling. She rubbed the surface of its tongue. It was gritty like a cats tongue. The ears were warm.
She put the bracelet back on. She took it right back off. She realized she was holding some curiosity back. There is sometimes no open-sky independence that can shake away the fear of embarrassment. Who would notice? Pith? In all seriousness, he had proven himself to be a complete slut. He would rather swallow a stranger’s cum than go broke and sleep outside. Sometimes he did it out of necessity, sometimes out of love for her, but really, Stipple sometimes didn’t think it bothered him nearly enough. So, Stipple thought it wouldn’t hurt if she explored a bit more. She wanted to play with Pigment’s cock.
She untied his belt and reached down his pants. She labored to pull his huge unit out to hang over the edge of his pants. It may have been the fire, but she broke a sweat in the effort. Pith was still sleeping. She circled her fingers around the tip. Her thumb-tips met at the bottom, but her index fingers barely reached. She pulled the foreskin back. She sniffed it. He wasn’t any smellier than a human’s. She squeezed the top. It was spongy. It squished to half its size.
There was barely any apex to the head. In fact, Pigment’s peehole sat in a slight caldera-like depression. The hole was big too. Stipple pulled it apart a bit. She couldn’t see very well in the firelight, but there was a smaller hole in the big hole. She wiggled her pinky finger against it. It was stretchy. She licked the tip and pushed it in to her first knuckle. It was very hot. It felt hotter than the fire on her back. She realized her other hand was getting really tired. It was very, very heavy penis. Flaccid like this, it still ran the length of her arm. Stipple verified it. The shaft was smooth too. It wasn’t so spongy either. She massaged it from the balls to the tip. She didn’t expect anything. And, nothing happened.
She pulled the skin back with two hands and put the flat head to her mouth. She laughed out loud because it covered half her face. She opened up and tried to put her lips around it. The spongy skin compressed and she made some gains, but she gave up. She kissed the tip and stuffed the whole unit away. She didn’t feel very sexual about it. It was just there, and it was soft.
She sat in its lap. It was warm, especially under her tush. She put the bracelet on.
Stipple looked down at her little body. She looked sort of dead. Stipple, now moving as Pigment, didn’t dare touch her real body. She was afraid of breaking it. Pith must have labored to be so gentle when he carried the pair of them.
She felt the presence again. It was hairs on her neck. It was like something behind her blocked the natural flow of air, invisible but unavoidably there. She decided not to ignore it.
“Hello?” thought Stipple. She waited. The pig smelled so ripe. She wanted to taste the pig like she might want a strawberry after gathering a hot handful of them in their fullness.
She smelled something else too. It was minty and had a hint of anise. She sniffed. She felt a numb sense of her ogre nose wrinkling.
“Hello?” called Stipple again to the depths of her own head. Nothing.
She moved to stand, wanting to find out what smelled like a licorice mint. Her real body fell under her and she caught it in two hands. It felt so soft. She wanted to lift it up and hug it. She didn’t. She was sure she would break it. She was already vaguely aware of the feeling of her ogre hands on her elf body and Stipple feared she already used too much force. She set the body to its feet. It stayed as Pith’s body had stayed.
She caught the smell of anise and mint again. The roasting pig was like candy, but this smelled like real food. She walked to their packs where the smell was strong. Their things were so small. She found the box in Pith’s pack. She noticed she was actually drooling. She pinched the box at the sides like she remembered the ogre doing. The top popped open slightly. The licorice smell was so strong and magnetic. Had that been someone else’s echo command? What did Pith mean about the echo? There was no other voice in here with her, just an uncomfortable presence.
She set the box down. On the right side was a bag. That pigment-like stuff had gone in there. The left side was full of mints. They were small, like little pills from an apothecary counter. She didn’t dare.
A whimper. She heard a whimper, like the whine that pig had made when he was stuck between the ogre and the dirt. She listened for the whine. It grew stronger like she was moving towards it. The presence was strong here.
“I can hear you,” said Stipple. She said this to no one, but she expected a response. She heard an echo.
“I hear you.” It was awful. The voice was small and deep in her mind, but it was not dreamy, it was clear and just awful and it trembled with anger. She heard it again. “I will hear you.” The final syllable trailed off into a scream that grew louder. She thought her head would burst.
“Go calm,” said Stipple.
“I am calm,” said the voice. It was own voice. She was sure of it. It certainly did not sound like an ogre. And, it was an echo. However, it was not calm. “I am calm. I am calm.”
Stipple realized she was reaching for one of the little pills. She did not will this. When she noticed it she had control of the arm again and she coiled back. The voice cried out in slow old pain. It sounded like her own voice. Her attention returned to the little pills or candy or packed powder somet,hing.
“No,” said Stipple. “You cannot have any.”
In the dark theater of her mind the presence move along her sides. She swore she felt a real breeze on her ogre shoulders. Then, a face. In the dark, somewhere between the night all around her and the black imagined depths of her mind, she saw the contorted face of the ogre with its black hole eyes materialize. It slipped back into the darkness just as quickly.
“I am calm,” said the echo. She could barely hear it.
“I am hungry!” The echo returned as a roar. It was barely her own voice. She understood it, but it was deep and rang with unmasked rage.
Stipple realized her hand was at her face. Her mouth closed on a little candy. It was licorice and strong mint. She crushed it uncontrollably against the roof of her mouth. The taste was painfully hot and divine. A lightness swept through her arms and legs and cramped and tickled her chest. It loosened her jaw. Then, she felt pleasure. It was an almost sexual thing, like a relief, as an end to all pain. It fell upon her and she closed her ogre eyes.
She opened them again. The feeling had passed. She was still in the ogre, but the presence was gone. She felt her ogre limbs more vividly. She was more aware of her real body too – it was a vision easily held. She could actually feel the fire’s intermittent warmth against her elf body and the same fire also throwing heat upon her left ogre shoulder. This was better than before. She had much more control than before.
The listened for the voice. She heard a dreamy murmur return in obedient response. It sounded like her own but also like an ogre rumble. She thought about putting the box away, carefully, and tucking it into the pack and sitting back by the fire. She could see these things and they came back like an echo, like she was thinking of them again, in reverse. Hidden amongst the images, the commands, she heard a tiny little voice like her own that said ‘yes’, ‘yes’, ‘yes.’
Stipple turned her awareness to her body. She pulled off the bracelet easily. She fell back into herself. She watched the ogre pack the little box into the sack and sit down obediently. She remembered that other voice. It was not small. She knew intuitively that it hungered for the pill and in a perversion of need and want, it was the pill that so weakened the ogre.
Stipple realized she had been sweating. She was far too close to the fire. She sat beside Pith, feeling a little drowsy. Were ogres animals or people or somewhere between. Stipple knew many animals that ranked higher in her evaluation than most people. Pigment may be somewhere in between. He may even be cruel or carry on with a casual sense of corruption like most humans do. But, his body was beautiful and the memory of that voice hurt her.
She knelt to wake her brother.
“Pith? Wake up.” She rocked his shoulder. He felt so small compared to Pigment. “We need to feed pigment before we turn in.”
“All right.”
-fp
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