A MESSAGE DIVERTED
by Bitter
Somewhere in the heights of the Pajuris, a swath of mountains in the northern reaches of the world of Kanilupe, a snowstorm raged. The wind cut whistling ribbons through the air, whipping the thick white snow into a frenzy. The powder poured endlessly from the incongruously still black clouds above, who were seemingly oblivious to the chaos that raged beneath them. When at last the flakes fell low enough to the ground, they found their infinite kin already at rest there and joined them, covering any earth flat enough to sustain them in a crushing blanket of soft ice. The snow was piling higher and deeper by the minute, overrunning everything in sight, denying warmth to the entire range.
Such was the way of the Pajuris. In the winter, a cloud rising up from the coast could swamp them at any moment; they could easily be sunny and dry one moment and then frigid and buried the next. There ought not be any harm in that, for such was their nature and one cannot expect a mountain to turn aside its weather. However, if one were to attempt to traverse the Pajuris at this time, the snows would, suffice it to say, be an impediment. Thus Rodi Ijursus, messenger of the royal court of Iljlok, found them. He was no fool; he had taken every precaution against such a disaster short of the best one, which would be to avoid the Pajuris entirely. But that option was not available to him. His lord had bid him to carry a message of the utmost importance to a regent in a neighboring province. Rodi himself did not know the contents of the message; it was a scroll locked in a wrought-iron box that was sealed with a lock that only the recipient owned the key to. The message was to be delivered in such haste that the risk of losing it to the snows was acceptable compared to the risk of it not arriving quickly. So, denied safety, Rodi at least made the best preparations he could. He wrapped himself in the warmest furs he owned and packed lightly, replenishing his stocks of rations at the way-points built across the Pajuris for travelers to shelter in. Still, there was always the chance of catastrophe, and sure enough Rodi was somewhere between the two lodges furthest apart when deep gray clouds had rolled over the peaks and begun dropping snow.
Rodi had managed to continue on for some time, but the snow was nearly a foot deep by now. It was a trial simply to take steps. The wind threw snow all over his body; the flakes stuck to his furs and coated them. Rodi's garments protected him for a while, but the storm continued endlessly and soon Rodi found his jacket soaking through as the captured snowflakes began to melt all over him. Fluid weight accumulated atop Rodi's skin, making his body all the heavier and more difficult to move. Exertion led to hunger and hunger begat famine; Rodi soon exhausted his limited rations and felt the hollow bite of starvation pricking at his belly. Rodi's map was useless, as it lacked the metal shell that saved his message from the deleterious effect of the melted snow. Lost, frozen, and starving, Rodi pushed himself to the very limits of his stamina. He was a court messenger, trained in endurance and travel over long distances, but even such a person must eventually tire. Duty compelled him to soldier on; so long as his body had energy he was bound to employ it in carrying the message forward. Just before Rodi reached the point of collapse, just before the snows dragged him under, Rodi saw a dark black oblong shape through the haze. It was one of the way-points! The sight of safety gave him new strength, and Rodi's legs managed the necessary steps to reach the simple stone building. He took the iron ring that served as a handle in a shaking hand, then twisted it and pushed against the door.
The door did not give way.
Rodi tried again, to the same effect. Thinking his tired muscles had given less than they were able, Rodi summoned all his strength and slammed against the door with a shoulder. It hardly budged. Rodi tried pulling at the door just in case he'd forgotten which way they swung; still nothing. Shouting, Rodi began kicking at the door, unwilling to be denied so close to succor. He managed three strong pounds before his force lapsed and he fell against the door, denied the comfort of walls and a ceiling by a simple iron barrier. Rodi entertained thoughts of death for only an instant, because suddenly the door swung open under its own power.
The interior of the building was illuminated by a bonfire at its center; the black smoke trailed upward to a vent in the ceiling that allowed the airborne char to escape. Orange and yellow light flickered across the stone walls and the figure that now stood in the doorway. Rodi blinked in surprise at the strange sight before him. It was a woman, completely naked, with a build found only in men's dreams. Orange-red hair flowed over her pale, creamy skin in wavy rivers, framing coppery-yellow eyes that twinkled in the firelight. Thick, teardrop-shaped breasts swelled from below her collarbones but jutted outward rather than sagging, their nipples erected by the cold air flowing in from behind Rodi. Following a brief narrowing at the waist, her body flared out at the hips into a pair of thick, powerful legs. As Rodi's eyes found their way to the joining point between the woman's legs where her crimson-furred womanhood lay nestled, she said, "Come in! Come in!" urgently. Rodi needed no further invitation. Despite his ogling his intentions were pure; the cold stung him and he had no strength to waste on ardor. As soon as he was safely inside the warm embrace of the way-house, the woman slammed the door shut with all her might. The wind protested, but the barrier was replaced.
Rodi fell more than stepped to the fire's side. He did not think of removing his furs; he only cared that the fire was warm. The woman who had welcomed him in was the one who thought to rid him of the soaked garments. Before Rodi was aware of what she was doing, she was forcing him to his feet and peeling his jacket and pants away from his body. "These will just hold the heat in," the woman said in explanation. Her voice brought to Rodi's mind the image of golden butter melting in a pan. It had the same sensuous, fatty flow. Entranced, Rodi allowed her to strip away everything she liked; in turn, she took his coat, his tunic, his boots, his pants, his boots, and his underwear. Rodi protested on behalf of this last item, but the woman would not be deterred. "You must warm everything," she said. The sight of his naked body did not seem to bother her-- not that it ought to; he was a professional runner and in the peak of fitness, with knotted abs and a sturdy chest, and he had an incisive jawline that made him look a bit younger than he really was-- and since Rodi most certainly was not bothered by the woman's body, he considered it fair. Improper, perhaps, but given the circumstances he could afford to defer propriety momentarily where such things were concerned.
"Thank you," said Rodi, shaking the dampness out of his short black hair. He was steaming gently, so deep had the snows penetrated.
"It's nothing," the woman cooed. She was extracting the message-box from Rodi's coat and placing it just next to it, where it was drier. "I am happy to serve, milord."
"No need for 'milord', I'm a messenger," said Rodi. "Rodi Ijursus. And you?" Rodi flinched. It was horrible manners for a man to inquire after a lady's name.
"Lema," said the woman curtly, delivering only half the required insult by surrendering only half of her name.
"That's a good name," Rodi said, in an attempt to assuage his guilty conscience. He needn't have bothered; it appeared that Lema had already forgiven him. She sat down next to Rodi and leaned against his shoulder, lending some of her body heat to him. There were blankets in the corner, but since Rodi hadn't yet completely dried it would have sullied the cloth to drape one over him. Innocent a gesture as it was, Rodi couldn't help but think of other things. He shook these thoughts from his head, however; he had already committed a faux pas by asking for Lema's name in advance of it being offered, and he did not want to risk accidentally proposing anything else. The cardinal law of Janasel etiquette was to take what was offered and make no requests. "Let's speak of our business," said Rodi.
"Very well," said Lema. She had wrapped an arm around Rodi's midsection, and was giving his side feathery strokes with her fingertips.
"I am a messenger from Karunan, en route to Jalesi with an urgent message," Rodi said, his voice unnecessarily monotone. "I was waylaid by the storm and only barely reached this lodge." Lema continued to squeeze Rodi's side, pinching the muscles between her fingertips. "And what about you? Why are you here?" Having offered his own explanation first, it was no error to ask the same of his companion.
"It's warm in here," Lema said. The reply was evasive on its own, but as Lema's other hand traced a low arc below her belly-button, a second meaning to the statement presented itself. Rodi felt the muscles between his legs loosen at the thought and forced them to clamp reflexively. Besides the impropriety of it, Rodi was increasingly suspicious of Lema's intentions. How had she come to this way-house in the mountains? Women did not often travel, certainly not alone. And certainly no woman of any decency would conduct herself as Lema now did! Lema read the suspicion on Rodi's face and begrudgingly explained herself. "I am a wanderer, strange though it is. I do not care for the stifling mores of the courts. Nature suits me better. Especially when nature brings such a stallion to keep me company," she intoned. Again Rodi felt a surge in his groin as his manhood begged to be allowed to live up to the flattery.
Rodi's discipline had nearly broken when a cramp in his belly asserted itself. He was warm now, steadily drying, but the fact remained that he had missed several meals at this point. Grasping for anything that would prevent something unseemly from occurring, Rodi committed his second breach of etiquette and hastily said, "Is there anything to eat?"
Lema chuckled. The good-natured sound had a hint of malice in it that prickled Rodi's ears. In a sultry and menacing voice, Lema said, "There is indeed," as she shuffled between the fire and Rodi. Rodi was taken aback and tried to move away, but found his arms and legs suddenly unwilling to tense or flex. Lema reached toward Rodi's lips with her hands; Rodi found his mouth opening entirely of his own accord. As her fingers came to rest on Rodi's tongue, his mouth was suddenly full of the taste of cooked, fatty sausage, the kind served at the festivals he'd attended as a child. But this was above and beyond anything he'd ever tasted before; the warm, slick, greasy, meaty flavor was rendered in overly vivid detail across his palette, so powerful that Rodi reflexively swallowed at it just to feel more of it passing over his tongue. But as Rodi's mouth became more physically full with Lema's palms and the excruciatingly delightful taste crushed his senses, thoughts of childhood gluttony brought forward memories of something much darker.
Hospitality Demons, they were called. It was an old wives' tale, designed to scare children into obedience. One must be content with what they are given and never ask for more. For if you didn't, you would one day fall prey to a Hospitality Demon. So Rodi's mother had said, the Hospitality Demons search the world for rude little boys and girls. A Hospitality Demon is bound to wait until the poor fool asks for food. Then the Hospitality Demon gives them exactly what they want: itself, as food. No matter what, the mannerless fool would eat the entire Demon, take it inside their belly, where the demon would replace their soul and force their body into all manner of mischief and wickedness. Of course Rodi had believed it as a child, but when he'd grown he had discarded the tales along with all the other such foolishness that plagues the mind of a child. No-one could have anticipated something like this!
Regardless of whether it was fair, the trap was sprung and Rodi was suffering the consequences. Yet "suffering" was perhaps not the correct word, for it was pleasure that denied him his free will. Lema's hands passed into Rodi's throat without any resistance. His cheeks bulged with the size of her arms. It should not have been possible, but the Demon's power made it so. Lema's skin did not possess the dirty, salty flavor normal to human flesh; wherever Rodi's tongue came into contact with her, it found a familiar, inviting taste. Her forearms tasted like salted pork from Iutenji province, where the hogs were largest and their flesh most marbled. Rodi found himself desperately slurping them up even as Lema looked him in the eyes, evil expectation clearly displayed across her face. As her elbows crossed Rodi's lips (the taste of mussels flooded his mouth), she finally lowered her head and spared Rodi her sinister gaze. Another gulp and the crown of her head parted his teeth; insane though it was Rodi's jaws clambered over her as though she were nothing more than a mouthful of soup on a spoon. Indeed, Lema's hair tasted of seaweed ramen, and Rodi involuntarily began to purse his lips and suck at her body as if it were a single giant noodle. Rodi's tongue danced of its own accord, tracing the contours of Lema's face as he gulped it down: her lidded eyes, her nose, the exultant smile she still wore even as he devoured her. Then his tongue hooked under her chin and a forceful swallow brought her neck onto his tongue. Lema's neck tasted of dumplings, the kind his mother used to make, and Rodi couldn't help but savagely gulp down more of Lema to have more of that wonderful flavor.
Lema shifted her shoulders downward as she lodged deeper and deeper in Rodi's throat. The thin skin and nearness of her bones made Rodi think of fried chicken, and instantly the taste of it was in his mouth. It was his favorite, just as his wife made it. Oh, Jutenji! Rodi thought, pleading to her distant spirit for forgiveness as he lost himself to this bizarre adultery, for he still could not stop himself. Lema shifted forward as Rodi squeezed her in. Rodi could feel her arms stretching his esophagus impossibly wide and her hands pressing against the pit of his stomach, but he neither choked nor gagged. He was a slave to the act of eating and mere reality would not stop the evil spirit from making its way into him. As Lema's prodigious breasts brushed up against Rodi's bottom lip, he squinted his eyes in dread. Sure enough, his jaws widened still further, stretching their tendons until they felt like they would snap, and his teeth gnawed at the ample flesh. One huge swallow dented the bosoms, another deformed them, and a third and final one crushed them into Rodi's garishly distended mouth. Acting of its own volition, Rodi's tongue painted the twin mounds of flesh with saliva, drawing in the gorgeous taste of oven-fresh rolls slathered in butter. Rodi's body betrayed him and he let out a groan of delight at that simple yet exquisite flavor. The opening to Rodi's throat flexed and squeezed, reeling in more of Lema and mercifully drawing away what had been the most unbearably delightful part of her yet. But there was no relief: as her widest part strained its way into his throat and Lema's head began to fill his stomach, Rodi found himself enjoying the feeling of over-fullness. His mind was horrified, but his body was delighted. Rodi was swallowing rhythmically now, jerking Lema into him inch by inch. His tongue played across her belly, drinking in the taste of veal simmered in milk as it passed by.
Rodi devoured his way past Lema's belly-button, down the crease of her legs and up to her womanhood. The flavor he found there was the only one that might reasonably be expected. Lema's womanly juices were running out of her; she too was lost to this strange form of pleasure. At first Rodi was relieved to find some familiar taste on Lema's body, but relief turned to despair as the flavor of Lema's musk awakened his more primal instincts. How often had he pleasured Jutenji in this very way, using his tongue to extract her inner scents? And how often had such priming led to his own satisfaction? Reflexively his member began to fill, squeezing in time with the contractions that pulled Lema deeper into Rodi's body. The two arousals, the two drives for satisfaction began to slur together in Rodi's mind. Pressure built in his groin as it built in his belly. He swallowed, subsuming Lema's ass and vagina in a single colossal gulp, and a dollop of precome leaked from his member. The pleasure was too much to bear; it weighed down his mind and forced it to obey. Lema's body no longer had any specific flavor; it was meat, warm and moving and most importantly sliding into his body with every erotic gulp. Lema was standing on tip-toe as Rodi swallowed up her knees, then finally he swung his head up and left her feet above him. A gulp, and Lema's thighs were swallowed. Another, and Lema's calves were taken. With a final slurp, Lema's feet disappeared into his throat. Rodi was finally able to close his mouth. He fell to one side, unable to support the incredible bulge in his midsection.
But there was no relaxation. The mad peristalsis that had pulled Lema's body into Rodi's continued to force him to act out the bizarre parody of the digestive process. His entire gut churned; he could feel his stomach's walls pressing up against Lema's balled-up body. She was giggling, groaning like a lover within him. The vibrations tickled Rodi's insides and spurred his arousal still higher; he groaned in counterpoint to her, overwhelmed with satiety. Gurgles and sloshes roiled out his belly as acid squelched around Lema's body. Trying to resist but not knowing how, Rodi placed his hands on the distended mound of his stomach. But this was no aid; he felt the contours of Lema's body within him writhing as she squirmed in ecstasy. Her form was becoming soft and squishy, which brought to Rodi's mind thoughts of what exactly his body was doing to her. His acids were melting her, his muscles were crushing her. Twisted as it was he couldn't help but feel an erotic surge at the thought of her body being absorbed into his own, at being so incredibly full. Lema did nothing to deter such thinking; she continued to moan even as they became increasingly stifled and gurgled by her own liquefying flesh.
Increasingly Rodi felt the weight in his middle shifting as the liquid nutrients flowed out of his stomach and into his intestines. He could feel his insides becoming bloated with the weight of all they had been given to take, the entire tract churning with the effort. Not a single bit of Lema's body was allowed to go to waste. For ages Rodi felt his intestines squirming and heard the slurping, glorpy sounds they made as they gave Lema over to his bloodstream. Rodi felt his body going hot, his skin reddening as an excess of energy poured into him. His member throbbed, feeling harder and longer than ever before, but something held Rodi back from release. Still he continued to warm and still his belly shrank as Lema became more and more a part of him. But as the digestion continued, as Lema increasingly disappeared into Rodi, Rodi felt something that brought fear back into his mind. He felt somehow smaller, not less but taking up less space. A person's consciousness perceives itself as being in the head; Rodi now felt his slipping slowly downward. But nothing could deter his body from what it was already doing; its legs kicked, its arms tensed, and its belly continued to absorb the precious meat it had been given. Rodi fell further and further, irresistibly displaced by some outside force. He drifted past his quick-beating heart, across the stomach that was now empty, through the tracts that were dutifully absorbing every last bit of Lema's body. Humiliatingly, he came to rest somewhere at the base of his penis. From somewhere beside him, he heard a gentle glurp as his intestines finished their monumental task, and that of all things triggered his orgasm. Rodi heard himself groan-- the same low, growling "Uhhhhhnn" that always came out of him at such times-- and then right next to him his member was twitching and trembling. Momentarily Rodi felt the hot fluid flowing out of him, the mind-numbing ecstasy of climax. But then something took hold of his soul, pinched his consciousness and squeezed it down through a tight, muscular tube. Rodi felt himself hurled off into space, away from his body, and the pleasure winked out like a light.
Suddenly Rodi was staring at his own body, watching his own hips buck and his own back arch. Rodi was confused at this for only a moment, for as his body relaxed and rolled onto its back, his face assumed the same seductress's expression that Lema had so consistently worn. In control of himself but nothing else, Rodi watched his own body sit up, staring at his disembodied consciousness all the while. It spoke, rattling Rodi's nerves with the dissonance between the familiarity of his own voice and the foreign tone with which it was used. "Such a lovely body," Lema said through him. "I'm going to have all kinds of fun with this!" Rodi wanted to shout, wanted to plead for his flesh, but knew it was useless and had nothing with which to form words anyway. As Lema stood and began cleaning Rodi's body off, Rodi found that he was able to swivel to follow her, but could barely move from where he now floated, somewhere above the fire. With great concentration, he could perhaps move an inch over the span of a minute. Lema was evidently aware of his powerlessness: she spoke as if thinking aloud, saying, "Oh, it's been so long since I've had a male body! I can rob travelers and disgrace women and move among the courts..." And so it continued, a litany of sins that Lema planned to commit with Rodi's body. Rodi eventually began to feel that she was simply saying all that to unnerve him, but she was a Hospitality Demon; no evil was beyond them. With no eyes, Rodi could not weep for his own misfortune. He could only observe as Lema placed his clothes nearer the fire and waited for them to dry. In boredom, the spirit wrapped itself up its former body's clothing and paraded Rodi's body around in a skirt and a tunic that was overly loose at the top. At last Rodi was spared this indignity when Lema found his body to be tired and laid down to sleep, still wearing the woman's clothing. Rodi could not bear to look.
In the morning, Lema awoke and, as Rodi watched, checked the weather outside. The snowstorm had finally abated; though the powder was deep and fresh, it was at least not being added to. At last Rodi's body was clad in its natural attire as Lema put on the now-dry fur coat and chaps. After a short consideration, Lema also took the message-box and nestled back where it belonged, the better to maintain the illusion that she was Rodi Ijursus and not a devil that had stolen his body. She opened the door, turned back to the extinguished flame, and blew a kiss to Rodi's spirit where it dangled. With that, she took Rodi's body away, leaving him alone in the stone chamber, comforted only by a thin shaft of sunlight and the hopes that one day an itinerant monk would travel that perilous pass and exorcise him to the world beyond.
***
AUTHOR'S COMMENTS:
"Lema": Anagram of "Meal"
This situation really wasn't fair to Rodi. The legend about Hospitality Demons is really a child's cautionary fairy-tale, nothing more than "Don't ask for food, otherwise a Hospitality Demon might appear and feed itself to you, then make you do all kinds of evil." I don't think anyone in Janasel could have anticipated that one might appear in another human body, and certainly not that it could force you to eat the whole thing. But such is the way of demons! Alas, poor Rodi.
by Bitter
Somewhere in the heights of the Pajuris, a swath of mountains in the northern reaches of the world of Kanilupe, a snowstorm raged. The wind cut whistling ribbons through the air, whipping the thick white snow into a frenzy. The powder poured endlessly from the incongruously still black clouds above, who were seemingly oblivious to the chaos that raged beneath them. When at last the flakes fell low enough to the ground, they found their infinite kin already at rest there and joined them, covering any earth flat enough to sustain them in a crushing blanket of soft ice. The snow was piling higher and deeper by the minute, overrunning everything in sight, denying warmth to the entire range.
Such was the way of the Pajuris. In the winter, a cloud rising up from the coast could swamp them at any moment; they could easily be sunny and dry one moment and then frigid and buried the next. There ought not be any harm in that, for such was their nature and one cannot expect a mountain to turn aside its weather. However, if one were to attempt to traverse the Pajuris at this time, the snows would, suffice it to say, be an impediment. Thus Rodi Ijursus, messenger of the royal court of Iljlok, found them. He was no fool; he had taken every precaution against such a disaster short of the best one, which would be to avoid the Pajuris entirely. But that option was not available to him. His lord had bid him to carry a message of the utmost importance to a regent in a neighboring province. Rodi himself did not know the contents of the message; it was a scroll locked in a wrought-iron box that was sealed with a lock that only the recipient owned the key to. The message was to be delivered in such haste that the risk of losing it to the snows was acceptable compared to the risk of it not arriving quickly. So, denied safety, Rodi at least made the best preparations he could. He wrapped himself in the warmest furs he owned and packed lightly, replenishing his stocks of rations at the way-points built across the Pajuris for travelers to shelter in. Still, there was always the chance of catastrophe, and sure enough Rodi was somewhere between the two lodges furthest apart when deep gray clouds had rolled over the peaks and begun dropping snow.
Rodi had managed to continue on for some time, but the snow was nearly a foot deep by now. It was a trial simply to take steps. The wind threw snow all over his body; the flakes stuck to his furs and coated them. Rodi's garments protected him for a while, but the storm continued endlessly and soon Rodi found his jacket soaking through as the captured snowflakes began to melt all over him. Fluid weight accumulated atop Rodi's skin, making his body all the heavier and more difficult to move. Exertion led to hunger and hunger begat famine; Rodi soon exhausted his limited rations and felt the hollow bite of starvation pricking at his belly. Rodi's map was useless, as it lacked the metal shell that saved his message from the deleterious effect of the melted snow. Lost, frozen, and starving, Rodi pushed himself to the very limits of his stamina. He was a court messenger, trained in endurance and travel over long distances, but even such a person must eventually tire. Duty compelled him to soldier on; so long as his body had energy he was bound to employ it in carrying the message forward. Just before Rodi reached the point of collapse, just before the snows dragged him under, Rodi saw a dark black oblong shape through the haze. It was one of the way-points! The sight of safety gave him new strength, and Rodi's legs managed the necessary steps to reach the simple stone building. He took the iron ring that served as a handle in a shaking hand, then twisted it and pushed against the door.
The door did not give way.
Rodi tried again, to the same effect. Thinking his tired muscles had given less than they were able, Rodi summoned all his strength and slammed against the door with a shoulder. It hardly budged. Rodi tried pulling at the door just in case he'd forgotten which way they swung; still nothing. Shouting, Rodi began kicking at the door, unwilling to be denied so close to succor. He managed three strong pounds before his force lapsed and he fell against the door, denied the comfort of walls and a ceiling by a simple iron barrier. Rodi entertained thoughts of death for only an instant, because suddenly the door swung open under its own power.
The interior of the building was illuminated by a bonfire at its center; the black smoke trailed upward to a vent in the ceiling that allowed the airborne char to escape. Orange and yellow light flickered across the stone walls and the figure that now stood in the doorway. Rodi blinked in surprise at the strange sight before him. It was a woman, completely naked, with a build found only in men's dreams. Orange-red hair flowed over her pale, creamy skin in wavy rivers, framing coppery-yellow eyes that twinkled in the firelight. Thick, teardrop-shaped breasts swelled from below her collarbones but jutted outward rather than sagging, their nipples erected by the cold air flowing in from behind Rodi. Following a brief narrowing at the waist, her body flared out at the hips into a pair of thick, powerful legs. As Rodi's eyes found their way to the joining point between the woman's legs where her crimson-furred womanhood lay nestled, she said, "Come in! Come in!" urgently. Rodi needed no further invitation. Despite his ogling his intentions were pure; the cold stung him and he had no strength to waste on ardor. As soon as he was safely inside the warm embrace of the way-house, the woman slammed the door shut with all her might. The wind protested, but the barrier was replaced.
Rodi fell more than stepped to the fire's side. He did not think of removing his furs; he only cared that the fire was warm. The woman who had welcomed him in was the one who thought to rid him of the soaked garments. Before Rodi was aware of what she was doing, she was forcing him to his feet and peeling his jacket and pants away from his body. "These will just hold the heat in," the woman said in explanation. Her voice brought to Rodi's mind the image of golden butter melting in a pan. It had the same sensuous, fatty flow. Entranced, Rodi allowed her to strip away everything she liked; in turn, she took his coat, his tunic, his boots, his pants, his boots, and his underwear. Rodi protested on behalf of this last item, but the woman would not be deterred. "You must warm everything," she said. The sight of his naked body did not seem to bother her-- not that it ought to; he was a professional runner and in the peak of fitness, with knotted abs and a sturdy chest, and he had an incisive jawline that made him look a bit younger than he really was-- and since Rodi most certainly was not bothered by the woman's body, he considered it fair. Improper, perhaps, but given the circumstances he could afford to defer propriety momentarily where such things were concerned.
"Thank you," said Rodi, shaking the dampness out of his short black hair. He was steaming gently, so deep had the snows penetrated.
"It's nothing," the woman cooed. She was extracting the message-box from Rodi's coat and placing it just next to it, where it was drier. "I am happy to serve, milord."
"No need for 'milord', I'm a messenger," said Rodi. "Rodi Ijursus. And you?" Rodi flinched. It was horrible manners for a man to inquire after a lady's name.
"Lema," said the woman curtly, delivering only half the required insult by surrendering only half of her name.
"That's a good name," Rodi said, in an attempt to assuage his guilty conscience. He needn't have bothered; it appeared that Lema had already forgiven him. She sat down next to Rodi and leaned against his shoulder, lending some of her body heat to him. There were blankets in the corner, but since Rodi hadn't yet completely dried it would have sullied the cloth to drape one over him. Innocent a gesture as it was, Rodi couldn't help but think of other things. He shook these thoughts from his head, however; he had already committed a faux pas by asking for Lema's name in advance of it being offered, and he did not want to risk accidentally proposing anything else. The cardinal law of Janasel etiquette was to take what was offered and make no requests. "Let's speak of our business," said Rodi.
"Very well," said Lema. She had wrapped an arm around Rodi's midsection, and was giving his side feathery strokes with her fingertips.
"I am a messenger from Karunan, en route to Jalesi with an urgent message," Rodi said, his voice unnecessarily monotone. "I was waylaid by the storm and only barely reached this lodge." Lema continued to squeeze Rodi's side, pinching the muscles between her fingertips. "And what about you? Why are you here?" Having offered his own explanation first, it was no error to ask the same of his companion.
"It's warm in here," Lema said. The reply was evasive on its own, but as Lema's other hand traced a low arc below her belly-button, a second meaning to the statement presented itself. Rodi felt the muscles between his legs loosen at the thought and forced them to clamp reflexively. Besides the impropriety of it, Rodi was increasingly suspicious of Lema's intentions. How had she come to this way-house in the mountains? Women did not often travel, certainly not alone. And certainly no woman of any decency would conduct herself as Lema now did! Lema read the suspicion on Rodi's face and begrudgingly explained herself. "I am a wanderer, strange though it is. I do not care for the stifling mores of the courts. Nature suits me better. Especially when nature brings such a stallion to keep me company," she intoned. Again Rodi felt a surge in his groin as his manhood begged to be allowed to live up to the flattery.
Rodi's discipline had nearly broken when a cramp in his belly asserted itself. He was warm now, steadily drying, but the fact remained that he had missed several meals at this point. Grasping for anything that would prevent something unseemly from occurring, Rodi committed his second breach of etiquette and hastily said, "Is there anything to eat?"
Lema chuckled. The good-natured sound had a hint of malice in it that prickled Rodi's ears. In a sultry and menacing voice, Lema said, "There is indeed," as she shuffled between the fire and Rodi. Rodi was taken aback and tried to move away, but found his arms and legs suddenly unwilling to tense or flex. Lema reached toward Rodi's lips with her hands; Rodi found his mouth opening entirely of his own accord. As her fingers came to rest on Rodi's tongue, his mouth was suddenly full of the taste of cooked, fatty sausage, the kind served at the festivals he'd attended as a child. But this was above and beyond anything he'd ever tasted before; the warm, slick, greasy, meaty flavor was rendered in overly vivid detail across his palette, so powerful that Rodi reflexively swallowed at it just to feel more of it passing over his tongue. But as Rodi's mouth became more physically full with Lema's palms and the excruciatingly delightful taste crushed his senses, thoughts of childhood gluttony brought forward memories of something much darker.
Hospitality Demons, they were called. It was an old wives' tale, designed to scare children into obedience. One must be content with what they are given and never ask for more. For if you didn't, you would one day fall prey to a Hospitality Demon. So Rodi's mother had said, the Hospitality Demons search the world for rude little boys and girls. A Hospitality Demon is bound to wait until the poor fool asks for food. Then the Hospitality Demon gives them exactly what they want: itself, as food. No matter what, the mannerless fool would eat the entire Demon, take it inside their belly, where the demon would replace their soul and force their body into all manner of mischief and wickedness. Of course Rodi had believed it as a child, but when he'd grown he had discarded the tales along with all the other such foolishness that plagues the mind of a child. No-one could have anticipated something like this!
Regardless of whether it was fair, the trap was sprung and Rodi was suffering the consequences. Yet "suffering" was perhaps not the correct word, for it was pleasure that denied him his free will. Lema's hands passed into Rodi's throat without any resistance. His cheeks bulged with the size of her arms. It should not have been possible, but the Demon's power made it so. Lema's skin did not possess the dirty, salty flavor normal to human flesh; wherever Rodi's tongue came into contact with her, it found a familiar, inviting taste. Her forearms tasted like salted pork from Iutenji province, where the hogs were largest and their flesh most marbled. Rodi found himself desperately slurping them up even as Lema looked him in the eyes, evil expectation clearly displayed across her face. As her elbows crossed Rodi's lips (the taste of mussels flooded his mouth), she finally lowered her head and spared Rodi her sinister gaze. Another gulp and the crown of her head parted his teeth; insane though it was Rodi's jaws clambered over her as though she were nothing more than a mouthful of soup on a spoon. Indeed, Lema's hair tasted of seaweed ramen, and Rodi involuntarily began to purse his lips and suck at her body as if it were a single giant noodle. Rodi's tongue danced of its own accord, tracing the contours of Lema's face as he gulped it down: her lidded eyes, her nose, the exultant smile she still wore even as he devoured her. Then his tongue hooked under her chin and a forceful swallow brought her neck onto his tongue. Lema's neck tasted of dumplings, the kind his mother used to make, and Rodi couldn't help but savagely gulp down more of Lema to have more of that wonderful flavor.
Lema shifted her shoulders downward as she lodged deeper and deeper in Rodi's throat. The thin skin and nearness of her bones made Rodi think of fried chicken, and instantly the taste of it was in his mouth. It was his favorite, just as his wife made it. Oh, Jutenji! Rodi thought, pleading to her distant spirit for forgiveness as he lost himself to this bizarre adultery, for he still could not stop himself. Lema shifted forward as Rodi squeezed her in. Rodi could feel her arms stretching his esophagus impossibly wide and her hands pressing against the pit of his stomach, but he neither choked nor gagged. He was a slave to the act of eating and mere reality would not stop the evil spirit from making its way into him. As Lema's prodigious breasts brushed up against Rodi's bottom lip, he squinted his eyes in dread. Sure enough, his jaws widened still further, stretching their tendons until they felt like they would snap, and his teeth gnawed at the ample flesh. One huge swallow dented the bosoms, another deformed them, and a third and final one crushed them into Rodi's garishly distended mouth. Acting of its own volition, Rodi's tongue painted the twin mounds of flesh with saliva, drawing in the gorgeous taste of oven-fresh rolls slathered in butter. Rodi's body betrayed him and he let out a groan of delight at that simple yet exquisite flavor. The opening to Rodi's throat flexed and squeezed, reeling in more of Lema and mercifully drawing away what had been the most unbearably delightful part of her yet. But there was no relief: as her widest part strained its way into his throat and Lema's head began to fill his stomach, Rodi found himself enjoying the feeling of over-fullness. His mind was horrified, but his body was delighted. Rodi was swallowing rhythmically now, jerking Lema into him inch by inch. His tongue played across her belly, drinking in the taste of veal simmered in milk as it passed by.
Rodi devoured his way past Lema's belly-button, down the crease of her legs and up to her womanhood. The flavor he found there was the only one that might reasonably be expected. Lema's womanly juices were running out of her; she too was lost to this strange form of pleasure. At first Rodi was relieved to find some familiar taste on Lema's body, but relief turned to despair as the flavor of Lema's musk awakened his more primal instincts. How often had he pleasured Jutenji in this very way, using his tongue to extract her inner scents? And how often had such priming led to his own satisfaction? Reflexively his member began to fill, squeezing in time with the contractions that pulled Lema deeper into Rodi's body. The two arousals, the two drives for satisfaction began to slur together in Rodi's mind. Pressure built in his groin as it built in his belly. He swallowed, subsuming Lema's ass and vagina in a single colossal gulp, and a dollop of precome leaked from his member. The pleasure was too much to bear; it weighed down his mind and forced it to obey. Lema's body no longer had any specific flavor; it was meat, warm and moving and most importantly sliding into his body with every erotic gulp. Lema was standing on tip-toe as Rodi swallowed up her knees, then finally he swung his head up and left her feet above him. A gulp, and Lema's thighs were swallowed. Another, and Lema's calves were taken. With a final slurp, Lema's feet disappeared into his throat. Rodi was finally able to close his mouth. He fell to one side, unable to support the incredible bulge in his midsection.
But there was no relaxation. The mad peristalsis that had pulled Lema's body into Rodi's continued to force him to act out the bizarre parody of the digestive process. His entire gut churned; he could feel his stomach's walls pressing up against Lema's balled-up body. She was giggling, groaning like a lover within him. The vibrations tickled Rodi's insides and spurred his arousal still higher; he groaned in counterpoint to her, overwhelmed with satiety. Gurgles and sloshes roiled out his belly as acid squelched around Lema's body. Trying to resist but not knowing how, Rodi placed his hands on the distended mound of his stomach. But this was no aid; he felt the contours of Lema's body within him writhing as she squirmed in ecstasy. Her form was becoming soft and squishy, which brought to Rodi's mind thoughts of what exactly his body was doing to her. His acids were melting her, his muscles were crushing her. Twisted as it was he couldn't help but feel an erotic surge at the thought of her body being absorbed into his own, at being so incredibly full. Lema did nothing to deter such thinking; she continued to moan even as they became increasingly stifled and gurgled by her own liquefying flesh.
Increasingly Rodi felt the weight in his middle shifting as the liquid nutrients flowed out of his stomach and into his intestines. He could feel his insides becoming bloated with the weight of all they had been given to take, the entire tract churning with the effort. Not a single bit of Lema's body was allowed to go to waste. For ages Rodi felt his intestines squirming and heard the slurping, glorpy sounds they made as they gave Lema over to his bloodstream. Rodi felt his body going hot, his skin reddening as an excess of energy poured into him. His member throbbed, feeling harder and longer than ever before, but something held Rodi back from release. Still he continued to warm and still his belly shrank as Lema became more and more a part of him. But as the digestion continued, as Lema increasingly disappeared into Rodi, Rodi felt something that brought fear back into his mind. He felt somehow smaller, not less but taking up less space. A person's consciousness perceives itself as being in the head; Rodi now felt his slipping slowly downward. But nothing could deter his body from what it was already doing; its legs kicked, its arms tensed, and its belly continued to absorb the precious meat it had been given. Rodi fell further and further, irresistibly displaced by some outside force. He drifted past his quick-beating heart, across the stomach that was now empty, through the tracts that were dutifully absorbing every last bit of Lema's body. Humiliatingly, he came to rest somewhere at the base of his penis. From somewhere beside him, he heard a gentle glurp as his intestines finished their monumental task, and that of all things triggered his orgasm. Rodi heard himself groan-- the same low, growling "Uhhhhhnn" that always came out of him at such times-- and then right next to him his member was twitching and trembling. Momentarily Rodi felt the hot fluid flowing out of him, the mind-numbing ecstasy of climax. But then something took hold of his soul, pinched his consciousness and squeezed it down through a tight, muscular tube. Rodi felt himself hurled off into space, away from his body, and the pleasure winked out like a light.
Suddenly Rodi was staring at his own body, watching his own hips buck and his own back arch. Rodi was confused at this for only a moment, for as his body relaxed and rolled onto its back, his face assumed the same seductress's expression that Lema had so consistently worn. In control of himself but nothing else, Rodi watched his own body sit up, staring at his disembodied consciousness all the while. It spoke, rattling Rodi's nerves with the dissonance between the familiarity of his own voice and the foreign tone with which it was used. "Such a lovely body," Lema said through him. "I'm going to have all kinds of fun with this!" Rodi wanted to shout, wanted to plead for his flesh, but knew it was useless and had nothing with which to form words anyway. As Lema stood and began cleaning Rodi's body off, Rodi found that he was able to swivel to follow her, but could barely move from where he now floated, somewhere above the fire. With great concentration, he could perhaps move an inch over the span of a minute. Lema was evidently aware of his powerlessness: she spoke as if thinking aloud, saying, "Oh, it's been so long since I've had a male body! I can rob travelers and disgrace women and move among the courts..." And so it continued, a litany of sins that Lema planned to commit with Rodi's body. Rodi eventually began to feel that she was simply saying all that to unnerve him, but she was a Hospitality Demon; no evil was beyond them. With no eyes, Rodi could not weep for his own misfortune. He could only observe as Lema placed his clothes nearer the fire and waited for them to dry. In boredom, the spirit wrapped itself up its former body's clothing and paraded Rodi's body around in a skirt and a tunic that was overly loose at the top. At last Rodi was spared this indignity when Lema found his body to be tired and laid down to sleep, still wearing the woman's clothing. Rodi could not bear to look.
In the morning, Lema awoke and, as Rodi watched, checked the weather outside. The snowstorm had finally abated; though the powder was deep and fresh, it was at least not being added to. At last Rodi's body was clad in its natural attire as Lema put on the now-dry fur coat and chaps. After a short consideration, Lema also took the message-box and nestled back where it belonged, the better to maintain the illusion that she was Rodi Ijursus and not a devil that had stolen his body. She opened the door, turned back to the extinguished flame, and blew a kiss to Rodi's spirit where it dangled. With that, she took Rodi's body away, leaving him alone in the stone chamber, comforted only by a thin shaft of sunlight and the hopes that one day an itinerant monk would travel that perilous pass and exorcise him to the world beyond.
***
AUTHOR'S COMMENTS:
"Lema": Anagram of "Meal"
This situation really wasn't fair to Rodi. The legend about Hospitality Demons is really a child's cautionary fairy-tale, nothing more than "Don't ask for food, otherwise a Hospitality Demon might appear and feed itself to you, then make you do all kinds of evil." I don't think anyone in Janasel could have anticipated that one might appear in another human body, and certainly not that it could force you to eat the whole thing. But such is the way of demons! Alas, poor Rodi.
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Posted by Conn 16 years ago Report
Wow words fail me but all I can say is that is one fantastic story though yeah I couldn't help but feel a little bad for poor Rodi