The Weeping Thing Ch. 01

"Don't..." Donald quivered uneasily. "Please don't bite me."

Donald set an index finger at the opening to one of the larger, more attentive of the licking mouths. Gently, he pushed it inside. The mouth was wet and hot. It wrapped itself tight around his finger, as the tongue swirled around it in a most provocative way. The mouth was sucking away at his finger, much like a woman would. Within his pants Donald found his lust growing and expanding like a field of flowers ready to bloom. Euphoria, this is what Donald was feeling, in one of those relatively rare occasions in his mostly miserable life.

Absently, the man's eyes drifted over to the clock. This is when he realized how late it was.

"It's getting late." Donald said, as he brought his finger out of the tiny mouth and away from that delicious sucking. He chortled. "I've got to get my gear ready for tomorrow. I've got to take my shower, and shave, and brush my teeth." He looked back at the thing sitting on his lap. "You'll go back into the bowl for tonight, but I promise that I'll find somewhere larger for you tomorrow."

Donald set the thing down into its home, slid the bowl under the bed, and hurried on with his tasks.

That night, Donald had another dream. He was in the woods again and surrounded by those same alluring, enticing, and mesmerizing nymphs. The girls were dancing around him, smiling and giggling as before. Instead of Donald reaching out for one of them, they were taking turns reaching for him. Each of those sweet vixens was moving closer to him with every turn that they made, until all six of them were close enough to slide their warm hands and arms across his body. They were touching him all over, sending Donald into a daze with their smiling, glowing faces, combined with his own growing want for them.

All together, the women embraced Donald and dragged him to the ground. With their hands and their mouths and their bodies, they made love to him among the leaves and twigs of the woods.

High above, in the broken canopy of the trees, Donald could see dozens of crows staring down at him with watchful eyes.

Trying to keep his composure and demeanor cool, Donald arrived home from work a little later than usual the next day. He had just worked a six-hour shift, instead of the usual four.

His expectations were riding high, as he unlocked the front door to the house and stepped into the living room. His happy spirits were quickly drowned when he observed Old Margaret sitting on the couch with a glum look on her face. Donald's first thought was that his landlord had discovered the weeping thing.

Instead, Margaret said, "Goddamned doctor wants me to go in for another blood test. Can you believe that shit? They've sucked enough blood out of me to fill a blood bank and now they're telling me they need to take out more? Why can't they just use the blood they sucked out five days ago?"

Tactfully, Donald said, "I don't trust doctors."

"Goddamned right." Margaret agreed. "I guess they're taking a full fucking gallon this time. The doctor said I might end up feeling light-headed and that I should have someone drive me home."

Donald had an active license but no car. He wondered if Margaret was indirectly asking him for a favor. Wisely, he kept quiet while she kept talking.

The old woman was shaking her head. "Jenny's supposed to take me, but she should have been here ten minutes ago. If I have to reschedule thanks to her, I'm going to give her a good goddamned piece of my mind."

Donald tried hard not to look relieved, when they both heard a car horn outside.

"Guess that's her." Margaret struggled up to her feet and ambled toward the door. Just before she opened it, she turned back to face him. "You've been eating a lot more than usual, haven't you? How come you're not getting any fatter?"

The boarder knew the old woman well enough to infer that she thought he was feeding a second person. He held his arms up in a strongman's pose and grinned. "I've got to feed these muscles. I've been doing a lot of push-ups the last couple of weeks."

Margaret stared at Donald's puny arms for a moment. "Yeah, you're a regular Hercules now. Lock up after me, will ya?"

From the doorway, Donald impatiently watched the old woman mosey over to Jenny's vehicle. A couple of minutes later, the car pulled out of the driveway and rolled out of sight.

Donald shut the door and hurried over to his room. He pulled the salad bowl out from under his bed. With something approaching rapture, he stared at the blob that was now threatening to overflow its boundaries.

"Last night's dream, with those women in it, that was a very nice dream." Donald said, as he lifted the thing up into his hands and took a seat on the edge of his bed. "I know you sent that dream to me, just like you sent the others."

He stroked the weeping thing a few times, but today Donald was impatient. He steadied his breaths and set his hand on it. Sure enough, the thing responded by opening its many mouths and stretching out its many tongues to caress his hand.

"Oh." Donald moaned quietly. "You've no idea how much I want a real woman to do that same thing to me."

As the erotic actions continued, Donald felt growing warmth on his lap. Wondering why, he shifted the weeping thing on its side to look at what was going on underneath it. Donald watched as two of the small mouths seemed to gravitate toward one another. When the mouths met, they joined together and formed something altogether different.

Donald was taken aback at first, for this new shape had many soft and distinct folds on it. Instantly, the man recognized the shape for what it was. The labia majora, the labia menora, the hood of the clitoris, they were all there. The inner folds were already glistening with moisture for him.

The amazed man stared at the weeping thing, and at its newly formed vagina. Strangely, he sensed its growing hunger for him. Donald too felt drawn to that thing on his lap, felt as his own lustful desire began to overwhelm him. He felt his prick growing strong and straining beneath his pants and underwear.

Deeply aroused, Donald set the weeping thing aside. He lay on the bed, breathing rapidly for a few moments. Once he gathered his thoughts, he undid his zipper and pulled his cock free. After taking one last breath, he brought the warm glob of meat over his crotch and settled its brand new pussy over his body.

Smoothly, the thing expanded to take him in. Right after this, it snugly gripped around his cock and started doing the erotic work all on its own.

Donald moaned and squirmed, but he remained enthralled as the weeping thing coaxed him into making love to it. Eventually, it brought him up to an unexpected and sensational climax.

Finally, Donald's member was fully spent. The man lay there weak and flaccid like a dead fish. He set the weeping thing aside and slipped away from the bed, long enough to retrieve a quick grab of napkins. Nervously, he wiped himself off. When Donald went to do the same to the bizarre thing on the bed, he was stunned to see that a very human tongue had emerged from the vagina. It was busily licking away the last of his seed from around its edges.

Donald stood there, staring at the thing and wondering what it all meant. After partially recovering his senses, the man soon got busy himself. He started looking for a container that would accommodate the thing better than the salad bowl. As Donald emptied an old box of clothes out, he heard a serene hum being emitted by the weeping thing, as if it was telling him that everything was all right.

Donald half-grinned. At that moment, everything was all right with him too.

Early the next morning, Donald's body stirred awake. He wasn't scheduled for work that day, he thought with no little amount of satisfaction. After casting a casual glance at his alarm clock, he simply shut his eyes and went back to sleep for another hour.

When he was good and ready, Donald roused himself out of bed. The first things he did were to click on his lamp and step over to his closet, where he'd set the box with the weeping thing in it. As a further safeguard, he'd placed a second box on top of it. After removing the first he dragged the lower box out into the open.

The box felt heavier than before. Once he removed the lid, the man understood why. The weeping thing was much bigger than it had been the night before, by about a third.

"My, how you've grown." Donald stared at it, amazed. He felt a mischievousness thrill course through his being, as he thought of the previous day's encounter. "You wouldn't be agreeable to having another go with me, would you?"

In reply, the weeping thing basked in a shade of red that could only be considered a deep blush. As the man watched, a single opening formed on its fleshy substance. Of course, the new orifice was shaped like a nice, moist vagina.

"I've corrupted you, whatever you are." Donald said, hotly, as he lifted the thing and took it back to bed with him.

Again, the thing began to fuck him. It damned near made him cry out loud enough to jostle Old Margaret awake. Donald started laughing like a lunatic. He had to cover his mouth as he thought of the old bitch bursting through the door, and watching Margaret's shocked face as she witnessed him getting throttled by the expanding lump of flesh.

"Ah!" Donald's voice sought to escape past the sides of his hand, as the thing quickly brought him up to a climax. He clamped both hands tight to his mouth.

Perfectly balanced over his abdomen, the weeping thing kept up its motions. It acted as if it were a wild beast of a woman, madly slapping her flesh onto his. The only things missing were a woman's moans of passion.

Donald's hands left his mouth. He gripped his bed sheets as he felt himself burst into her, into it. The powerful orgasm caused him to close his eyes tightly.

He saw them then, behind his closed eyelids; those same nymphs from his dreams. Five of them were dancing in a half circle around his bed, while the sixth one rode on top of him and called out his name.

"Fuck me, Donald!" The woman cried out.

For a moment they were both out in the woods. Old leaves and twigs dug into the man's nude body, while a cool breeze brought a slight shiver to the man's arms and chest.

"Fuck me!" She repeated, as loudly as before.

Donald opened his eyes, certain that the young beauty's scream had carried all over the house, but no, it hadn't. There had been no real scream, only the one heard in his mind. As the man looked down to his lower half, he saw the weeping thing suck away the last of his expulsion with its vagina-slash-mouth. When it was done, the creature somehow managed to roll itself off his torso. With a gentle flop, it rolled off to rest at his side.

Moments later, he heard it purring at him like a pleased pussycat.

Donald dared to close his eyes, just for a moment. He found himself back in the woods, with half a dozen young women giggling around him. They were taking turns kissing him and caressing his chest and belly. They stroked his deflated cock as if they were intent on making it rise again. It was such a pleasant dream that Donald wondered what it would be like to wander into that dream forever.

He smiled at the fantasy, as his hand absently reached down and started rubbing on the thing resting beside him. In his imagination, he was touching a woman's supple lower back and rear end. In reality, that's exactly what it felt like.

"I wonder what your name would be?" Donald wondered, right before he heard the weeping thing make some sort of noise it hadn't made before.

What was it telling him?

Going by instinct, Donald shut his eyes. He found himself outdoors and on the ground once again. The woman who'd been riding him, who'd brought him to his climax, had stretched her body up closer to his head. Her pert breasts now rested on his shoulder and chest.

Into his ear, she whispered, "Emelina. My name is Emelina."

"Such a sweet name..." Donald said, only to be jolted by the sound of a pounding at his bedroom door.

"Who's in there with you?" Old Margaret called out. "I can hear you talking and moving about from my bedroom. Open up this door!"

The weeping thing, apparently more agile than it had been before, easily rolled off the bed and disappeared under it.

Donald sat up, briefly pausing to make sure he was semi-presentable. He left the bed as well. Hurriedly, he pushed his boxes into the closet before he stepped over to unlock the door.

Wearing her powder blue pajamas, Margaret pushed her way in and started inspecting the room.

"I was having some kind of nightmare." Donald excused himself.

"No, you weren't." Margaret refuted. "You were tussling about on the bed. I could hear you all the way to my room. Now, where is she?"

This time, Donald grew irritated. "Well, if you're so sure about that, why don't you find her yourself?"

Margaret shot him a menacing look, before she stalked around the room. She poked her furry head into the closet and even went as far as shuffling the clothes on hangers all to one side. Finding nothing, she went to stand next to the bed and got down on her knees.

Behind her, Donald cringed.

Margaret dropped down, her head coming close to the carpet as her hand shot out and swept the bed-skirt aside. Her fat ass was sticking up in the air, tightly stretching out her blue pajama bottoms. An angry Donald could barely keep himself from swinging back a leg, and launching a soccer kick that would probably send the crusty woman through the back wall.

Margaret used the edge of the bed to groan her way back to her feet. "I know I heard you talking to somebody."

"I'm telling you, I was having a nightmare." Donald insisted. "I can't even remember what it was about anymore, because you knocked me out of it when you started banging on the door."

Margaret huffed and did an old woman's version of stomping out the door.

After waiting until her footsteps had grown faint, Donald went to lock the door. This done, he rushed toward his bed. The weeping thing rolled out, almost casually, as if it too sensed that the immediate danger had passed.

"Into the box," Donald whispered as he scooped the thing up and hurried toward the closet. "Until Margaret's gone out."

Before he set the lid back on the box, Donald recalled the dream of six young beauties, all nearly nude and frolicking with him in the woods. He frowned in a sad, sad way, as he covered the box up and stepped away from the closet.

Even a couple of hours later, Donald was grumbling over the incident. It was still too early for Margaret to head off anywhere. He tried to keep himself busy by perusing women's profiles on a dating site. Donald saw his recent history on the site and the seven or eight profiles he'd checked out just a few days ago. Next, he looked up how many women had visited his own personal page.

Zero, he discovered, zero women had taken the time to look him up. No women had come by to browse through what he thought was a witty, original, and honest description of himself and his current station in life. No women had viewed the couple of pictures he'd uploaded. One was a self-shot of him smiling and wearing a blue, long-sleeve button shirt; what he called his business look. The other was a picture of him in a more casual environment, at the beach in a tee shirt and shorts. Sallie had taken that picture, not that long ago.

Donald was still thinking of Sallie when he left the dating site and redirected his browser to his email server. There, half-hidden in the quagmire of the usual spam advertising booty calls, pharmaceuticals and Viagra, he saw a message from her. Eagerly, he clicked on it and scoured over the first few lines.

Sallie had always been a long-winded sort, as she was prone to lengthy explanations and verbosity. That was one of the things Donald liked most about her. It wasn't until he got halfway through the message that he figured out what it meant. It was a departure letter, a farewell note, a goodbye message. His mind abbreviated the stretched out missive into something more compact: It's over between you and me, Donald. Goodbye, love Sally.

The message shouldn't have hit him so hard, as Donald had not talked to Sallie much in the last few weeks. Nevertheless, it did. The end of their relationship, in this long letter from Sallie, served as a microcosm of his life. It reminded him that he would always live alone, on the fringes of and being ignored by the rest of society. No matter how many people Donald associated with at work, no matter how many women he sent messages to online, he knew, they all knew, that he was destined to be alone.

Dejected, rejected, Donald rolled his chair away from the small desk and got to his feet. He stepped to his single window, taking in the early morning view of the woods behind the house. Donald grew uneasy as his eyes took in a shock of crows watching him. There could have been over twenty of them. They were standing on the sturdy posts of the empty clothesline, on Margaret's old barbecue pit, or pacing back and forth on the ground and cawing as if they had an important matter to debate.

Donald had just started counting them when the old woman valiantly appeared on the scene. Margaret wielded a broom before her and swatted away viciously at the large birds. The crows hopped away from her and cawed their protests, easily and repeatedly moving out of harm's way. Margaret was heard complaining of all the shit they might leave behind, shit that she would have to clean up later.

When she realized how ineffectual her broom was, Margaret instead went to arm herself with the water hose. She flung a forced stream of liquid at the nearest birds. The first crows flew up and away. After getting doused, the rest soon followed, and thus the brief siege was over.

Margaret gave Donald a face of disgust, as she trampled back toward her back door and saw him standing there on the other side of the glass.

Donald merely watched her go by, as Sallie's last message had left him entirely devoid of emotion.

It was past noon when Margaret finally left the house. Donald knew this because that was the time that the weeping thing began humming again. He stepped out of his bedroom to make certain. Indeed, he soon discovered that the old woman was gone.

Still downcast and feeling hurt over Sallie, Donald went into his closet and pulled out the box holding his pet. He took the thing with him and sat it next to him on the bed.

"It's just you and me, I guess." He sighed, as he stroked the weeping thing's soft skin. A moment later, he chuckled. "And old bitch Margaret."

The thing surprised him by rolling off the bed and positioning itself in the widest floor space in the bedroom. The thing began to melt before his eyes, to expand all across the carpet as if someone was pouring out batter.

In horror, Donald stood up. His first thought was that the weeping thing was dying. His second thought was of how he'd clean the mess up before Margaret got back.

The thing halted him from moving further, by singing its droning lullaby of joy. In effect it was telling Donald that everything was going to be all right.

Still anxious, the man began stepping around it, watching as the thing stretched out further, thinning out until it was perhaps an inch thick. It was shaping itself into a large rectangle, nearly the same size as the blanket on his bed, Donald compared.

"What are you up to?" Donald asked, as he stepped near the window.

The crows, he noticed, were all back again. Perched, standing, pacing: all of them watching him even as he stared out at them. This time, there were many more than twenty of them out there. Donald thought of sliding his window open, and screaming for them to leave.