Dory Ch 02

Her thin, naked body pressed against me under the covers. Her breast touched my chest and I traced circles around the nipple. Large nipples on small, shapely tits.

"You're awake," she said.

"Duh."

She wrapped her hand around my cock. She squeezed it.

"Tell me again," she said.

"Pull up on it, not down. That's better. You're definitely getting the hang."

She knelt on top of me, her hair dangling in my face, one hip raised. She put my cock in her pussy and squirmed down until I was all the way in her. She put her hands on my shoulders and lifted her hips, pulling her pussy off my cock, then thrust down. I lay back, letting her tits fill my hands, as she fucked me.

"Uh, uh. Uh. Uh. Uh." She was uninhibited about making noise. "Uhhh." She came, holding herself still on my cock. She leaned on to my chest and put her lips to mine. I'd never had a woman come from straight fucking without any pussy licking or manipulation. I didn't think a woman could come so fast.

I put my hands under her ass and lifted her higher on my chest. I gripped her, bent my hips up and started to pump in and out.

"Good. Fuck me," she breathed.

Her pussy was different from any other I'd experienced, not that I'd had all that much experience. Wet and smooth, but rubbery and alive, like it was not only a hole but a second mouth grabbing and sucking on my cock.

I hit the right angle and the sound of fucking filled the darkened room. Thwap, thwap, thwap. She likes it hard. Her ass is so firm, her legs so strong. I yank her ass cheeks apart and together, pulling them, pushing them.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh," she sounds like a train puffing at high speed.

What a fuck this girl is! She's breathing so hard, I'm afraid she's going to pass out. I slow down. Thwap . . . thwap . . . thwap. I feel her stiffen. Oh man, she's actually coming again.

Her open mouth drags on my cheek, my nose, anything it can feed on. I'm afraid that if I fuck her too hard, she'll bite off my nose. I pick up speed carefully, thwap, thwap, thwap, and come in her pussy.

"Great fuck," she says. She kisses me on the lips and rolls off.

I'm half asleep as the morning light filters in. I hear a noise and half raise myself to look. She's sitting at the table eating dry bran flakes. I flop back and spread my arms. God . . . I guess she's always up early. What a pain. I fall back to sleep.

I'm awakened by her lips on mine. She blows into my face - freshly brushed, minty.

"Last night was my wedding night."

Hmmm. This is news. My tongue is heavy. "I had no idea it was so close."

"What?" she asked.

I shake my head to clear it. She really wore me out. "You said they were forcing you to marry. I didn't know it was so close." She's impassive. "So soon." No reaction. "In time. You know."

She tilted her face down and went "puh. Then she giggled.

"I meant that last night was my wedding night," she said.

I'm not dumb. I was tired. I lay there, passive.

She pushed the hair back from my forehead. I guess she liked doing that. I knew I liked her doing that. She bit her lip. Looked like a rabbit.

"We don't have wedding ceremonies. An elder tells you it's your time. Then you go to bed." She gave me a meaningful look. "See?"

"So we're married?"

She nodded happily. "I'm yours and you're mine."

Not according to any law in the real world. Dory scampered across the room - I'd never seen a grown person scamper before - and turned on the TV. More learning about the real world or a nascent addiction? What time is it? The clock read 7:10. I flipped on to my stomach and tried to sleep.

I let the shower run over me. You'd think that with all that sex, I'd be in a better mood. My eyes were heavy, my mind slow. Maybe if my new cult bride wasn't up at the crack of dawn . . . I made the water hotter and aimed it at the back of my neck.

"I love her," I said to myself. I knew that much was true. She'd infiltrated my brain. "But married?" I wondered. I was her protector, her rescuer . . . but husband? Does she love me? She's been watching TV. She knows the real world is nothing like where she's from. Is she using me? For safety? For sex? I said aloud, "All I know is she's 18 years and three months old. Give or take."

Dory had told me her mother had joined the cult when she was five or six. That meant she was born in the real world and that meant she probably had a birth certificate and a social security number. I shook myself. I didn't even know her last name. Or what state she was from. And Jehovannah Dorinda - what were the odds that was her real name?

I turned off the water and stood in the warm mist. I dried myself, then wrapped a towel around my waist and walked back in the room. Dory looked away from the TV and laughed.

"Take that off," she said. "You look stupid."

I looked down at myself. I thought I was being a gentleman. Dory hopped out of her chair, stark naked, and came to me. She undid my towel, bent at the waist and put my dick in her mouth. A few seconds later, she pulled away. Then she led me by my cock to the end of the bed, put my cock back in her mouth, pushed me into a sitting position and then turned so she could suck my cock while watching CNN Headline News.

"Ell me eff um ooin iss wong," Dory said with her mouth full of me.

She'd drawn the blinds so the morning sun filled the room. I took the opportunity to examine her body. I ran my hand over the parts of her I could reach - what smooth skin, what great legs. Even her ankles were pretty. Her legs were almost hairless. I lifted an arm - just a tiny patch of light blonde. I leaned back and took a good look at the pussy I'd eaten and fucked - another small blonde patch.

Dory stretched out next to me, still sucking. She flipped the channels, stopping at ESPN.

"Wha iss at?" she asked.

"Baseball. Do you know it?"

"Uh,"she grunted and flipped the channel. She stopped on HGTV. She may have grown up isolated from the society, but she's still a woman.

I like getting my dick sucked, but not especially while watching House & Garden TV. So I grabbed one of her legs and pulled it over my head. I stuck a finger in her pussy and played with her labia. I sucked on her clit, which got me a harder suck at the other end.

Dory lifted her head from my cock. "Fuck now," she said. It wasn't a demand but it wasn't a request either. She stood up and looked down at me, tilting her head from side to side quizzically.

"What?" I asked.

"If I face this way . . ." She wanted to watch TV while fucking.

"Turn around," I said.

I let her figure it out. She got me into her, but couldn't find a place for her legs. She tried spreading and sitting but that meant no stroking. She tried bending and pushing, which I liked, but she couldn't see the TV. She finally bent her legs under her and rode me. I tried to rub her clit, but she pushed my hand away.

"Too much." She stopped moving. "If you get all the way on the bed, I can do more." She hopped off. I scooted toward the pillows. "Not so far," she said. I moved down until my knees were draped over the edge.

Dory mounted me, facing the TV, and started to ride my cock. I didn't expect her to be so sexy about it. She rolled her hips and swayed. She tipped forward and pushed down with only her pussy.

"Where did you learn that?" I gasped.

"Huh?" She was lost in fucking and watching three people redecorate a living room.

"How did you learn how to make love like this?"

Dory turned to look at me, breathing hard. She said, "I'm fucking my husband," and turned back to the TV.

As Dory fucked me like a porn star in heat, I reflected on the shy, modest girl she'd been until the day before. She wouldn't show her navel then and now she wouldn't get dressed - wouldn't let me get dressed. She wouldn't look me in the eye and now she's humping me like a wet dream.

"Dory," I called out. "It's a commercial."

"Those are the best part." She fucked me harder.

For God's sake, woman, my dick can only take so much. "Do you have a last name?"

Her body shook with an orgasm. She shuddered. "Mattson," she said. She turned to me. "I can't go anymore." Then she hopped off and put my cock back in her mouth.

"Do you know where you're from?" I asked.

"Hmmm?" she mumbled, clicker in hand. She stopped on the Weather Channel.

"I'm going to come in your mouth." I couldn't hold back anymore.

"Hmmm?" Still not paying attention. An animated warm front swept across the nation's midsection, showers sprouting over the Southeast. I'm going to be sprouting soon.

"Dory." Nothing. "Dory." Oops. I shot my load in her mouth. Her hand flew up involuntarily. She made a sound in her throat. She swallowed and looked at me, making a face.

"I tried to warn you."

"What was that?" she asked.

"I came in your mouth."

She ran her tongue across her lips. "Salty." She was tasting it in her mouth. "Good." She smiled, then she rested her head on my thigh to watch more TV.

Geez, I thought. She's amazing.

"Dory . . . hey!"

She turned.

"Do you know where you're from? I mean where you were born? Or lived when you were a kid?"

"Santa Barbara."

"You're from Santa Barbara, California?" She nodded vigorously.

"And you know your birthday?"

"April 2nd."

"And your last name is Mattson. Is that one or two t's?" She shrugged.

I got up and dug in my suitcase for my laptop. Dory watched the Food Network. "I wonder if she can cook?" I thought. I connected to the hotel network and looked up how to search for birth records and identities. Most of the results were for adopted kids looking for their birth mothers. Not yet 9 in the morning in California. I refined my search and saved it.

We arrived at my apartment in early evening. Dory had never seen a city - or at least had no memories of one. She took it in with the same eerie calm she'd shown when we'd driven away from her former home.

I dropped my bags, opened my apartment door and reached to pick up Dory. "Tradition," I explained. I carried her into the living room, then went to get the bags.

"I need to pee," she said.

"Bathroom's that door." I pointed.

"You're not going to carry me?"

All right, I thought. I'll carry you. I picked her up. I carried her the other way, into the kitchen. Then I carried her past the bathroom again and into the bedroom.

"I really have to pee."

I carried her into the bedroom closet, then backed out. I walked right past the bathroom again and carried her into the utility closet. She had the idea now and was laughing. She kissed my cheek and forehead.

"I'll pee on you."

I carried her into the bathroom.

"Are you going to put me down?"

"It's traditional that you pee in your pants."

"Okay, I will."

I put her down fast.

Dory explored the apartment while I contacted some California leads that might be able to get us her birth records. We went out to eat. Thai food. She loved the Pad Thai. She tasted my Chili Duck and tried to put out the fire by drinking water.

"Water doesn't help. It's an oil. Try eating noodles or rice."

We made love. At least I made love. When we were done Dory whispered, "Great fuck" in my ear. As I drifted into sleep, I realized she'd never once used the word love.

The next few days, no skip that, the next few weeks were a combination of the normal uncertainties involved with getting to know a new intimate companion and the unexpected discoveries related to living with a Martian. She loved books - thank heaven, because otherwise she'd have become a TV junkie. She would not, absolutely would not leave the apartment without me. She was scrupulously clean. She wore the exact same three outfits in strict rotation. She didn't know how to open an umbrella, though she'd read about them. She'd never heard a foreign language and became so fascinated by two Chinese girls talking that she stepped into the street to hear them better and was almost run down by a bike messenger.

She was totally without shame about her body as long as we were in our apartment. And she was compulsively modest outside. I made room for her stuff but when I opened her drawer by mistake it was empty. I found her things neatly folded and tucked in a plastic bag next to the water heater.

"Why aren't you using your drawer?" I asked.

"You were using the space before, so you need it."

She wouldn't budge until I took a drawerful of my things, put them in a bag and tossed them into the utility room.

We got along. We got along like a house on fire. Sex was consistently powerful and passionate. If it's a man's fantasy to make a woman come over and over, she fulfilled that and more. But there was more than sex. Her intelligence and natural curiosity enthralled me. She was shy at first about asking questions, preferring to connect ideas on her own and then present an opinion, but as the days passed she became almost chatty. She was the first woman who truly enjoyed my love of trivia - though it wasn't until later that she realized not all people care about manhole covers, street light timing systems, terra cotta building decorations, how elevators work - the details most people take for granted as they go about their day.

Dory's personality was alternately child-like - not childish - and oddly remote. She'd never used a phone before I'd met her, but now she'd grab it before I could and start speaking. My phone associated caller ID numbers with names from its address book. My brother was listed, appropriately, as Shithead. He called. Dory said, "Hello Shithead" and handed me the phone.

"What the fuck was that about?" he asked.

"I'm living with a psychic," I replied. "She read your personality through the phone."

When my friends asked who that strange girl was answering my phone, I told them I paid extra for service like that.

We took long walks in the evenings. I quickly learned not to be surprised that Dory knew the local history or street directions in areas she'd never visited. She read during the day - including guidebooks and maps - and her memory was fantastic.

I played little jokes on her, harmless things like making up silly facts about a building. Once she caught on, we turned it into a game. She'd tell me things she'd read but might be making up, and I'd tell her stories about the stores we'd see, about city politics - which I might be making up.

Dory trusted my motives. She felt or understood that I would never hurt her, that everything I said or did was meant in the best way. It was only with time that I realized our relationship was truly based in her trust.

We'd lie in bed and talk. She didn't share her experiences as a narrative, like in a story where we did this and then we did that and this is how I felt. If an event or story from her childhood came up in context, she'd include it as a natural part of the conversation. I remember being incredibly curious. When I was at work, I'd think about her life almost obsessively. When we were actually together, the moment was all that mattered.

But Dory never said the word love. It was always fuck. Fuck me. I want to fuck. Great fuck. Never let's make love. Never I love you.

Her body enthralled me. I'd had girlfriends before, even an almost fiancée. With the other girls, sex would change - this time passionate and this time not, periods of heat mixed with fallow times. There was eventually a loss of interest.

Sex with Dory was and has largely remained constant, both in frequency and in substance. She was astonishingly creative at the simple act of moving my cock in and out of her pussy or mouth. She always put out with intensity, even if she was watching television, and always came, often more than once. I found the simple act of holding her as she sucked my cock, just rubbing her shapely ass and kissing it, could give her an orgasm.

On the 12th day, I couldn't stand it anymore and asked her, "Do you love me?" She looked at me.

"Do you know what I mean?" She looked at me. "Do you know what love is?" I was getting worked up. "You say we're married but the only word you use is fuck. You fuck me. Do you love me, Dory? Do you love me?"

She began to cry. She fell in a heap on the floor. I dropped down next to her. I guess she didn't love me. I guess she couldn't pretend any longer.

I put my hand on her heaving back. I knew at that moment that I loved her. The realization filled me with sadness - that I loved this wonderful, strange creature who couldn't bear to let me down but who couldn't tell me the truth.

"I understand," I said gently. She cried harder. This wasn't easy. I could see no way out.

"Listen. I know what you're feeling. It's all right. You don't have to love me. I'll take care of you. I will." I paused. I knew I had to say the words though hearing them would rip out my heart. "I love you," I said. "It'll be okay."

Dory exploded. She whirled and in one motion threw her arms and legs around me. Her hug squeezed the air out of me. "I love my husband," she cried. "I love my husband."

I could barely breathe. She squeezed me harder. My God she's strong. Who did she love?

"Is that me?" I gasped.

Her grip relaxed. My ribs thanked her. "Is that me?" I asked again.

Dory's mouth pressed against my ear. "I love you, my husband," she murmured.

I took that in. All the way in. All the way into my soul. It was liberation. Dory kissed my nose and chin, then rooted in my neck.

I finally managed to whisper, "Why did you cry? Why the big reaction?"

"You had to tell me first."

"Is this one of those cult things?"

She opened her eyes. "You mean it's not the usual way?"

You've got to laugh. I did.

That evening, I heard from an identity search firm. I did more than hear. They emailed me a pdf of a birth certificate for Regina Erin Mattson, born on April 2nd eighteen years and now almost four months ago in Santa Barbara, California. Her mother was Laurel Cantiss Mattson and her father Robert James Mattson. She was born at 7:16 in the morning. It was a Tuesday.

They also sent me her social security number and a listing of Mattsons in the Santa Barbara area.

Dory was watching TV. It was almost 6 Pacific Time. On a whim, I called the only Robert Mattson listed. He answered on the third ring.

"Mr. Mattson?" He said yes.

"Do you have a daughter named Regina?"

"Who are you?" he said.

I tried to explain. "I met a girl who says her last name is Mattson. She's eighteen and she's from Santa Barbara. Her mother joined a religious cult when she was little."

He interrupted me. "You've seen Reggie?"

Reggie? That figures. "Yes. Is that your daughter, sir?" I was trying to figure out what to say next when I realized he was crying. "Hello?" I said. It was the best I could come up with.

"Is she . . . Is she all right? I mean, how is she?" He was trying to regain control.

"She's fine. Really. She's fine." She's a couch potato, but she's fine. "Mr. Mattson, can you tell me what happened with her mother?"

"Who are you?" he asked.

I didn't know how much to tell him. "If you'll tell me about . . ." I almost said Dory, "about her, then I'll tell you."

He started right up. I heard him sniffle. "We got divorced. Her mother got involved with a weird church." He paused. "She took off with Reggie. I never heard from her. I tried to find them but . . . That was . . . that was when Reggie was six. No, almost six."

"She was living in an isolationist cult in the mountains," I said.

He didn't catch the "was".

"Where in the mountains? How do I get there?"

I wavered. "Can you describe your daughter?"

"She was so little."

"Try."

"She looked like her mother. She had blonde hair, blue eyes." He hesitated. "I don't know what she'd look like now. Her mother had a pointy chin. Small. She'd probably be small. I'm not very tall and her mother wasn't 5 feet. Is that enough?" He took a deep breath.