Sammee Fini

Chapter Thirteen

Thursday was interesting for a new set of reasons. In the morning, after the daily pukefest and cleanup I couldn't help notice she was walking with a decided bowlegged limp as she moved around the kitchen making breakfast. She did seem happy for all of the wincing she made as she moved.

She had been too swollen and sore for vaginal sex, but she hadn't forgotten how to use her mouth. It had been an interesting wake up. And when I nursed in the afterglow, while she wasn't truly flowing, I had to suck pretty hard, but what I got tasted like milk for all that it was thin and watery.

Breakfast was good but I was a bit distracted. I was prepared for my midterm in History of the Constitution that was going to be today but I was nervous no matter how well prepared I was. She kissed me and told me to relax, no cage today because she was damn sure to sore for the belt.

I smiled and said I'd be careful.

She patted my head and said, "you'd better. I keep sharp knives."

I laughed and headed out to fire The Beast up.

Besides a test, and a bunch of "D" and "F" grades I was passing out for truly terrible work on this week's assignment, I was going to have to let a fellow graduate student know that she had been busted for some really stupid plagiarism and she would be on probation for the rest of the semester. It was not stacking up to be a good day.

It felt funny to not be in the cage too.

So I got through the classes, aced the exam as I knew I would, delivered the bad news and held her while she cried, oddly enough not getting hard.

I was home by 4:00 and on her tit by 4:03. I loved laying there on her soft lap, suckling while she stroked my hair.

"So," she said, smiling down at me, "I've been thinking."

I nodded, not about to let go of her tit.

"If we get married in two weeks then we can honeymoon over your spring break," she said.

I nodded again, suckling.

"Annddd," she added, with the Grin in full view, "I've been thinking."

My bowels got watery quickly from the adrenaline rush and my dick got hard simultaneously. When she "got thinkin'" things could turn pretty weird.

"Wanna know what I'm thinkin'?" she asked and I nodded again.

She was brushing my hair gently, caressing my forehead, as she spoke.

"I'm thinkin," she said, giggling softly, "that we're gonna see, for a two week honeymoon, if you can get all of your nourishment from my body."

She used her finger to break my latch and offered me the other tit.

"Annddd," she said, smiling and brushing my cheeks with her fingertips, "I'm pretty sure you'll like it."

"I've decided where we should have our brands," she said, almost casually.

I raised my eyebrows, not willing to release her nipple.

She giggled and reached down, touching me about an inch above the root of my dick. "Right here," she said, smiling, "so they'll touch when we make love."

She grabbed my dick which sprang erect and gave it a squeeze.

And so it went for the next two weeks. Her milk came in but the morning sickness didn't leave her. Our mornings were a pukefest, I went to school, she took care of the house and wrote her papers, and we made love every night.

Later that evening I went into the garage, found a scrap of wood and a soldering gun, and burned a clumsy looking "D" and "S" in it.

The next day I went over to the art department and looked up Scott, an old friend and art major. I showed him the piece of wood and spun him a tale about how my new girlfriend and I were doing some woodworking and needed to be able to "sign" our work better. So would it be possible, I asked, to make us up a couple of irons that we could use to burn our initials into the work.

He bought the story hook, line, and sinker. He immediately got into technical discussion - how big should it be ("about an inch, inch and a half," I told him) - what sort of font (we looked at a book and I chose a basic Ariel. When he tried to get me to do something fancier, in script, I said no, we wanted to keep it simple. I did NOT tell him that the kind of detail in something fancy would be lost in scar tissue) - did it matter to me what material was used (no) - and so on. I told him we were going to enter a piece in a show in a little over a week so this was kind of a rush job. He laughed and called me an asshole, but said he'd take care of me. The whole conversation took longer than I thought it would and I wound up dashing to my next class and slipping in a couple of minutes after the bell rang.

I suppose it wasn't until we met with Raynelle the following Monday that it registered on me that this was really happening. We explained what we wanted, that we would be exchanging our own vows, and that in lieu of rings we would exchange brands. She smiled at that.

We met with Frank and Betty, the owners of Half and Half to arrange the menu and explain that we wanted them to send an invitation to the club membership. We didn't want any of our friends from outside of The Life to come. They smiled and agreed.

Wednesday Scott brought over the irons. He had made a presentation case for them and when he opened the case I was floored. The two irons were laid, head to tail, on a purple velvet base. And they were works of art. He had made them from brass and as gorgeously crafted as any candlestick holders. The wooden handles were some dark wood, polished to a mirror finish.

"I'll need them back for a week next month," he said, "because I'm entering them into a show." I told him that would be no problem.

I got through the rest of the term until spring break although I was, well, let's say, distracted.

Thursday she took me to the place where she had her nails done. It also specialized in waxing. She had them wax off every hair on my body below my neck. And yes, I yelled a LOT.

Friday afternoon I finished my last exam and headed home.

I was so goddam nervous I had to pull over and throw up, twice.

When I got home I told her and she looked at me speculatively.

"Cold feet?" she asked.

"No," I said, "just nervous. Aren't you?"

"Well," she admitted, "a little."

"I am yours," I said.

She smiled and said, "and I am yours."

So we relaxed, well, tried to relax. I nursed, her milk was flowing now, and we tried to watch some television. But it was no good.

We showered, no sex, just wanting to look our best.

We got to Half and Half about 6:00 p.m., an hour before the wedding was planned.

And I was overwhelmed. The place was absolutely PACKED, and it seemed like everyone there came by to congratulate us.

Finally, and I jumped even though I was expecting it, Raynelle hit her gong and the place went silent.

She was a vision. Dressed only in her tall witches hat, her stiletto heels, and her tattoos, she called out in her clear high voice - "David and Samantha, come forth."

We went to her, dressed in only the chastity belt and cock cage.

She smiled and made a show of turning on the gas fireplace, not really needed on this warm night, and then propping the two brands where the flames were kissing the brass letters.

She turned to her audience.

"David and Samantha are here to profess their love and commitment," she intoned.

"David, undress your bride," she said and I lifted the key over my head, unlocked her belt, and hung the key on its necklace on her neck.

"Samantha, undress your husband," she said and Sammee did the same, releasing me and hanging the key on its necklace on my neck.

"David," Raynelle intoned, "say your vows."

I got to my knees and took both of Sammee's hads in mine.

"Samantha, I am yours," I said, "I give myself to you utterly. I hold nothing back. I am yours to do with as you please. I will spend my life offering you protection and comfort and love and pleasure if you will have me."

I kissed each of her palms and stood.

"Samantha, say your vows," Raynelle said.

She got to her knees with that odd grace and took my hands in hers.

"David, I am yours," she said. "I give myself to you, utterly, holding nothing back. I am yours to do with as you please. I will spend my life loving you, nourishing you, giving you pleasure, if you will have me."

She kissed my palms and stood.

We held hands.

"David," Raynelle intoned, "do accept Samantha's Gift?" and the way she said it, "gift" was definitely capitalized.

"I do," I said.

"Samantha," she repeated, "do you accept David's Gift?"

"I do," she said,

Raynelle chuckled deep in her throat and said, "you may slap the bride."

And I slapped Sammee, hard, where the bruise never really went away.

"The table please," she said to her assistant and he left the room and brought out a table, kind of a massage table without the hole.

"Samantha and David have chosen an interesting alternative to traditional rings," she said, turning slowly, obviously enjoying working in the round.

"Who will go first," she asked.

As we had discussed, I walked Sammee the three steps to the table and then held her hand as she did the little hop to get up.

"You're beautiful," I said, and kissed her.

She took a deep breath and laid back on the table.

"Do you want something to bite on?" I asked and she shook her head, already breathing a little hard.

"You and you," I said, pointing, not remembering names, "hold her here," and I pointed to her shoulders.

They moved into position.

"You and you," I said, "hold her here," and I pointed to her hips.

The moved into position.

"Steve, Andy," I said, calling to the two oversized doormen, "you have the most important job. Hold her here," I pointed to her thighs, just above her knees, "and make goddam sure she doesn't move. If you let her wiggle the brand will be blurred."

Both grinned and grabbed on.

I took two steps and got the brand out of the fire.

"Hold her still now," I said and with no more warning pushed the brand onto the spot we had agreed on.

I pressed the red hot brand onto the softness of her mons, a couple of inches above the slit of her labia.

She screamed.

It sizzled.

The guys holding her leaned into their jobs and she didn't move.

I held the iron for a slow five count, wanting to make sure the brand would be clear. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Mississippi, five Mississippi.

"HOLD HER," I snapped and reached into the little box under the table and brought out the Alocane brand emergency burn gel, the stuff the pharmacist at CVS had recommended, and then covered the bright red brand with a hydrogel burn pad, another CVS purchase.

By the time I had her tended to she had her breathing under control and swung her legs over and sat up.

"I love you," she said and everybody in the room applauded making us both laugh.

"And now," she said, the Grin flashing, "get your skinny ass up on that table."

It was my turn to take a deep breath and compose myself. Then I hopped up on the table and laid back.

"You guys know where to hold," she said and they did, effectively immobilizing me.

I could see her look around and then she said, "Victoria, I have a special job for you."

Victoria came over and Sammee led her to the foot of the table, guided her hand to my dick.

"Hold this out of the way, please," she said, "I don't want it burned tonight."

For probably the first time in my life, a woman held my cock in her hand and I did not come erect.

Sammee picked up her brand and came back.

"Ready," she said and I managed to nod.

I felt hands clamp down, and one hand pull my dick harder than was probably absolutely necessary, and then my world exploded in pain.

I screamed. It was involuntary and absolutely unstoppable.

I had done a slow five count. I swear she counted to a thousand. Or maybe ten thousand. I was on fire from my neck down.

And then came relief. The cream did an amazing job, cutting the pain down to mere agony.

"Come on baby," she said, and I felt her helping me to sit up. I guess there's something to the whole "women handle pin better than men" thing after all.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Raynelle announced loudly, "Missus and Mister Jones (not her real last name of course, and I had taken Sammee's last name)."

More applause and then Sammee called out, "now lets PARTY!"

EPILOGUE

That was the last meal I ate, except when we go to restaurants, that was not processed by Sammee's body first. We've been married a little over 10 years now, and I'm still head over heels, crazy, stupid in love. I never worked for a Ph.D so I teach economics at a local community college. She still takes care of the house and writes her papers. We're still regulars at Half and Half.

It turns out, a diet of breast milk and fat girl's vomit, shit, piss, snot, and the occasional cheese when she gets a yeast infection is pretty well balanced. The vomit still tastes bitter and acid but, as Dalton said to Wade Garret, "it's amazing what you can get used to." Shit is still shit and piss is still piss. As her milk came in, the consistency of her snot got thicker (I don't know why). Oh, and menstrual blood really ain't bad.

The hormones do make her break out, so I have plenty of pimples to pop and suck and lick. Saliva, it turns out, is pretty good for helping her clear up. And as she got bigger, her rolls got deeper. We buy Desitin in the large economy tube these days, and I go over her skin every night, very carefully, putting the soothing white cream wherever I find any signs of a rash.

Oh, and we still have our Dirty Weekends about once a month.

Sammee passed 380 pounds before we stopped weighing her. It was never about weight gain per se for us, it was about the joy of feeding and being fed. But she's eating for two, literally, now and even though she turns it over to me after a couple of hours processing, she's still getting plenty of calories out of it.

I didn't plan this but I ain't bitchin'. How many men can say they have found the perfect woman and she found him at the same time.

Oh, and if you're wondering, the brands took second at that show.

I hope you enjoyed our story.