Archive-name: Bestial/meltpoin.txt Archive-author: leigh Archive-title: The Melting Point by leigh@waffle.whiffer.* "Doctor Roberts, it was good of you to come." I nodded to the man who had greeted me, and held out my hand to him. He shook it the perfunctory three times, medium grip, no particular emphasis on touching my palm, more of a simple meeting of personal spaces. We were all professionals here, his handshake told me. I was slightly amused. "Father Dubrowski." I seated myself in the chair he held for me, and put my attache on the floor by my foot. I was careful to not cross my legs, but to rest them together at a slight angle, leaning on the arm of the chair. Perhaps the spoken language was my life's work, but the language of symbol was just as important to a career. "May I get you something, Doctor? A cup of tea, perhaps?" Father Dubrowski smiled at me as I shook my head. "I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your monograph on the Feral Child of Casamance." I nodded to emphasize my words, and I saw a flush of pleasure on his face. "Quite well documented." "Well, there were films, you know." The Father pushed around a pencil on his desk, rolling it around on his leather desk pad. "It's always so much easier when there are films when you can't actually view the child. That is why I was so impressed with _your_ work, Doctor. You must have spent quite a time researching those older cases, when children raised by animals were considered - slightly less than human." "In the instances of the children found in Hesse and Wetteravia, all I had to go on was old tales, legends, that sort of thing." I frowned slightly. "Considering the fact they were both described as 'wolf-children', both found in the German states and both first recorded in the year 1344 makes me wonder if there were indeed two children at all, or simply one poor idiot who was shipped from town to town as some sort of example to the irreligious - begging your pardon, Father." "No pardon needed, my dear. Those were different days, as they say." He slapped his palms down on his desk and half-rose from his chair. "Would you like to go to the quarters? That's where we have Thomas." He chuckled at my raised eyebrow. "The fathers have named the boy Thomas, as they have doubts about him. An attempt at humor, you see." He chuckled again, then held the door for me and gestured toward our left, down a long corridor. "Doubts?" My heels echoed in the long hallway, their taps on the hard slate floor seeming to announce our progress. "Doubts as to his authenticity?" "Doubts about him being human, Doctor." I turned my head quickly and looked at the priest, but his face was completely blank. "You shall see what I mean in a moment." I could feel the expression on his face as he spoke. "God have mercy on the child." He said. ***** "Subject is male, approximately seventeen years of age. Only very crude mental development tests have been administered to date, and this data seems to indicate sub-moronic to moronic status. Language skills are non-existent." Doctor Roberts touched the pause button on her recorder and sat for a moment staring at the potted fern on her desk. The events which had taken place earlier that evening still haunted her. It was rare that one could ever encounter anything disturbing in the field of linguistics, even though her specialty had led to some strange researches in the past, but what she had seen and done tonight was as vivid in her brain now as it had been in that tiny room behind the two-way mirror. The images made her uncomfortable. She had tried to dismiss it, had tried from the moment she had first seen Thomas in his confinement, tried to analyze her feelings into that cool container where she kept such things in her head. After a moment she cleared her throat. Her hands were moving nervously over the tiny holes where the speaker of the microcasette were punched into the plastic. "Bodily development from first cursory inspection seems to be normal." She hit the pause button again. She sat back in her chair, the microcasette where she stored her thoughts still in her hand, her finger poised above the pause button, where it was wont to rest as she ruminated. Her gaze never left the fern, simply rested there; her vision was still in the rectory twenty six miles away, inside of a brick building covered with ivy, down a long bright corridor, behind a triple-locked door. **** "Amazing!" She had breathed onto the glass of the observation window. She heard Father Dubrowski scuffle his feet for a moment, as if thinking carefully about what he was going to say. "Yes. An amazing case, even if a pitiful one. It's hard to remember that these are only children who have never felt the loving care of a real parent." There was a silence as the priest waited to see if his barb had hit the mark. "Don't you agree?" He seemed disappointed at the Doctor's lack of response. "I could argue that point with you, Father." She had looked at him with amusement. "I think the case could be made that he did indeed have all of the loving care that the wolves could provide, and we are the ones who are depriving him of what is his - hmm, shall we say natural?- heritage." "A very modern view, Doctor." She thought she could hear a slight sigh come from her companion's mouth. "However, that does not take into account," he continued quietly, "the spiritual considerations, which of course concern me greatly." She felt him looking at her as she gazed at the youth in the room, but did not reply. Her attention was elsewhere. Thomas seemed to be in his late adolescence; from the dental reports she had seen his age had been given as approximately seventeen. He was of medium stature, rail-thin; his naked body was sinewy and covered with scars and marks. His hair was still wild and matted, its thin blond strands clumped together with years of dirt and sweat. Apparently the attempt at giving him a bath had only been partially successful. "I would have expected an attempt to clothe him, Father. Any reason why not?" "It's useless, that's why not. He rips anything from his body with great howls if we even try to put the barest of necessities on him." There was a genteel cough. "My apologies for subjecting a lady to such a spectacle." She had laughed then, and the Father had joined her briefly. She felt a lessening of tension between the two of them, and was glad. She did not relish the prospect of working with this celibate anachronism to begin with; any tension between them would only aggravate her impatience with the good Father. "Father, do you mind if I observe Thomas alone for a while? I would like to make some notes, and would feel less distracted without company." She had smiled her best 'just-between-us' smile, and he had agreed immediately. She promised to join him for a cup of tea afterwards, and he left in a flurry of smiling and nodding, as if he was glad to leave the sight of Thomas in his room under any circumstance. She pulled up a chair and sat down, taking a soft pencil and a pad of newsprint paper from her attache and balancing it on her knee. She looked into the room, noticing that Thomas was for the moment sitting quite still and looking into the mirror as if he could feel her there. She drew a few quick sketches of his face. The mouth and cheeks seemed to carry all of the expression on Thomas' face. His eyes, although darting about him, never resting, seemed to be blank, as if the thoughts which he might have never lingered long enough to register there. On each cheek was a long scar, white against his dark tanned skin. His teeth were very white, but crooked; one of his front teeth seemed to be chipped. She rapidly did a study of his entire body. He did not sit on the cot provided to him, but sat on the floor, his buttocks and the soles of his feet touching the ground, his arms wrapped around his legs below the knees. His chest was narrow and hairless; his stomach concave. His genitals seemed enormous. She looked at the picture she had drawn. She could not pinpoint her mistake, but she could feel its presence. She studied the drawing, then looked from it to the subject. Yes, the face: now in profile, the crooked nose, the slashed cheeks, the smooth eyepits. The chest: ribs showing, tiny nipples almost concealed by his tan, a large mole under his right pectoral muscle. His abdomen: stomach curving in, pelvic saddle seen under his leathery skin. His genitals: testicles flattened heavily on the floor, penis hanging straight down, the head and the first two inches of shaft lying in front of him like something carelessly discarded. No, wait. She stood up, holding her face near the glass, looking at him from a different angle. It was a trick of the light, perhaps. The way he was sitting. The angle of her vision. She felt hot and uncomfortable, slightly dirty. She pressed her cheek against the cool glass, closing her eyes. She must get back to her office, soon. The repressive atmosphere of the rectory was upsetting her balance, obviously. An exaggerated reaction to- Her train of thought was cut off as Thomas stood up. It hadn't been a trick of the light. His posture was terrible, she noted instantly, almost mechanically. He had slumped against a wall, his shoulder bearing most of his weight, one leg locked, one balanced on his toes. His hands seemed to flutter around him; his head moved in lazy arcs as his eyes roamed the room, as if he were looking for signs of movement. She looked at his penis hanging down, swaying slightly as he shifted his weight. She realized with a start that this could be no true child of the wild - he was circumcised. He had been born in a hospital then; he had a name, perhaps forever lost, but he had one. She put both hands on the glass beside her face to steady herself. She could not look away from him. His hands were flitting about his chest, touching it lightly, seeming almost to scratch it. Her face reddened as she noticed that his cock was beginning to fill out, the shaft lengthening slightly, the meaty head darkening. For a moment the boy seemed unaware of his erection, then seized it with both hands and held it straight out from his body. He was breathing through his mouth; she could hear its rasp through the audio pickup. A long, thin strand of saliva crept from the corner of his mouth and he caught it in one hand, slathering it over the head of his cock. He pulled at his swollen shaft mercilessly, grunting, pushing its length through one hand and into the grasping other. His hips bucked and his heavy balls swayed like pendulums as he masturbated the absurd length and breadth of his meat. Her hands seemed to move up to her breasts under their own volition. They had grown in her awareness, just as the boy's cock had grown in his hand. She fingered them through the warm silk of her blouse, through the sensible white lace bra she wore. She was repulsed by the disgusting sight of this boy, little more than an animal, stroking his cock feverishly, pulling it, slapping his balls against his thighs with his rough movements, stopping only to put one hand into his mouth to salivate on his fingers and then return them to the engorged head of his cock, making it glisten. She was repulsed, and yet fascinated. She thought of that swollen cock, how hot it would be to the touch, the elastic feel of the spongy mass of its cleft head, the hard veined shaft, the immense heaviness of his swaying balls. There was no imagining what he had done in the years since his sexual maturity, of what rituals of his animal brethren he had partaken. She felt a hot, sharp pain in her abdomen. Perhaps he had even copulated with the wolves. She drew in her breath. He seemed to be vocalizing something now. It was a series of yelps; between these his tongue darted out and stabbed at the air like a snake's. He was moving both hands down his cock now, pulling it as if he meant to separate it from his body. There was a gooey drop which had seeped from the opening at the tip of his cock, she watched it as his fingers smeared it into the groove of the head. Her cunt was pounding. What would it be like to have sex with this boy? She had read of sexual aberrations of humans interested in animals. Would it be like that? To be fucked by an unknowing creature, a living being interested only in its own pleasure, unfeeling and uncaring of its partner? She found that horrifying, but at the same time perversely attractive. To have a cock deep inside of her cunt, shoving into her, its only goal to stroke itself inside the wet walls of her pussy until it gushed out its sticky fluid... her only goal to have that giant cock fuck her and fuck her until she came, screaming, tearing, wanting to have that hunk of flesh trapped inside of her emptiness, to let her clit pulse and burn until she exploded into orgasm after orgasm... Thomas' yelps had turned into a sort of bark. His dick was an angry red, its knob like a ripe fruit about to burst. He had collapsed onto the floor, still yanking at its shaft, drooling onto its upturned head to make it slick. His legs were splayed out in front of him, wide; he held his balls in one hand to keep them from the cold floor, rolling them in his hand inside their sac. He was bending over his cock as if to inspect is fiery redness, to warm himself at its heat. She watched in fascination as his head went lower and lower, his tongue snaked out, and he licked his distended cockhead. She felt faint as she watched the display. The ache in her pussy was unbearable. She grabbed her skirt and pulled it up around her hips, digging her fingernails into the waistband of her panties and pantyhose and pulling them down to her knees. She propped one leg on the seat of the chair by the mirror, pulling the lips of her cunt open, feeling the wet flow freely from her inner to her outer lips. She put her finger to her clit and rubbed furiously, wanting to come, wanting this horrible needing feeling inside of her to stop, this insane desire to be fucked like an animal, to be fucked by this animal-boy. She winced as a long nail scored the side of her delicate tissues, but never stopped her obsessed hand, demanding an easy orgasm from her clit, a release from the disgusting urges which held her captive. She was crooning to herself as she plunged two fingers into her wet tunnel, then stroked her clit with increased fervor. He was tonguing himself over and over, the head now almost in his mouth. He ran the back of his tongue over the underside of his cock, kneading his balls, his fingers circling his shaft tightly, pushing it up into his mouth. His head rocked over it, each time moving a millimeter further downward. His cockhead disappeared for a split second into his mouth and he gave a loud grunt; her fingers pushed harder and harder, circling faster and faster over her clit as she watched him try to suck his own cock. Her mouth was watering. She wanted that musty flesh for her own to suck, to get it dripping with her saliva, then to drop to her knees and have him jab all of his huge, swollen dick into her again and again, grunting and grasping and finally spraying her with jets of hot, viscous come. Her clit pounded, it burned, it quivered under her touch, but she could not come. She cried out gruffly in her frustration. There was only one thing to do. She went to the observation room's door and locked its flimsy knob. Looking around, she pushed the chair she had been using to the door and shoved its back under the knob as well. She kicked off her shoes, then pulled down her hose and panties. She ripped off a thumbnail in her haste to unbutton her blouse, unknotting the conservative bow at her neck with impatience. She reached back and unfastened her bra, letting her tits hang free from its wire structure. Her nipples were erect, harder than they had ever felt before, aching in her neglected breasts. She hurried to the door which connected the observation room to Thomas' room. She knew there were no video cameras for surveillance; Father Dubrowski had lamented that fact, saying that he wished he could document all that happened to Thomas since his arrival yesterday at the rectory. Let him document this, then. She jerked open the door. Thomas' head flew up and his cock popped out of his mouth and hung straight out from his body, one hand still grasping its root. He snarled at her, but did not stop caressing his throbbing, oozing cock. She stood in the doorway for a moment, as if unsure of what to do. Her rational mind seemed to be crying out to her to stop this madness, to save herself from total degradation. How could she be standing nude, pussy wet and aching, tits free and thrusting, standing in front of this pathetic sex-absorbed creature, barely deserving the label of human? She hesitated, and then shook her head, thoughts scattering like the strands of her hair. She put her hand into her pussy and smeared it with her juices, then walked over to where Thomas sat and thrust it into his face. "I bet you understand that, you son of a bitch." She growled. She fell to her knees beside him and he caught her by her hair. He did not have to force her head to his cock, her mouth was reaching to it hungrily on its own. His cockhead would barely fit into her mouth. It tasted slightly of urine, but more of the pre-cum which had oozed from its tiny hole. She lapped at it, moving his hand from his cock, grabbing it all for her own, grabbing his balls like hot stones, pulling on them. She could barely breathe with so much cock stuffing her mouth. The blood rushing in her cunt made a clatter in her head, making it even harder to think of anything but the satisfying bulge of dick in her mouth, big balls in her hands, and the rough push and grab of Thomas' hands as they sought out her tits. He pinched the nipple on her right breast, hard. She moaned and stuck her ass up in the air, trying to give him more room to feel for her breasts, to put his scratchy, callused hands on them, to pull at her nipples as if he were milking her. She licked his cock, ran it over her face, kissed every long inch of it. He grunted when she would engulf the head in her mouth and tried to push her head down with one of his hands, but she could take no more than that at once. She felt as if his dick would suffocate her once when she fondled his balls and he thrust up, burying even more inches of him between her lips. She gasped. He suddenly pushed her, knocking her over on her back. She opened her legs wide, panting, but he ignored her flaming cunt and started to devour her tits. He sucked at them, mauling them with his hands, drawing the flesh of her breast up into his mouth along with the nipple. She reached down and again stroked her clit, her entire body awash with a longing to do this forever, to be on the edge forever, to fuck and suck forever. She grabbed his cock with her hand and tried to guide him between her legs with it, but he did not move. Her knees came up and pressed her hand as it teased and rubbed her clit. She wanted all of that massive dick inside of her, she had to have it. She didn't care if he was an animal or a human, she wanted that burning red cock buried up inside of her and she wanted it now. She turned over on her stomach and stuck her ass high in the air, her knees wide, her ass only inches from his face. She craned her head back to watch him as he positioned himself behind her, and she moaned in anticipation of his dick jabbing into her begging cunt; her eyes widened as she felt his dirty, matted hair touch her ass and his tongue slip into her lips, rasping over her clitoris and then into her pussy. He lapped at her with broad strokes, tonguing first her clit and then up inside her. She heard the wet sounds of his lips against her ass, then the wetness of his spit on the opening of her ass. His tongue buried itself in her tight, tiny spot and then his finger followed. It felt like her pussy would explode when he put four fingers into it and stroked in and out, one finger keeping rhythm inside of her ass. She groaned and pushed back on his hands, wanting to be filled completely, thrusting against whatever would satisfy her insatiable hunger to be fucked. He took his hand from her pussy and in a few seconds she felt the huge, hot head of his dick pressing against the opening of her cunt. She cried out and pushed back sharply against it, her grunts matching his as his thick meat slammed into her, pushing against her cervix. His other hand was still at her ass; he slipped a second finger in as he began stroking his dick into her. She put her weight on her elbows and crossed her arms, resting her head on them. With each thrust she moved backward, trying to shove more and more of his big cock into her dripping cunt, her ass convulsing around the two fingers shoving in and out. His dick was moving faster and faster, her pussy muscles milking it, her lips being stretched wide, her clit dragging backward and forward with each stroke. His fingers slipped from her ass and his hands grasped her hips; he held her steady as he pounded into her, grunting, groaning as his cock swelled in anticipation of spraying his cum in her pussy. He was worked into a frenzy, his hips like gears driving a machine, his cock a piston, working toward a huge splattering of juice. Her cries were staccato as he knocked her breath out into little gasps. Her orgasm was a crackling fire, small now but simply waiting for his gushing come to break it out into wildfire. Her tits slapped back and forth to his cock plunging to her depths; she grabbed her nipples and let their motion pull on them as she pinched tightly with her fingers. His cock was almost unbearable within her now, unbearably pleasurable. He was stuffing his meat into her, each time he buried himself in her up to the hilts he groaned loudly, until his groans all seemed to melt into one. He gave a great thrust, toppling her over, her breasts flattening against the hard tile of the floor; his cock gave a great leap inside of her and seemed to quiver as great spouts of come flooded her pussy, and its slickness allowed him to thrust into her as he came, making her come, a great explosion in her pussy which wracked her entire being. She screamed at him to come and come, to fill her with his come, to make her drip with his gushing. He continued to come in spurt after spurt as her orgasm pulled her muscles tighter and tighter around his cock, and then he withdrew from her and lay panting on the floor. She moved toward him, as if to lie with him for a moment, but he growled at her and kicked his leg out at her. His cock fell sticky and glistening across his thigh. She sat there, looking at it, transfixed. **** Doctor Roberts again cleared her throat, and then disengaged the pause button of her recorder. "My recommendation is to begin work rehabilitating this individual. I feel there are good probabilities that he can learn to speak and to function at a nominal level in society. It will take time, however, and intensive instruction. I believe that if the subject known as Thomas can build a rapport with one human being, this can be a stepping-stone to other relationships. I strongly suggest that he be kept in isolation from all but this one individual until the time that individual feels that a wider circle of relationships would be beneficial to the subject." Doctor Roberts took a deep breath and fingered the leather dog collar she had purchased a few hours before. "I suggest that this individual be me." --