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They try their first sixty-nine position on the beach.

Us homes could eat anytime our Oochie sensed us it was okay. Every-day eating was pretty basic: Get a scoop of dried dog food-I think they light-lifted it up from Earth because I recognized the brands on the bags. Mix the dry with warm water, stir it up until it reached a soft, icky consistency, then eat. I liked Gravy Boat brand best, but usually we got that only two days out of every seven. Della explained they didn't have days on this half of this planet, but set our schedules up that way in hopes us homes would have a schedule we were used to and thus would acclimate quicker.

We got store-brand dog food during the week-I recognized some of the store names from traveling with my folks. These certainly weren't Gravy Boat or Gormley's Prime Dry, but they weren't too bad. If I were a hungry dog on Earth, I'd eat them.

We had holidays, too, one every thirty of their make-believe days. The big change was we got canned dog food for those: Alpino being the usual brand, and chicken-rice my favorite flavor, although Gormley's Best Beef and Potatoes flavor ran it a close second. These holiday celebrations were when us homes received our little certificate of achievement awards sort of gifts. You, know: piercing hardware, hair care stuff, soaps, and that sort of thing. Sometimes longer toe extensions for our boots, ankle or knee struts, some really strange harnesses and clothing, and to help you enjoy it, a needle in the arm that in a few minutes made you all giggly and stupid.

As a newcomer, I basically lived for the giggly and stupid part because I had a long way to go before I got any of those higher value awards. Luckily, Della shared hers with me or I'd have very soon needed soap real badly!


Six months passed-at least Della said it was six Earth months. Even after my breast implants were removed, my breast size quickly grew to surpass my after-markets. My belly size kept right up with my tits. I got really good at tending my Oochie's needs: feeding him (it, I mean), sucking his shit tentacle and swallowing the result, and taking the big, short one up my ass. I swear, sometimes its eye tentacle even smiled at me!

Oochie was getting bigger by the day, and I'll admit it, I liked my new belly and tits. Della got me a breast-high robe, but I seldom wore it. After all, it would have kept my Oochie's eye from seeing the world from its vantage point between the curvature of my breasts.

I learned interpretation of the communication signals Oochie sent me. "Go left. Go right. Walk faster. Walk slower. Stop. Start. Nurse me. Swallow my pooper tentacle. Put my short-big one up your ass-all the basic functions a home should provide for its Oochie. I got so I didn't have to think about it to translate, I just knew instinctively what it wanted, and did so.

Things got a little confusing, though, when Della and I were commanded to put on a party-meeting for a pair of them. You ever try having your Oochie suck one of your breasts while with the other it sucks a tit on the other woman? How about taking the other home's short-big in your ass, while having yours shitting down your throat? Well, we did the best we could, and the sensations I got from the Oochie in my pussy said we'd done just fine. Della got similar approval.

We must have done well. Before long we were in demand, putting on much larger parties, and still getting rave reviews.

I knew something else was coming because Della warned me. But the when in the schedule depended upon my Oochie. When I tried to get a definite date, the gentle shock it returned said, "Patience. Your Oochie knows, but your purpose is to provide, not schedule." So I waited in fear, because each day it got larger, and my pussy didn't, at least not as fast.
"So, today's the day," Della told me one morning as we ate our breakfast.

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