Save Me! I'm Organic!
"Save me! I'm organic!"
"Kieeeek-!!"
Screams erupted.
"S-Save me!!!"
"Where do you think you're running?! A mere potato daring to dodge?!"
Elma's shout. Then a dull thudding impact.
Splat!
"Kieek!! Save me! I didn't do anything wrong! I'm organic, I tell you! No pesticides!"
"Shut up! If you're organic, you'll taste even better!"
...Hallucinations? No, these were too vivid for that. The ingredients were begging for their lives.
"Elma! Elma!"
I flung the door open in a panic. Just as my foot crossed the threshold.
"What's going on?!"
"Stay put! It's a hostage situation!"
Elma's warning froze me in place.
"Huh?!"
A hostage situation? In the kitchen?
"They've barricaded themselves in the blender and are holding out! I'm subduing them, so stay quiet!"
Crash! Clang! Something shattered.
Shadows from the kitchen flickered on the wall beyond the door. Elma's tiny silhouette wielding a kitchen knife. And something flitting around in front of her.
Whoosh. Whoosh whoosh.
"Freeze! Before I skin you the painful way!"
Thwip thwip thwip! The shadow raced along the wall. Elma hurled the knife.
Thunk!
"Kiiiii...!"
The shadow dropped to the floor with a plop.
"Phew... Gotcha, you little punk."
A sigh of relief. I quietly backed away. Best not to guess what she was making.
An hour later.
Click.
"Honey, dinner's ready."
The door opened. There stood Elma. What a sight.
Her apron was splattered with red liquid (please let it be ketchup or vegetable juice). Her twin tails were a mess. She was panting for breath, like a soldier fresh from battle.
"You okay...?"
"Yeah, the ingredients were way too feisty."
Elma wiped her sweat. The apron strap loosened, threatening to slip off her shoulder. Her pale cleavage was fully on display.
"Took a lot out of me to prepare. Come on."
She led me to the table. And there it was—the 'tonic meal' staring back at me.
"...."
Even charitably, it barely qualified as 'food.'
First, the main dish. An unidentified cube on the plate, glowing fluorescent green.
Hummmmm.... The air itself was vibrating. Haze rose from the cube like heat waves.
"Um, Elma."
"Yeah?"
"This isn't plutonium, is it?"
"Huh?"
"The color, the sound... Eating it feels like it'll either irradiate me or give me superpowers."
Elma's eyes went wide.
"Plutonium? That's in the warehouse—what brought that up?"
"Pardon?"
Plutonium was something you kept in the warehouse? Like it was normal?
"Why do we have plutonium in the—"
"Oh, yeah. Those Iranian guys offered cash a while back, so I enriched some."
"What?!"
My brain refused to process it.
"But then they tried paying with supernotes (super-fake dollars). So I ditched the deal and stashed it."
...A joke, right? It had to be. I wasn't dragging my wife to the International Criminal Court.
"Anyway, this isn't that. It's just a condensed cube."
"Condensed cube?"
"Yeah. I used some molecular gastronomy techniques. Basically... extreme flavor compression."
Elma picked up a fork and stabbed the cube. Zap! Sparks flew.
"Here, say ahh."
"W-Wait. That just sparked."
"Good stuff always tastes bitter... Wait, tingly? Whatever, just try it. It's fine."
In the end, the cube was shoved into my mouth. By force.
Munch.
"...!"
My eyes flew open. Crispy texture. Bursting juices. Nutty yet sweet flavors. My taste buds were dancing.
"How is it?"
"Insanely good."
...Why was this so delicious?
"Right? Who do you think I am? Great and revered Arch-Magitech Engineer Elma Bronzebeer. I even calculated the molecular structure of the taste."
Elma puffed proudly, hands on hips in her naked-apron glory. That confidence was kinda cute.
"Now the salad. Gotta eat your veggies."
Second plate. Potato salad. Looked normal enough—boiled potatoes mixed with veggies.
I reached for it with the fork. That's when.
Tremble tremble tremble—
The cherry tomatoes were shaking. Like they were terrified.
...Nah, just my imagination?
I ignored it and scooped some potato. Bringing the spoon to my mouth.
[Kill me....]
"...?!"
I heard it. A voice stabbing straight into my head.
[It hurts... Just kill me... Please....]
I nearly dropped the spoon.
"Did you hear that weird voice just now?"
"What voice?"
"The potato begging to die..."
"You misheard."
Elma cut me off firmly. But those almond eyes of hers... they were shaking wildly. She was desperately looking away.
She'd definitely done something.
"No, I really heard it. Like telepathy."
"Tch."
Elma shot to her feet, glaring at the table.
"Quiet down!"
She jabbed a finger at the salad plate.
"How dare you complain! Be grateful you're going into my husband's mouth!"
[Eek!]
The boiled potato flinched. The cherry tomatoes rolled behind each other to hide.
"One more peep, and I'll slow-cook you. As painfully slow as possible! Got it?!"
[……]
The salad went silent.
"There, now eat. They're behaving."
Elma grinned and handed me the spoon again.
Should I? Or shouldn't I? Ethical dilemma.
But Elma's expectant gaze. Her hips swaying under the naked apron like a wagging tail. I couldn't refuse.
Eyes squeezed shut, one bite.
"...."
Melting in my mouth. Crisp veggie freshness. Unnecessarily delicious.
"Good?"
"Yeah. Deep flavor—you can really taste the potato's grudge."
"Good to hear."
Elma sighed in relief and sat back down. Her shoulders finally relaxed.
We finished eating. Did the dishes together.
We sank into the sofa. I sat first. Elma climbed onto my lap like it was natural.
"Fuuu...."
She leaned her back against my chest, all limp and languid.
"Tough day, huh."
"Don't remind me. Those ingredients had so much fight in 'em."
Elma held up her hand. The little palm was red and swollen.
"Especially the potatoes. Sneaky bastards."
Flashback.
"They teamed up with the carrots while I blinked."
"Oof. You had it rough."
"But I won. Who am I? The great, revered, prestigious Dr. Elma Livingston, your personal Arch-Magitech Engineer! Crushed 'em with magic."
She proudly flashed a V-sign. I burst out laughing and took her hand.
"Ow."
Elma whined. Her index finger had a tiny scrape.
"You hurt?"
"Yeah. That broccoli prickled up when it resisted."
Broccoli with spines. Didn't wanna picture it.
I brought her finger to my mouth. Licked the wound gently.
"...!"
Elma's shoulders jerked. Her ears turned red.
"W-What're you...?"
"Disinfecting. So it doesn't hurt."
"Tch... Treating me like a kid."
Grumpy words, but she didn't pull away. If anything, she rubbed her finger against my lips more.
"Next time, I'll handle it."
I wrapped my arms around her waist.
"Don't fight alone—it's dangerous."
"No way."
Elma twisted around and chomped my hand.
"Ow."
"Cooking's women's work. The kitchen's a woman's battlefield."
Serious eyes. For her 90cm frame, that expression screamed general.
"I'll handle the home stuff. You just eat the meals I make, study hard, and make me feel pretty at night."
Stalwart wife cosplay. Ridiculous and adorable.
"Sure sure. Feels mighty secure with a wife like you."
"Hmph. Then treat me right."
Elma turned to face me. Pressed her perky apron-clad breasts against my stomach.
Squish. Chewy. Like glutinous rice cake.
Her upturned almond eyes sparkled with mischief.
"You ate the tonic food."
Her hand tickled my chest. Slowly drifting lower.
"Feeling recharged?"
"Thanks to you. Overflowing with energy."
"Then...."
Elma licked her lips. Sultry smile.
"Time to pay for dinner?"
"Pay for dinner?"
She ground her hips. Heavy, rubbing pressure. Hot bare skin peeked from under the apron.
"Recharge me. With your essence, honey."
Elma untied the apron. Slip. It pooled on the floor.
"Didn't you say you were tired?"
"Exactly why I need more."
She pushed me back against the sofa arm.
"I nourished your body. Now nourish mine with you."
Alright, time to test that tonic's power.
"Brace yourself. Won't let go till I've digested every bite."
"Hmmm... Pretty cocky for an undergrad."
We embraced hungrily. Long story short: 30 minutes later, Elma was whimpering and fussing.
"Fuuu...."
"Hah, hah...."
Ragged breaths. The living room was a wreck. Clothes scattered everywhere. Crumpled cushions and blankets, wads of tissues strewn about.
Elma lay buried in the mess, utterly spent.
"Ugh...."
Her lips twitched. Cheeks flushed, sweat-matted stray hairs plastered to her face.
"Told you to stop...."
Whiny complaint laced with resentment. But her voice was all mellow satisfaction.
"You were the one clinging till the end."
"Shut up... you beast...."
Elma punched my chest lightly. No pain—just coquettish fussing.
"Thought I was gonna die... seriously thought I'd suffocate...."
Drama queen. Who was the one moaning uncontrollably in bliss?
"Let's clean you up first."
I grabbed wet wipes. Wiped her belly, chest. Inner thighs. Traces splattered everywhere.
Lukewarm and sticky. Our fluids.
Her tiny body made even a little look like a mess.
"Ugh, cold...."
Elma shivered.
"Hold still. It'll harden and be harder to clean."
"Ugh... you're such a perv, honey. Who cums that much...."
"Blame your tonic food."
"...Tch."
Grumbling, but she didn't dodge my touch. Spread her legs a bit for better access, even lifted her arms.
Like shearing a docile lamb. Or, size-wise...
'Like grooming a hamster...'
"You just thought something weird, didn't you?"
...No.
Even dazed and boneless, her instincts were sharp. I kept wiping diligently. Pale skin emerged from under the sticky mess. Reddish marks everywhere—proof of my grips, sucks, grinds.
Her tiny nipples still stood stiff.
'So pretty.'
The thought hit me anew. This small, precious, lewd creature was my wife.
"All done."
I stopped, lifted her, and sat her facing me on my lap. Familiar position now.
"You okay? That rough?"
"Yeah... feels like my back's breaking...."
Elma buried her face in my stomach. Hot breath tickled my solar plexus.
Sweat scent. Musky, tangy sharpness. The aroma of our lovemaking.
Underneath, wet forest and nutty notes. Her pleasant natural smell.
I patted her back. Stroked slowly.
"Haaah...."
Her tension melted. Tiny body went fully limp. Looked like she'd drift off.
But then.
"...Honey."
Her voice was wet. Different from the earlier languor. Soaked with damp emotion.