Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Then another giggle escapes my lips because judging from the hot jerk of his cock in my backdoor passage, Mark is more than interested … he’s on it and ready to play.
5
Mark
* * *
I putter about my kitchen, putting the last touches on a batch of cornbread. It’s hysterical, I know. Despite being very alpha and domineering, there’s a domestic side to me as well. As a result, I often cook, and baking is part of that. It relaxes me, and there’s nothing better than having a cookie or brownie that you made with your own hands. I don’t sew though. That would be going too far, and I’m not getting into little needles and colorful threads like a granny.
But now, the cornbread is ready. I’ve sprinkled a bit of kosher salt on top, and the edges are golden brown and crusty. Plus, the loaf is still warm from the oven, so I put on my mitts and then pick up the glass tray before heading over to Freya’s house. Angling my hip, I depress the doorbell. There’s some shuffling inside, but then the door opens to reveal my gorgeous girl.
“Hi,” Freya smiles sweetly. “Come on in.”
I step inside before depositing the cornbread onto her stove.
“I wore you out yesterday, so I wanted to make sure you got enough calories to make up for it,” I growl. “Careful though because it’s still hot,” I say while shedding my mitts.
She giggles.
“Mitts in the shape of cats?”
“Hell yeah,” I growl. “I hate the creatures, but someone gave me these years ago, and to be polite, I couldn’t exactly say no.”
Freya giggles again, her big breasts swaying with the movement.
“Hmmm, who would give you cat-shaped oven mitts for Christmas? Was in an aunt or grand-aunt? Someone over seventy, I’m sure.”
Actually, they were from a woman I dated who had a thing for furries. And I don’t mean that she had a thing for cats as pets. I mean that she liked acting as a cat in a sexual way. It’s weird, and at first I was willing to tolerate it because she was cute, and because I’m open-minded. At the very least, it was worth it to explore the lifestyle a bit.
But the furry lifestyle wasn’t really my thing. My ex would dress up in a skintight catsuit, paint whiskers on her face, and put a pair of plush ears on her head. Then came the best part – I often was allowed to insert an anal plug into her big butt, which had a fluffy tail dangling from the end. With that done, she’d crawl around on her hands and knees, acting like a cat and doing cat-like things, such as purring, lapping at a bowl of cream, and rubbing herself against my leg.
But dealing with a human cat gets old after a while, and somewhat tiresome too. Other than the anal plug, the lifestyle wasn’t particularly sexy because I’m not interested in eating from a plate on the ground, nor am I interested in taking her for “walks” on a leash. But my ex was into it, and after she dragged me to one too many “furry conventions” (yes, these things exist), I had to pull the plug on our relationship and give her the boot. She wasn’t too upset however, because I think she started immediately dating a dog-furry that she’d met at the latest convention. This guy liked being a Dalmatian and literally painted black spots on his face and body, in addition to sporting his own butt-plug tail. Hey, whatever floats your boat, but no one’s putting that in my ass.
But this is too much information for Freya, so I just smile.
“The mitts are from my Aunt Gertrude,” I fib in a smooth tone. “She has a thing for cat-themed everything.”
Freya giggles.
“Oh, you mean like cat salt and pepper shakers and such?”
I nod, continuing the white lie.
“Exactly. And cat-shaped clocks, cat-shaped cookies, and cat-shaped everything.” But then I change the subject because even if these are harmless lies, I don’t want to get myself into a sticky trap that I can’t get out of. “So how are you feeling?” I ask, surveying her curvy form. “Are you okay after … well, everything?”
This is a legitimate question because I took Freya every which way until Sunday. I claimed all of her holes yesterday, and then did it all over again. We coupled frenetically, and to be honest, I had no idea that I could go that long or hard, or that I could come so many times with so much seed. This woman brings out the best of me, for sure.
“Yes, I feel great,” Freya smiles brightly before leading me to the living room to sit. “But how are you? Did I wear you out? You did a lot of work, big boy.”