“Well, I think my hair is a lost cause, but at least I don’t have dirt in any more of my crevices.”
I looked over and found her staring in the mirror, poking at her curls, which were now breaking free from her updo. She was wearing only a white corset and white lace underwear.
“Hand me my dress, will you?”
“Let’s not be hasty.” I stepped up behind her and kissed her neck. My hard cock had nowhere to hide in my boxer briefs, and she ground her ass back against me, teasing me, wanting me as much as I wanted her.
“Chris, there are two hundred people waiting for us to cut a vegan coconut cream cake right now,” she sighed, leaning back against me even more.
“Well, it’s not like they can cut it without us.”
“I suppose you have a point.”
The cake cutting started fifteen... or twenty, okay, thirty minutes late.
COMMAND LOG 5: THE SNACK ACCORDS
LUKE
Red Rooster 5: Leader of Pet Squadron
Victory Celebration
I have returned to my coop tonight triumphant in spoiling the efforts of that Trixie Stealing Skin Goblin to replace me with his present of the coo Beast. While true I was unable to stop them from completing their mating ritual, My Trixie does seem to smile a lot at his repulsive pink visage and he is known to have good snacks, so I suppose I can learn to tolerate his presence here indefinitely. As long as there are strawberries.
For now, I shall rest knowing that My Trixie is happy and my beautiful Kylo Hen finds me quite handsome in my tuxedo. After the chicks go to sleep tonight we will play a game of 007: License to Cluck.
EPILOGUE: CHICKEN AND NUGGETS
CHRIS
“Honey, I’m home.”
We had been married for almost four months, and I hadn’t gotten tired of saying that yet.
“Trix, where are you?”
“In the bathroom,” I heard her call from the back of the house.
“Okay, food’s on the counter. I’m just going to run upstairs and change.”
Trixie had asked if I could pick up a chik’room sandwich from our favorite local food truck, but the line had been long and the August sun in Colorado was enough to make a Kingman sweat.
When I came downstairs, I found that Trixie had set up our food at the kitchen island and was making her happy little eating noises as she inhaled huge bites of her sandwich. I took a large bite of my own and almost spit it back out.
This wasn’t chicken. This was the fried mushroom masquerading as chicken that Trixie ordered, which meant she was eating...
“Uh, Trix?”
She looked up at me with eyes like a deer caught in high beams, her yummy food dance coming to an abrupt stop.
“Don’t panic, but I think that maybe you might be eating the wrong sandwich.”
And with that, she immediately burst into tears.
I dropped the not-meat back onto my plate and rushed to hold her.
“It’s okay, honey. You’re still a vegan. Don’t cry.”
