The worst part is that she seemedopento it. She had not flinched at the idea of, well, whatever could come after kissing, but perhaps I’m reading too much into her “virgin” comment. There are lots of kinds of “virginity,” not limited to olive oil.
Even after we say goodnight, my nerve endings are on high alert. The video reel of Peony and I kissing plays on repeat in my mind, the way her lips gave so easily to me, howshe clutched my fur as if she might get washed away. I want to hold on to that moment forever, in case it never happens again.
Instead of pulling down a book and sitting in my chair in front of the fire, as I usually do, I shamefully make my way to my bedroom. There I take off each article of clothing, all of which are covered in flour, and drop them in the laundry bin. Then I clean off in the shower, spending extra time combing out my mane. I even use the shampoo and conditioner I rarely touch, thinking that perhaps next time, Peony will appreciate the feel of my fur under her hands.
I’m painfully hard when I exit the shower, and my cock remains that way, alert at the thought of her flushed cheeks, her soft hips, her tender mouth. The shaft is unusually swollen, even pinker and wetter than usual. I don’t even make it back to my bedroom before I have one hand wrapped around it, relishing the sensation of my scaled palms running over the surface.
My thoughts dart back to Peony, and I wonder what she looks like under that cute flower-print blouse. Her breasts are large, I know that much. I wonder what color her nipples are. Could I suck on them without damaging them with my teeth? Would I simply circle them with my tongue, lapping at them, winding her up more and more?
My eyes roll back in my skull at this thought, my hand stroking faster. What about lower, underneath those tight jeans? She has a marvelous rear that flares along with her broad hips. I imagine kneeling before her, perhaps even pushing her up onto one of the kitchen counters, naked with her legs spread open.
A moan erupts from my lips at the thought of putting my head between her thighs, soaking up everything she has to give me. Precum dribbles from my tip, and even more white-hot pleasure threads up my spine as I imagine licking little Peonythere, making her whine and whimper as I delve into her with my tongue.
Perhaps I couldn’t make her come all over my cock, but I could do it with my mouth if I’m careful with my teeth. Just the idea of it, of having her permission to devour her… I meet my finish easily, but this time I’m prepared to catch my rather plentiful ejaculate with a towel.
I stare at the smear on the towel for a long time before I crumple it up in my claws. Is it possible, as Peony suggested, that I could control the monster with her? Is it possible that I could engage in a relationship with her without injuring her?
She seems willing to try. A woman who has accepted my form, who has held conversations with me and spent time baking cookies with me, has also expressed an interest in pursuing something more. It is truly the greatest gift I could ask for.
Closing my eyes, I fall back on the bed, my cock sated—for now.
Even if I did explore that with Peony, I still know my ultimate fate. I will not get to have her, not if it meant I could be happy. That season finale is not for me. Which means it can only end one way between us.
Can I know that truth, that eventuality, and still pursue her? Can I set myself up for inevitable heartbreak?
I pick up my mobile and make a call. There is one person who might have some answers for me.
peony
My head spins my whole walk back to my rooms. I was a space cadet during dinner with Rupert and Kellen, and I don’t even remember what we talked about.
The only thing on my mind is Rupert’s mouth, the softness of his fur, his thick arms around me as he hugged me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so safe, so protected and yet so wildly aroused as when Rupert held me close to his chest, encircling me completely.
Ah, shit. I am downbadfor this guy.
He’s charming, he’s funny, and he’s a good cook. He’s kind, gentle, and genuinely seems to want me to be happy. It’s an incredibly unfamiliar sensation to have someone looking out for me who isn’t doing it to control me.
No, Rupert simply cares about me. Of that, I’m certain.
And despite his strange and unfamiliar body, I find myself… attracted to what he is, towhohe is. I love his fur, and how his very human expressions play across his animal-like face. His horns are majestic, and I’ll never forget the way my small hand vanished into his big palm.
Also, it’s pretty cool that he doesn’t have to wear shoes with those strange, scaled feet.
I still wonder what his tail feels like. I hope he’ll let me touch it sometime. That thought is bizarrely erotic, and I think it would be rather intimate if he did. Would it turn him on?
What does he look like…there?
Now my thoughts are going to utterly inappropriate places. I drop onto my bed as I try to rein in my imagination, but it’s already leapt right off the rails.
Would his cock be human-like, or something else?
Without my permission, my imagination conjures upRupert, right here in my bedroom. He crawls onto the bed on top of me, his massive, furry body covering mine, his billowing mane blotting out the light. He kisses me again, harder this time, his tongue plundering me.
While I imagine this scenario, I unbutton my jeans and shuck them off onto the floor. I’m so turned on already that I play with one of my tits through the fabric of my shirt and bra, not even bothering to take them off. My other hand knows what to do.
I feel guilty, ashamed, as I think of him this way. Rupert was quite hesitant to even kiss me, so what makes me think he would want more? That he would even becomfortablewith more?
And besides, I just left Andy mere weeks ago. I haven’t given myself time to properly recover. Perhaps I’m torturing myself with this fantasy, but it’s just that—a fantasy. It can’t hurt anyone except me, right?
