“How is that even allowed?” I’d almost said “legal” but realized there were no laws outside of those established by the Council and by extension, Brother Larry.
“All buildings belong to the Fellowship. The care and maintenance of such buildings is the job of the Maintenance Committee and the prevention of fires is the duty of the Fire Prevention Committee. May we enter?” As an added insult, he slammed his open hand against the door to prevent me from closing it.
The cat, who had taken her time in arriving, now arched her back and hissed at the intruders, a bit late in delivery but still appreciated. I picked her up before she could dart out the front door and into the rain. I said to the men, “What exactly are you looking for?”
“Unsanctioned firearms, poor ventilation, debris blocking any exits.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you and your housemates will go before the Council.”
Part of me wanted to go before the Council, just to see what they might do, but I didn’t necessarily want to make waves, so I stepped aside and allowed them to enter. “My boyfriend is upstairs, asleep. I’m going to wake him up and tell him what’s going on.”
They nodded and fanned out around the first floor; one headed for the kitchen and another toward the wood-burning stove. A third went to the nearest window, found it locked, and repeated the same warning to me.
Irritated by this sudden home invasion, I climbed the stairs, letting Purrfect down when I reached our bedroom and waking Kitten with a light shake of his shoulders.
“Is it dinnertime?” he asked groggily.
“No, there are three men downstairs inspecting the house for fire code violations.”
“What?” he asked and scratched his stomach where the flaking remains of his cum had dried from earlier.
“Get dressed and come down. I’m going to keep an eye on them.”
I hustled back down to the first floor to observe what the rest of the inspection entailed, mostly checking our smoke alarms to ensure the batteries were good, which didn’t exactly explain why they were opening cabinets and closet doors. Justin reminded me that our fire extinguisher needed to be mounted to the wall and not stuffed in the broom closet and that all candles must have approved containers. Around the time they were finishing up on the ground floor, Kitten strolled into the kitchen, still sleepy-eyed, and grabbed a glass from the cupboard.
“You guys want some tea?” he asked, ever the dutiful host.
“No thanks,” said Justin, whose eyes caught on Kitten’s neck where a bruise the shape of my mouth had bloomed. Justin blinked and looked at me in confusion, as if he’d never seen a hickey before. Maybe he hadn’t. The fellas around here seemed a tad bit repressed. I glared at Justin, daring him to tell me there was some rule against sucking a big, fat hickey onto my boyfriend’s neck–for all I knew there fucking was–but he only averted his gaze and motioned to the other two. Then the three of them tramped upstairs and banged around while Kitten poured himself a glass of sun-brewed tea.
“They want us to remove the locks,” I grumbled.
“Oh.”
“Oh?” I asked, wondering why he wasn’t as incensed as me.
“I mean, ohhhh.” He scowled and I shook my head at his poor acting.
“Don’t you think it’s fucked up?” I insisted. “To come in here unannounced and search our entire house? In the real world, there are laws against this sort of thing.”
“But what is ‘the real world’ anymore?” he asked.
He had a point, but I was too worked up by then to acknowledge it. “Where’s our right to privacy?”
“It’s definitely not okay, but what can we do about it?”
“I don’t know,” I said, still seething with resentment.
Finally finished with their “inspection,” Justin returned with a checklist they’d filled out with an X by the “fire extinguisher in its proper place” and a mildly threatening note about removing the locks from the doors and windows. I waited until after they’d left, then told Kitten I had an errand to run. “And put on a collared shirt.”
He looked at me with confusion and I touched the spot where I’d bruised him. My cock stirred, and I wanted nothing more than to chase him up the stairs and devour him all over again.
But first, there was a man I needed to see.
* * *
Brother Larry’sliving quarters were modest, considering he was the town’s founder: a one-story, two-bedroom bungalow with a large, fenced-in backyard and a small in-ground pool that was coated in a layer of green sludge so thick it could probably support the weight of any manner of amphibious lifeforms. We sat out on his patio and sipped some of his homemade ginger ale while I bitched about the no-locks policy that he’d probably instituted. He let me go on for a while.
