Chapter 8 #3
She nodded, satisfied, and moved on. A crate labeled “medical supplies” had turned up in the warehouse rotation, with gauze and a few other useful items pulled from one of the old clinics.
Someone had drawn a cartoon of Akia on the side, fangs out, fur standing on end, and left it on the office shelf as a joke.
The girls on warehouse duty were arguing over whether it counted as proper labeling.
“I’ll deal with it in the morning,” I said.
She leaned in, nose almost touching my ear. “Final thing.” Her hand landed on my right thigh, fingers long and precise. “You smell like Autumn, Joy, and mating. It’s very nice.”
Her hand slid higher, the pads of her palm warm even through the cotton. Her tail flicked back and forth, a visual metronome to her pulse. She pressed in tighter, her mouth at my earlobe, then inhaled through her nose and exhaled into my hair.
“You’re always welcome,” I said, but it came out more hoarse than intended.
She giggled, a high, nervous sound, then returned her hand to my thigh. “I want to taste,” she said, and left it at that.
When she said she wanted a taste, she meant exactly that.
She stroked me through the boxers, careful, her other hand pinching the hem and pulling it away from my body.
She gripped the shaft and thumbed the head, finding it hard and wet, then bent forward and licked a stripe along the fabric, through the opening, until she found the slit.
Her tongue was hot. She dragged it back and forth, then worked the waistband low enough to pop the head free. She did a little happy wiggle.
“It is bigger than last time,” she said, voice matter-of-fact.
“Maybe I’m happier to see you,” I said, deadpan.
She snorted, then closed her lips around the head, sucking hard enough to pull a groan from my chest. I didn’t fight it. The feeling was electric, as always.
Akia worked the shaft with one hand, tongue on the underside, then released me and spat in her palm, lubricating the whole thing before resuming her slow, deliberate bobbing.
She kept her eyes open, watching mine for a reaction.
She moaned at the taste, then went deeper, using her smallness as leverage, taking as much as she could with every downstroke.
I let my hands rest on her head, then behind her ears, scratching where the fur was softest. She pressed into my hand, head rocking in time with her hand, the pressure and wetness building a thick, insistent pleasure in my groin.
I caught her thought: she wanted to mate, but she had rounds in the morning and was too small to walk without a limp afterward, so she was content to suck and swallow and finish the job. She liked the taste, the effort, and the satisfaction of making her Alpha happy.
“May I?” she whispered, voice muffled.
“Yes.”
She increased her pace, grip tightening, and then I felt it build, crest, and explode.
I groaned, my whole body seizing. She took it all, swallowing fast, then licked the head and shaft clean, even licking and sucking my balls before letting me go.
She leaned back, face shiny with spit and a little sweat, eyes glowing.
She crawled onto my lap, straddling me with her knees on either side of my thighs, her tail wrapping around my waist. Her body was small, but the heat of her pussy pressed through the skirt, and I felt how wet she was, how much she’d gotten off from the taste.
I reached down and touched her, found her clit, and worked it with my thumb.
She squirmed and writhed, making a high, keening sound.
I slipped a finger inside, then two, twisting and stretching.
She was tight but opened up, milking my hand.
She whimpered, then howled, then came hard, her pussy clamping down on my fingers in hot, pulsing waves.
I stroked her back, her ass, her tail, pulling her tight against my body. I felt every spasm, every shiver. When she was done, she collapsed, head on my shoulder, panting. Her breath was sweet, but not like Autumn’s nectar. This was earthy, mammalian, full of life.
We stayed like that for a few minutes, my hand stroking her fur, her hand resting on my chest, the smell of sweat and salt air blending with the funk of the harbor.
“Thank you, Alpha,” she said at last, lifting her head. Her ears drooped in happy fatigue.
I ruffled her hair. “Always.”
She grinned, then slid off my lap, straightening her skirt. She glanced at the notes I’d been making, then back at me, still flushed and pleased with herself.
“Goodnight, Akia,” I said, then she left with her tail high.
I went back to the printouts, the glare from the lamp turning the first page a deep, hungry yellow.
I wondered if any of it mattered, really. Or if, in the end, the only thing that mattered was the moment when a woman puts her hands on you and laughs at your jokes, and you feel her heart race against your own.
The channel outside was black, and the wind off the water pressed the windowpane with every breath.
There was a lot to look at, a lot to consider.
I’d been thrown two years into the future, but Autumn, the ci dyn, the elves, and even the anime catgirls had been ripped from worlds that shouldn’t exist, given life, and were now as real as myself.