Epilogue
Six Months Later
Payne
“Stupid paper. Stupid pencil. Stupid, stupid duck drawing! You’re not supposed to look like a Disney duck!”
Despite the beautiful blue sky overhead, the smart speaker playing my favorite playlist, and the comfortably padded chair I was currently seated on, nothing about this drawing session was coming together the way I wanted it to, and I was completely crashing out over it.
“Alright, that’s enough paper abuse for now,” Master Thor declared, his heavy hands settling on my shoulders. “And I’m sure the pencils would like a break from being told off.”
Huffing, I nodded, because he was right. Kicking the trash can and cussing out everything in sight, including my muse, wasn’t going to help anything.
“You still have a reserve of drawings lined up, correct?” Master Thor prodded.
“Three weeks’ worth, Sir,” I explained as he rubbed my shoulders while I breathed and dialed back the flood of frustration and pissed-offness I’d been drowning in for the last hour.
Since coming to live with them at the house, we’d developed a wonderful routine.
In the mornings we had breakfast together, then headed up to the main resort, where they dropped me off if I had a room service shift or took me with them and found me a place to sit and sketch if they had work to do that day.
They were always done by three, no matter what, and when I was with them, we packed a picnic lunch and ate while we talked and planned our evening, in between me showing them what I’d drawn that morning.
Some days, there was nothing for them to do around the grounds, and if they happened to coincide with one of my days off, we’d go on adventures together.
This morning I’d had a shift, and when I’d finished, I’d insisted on drawing because my brain had been filled with ducks since our trip to the petting zoo the day before.
I thought I’d finally locked onto the story I wanted to tell, but the images in my head kept shifting until I’d wound up with a hodgepodge of every cartoon duck I’d ever seen.
And hated all of them.
“Then I think it’s time we go do something fun, don’t you?” Master Thor said.
Nodding, I let out another exhale, a softer one, and started packing my pencils back in the case. “Yes, Sir, it really is. Thank you for coming out to get me; I wouldn’t have stopped.”
“I know,” he replied, cupping the back of my neck and giving it a squeeze.
“We could see you through the window and could tell that you were getting frustrated when you kicked the trashcan and shook your fist at it after throwing another crumpled piece of paper in. So, we set up a surprise for you inside, and you don’t even have to change. ”
I’d already been melting beneath his touch, each squeeze and rub chasing away the lingering frustration and annoyance of those drawings not turning out right.
He never touched my things to help me clean them up.
I had a very specific order I packed them away in, and he knew that, because I’d explained that I grouped them by their frequency of use, not by the progression of the color tones the way they’d come.
Because of that, the order changed by project, and sometimes, as I was putting them back in the case, I decided to change them up in preparation for the next session, knowing that there was never any rush.
My Doms never set things up for me that required rushing.
They never questioned my process, and they never tried to suggest alternatives under the guise of making it easy for me when the reality was it would only frustrate me and create an unfinished task I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about until I could fix it.
They were also conscious of body language and the things it could convey.
Maybe it was because they’d grown up working with animals, or maybe it was the fact that they were observant, especially when it came to me.
They asked questions, too, creating the opportunity for genuine conversations.
Along the way I discovered that when I relaxed and just enjoyed where the rambling conversation took us, all the tangled-up things in my head sorted themselves out.
They never side-eyed me or raised an eyebrow because they knew I was still paying attention and in the moment with them.
I’d just had an ah-ha moment, and when I finished, they celebrated it with me and thoroughly enjoyed listening to what I came up with.
Once I’d finished gathering my things, he walked me inside with his arm around my shoulders, hugging me close to his side.
When we paused at the backdoor, he pressed a kiss to the top of my head before throwing it open to reveal the counter lined with open pints of ice cream and so many toppings it took my brain a moment to register that every treat I loved was there.
“Welcome to the Frisky Fox Ice-Cream Parlor,” Master Wylde said as he closed the refrigerator door, allowing me to take in the majesty of the costume he was wearing. “Courtesy of Chef Guilia who is a genius at creating uniquely fabulous flavors, tell me how can I serve you this evening?”
The form-fitting bodysuit had a hood and tail. Not only had he left his long hair loose beneath it, but he’d also left the zip partially undone, showing off the definition of his chest.
“I-I,” stammering, I let my eyes flicker over everything until I noticed that he’d placed the small ice cream scoop that I typically used for making cookies on the tray beside the full-sized one. “I’d like a scoop of everything, please.”
“Coming right up,” he replied. “It’s a beautiful day for ice cream, isn’t it?”
“It would be a beautiful day for ice cream, even if it was ten below,” I replied as he started putting mini scoops in my bowl.
“Oh, we know just how deeply your love of ice cream runs,” Master Thor replied, as he took a seat beside me at the counter. “It rivals only your love of gourmet popcorn. The legendary moment when salted-caramel ice cream met caramel corn was epic and will never be forgotten.”
“That was so good,” I replied.
“And for your toppings today?” Master Wylde asked as he finished adding the last scoop to my bowl. He’d thoughtfully arranged them in a pile, so I had a mini mountain of cold, sweet flavors to adorn.
“Marshmallow, caramel, whipped cream, and a whole bunch of cherries, please,” I said, grinning up at him.
He layered it on, too, wrapping whipped cream around the top until it formed a foamy point, then he drizzled it with marshmallow and caramel sauce before carefully scooping several maraschino cherries from the jar, placing them so they didn’t all just roll to the bottom of the bowl.
Instead, they remained where he stuck them, including the fat, juicy one he placed on the top, all stems removed.
I dug right in, carefully kicking my feet so they wouldn’t hit the counter. Stubbed toes hurt like hell, and we never wore shoes in the house.
“And what can I get for you, Sir?” Master Wylde asked, his tongue darting out to lick his upper lip as he stared at Master Thor with a heated gaze.
I loved seeing them be playful with one another just as much as I adored it when they lavished attention on me.
“You know what I like,” Master Thor replied, winking at him.
Master Wylde licked his lips again, nodded, and told the smart speaker to play “Ice Cream Man” by Van Halen, which I’d never heard before. A little sultry, a little folksy, it gave just the right beat for Master Wylde to slink around the room, holding a container of ice cream in his hands.
Talk about a sweet, sweet show, watching Master Wylde dip a spoon in one of the cartons and dance it across the room, rubbing the tip over Master Thor’s lips.
Watching him slide the spoon in his mouth, sighing at the first taste, was so super-hot that I missed my mouth on my next bite of ice cream and didn’t care when a cherry landed with a plop on the placemat.
“Mmm, not bad,” Master Thor said. “But not quite what I was thinking of.”
One by one, Master Wylde brought back a new spoonful until there was just one carton left.
He made that tail shake as he moved around the room, drawing that zipper down inch by tantalizing inch, until the song changed, and at first, I swore it was “I Love Rock n’ Roll” that blared from the smart speaker.
Only.
Yeah, that wasn’t the same song.
When the first line hit, Master Wylde threw his head back, placed his hands on the counter behind him, and rocked his head side to side until the hood fell off, freeing all that glorious hair.
The lyrics were “I love Rocky Road,” a classic Weird Al song I hadn’t heard since I was a kid.
My old man had been a Weird Al fan and loved to sketch to his music, but I’d never told them that.
I never even thought about those moments until today.
Talk about a happy memory. As Master Wylde put on a hell of a strip show for us, he’d occasionally take a bite of ice cream from the pint he hadn’t brought to Master Wylde yet, each one more teasing than the rest.
My ice cream started melting, and I didn’t care, because ice cream soup was as good as the solid stuff; there was no way I was taking my eyes off them.
Underneath the costume he wore the black thong I’d ordered him a few weeks back, Wild Thing emblazoned across the front in rhinestones, and just to bring a smile to our faces, he’d stuck matching pasties over his nipples with tassels on them that he couldn’t make spin, but they sure rocked side to side when his hips swayed.
“Maybe this is more the flavor you’re after,” Master Wylde said, holding a scoop of Rocky Road out to him, chuckling and muttering “oops” when he accidentally spilled it down his chest.
“Now that’s more like it,” Master Thor said as he came half out of his chair to lick the ice cream off.
“You missed a spot,” I declared, reaching over and deliberately smearing ice cream across Master Wylde’s chest.
“So I did.” Master Thor chuckled before licking it away after taking the pint of Rocky Road from Master Wylde.
“Oops, missed one here too,” I said, adding the soupy mix in my bowl to another smear.
“It hardly seems fair that I’m the only one tasting,” Master Thor said after he licked it away.
With heat in his gaze and the tip of his tongue poking from between his lips, he dipped his finger in the pint of Rocky Road and dragged it across Master Wylde’s abs, which flexed as he shivered and sucked in a breath at that touch of cold.
“Why don’t you take a taste this time?” he said as he snarled his hands in Master Wylde’s hair and bent his head back, bowing his body as I licked the ice cream away.
He was a sticky mess by the time we’d had our fill of ice cream, which meant that we got to shower together and scrub one another clean.
Sliding to my knees on the floor of the shower, moving from one cock to the other, feeling their hands in my hair as water dripped on my head, since their big bodies were keeping the showerhead from drowning me, I melted into the feel of their hands in my hair, occasionally caressing my shoulders.
They always exuded just enough pressure to make me feel like they were holding me in place, controlling me, even as I slid my hands up Master Wylde’s thighs and mouthed at the head of his cock.
I could move. I could do anything I wanted.
The only thing in the world I wanted was to be here at the Ranch with the men who’d loved me and had given me the fairy tale ending I’d always envisioned.
They made sure I didn’t have to settle. They made sure I had my needs met, and when I got so down on myself that I couldn’t be trusted to draw a stick figure, they made me soar and remember that they didn’t love me because of my artwork.
They loved me for me. They loved Payne Pettigrew.
Their frisky fox. Their pretty kitty. Their sweetheart. Their bunny boy.
As long as we were together, every day, every task, every moment would be extraordinary.
The End