Chapter 7
Crusher
MistyKitj: CRUSHERRRRRRRRRRRRR
StrawberryCream: How about you get that sweet little human of yours back on screen?
Frank keeps telling me not to respond to the requests for Morgan, and I know he's right, but it's hard when it's the question I'm asking, too.
I'm getting myself comfy in my chair, I'm stretching out, I'm rubbing my chest, I'm teasing at unfastening my pants.
I'm doing all the things I'm supposed to do, and everyone's responding well to my shows.
I'm doing okay. Great, even. Professionally.
But it's been four days since I woke up on my kitchen floor and she was nowhere to be found.
"Nah, man. One night, and one night only. But don't worry, Frank's making more great videos for the library, and you know all my members — garnet tier and above — get unlimited access to that library."
I haven't watched any of the videos.
Truth be told, I don't want them released.
I know we need to get our investment back and this is our livelihood.
We need this venture to be successful. But Morgan didn't want this.
It's not my fault that everything happened the way it did. How could I have known humans can’t read? But it feels dirty now.
She gave Frank actual consent to making the videos before she left.
The live feed was already out there by then.
If we're not putting out higher-quality videos, respectfully edited using all the camera angles we have available, others are just going to splice grainy, poorly lit, unflattering garbage from that single feed.
Morgan deserves better.
I rub my chest, but it's more to knock the ache out now.
Buckstar: bummer. you two were hot together.
I've heard that a lot, too. Can't disagree, not without watching the videos myself, but I'm hot, she's hot. It makes sense.
I make my way down to my pants, unfastening them and pulling my cock out, giving it a quick but stern mental talking-to. It gave me attitude the day Morgan left while I was still passed out on the floor. I'm not salty about that. It stands tall today, and I give it a stroke in thanks.
Clovenloven: Did you get some good footage of her feet? I've been waiting on that.
I roll my eyes and pop my hoof in the holster, hoping to appease the monster, but who am I kidding? How is my hoof ever going to compare to those five tiny toe niblets, that delicate arch, the sturdy heel?
And I try to think about that HornPub star of the bygone era, the milk queen Moossey Moo, as I stroke.
Damn if my mind keeps moving her udder up higher, separating it into two with a single delicate teat on each one.
The fur sloughs off her skin, the horns fall away, the hair atop her head extends into long, carroty waves.
Morgan.
I can't stop thinking about her.
And when I think about how she might be carrying my calf, my heart crushes in on itself and my brain goes all buzzy like I'm going to faint. Again. But the thoughts of her keep my cock in the game, at least.
I take a peek at the chat, unable to resist, hoping for a message I’ve been waiting for from Frank.
Dimez: Are you done with her, then? Because I wouldn't mind taking her for a spin.
Red.
I see red.
It makes my ears shriek and my blood boil.
The shock of it is the only thing keeping me in my seat, and only for a second.
In another second, I'm going to throw myself at that screen in hopes that some magic I definitely don't possess suddenly flames hot enough for me to reach through the screen and kill the fucker who said that.
In that second, I get a private message from Frank.
FrankTheTank: She's here.
Another comes a second later, after that's glued my ass down.
FrankTheTank: She's watching. Act cool.
FrankTheTank: Don't act like a dumbass.
FrankTheTank: Don't faint like a pussy.
Yesterday, Frank saw her email address pop up in the list of new subscribers. Just the jade tier, high enough she can see my streams and watch the newest video. She hasn't commented or said anything in chat, but Frank can see everyone who's watching a stream, too.
She's here. She's watching me.
As I stroke myself, I stare into the camera. I don't care how many hundreds or thousands of other people are watching; it's her eyes I see there. I'm doing this for her. If she's touching herself right now, I'm glad this gave her pleasure. If she's simply watching, I'm glad she's here with me.
I just need her here with me.
The show ends fine. No complaints. Not sure if Frank muted Dimez or kicked them out entirely, but they were quiet after that. And when I turn the feed off, there's nothing more I want to do than curl back up in my bed.
Where her scent lingers. I haven't washed the sheets since she left.
Frank keeps threatening to do it for me, claiming it's unhealthy for me to spend all day in bed. The knock on my door the second I put a knee on my mattress has me lowing in resignation.
"You did good today," he says when I open the door.
Not the first atta boy I've gotten from him this week, but I nod.
"Wanna go get dinner with me at the market? Saw a post from Pie Satyr, he's doing that beet thing you like."
I do like that beet tart. It's not just beets — although I do love beets — it's other root veggies and crumbly cheese and herbs and honey, plus of course the pie crust. Last time Pie Satyr had them, I ate three pies.
Not three slices, three pies. Would have eaten a fourth, but he'd sold out by then.
Yesterday, I found a human diet chart and memorized all the overlaps of foods I like and foods that are safe for humans and have a net positive flavor approval rating. The pie ingredients are all things humans typically enjoy. I wonder if Morgan would enjoy it.
Frank rolls his eyes. "You ready to admit what happened that night?"
My hackles rise despite his sympathetic tone. I snort, hoof the ground reflexively.
Frank plants his hands on his hips in challenge. We're too well matched to go to blows.
I snort in irritation. I know what he wants me to say, but he's wrong. If what he’s thinking is true, she wouldn't have left me.
She'd be miserable right now without me.
She might be miserable right now without me.
"I need to go."
"You need to sit." Frank's tone brooks no argument. He points at the kitchen table, now slightly wobbly. He pours me a glass of milk, but I push it away.
He glares and pushes it back. I take it, and okay, it's good, but it's not the same.
What if Morgan has run out of milk? What if she's in pain because there's no one to take care of it?
"I know you're hurting, buddy, and I know Morgan is too—"
"So I should go find her!"
"So we're going to be ready for her to deal with her feelings, however humans do that, instead of charging her. She knows where you are. She knows how to contact you. She knows how to see you. When the time is right, we'll coax her."
"How? What if you're wrong? What if . . . what if you’re right?"
Frank claps me on the back hard enough I nearly drop the milk. "I've edited eight hours of footage so far. I’m right. And you’ll be ready once she is."