Page 65 of Stalking Ginevra

His hands find my hips, gripping hard enough to leave bruises as he moves some of my wetness to my ass. I shudder as something cold presses against my entrance, and I know what’s coming next.

It’s that fucking tail again.

The headband slides on next, and I clench my jaw.

He’s turning me into a fucking catgirl.

Again.

“Who’s my pretty little kitten?” he says, his voice a pleased rumble.

I grind my molars.

He blows a stream of warm air on my aching clit, making me shudder.

“It’s me,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m your pretty little kitten. Now, please, will you let me come?”

Chuckling, he gives in, his mouth returning to my clit with a renewed intensity. He slips his fingers in my pussy, curling around until he hits a spot that makes me gasp.

All thoughts of being a catgirl disappear into the ether as the pressure rebuilds. I writhe against his eager tongue, chasing my pleasure. Every nerve in my body screams for release, the pressure building to a fever pitch.

“Good little kitten,” he mumbles around my clit. “I’m going to make you come so hard, you’ll be purring for more.”

At his words, something inside me snaps. An orgasm crashes through my core, making every muscle tighten and convulse. Wave after wave of pleasure consumes my senses, and I fall adrift in a sea of bliss.

Brisket doesn’t stop—his clever tongue keeps stroking my clit until I’m reduced to a shuddering, sobbing mess. The finger deep in my pussy pumps back and forth, teasing out a second climax.

Only when my throat becomes hoarse from screaming does he pull away, leaving me gasping for breath. My body falls limp against the stage, shivering and spent.

“That’s my filthy little kitten,” he says, sounding almost proud. “You came apart so beautifully.”

My breath comes in ragged gasps, and I can’t even respond. I’m too exhausted, too broken, too furious with myself for allowing this to happen.

I hate him, but most of all, I hate myself for wanting him.

Trembling through the aftershocks, with my veins still pulsing with the bliss of my orgasm, I wait for the sound of retreating footsteps. Tension coils low in my belly, telling me this is far from over.

Since when did Brisket ever leave without coming?

The air shifts with the unmistakable weight of his presence. My pussy clenches, needing more than just his fingers. I brace myself, expecting him to take whatever satisfaction he needs, but instead, he loosens the ropes confining my wrists.

I meet him halfway, wriggling out of the bindings to free my hands. He doesn’t stop me when I reach up to the blindfold, so I peel it off. Harsh light floods my eyes, making me blink against the glare.

When my vision clears, I find Brisket on the stage, towering over me with his cock out. It’s long and thick and glistening with precum.

My breath catches in my throat. He doesn’t need to voice a command—I already know what he wants.

Scrambling up to my knees, I open my mouth, ready to take him down to the hilt. But just as I lean forward, he stops me with a hand on my shoulder.

“No,” he growls.

Panic grips my chest. If he doesn’t want my mouth, then... I try to push away the thought, but it digs into my psyche, relentless. He’s going to fuck me. Stick that massive cock in my pussy and pound into me until he fills me with cum.

“Brisket,” I whisper. “I’m not on birth control.”

He chuckles, a dark rumble that sends a shiver down my spine. “What would Mr. Montesano say if you carried the child of Bob Brisket?”

My heart pounds, the panic mixing with excitement. I scramble to my feet, ready to bolt, but he shoves me down onto the cold, hard stage.

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