Page 9 of Bred By the Minotaur
That would help me convince her.
I rise to my full height, dragging my fingertips down her back so she shudders. Rapunzel is spent, lying limp on the bench, and I’m gratified I could please her so well.
Someday I’ll train that pussy to take all of me.
I cup my hand under her and catch my spend as it dribbles out, then I use two fingers to spoon it back into her, her battered pussy squeezing around me again. She moans, wriggling against my hand, and already my blood is flowing south again.
A speaker crackles. “You’re almost out of time,” a voice says, as if they know I was about to fuck her yet again.
I sigh and reach for the towel to clean up both of us, being gentle with her reddened sex. She took so much of me, I’m proud of her.
Then I tuck myself back into my jeans, and slowly my cock retreats into its furred sheath. All I want is to walk around this table and look into her eyes, to finally see her face, but I don’t want to push her. Not yet.
I position myself behind her again, as if I’m about to take her a second time, and lean forward so I’m speaking behind her ear.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
She turns her head slightly. “Hank,” she repeats quietly, so the mics can’t pick us up. “I’m... I’m Phoebe.”
I nod gratefully, then pull away. “I’ll see you again soon.”
“I hope so,” she answers.
Me, too.
When I get home and step in the front door, I’m immediately tackled by a moving ball of fur and stubby horns. Milo wraps his arms tight around my legs, squeezing me for all I’m worth.
“Dad!” He disengages, peering up at me through his shaggy hair. I really need to cut it soon. “Where did you go?”
“I told you,” I say, stooping down to scratch behind his ear. “I went shopping.”
“Oh, right! Did you buy anything for me?”
I shake my head. “No, sorry. But I’ll find the right thing to get for you soon.”
He doesn’t need to know yet about the breeding bench. I’ll cross that bridge when I introduce them.
When. It’s an if, really, whether or not she’ll take my offer. I should be easy enough to find now that she has my full name, thanks to the internet.
Phoebe. What a lovely sound it makes.
My mother is in the kitchen, cleaning up the lunch she made for herself and Milo.
“Leftovers are in the oven. Just turn it on for ten minutes.” She closes the dishwasher and dries her hands. “How did it go?”
Milo has already sprinted off into the other room to find Darla, our cat. They’re connected at the hip.
“Like I said, I just went shopping. No big deal.”
“Hmm.” She sniffs the air. “Do you have a secret girlfriend, Hank?”
I blanch. “What? No. You’d be the first to know if I did.”
She surveys me with narrowed eyes. I hate how moms can do that—see right into your soul. It sure helps when I haven’t gotten a chance to take a shower yet.
“Then who did you just have sex with?”
I fist a hand in my hair and stumble back against the counter. “Ugh, gross. None of your business.”
