I didn’t broach the subject of Jack potentially joining me on the stream, but I’m going to propose it soon. I think he’d be a big hit with his deep voice and dominant personality—and I’d really like to share this with him.
Can’t wait, types HornyBen. I pause when I see his message. Is Bennett just by himself watching?
He answers my question right away. We’re all here.
I can’t decide if I feel happy or self-conscious, or maybe a bit of both. I’d better put on a good show.
“Then let’s get started,” I say to the camera, palming my tits through my corset and lifting them lasciviously. Then I pick up the dildo I chose for tonight and wobble it. “I’ve got a plan for you tonight.”
The chat goes wild.
Twenty-Three
Jack
I’m mesmerized by the computer screen as Bree puts on her act. She’s done her hair up differently so it shines in perfect red ringlets, like a movie star from another era.
Damn, she’s beautiful, and I can’t believe I got to have the night I had with her.
She does an amazing job of talking to her audience, keeping us engaged and throwing money at her. I’m the one who suggests we toss her fifty dollars to take off her top because all I want is to see her freckled pale skin and huge pink nipples again.
The moment I see them, though, I regret it, because I just want to wrap my lips around them and suck like a fawn. But Bree is at her apartment on the other end of town, and I’m here.
Maybe I can see her after this. Would she think I’m overstepping, after we just had her over last night?
Probably.
So I content myself tonight with watching, sitting in Bennett’s lap. He rubs my dick as it emerges, stroking me while Bree steadily pushes a dildo inside herself on-screen.
How I wish that were me.
Soon I’m grunting and grinding my hips as Bennett gives me a hand job, and the close-up sight of Bree’s pink pussy spreading for the toy pushes me over the edge. I spill into Bennett’s palm, and he praises me as I let it all go.
When it’s bedtime, we sign off, as much as I’d like to order a private session with Bree. I wonder if she’ll invite me to come on her stream the way she did Bennett and Arthur.
What… what if she doesn’t, though? I try not to get ahead of myself, but I can’t hide that the bruise still hasn’t healed. Those two have had so much more time with her, and I’m still struggling to catch up.
As we get ready for bed, I try to shake off that thought. I have plenty of time.
We arrange for a realtor to come to our house and determine how much we can get for it. Paying a bigger mortgage will get a bit trickier without Arthur’s income, but I make more than he does by a mile, so it’s not a huge chunk of the pie.
After the realtor stops by, Arthur draws up a list of things to fix before we put the house on the market and arms himself at the home improvement store with everything he thinks he’ll need. I love seeing him so excited and passionate, ready to do what needs to be done so we can have the life we want. His little tail flicks happily as we head home with fresh paint, and though I worry about him leaving his job to be a stay-at-home dad, I also think it’s the perfect role for him.
We don’t hear from Bree that night, and I have to urge Arthur not to text her and come off needy.
“She said she’d tell us when she was ovulating,” I remind him.
“But I just want to see her.” He clutches his phone. “I thought we were, you know, boyfriends-and-girlfriend now.”
I pat his shoulder, which is all I can really do. I think Bree is still protecting herself, and we have to respect that.
Finally, it’s the weekend, and I put on my dirtiest clothes to help Arthur fill the holes in the walls and start painting. I play music from a CD on my old boom box, and my husband wiggles his butt as he gets paint everywhere.
“I thought we were supposed to get it on the wall,” I say, “not the carpet.”
“That’s why we put down this plastic!” He taps his hoof. “Because we all know I can’t be trusted.”
Around lunchtime, Arthur’s phone rings with an obnoxiously loud text message alert. He rushes to get it and lets out a whoop! when he reads what’s on the screen.
