Page 14 of Basket Case

The wicker pressed harder against my clit. I tightened my hand around his cock and stroked him from base to tip, enjoying the rough groans that filled my head. The wet strands moved easily against one another, bending and shifting inside my grip as he thrust through my fist.

Creel sped up between my legs. I was already close after what he’d done in the kitchen, and I didn’t want my first experience of that enormous cock ruined because I was too sensitive to take it.

“Stop.”

He instantly stopped moving. Good to know he respected my boundaries.

What's wrong?

I stood beneath the shower breathing hard, my hand still wrapped around him. “Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t want to come yet. Not until we're in the bedroom and I can slowly sink down on you."

You intend to take all of me?

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

His cock thickened in my hand.

I am delighted.

I turned off the water before he could tempt me into changing my mind. Without warning, Creel shook his strands from side to side, spraying the walls, the glass door and my face.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Drying myself.

“You’re not a dog.”

I never said I was. Are baskets not allowed to shake water off themselves? Is there a rule against that?

He sounded like a petulant teenager, not an ancient fae trapped in a wicker basket.

I stepped out and grabbed a towel while water dripped from my hair onto the floor. Creel had soaked the entire bathroom, but his leaves looked lovely, bright green against the dark wicker. I wrapped another towel around the basket and ignored his protests.

“You’re dripping.”

I do not require a towel.

“Gran’s carpet does.”

I carried him to the bedroom bundled in pink cotton, with green leaves sticking out of the top. It was so ridiculous that I wanted to grab my phone from the kitchen to take a picture. But who would I show it to? Nobody would understand. Gran, perhaps, but that would involve finding out about her relationship with Creel and that was something better left unspoken.

I set Creel at the foot of the bed, then went back for my phone, put it on the nightstand – just in case I decided to take pictures of the basket’s cock to convince myself that this was real, not imagined – before dropping my towel. His cock expanded before I had even climbed onto the mattress. It was as obscene as the kale stalk that had inspired it, only smoother, harder and currently pointing at my pussy. The wicker ripples around the shaft made my mouth water.

“That’s too big.”

You admired the kale.

“Not sure admiring is the right word. I thought that it looked like a very impressive phallic object. Doesn't mean it would have fit. Make it smaller.”

How much smaller?

“Half.”

Several strands peeled away and returned to the basket. The cock left behind looked far less impressive. It was positively disappointing.

“That’s too small.”

You said half.