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Heat flooded her face at the image his carelessly spoken words presented: him, standing beneath a spray of water, muscular arm extended to brace himself against the wall with one hand, while the other gripped his straining erection, stroking himself until he came with a moan, painting the shower wall with a torrent of his copious release. He was wide enough to completely fill the shower in her small apartment, and there would be no room for her to join him for the activity unless she was impaled on his thick cock, legs wrapped around his waist.Then there would be room, and he could give his arm a break. Wouldn’t want him to get a cramp.
“So just remember that,” he went on, shaking her from her filthy daydream, “the next time a minotaur tries chatting you up, ask which facility he uses. If he swears up and down he’s never been to a place like this, run away, because he’s a liar.”
Her laughter didn’t travel around the room as freely now that she was ensconced beneath the bench, creaking once more with his weight above. Violet tried to envision herself flirting with another minotaur, another one of the clients from the farm perhaps or maybe some well-dressed stranger she might run into in Cambric Creek, visiting the farmer’s market or in one of those odd little shops, but her imagination came up short, unable to picture any minotaur other than the messy-haired one above her. “Well, I can’t say I have many conversations with minotaurs outside of work, but I’ll keep that in mind.” From the bench above, he harrumphed and she laughed again. “I mean, it’s not like there are minotaurs falling over themselves trying to buy me drinks when I’m out and about! But like I said—I’ll keep it in mind. It’s good to have a truth barometer. What do you mean this place is more selective?”
His hooves scraped on the footrests as he settled against the bench, and Violet depressed the pump bottle on her station, coating her palm with lubrication, her stomach flipping in anticipation.
“They have a health screening, and you have to meet certain criteria. Minimum height, minimum weight, they rate our production ability.”
There was something strangely intimate about taking his huge cock in her hands now that they’d laughed together, she thought as he filled the opening. Like the last time, he was completely erect, hanging stiffly above like a particularly decadent, juicy-looking fruit. It was an unspoken expectation for the clients to already be partially aroused, speeding up the time they were in the chair and making things easier for the technician, and most clients followed the social courtesy. Walking in to find the minotaurs stroking themselves had lost its shock value for her at that point and she appreciated their efforts when she stood in position beneath the table, but this . . . this was a step beyond the normal courtesy.Talking with you beforehand gets him hard. Very hard.Violet understood the reaction, for she was certain if she were to take a seat on the vinyl-topped stool at that minute, a trail of moisture would betray her own arousal when she stood again.
“Production ability?” she asked, running the tips of her lubed fingers up the thickest of the snaking veins in his shaft, pausing to tease over the mid-length swell. He sucked in a sharp breath as she thumbed over the tip of his head, only a small crescent of the shiny skin exposed as his foreskin retracted, and she smiled, once again feeling a thrill at pulling a response from him. “How do they gauge that?”
“They measure our balls.” His voice still retained its matter-of-fact edge, even as he breathed out raggedly, his cock bobbing as she released it, considering his words. His balls hung fat and full, impressive regardless of the species, and if there was some sort of test they were required to pass, Violet had no doubt that his would have outshone any they were judged against. “The bigger the testicles, the higher the rate of production, so they want to know that we’re going to help them hit their acquisition targets.”
He grunted when her hands raised to cup the testes in question, gliding her nails over each swell before tugging them gently, smiling when he shuddered. “And obviously you passed the test.” She gave him another squeeze before moving back to his shaft, twisting her hands down to his head before she began to pump. His reply was lost to a choked groan as she stroked him, her entire upper body moving with her arms, the pretext of conversation forgotten for a moment as she lost herself in her task. “So are the other facilities similar in how they, um . . . operate?” She didn’t like the prickle of jealousy that twisted her stomach at the thought of someone else milking him, stroking his girth and making him groan. He’d requested her, after all—he washerclient.Your big bull.The rational part of her brain kicked at her spinal cord in an effort to wrestle back sense, but she ignored the shudder, settling into the rhythm she knew he liked.
“They don’t have the same . . . personal touch this place does, and the personal touch is a definite perk.”
“I guess it depends on who’s doing the touching.” The brazen flirtation was out before she could bite it back, but the answering chuckle—dark and deep, like a ripple of black velvet—made her sex quiver.
“There’s no doubt about that. The ability to make requests is a perk of the perk, without question. Some personal touches are definitely more enjoyable.”
It was all she could do to not climb the steps and flip him on the milking table and climbing aboard his broad body, straddling his hips and showing him just howpersonalher touch could be. Violet wondered if he could smell her arousal, for her panties had long since left behind damp and were making their best effort to achieve dripping. “I was surprised to have gotten a request at all, I think I’m the only human here and thought my hands were going to be too small for them to even keep me on. Glad to know the personal touch makes up for it. Is that why you put in the request in the first place?”
“Well, that and you do have those perfect, tiny little hands.”
It was a relief being ensconced beneath the table, for he wasn’t able to see her beaming smile or the way she bounced lightly on her toes, giddy with euphoria at the playful flirtation. “Just let me know if this personal touch is to your liking.”
He grunted as she pulled his balls again with the hand not pumping his shaft, trying to stimulate every part of him to her best ability.If a job’s worth doing . . .
“I can’t think of a single way it could be any more to my liking,” he gritted out through clenched teeth, trying and failing to hold in another growl of pleasure as she tightened her grip around his thick swell.
She imagined what it would be like to be stretched by his girth, her legs splayed over his hips as he bucked up into her, the way his big mushroom head would drag against her g-spot, her inner lips rubbed by that mid-shaft bulge; or else, how he might like for her to be on her knees before him, sucking on the seam of his sac as he stroked himself for her, feeling that pounding pulse in his balls against her mouth. She wondered if he would fall apart for her in the privacy of his own bed, his tight grunts and groans opening to full-throated moans of pleasure, if he would say filthy things to her in that rich, dark-chocolate voice as she writhed beneath him, stuffed with his thick cock, every pump of his wide hips sending her higher and higher up the cliff of her peak, threatening to fling her off the pinnacle into the sun once he came inside her, filling her with his heat . . .
His hips had begun steadily hitting the bench in that same slow, solid rhythm, making her realize how long it had been and how close she was to losing herself in her daydreams. She was eager for him to erupt, to see the proof of his big testicles’ worth, a preposterous notion for her to be having, and the sensible part of her brain, which was shrinking by the week, stamped in disapproval.We are going to have such a lecture when we get home tonight, young lady!
When he released into the sucking nozzle once she’d worked it down his shaft, she quickly cupped his balls, feeling them pulse as they emptied in rhythmic spurts. She began pulling them, squeezing as she did so, milking them like udders, the way the Good Little Cows preferred, milking him dry. He was unable to completely swallow down his groan of pleasure as she did so, jerking once, twice, sagging on the third, spent at last. The tension within her was so tight, a stiff breeze would have sent her over the edge, the merest ghost of pressure against her clit enough to make her come, and when the light clicked off, she nearly sobbed in need.
Her knees wobbled as she capped the bottle, weighing it and affixing the label, unhooking the used tank and hose. He’d not left the room yet, and she listened to the rustling sound of him silently redressing, turning at last to watch his broad back flex as he smoothed his re-tucked shirt, admiring the curve of his ass before he turned, dark brown eyes capturing her immediately.Nothing about this is appropriate.
“Where did you go for coffee?”
Her mouth ran dry, her jaw hanging open dumbly for several interminable moments before she was able to speak again, not expecting further conversation from the big bull.
“Um, there’s a little plaza up the street, I don’t even know what it was called. It’s next to—”
“Next to the gym,” he finished, making a sound of disgust at the back of his throat, his pink nose wrinkling around the burnished gold ring cinching it. Violet smiled at his reaction, following the ring as he shook his head.He’s just stupid handsome. If you ran into him on the street, you’d be following him home like a stray.“That’s terrible. You need to go to Black Sheep, they’re over on Main with—”
“The one with the black awnings,” she continued, nodding. “I’ve wanted to try it, but I never have time in the mornings and they always look so crowded when I pass on my way home.”
He shrugged, his hand landing on the doorknob. “Find the time, you won’t regret it. They roast their own beans on-site and age them in bourbon barrels, there’s nothing better. I make a point of pulling away every afternoon for a caffeine fix. I expect a full review of your experience when you make it. Well . . . until next week.”
She wasn’t expecting the small smile—a brilliant flash of white teeth, his liquid brown eyes crinkling behind his untidy hair, leaving her utterly frozen—before he pulled the door open, horns ducking through to the hallway beyond, pulling it shut behind him. The collection room seemed to echo with his absence, the thud of her own heartbeat overloud without his bulk to absorb the evidence of what their sessions together did to her. Violet turned slowly, moving mechanically to complete her cleaning checklist before dragging her feet back to the locker room, collecting her little blue envelopes at the desk as she left.
* * *
She drove past the little coffee shop on Main Street without slowing; past the eclectic little shops and cafes until the signs for Bridgeton loomed ahead, leaving Cambric Creek behind for another day, her arousal forgotten as she entered her apartment, slumping into a chair. He looked younger when he smiled, she thought, less severe. She wondered what his laugh was like, if he shook with unrestrained mirth or if that too was tightly controlled, stifled like his pleasured moans. She wondered what she had done to earn the gift of his smile that day, what particular moment of their banter had he deemed charming enough to allow her a glimpse of that other, softer version of him she was certain existed. She was still sitting there when the room began to grow dim, the sunlight outside waning as the evening rolled in, but she had no desire to get up and start dinner, no desire to count the money from her collection of blue envelopes, already knowing what she’d find there.
She ought to get up and call her mother back, ought to video call them so she could talk to Aunt Gracie as well. She’d evade the truth or make something up, she’d already decided. They didn’t need to know precisely what she was doing for a living, only that her bills were getting paid and she liked her co-workers. A pharmaceutical company had a nice panache to it, one that she knew would impress her mother and great aunt enough that there would be no need for further questions.She’ll probably go bragging back to Carson Tinsley’s mom, letting her know how well I’m doing.The thought of going for coffee with the human she’d known her whole life left her feeling oddly unsettled, imagining doughy-soft skin and middling height, exactly the same as every other guy she’d ever been with.Tomorrow you’re going to go to that little cafe in town for the good coffee, make the time, like he said.
The thought did little to cheer her, and she slumped further into the corner of her chair. There was no real reason for her melancholy, she knew, no reason to mope. Her plan for solvency was coming together, her ability to catch up on her bills and begin paying down her debt becoming an attainable reality. She ought to be celebrating, ought to be continuing to revel in her reversal of fortune, despite the oddity of her new job. There was no reason for the bubble of despondency that had taken up residence in her chest; no reason she could think of other than one, and once the thought occurred to her, Violet knew it was true, a fact that boded poorly for the future.
It would be a whole week before she saw him again.
