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Their party had pressed through the crowd to the bar upon arrival at Gildersnood that evening, had waited what felt like one hundred years before the beleaguered bartender finally made their way down to their end of the polished wood. By the end of the first round, it had been obvious that no tables in Gildersnood would be turning over for them anytime soon. When Zeke, the livestock manager, cheerfully announced they'd simply have to relocate to the Man-o-War, Grace had been the only one to groan. She knew she could have left. She was a whole-ass adult woman, and no one could tell her what to do, but she also knew Caleia would bitch at her if she left. To the Man-of-War she'd dutifully trudged, and unsurprisingly, Brogan had managed to take the seat beside her.
"I'm going to hit the head, no one had better finish my drink while I'm gone," he’d cheerfully announced to the table, pushing back his chair. As he stood, he leaned down, horns cutting through the air until his lips grazed the shell of her ear. "I'm pretty sure this place has a backdoor down by the restrooms," he breathed into her hair. "It would be a wild coincidence if we both found ourselves in that hallway in a few minutes. The back lot has gotta be nice and secluded this time of night."
The light above the table swung haphazardly as the big minotaur straightened up, bumping the pendant with an errant horn. Laughter from her inebriated co-workers echoed around the table, but Grace quickly glanced down, cheeks heating, not wanting to see the loaded smile on his face.Too horny to think.Accepting his invitation would be a bad idea. She knew that, knew it in spite of the way her pussy throbbed at the thought. She’d already been treated to the wide spread of his warm palm on her leg beneath the table, his thick fingers teasing at her inner thigh until weakness and horniness had made her capitulate, opening her legs and granting him access to the space between.
"How ticklish are you, Grace?" he'd asked innocently, a murmur for her ears only. She hadn't needed to answer, her resolve tested a moment later when the tip of one of his thick fingers began to dance over the front of her panties, seeking her clit and finding it with ease, chuckling when she jumped. "There she is." Back and forth, back and forth, the tip of his finger stroked, teasing her until the thin material was drenched from her arousal. He'd been playing that game for the last half hour, and she could only imagine how hard his cock had grown as he’d tickled her clit.
She knew it would be a bad idea to accept his proposal, but it would be just as poor of a plan if she stayed. If she were still here when he returned to the table, she already knew she would let him slip a meaty digit beneath the edge of her panties to see just how wet he'd made her, let that finger sink home, a preview of what his cock would do, and that would be that. She'd let him fuck her that night, as many times as he wanted, until his balls were drained and they were both satisfied, and Bad Decision Boulevard would welcome its newest resident to the Dumb Bitch Court condominiums.
"I need to go," she exclaimed, the moment Brogan had disappeared, pushing back from the table. "I-um . . . it was a really long day, and I'm exhausted. Thanks for the round, Zeke. I'll see everyone tomorrow!" Caleia was on the other end of the table, and Grace didn't give her the chance to challenge her words. She needed to hurry up and get out of that bar before Brogan came back and she slid beneath the table to suck his cock right there in front of their coworkers. She left to the sound of everyone's cheerful goodbyes, breathing in a lungful of the humid night air the instant the Man-o-War's door had swung shut behind her. Keeping the top down on her little farm-branded convertible car, she hoped the rush of cool air would bring down her heated state on the drive home.
The pungently sweet smell of blackberries enveloped her as she zipped up the quiet streets, like a secondary advertisement for the farm, as if the branding on her car wasn’t enough. The flat of blackberries on her backseat was part of an order for a troll family who'd been in the process of moving the last time she’d spoken to them, and hadn't been at that evening’s pick-up. When she'd reached out to Cal earlier to make him aware, he'd insisted on the blackberries being divided amongst the employees, pointing out that they’d been picked two days prior and had been sitting in the hot sun all afternoon. Everything else could be requisitioned back to the farmstand shop, but the blackberries would be too far gone. She’d made a note in her phone to reach out to the family in the morning to cancel their account before next week, before helping Caleia section out the berries, taking home a double share when one of the farmhands who’d been on-hand to load cars insisted they would go to waste in her house.
Grace tried mightily to distract herself as soon as she got home. Dropping her bag on the kitchen counter as she entered the side door, she decided to throw herself into busy work — emptying the dishwasher, rinsing the berries, carefully laying them on a cookie sheet to flash freeze — but the attempted distractions did little to dispel the arousal itching beneath her skin, or the way she pressed her thighs together as she separated the cutlery — igniting the tingle the minotaur’s teasing touch had sparked.Too horny to think. It was no use. She was simply prolonging the inevitable, she thought with a sigh, turning off the lights and locking the side door. She needed to be fucked, and since she was smart enough to not allow her coworker to do it, she needed to take care of business herself.
Caleia was right. She needed to get out more. She needed to get out and meet someone, even if she wasn't sure if she was ready for a relationship yet. Otherwise, she was likely to become horny enough to go writhing around on the sidewalk like a cat in heat, yowling and offering her pussy to any passersby that wanted to fill it. The thought of one of her neighbors — maybe the satyr across the street, middle-aged with a bit of a paunch, or perhaps the house of university students, young men of varying species housed on the corner — coming across her like one of those ridiculous, needy cat girls, and pulling out their cocks then helping themselves, made her dizzy with desire.You're so far gone, you'd let them all take a turn,she thought with a little moan. That tiny part of her brain that had made her leave the bar had since been flooded with the rest of her body’s arousal, and the thought of allowing the satyr across the street to rut her in the middle of her front lawn as a line formed behind him was extremely enticing. Grace knew if she didn't go upstairs right then and there, she might go across the street and knock on the man's front door. The swing on her screened-in porch seemed as good a place as any for the tray of berries. They would keep until morning, but the persistent ache between her thighs would not.
The day had been humid and the evening just as warm, but the light breeze coming in through the open bedroom window was cool, and it was a relief to pull the sundress she’d had on since early that morning over her head. As she turned to toss the sweat-dampened dress into the hamper, a muffledwhumpsounded in the tree just outside the window, rattling the branches. Whirling in surprise at the noise, Grace waited for a limb to go crashing to the ground, or for the screech of an owl, but several moments passed and nothing stirred.Too horny to think, now you’re hearing things.
The soft breeze whispered over her breasts as the lace-edged bra joined the dress in the hamper before she tugged the soaked panties down her hips and kicked them in after. She was able to smell her own arousal, still wet from Brogan's teasing. Co-workers, she reminded herself, were tricky things. She’d made the right choice, thesmartchoice, and when push came to shove, she could take care of business on her own. The finger she pressed into her folds came away slick, and as she dragged the moisture across her clit, Grace couldn’t help sighing in pleasure.
An answering whicker came from outside the window, freezing her with her hand still between her thighs. There was something out there.
Instantly her skin prickled at the sensation of eyes resting heavily upon her.
Something . . . someone?! — was there, in the tree, watching her from the darkness. The thought alone of some unknown being just outside her window should have been unsettling. The reality that someone was watching as she undressedshouldhave been terrifying, should have made her lunge for a towel or her robe, tohide! Instead, her nipples tightened at the thought, helped along by the slight breeze, and a fresh ripple of desire heated her core.Youdidsay you were going to start being more adventurous. . . The wet heat of her sex seemed to pulse in agreement against her fingers still pressed there, eliciting another soft moan from her throat. Sure enough, the branches outside rustled in response, as if her voyeur was trying to get a better look.
Grace felt a flush spread across her body — up her neck to the tips of her ears, down her throat and across her chest. She was fair skinned and blushed easily. Whenever she was nervous or anxious or embarrassed she would flush the color of a tomato. It had been especially bad when she was still in the bridal game, for it seemed every deep-voiced, commanding-voiced father-of-the-bride or demanding groom who cornered her to question an expense sent her pulse hammering in her throat and a burning flush spread up her neck. She knew without question that her cheeks were probably rosy pink right now, matching the redness across her breasts, but arousal was racing neck and neck with nerves, with desire outrunning good sense.If they want to watch, you ought to give them a good show . . .
The view from the bed was centered in the middle of the window, and her mystery watcher had a clear view as she lowered herself to the mattress, slid to the middle of the quilt and opened her legs wide. This wasn't how she’d envisioned the evening ending when she'd left the bar — she’d anticipated some quality time with her vibrator and thoughts of her minotaur co-worker spurring her on. Instead, the sound of soft clicks and chirps seemed to surround her, making her oh-so-aware of her audience, leaving the vibrator forgotten in her nightstand, at least for the moment.
It could have beenanyoneout there, she considered as her head tipped back, exposing the white of her throat to her unseen voyeur, pinching her already hardened nipples. After all, Cambric Creek was an interspecies community and prided itself on its diversity. She kept a hand at her breast, kneading and squeezing, while the other traveled down her body, skating across the soft swell of her stomach and over round hips. Grace was fairly certain she was one of only a few dozen humans living here, and the unknown factor of her audience was thrilling.Maybe it's someone cute, she considered as her fingers sought to soothe her aching clit. She moaned at the first touch, pleasure rippling up her back, louder and more wantonly than she may have done without an audience. Her fingers circled the sensitive bud, trapping it and squeezing until she cried out again, settling into a rhythm that left her hips rocking. Steady circles, medium pressure, and thoughts of her watcher. It was bliss.
Despite the little gasps of pleasure coming from her mouth, she held her breath every few moments, pausing her movements to listen. There was a steady hum coming from outside like a low-frequency vibration, raising the hairs on her neck, and when she pressed a finger into herself, pumping it slowly, the vibration increased. Every time she stopped moving, a distressed chirrup sounded from the tree, as if her audience despaired of the show ending prematurely. When she again resumed rubbing circles against her clit, whoever it was would give a click of satisfaction, earning another moan from her in response. The extra set of eyes had her racing towards a climax, far faster than it normally took, the knowledge that someone was watching more exciting than she could have ever imagined.This was a much better choice than staying at the bar.
Thinking of her watcher, she added a second finger, wondering what sort of anatomy her audience possessed, rubbing into the spot that made her toes curl. She wondered if her voyeur was pleasuring themselves at the sight of her; what sort of cock they possessed or if they possessed a cock at all. Grace tried to imagine who it might be,whatthey might be — a lizard person, perhaps, with an affinity for climbing trees? Two cocks, red and straining, maybe with frilled edges and spikes. She wondered how they would pleasure themselves, if it were, in fact, a sleek-scaled lizard man. A hand on each cock, stroking them in an alternating rhythm? Holding them together, to pump in unison? Her hips were lifting off the bed now, as her fingers thrust in and out, desperately wanting to be filled. She wondered if the lizard man would crawl right through her bedroom window, stuffing her full of one of those bright, red cocks; wondered if they would both ejaculate at the same time, or if he came once from one and then a second time from the other. It would be messy, her rational brain protested, but just then she didn't quite care about being rational, and the thought of two erupting cocks wasdelicious.
Or perhaps a batperson, like the one who’d been in line ahead of her at the Food Gryphon the previous week, who’d been loudly complaining to his companion that his balls were being compressed by the skinny jeans he wore. She tried to envision that same batperson now, tight jeans open and his fat testicals swinging free in the night air, as he jerked off to the sight of her touching herself.Would they be hanging upside down? Wouldn’t that make a huge mess when he cums?She’d never had a partner of either species, and the unknown element made her thoughts race, but she was certain that whoever was out there—watching as she masturbated for them — was pleasuring themselves at the sight.
Her head felt heavy, and she was desperate to reach her peak at that point, her breath hitching. Her fingers were no longer good enough, and Grace knew even if she were to add a third, it would still not be the tight squeeze she desired. When she ceased her movements, withdrawing her hand, the unseen presence in the tree clicked its disappointment again. She rolled, stretching until she could reach into her bedside table. One of the finest perks of being an adult living alone was the freedom to purchase any sex toy she desired, she thought. Literally every species under the sun had a corresponding dildo available online, with varying degrees of extra bells and whistles.
It had been Brogan's cock she had been fantasizing about over the past several weeks, fat and heavily veined, with a toe-curling mid-shaft swell to stuff her full, but she was impatient, and she knew from experience that taking a minotaur cock required some working up to, even one made of silicone. So it was a goblin model she reached for then, not big enough to require any stretching, but with enough girth to give her something to clench around as she came. A quick slick of lube from her nightstand, and then she was swiftly rolling back to the center of the bed, hoping her audience hadn't abandoned the show.
She moaned again at the first press of the bulbous head against the lips of her sex, sinking it in until the fat goblin head popped into place. Grace pumped it shallowly, never pulling the tip out, all too aware of the buzzing frenzy from the tree outside, as if her voyeur found the sight of her fucking herself even more exciting than watching her rub her clit. She began to do both, putting each hand to work, her toes curling against her light summer quilt, knowing she wouldn't last long at this point. She was too tightly wound, too desperate, too horny to think.
Beyond her window, the buzzing hum had reached a fever pitch. She wondered how close they were, if they were ready to explode; wondered if it would spray out in a gust like a selkie, if they would shoot thick, splattering ropes of pearly-white release like an orc, or if their knuckles would be coated as it spilled down their shaft.
A series of staccato clicks joined the humming from the tree, and she wondered if that was the sound of her audience reaching their peak and orgasming just beyond the light of her room. The thought of their messy release was enough to push her over the edge with a gasp. Her heels dug into the bed as she arched, crying out and clenching around the goblin cock. Blinding white pleasure that wiped her vision overtook her, leaving her legs shaking as it throbbed through her, her clit pulsing against her fingers until she sagged to the mattress, completely spent. She whimpered, pulling the dildo out. She hoped her voyeur could see the glistening string of slick, drooling from her body, still connected to the silicone head as she pulled the goblin model free, evidence of how much she'd enjoyed the performance she'd given them.
A heaviness descended on her then, pushing her eyes shut almost without her consent. She vaguely remembered crawling beneath the thin summer quilt on the bed, her head finding the pillow without needing her eyes. Soft, comforting chirps issued from the tree as she settled, the low, purring hum providing a cocoon of sound, lulling her into a deep, satisfied sleep.
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