Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Ruthie grabs her clipboard and gestures at it. “It’s not our turn, but I’ll tell Kaz I want some extra lessons. We’ll get you covered, Aithar. No worries. Now tell me what you’re going to wear on your date.”
I glance down at my standard work uniform. “Clothes?”
“Not just clothes. Sexy clothes.” Ruthie rubs her hands together with excitement. “I think we should jazz you up.”
CHAPTER
SIX
AITHAR
I can’t wait any longer. I know I said I’d be over at Michaela’s farm at dusk, but by the time the sun starts to head toward the horizon, I’m in the air-sled and flying over to her place. I can’t stop thinking about her and what she intends for tonight.
I’m so eager to be used. Especially by her and her soft lips and gentle hands. I want to know what all it entails, this being used. Will she touch my cock? My arms? My thighs? Or will she put her mouth on mine again? I am truly fine with as little as she wishes to give me, but oh, my mind does go to illicit places.
I would like some good memories so when she inevitably tells me that she is interested in some other male, I will have something to look back to. Because they always say they want someone else. It is not me, they reassure me. They want someone more commanding, someone more experienced, someone less eager to please. Someone less a’ani.
Until then, I will enjoy myself.
Once the sled is parked, I take a deep breath to steel myself, and then emerge. The pants that Ruthie insisted I wear to “show off my goods” are Sakkar’s, and so tight that I have difficulty moving naturally. The tunic I’m wearing is Kazex’s, and the neck is cut down to gape open to my pectorals. It shows off my tattoos and my musculature, according to Ruthie, who helped me dress.
She also tried to give me facial piercings, but I declined. I do not want my face hurting when Michaela kisses it. As a compromise, I let her spike my short hair into what she called a “rugged” look. When she was satisfied with her work, she called in Ruth-Ann to judge my appearance, and I’d turned in place to display everything.
“Well, he looks like he’s angling to get laid for sure,” was all Ruth-Ann said.
This pleased me to hear, as I am definitely looking forward to getting laid.
I approach the barn, keeping my steps slow and measured, even though I want to sprint to Michaela’s side and immediately fall to her feet. She comes out to greet me, her puffy hair pulled back from her face with a thick band. She’s wearing her work overalls and there is a smell of stock animals and lactation about her.
“You’re early,” she greets, and her gaze moves up and down my body. “And walking funny. Are you okay?”
“My pants are very tight,” I admit, trying to adjust my gait as I approach to be more normal. “You are more lovely than I remember, and I remember you as breathtaking.”
“Flatterer.” A smile spreads across Michaela’s face at my words. She glances back at the barn, and her expression grows reluctant. “I won’t be ready for at least another hour. I have to pull the butter out of the churns.”
“May I help you?” I all but bound towards her, and the seams on my trou protest, making me lurch awkwardly.
“Are you sure you’re dressed for it?” She arches a brow at me.
“I can undress if you’d prefer me that way.”
She laughs, her head thrown back, and I feel like the most important male in the universe, that I got this beautiful creature to laugh at my words. “Okay, fine, come on. I’ll show you what I’m up to.”
We enter the barn together, and as we do, the smell of milk and the dairy-stock creatures becomes overwhelming. My nostrils twitch, but I manage to keep my face composed because I do not want to insult Michaela. This is clearly a delicacy for humans, and she is very proud of her work to produce it. It’s not her fault that the smell is appalling to me. As we go into the barn, we head toward the back, where there is a large crank on one end of a wall, and what looks like barrel after barrel lined up in a row along the wall with a large stick protruding from the center of the barrel. Michaela grabs a large, clean bowl, large enough for her to curl up inside, and she hands it to me.
“You hold this and I’ll scoop the butter.”
I do so obediently, following her as she lifts the lid on the first barrel and the smell of dairy overwhelms me. I flinch, my throat working as she uses a scoop to pull strange, rancid-looking yellow bits out of a watery goop. “What is all this?”