Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Zhur groans, his ear flicking against my touch. "Kef me, the scent of you is delightful. I could drink it in all day long." He leans in close, his face pressing against my lower belly, and just inhales deeply like the weirdo he is. "Mmm."
I do my best not to giggle at that—because it's strangely flattering, even if it's strange—and stroke my fingers through his mangled fur. I don't mind the orange shade, I decide, though it's nowhere near as stunning as the pristine white of his original fur. He—
He pushes a finger deeper between my legs, breaching my cleft, and then drags it upward until he brushes over my clit and I make another one of those strangled noises.
"Aha," he murmurs, and strokes it again.
CHAPTER
FIFTY-SEVEN
ZHUR
The musky scent of Maeve's arousal is making me crazed with need. I want to bury my face between her thighs and drink it in, to coat my whiskers with her scent so I can have it with me all day long. I am coming around to humans as erotic creatures. I never understood the appeal before, but that blatant tuft of fur between her thighs is convincing me more and more every time I look at it. How can one small patch of fur be so incredibly erotic?
Perhaps it's that it hides her cunt from my view, like a naughty disguise.
Underneath the fur, her cunt is flushed a deep, dark pink, and the protective folds—her labia—are uneven and almost frilly. It's charmingly strange and I rather like it. I like that she's only got a mane here, because I like seeing the dark flush of her skin. I like seeing the outline of her labia instead of just more fur.
And I like that this small bit of fur holds her scent as if its purpose is purely to taunt me with how good she smells.
Maeve's fingers move over the sides of my face and neck as I touch her, and I remember what the vids said about the external clitoris, that it is sensitive and must be touched lightly. I do just that, testing touches on Maeve to see her response, and she seems to like it best when I barely graze her clit, teasing the sides more than a full-on caress.
She makes another soft cry, her fingers digging into the fur on the sides of my face, and it becomes even more difficult for me to concentrate, to focus on pleasuring her. It's why I'm still dressed. I need to focus on her, on how to make her come before I add in my own needs. I learned early on that it's far better to sink into a juicy cunt that squeezes back than the barely lubricated one of an uninterested female.
I want Maeve to be soaked with her need for me. I want her arousal so voluminous it slides down her thighs and drenches her skin. She's very quiet, other than the little noises she makes, and it becomes very important to me that she speak up and talk to me, that she tells me what is good, what she likes, which touches elicit excitement and which ones leave her uninterested.
"Tell me about your body," I say, even as I strum my fingers through the slick cleft of her cunt. "Tell me the words you use for it."
She makes another strangled noise, and her hand goes to my shoulder, as if she has to hold on to something. "My words?"
"Yes. What do you call this?" I stroke the outer folds of her cunt with delicate touches, skimming around her clitoris to increase the urgency she feels.
"My pussy," Maeve says, breathless. "Kinda ironic. It's slang for cat, or feline. But that's what we call it."
"What better spot for a praxiian to enjoy, then, hmm?" Her sweet, juicy feline place. I like this. I let my fingers drift up to the bead at the apex of her cunt, teasing the sides and then tapping a finger on the underside of it. "And this? What do you call this?"
"Clit." She wheezes at me, her fingers tight in my mane. "Oh fuck, that's my clit."
This is all excellent information. Her vulva and labia are her pussy—yet look nothing like a feline—and her clitoris is still more or less called the same. I am glad I asked—words are important in a private moment, and the last thing I want to do is ruin things by using an unsexy term. Maeve is already an overthinker and I need to get this right or it'll destroy the moment. "And is there a particular touch you prefer on your clit, Maeve?" I keep my voice low and smooth. "Or do you like it better when I stroke your pussy with my fingers?"
Maeve whimpers again. "My clit...is the most...sensitive." She pants between words, her grip digging into my shoulders. "I like that...best."