Total pages in book: 9
Estimated words: 7952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 40(@200wpm)___ 32(@250wpm)___ 27(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 7952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 40(@200wpm)___ 32(@250wpm)___ 27(@300wpm)
"It's the centerpiece!" She bustles over to the refrigeration unit in the kitchen, her full hips bouncing, and I watch her backside jiggle with furtive delight. It's not helping my cock ease any, but I can't look away. Nor do I want to. Pamela bends over, and I'm treated with an even better view of her rounded ass, and my cock may never go down again, because now I'm picturing my hands on her, spreading those sweet cheeks and plunging into her from behind.
Magnificent. All of her is magnificent.
"Oh," she breathes, and I bite back a groan at the soft, startled sound. "This is bigger than I thought."
I'm dying. This is how I go out—all the blood floods to my cock and abandons the rest of my body.
Pamela turns and looks at me. "Can you help me get the bird out so I can prepare it?"
The bird. Of course. I'll need a moment to ensure I don't embarrass myself with my raging erection. "I will retrieve it. Can you check these roots to ensure I am doing this properly?"
She bustles over to approve my work and as she does, I move to the refrigeration unit to retrieve the bird. It's...enormous and looks a lot like an avian I served with back at my first security job on a station. That's alarming. I pull the platter out and set the naked, pale corpse on the counter, trying not to stare at the naked, prominent pores that cover its featherless skin.
Pamela claps her hands in delight. "Look at how big it is. That's just what I wanted."
Even the double entendre of her words can't get me past the sight of the bird corpse, and luckily my cock remains at ease. "Indeed. Someone has already plucked it for you."
She touches my arm in her excitement, then brushes past me. "This is so exciting. Milly's going to be thrilled. We're going to stuff this bad boy and make him delicious."
And she gives the naked haunch of the thing a naughty smack.
My cock jumps a little at that. Just a little.
"How are you going to prepare the...bird?" I almost say corpse.
"There's a process," she tells me cheerfully. "First, we have to get the giblets."
Giblet? I am not familiar with this term. I watch as she spread's the thing's naked legs. Before I realize what she is doing, Pamela shoves her entire fist into the thing's arse.
A horrified shout escapes me.
CHAPTER
FOUR
PAMELA
I am a terrible person. Terrible.
Because I might be manhandling this poor bird just to see Toghar's reaction. He makes an unholy sound when I plumb the internal cavity, looking for the giblets and organs, and his mouth falls open as I pull my hand free. He stares at me with aghast horror, and I can't help it—I burst into giggles. "Oh god, you should see your face."
He chuckles, just a little. "For a moment, you had me going. I thought you really were going to do something with that...thing's innards."
Oh dear. I pause, putting the dripping bits into a bowl. "Now's the time I should probably tell you that I'm going to make a gravy out of them."
He makes a horrified sound again, then clears his throat. "I, uh, I am certain it will be quite delicious in your hands."
"You're sweet." Maybe I'll wait a bit to explain to him where the stuffing goes.
"Tell me what I can do to help you." He puts on a brave face, but I can tell he's getting nauseated by the sight of the poor turkey. Well, not really a turkey. I'm not sure what kind of bird it is, just that it's one that isn't intelligent enough to be anything but someone's dinner.
I knew Toghar was vegetarian, but I had no idea he would be so distracted by some dead quasi-turkey on the counter. "How do you feel about pie?"
"I feel very, very good about pie."
TOGHAR
Pamela has a kind heart. It's why she sets me to making the pies instead of whatever she's doing to that poor carcass. I try not to watch, keeping my focus on the dough I'm pressing into the pie tins, using a tined instrument to form a pattern on the edge of the pan. I want to gaze at Pamela as she works and confess all my feelings to her. To tell her that I admire her and want to touch her, not as a friend but as a lover.
But when she shoves her hand in the animal's backside, I get distracted every time. Perhaps food preparation is not the time or place to confess my adoration. Perhaps I need to wait until things are less...busy.
I glance over at her and am horrified to see that she is shoving fistfuls of some crumbly creation into the poor corpse. My thighs tighten and my ass puckers reflexively.