Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
And the craziest thing about it all is that I’m the odd one in the room. I don’t know how to just sit comfortably. I don’t know what to look at or what to do. I don’t want to stare at their nudity or how some have ears or fake eyelashes. One woman even has contact lenses in that look like the iris of an actual cat. I don’t want to stare, but I can’t help it.
I can’t get comfortable no matter what position I try to sit in. It must be obvious because the red-lipped woman looks at me again and says, “Not used to the tail?”
“It’s…big,” I answer, not really sure what to say but regret how whiney my response sounds.
“It’s best to not move so much,” she advises. “The weight of the plug is shifting around and stretching you with every move. It’s best to relax and stay as still as you can. Don’t clench.”
Before I can ask exactly how you don’t clench when your body wants the invasion out, the door opens and the staff member who brought me here stands in the doorway.
“Come, pets. It’s dinnertime. Your masters are waiting for you to join them.”
Praise the fucking lord. I could eat a bowl of cat food at this stage.
Every woman moves toward the door on hands and knees, crawling with their leashes dragging behind them. I take this as my cue and do exactly the same. The heavy weight of my tail becomes even more obvious as I crawl like an animal in single file to the main room.
All the men are seated at the dining room table, including Apollo at the head. They all watch us enter the room with smiles and hungry eyes as we interrupt their meeting. I make eye contact with Apollo, and I see he seems pleased. Whether that is with me crawling like a good pet, or that he sits in a room full of women on hands and knees. Regardless, I never break my stare as I follow the other women under the table. Each woman rests at the feet of their “masters”, and I pick up quickly that I’m about to do the same at Apollo’s feet. I don’t have time to process or even protest that we are under a table. Slacked pants and black leather shoes are all we can see of the powerful men.
And the most twisted question of all runs through my head…
Are we going to eat under the table at the men’s feet?
And why do all the surrounding women seem happy? They’re smiling. Some are rubbing their faces on their man’s leg like an obedient pet would do. Others crouch and patiently await whatever will come next. No one is blushing. No one is crying. No one is pissed or holding back fury. Not one single woman is in distress of any kind.
Apollo reaches under the table and places his palm on the top of my head. He gently runs his fingers between my hair…petting me.
Petting his bunny.
And fuck me… My pussy throbs.
“Let the pets eat first,” I hear Apollo’s voice say from above. “Since they’re behaving so well.”
Shortly after, I see bowls of penne pasta with red sauce and thick pieces of sausage pushed under the table. Each woman grabs a bowl and positions it in front of them. The red-lipped woman is the first to place her face into the bowl and begin eating it as a cat would. No hands. Just her mouth.
Every other woman quickly follows. It isn’t savage, as one would expect, having ten women under a table eating out of bowls with their mouths. In fact, the women have a certain elegance and grace about them. They clearly have had practice at it.
Me, however, not so much. Even getting my face to the bowl feels odd. It forces my ass out and high, causing my asshole to tighten against the plug. I have to spread my thighs to help me in lowering my face enough, and the cool air against my damp pussy embarrasses me. What if the other women see the signs of arousal? What if they see how wet I am getting as my breasts and hardened nipples caress the cold floor as I take bites of the pasta?
By the sound up above, it’s clear dinnertime has begun for the men as well. They laugh and speak as people would do at any normal party. As if there are not ten of their pets eating out of bowls at their feet.
Apollo’s hand reaches down and touches my spine as I’m hunched over my food eating. Softly, he runs his fingertips up and down, soothing me. Comforting me. Looking up from my bowl and at the other women, I see that other men are doing the same to their pets, and every woman has a look of pride and contentment on their faces. And I understand… I feel warm and safe under Apollo’s touch. I have no idea why, and I have no idea why I press my body up against his leg so that I feel his warmth against me. But I do.