Page 53 of Santa's Baby

She’s a very happy kitty with a very happy pussy.

“What shall we watch next?” he says as I settle once more on the sofa with my head on his lap.

I give an attempt at a purr, because I really don’t care what crap we watch.

He strokes my fluffy ears as he flicks through the channels, coming to rest on a baking programme and the contestants are displaying their efforts. Fuck, how my belly rumbles.

It makes me think back to my belly rumbling at dinner with Reuben. How he smiled. How he handed me the menu.

“If only cats could talk,” User 209 says, “what are you thinking about, kitty?”

Another mewl and I nudge his groin with my head.

He chuckles. “Don’t you worry, kitty, let Daddy rest awhile, and then we can play bouncing on my lap. I know that you just love that game.”

He’s not wrong. I do love bouncing on his long dick.

Another purr. Another snuggle.

While Daddy rests up enough for a fresh round, I watch the blonde girl on TV, using her bare hands to slather icing on her cake.

But in my mind, they are my hands, and the cake morphs into Reuben’s cock. A cock I have certainly felt but never laid eyes on.

It’s going to be a long nine hours with kitty Daddy, but in my head it will be Reuben’s cock I’m bouncing on.

Reuben’s hands stroking me.

Reuben, chasing me and grabbing for my tail.

Reuben, ordering me to piss in the litter tray.

Reuben, Reuben, Reuben.

I’m fucking doomed.

13

REUBEN

I’ve been feeling anything but jolly since I left the grotto earlier. I have always loved my Santa days, seeing the smiles on children’s faces as they tell me how excited they are for Christmas. It’s magical. My own little taste of how festive family life could be, and likely the closest I will come to it. I’ve resigned myself to that fact.

Or I thought I had.

That’s what is hurting today. An unfounded hope I never expected to be feeling.

I’m possessed by the memory of Tiffany’s shocked eyes as she entered the grotto. Her smile at dinner. The incredible pleasure at seeing the true woman underneath Creamgirl.

I want so much more from her now. So much more that it’s insanity at its finest. I’m having dreams I haven’t dared consider in years.

Imagining her playingkittyfor another man last night churned me up in a way I haven’t felt in decades, and that chewed-up sensation came back with a vengeance as soon as my charity time was over earlier.

I battled it all the while I prepared myself for the founders evening, but it’s a fight I could not win. There is not a singlehint of excitement at the prospect of using Harlot to her filthy extremes, and as my driver turns into Bryson’s driveway, the sensation ramps up so severely I feel sick to the stomach.

I’ve participated in founders’ scenes so many times that I should be able to run on autopilot. Harlot is nothing more to any of us than a plaything in a hood, making a fortune out of her session, and for most of it I could be standing on the sidelines, watching on as my fellow founders take their fill. I could focus my attention on the practicalities, like clamping her nipples and binding her in position. I could back away quietly, and remain on the outskirts, barely making my presence known.

The problem is, I don’t want to be there at all.

For the first time since I became one of the Agency founders, I don’t want to join in on a hardcore scene. The idea repulses me.