Eventually, though, I stopped typing the vocal ticks, as it was no longer annoying him, and I'd started to feel petty.
At the end of the morning's session, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Good work. Thank you, Tori.”
His touch and utterance of my name sent shivers down between my legs, and I felt my ni**les tightening up within my bra. He squeezed my shoulder and said it again. “Thank you.”
I turned and looked at his hand on my shoulder. The fingernails were tidy and buffed to a shine—likely a manicure. The upper knuckles had tiny blond hairs, and I wanted to rub my cheek on them. I wanted to suck on his fingers.
He pulled his hand away and moved to the doorway.
“I'm going to have a shower and possibly a nap,” he said. “Our afternoon session might be delayed. Feel free to take a few hours for yourself, do whatever it is you like to do.”
And then he left.
I went downstairs and poked around in the fridge for lunch.
The shower went on upstairs, and I imagined him naked, under the water. I didn't want to be alone for a few hours; I wanted to be with him.
I went to my room and clicked on the television. I kept thinking about Smith Wittingham, up there, naked. My hands wandered down, inside my shorts. I locked my door and took off all my clothes, all the better to touch myself.
I stood before the mirror over the bureau, noting my hair was messy. I grabbed my hairbrush, and a wicked thought surged through me.
Once the idea entered my mind, there was no shutting it out. The idea howled at me, a fantasy desperate to happen.
And so, absolutely naked, I left my room and walked up the stairs with my hairbrush in hand.
Smith's bedroom door was unlocked, as was his bathroom door.
His bathroom was much more sumptuous than mine, with a large soaker tub as well as a stand-up shower with a glass door. He was in the shower, and he saw me as soon as I came in, but he didn't say anything. He grabbed a plastic bottle of shampoo and kept going, washing his hair.
I got down on my hands and knees and put the hairbrush between my teeth.
“Woof,” I said around the hairbrush.
Grinning, he rinsed the suds out of his hair and turned off the water. He stepped out, magnificent and na**d within a cloud of steam.
“What have we got here?” he said.
I wiggled my whole body, simulating a wagging tail.
“You look like a stray. Did you run away from home?”
I didn't answer, but gazed up at him, trying my best to put adoration in my expression, though it was a new one for me.
He grabbed a towel and quickly dried off, rubbing the towel under his balls and around his cock, which was already poking straight out like a towel hanger.
“I should adopt you,” he said. He patted me on the head and walked along me, running his fingertips down my bare spine. He grabbed my bu**ocks and pulled them apart, leaning down to inspect me. “Yup, you're a female,” he said.
I wriggled my body with pleasure. My mouth was watering, drool coming out around the hairbrush in my mouth.
He stepped past me, out to his bedroom.
“Here, girl!” he called.
I padded after him on hands and knees, my head hanging low. Once out on the carpet, I stopped and rolled onto my back, exposing my stomach. I held my hands up as little bowed paws above my chest. I turned my head to the side, away from him, taking only sidelong peeks at him.
He knelt beside me, breathing heavily with excitement. He took the paddle-shaped brush from my mouth and gently brushed my hair, easing the brush slowly through the knots. I kept gazing at him as he brushed all my hair, fanning it out on the soft carpet around my head. He moved down my body and used the over-sized brush to comb the triangle-shaped thatch of red fur above my pu**y, the part I didn't get waxed.
The plastic-tipped fingers of the brush felt strange and wonderful on that part of me. He set the brush down and stroked my stomach by hand, petting me. He moved so that his folded legs were alongside my body, sharing his body heat with me. He petted up my stomach and sides, fondling my br**sts and pinching my pale pink ni**les.
I peeked down at his crotch to see his erection, fully engorged and pointed to the ceiling. As he stroked the sides of my face, my neck, and my body, his touch like velvet, I walked one hand up his thigh to his cock. A gleaming bead lay on the tip, and I touched him there first, with the pad of my thumb.
He moaned and pushed himself into my hand.
My fingers feather-light, I caressed the length of him for a moment, then ran my hand up his stomach to his chest. His chest was tanned, much darker than my skin, which looked white as paper by comparison. I pinched one of his tight ni**les and then the other.
His hand on my cheek moved over to my lips and he eased his index finger into my mouth. I sucked on his finger as I moved my hand back down to his cock, gripping it tightly this time. I gave it a squeeze, so hot and solid in my hand. More shining beads were coming from the tip, and I rubbed my slick thumb over the head as I kept sucking the finger in my mouth.
He pulled his finger from my mouth and made eye contact with me. Those gold-brown eyes were smoldering with desire, but he took his time. His wet finger trailed down my front, over my navel and my triangle, ending its journey at the crevice between my legs. Delicately, he parted my lips with one finger and massaged the lips, his soft fingertip running up and down my opening, getting everything even wetter.
I kept pumping my fist on his cock, squeezing it firmly for a moment, then loosening my grip and slipping my fingers over the sensitive head.
His hand between my legs kept up its work, easing inside my opening and then dragging up deliciously over my firm clit. He nudged that hard button, rubbing lengthwise and then swirling around with his fingertip.
I moved only slightly, to part my legs wider for him. I wanted him to lean down and kiss me, but he just stayed still, watching me. My skin grew hot and I started to sweat, on my forehead and stomach. His probing finger was about to put me over the edge into orgasm, but I didn't want to come just yet.
I pushed his hand away and rolled over. Still staying low, on my elbows, I positioned my face over the tip of his c**k and took him into my mouth.
He sighed and leaned back, still on his folded knees, his hands behind him for balance.
He was shower-fresh and smelled faintly of soap. Licorice soap. The smell of it made me crazy, and I licked hungrily at him as I devoured his hot, hard erection.
He seemed about to come when he pulled me off him and moved me onto the bed.
I rolled onto my back, my paws up in the air, and waited.
He circled the bed, stopping to turn on the stereo. The first song had a driving guitar and rock sound, with an angry female singer. Smith climbed on top the bed and dragged me to him. He thrust into me for the first time that day, and I moaned and wrapped my legs around him.