“Mine, all mine.”
When Laura fell of the roof she smashed her ankle. It took all of Bart’s Shibari bindings to stabilize her limb and now Laura was making Bart wait on her, wing and foot. He wasn’t too happy with the ‘fetch’ thing but was puzzled why Laura’s wings hadn’t worked.
“Bart,” Laura whined, “The ice melted in my drink. Make me a fresh one, darlin’.”
Bart came from the kitchen, an apron tied around his middle. He was pissed being a house-bat but what could he do? A dominant fruit bat, this apron went against his nature. But the dishes had to be done, guano shoveled.
Inactivity made Laura horny. She spread her legs, flapped her pinkish wings alluringly. Bart’s eyes gleamed as he climbed between them. He lost his head. Laura had used a new perfume, “Peaches and Cream”.
“Bart! I’m not a cantaloupe. Your teeth are sharp!”
“Sorry, Laura. I’m just following my nature.”
Of all the kinds of bats in the world, I get a fruit bat, thought Laura. Life is unfair.
But he did look cute in a frilled apron. That big bow on his butt suited him.
Nature be damned.