Archive of Our Own

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Chapter 1 A New Beginning
Clara waited in the busy coffee shop. Violet had insisted on the Black Sheep Café. And, as good friends do, Violet had been precise about exactly what to order.“I’ll take two Honey Suckle Latte’s please with two apricot jelly cruller, please,” she said to the beautiful elf behind the counter. Trying hard not to stare at her ears, or her piqued cheeks, or the dazzling, impossibly sky-blue eyes, Clara reminded herself that in Cambric Creek, she was the odd one out. But somehow, this new place and the culture-shock felt liberating.Clara sat at a small table in the far corner, close to some windows overlooking the street, giving her the best view of the cafe and it’s patrons. Her pale hands cupping a beautifully handmade clay mug the elf set before her and inhaled the smokey honeyed notes of the latte - suddenly the order Violet had suggested made total sense, it was divine.She had never been to Cambric Creek before. This was her first day visiting the little town, and she was absolutely enchanted. Everything felt quaint, old-fashioned, thoughtful, and lovely. The café was no exception: cozy, with warm wood tones, black accents, and lush plants hanging from the thick timber beams above.She could understand why Violet loved living here and why she had decided to move permanently with her partner, Roark. Frankly, the variety of creatures around her put Clara at ease more than the big city ever had. Maybe humans were just too harsh, too judgmental, too quick to assume. Clara’s shoulders relaxed as an orc lady passed by, her two little kids clutching small cups of hot chocolate.The last time she had seen her best friend was back in school. They had
shared a dorm together making that time the most fun time of Clara’s life. School and homework aside, Violet’s friendship had been the shining beacon that kept Clara afloat. Violet was kind, considerate, and never judgmental—completely unlike Clara’s conservative family.It wasn’t that she didn’t love her family; she did, probably too much. But they always wanted to control her life and her decisions—even their expressions of love felt conditional. Leaving for school and making her own choices had been seen as a betrayal. Clara had always been open about her dreams: she wanted to be an artist. Simon and Debra, however, wanted her to be an engineer. She had excelled in school, mastering every subject thrown her way, but that didn’t mean engineering made her soul happy. After earning her Engineering degree, she hit what she thought was her lowest point. But then she’d worked in an office, assisting civil engineers… and her mental health took a severe turn. She was too creative for retaining walls and sloped parking spots!In secret, she started attending dance classes again, just as she had when she was younger. And it felt right. Then she’d bought some books, paints, and canvases, and suddenly, the glimmer of who she’d been started to glow again.
Violet had been the only one who knew, supporting her through it all.Clara pressed her lips together, silently chastising herself for not visiting her friend sooner. But it sounded like Violet was doing very well! She seemed happy and had jobs she loved.Her eyes met Violet’s warm, brown gaze across the café. Clara waved, her heart singing at how radiant and happy her friend looked.“I got you a honey latte, Violet! Don’t wait in line—I got two!” she called.“Thank you,” Violet replied, leaning in for a big hug. “Sorry, I’m late. Roark insisted on driving me, and then he saw an ice cream stand…” She rolled her eyes playfully.Clara grinned, recalling Violet’s description of the dessert-obsessed Minotaur. “So, when do I get to meet him?” A conspiratorial look passed between them before they burst into giggles. Minotaurs were undeniably sexy. Clara might have felt a twinge of jealousy if she didn’t love Violet so much. She was just thrilled her friend had found love and that her family was supportive. “Come on, Vi, you can’t hide him forever!”Violet’s smile was broad and luminous. “I’m not! He would’ve come in now if it wasn’t for a last-minute meeting. But you’re invited over for dinner tonight—you can meet him then!”Clara took a sip of her coffee, ready to tease. “I’ll be there. But you know I’ll ask him how you two met, and he’s a Capricorn—he won’t lie to me.”Violet’s blush deepened.“I’ll tell you,” Violet said, “but first, I want to show you something. My friend Grace is moving in with her boyfriend, and her place is up for rent. I thought you might be interested. She said she’d give you a great deal, and I think you’ll love it. It’s such a cute apartment—totally original with brick and wood-work, it’s a gorgeous little place!”Clara’s eyes widened. She had mentioned on the phone that she was looking for a place, but she hadn’t expected Violet to solve her problem overnight. Excitement and gratitude washed over her. “Oh my God! Really? Here in Cambric Creek?”Violet nodded. “Yes, it’s just around the corner. Wanna see it? It’s on the third floor, with a bedroom, a studio space, and a beautiful living room. Honestly, you’ll want it just for the bookshelves and fireplace.”Clara stood up without realizing it. “I have to see this place!” A private library had been one of her biggest dreams. She had more books than she could handle but couldn’t stop buying them—they were her escape. Her conservative family thought of her as shy and studious, but in truth, her books fed a curious, adventurous, and romantic spirit…and sometimes her horny one too.Violet led Clara down the tree-lined main street, past quaint shops, family-owned restaurants, and charming buildings. Around the block, they arrived at a beautiful four-story brick building. They climbed to the third-floor apartment, where Grace—a vampire and former barista at the café—was packing the last of her belongings.“Wow, you’re just in time,” Grace said in her lilting Australian accent. Her velvety black hair tossed over a slender shoulder.“I thought it’d take longer to convince your friend to come.”Clara was too captivated by the Craftsman-style foyer to respond immediately. She finally caught herself and waved. “Sorry, I’m Clara. It’s a pleasure to meet you! I can’t believe you’re leaving this beautiful place.”Grace winked. “When you meet my boyfriend, you’ll understand why. He’s very persuasive. I inherited the apartment from my aunt and couldn’t sell it—too many memories. Violet mentioned you might be looking for a place. You are, right?”“Yes,” Clara said, taking in the cozy sage-green kitchen with terracotta tiles and brass accents. “The thing is, I’m not sure I can afford it. I just left this job in Bridgeton. I haven’t found a job yet…”Grace gave her a kind smile. “Take your time. I have a contractor coming in to fix a few things before I can rent it out, so there’s no rush.”“Clara, I’ll help you with the job,” Violet said, putting her purse on the kitchen counter and taking Clara's hand. “You’ll love Cambric Creek!”
“Trust me,” Grace chimed in from the fridge, “this town is way less stressful than Bridgeton.”Clara looked around the elegant kitchen. It was old-fashioned and warm. It actually had an island - something she had never seen in tiny Bridgeton apartments. Beautiful vintage lights hung above, and another, more ornate glass light hung over a small dining room table in front of a huge Juliette window. Just to the left of them were two French doors, with a vintage stained-glass transom above; that kind of craftsmanship was so rare and unique, definitely out of Clara’s budget. But then she saw the living room through the doors…Her heart stopped.Huge walnut bookshelves flanked a carved stone fireplace. A rolling ladder rested atop a brass rail near the top of the shelves, reaching the ten-foot ceiling. Sunlight flooded the pale blue room through a bay window complete with a window seat that overlooked the main street she and Violet had just left. She turned to Violet, eyes wide with determination. “I’ll take it!”Violet chuckled. “Yeah, I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist once you saw the built-in bookshelves.”Grace’s mouth twisted into a knowing grin. “Lovey, you haven’t even seen the rest of the apartment. Are you sure?”Clara nodded enthusiastically. “This is everything I’ve ever wanted!”Her mind flooded with how she’d fill up the empty book-shelves, the beautiful paintings she could make for the walls, curling up on the blue velvet sofa to listen to records and watch the fire in the fireplace, with her fingers resting on a good quote in a thick book. This was exactly what her life was supposed to look like.Grace led the way down the hallway. “This is the master bedroom. The ceiling was painted by my aunt—she loved constellations. The closet is a walk-in, and you’ll go through it to reach the master bathroom. The only quirk is that you have to let the water run for a bit before the hot water kicks in.”The room took Clara’s breath away. It was easily one of the most stunning spaces she had ever seen. The room was a soft pink with elegant box trim around all the walls, framing lovely oil paintings or ornate light sconces. A huge, plush, rattan bed covered in white sheets and massive pillows beckoned. And, as Grace had said, the ceiling was covered in gold-leaf stars arranged in mythical constellations. Even Violet prodded her and whispered, “We’re definitely having a sleepover and watching movies here!”Clara nodded. “It’s got a bit of a boudoir feel to it…” Her eyes lingered on the four-poster bed with sheer drapery pulled to the sides and a luscious pile of pillows. A little velvet bench sat at the foot of the bed, while low, soft lighting added to the ambiance.“My aunt was very eccentric, very feminine, and very obsessed with French-decor,” Grace continued. “She lived in Paris for years. She brought most of the furniture from there, so I left everything exactly as she had it. Plus, she was pale like me, so these colors tones were flattering.”Clara considered her colouring. Her red hair had darkened slightly over the years, but her pale skin remained unchanged. “Built for Irish winters,” her mother used to say, with a hint of disapproval. Unlike her mother, who had been a stunning beauty with endless suitors in her youth, Clara had never felt confident in her looks. But standing in this room, surrounded by silks and velvets, she couldn’t help but imagine tapping into a more feminine side of herself.The next room down the hallway was smaller, with another bay window. The perfect spot for her to paint on weekends.“This was my home office,” Grace said.Violet stepped inside and looked out the window. “You can see Morning Glory from here!”Grace tilted her head. “I guess I never noticed. I was too busy trying to start up my little side hustle.”“Trying?” Clara asked. “What was it?”
Grace rolled her eyes at herself. “I wanted to be a personal thrift shopper. I love putting outfits together, but it was time-consuming. Customers would send me their measurements and a mood board, and I’d thrift shop for them. It was fun, but I realized I had a bit of a… hoarding problem.”Violet lifted the hem of her dress. “Grace found me this! Isn’t it adorable? I wish I could wear it every day.” The dress was a summery pink with embroidered white flowers, perfectly flattering on Violet’s petite, curvy frame.“You have impeccable taste, Grace!”“When I first moved in," Violet said, "Grace lent me her favourite green dress for an office party. It didn’t fit perfectly, but she just said, 'Confidence fills the gaps’.”Clara noticed how affectionately the vampire regarded her friend–she was glad Violet had someone to help her around Cambric Creek. Grace seemed fun and bold – both Violet and Clara could use a dose of that. Out of the two friends, Violet was the more introverted and shy one. Clara was just… well, she’d never really had the opportunity to try new things and fully express herself. Until she started reading, painting, and dancing; suddenly, she understood that she was much more of an extrovert than her friend. Clara was a “toe-dipper” as Violet liked to tease, while Violet was a watcher. The two got along because of their similarities, but it was their differences that solidified their love.
“By all means, leave some clothes here—so long as I can wear them, too,” Clara teased.“Don’t give her ideas!” Violet warned.“I’m pretty much the same size as you, Vi. Come on! Share!”Violet gave her a little look, “you’re shorter.”“Not by choice!” Prosted Clara. “You know I love vintage!”Grace smirked. “Honestly, I’m a hoarder. It would do me good to get rid of some of the clothes.”“Well, if a dress or two get forgotten…” suggested Clara slyly, “I won’t mind.”
Grace winked at her. “Some furniture will definitely have to stay: the desk and chair in here, everything in the bedroom, the little dining room table, and the velvet couch in the living room. They won’t fit in Trent’s apartment.”“Works for me,” Clara said.“Before we get ahead of ourselves, though,” Violet interrupted, “we should talk about work .”They moved to the living room and settled on the velvet couch facing the fireplace. Violet leaned forward, her tone serious. “Listen, Clara, I want you to apply for a position at Morning Glory, the company where I work. But I need to explain it first. It’s not a typical job.”Clara’s curiosity piqued. “Anything outside engineering sounds good to me...You know I don’t judge. But seriously, the suspense is killing me. Just tell me!”Violet hesitated before answering. “It’s a pharmaceutical milking farm.”Clara blinked. “Okay…?”“We, um, milk Minotaurs,” Violet said quietly, eyes downcast.Clara’s mind raced. “Minotaurs? For… milk?”“Not milk,” Violet clarified, cheeks flushed. “Semen. Their output is examined and processed into pills for human men.”Clara froze. Her thoughts became a chaotic mix of fascination and mortification. “Oh. I see.”“It’s very technical,” Violet added quickly, seeing her friends reaction. “You’re separated from the bulls. Machines handle the extraction, and your job is just to connect them to the pump and label the containers. It’s straightforward work, and the bulls get paid well.”Clara glanced around the room, weighing the surreal explanation. It didn’t sound awful . And it wasn’t like she’d be dealing with men—after Callum, she’d sworn off guys.“Trust me,” added Grace, “everyone that works there loves their jobs.”Clara’s thoughts struggled to process, as if her mind had crashed like a lagging computer. Violet was milking minotaur cocks. Several. Daily. Her friend, Violet. Shy, reserved. “Y-you milk the minotaur men, with a machine?”"Yes. But there is lots of training, trust me. I was terrified of messing up," Violet admitted, laughing. "The first time I tried to attach the pump, the bull had to show me how it worked. He was nicer about it than you’d think!"Clara noticed the knowing glance exchanged between Grace and Violet, but her mind remained fixated on the idea of milking.“There were training videos too,” continued Violet. “Once I saw how much they were willing to pay me, I watched those videos over and over again. I was determined to be best tech there. I couldn’t believe they were paying so well for people with no experience. But, I mean, it’s not for everyone.”“Do you think I could afford rent here on Morning Glory’s salary?” Clara asked, her mind suddenly locking on what Violet said about salaries. Few things unnerved Clara more than financial insecurity. Debt, dwindling savings, and an uncertain future loomed as a source of deep anxiety and shame. Callum had been so condescending when he found out how little she’d made, questioning whether their future together made sense. She vowed to herself that she would never, ever rely on a man’s income to feel secure.Violet lit up. “Absolutely! When I started, I could afford fancy coffees and bougie food after just one week. Grace is only asking $1,500 a month—half of what you’d pay in Bridgeton!”Clara tilted her head, her eyes lingering on the empty bookshelves. Violet grinned. “If I can afford fancy coffees, you’ll be able to buy all the books you want.”“Stop reading my mind!” Clara retorted playfully, throwing a little couch pillow at her friend.“It’s a salaried position,” Violet continued. “Starting at $75,000 a year, full benefits. Plus, clients often tip. After a year, they increased my salary because clients had given me great reviews. I guess it helped that we beat out a lot of the competition. Now, I train too, I make quite a bit more.”Clara’s jaw dropped. “That’s… amazing.”
“Some clients even request their favourite lab technicians,” Grace added, re-entering the room and handing each girl a steaming mug of perfumed tea. “Every week, over and over again. And sometimes those clients run into you at a coffee shop, ask you out, and then you fall madly in love with them and move in with them!”Clara gasped. “Roark?”Violet nodded, blushing. “He was one of my first clients.”“You met Roark while giving him a medical-grade hand job ?!” Clara burst into laughter.“It wasn’t like that!” Violet protested.“Well, it was close,” Grace teased.“Violet!” Clara couldn’t contain her giggles, imagining her reserved friend ending up with a sexy Minotaur. “Roark must be sexy. You’d never risk your job like that!”“Clara, I promise—it’s not sexy . It’s just work. And a lot of the bulls have families. This helps them pay bills and save for their kids’ futures.”“But you can see their…” Clara’s imagination couldn’t be trusted past this point.Violet averted her eyes again, but a faint smile traced her lips. “Yes. And a bit of their bodies.”“Their gorgeous bodies,” Grace interjected. “Their tall, muscular, and very well-hung bodies.”“You’ve dated a minotaur before?” Clara asked incredulously. I guess it was common for different species to date in Cambric Creek .
“Absolutely,” said Grace. “He was amazing. But moved away for work, to Brazil. He was so sexy, I’d have gone with him too. He was an absolute beast."Clara blushed furiously, her pale skin betraying her.
Grace chuckled, raising the cup to her lips. “Minotaurs, centaurs, orcs, werewolves… human guys don’t hold a candle to them. Trust me, lovey, Violet didn’t stand a chance. Plus Roark was such a gentleman.”Clara had never considered such possibilities before. In her fantasy novels, these creatures occasionally appeared, but always as harbingers of danger or destruction. The thought of them as lovers—enjoying dates, catching a movie, and perhaps indulging in playful escapades afterward—had never once crossed her mind.But Clara was still getting over Callum. It may have been a year, but it still felt fresh. Callum had been a therapist and thirteen years older than her… his artful tactics, experience, and selfish drive had resulted in her feeling diminished. For someone who should know so much about relationships, he had been completely calculated and controlling.Maybe this was the opportunity she was looking for: a well-paying, stress-free job out of the big city, away from entitled city guys. She would be near her best friend, in a gorgeous craftsman apartment surrounded by books and art, taking a dance class again to meet new people.
“Trust me,” Violet said earnestly. “It’s a great way to get on your feet while you figure out what you want to do. I hated hearing how unhappy you were at that engineering job. This will give you time and financial freedom.”“Thank you,” Clara said sincerely. “Honestly, this could be perfect.”Violet grinned. “Then it’s settled. Just don’t think too hard about how much… volume… the bulls produce.”
Clara leaned forward, intrigued despite herself. “How much?”Violet’s voice was barely a whisper. “About 24 ounces.”Clara squeezed her thighs together. “...Wow.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 2 Training

And so it was that the following Monday, Clara found herself at the Morning Glory Farm, sitting through the training currently being described by Violet.“So, as you can see, the milking technician aims to facilitate a speedy and plentiful collection,” concluded Violet. “Our patrons are paid per ounce when they leave the facility. What we collect is sent to labs and used for human medicines.”Clara was impressed with her friends’ confidence and competence. Clearly, Violet had thrived here and had become an integral part of the staff. Her friend was well respected, her colleagues were kind and professional, and there wasn’t a single trace of the kind of toxic leadership that Clara had been exposed to at Platitude Engineering.
Four other candidates were sitting in on the training that Violet had walked them through. But Clara was the only human; she wondered if that would be a disadvantage. Violet had reassured her that Minotaurs wouldn’t mind and that the goal for many clients was for them to be in and out as quickly as possible and get as much money for their “collection” as possible. However, there was a key difference between how Morning Glory worked and the other facilities in the nearby areas: the client experience was at the forefront of their service, ensuring that the bulls felt comfortable and satisfied, resulting in better collections. Violet had said the labs paid more for Morning Glory's sample samples.
It must be because of their excellent technique , she thought to herself.

The facility was clean, bright, and cheerful, a traditional cottage-like farm hybridized into a state-of-the-art milking facility. It looked like a nice place to work, full of light, and the staff room and public areas were colourful and tastefully designed, always filled with flowers and plants. The grounds of the farm itself were lovely. If Clara wanted, there were several trails through the gardens and orchards during her breaks to relax and enjoy some time in nature. The more she looked outside, the more she wanted to paint the farm and capture the warm rays of sunshine filtering through the leaves of the large trees outside.
The mantis girl beside Clara raised her arm, “What happens if you do not attach the pump nozzle in time? Are you penalized because the client doesn’t get paid that day?”“No, nothing like that,” said Violet. “A lot of the clients are very understanding. Many of them know the process and will give you a warning - especially the clock watchers. There will be signs that it’s time for you to get ready - such as deepened breathing, bucking, and rutting. You have to pay attention to their body language. Good observational skills will be an asset for you—you don’t want to slow down the process by interrupting their concentration.”“So there’s no monetary penalty for not collecting everything?” The mantis girl pressed, her tone highlighting her fear.
Violet’s voice was gentle but clear: “The facility does not penalize the workers monetarily in any way. Accidents happen, and sometimes clients don’t communicate. Although it’s never happened here, equipment can sometimes malfunction. What’s most important in these circumstances is that the client feels welcomed back and that the mistake will not happen again. Be professional, gentle, and understanding. Let them know that we appreciate their contributions and business.”
“Let me reassure you,” said Ms. Gillian, the stern administrative woman, “that our clients are understanding; they know themselves and can get carried away in the moment. More often than not, they’re a little bit embarrassed themselves.”The mantis girl nodded, her eyebrows remaining a little concerned.
“Watch the videos; they will help a lot.” Violet was reassuring as she continued, “You’ll be shown examples of what to look for when a minotaur is ready. Those who wish to remain will also be trained in person by an experienced tech who will point them out to you.”A pretty little elf spoke up, “Are there ever any issues with the clients harassing the techs? I heard of something like that happening at another place.”Ms. Gillian took this one: “No. There is no history of that happening at Morning Glory.”The elf nodded, satisfied, but the administrative hydra continued, “We have a strict no-fraternization policy; our clients know that the rooms are being filmed and monitored, and we have a zero-tolerance policy for harassment. There are also other Minotaurs and Centaurs on staff acting as security.”The elf hummed in approval.
Clara was impressed, too. The facility was very thorough in its approach. Every step and issue was taken seriously and addressed meticulously.“Well, if that’s all the questions,” said Violet with a smile, “those of you who wish to remain will be partnered off with lab technicians now, and we will start your training!”Clara met Violet’s gaze; with a slight nod, her friend confirmed she would be training her.“Come on, let’s get you to the changing room. I found you some lavender scrubs and a matching water bottle!”The changing room was a combination of full-length lockers, changing benches, a modern lounge area and a coffee station offset with cute gingham upholstered chairs and little vases full of wildflowers. Every nook and cranny was expertly appointed by an interior designer with a cheerful eye.
“Locker 1031 is yours,” said Violet, rounding the corner. “Combination is easy: 10-20-30, and inside, you’ll find the scrubs, your water bottle, and a matching pair of tennis shoes.”
“These are so cute!” Said Clara, looking at her size six lavender tennis shoes with matching lavender laces. “Who thought of all this? It’s also curated! That engineering office that I worked at was so ugly and gray—like they intentionally tried to make it look as miserable as possible.”Violet gave her a little side-eye. Violet loved a cozy aesthetic. She’d gone to school and pursued a creative path where honouring beauty was essential. Violet would’ve wilted in Clara’s former office.
"Platitude sounds like it was a few degrees away from looking like a cell,” said Violet.
Clara giggled, “You’re not far off, Vi.” She straightened the top over her little cropped t-shirt, finding it tight in the chest, but it would work for today.
“Reed’s daughter, Sarah, is an interior designer. When she was starting out, she needed a project, so Reed let her go wild on the facility so she had a diverse portfolio. I think it looks adorable in here!”“It is adorable! I never thought I’d like gingham on wingback chairs… but I kind of want one for my place!”“I can ask Sarah where she got it. I think she has a whole storage unit full of random furniture that she sometimes uses to help clients understand what their space will feel like. Maybe she’ll have something you can borrow!”“Oh ya! I’d love that,” she said, bending over her little sneakers to tie up the laces. “There, how do I look?”“I knew lavender was your colour! Goes so well with your hair!”Clara curtsied sarcastically. “Why thank you, ma’am!”“Ok, I actually have a client starting in 15 minutes; let’s get going. His name is Dean; really nice, friendly guy. He’s a good intro client for you—not intimidating.”“It sounds like you know a lot of your clients!”Violet nodded and surveyed his form on her clipboard, “many of them are repeats. Most come in at least once a week. The money is just too good to pass up. If Morning Glory approves a minotaur, they’re not likely to go anywhere else. And, physiologically, bulls need a release more often than human men.”Clara felt her core tighten. Why was hearing that sexy? She hoped Violet hadn’t caught her reaction.
Trying to mask the blush and growing curiosity, she asked, “So you get to know them because you see them so often?”“Yeah, and some, like Dean, are quite chatty. It’s inevitable,” Violet smiled, pushing open the door to her room.
In contrast to most of the facility, the collection room was medical-grade and stainless steel. Everything looked sparkling, clean, and meticulously tidy. The cleaning protocol that had been in introductory training became very clear. Violet showed her the checklist for the area, located the supplies and then moved to the equipment to show her everything.
“This is the extraction pump,” she said, holding up a long cylinder similar in circumference to a pickle jar but significantly longer. “The sensors and textural elements inside are medical grade, and what makes Morning Glory stand out. Reed designed these - ironically, he’s an engineer, too. Every client has said that our extraction pumps are the most comfortable and the nicest feeling.”Clara, whose eyes had widened larger than ever before. Observing the device, she realized that she could easily fit her fist inside without touching the textured walls of the cylinder.
How big are these bull cocks?
Violet clued in right away. “I know,” she said with a slight chuckle. “I was intimidated at first, too. You get used to the size and handling them.”“Right,” Clara said, no longer trying to control the blushing.
Suddenly, a door opened on the elevated platform to their right, and a massive Minotaur entered.
Clara’s heart stopped.
This was Dean.
Dean’s supposed to be one of the less intimidating Minotaurs? As Clara’s eyes rose to meet his eyes, she felt every particle of her body vibrate with trepidation. He must have been at least 7 feet tall. Soft, cropped chestnut covered his body— his whole body, apparently, as he immediately started stripping in front of them without hesitation. He was so muscular it looked like he was probably a fitness instructor.
Clara looked sideways at Violet, whose eyes met hers with twinkling amusement. “Ya,” she whispered, “Dean’s kind of a babe.”
“Heard that, Vi,” he chuckled, turning around. He wore a broad, cheerful smile, and his soft green eyes were teasing and intelligent. “Don’t let Roark hear you say that.”Violet laughed. “A little jealousy would do him some good.”
Dean snorted with a chuckle and then turned to look at Clara. “Hello there! I’m kind-of-babe-Dean. You must be the new trainee. Let me guess,” he looked her up and down, “your name is … Rose?”
Clara shook her head, “Why Rose? Because of the red hair? Original.”“Nope,” he said, maintaining eye contact while sliding off his slacks and briefs. He moved toward the rutting bench, and suddenly Clara had a full view of his thick, engorged cock swinging heavily from his hips. He straddled the bench, the member pushing through the padded opening, but his amused gaze reamined on Clara the whole time. “Because of your blushing.”Clara felt her face heating even more. She swallowed deeply, glad that a face mask covered half her face.
Dean let out another amused chuckle, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. What’s your actual name?”“I’m Clara, pleasure to meet you.”“Pleasure’s all mine,” he said with a playful wink.“Alright, stop distracting my trainee, Dean. Be a good boy and cooperate,” said Violet. She sat on a little rolling stool in front of his protruding cock, then turned to a massive jug with a pump and drew some viscous oil into her hands. “Since we humans have smaller hands, I usually need two pumps in the beginning to get started. Rub your hands like this to warm up the oil before putting it on them.”Clara watched Violet rub her hands together calmly, spreading the oil evenly over her palm and fingers, before reaching up and taking Dean’s heavy cock, coating him from tip to base.
The bull sucked in his breath and then let out a deep moan.
His member's size barely made sense when Clara first saw it. But now, with Violet’s small hands working the oil down his shaft, she was sure that no human man could possess such a thick cock. Violet’s hands barely wrapped around the whole shaft. “I have to keep both hands on their member, so it doesn’t slide away,” Violet confirmed, showing Clara how she formed a large circle with her hands together and brought them up and down his length in sync.
Clara bobbed her head in understanding, letting her friend know that every piece of information was being registered and organized inside her head.
But then she made the mistake of raising her eyes again and locking them with Dean.His gorgeous green eyes were soft and dilated, with pure devilishness. It was evident he was enjoying himself.“The way Violet does it…is the best,” he whispered with a groan.
“I see,” said Clara, looking into his eyes. Her words slipped out between her lips before she could stop herself, “Ya, you really seem to like it.”Suddenly, Dean bucked, thrusting against the bench so forcefully that Clara was startled. But Violet got the pump right away, turned it on, and engulfed his shaft with it.
Dean was utterly undone.
The sensors moved over his cock, undulating and writhing, making him thrust harder and harder as Violet held the pump in place.
“There you go, Dean,” came her friend’s soft voice.
“God,” he groaned, and Clara watched as ropes upon ropes of cum filled the cylinder. Her heart rate rose while she watched him fill the large glass container. He gripped the padded edge and thrust one last thick rope into it, filling it to the brim.
Dean rested his head against the side, panting a little. Meanwhile, Violet rose with the container, screwed on a lid, and weighed it. “24 ounces exactly,” she pronounced with a smile to him as she added a newly printed sticker to the bottle.He smirked at her, “How annoyingly consistent of me.”
24 oz was a lot. The size of a regular smoothie from a concession stand. Clara had never seen so much cum coming out of a single being in her life. Human men produced a tablespoon or two. This was something else. Suddenly, the mantis girl’s concern over an accidental mess made sense.
“I’ve told you before, Dean. If you want to make more, you need to eat the right foods,” said Violet expertly, her tone clipped but kind. She took a warm, damp towel from a tray and wiped him down gently and efficiently.
Dean made a face, “Spinach is disgusting. I’d rather chew on my own hoof.”Clara burst out laughing despite herself. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to laugh at you— it’s just that I actually imagined you doing that,” she said apologetically, trying to control the amusement. She was trying to be professional.
But Dean was kind and laughed along with her. “The funnier visual would actually be me trying to bend over and reach it— my flexibility is horrible. That’s what I get for working in an office.”
He got up and started shrugging on his clothes.
Clara caught herself looking, wishing he’d slow down a little. He was stunning—genuinely stunning. Grace had been right with her description of Minotaurs. And now, Clara knew her biggest hurdle at the job would be taming her attraction. She had never considered herself attracted to overly muscled guys, not that she had a type. It was usually their personality and general demeanour that she found attractive. But now, she was mesmerized. Clara caught herself gazing at his muscled back, working to put on his white button-down shirt, and didn’t snap out of it until Violet cleared her throat ever-so-subtly.She busied herself, putting the sullied towel in the hamper and retrieving the anti-bacterial spray.
Everything Violet had shown her seemed straightforward enough. Violet had been honest in describing the job: it was not sexy but somewhat more similar to what she envisioned a blood donation clinic to be like. The only difficulty would be managing unpleasant clients. But she had handled unpleasant personalities more than enough times at Platitude Engineering, where the egos were far too delicate.
No, the only difficulty Clara could foresee was managing herself and maintaining her professionalism. Since Violet brought her in, she wanted to do right by her friend. Clara’s actions at work would impact Violet, too. So she was determined to do her best and treat this like any other job.Dean turned towards them again, having finished dressing, “Thanks, Violet. See you around, Clara-Rose,” he teased with a wink, and Clara felt butterflies in her stomach watching him leave.“Right,” said Violet cheerfully, “first one’s done!”“Ya! Not too bad! Way different than what I expected,” confirmed Clara, happy to have something to say to distract her from thinking of Dean’s throbbing—“All that’s left to do is finalize our cleaning protocol. You don’t have to clean the machine or the room, we have janitorial staff for that. If there’s ever an accident or a spill, this red button here alerts the janitors of an emergency. I’ve never had to use it, though.”Clara understood and followed Violet through the final steps of cleaning and organizing the station. She placed the container full of the extracted semen in a metal cabinet to be taken away later, wiped down the countertops and her chair, and took the clipboards and any information about Dean with her.
Violet walked Clara to the front waiting area and watched Dean collect his payment. Ms Gillian talked him through when the transaction would be in his bank account, and he handed her a little yellow envelope that she had placed in a locked drawer.“What’s that?” Asked Clara under her breath, a little confused.
Violet leaned in, whispering, “he’s leaving us a tip. Ms Gillian collects them and hands them out to the staff at the end of the day. Dean always tips.”Excitement brightened Clara’s eyes. “Day one, and we’ve already gotten a tip? Awesome!”
“Yup! It’s really nice. Sometimes, I use my tips to buy myself really nice lunches on my break. There are so many cute little restaurants around. I can’t help it!”“Well don’t you worry,” Clara said, wiggling her eyebrows, “Now that you have me here, you have to show me all the little restaurants, otherwise how will I know which ones are good? So you’re obligated to spend some of your tips on lunch.”“Perfect!”They walked towards the next room, expecting another minotaur.The session was exactly like Dean’s, albeit with less chatter. This was the kind of ‘clock-watcher’ client Violet had told her about: guys that like to be in and out quickly.
Violet had barely had a chance to oil him up and move up and down his length a couple of times before he immediately pronounced that he was ready, queuing Violet to place the pump on him. This bull, initials JR, didn’t filled the container as much as Dean. Nonetheless, he strutted out confidently after zipping up his pants, leaving without a word.
Clara supposed that to guys like this, everything that just happened was pure business. Now she understood just how technical and not sexy the job was.
“Guys like that, just tell you when they’re ready—they don’t want you to miss a drop,” said Violet as she let Clara weigh the container, peel the sticker, and place the collection in the metal box.
“Ya. He didn’t even say hello.”Violet shrugged, “Ya, that’s ok. It doesn’t really bother me. Especially on a busy day, because it means we’re just going to finish quickly. I don’t have to stress about cleaning the room in time. But having other clients where you can chat a little is nice. Helps pass the day.”“Dean was really nice,” said Clara.“He likes humans. I should’ve shown you his chart now that I think of it. There’s a text box at the top that says ‘Client’s Preferences’; he always requests a human. I think it’s because his exes were orcs and elves,” laughed Violet.
“Huh, interesting. Maybe those species hit a little too close to home for him?” Clara wondered if she had been non-human, if he’d have cum differently, more erratically, or wildly.
“Who knows? But the ones you wanna watch out for are the “good little cows” — they request outfits as well.”
She could tell from Violet’s tone that these ‘good-litttle-cow-types’ were not her favourite. But Clara’s interest was piqued—who didn’t like a little dress-up?“Wait, I don’t get it,” she said, hoping her tone was light and Violet wouldn’t pick up on any eagerness, “what exactly do they ask for?”
“They like to be milked,” so Violet, shrugging her shoulders as she stepped up to the counter to receive another clipboard and reviewed it in passing. “It’s a kink for them? They like to pretend they’re cows, and you’re the milkmaid, and sometimes there’s a little bit of…dialogue.”“Huh, ok.”“If it’s something you’re uncomfortable with, you don’t have to do it. But Reed recently got some feedback from the research facility, saying that the good little cows actually have an X factor in their collections, so they pay more for those containers. They can make different types of pills with them that are more dynamic. To be honest, I don’t really know what that means. Reed hasn’t shared the information. All I know is that technicians who can accommodate these clients are greatly appreciated. Pretty much all the staff puts up with it because they tend to be good tippers.”
“I don’t think I’d mind,” said Clara quietly.
“Well, you’ll have a go at it sooner or later, and we can chat about it then. But I’m glad you’re open-minded to it.”The two girls waited in the locker room until the next room became available. Clara tried out the gingham wingback chair, wiggling around to see if it would be a good reading chair—she was so short, she could easily tuck her feet under herself and cozy up with a book in here during a break.Violet tapped the clipboard and hummed.“It says here that our final client today is new here, and Ms Gillian will also be in the room with us.”“Ok, no worries,” said Clara nonchalantly. She liked stern older women anyway. They were easily won over with good manners and a little extra attention to detail.“And,” continued Violet, “there’s a note saying two girls walked off during their training… the mantis and the vampire. Damn! We really need more staff!”Clara got up to read the note. “Is that normal? I wonder what happened?”“Like I said before, this really isn’t for everybody. Some people think this is sex work…How are you feeling about it all?” Violet asked, genuine concern shining through her eyes. She was just such a good friend, Clara often found herself wishing that she had known Violet earlier in High School. Maybe the isolation wouldn’t have been so bad.She smiled at her encouragingly, her bubbly personality shining through. “I’m really excited about this! It seems easy enough to follow. There’s a separation between us and the Minotaurs… not that I’m worried, but it sort of adds to the professionalism, you know? And if just start the pump early, you can put it on them as soon as you think they’re ready to go?”Violet agreed, “Totally. It’s better than waiting for the last second. But I’m so glad to hear you think you’d give it a shot. Even if it was for just a couple of months.”“Vi, I’m not gonna let you down,” said Clara with conviction, resuming her spot on the chair. “If I pass training, I’ll stick to this for at least a year. I can tell you guys need the help, especially since I overheard someone in the locker room saying that a tech was let go for being too brusk with the clients…”Violet’s eyes twinkled a little with curiosity. “Oh, did you? I suspect they were talking about Jasper…”“I don’t know. I didn’t catch the name. All they said was that she wasn’t very friendly with the guys and wasn’t really good at facilitating the extraction?”Violet glanced around, ensuring that nobody was nearby to hear. “I tried to train her about six months ago. She just wasn’t very open to the idea that how we handle the Minotaurs affects them. There was no gentleness or compassion to her, she put oil on them like she was bored and unengaged. I’m not saying you need to fawn over the guys or be inappropriate. But they can tell if we dislike being here and don’t care about them. We want our clients to feel like this is a safe and comfortable space. Reed had tried talking to her about it, but she wasn’t open to changing her technique.”“Ya, I think I understand. If I go to a gynecologist's office, I want someone with a gentle touch, like an empathic approach, you know?”“Totally! I think you nailed it on the head. I’m going to tell Reed you said that - that’s exactly the language we should use when we describe our job to new trainees: a gentle, empathic approach.”Clara felt a little bubble of pride rise in her. Already contributing something of value to her new job made her feel a sense of belonging.
“OK, let’s get to this final guy, and that’ll be it for the day,” Violet announced, moving into room number eight.Ms Gillian was there, ready and waiting. “I’ve already set up the room. We are just waiting for a Mr….. uhm McConnor. He’s never visited Morning Glory or any other collection facility before, but his scores on the genetics test were exceptional. This will be good training for you, Clara, on how to handle newcomers.”“Great!” Clara gave the woman a cheerful smile. “Violet’s been awesome at showing me everything. I’m feeling really hopeful about going out on my own soon!”Ms Gillian’s voice remained calm, but Clara could feel some relief in her tone. “Lovely. I’m sure the rest of the staff will be grateful for extra help. You’ll be getting an email later today with additional training videos if you’d like to watch them.”“Perfect, thank you!”The door to the podium opened, and a young, spotted bull stepped inside but immediately halted when he saw the three women staring at him. “Oh God, three? I-I don’t know about this anymore…” he said, starting to back out.“Hang on,” Clara said gently, approaching him, “I’m just being trained today. It’s my first day, too.”He stared at her with beautiful, wide eyes. “Oh, I see.”Clara gave him an encouraging smile, “Sorry if I’m a little nervous.”He gave her a tight-lipped smile, blushing, and said, “It’s fine.”Violet stepped in, smiling at him, too, “The two of us will be leaning down low; you won’t even see us. Please, have a seat,” she indicated to the rutting bench.
Young Mr. McConnor looked between them, then lifted his gaze to Ms Gillian. Finally, she got the hint. “I was just here to ensure the room was nice and tidy, don’t mind me,” she said, exiting the room. “please let us know how your session was.” She shut the door quietly behind her.

Violet used this opportunity to walk him through what he should expect. It calmed down the young man while reinforcing everything she had taught Clara throughout the day. Knowing the process inside and out and speaking about it in a kind voice to newcomers would be important for Clara to emulate.“Mr. McConnor, I need you to straddle the bench and allow your member to go through the opening at the base,” said Violet showing him the hole through which his cock would hang.As he did so, Clara saw his long, pink member poke through. It had some brown spots at the base, and a bead of precum was already shining on the tip.
“Could you please call me Lance? Calling me by my last name reminds me of my dad, and the admin here said that I need to show up already…uhm, hard…,” he said nervously with a hint of amusement.
Violet giggled, “Sure thing, Lance.”“Lance is kind of a cute name,” said Clara, hoping to ease his mood and encourage him a little.
He blinked and smiled back at her. He was handsome, too. Not as big as Dean but still muscled. Probably leaner and more chiselled— based on how rough certain parts of his body were, it looked like he had a labour job.
Violet pumped oil into her hands and rubbed them together to warm the liquid.
Clara caught her eyes and asked her in the quietest whisper she could manage, “Can I do it too?”Violet mouthed, “Ask him,” jerking her head up Lance.Clara stood and asked, “Lance, would you mind if I helped Violet oil you up? Are you OK with that, or would that be too much stimulation?”His eyes dilated. Out of the corner of her eye, Clara saw his cock twitch and lengthen even more.

I guess that’s a ‘yes’.
She smiled, hoping he could see it in her eyes even though her face mask covered her smile.
“Uhm, please, ya, go ahead.”“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”She sat back down next to Violet and filled her hands with the oil, rubbed them together, and held his cock with her friend.
It was heavy.
She could feel him trembling under her hands. Violet turned on the pump, anticipating his early release. The two of them stroked him up and down, twisting their hands in tandem with one another.Above them, Lance was writhing. “Mmmmf, his is so intense.”“Just breathe, Lance,” said Violet.“You’re doing so well,” breathed Clara.At her words, Lance’s bulbous tip oozed more precum. Violet took the pump and placed it on him, and the young Minotaur moaned loudly, bucking his hips rhythmically into the pump over and over again.Clara looked up, seeing that he had closed his eyes; he was trying to focus. But when she saw his hands shaking a little, she realized he was still in his head, overthinking this. Without thinking, she reached down and gently massaged his balls. Adding another sensation would help him move past overthinking.His guttural moan was deep, and suddenly, his thrusts became forceful. Clara saw his cock jutting quickly in and out of the pump as he filled it with thick white cum.
“Oh please,” he begged, “the balls, please .”Clara returned her hands down to his weighted sack and massaged the balls gently. “There you go. Thank you for asking.”“Ugh, perfect,” he groaned, still thrusting.
Violet gave her a quick nod, telling her to keep going.Clara kept massaging, saying, “You’re doing so well, Lance. The container is so full!”“Fuck!” Lance groaned and thrust one last time. His body went limp on the edge of the bench, panting. A light shiver travelled down his spine.Violet got up and measured the container, printing out a sticker with its weight and Lance’s code. While she took care of the container, Clara took the warm, damp towel and began to gently wipe Lance’s long cock.
It was still rigid. The veins along the edges throbbed ever so slightly. She held the tip in her left hand while the right worked down his length, wiping the oil from his base and balls.
He was such a beautiful Minotaur, too. Somehow, equally lithe and sturdy. She thought his nervousness was adorable and endearing. She couldn’t help but ask him: “What brings you here?”Her soft tone, thankfully, didn’t startle him. From above her head, Clara felt him inhale deeply before he said, his voice full of exhaustion, “I am helping my grandfather take care of his farm. The money from here is going to help us buy new equipment. We’re trying to be Cambric Creek’s number one, local, organic farm.”“Oh! I love that you work on a farm! I’ve never gotten to meet a farmer before!”
“Really,” he asked, “are you from the city then?”“Unfortunately, yes. Trust me, though, I don’t think I’m a city girl anymore. I like it here,” she said, patting him dry before standing up.“Ya, Cambric Creek is exceptional,” he agreed, as his pants were swiftly put back on and his plain T-shirt thrown over his head.
Violet returned and said, “Lance, I’ve labelled your bottle. The staff will scan it now and see how much you contributed: 22 ounces. They’ll pay you at the front. You can choose between an automatic deposit into your bank account or a cash payment.”“Ok,” he said, his shyness returning.“And, if there’s anything that we can do next time to accommodate you and put you at ease, there’s a place on your form that you can fill out with comments, or you can do it online,” Violet continued. She spoke to clients so kindly that Clara knew Violet would be a favourite. Her friends' gentle demeanour was her superpower.Clara said, “We’re happy to make any adjustments you need to improve your comfort.”Lance gave them a little smile and a curt nod before putting on his cowboy hat and leaving.As soon as Lance was gone, Ms Gillian came back in. “How did you find that experience, Clara? Good day overall?”Clara finished washing her hands in the basin and turned towards the administrator. “I thought it was good, Ms Gillian. Lance seemed to respond well to us when we talked him through it. In the end, it was fine, and the extraction was clean, I think,” she added, turning to Violet to give her opinion.
Violet beamed as she pulled off her facemask and tossed it in the garbage, “Clara was great! Especially with Lance, who was nervous. She was warm and encouraging, and her technique was great. I don’t think she’ll need to be trained as long as I was.”Clara was surprised to hear she’d done so well. Then again, Violet was an excellent instructor.
“Excellent,” Ms Gillian said.
“I think maybe another day or two, Clara will be ready to be on her own.”Ms Gillian looked surprised. “I will inform Reed. There are some envelopes for you both; two of your clients left tips today,” said the elderly hydra before leaving the room.
Peaking inside, Clara counted $120.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 3 Out and About
Clara had started on Monday, and by the end of the day Thursday, Violet had pronounced her ready to go on her own. Reed had not expected one of the trainees to be ready so soon, and instead of having Clara come in another day, he’d given her Friday off and instructed her to watch the rest of the training videos.And so she was, in her living room, organizing a few boxes of books and trinkets onto the shelves while her laptop played out the training videos. They featured an upbeat fox-woman, and Clara wondered if she was one of the staff or just a paid actress.
“For collection to be speedy and plentiful, a technician must be encouraging and proactive with her clients,” said the fox-woman.
No kidding, thought Clara.
Just the other day, Violet had asked Clara to talk to one of the frustrated clock-watchers. He was unnerved at two girls witnessing his collection, but Clara’s gentle nudges and breathy words did the trick. In the end, to Violet’s surprise, he had left a tip. “He is seriously one of the stingiest minotaur’s I know! I can’t believe it—good job!”Over the 4 days, the two of them had made $470 in tips each.
Clara, elated, had immediately gone out to buy books and a new canvas to paint on. The bookstore owner had given her an amused look as she’d carried out nine new novels, cautiously resting her chin on the top one to keep it from toppling. Go ahead and stare, she thought, walking down Main Street, ignoring the looks she got. I’ll be back in a month at the rate I read these.
She was determined to replenish the library that her mother had thinned out while Clara was in school — no doubt some form of strange, passive-aggressive revenge for not choosing the university her mother had selected. Clara had come home to find a handful of classics remaining (ones her mother deemed appropriate and elevated) and empty bookshelves.“You were keeping children’s book, Clara,” said her mother matter-of-factly. The lack of empathy was annoying, let alone respect for Clara’s things.
Investigating further, she’d found that most of her sketchbooks and paintings were gone, too. “Mom, where are my canvases?”“I don’t appreciate that tone. I kept what was good.”“It wasn’t your place to decide what was and wasn’t good,” Clara had countered.Her mother pursed her lips. “In my house, I decide what stays and goes.”Clara suppressed her hurt at having her creations discarded. Wordlessly, she’d gathered everything in her room, packed it in boxes, and took the lot with her. She had bonded with her books, cried over those pages, learned about who she was, and travelled alongside the characters. Seeing them gone had been another harsh reminder of the battle for control still being waged between mother and daughter.
Now, in her new apartment, Clara had already hung up her small paintings that she’d salvaged with thrifted frames Grace had helped her find. Small sculptures of animals and abstract shapes held up groups of books or placed lovingly on the fireplace mantle.
The little green cellphone on the couch showed two missed calls from her folks, neither of which she’d returned.
Clara’s priority was establishing a sense of home in her new apartment. She needed to feel at peace here. So until she felt settled here, Clara would be silent. Odds were that she would follow in Violet’s footsteps, remain vague about her job at Morning Glory, and not invite her parents here anytime soon.
“Every bull is different. Being adaptive to their needs is imperative so they feel comfortable returning. Some unique cases may require cajoling, words of affirmation, and additional stimulation. It is important to strike a balance between helpfulness and professionalism.”Clara wondered at the fox’s words. It was a fine line, indeed.
She suspected that was why two of the girls left on Monday. The task before them likely felt like they were crossing that critical threshold between a medical profession and something more intimate. Sometimes, it was a question about the ends justifying the means. The “ends” in this case was that the lab was trying to facilitate medicine for humans.
Clara set aside her collection of science fiction and sat on the couch, bringing her laptop atop her thighs for some research. What exactly was the pharmaceutical side producing with these collections?Within half an hour, over twenty tabs were open on her screen, and she downloaded every morsel of information thrown at her. Some samples were donated to various medical universities around the country studied for autoimmune diseases—according to different scientific articles, non-human species were less prone to diseases and viruses. Another significant portion was used to help create medication for men suffering from fertility, premature ejaculation, and erectile dysfunction. The final area being investigated was the growth hormone.
Clara’s childhood friend, Tian, was becoming a doctor. She’d try to connect with him to understand some of the heavier articles. Somehow, knowing how valuable Morning Glory’s contribution was to the medical field helped deepen her sense of purpose.
Satisfied with the current search, Clara set her laptop aside and started her record player. She’d had enough research and instructional videos for a day.Besides, the videos didn’t show anything fun.Her self-control was at an all-time low. She’d had a few interactions at work that left her feeling a deep longing. But, as she knew all too well, it was because she was lonely.
I wonder if Violet felt the same way when she started before she met Roark.
She’d met Violet’s partner twice so far, and he was precisely the kind of person Clara would have wanted for her best friend: he was kind, intelligent, had a good sense of humour, and was responsible. And he was very much as virile and attractive as most minotaurs were. Maybe he was too stubborn and set in his ways for Clara but an excellent fit for Violet, who liked to follow. Clara knew she needed someone flexible, who’d share the wheel now and then, indulge her curiosity, but hang around and take over if needed.
Although all the other clients from the rest of the week were lovely, Clara’s experience with Dane and Lance was the best and, by far, the most compelling. Thoughts of them trembling and thrusting entered her mind at the most inopportune times: showers, getting dressed, waiting in between clients while she read in the break area of the locker room, and at night, trying to fall asleep. She had resisted as best she could. But she’d be lying to herself if it wasn’t becoming increasingly more complex.Her cell pinged, and Clara saw Violet’s text message: “Wear something cute tonight. I’m taking you to this hidden, fancy cocktail bar ;).” Perfect, thought Clara. And she responded with a sarcastic: “Cute, huh? So, Polka dots and pigtails?”Violet’s response was immediate: “I meant sexy. Polka dots and pigtails will only attract good little cows *eye roll*”Clara laughed. “Got it, captain. See you at 1900 hours *salute emoji*”Violet may not have enjoyed dressing up for their ‘good little cow’ client yesterday morning, but Clara had a great time. She loved the Swiss-like milkmaid apron and shirt with puffed sleeves, and she’d loved the client (initials MD) moaning about how much he needed them to milk him dry. In fairness, playing out the milkmaid routine could get old fast, but now and then, it was fun. Violet ended the session as quickly as possible, nearly ripping off her apron as soon as MD left.
“Thanks for doing the dialogue with him. That’s not something I’ve ever been good at,” Violet had said while scrubbing her hands in the sink.
At this point, Violet was letting Clara do all the tasks before and after each client, so she finished printing out the label with the client code and weight and placed it in the metal transition box. “It’s fine, I don’t mind.”“You’re good at it. You can think on your feet,” said Violet over her shoulder. “I’m impressed.”Clara didn’t want to say how many other things she’d wanted to say to Minotaur MD. The talent was suppressing the reactions and dialogue she wanted to have. Later, Violet went to train the elf, Thaliora, leaving Clara with a 45-minute break. The scene came flooding back, this time using the more sensual dialogue she’d wanted to have. Squirming in the gingham wingback chair, she tried to focus on the book in her lap, ‘The Will of the Many.’ But, try as she might, she just kept thinking about his dilated, pleading eyes. “Please,” he had groaned, “I’ve been so good. I have so much milk.”She had wanted to call him a good boy, tell him how creamy and delicious his milk looked, how much she liked gleaning it from him, slowly and greedily, and that she needed him to be a good little cow and make more for her soon.
Instead, she had said anything she could think of that sounded neutral, friendly, and encouraging, such as “There you go” and “It’s getting so full.” Her heart ached for him a little when he’d begged for reassurance. It was hard being so vulnerable, Clara knew. Contact wasn’t something her training had covered; she’d longed to brush the hair out of his eyes.
That’s it, she thought, you are finding a therapist the moment you get your benefits. You’re going to drive yourself insane. What if you’re some kind of addict? Callum had been ruthless to her during their 3-year-long relationship. Initially, he loved her wild and playful side. But the moment she’d moved in with him, things had taken a turn; from what she ate and wore to how often they were intimate, Callum liked exerting his will. He had become increasingly critical of her appearance when attending school. One day, Clara returned to find half her t-shirts, leggings, and thongs thrown out.
She should have left then and there.
Instead, he had psychoanalyzed her in such a twisted way that she’d felt guilty for how she looked. Guilty for being curvy, having red hair, and simply looking like herself and not covering it up.
Reminding herself to be kind, she recited some wise words an Indigenous elder has shared with her in school: “ The opinions of others do not define me. ”It had taken her months to undo the damage he’d done. Wearing a t-shirt and leggings wasn’t a crime, nor a cry for attention; they were just basics to throw on before class. She’d realized far too late that Callum would encourage her to show off and dress to entice when they went out, only to turn the tables later to call her attention-seeking, or worse, once they got home. He’d hated seeing other people and noticed when anyone looked in her direction. He was strangely jealous of the attention she received and overtly threatened by any man who dared to talk to her. For Callum, it wasn’t about possessiveness; it was about control. Again. Just like her folks.
One day, while on a walk, a thought plunged into her brain like a sobering cold drop of rain on a hot summer day: she’d attracted a partner exactly like her mother.
Clara had returned to their apartment, broken up with him with such detached calmness and certainty that he’d been too stunned to say anything. She had felt light as a feather while simultaneously feeling more grounded the moment she had moved out two days later.
Walking into her closet, Clara rifled through her tops. Most of her clothes were still basics—the former engineer in her thrived on predictable and economical choices. But, over the past year, she’d collected more exciting and fun items. Wanting to experiment with every style, colour, material, and cut, Clara wasn’t wasting any more of her 20s hiding away under some implied requirement for false modesty. It was time for her to have fun. She was 28 for crying out loud! There were a few clothes here and there that would have made Callum’s blood boil, which gave her a devilish thrill. On the off chance she’d ever run into him, Clara hoped she’d give him an aneurysm.
Her favourite thing in the world was wearing low-cut tops without a bra. She was petite and chesty enough that it didn’t take much effort for most tops to look low-cut. The plum-coloured body suit she pulled out was practically lingerie: crisscrossing straps over lace with an opening down the middle that almost extended to her naval. Paired with some nice jeans and heels, she’d be ready to go.
Clara heard the phone ping again, and she rushed to the bathroom, fluffed her thick red hair with curls at the base, found the Jo Malone nectarine perfume, and then ran downstairs just as Violet got out of the car as Roark dropped her off.
“Heya, Clara,” called the minotaur from within his massive SUV, “have a good night at the Lounge! Violet, call me if you need a lift. Otherwise, I’ll join you guys later.”He gave Violet a small peck, then drove off down the Main Street.
Her friend beamed, “Wow, ok! That is very sexy!”Clara gave her a little smile and returned the compliment before they walked together towards the Lounge. Main Street in the evening was charming—shopkeepers decorated their display windows with lights and fun items, and the community went out of their way to delineate outdoor patios with flower planters. The two women passed groups of friends and families walking down the tree-lined street, abuzz during Friday twilight hour. After a couple of blocks, they reached a small back alley door with a metal sign showing one drop of blood.
“Red Oracle Lounge!” Said Violet, gesturing to the unassuming alley door, covered in flaking black paint, rust, and marks from it having been kicked and scraped against. “It’s sort of a speakeasy, hidden underground. Run by Vampires—they drink your blood and see your future!”Clara gaped. That sounded incredibly cool. “They bite your neck, and then they can see your future?”
“We will find out,” Violet said, yanking the heavy metal door open. Suddenly, a cacophony reached their ears, confirming that just down the bare metal stairs in the basement was a busy, vibrant venue.The lounge was a study in dark, moody, Art Deco decor. It was equally plush and modern, with a well-appointed bar, high-top tables, and what looked like black booths on one side. The lights hanging from the ceiling were fringed with dark red tassels resembling blood. The atmosphere felt like a Great Gatsby speakeasy.Wading through the diverse crowd of satyrs, witches, orcs and more, Clara followed Violet, who liked sitting at the bar to look at the drink bottles. Violet loved sampling whatever was the best. It was something Clara sincerely appreciated about her friend. If there were something to celebrate, it would be celebrated with something of quality. Violet spoke over her shoulder as if on cue and said, “I’m getting us the first round as congratulations for blasting through training so fast and you officially starting on your own Monday.”Clara beamed. “Order whatever you like! I trust you!”Looking around, she caught a few eyes on them, and she felt her skin sparkle with life. She didn’t necessarily chase the spotlight, but being seen was appreciated. One satyr raised his glass to her seductively as she continued behind Violet, her friend holding her hand and expertly weaving them past the high-top tables. Turning around one table, Clara found herself chest to chest with a handsome, onyx-coloured Anubis. “Careful there, little one,” he’d growled teasingly at her.
“S-sorry,” she stammered, some of her shyness peeking out as she saw him drink in her plunging neckline.
Violet continued the trek towards the bar until they finally pressed their fingers into the dark marble top. They lifted themselves onto velvet bar stools and grinned at each other, “This is just like old times in school,” said Clara.
“Yes, except this is way classier than the Fox and Burrow Tavern,” Violet returned, looking around appreciatively. “Roark said it would be busy here, but I didn’t realize it would be so packed!”Clara shrugged off her leather bomber, “Lucky for us, there are seats at the bar, just how you like.”The jackal-man Anubis from earlier walked behind the bar and gave them both an inviting smile, “Well, hello there, welcome to Red Oracle.”“Hi,” chirped the girls.
Clara had to blink a little to stop drinking him in.His smile broadened, “I’m Zahuris, your bartender… and by the looks of it, neither of you have been here before.” He artfully procured two black menus and walked them through it. “If you do not have vampiric tastes, stick to the left side of the menu. And if you feel overwhelmed by choices, I have an excellent intuition for making drinks for pretty women.”Clara’s eyes twinkled, “I like the idea of being intuited and surprised!”“Me too,” declared Violet, pressing the menu back down with her long red fingernails. “I’ll take anything, as long as there’s no tequila in it.”Zahuris nodded and then looked to Clara for any guidance or preferences.
She faltered a little under his gaze. “I uh, I’ll… I’m good with anything.”He gave a soft nod and got to work.
Clara curled her body slightly in embarrassment as she turned to Violet, “Oh my God, I couldn’t think when he looked at me like that!”Violet laughed, “Ya, you were definitely giving him eyes, Clara.”Had she been that obvious?“He is just… well,” she dropped her voice to ensure Zahuris wouldn’t overhear her, “he’s beautiful!”“Good,” said Violet, “because tonight, my goal is to encourage you to branch out maybe and date a little. Maybe you’d like… I don’t know, that satyr over there?” Vi gestured to a tall, blonde satyr wearing academic glassing and a mischievous grin, chatting with his friends.
“Yup, he’s cute. But you’re suggesting him because you know I’m weak for glasses. And height. And nice smiles.”Violet lifted a single brow, confirming the ploy.
Clara pointedly ignored Zahuris as he flipped the cocktail mixer and reached for bottles high up on the rack before them, showing off his lean body. She could tell he was a great bartender, and she knew he was making a killing in tips just from being pure eye candy.
Again, she felt a little confused at her constant state of horniness. She needed to calm down.“There are so many vampires here,” she said, her voice trailing off a little.
Violet mirrored the direction she was looking in and spotted a group of elegant, stately Vampires that had interesting avant-garde features. “Well, this is their establishment. Vampire-owned and operated.”She rubbed her neck, feeling nervous looking at the group. They had a distinct detached manner to them but were equally predatorial. As soon as she finished rubbing her skin, one of them inhaled deeply and turned his head abruptly towards her, evidently catching her smell.
Clara sucked in her breath and leaned towards her friend, “Oh no, I think I may have set one off! Vi, what do I do?”Violet chuckled. “Relax, this is a blood bar, too. You won’t be attacked by vampires here or in Cambric Creek. But we are the only humans here, by the looks of it.”Clara’s spine tingled once more, and some of her fears waned, though not wholly.
“Here we are, ladies,” Zahuris said, presenting them each with delicate, long-stemmed fluted coupes, each one distinct and delicately beautiful. “For my brunette beauty, an espresso martini with some creme of cocoa, vanilla syrup… and because you love the finer things in life: gold dust.”Violet’s mouth dropped open as she gently brought the glass towards her. “Zahuris, wow! This is beautiful! And super eerie that you figured out my obsession with coffee…”She took the glass and smelled the martini. Her tongue tentatively lapped at some gold dusting before taking a delicate sip, “mmm, yes. Fantastic!”His eyes crickled with pleasure, “good?”“The best I’ve ever had, I think!”“That’s what a man likes to hear,” he said. His voice was low and refined. Turning to Clara, he slid a white, slightly opalescent drink towards her and pronounced: “ Milk of the Eclipse for you, my pale, little minx.”Clara looked down at the swirling cocktail. It looked like moonlight in a glass.
“I’ve never heard of this kind of drink at all…” she whispered.
Next to her, Violet was lost in the smokey delight of her espresso martini.Zahuris leaned in, smiling at her. “Your skin and the combination of mystery and innocence in you inspired me.”Clara’s heart fluttered in response.
“And perhaps the desire in you too,” he added softly under his breath, so softly, Clara was sure Violet had not heard him.She regarded him with total surprise, but he continued, “A rum-based cocktail, creme de cassis, vanilla almond milk, condensed milk, flourished with orange chocolate bitters and pomegranate seeds… for the girl who longs to know the world at night.” He dipped his head and turned away, leaving Clara bewildered.Had she just been seduced by a jackal-man bartender?“Mmm,” intoned Violet, licking some froth from her lips, “that looks good, what is it?”“He said it was called ‘Milk of the Eclipse…” said Clara, raising her glass. The flavour was potent and creamy with a dark edge. It was perfect. “Try this, Vi, it’s like… like something Hades would make for Persephone.”Violet sipped, savoured and nodded, “That description was spot on.”The two sat, reverently sipping their cocktails while taking in the languid crowd, moving around like silken shadows over the darkened booths and tables. The soft light illuminated wondering eyes, sly smiles and the occasional ripple of laughter wafted over.
“I love it here,” said Clara. “I don’t think there’s anything like this in Bridgeton.”Violet shook her head, “No. I think the locals here really put in a lot of effort. They want Cambric Creek to be as well appointed as a big city, so it’s kind of self-sustaining?”“That makes sense.”“Since I moved here, I seriously miss nothing about Bridgeton. Well, maybe a few museums, but that’s fine. Roark and I occasionally will go on a little day trip now and then. But people absolutely at us…”Clara turned to Violet. “Why? Because he’s a minotaur?”“Yup. Guys especially; they’re just so judgemental.”Clara’s eyebrows quirked. “Probably angry that a minotaur seduced a human woman away from the human men.”Violet’s lips quirked. “One hundred percent. But,” she sighed, “then they need to step up and do better. Guys in Cambric Creek are way better… just more gentlemanly. It’s a smaller community, so people take care to be kind and have a good reputation. Word gets around fast if someone acts like a jerk.”“Huh, ok, makes sense.”“Would you ever consider dating a non-human?” asked her friend earnestly, some of the caffeine from her drink kicking in.
Don’t you worry, thought Clara. All I ever think about now are non-human men—minotaurs in particular. “I feel like you should give maybe a minotaur a shot or a satyr.” I’d give anyone in this bar a shot, as long as they were kind and a fun time. Clara’s thoughts continued to answer.“Minotaurs… I get it; they’re a bit intimidating. But they’re great partners and loyal, actually. I think it’s in their DNA. I looked into it, and the species have very low divorce rates.” Wait, isn’t Roark divorced? Clara thought but didn’t want to interrupt her friend's rant.“I know Roark is divorced,” Violet included as if reading Clara’s thoughts, “but they also found each other too young and grew apart. But listen, I know a few single minotaur guys—and no! Not clients, but Roark’s friends. There’s two I think you’d like—”
I’ll take both, thanks, Vi.
“—one guy named Aster; God, he’s so funny! Frankly, he’s the life of the party; he’d take you out so much, you’d have all the fun. And I know he likes humans because he’s dated a few human girls… well, now that I think of it, quite a few…. You can meet him and see?”
He sounds like a player, but that's okay.
“There’s also Brogan. ” Violet paused, her lips pursed above the rim of her coupe, thinking deeply. The alcohol had hit; Violet was getting chatty: “Ok, well, Brogan is quieter at first. You have to get to know him. He scared the shit out of me the first time I met him.”Clara’s ears perked.
“He’s sort of intense? I mean, Aster is very intense in his life; he goes hard and takes life to the fullest approach,” Violet rambled. “Brogan is an intense… observer? You know? But he’s smart and super sarcastic. He and Roark used to work together. Brogan was his financial advisor. But now they play a lot of sports and all that.”“How does he know Astor?”“Astor uhm… Astor dated Roark's ex, Tamsyn. Not a long time, just sort of casually. But once they broke up, Astor had heard of Roark and reached out. They kind of connected over the fact that Tamsyn, uhm. I don’t want to speak ill of her.”Clara tilted her head in understanding, “It’s ok, Vi. You don’t have to tell me. It was probably a timing thing?”“Oh, totally!” Violet said, jumping at Clara’s words, “It was totally the wrong timing!”Clara took another sip of the elixir, savouring the milky undertones.
“But Astor has been around a lot. He’s seeing Roark and me together, and I think he’s been hinting that he wants to settle down. And he’d be so great for you!”Clara nodded. This cocktail was addling her senses. Without a glimmer of awareness, she blurted out, “I think I just wanna get laid without a relationship, Vi.”Violet paused, her drink half raised. “Like… friends with benefits?”Clara shook her head, no. “Like, just have fun.”Her friend's eye widened, and then she scanned the room with renewed purpose. “There’s gotta be someone here then! Why not have a bit of fun, right?”Clara offered her a radiant, appreciative grin.
Gotta love Violet, she thought.
“So what are we working with here? What are your needs, requirements, attractions,” asked her friend, eyes lifting over the rim of the coupe as she turned in her chair.
“I just want someone similar in age to me. Mature. Fun. And maybe with some zest to their personality.
Violet gently indicated a vampire in the distant corner. He had beautiful high cheekbones, old-money-styled hair, and full lips. He was attractive, but Clara shook her head, “Too… uhm… haughty?”“Ah ok, ok, maybe more rugged,” she tilted her head to a black-haired werewolf walking towards the back of the room.
“Oh, yeah, maybe. But intimidating!”“There’s a gorgeous elf over there who’s been eyeing you for a while,” Violet nudged her chin towards a raised booth where three elven men chatted with one another, their delicate fingers tracing their glasses. The one Violet spoke of had nearly white hair down to his collarbone, pointed ears, and deep amethyst eyes.“He fits the mature part, but he doesn’t seem to have a ton of zest,” said Clara as their eyes met. He immediately looked away from being caught; she wanted someone more bold.
“May I offer you ladies refills,” came the low baritone of Zahuris from behind them.Clara was startled, and Violet almost jumped out of her chair.
The Anubis chuckled. “The same again? Or are we still sampling the goods?” He asked knowingly, his eyes grazing over the crowd they had just surveyed, confirming that he’d heard them assessing the men in the room.Violet squealed, “You heard us?”“Yeah.”“Wait,” said Clara, the blush on her face travelling past her collarbones, “exactly what did you hear?”“Every word, dove,” he winked at her. “And you’re right, Leander does lack zest. But he makes up for it by knowing everything there is to know about accounting if that gets your blood pumping.”Clara laughed. Of course, the bartender knows the scoop on everyone. “What about the vampire we were looking at,” asked Violet, thrilled at having a co-conspirator.
Zahuris leaned to take in the rich-looking Vampire who looked like he lived in dark Ralph Lauren sweaters. “That is Dorian, and I believe our little dove here would like him. He’s not as snobby as he looks. But he’s still a snob.”Clara couldn’t contain the giggles. She blamed the Milk of the Eclipse. “What is he a snob about?”“Books. He’s a writer.”Violet’s palms hit the bartop, “Clara reads more than anyone I know.”Zahuris surveyed Clara and asked, “What kinds of books?”Clara sipped the last dregs of her cocktail, “Everything and none of your business.”His smirk crinkled his eyes again as he nodded, “Right, so probably not Dorian, he’s a Russian Lit PhD….” Hang on, thought Clara. I want to know him now. I’ve read Tolstoy… Violet had already moved on, however. “What about that werewolf that went behind the curtain? He had black fur.”Zahuris raised his eyebrows at Violet, “You're going to throw your little redhead friend here to a Werewolf as her first experience with a non-human? And you chose Rowan of all people?”Clara’s curiosity bubbled over. “Why? What’s wrong with poor Rowan?”“Poor Rowan has a redhead fetish—” Ah, Clara cringed a little. That could go either way for me. “—is currently close to his lunar phase, which means he is extra spicy—” Yes, please, thought Clara.“Extra rough.”
Go on.
“And very extra fertile,” finished Zahuris.

Woah there! Nevermind.
Violet reared back a little, saying, “I forgot about that, oops.”Zahuris was already remixing their drinks, expertly pouring, stirring, and sifting with both hands, hardly looking at the drinks. “I don’t want to impose my opinion on whom you should pursue to ‘have some fun’ with, but I would be remiss if I didn’t suggest a bit of research. You can come to me for that.… All you’d have to do, Dove, is just walk around,” he said to her. His eyes travelled down her neck to her cleavage, resting his eyes there for a fraction of a second longer. “You’re amongst beasts here, little one.”Clara swallowed.
And she felt the distinct clench between her legs, letting her know that she’d be spending the rest of the night in sharp, sexual torment.
She squirmed ever-so-slightly and noticed Zahuris’ eye dilate; he inhaled sharply, then straightened abruptly, away from her. “In the meantime, why not have one of the vampiresses give their perspective on what you should do? The Oracle section is just over there.” He raised his broad hand to indicate the drape-covered booths in the darkest corner of the lounge.
“Love that idea,” announced Violet. “Grab your drink, Clara. I want to see what my future holds.”Hardly getting a chance to wrap her fingers around the newly made drink, Clara jolted as Violet yanked her towards the booths with heavy velvet curtains. The crowd density in the bar had increased in the last hour. Everywhere Violet led her was through a crush of bodies. Once again, Clara found herself chest-to-chest against club visitors. A few boldly looked down her top and lasciviously smiled down at her. Some brushed the backs of their furry hands against her upper arm, and one particularly bold werewolf practically growled in her ear, “Yum yum.”
Clara’s skin thrilled. Her nipples hardened, and a nearby centaur practically moaned when he noticed.
“It is so freaking packed in here now!” Yelled Violet, tugging a little more insistently on Clara’s hand.
“Uh-huh.” She was busy looking back up at the Centaur. He was huge but probably too old for her.
“Nearly there,” announced Violet as they edged along a pack of orcs.
Finally, they reached a deep red curtain, pulled aside with gold corded rope, finished in luxurious tasselled that trailed all the way down to the floor. Inside the arched nook, sat a beautiful Vampiress, with black hair and bold red lips, her eyes shining under the lone wall sconce. “Come on in, ladies. I’m Ravenna.” Ravenna was statuesque and angular; her legs were crossed, and she had that way of leaning that made her look like she was having a cigarette and looking very sexy.The girls slid onto the bench opposite the friendly vampire with a beautiful smile. “It’s a pleasure, hi,” said Clara.
“So excited to try this, but we’ve never done it before.”Closing the curtain, Ravenna smiled, “Yes, I gathered. Who’d like to go first?”Violet indicated she wanted to go first.
“The blood is drawn with a pinprick, nothing extravagant—-certainly no fangs. The prick can be anywhere, though we recommend a finger from your non-dominant hand because the skin heals quickly.
The brunette agreed and extended her left hand. Ravenna drew out a thin, long needling for a sterilizing container and gently pressed the point into Violet’s pinky. A small bead of blood bloomed from that point, and Ravenna dipped her head, “are you ready?”Violet nodded, a smile of anticipation spreading across her face.
Ravenna lapped the bead slowly, then savoured the flavour with her eyes closed. “Interesting. Violet. The next few months will be happy ones. That thing you’ve been hoping will be happening before the end of the year is over. There will be some travel for you as well, somewhere tropical. An offer will be made to you within a few months that will require a difficult decision—-but you will be happy regardless of the choice…”
Violet hushed, “Oh my gosh, wait. The thing I want to happen will happen?”Ravenna's lush lips drew into a slow smile as she dipped her head, “Yes. I believe an engagement will take place before the year is over.”“Vi! That’s amazing!!” Cheered Clara, knowing that Violet would love for that next step with Roark.
“I’m so excited! I wonder how he’ll do it?”“He hasn’t decided how just yet,” Ravenna continued. “But he’s had the ring for a while now.”Violet practically bounced up and down.
“If I may, I’d like to warn you against inviting your great-aunt Maureen to the wedding. My vision indicated she’d not welcome your partner, and she’ll make a stink of it during the ceremony,” said Ravenna, her eyes dancing from having seen the chaos.Violet swatted her hand, “trust me, I’d never consider it. But I appreciate the added info.”
Clara giggled. She’d met Maureen once. “But if you don’t invite her, who will bring extra wet coleslaw to the reception?”Violet gave her a withering look.
Ravenna offered her hand to take Clara’s next. Clara placed her pale hand in Ravenna's even whiter fingers and was startled at how cold the vampire’s touch was. She wondered how long she’d been covered but gathered it would be rude to ask. Just as before, Ravenna delicately pricked her left pinky until a bead of blood swelled from Clara’s pale hands. And Ravenna wrapped her tongue around the red bud, then turned it in her mouth as though she were judging wine at a vineyard.
Ravenna's eyes locked with Clara’s, and they shone with mischief. “Well, my dear, what a wild ride that will be for you.”Glancing from Violet back to the vampire, anticipation built inside her chest. “What? What did you see?”“You’re entering an interesting phase of your life, Clara. It's an exciting phase. A blossoming, if you will.”
“I don’t get it,” whispered Violet next to her.“Clara here,” said Ravenna, “has never had the real freedom to be herself and experiment, free from the shadow of her family’s judgemental eye, free from authoritative partners. The freedom you’ve fought for, you’ll finally have it.”Her heart thrummed so fiercely that she was sure Ravenna could see it. “Will… what will happen?” She asked breathlessly.“Everything you’ve ever imagined will be at your fingertips. You just need the courage to say ‘yes’…” Ravenna‘s sly eyes were telling everything Clara was thinking without being crude.
“Honestly,” Violet said, “moving here also gave me some freedom, so this does make sense.”Ravenna's head tilted to Violet, but her eyes returned to Clara. “You’ll need to be bold in how you communicate to others. The other thing I see is an old door closing in your life. Your folks. It is time you established genuine boundaries with them.”Clara’s excitement burst. Of course, there would be some bad news, too.
“Unfortunately, you didn’t establish them forcefully enough earlier. Doing so now will feel hard and cold. Rest assured that doing it now will save the relationship later,” Ravenna said, her expression kind and conciliatory. Clara wondered how much she’d seen of her past.
“This is where you are meant to be, Clara Ellsworth. There is no doubt.”
She felt a layer of peace wash over her. It felt good being here, close to Violet. It was a solid three-hour drive away from her folks. But Ravenna’s reassurance gave her that final sense of certainty.
Ravenna dapped a delicate handkerchief to her mouth. “One more thing, Clara. There will be a time when you might feel pressured to do things per the status quo; I’d advise you to follow your instincts instead.”
Clara blinked but thanked the Vampire. With a gracious nod, Ravenna saw them out of her booth and urged them to come back to tell her what she’d said had transpired.
Violet was on cloud nine; since her reading, her eyes were glazed over with thoughts of Roark and a proposal. Her friend wasn’t wedding-obsessed, but she was very committed to Roark and enjoyed the security and routine he provided her.
Tracing their steps towards the exit door to leave, Clara glanced one more time around the bar and caught Zahuris looking back at her.
He gave her a playful wink.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 4 Milking

Clara reached a breaking point that Friday night after leaving the Blood Oracle Lounge.She was sure it stemmed from the constant proximity, near touches, lingering gazes, and the added intensity of her own desires. The allure of the unknown—what it might feel like to be with something non-human—captivated her. She couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if they were aroused and teased to such an extent that the niceties were stripped away, and pure animal mating drove their instinct. What would that feel like?She had gone home after the lounge, thinking of every near encounter, every brush against her arms and chest, Zahuris gazing at her meaningfully and how huge the werewolf had looked, walking away with a heavy stride.
You’re like a kid in a candy shop! But you are off candy, remember? Clara’s internal chiding did nothing to stop her fingers from groping through herself and then furiously rubbing and playing with her swollen clit and slippery little pussy later that night.By Saturday morning, she was unboxing her pitiful collection of sex toys and sighed. Her imagination was good but not good enough to compensate for her dildo’s lack of girth. Being an active dancer and having over a decade of practice making herself cum, Clara knew she was tight—the feeling she chased was of being overwhelmingly stretched open.
Determined, she climbed in her car and drove around Cambric Creek to find a sex toy store to finally address her growing hunger for being stretched open. If she were going to manage her feelings at work, she’d need bigger dildos. After three days of seeing how worked up she got, and how aroused she was on her way home, she knew this was an investment towards her remaining more neutral at work with clients.
The trip proved fruitless.

I guess people in Cambric Creek aren’t all that needy… or kinky.
Venturing further out, the smaller towns were even more fruitless. She knew the stores in Bridgeton wouldn’t have what she needed; they were all full of humanoid toys and BDSM accoutrement, which had waned in their appeal to her long ago.
The drive had been beautiful and informative, she got to know the town and its surroundings better, but she climbed up her condo’s historic curved stairs more than a little annoyed and frustrated. I just want one stupid minotaur cock! She huffed, reaching the 3rd floor landing. Damn, I need to get back to the gym… three flights, Clara? Really? You’re winded after just three flights. She burst into her foyer, tossed her sweater onto the coat rack, slipped out of her sneakers, and located the laptop on the window seat in the living room. Settling in, her fingers raced to type ‘Minotaur Dildo.’
Immediately, her screen responded as though it knew how frustrated she was.

‘Guess I’m not the only one who wants to feel stretched and stuffed.

‘Minotaur bull cock, sizes small to extra large, colours vary from natural skin tones to colours.’ Clara hoovered over the sample images, nearly salivating. The members she was used to handling and seeing at work varied between medium to large, nine to twelve inches long, thicker than a can of soda. The toys looked equally as heavy as the real minotaur cocks, veiny, the bases of the toy shaped like large bull balls. Perfect,The greedy need between her legs wanted one of each. Her brain wanted a medium one while her heart and pussy squirmed for the larger one.
Her wallet wanted a discount.
Ultimately, Clara chose a sensible medium in a dark plum colour. It would still be the largest thing she’d ever experienced. She wasn’t even sure if she would enjoy the sensation of it as a toy. Part of her hoped she’d hate it. Then, her mind would be clear at work. She could set her fixation on something else.
Resisting the temptation to look at other toys, she continued to check out and selected the option to expedite the shipment so that it would arrive as soon as possible. Monday night was the earliest she’d receive the package. 48 hours or more torment.

__
Monday morning, Clara went in, determined to have a good, productive day at Morning Glory.
This was her first day alone with clients, unsupervised. Violet was at her other job at the museum, so any issues or questions she had would have to go to Ms Gillian or a moth-girl named Suzanna, who was an introvert and very helpful.Clara wiggled into her light purple scrubs, rolled her hair into a messy bun, and reviewed the first clipboard in her section of the working wall Violet had organized for the team. Looking at the ledger, she saw the names of some employees she’d yet to meet and noticed that the remaining trainees from her first day at Morning Glory were now on the wall but still in training: Andarna and Turiel.
Glancing at the clipboard, Clara’s heart fluttered a little seeing Lance’s sheet:
Lance McConnor
6’9”, 768 lbs
D.O.B. March 2nd, 1994
Preferences: Ms. Clara, please and talking through the session
Clara glowed a little, recalling how he’d responded to her when she had said his name while touching him. She walked into the milking room and set up, excitement fluttering her pulse with every passing minute until he finally entered the room.Lifting his cowboy hat up, he greeted her shyly with a soft, “Ms Clara, hello there.”He was adorable with how shy he was, but his smile was warm and inviting.
She smiled cheerfully, “Oh, hi Lance! It's a pleasure to see you again!”He nodded, “Ma’am,” and hesitated a little before getting undressed slowly. She put on her facemask and watched him remove and fold his jeans nicely. Such a farm boy , she thought, proper, manners, organized, and careful with his things.
She waited until he straddled the bench and slid his cock through the milking hole. Clara stared at his cock and then back at him. They both blushed simultaneously.
“Ok, Lance, that’s good. I’d like to get started on you now,” she said, her voice a little breathy.“Please miss.”She nodded, sat, and filled her warm hands with a decent amount of lubrication. She rubbed her hands together and said, “I’m so glad you were comfortable enough to come back, Lance.”She heard him swallow hard.
“I, uh, I understand now why the boys like it so much.”She giggled softly and then touched him gently.
Clara wasn’t sure, but by her estimation, they both inwardly groaned at the same time. His cock was heavy and stiff… he must have shown up already fully hard. It twitched at her touch.She pressed her lips together and remembered Violet’s works and the training video: A swift and plentiful collection is best for you and the client.
Setting her mind to work, she wrapped both her hands around him and began to pump up and down.
“How is that, Lance?”He nodded, his eyes half-lidded.
“I want to add a bit more pressure,” she said, giving him a quick example of what she meant by squeezing her hands under his glans. “Can I do that for you, Lance?”He let out a deep breath and wheezed, “Yes, please, Ms Clara.”“Thank you.” She began twisting her hands and tightening them with every upward tug. His breathing deepened, and she could see his hands gripping the edge of the wall he was leaning against. “There you go, Lance, just relax into it. I like making you comfortable like this.”At her words, he shuddered just a little, and Clara noticed his balls swell and stiffen. She dipped her hand lower and gently traced a knuckle against his sack. “Here?”He grunted and nodded, “Please, Ms Clara.”“Do you need me to play with your balls, Lance?”“So much, Ms, yes!”Clara felt the tell-tale thickening and tremble at the base of his cock, and started the machine. As soon as the sleeve was on him, Lance let go and let himself buck deeply into it while Clara stroked his balls, large like individual grapefruits.
“Ms Clara, it’s too much,” he grunted, still bucking harder and harder.
A soft sigh escaped her, and she took her left hand and gently worked the tube over his cock up and down his shaft, easing the overall pressure. “How’s that, Lance?”He keened and nodded ever so slightly as she looked up at him. Their eyes locked, and she stroked and massaged his heavy sack.
Within seconds, she felt the container start to fill, but she didn’t look down at it; she just continued pumping. “There you go,” she whispered, watching him rut loudly against the padded wall. All the while, she held his gaze.
Finally, as he started to calm down a little, she tore her eyes away and looked down. The container was nearly full. He was panting and weak.She removed the container and went to the weighing device at the side of the room. “Twenty-four ounces, Lance.” Clara turned to look at him and approached slowly, watching him relax and his breath evening. “I’m so impressed with you. I knew you had a lot in you.”At her words, his cock stiffened against in the corner of her eye, and again, she felt a change in his breathing.“Uhm, Lance? Are you ok?”He eyed her warily, one part embarrassed and the other worried. “Miss, you’ll want to attach another container to that thing,” he said, nudging his snout toward the suction device.She moved quickly. Within seconds, another glass container was added to the end of the tube, and the milking machine turned on. Before submerging his cock within the sleeve once more, she looked up again, asking softly, “Are you sure, Lance? Do you have more cum for me?”His eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head, but already, he was cumming again.
“Oh my goodness, Lance,” she said, breathy and incredulous, “how are you so full?”He bucked harder into the tube she was holding, and the force of his thrust rippled through her down to her core. Clara immediately felt herself clench deeply.
“Ms Clara, ugh, God,” Lance grunted, thrusting more and more.
“Give me all of it, Lance.”Those were the words that switched the dial for him. His dark blue eyes dilated, and he growled loudly, filling the glass canister with more cum. After his final thrust, Lance nearly collapsed on the top of the rutting wall and trembled every so slightly.
Clara leaned in cautiously, whispering, “Are you ok, sweetie?”He hummed quietly and gave her the slightest nod.
“Take it easy, Lance. I think what you just did there is a first for the facility.” She wanted to emphasize his comfort again, remembering his first time. What if he felt overwhelmed and self-conscious about all this? Clara wanted to ensure he was okay: “You may get a little nauseous if you move too fast. There’s no need to rush, Lance, OK?”He nodded again.
She stood by him, wishing she could stroke his back or neck. Clara felt useless, but at least she could tell his breathing was regulating.After a few minutes, she unscrewed the canister and weighted it, too—an additional eight ounces. She would have to ask Violet if this was normal. Until then, she printed two labels for each canister and made a mental note to discuss the situation with Ms. Gillian.
Turning around, she found the young minotaur dressing himself gingerly. She looked around, found a glass and filled it for him with water. “Lance, take this. Let’s make sure you’re hydrated, ok?”He gave her his signature bashful half-smile, took the glass, and swallowed the water. “Thank you, miss.”She nodded and returned to weighing the collection, trying her best not to watch him put his shirt and pants on. Clara couldn’t help but catch him trying to zip his jeans and the silent, frustrated huff, “Come on, get in there,” as he worked the zipper.
“Everything ok?” she chirped, placing the sticker on the second canister.
He nodded. “Yeah, just thinking maybe jeans aren’t the best idea after this. I’ll have to find myself something else. My grandfather would kill me if he knew I wore sweatpants.”She laughed and tidied the room, preparing it for the next session. “Maybe some soft cotton trousers? Or dig deep into your Scottish roots and wear a kilt!”He burst out laughing, and Clara found herself grinning ear to ear, seeing him so happy and comfortable. She took a lot of pride in seeing him at ease, especially after the session they had. “Lance, I wanted to thank you for today. It means a lot that you’d come back, and I noticed you requested me, too. It just gave me a lot of confidence seeing that, and I wanted to make sure you knew I was grateful.”He wasn’t uncomfortable with her sincerity, which was a breath of fresh air. Clara doubted she would’ve been able to say this to any other man or minotaur. But Lance handled it gracefully, “of course,” he said, “your being there last time made all the difference. Ms Violet is very nice, but I needed a little more connection. It’s always been like that for me.”She understood completely.As he left, she said, “You’re coming back, right Lance?”“Doubt I could stay away now, Ms Clara,” he grinned and left.
Within minutes of getting the room back in order, she found herself in the staff bathroom, alone. Clara grabbed the edge of the sink she was hovering over, steadying her breath. There was something so sexy about her session with Lance, the way he’d breathe and move, how politely he asked her to keep going. She had never really been in a relationship where she was in charge, but this gave her a taste; she liked it. It’s not like she was dominant in a demanding way, but he had begged so nicely Clara found herself deeply affected by it.
Her panties were affected by it, too; they were entirely soaked through. Rifling through a small makeup bag in her backpack, she looked to see if she’d ever bothered to pack a spare pair of panties.
Shit. Shit! I can’t walk around like this and work and think straight.

Clara walked to the front reception and approached Ms. Gillian. “May I ask you a question, please, Ms. Gillian?”The older woman nodded solemnly and followed Clara to the staff room. As soon as the door closed behind her, she asked, “Would it be possible for me to run home quickly, please?”Ms Gillian’s brows furrowed. “Is everything all right, dear?”
Clara shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, I just forgot a couple of things at home, and I’m wondering if there’s enough time between now and my next client for me to do a quick run back?”“Is this about the Lance boy, Mr. McConner? I saw that his information had 30 ounces inputted as part of his collection today! Did that make you uncomfortable?” The older woman asked with genuine concern and shining through her eyes.Clara shook her head, “No. No, not at all! He’s a great client…” She bit her lip, thinking of what to say to convince the older lady that she truly had to go home. Maybe a little white lie? Clara swallowed and leaned in closer to the older lady, “It’s just that I was so nervous coming in this morning and it being my first day… that I forgot it would be my first day of the month….” She trailed off, wide-eyed, hoping what she said was believable. Clara had always been a terrible liar.Ms Gillian chuckled and waved her off. “My dear, the owner may be a man, but women are running this facility! We’ve already thought about things like that!”
She motioned for Clara to follow her, and the two walked through the pantry by the café and into a diminutive butler's pantry. It was all cottage-like, with window-panelled cabinets and butcher block countertops, but as the administrator opened everything, she saw that this little treasure trove was stocked as well as any drug store.
“This room here has everything you need, from medicine for your stomach to extra socks, anything you could ever want for headaches or pain, more types of cough medicine than I even knew existed, Band-Aids, bandages,” Ms Gillian rifled through cabinets and drawers. “This place is better equipped than my own home! I’m sure you’ll find what you need in here.” With that, she patted Clara on the shoulder and left her to it.Clara looked around but knew that finding fresh underwear was highly unlikely. The idea of walking around commando for another four clients sounded uncomfortable, but walking around this wet was also out of the question.
Looking up at the clock, she saw she had 10 minutes until her next appointment.
Leaving behind the Butler’s pantry, she went to the bathroom. Thankfully, Morning Glory was not designed with stalls but individual mini bathrooms where people could get showered and change in and out of work clothes. There were four to choose from, each one decorated a little differently. Clara walked into the furthest one, covered from floor to ceiling with pretty bespoke green tile and an antique mirror above the vanity.She undressed, took off her panties and tried her best to wash and dry them frantically, without thinking about Lance, desperate not to feel the air between her legs, willing herself to focus on her task and not how horny she was.
The first thing I do, she thought as she frantically tried to dry her underwear with a towel and then the air-dryer, As soon as I get benefits, I’m getting a therapist.
Unfortunately, there was no quick way to dry them. Desperately, Clara dressed quickly, slipped on her shoes, did not bother with the laces, hung her wet underwear in her locker to dry, and jogged down the hallway to room number three.
Grasping the door open, Clara slipped inside and tripped on her laces in an almost comical way. She rolled on the floor and huffed with annoyance as she came upright in the centre of the attendant space.
“Stupid laces,” she grumbled, tying them up quickly so she could start on the room.
Suddenly, Clara heard a snort at the far end of the space.
Still crouching over her shoes, sitting on the floor, her eyes scanned the elevated floor the Minotaurs sat on to find the biggest bull she’d ever seen.
He sat on the rutting bench, completely naked. He was entirely at ease. It was as if she’d walked in on him in his own home, one arm up on the ledge, casually watching her through dark eyes. He was a beautiful onyx colour that, in some lights, appeared dark, chocolaty brown. His expression was haughty and amused as he watched her. He got up very slowly but could barely stand fully upright in the space.
She could see how powerful his chest was—the contrast between his delicate collarbones next to his thick traps and chest. All minotaurs looked large and physically threatening. But this minotaur looked like it was easy for him to be dangerous without any effort.
“So, the assistant attending me today struggles with shoelaces. ‘Can’t wait to see how this is going to go,” he said in a low, dry tone.
Clara had never been so intimidated in her life.
“Oh, I-uhm … Hello,” she let out a weak smile. “I’m Clara, and yes, I’ll be the attendant today for your… your c-collection.”He tilted his head. “I gathered that.”Her stomach twisted.Clara got up, dusted herself off, and straightened her clothing. “You’re a little early, Mr. uhm… sorry, I need to check your—““Aldridge.”His voice was deep, and his words reverberated in her bones. Clara’s self-consciousness flared like a distressed bird in a small cage. She felt too seen by him, and therefore, her anxiety flared, too. A blush washed over her whole body.She was overwhelmed.By him, by her entry and not preparing the same without him in it, by how huge he was, how unfriendly he seemed to be, by her racing heart and embarrassment at her dishevelled appearance, not to mention her lack of underwear. His eyes raked over her as she adjusted her scrubs. She could feel his judgement wafting off of him, as thick as an invisible mist engulfing her, and it just became too much.

Clara took a few deep breaths as she washed and dried her hands, but when she saw herself reflected in the metal panel of the wall, she groaned. The auburn hair was falling out of its cover, messy and loose. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to recalibrate without setting herself straight. The cap Ms Gillian had presented her with this morning was too small and could barely contain her hair. Clara gathered some loose strands and tried to push them back into the cap.
He shifted his weight on the bench, and he cleared his throat. “It’s Brogan Aldridge. Brogan will suffice.”She smiled, hoping she could mollify his intensity with some sweetness. “Brogan, I’m sorry for the disorganization. I’m not normally rolling into rooms and tripping over myself. Can you give me two minutes, please?”He didn’t reciprocate her smile. “Sure.”She had to turn away from him.
Clara needed the visual disconnect to cool her pulse and settle her hands enough to weave a simple braid down her back. She breathed a little easier once her hair was fully and securely tied off. Her eyes scanned the room, mentally checking off her list, ensuring everything was in place. Satisfied, she snapped her hair cap on and moved towards him.
“No cap,” he said gruffly.
“P-Pardon?”He moved to straddle the bench and started positioning himself to begin. “I said ‘no cap’.”Clara’s brain faltered. “I have to wear one…”His eyebrows lifted sardonically, challenging her. “Pretty sure Reed never mandated that. Violet has never worn one, to my knowledge.”Did he know her boss and her best friend? The surprise from that helped her nerves. “Well, if you insist. But if the collection goes awry because of this—“”—Yes, yes, I’ll accept the consequences,” he finished for her, almost irritated. This was a minotaur who was used to getting his way.
She removed her cap, setting it aside.
Brogan was so tall. She should see his collarbones and tops of his shoulders above the dividing wall even when he sat; his breathing deepened, and the large, broad chest rose and fell as his dark eyes raked over her again, taking in her long, red braid—Seeing him affected by her, gave Clara a sense of control. She grasped her braid and slowly slid her hand down its length nonchalantly. “Would you please slide all the way down for me, Brogan? I’m ready to get started on you.”The soft sparkle in his eye briefly brightened as he pushed his cock through the milking hole.
Clara’s sharp intake of breath was loud and involuntary.
This was the extra-large version of what she’d seen online during her toy excursion. But his cock pulsed and oozed delicious white precum from a pink velvet tip. Her eyes scanned his thick shaft over and over again, taking in his giant black balls and the quick gradient from black to mauve-pink of his cock. This girth was wider than the others she had worked on. Her lips parted, her tongue brushing them before she bit down softly on the bottom, and the cock pulsed thickly in response.When Clara made the mistake of looking back at him, she was mortified to see that he’d been watching her the entire time. A lazy, mordant smile etched on his handsome face, acknowledging his awareness of how impressive his size and girth were.
She looked away quickly, knowing that she’d have to power through this one and get it over with as soon as possible. He was annoyingly cocky and, unfortunately, has a right to think well of himself in this area , she thought. But Clara had no intention of contributing to his enjoyment at her own expense.Pumping a few handfuls of lubricant into her palms, Clara rubbed her hands together to warm up the fluid and flicked the pump on with her foot to get it started. Let’s get this over with.
“Ooooh, no. I don’t think so,” came Brogan’s thick, gravely voice.She gazed at him, confused, the knot in her stomach tightening. “Excuse me?”
“We’re not starting with the pump.”“But I—”He retracted his cock from the milking hole. “Reed has this place set up to ensure the comfort of patrons. And I am not comfortable being merely lubed up and pumped.”She blinked, mortified.
He leaned down towards her, his expression hard. But he remained quiet.
Brogan Aldridge, she realized, wanted her to fondle him a bit before being pumped, but he was too proud to say so outright. Too proud to insist on being jerked off by a human.“I always start the pump at the beginning.”He shook his head. “Nope.”Her eyes flared. “ Nope? ”“I know Violet taught you. That’s not her way. That is what I asked for; if you bothered to read my chart before falling in here on your face, Red.”Her embarrassment and anger merged into an angry, ruddy blush, “I asked for extra time—”“Yeah. You washed your hands and styled your hair. You didn’t look at my chart.”He was right, but she was fuming. This arrogant prick just wants a handjob! Her brain flickered a little just then: Isn’t this what you kind of secretly want too, though? Clara shoved down that irksome, horny voice.
“Did you?” He insisted.
“Did I what?”He scoffed, “That tumble rocked your brain cells, little Red? Did you look at my chart before coming inside; yes or no?”Clara pressed her lips together, wanting to be defiant and lie. But she knew her poker face was useless. Her eyes were a direct mirror to her thoughts. “No.”His silence was deafening.
She got up, wiped her hands on a towel and looked at his chart:
Brogan M. Aldridge
7’1”, 850 lbs
D.O.B. November 18, 1984
Preferences: A slow start prior to use of pump, eye contact.
She swallowed: eye contact? Clara’s eyes lifted to his, her expression filled with worry; this request was more intimate than dressing up or talking like Lance had wanted. Was this crossing the line? She assumed this was considered alright since the front admin had allowed it. But eye contact is for… lovers, right? That’s what it’s like in the movies. With someone who isn’t terrifying. Just as she’d finished her thought, he let out a frustrated snort. The kind of thing she’d seen bulls huff during a Spanish Bull Fight when a particularly arrogant matador would taunt the bull.
He is just too intimidating .
He met her gaze. “Can you handle that, Princess?”She truly just wanted to get this over with. She wanted him gone so she could stop feeling so exposed, vulnerable, and flustered.
Internally, she was fighting to keep her pride in check: think of Violet; she needs you to help. You can’t embarrass her. You need this job, it’ll give you freedom. It’s just one client.
His impatience grew, and the expression on his would-be handsome features hardened. “Well?”
Finish this session as best you can. He clearly hates you. He'll make sure he never sees you again. And… I’ll just have to explain it to Violet.

She gave a muted nod. Clara swept her braid over her shoulder, sat down, and pumped lube into her hand again, warming it up.
Her voice was barely a whisper, but she lifted her gaze to him and asked, “Would you please come back into position?”He did as instructed.
Brogan’s cock slid through the milking hole, just as large and demanding as he was. This time, with his cock so much closer to her, she could appreciate it. Her hands slid down his shaft slowly, spreading the lube evenly along the thick column. As she moved over it with her hands, Clara focused on the ridges and veins of his massive member, and she recalled how delicious the bead of pre-cum had looked on the tip of his cock.
Suddenly, he spoke, in a low, quiet tone, like a caress, “Look at me, please.”She did.
His severe expression was gone, and in its place, she saw deep longing pooling in his dark, languid gaze. Clara was mesmerized, still intimidated, but drawn in by the restraint that was slowly slipping away with every stroke of her hand.
She worked him up and down, slowly. She couldn’t recall any other bull who’d had such a weight and length to him.
A low hum of appreciation escaped him, the tension easing from his body as his shoulders and chest softened. The sight of his composure faltering struck Clara with the sudden, unsettling realization of just how deeply she was in over her head.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 5 Brogan
Clara's mind melted as she slowly milked Brogan.
With every exhale from him, she relaxed until she found a rhythm. Doing all she could not to focus on her racing heart, ignoring how intimidated she was and how looming he seemed, she worked him with such focus that she slipped out of the moment.The ridges of his cock faded away, and the enormous, bulbous tip oozed over her hands, but she was far away, thinking about the toy at home that she had thoroughly used this morning. Something had come over her, almost like a fever. One moment she was OK–pouring coffee into a mug–then next, she was naked, in her bed, ramming a thick pink dildo into her pussy like she had no self-control. Clara clenched her aching pussy just thinking about it.
My god, this is just a human one , she had thought with alarm, wondering for the hundredth time whether she'd ever be able to take a minotaur cock. What it would feel like.
Her sudden frenzy had come from remembering what was coming in the mail that day: a 9-inch long, soda-can-thick minotaur toy. Clara knew she would be spending all night working into her tiny little slit.That morning, she'd used a sizeable humanoid dildo while wishing longingly for her purple minotaur cock. Her anger had surged, indignant at being forced to wait; she'd paid good money for her new dildo, and they couldn't over-night it? She needed to feel used, totally helpless, so Clara worked her human-sized toy into her cunt furiously until neither her body, wrist, nor pussy could handle it.
The thought alone made her squirm in her seat, knowing she'd have to go home and somehow manage her arousal again—especially if the package arrived later on. She could feel the dampness between her legs coat her work pants, the friction from the lack of underwear deepening the sensations. She subtly twisted her torso ever so slightly on the stool, feeling her lips slide easily… she was making a mess of herself.
"I can smell you."Clara's eyes snapped into focus.
Brogan's deep, dark eyes, equally sensuous and piercing, peered at her.
“P-Pardon?” She stammered.
He took in another deep inhale, then she felt his cock twitch substantially in her hand; she was still stroking him. Suddenly, Clara became aware of how much precum was coating her hands and dripping onto her. She didn't dare look up at him.Too late. She did.
He gazed at her with an intensity she'd not seen in the other minotaurs. His nose twitched ever so slightly. He clenched his jaw even tighter. "I can smell… your… reaction ."Her eyes widened in shock and horror. Clara's embarrassment washed over her. Her already flushed cheeks were on fire, knowing that he was talking about her arousal. She began to move to create distance, her hands dropped from his cock, and she began to scoot away feebly.He stopped her with his hand over the barrier, "No. Keep going."Clara trembled. He knows! He knows this turns me on! She'd already messed up so much in front of this client, and now this! If I stop, he'll be upset. If I continue, that's not right… I might lose my job. Oh my god, what will Violet say? What if they see my pants? What if he sees my pants? Clara's thoughts whirred speedily through her mind.

Not realizing she'd not moved since he'd spoken up, Brogan's voice broke through her trance-like state again: "Don't be embarrassed. I won't say a thing. Keep going."She gazed up at him, swallowing her vulnerability.
"I promise." He reiterated.
Blinking up at him, Clara could see his sincerity. Guys who lied had the air of putting on a show. But Brogan's face was open and unguarded. He wasn't smiling, but he maintained eye contact with her. Slowly, she nodded and let her hands resume their work. Clara trailed her nails up his shaft ever so slightly, sensing the mild tremor that ran down his body. She circled her hands together again and pumped his shaft, each time increasing the pressure slightly and cresting near the underside of his cock-head.
When she dared to peer up at him again, he tilted his head, gazing at her. His control and composure were baffling. Most minotaurs would already be bucking by now if they were not already dressing.
Why won't he cum? She thought.
She gazed back at him, and as she swirled her thumb over a bead of precum, he let out a deep breath.
Brogan leaned back in his seat; he'd taken his shirt off, and Clara saw he had a husky, muscled body. Seeing his chest rise up and down as she worked his heavy cock was incredibly erotic, another sign of him being affected. She bit her lip unconsciously, and that's when he let out a palpable groan… Hmmm, lips and eyes, ok . Licking her lips subtly, she slid a sly hand to his balls while keeping her eyes on him. When her small, pale hand finally cupped his huge, heavy balls.As a faint sigh escaped her, it was muffled by his more resounding groan.
He looked as though he wanted to talk to her, to say something. Every fibre in her was both curious and terrified. She was already terrified she'd get in trouble. People outside must have wondered why his appointment was taking so long.
Still, she continued.
Her hand briefly left his balls to gather more lube before returning to cup them. They were the size of baseballs, yet heavier. Massaging them together was challenging. She bit her lip as she traced her fingers from one to the other. Borgan nodded back slowly as his hips rose to thrust his cock towards her again. His massive length nearly touched her face. Clara continued stroking him.
An idea struck her then, and she leaned in a little more closely to his shaft and let her breath graze his throbbing cock. That was when he lost control.
The first thrust completely shocked her, forceful and intense. His slam against the barrier sent a reverberation around the room. Clara quickly gathered her wits, turning on the machine and returning both hands to his somehow more engorged cock that he was relentlessly surging in her direction at a growing speed.
Brogan ground his teeth. His arousal was aggressive and intense. Clara kept her eyes on his as she inserted his bulky cock into the pump. It barely fit, but she was determined to see this through. Once the bulb of his cock entered it, though, his eyes rolled back, and a roar escaped him that sent a slithering tremor down her spine. She was used to how minotaurs thrust into the pump, but Brogan moved like he was on the hunt to break it. It was all Clara could do to keep it in place for him to pump into.Her lips had parted unintentionally as his massive hands gripped the barrier so he could thrust harder. He gave her a proud, defiant look as though he dared her not to be turned on.
She could hardly comprehend how menacing yet calm he looked while thrusting like a rabid animal. The realization that maybe he was tapping more into his beast side made her pussy clench, and Brogan finally exploded thick white ropes of cum.
As the device got heavier, Clara checked to ensure the canister attached to the pump wasn't filling up too fast.
"No," came his gruff, strained voice. "You look at me."Again, her eyes instantly snapped up to his. He was nearly snarling at her. Clara couldn't tell if his expression was angry or aroused. It was purely animalistic. Brogan's pupils dilated, and he gave one final thrust.
She remained seated for a little while, processing the intensity of what had just happened.
All her other clients had behaved and cum fairly exceptionally. They bucked and thrust with a force beyond what she'd seen from human men. She'd become accustomed to her clients; some were gentler near the end and let the pump work them, while others kept thrusting. It was a sliding scale of preferences, but Brogan had just rewritten the spectrum. He hadn't just fucked the pump, he'd have broken it if he could have.
Clara's mind adjusted slowly back to reality, back to her job, even though she could feel her pooling between her legs.
Her focus returned to the pump in her hands. It was indeed over-full. So much so that the opening was oozing Brogan's cum on the floor and onto her legs and hands.
Oh God. So…much… hot cum. Seeing it and peeking up at his panting form flipped something inside her.Clara came with a sudden tremble, and she squeezed her legs and core, trying to reject the oncoming orgasm. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe quietly and be still as her tender pussy pulsed internally. A few seconds later, she gushed intensely.
She prayed he hadn't noticed. Prayed that maybe he'd take her silence as maybe her recollecting herself or even disgust at being covered in his cum."Get another canister, start the pump again," he said suddenly. The urgency in his voice wasn't lost on her. He was authoritative and dictatorial, and she instinctively knew that this order came from a place where he had little control remaining.Given the results of the last few sessions, she'd already had a second canister next to her. Muscle memory quickly connected an empty jar to the machine, and she positioned it onto his cream-covered cock again.
"Mmmmf, yes!" His ragged moan was more profound and softer this time, "I smelled that, fuck."Clara let the pump do the work as she took in the sight before her: his deep hazel eyes darkening to near black. The sweat running down his chest made him seem even more powerful, and he pumped into the machine with smooth, rhythmic thrusts.
He'd smelled her cum. Clara swallowed, wondering what that meant for her. What would it be like to sense that, and how did it affect him? She'd never known someone to react to her like this on such a primitive level. Sometimes, she forgot that Minotaurs were beasts, wired a certain way.
"Show me those pretty eyes again."Clara obeyed.
"Good." Brogan's low timber touched her to her core. "Such beautiful eyes," he groaned as he began to spill into the machine. His groans and thrusts intensified again, but she didn't dare check the canister, knowing this was what he needed to finish.
This time, he slid out easily. Clara wiped him delicately with a towel, still not breaking eye contact. Brogan's expression was unreadable. Where every other client smiled at her, or there was a sigh of contentment or relief, he immediately became composed again despite being exhausted. She dried him, then moved to gather the canisters.
"I apologize that so much was wasted—""It's fine," he said shortly.
"I think about a quarter of it—""Don't worry about it."She would surely get in trouble with management. "I can talk to the front to have you reimbursed—""I don't care!" He snapped.Clara jumped and clamped her mouth shut. No client had snarled at her like that.
It took everything in her not to snap back. Brogan was such an asshole! Intimidating too.
Just finish up and get this over with , she said to herself. But she had to wait, feeling Brogan staring at her. She refused to look at him, not caring if his expression showed any softness to apologize or to see it remain hard and unflinching. Finally, she sensed him moving to dress.

Clara took the two filled canisters to weigh them: 42 ounces total.
She thought, "That can't be normal! So much ended up on me or the floor!" She would have to get janitorial staff in here! Quickly, she labelled the jars and placed them in the repository.
Brogan cleared his throat, "you'll want to clean yourself up before you step outside."Clara's body tightened as she understood the meaning of his words. Her pants were destroyed, and it was obvious to others. Slowly, she covered herself with her hands. Looking him in the eyes was definitely out of the question.
"I appreciate your time." He said, his voice unreadable.
Clara locked in on a small, emerging crack in the polished concrete flooring, refusing to look up at him, willing the flaming heat in her cheeks to fade. After a few moments, he left and closed the door behind him.
She let out a long, strained breath. Finally, that was over with. It had been the most stressful session she'd ever gone through.
Slowly, trying to manage the mess, she tried not to dwell on him or what had happened. All she could think of was trying to bring the room to a state of order that wouldn't result in any gossip about her. She wiped up as much of his spilled cum as she could, then wiped her seat as well. If he could smell her arousal, who knows who else could smell it on the chair? She hadn't gotten to know the janitorial staff yet, and despite knowing that the staff here was kind, she couldn't risk her job.Looking around, Clara found the lab coat of one of the repository technicians, Mabel, and draped it over her shoulders, grateful that it covered her down to her knees. Her uniform smelled of his seed, too, and it was starting to rattle her senses. As soon as she pressed the red button to request a janitor, she bolted for the private washrooms again. Thankfully, she passed no one there and selected the green bath again.
Throwing off the lab coat, she turned around to see the mess she'd made. Her cum had made a sizeable patch between her legs, and she could feel some running down her inner thigh. Mortified, she removed her clothes and ran her fingers between her lips.
What is wrong with me , she demanded internally. She couldn't have reactions like this at work. She refused to jeopardize her new-found autonomy and income and refused to let down Violet. But here she was: stark naked at work in a bathroom, trembling still from how intensely she'd just cum from milking a client.
A client she would never see again.
During her scalding hot shower, Clara scrubbed herself raw with soap thrice. No one would smell her. No one would know what she did. She would take her laundry home and do it herself, including the lab coat. And as she sloughed off the top layer of her skin, she'd determined to place a clause on Brogan's file to ensure that he could not request her as a technician ever again. He would have to contend with someone else; reception could handle the conversation.
Once she'd gathered her things, Clara met Ms. Gillian. She'd prepared a little preamble to explain her request. He was a demanding client who needed someone with more experience and perhaps a stronger physical build to handle his thrusting. That sounded plausible to her; it was nearly accurate.
However, the gorgon receptionist got to her first. As she bustled to meet Clara in the hallway, Ms Gillian's usual stately demeanour was suddenly vibrant.
Alarm bells rang in Clara's mind, but the lady was already on a roll: "Oh, Clara, you wouldn't believe the amazing review a client left you today!" The woman practically beamed at her as if she were her own child, winning a prestigious school award. "I have never heard a single word, let alone any kind of feedback from Mr. Aldridge, but he said he was pleased with the service and rebooked!"Clara's pit in her stomach felt heavier. Nausea overtook her. God, please, no. "Why, he's never once rebooked! Let alone booked four weeks in a row!" Four weeks?! No! The twisting guts inside Clara's abdomen warped even more fiercely.
"He said we finally found a real talent, that this establishment is offering exceptional service, and he will be your last appointment every Friday moving forward, including this week," chirped Ms Gillian brightly.
Clara was stunned. He'd been so brusque and harsh and staring. Not to mention everything else that went wrong… "Well, that is nice to hear," she finally said, doing her best to match the gorgon's enthusiasm." Is something wrong, dear?" The woman asked pointedly.Clara shook her head, trying to dismiss any chance for the gorgon to suspect otherwise. Honestly, she should feel grateful for this not being the end of her job. Her mind locked on the easiest excuse: "I'm just tired today, sorry. I'm glad we got such kind feedback.""Well, of course, it's not easy work, dear," said Ms Gillian, "but this ought to cheer you up: he's left you quite the tip here." She gave Clara the envelope. "The first few amounted to about $75, so the rest is all thanks to Mr. Aldridge."Looking inside, Clara counted $275.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 6 Hearing Things

Clara was totally in limbo. She didn’t know how to think or feel about her day. The drive home had been a study in mild dissociation—Clara had gotten home safely but couldn’t recall a single moment of the drive or what turns she’d taken, whether she’d parked underground or on the street. Had she even closed her car door?
Immediately upon arrival, she’d thrown her clothes into the washing machine and doubled the liquid detergent needed for the wash load. She was determined to wash the clothes and lab coat twice. She wasn’t taking any chances.
Once the machine whirred and shook on top of the Parisian tile in the laundry area, she returned to the living room and stared at the package on her table.
The foot-long cardboard package had been waiting for her by the door when she had arrived. Instead of being excited, Clara’s feelings towards her new toy had taken a turn since her session with Brogan. On one hand, she was horny and needy, while on the other, she was upset, confused, and felt betrayed by her body.
She took a long sip of her camomile tea and regarded the package warily. What if she liked it too much? Standing behind the couch, one hand resting on the velvet backing, Clara worked her fingernails into the cushion until she suddenly realized she was tense.

Fine, I’ll pace instead.

Moving to the window, Clara heard a laugh emerging from the street below. Peering outside through her long gauze drapes, she saw a happy elf-girl clinging to her Minotaur boyfriend’s arm. They seemed like they were enjoying a nice date together.
Clara frowned.
If Violet were here, she’d tell her to relax and enjoy her evening. “Open the box and just try it out. It couldn’t hurt, could it?” Clara imagined her friend saying to her, ever reasonable and calm.
She opened the artistic pink box containing her new toy a minute later. It had a magnet closure, and the box's interior was silk-lined in dark magenta. In the centre lay her generous, purple minotaur cock toy.
It was artfully made. Given her Morning Glory experience, it was very realistic in its composition; it was just as heavy as the real thing, veiny; the texture was a medical grade silicone that was smooth, almost velvety. When she took it in her hands, it reminded her a little of Lance’s cock. It’s not Brogan, though, came an unbidden thought, followed by an immediate: Shut up, Clara .
What she needed was a drink.
No , she immediately responded, drinking alone was a slippery slope in her books.
Peering into the box that had housed the dildo, she looked under the silk. A small bottle of white, milky lube had been included in the package—another bottle of cleaning solution and an attachment she didn’t know what to do with.
Suddenly, a bubble of hope emerged in her: what if she hated it? There was a strong chance the cock would feel uncomfortable, that it would hurt, and she couldn’t overcome the pain. She was determined to find out.Clara took the toy to her bedroom and wiggled out of her leggings and undergarments.
Laying on her bed, she had the dark purple toy ready and began spreading lube on the shaft like she’d been doing all day. Clara popped open her laptop and found some minotaur porn that she remembered Violet mentioning—might as well do the whole thing properly since she was here. She found a video of a female and male minotaur 69’ing each other, and Clara settled into her bed. Spreading some lube on her tender pussy, she positioned the purple cock outside her opening. She started rubbing it up and down her folds. Her body loved the toy's weight, just as she’d first assumed she would. It was deliciously weighty. She loved how the milky white lube covered the toy; it reminded her of her clients, and she stopped thinking. She refused to program her mind to make that connection. This was a toy, and she was just a single, horny woman. Instead, she focused on her porn: she was this minotaur girl; the male was now also dragging his cock against the female's pussy; Clara mimicked his motions.
Finally, after sliding the thick member across her spread lips, she felt horny, wet, and ready. She positioned the cock at her opening at the same time as the video, and when the male entered the willing, dripping pussy, Clara shoved the toy in too.
It was mind-bending.
She’d never been spread open like this ever, not by any man nor any toy. It felt like she was being split open in the most erotic way. The porn showed the two actors enthusiastically meeting each other's thrusts while Clara felt her pussy clenching and unclenching, trying to adjust to the bulbous tip.
Deciding to keep going, she gently pushed it further in.
A sharp hiss escaped her lips. It was huge. Her insides needed time to adjust. Immediately, she removed the toy, but then her body protested, wanting to feel the stretch again.
Looking at the two on the screen, they were entirely going at it; the female took the entirety of the male’s hardened length without any pain. Was it acting or pure anatomy? She was envious of the minotaur female—Clara also wanted to take the entire length. Her body was fully drunk with the idea of being genuinely impaled by her toy.
Setting her jaw, she knew the rest of the night would be sleepless unless the huge thing fit inside her.

——Clara woke to her phone buzzing.Violet’s face glowed on her phone with an incoming call, and Clara hurried to answer.
“—Hello?”“Clara!” Violet’s worried voice burst through her phone. “I’ve called you 5 times! Are you ok?”Looking at the time on the wall, she realized she must have fallen asleep just after 6:00 p.m. The clock now said it was nearly 8 p.m. “I’m fine,” mumbled Clara. I just fell asleep. Sorry, Vi. It was a rough day.”Her friend let out a sympathetic tone and said, “I heard.”Clara sat bolt upright.Someone had said something. She knew it wouldn’t go unnoticed! Suddenly, her body oscillated between constriction from the shame and dizziness at the ordeal. Was Violet roped into letting her go gently?“Uhm, w-what did you hear? Vi, wait! Before you say anything, I can explain!” Clara was already leaving bed, her body moving over the minotaur toy. As she moved, her pussy ached. She’d tried so hard, so many different positions and angles; after a while, she gave up and must have fallen asleep. She stumbled to her dresser, yanking out some leggings. “I’m coming over, okay?”“Sure, Clara. Are you ok?” Violet’s warmth radiated through the phone. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to come over for dinner anyway, so head down, babe.”Clara felt slightly relieved, and her anxiety was soothed. Still, I should see her and get the story of what Violet had heard. “What’s your address?”“I just texted it to you, but are you okay driving? Maybe you can take a cab?”Clara considered, “uh, yeah, good idea. I’m not fully awake.”“Better safe than sorry.”Looking at her maps app, Clara saw that Violet was only twenty minutes away. She’d prefer to walk over to see her friend any other night. But tonight was going to have to be an exception. “Give me 8-10 minutes, and I’ll be there.”They hung up. Clara quickly dressed and raced down the stairs and across the street to buy Violet and Roark a lovely bouquet.
She walked into Petalwick Flower Confectionary with a gust of wind behind her. The small bell above her head chimed softly as Clara took in the cute little shop. Something about it melted away all of her previous anxiety as if nothing bad could happen as long as she lived in proximity to Petalwick. It reminded her of a little hobbit hole, trim, low ceilings, with colourful pots and vases filled with plants, flowers, and vegetables from every surface–the ceiling even had live moss. Near the till were small, edible treats, all shaped like flowers. And in the middle was a massive live tree, lush, leave-filled branches splayed across the ceiling with soft lights glittering like a gigantic chandelier.
How have I not been in here before? She thought to herself.
Clara looked at the offerings of flowers. There were the standards that she knew, like roses and lilies, but a few flowers were new to her and looked magical.
Should I get them a premade arrangement or make one myself? Clara opted for the latter just as the gnome working in the store approached.
“Oh, hello there, I’m Sprig! How can I—” The gnome stopped in his tracks. Within a few seconds, his expression turned to surprise as he stiffened slightly, but just as quickly, he reapplied his warm smile and continued: “Would you like help making an arrangement?”Clara wondered at his behaviour, but perhaps he was expecting a non-human. She was sure she’d get used to it eventually; everyone seemed kind here.
Sprig quickly assembled a pretty, violet-toned bouquet filled with delicate little flowers that Clara knew Violet would love. “Sprig, this is art!”He beamed at her. “Thank you, Miss! We do arrangement classes if you’d like to join us—my wife and I, every Wednesday; here’s a card.” He slid a little leaf-shaped business card towards her, and she pocketed it for later, giving him a massive grin. Thanks to this little gnome, her anxiousness about talking about today with Violet melted away magically.

Within a few minutes, Clara was ducking into a waiting cab.
Her driver was an orc. The moment she shut the door and connected her seat belt, she noticed him inhale and shift uncomfortably. What the hell is up with that? She thought with exasperation. Maybe some folks in Cambrian Creek didn’t like humans? If so, this was her first encounter with someone who felt that way.
The entire cab ride was quiet. She looked outside, admiring the streets and buildings, Violet’s new neighbourhood. But the orc’s discomfort and shifting made her self-conscious.
“Is something wrong,” she inquired after a few minutes.
He bristled slightly. He’d thought she’d not noticed his demeanour. “No! No, not at all,” said the orc defensively.
Clara didn’t believe him, but he was trying to be professional or get her off his back for some reason. He dropped it as he pulled into the driveway of a lovely, large home. She paid the driver and exited the cab promptly, eager not to worry about his unusual behaviour. She looked up the driveway to admire the newly built home. It was traditional and somewhat felt out of scale, but then again, she supposed it was to scale for a minotaur.
Violet greeted her warmly, leading her inside the gigantic home. The interior was tastefully warm and modern, and just like the exterior, it was a larger scale - small stools were more like chairs, single cushioned seats were the size of loveseats, and so on. It was scaled to Roark. But, as Violet gave her a little tour of the home, Clara saw all of Vi’s touches that she’d recalled from their time living together. True to her Taurean zodiac, everything was high-quality, built for comfort and beauty without compromise, including huge fluffy white blankets, low, warm sconce lighting, and many massive house plants in every room. Clara envied her friend’s green thumb.
“This is my fave fig plant. His name is Morris, and he’s a healthy boy,” said Vi, glowing with pride, standing next to a giant plant that reached all the way to the top of their 16’ high living room ceiling.Clara smirked. “Girl, that’s a tree.”Violet grinned and rubbed one of the leaves affectionately. “K, I want to show something I’ve been working on!” And with a playful turn, she bounded up the stairs and called behind her, “Come on up!”Clara ran behind her, and they wound up in a bedroom that had been totally transformed into what looked like the backstage of a theatre. Everywhere Clara looked, there were rolls of cloth, beads and tassels on long ribbons, two sewing machines on tables, and several mannequins with delicate cloth pinned into them.
“I have my little sewing studio!” Violet announced, her joy radiating.”Vi! Oh my God! This is so cool. When did you start sewing?!”
Violet dunked her head into a deep chest, pulling things out, “oh, about a year ago? It’s my new obsession,” she said with a muffled voice.
Clara went over to one of the mannequins clad in gauzy material with various intricate pleats. “This is pretty advanced stuff; I’m kind of impressed!””Well, Grace was getting tons of clothes and buying vintage… she gave me a few things, but they needed mending. So, I taught myself how to mend.” Violet stopped to breathe away a bang covering her face. “But she would give me wild stuff. Honestly, she gave me a ball gown, and I wanted to modify it for this show Roark took me to—talk about a learning curve!” Violet yanked out a massive baby blue ball gown and laid it open for Clara to see.
It was a gorgeous silky material with interesting cuts and sweeps that Clara could see would suit her friend’s figure beautifully. “Vi…. wow! Can I see it on you?”“Tell you what, let’s go out and see a show together.e I love going with Roark, but lots of the big shows aren’t here—the seats at the theatre in Bridgeton are too small for him, and I know he mostly comes for my sake.””Love that idea, yes! We should go to a ballet!”Violet moved to one of the mannequins. “So I’m teaching myself how to make these very vintage, see-through, chiffon robes…here,” Violet threw open a closet and pulled out a deep purple robe. It was indeed gauzy and see-through, trailing on the ground with long fur-lined sleeves. “So, I made this first. It’s not perfect. The pattern was hard to follow,” she said, trailing her hands along a hem she didn’t seem satisfied with.Clara marvelled at her friend's artistry. Most people (like herself) struggled to sew in a straight line or fix a hole in their jeans and held a top together with safety pins (like herself).
“I want to make you one!” Violet said, pulling out another robe, this one a deep midnight blue shade. Its sleeves were not fully sewn on, and the front lapels were a combination of various patterns Violet considered. “It’s not done, OK? But I want you here to make sure I get your measurements right. I’ve been eye-balling it.””Violet! You don’t have to!” Clara insisted but slipped her arm inside a sleeve to put it on. It felt like a soft little whisp of heaven.Violet waved her comment off. “I’m going to trim it, just like mine. I haven’t decided on fur or feathers… not sure if we should stick to blue, light blue, or white?”Clara smiled at her friend. Violet was creative in her own right, she wasn’t about to dictate anything to her. “I trust your judgement,” she said as Violet tied off the garment and fluffed out the sides to sit evenly.
“Go look in the mirror!”Clara glided to the massive floor-length mirror. She looked like one of those Golden Age movie stars—she just needed pinned-up hair and dramatic makeup. Adopting an affected tone to mimic Vivian Leigh’s Scarlett O’Hara from Gone With the Wind, she said, “Oh, Violet, darling! I do love it so!”Violet laughed, delighted. “Do you?””Oh my! Yes!” Clara continued gracefully, grazing her hands along the robe as if trying to seduce Rhett Butler himself. “Why, it's the most fabulous thing my poor eyes have ever seen!””Am I interrupting?”Roark's massive form filled the door frame, and he smiled at them both.”Babe, you’re interrupting a performance,” said Violet playfully.
“Am I?”“Yes,” said Clara, “I was reprising my award-winning role as Scarlet O’Hara…””Yes, and I am Violet, Scarlette’s secret lady-lover,” continued Violet. “Also, her seamstress.”Roark gazed at Clara’s half-made robe and looked back to Violet. “I can see that. Seems like quite a quality production…”Clara delicately removed her robe and gently placed it back on the hanger. Turning, she approached Roark and held out her hand, “I’m Clara. It's nice to meet you finally!”Roark smiled at her, saying, “Violet’s told me a lot about you! Pleasure is all mine.”Grasping her hand, he leaned in to give her a little hug.
Immediately upon contact, Clara sensed him stiffening a little. He abruptly straightened himself and moved closer to Violet, taking her hand in his.
Clara glanced from him to Violet. “I’m sorry… is something wrong?”Violet looked at her partner. Roark cooled his expression.”It’s just that you’re the third or fourth person to have a weird reaction to me today,” she pressed on, worried that maybe she should have showered before coming over. That was probably it. Perhaps she was a touch stinky? Minotaurs obviously had an amazing sense of smell. “Just be honest. Please.”She took a step closer to them, but Roark let out a defensive snort. He did not like being near her. Clara’s confusion soured. Feeling her stomach sink, she turned to Violet. What’s going on? Violet took Clara’s hand. “This is why I wanted you over for dinner…, we heard that you had a rough day. And we heard that you are emitting some fairly intense uh…,” she cleared her throat, giving Clara a sympathetic look, “pheromones.”Clara blinked.

What?
“It’s really not a big deal, Clara. You’re of an age where your body is basically ready to… you know…” said Violet, trying to be delicate.
Clara’s face burned with a blush.

Am I emitting pheromones?
She’d just met Roark 30 seconds ago, and already they were talking about pheromones. But what Violet said made a few odd things click: Borgan’s reaction to her, Sprig, and the orc in the taxi. Perhaps they had all sensed something was going on with her.
“I don’t mean to embarrass you, Clara,” continued Violet.
Roark stepped in, too, “I apologize; I knew about it and should’ve maintained my composure better. Seriously, it’s totally not a big deal. Everyone deals with it.”Violet nodded emphatically. " Yes! I did! Many of the females in Cambric Creek deal with it, and males do, too. It’s natural.”“Totally natural,” repeated Roark.“But why is it happening now? How come everyone can smell me? This wasn’t a thing in Bridgeton,” Clara said.Violet led her down the stairs to the kitchen island and handed her a glass of wine. “Humans display differently; often, as humans, you have to sweat heavily for it to be noticeable.”Roark drained spaghetti in the sink as Violet gently stirred the bolognese sauce they had made. “Scent messages are basically what pheromones are. You have to secrete some kind of liquid for someone to pick up on them,” he explained.
Clara’s eyes shot to Violet mortified. “Secreet liquid?”Violet smiled. “Yeah, babe. And it happens!”Clara shook her head, not wanting to believe what she was hearing. She tipped the wine glass to her lips, her fragile ego wanting to convince her they were delusional.
But clearly, it had been noticed. She had noticed others picking up on her scent.
Oh God! Brogan had said he could smell me! “I noticed Violet’s pheromones at Morning Glory,” Roark said softly, plating spaghetti into heavy ceramic plates.
“You did not!” said Violet, her own disbelief plain in her voice.
He lifted a brow at his girlfriend and said, " Yes, dear, I definitely did. And I loved every second of it.”Violet giggled, then looked back to Clara. “See?”“So Ms. Gillian said something to you?”“Uhm, no,” answered Violet, her demeanour changing.
Clara stilled. “Who then?”“It doesn’t matter who, but the point is—”“Vi! Please! It’s been killing me all day! I thought I’d get fired today!” Clara begged.
Violet’s sympathy returned to her face, “Oh, no, you’re certainly not getting fired. Especially after those collections, I heard about 30 and 42 ounces! Clara, that is record-breaking! No one has ever gotten those numbers. You should have seen Reed’s face today: he was ecstatic! He nearly left a meeting with a vendor to go down and talk to you!”Clara felt a little flame of accomplishment warm her. “Really, Reed heard?”
Violet nodded.“So I’m definitely not getting let go?”Violet shook her head, no. “I promise. No one has complained once about you. Why would you think you’re getting let go?”“Well, you said you heard something—I thought maybe Ms Gillian had a complaint?”“What? No! Ms Gillian, I think, actually might … well, she doesn’t like anyone, but she seems to tolerate you better than the others. Clara, please don’t let Ms Gillian sway you about staying. She’s generally a bit of a grump.”Roark chuckled. “20 years ago, Ms Gillian was very different from what I hear.”The girls turned to him, questions and curiosity shining in their eyes, but Roark scooped up the plates to set them at the dining room table.
Clara had yet to meet Reed. Happiness that she was not getting fired warmed her, but she still needed to know who’d said something. Perhaps a client had complained? “Vi, the suspense is killing me… who told you?”“Oh, Ms. Gillian did send me a message saying it seemed like you had a hard day,” Violet said, avoiding Clara’s actual question as she placed drinking glasses on the table and filled them with water. The gorgeous bouquet Clara had brought was sitting in the middle of the table; the magical flowers swayed gently, revealing their metallic purple sheen.
“Vi!”“It really does not matter, Clara!”“It does to me! What if it’s a client? What if they can all… smell me?”“Oh, they can all smell you alright,” Roark said plainly, his tone teasing.
Clara sputtered, “t-they can?”“The way you smell right now is the equivalent of a light-house at night,” said Roark. Violet gave him a small, reproachful look, but he shrugged, “Just telling her the facts, dear.”“Is it disgusting? Do I smell disgusting?” demanded Clara, not able to control her rising tone. Immediately, she pulled at her shirt to smell it.
Violet shook her head, “No! Not at all!”Clara waved her off, not trusting Violet’s human nose, and she implored Roark, “Is it?”“No. It is not disgusting.”
Clara sat at her allotted spot and folded her napkin on her lap. “Does it smell… sweaty? God , just tell me already! Roark, you’re my new friend, and as my new friend, if you want me to approve your union to my dear, sweet, annoyingly covert and secretive friend, Violet,” she playfully squinted at her bestie, angelically eating her spaghetti, “I demand total honesty, full transparency, and in this scenario, explicit details,” said Clara playfully, trying to add some levity while also needing answers. “Do I smell gross? What does it smell like? Can I make it stop?”“It smells like sex,” he said. “Everyone’s scent is different, but it smells like your own brand of perfume, and some might find it ok, and others might find it very attractive,” he said more kindly.
“No one finds it offensive,” added Violet.
“But then who complained?” asked Clara, taking a bite of her spaghetti.
“No one complained.” Said Violet authoritatively.”Ok. Who made a comment?”Roark responded: “Brogan.”Clara choked on her mouthful of spaghetti and reached for the large glass of water. What? “Roark! I told you not to tell her,” groaned Violet.
Clara continued to choke. Brogan had given the two of them a breakdown of their session. She could feel sweat beading on her back. Did he tell them about my reaction? About how unprofessional I was? Did he tell them I was covered in his cum? “Oh God! Oh my God!” she spluttered in between coughs.
Roark patted her gently on the back.
Clara gulped down the water, trying to cool herself down.

“He didn’t complain, Clara,” Violet insisted.
The coughing didn’t stop.“Far from it,” added Roark.
The coughing worsened.
“Well, he came over after your session and congratulated me on training you well,” Violet said with a tone of reason.
Clara forced more water down her throat. Violet rose to refill her glass. Clara focused on the flowers on the table, attempting to channel the joy she felt at Petalwick through Sprig’s warm little smile.
Brogan gave them a full download!
“Apparently, you were trained very well,” repeated Roark, amused. “Above and beyond, you’re clearly a hands-on learner.”“Roark!”Clara’s face incinerated with horror as her friend swatted at her minotaur boyfriend.“Ease off!” said Violet. “Clara, why are you so worked up? He said he booked in with you again for Friday, so that’s about the highest compliment you can get at Morning Glory!”“—That, and a $200 tip.”Violet’s eyes widened at Roark, then she gazed at Clara to see whether it was true, whispering, “Two hundred dollars?”Clara nodded but didn’t dare open her mouth as her coughing subsided.
“I have never been tipped that much in all the time I’ve been there,” said Violet, impressed. “That’s how much I’d make in a week!”Roark chuckled again, enjoying the topic greatly, “he was going to tip more but decided to wait until he talked to me. I told him to give you what he thought was fair.”The girls went silent.
“It was more than fair,” said Clara, surprised to hear how small her voice was. Well, the session had left her feeling vulnerable and a little shaken, and truth be told, horny, but in a very confused way.
Violet put her fork down. “Clara, what happened?”Clara shook her head; the details and the session weren’t things she wanted to relive. Especially since Roark was his friend, and this was her first time meeting him. Shame enveloped her. Brogan had been too harsh, too looming, too judgemental, and then had capitalized on her arousal to get off, which blurred the professional lines for her. And he came twice.
“Clara, did he say something?” Violet insisted, her tone becoming serious. “Did Brogan do something?”Roark looked up from his dish as well, questions in his eyes.
Swallowing, Clara said, “Honestly, I don’t want to get into it right now.”Violet pursed her lips despite the burning curiosity in her eyes. Clara was usually quite forthcoming. She could see the concern in Violet’s eyes, and she wished they could speak about it more, but not at the dinner table with Violet’s partner.
Roark cleared his throat and sipped on some wine. “He called me right after the session—-just to give you some context, Clara. From his perspective, he thought it was an amazing session.”Clara nodded, subdued. Of course, he did. He came twice. After intimidating me, watching me fail my protocol, then calling me out on it, bossing me around, biting my head off about how I need to look, and then using my smell to get off. Bastard.
“He said that you were quite professional as a beginner—“
As if he’s one to judge.

“—Said that you acquiesced to his requirements—“
Correction: demands.
“—you were clean, you were attentive—“
Only after he called me out about not reading his chart properly! Which I would have done if he’d arrived on time instead of 15 minutes early!”
“—And you observed his needs,” continued Roark. “He said he booked four upcoming appointments with you.”Clara’s stomach flipped at the memory. Ms Gillian had been practically elated in sharing the news. Clara had wanted to vomit.
“I appreciate you telling me that,” Clara finally said, “he didn’t give me much to go off on when he departed.”Roark gave her an even look, meeting her eyes straight on. “He’s not good at emoting. But trust me, he was happy.”Violet nodded,” he resisted being a client while I was there, despite how much Roark tried to persuade him. But once we had another human, he booked. I think he resisted because he knew Roark was interested in me and didn’t want to be… inconsiderate.”Clara thought what it would be like if Brogan had seen Violet in a milking session. Violet was a fastidious, clean, and a very by-the-book girl in all things. Between the two of them, while they lived together, Violet was always much tidier and careful to protect her nice things. Clara would be too busy living in the moment to notice if her nylon tights would catch on the bar chair or if leaning against a railing on transit was wiped first. Violet always looked and checked and did the same for Clara anytime they were together. Given Cuolet’s proclivity for cleanliness and proper procedure, Clara was certain Violet would have quit if she’d been in Clara’s shoes earlier today. Especially as early into the Morning Glory Milking Farm working experience.
“He said he booked another four sessions with you, Clara. That clearly shows you did well. Brogan was impressed,” said Roark, spinning some spaghetti around his fork.
Doubt he rebooked because of my professionalism or skill. He probably doesn’t want a ton of employees knowing he’ll cum all over them or that he’s rude and stares at them.
“Thank you,” said Clara, mustering up the courage to say what she wanted to them. “The thing is, as much as I appreciate knowing that he thought well of his session…I’m just not comfortable having another with him.”“If he did something, Clara—-“”I just don’t think we had a good dynamic.”Roark looked thoughtful. “I’ve known Brogan a long, long time. I know he comes across as a little strong. He has a very polarizing personality. People love him or hate him.”Clara internalized the snort she wanted to emit. The dude was, without a doubt, the most intimidating figure Clara had ever encountered.
“Did he scare you?” Violet asked softly.
Shifting in her seat, Clara scooped a huge mouthful of pasta and dodged the questions with a nonchalant shrug.
“Maybe I should talk with him,” offered Roark.
Clara leapt. “No. Please don’t. I don’t want to make a big deal out of this. I don’t want to upset or discourage him from coming to Morning Glory. I would just prefer he booked with someone else.””I see,” he said.
Looking across the table at Violet, Clara said, “I want to keep this job. I am very happy here. I love living here. I feel like I’m good at my job and need to grow and improve and ensure my clients are happy. I just don’t think I can do an adequate job with Brogan as a repeat client.”Understanding filled in Violet’s expression. “Sometimes it was just a personality difference, an energy or vibe. Sometimes, one person feels alright in a scenario and is unaware the other is struggling. Right?”Grateful for her friend’s assessment, Clara nodded. “That’s it. That’s exactly it.””Alright then, I’ll talk to Ms Gillian.””Brogan won’t be happy,” Roark intoned softly but then laughed with a little mischief in his eyes. “He’s not used to not getting his way. This might be fun for me.”With the evening's tone turning back to the positive, Clara relaxed. Roark handed out dessert: mousse chocolate cake (his portion reflected Violet’s comments about his obsession with dessert), and the three polished off the wine.Given Violet’s support, Clara determined that tomorrow morning, she would talk to Ms. Gillian about pivoting Brogan to someone else.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 7 Scent Messages

Clara has Wednesdays off.

Working 4 days a week was a blessing, and she never thought it would be a part of her reality, but Morning Glory was incredibly forward-thinking about its workers. The product they extracted was in high demand; overworking their technicians could not be risked. Clara recalled how their training manual had highlighted Clara had arranged her calendar with the other new girls, Turiel and Adarna.

Donning comfortable leggings and a loose t-shirt, she walked to the second bedroom, sipping her morning coffee. Today’s random selection: hazelnut latte with cinnamon, part of the welcome basket that she had received from Morning Glory when she’d signed her employment contract.

From the beginning of working at the farm, she had determined that Wednesdays would be painting days, and she planned to stick to it. The room was just a table and a small shelf of her supplies, but Clara didn't need much to start. Her routine was intentionally silly but therapeutic; she had a scribble book in which she would scribble layers upon layers of loops. It was an unconscious motion, making a mess, sometimes doodling with both hands or holding multiple pencils at once, and she would start to chat with herself:

“What a day this is going to be,” she said aloud to her room. “My goal is to draw some trees or maybe a bird, something simple…” her hand continued, making endless colourful circles on her paper. “I might draw a bird… then I’ll paint a stain on it and fill it in with acrylics? Yes! That’ll be fun!”

Once she had direction, she stopped scribbling. The whole point was to loosen up her fingers and muscles, abandon immediate perfection, and demystify the need for every piece of work to be pretty, sensical, or even interesting. Her entire scribble book was just loops. If anyone ever broke into her apartment, they’d think she was crazy. But it helped her fight any internal perfectionism Clara had inherited from her mother.

Pulling over a sketchbook with heavy paper inside, Clara started drawing a little red-chested Robin. Her phone played the Pride and Prejudice audiobook in the background while her pencil sketched out a little beak, eyes, and plump, feathered body. Clara loved birds because they were easy to draw.

Between sips of coffee and staring outside at the morning light creeping over the roofs and trees, Clara kept adding detail and texture. Eventually, her little robin looked like quite the dapper little chap, with his alert eyes and puffed-out chest.

“

You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion for my poor nerves

,” said Mrs. Bennet from Clara’s audiobook. She had listened to Pride and Prejudice more times than she could count. And, on the beat, she intoned along with the book, mimicking the affected British accent of Mr. Bennet: “

You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves.

”

Her morning ebbed gently as she drew another bird next to the first. The British banter from her speaker rolled past her. The book's tone mimicked the quaint little park she looked onto from this room window, which led to a view of the grounds of Morning Glory. Somehow, the lush spring green of the trees reminded her of the 2005 movie with Kiera Knightley and the lush, verdant scenes the actors played against for that quiet drama. Clara cozied up in her plush rolling chair, propped her feet on the window sill, and continued drawing with her sketchbook on her lap.

Art was the only way she could make her head stop spinning around with thoughts and ideas. By noon, her once blank page was a riot of branches, leaves, spring apple-blossom flowers, and two playful little birds. It was by no means a ground-breaking artistic expression, but she was in it for the love of it only. She'd mail her little drawings to her grandmother, aunts, or Violet for their birthdays with a note or a poem, expressing her softer side to the women who nurtured it.

Rolling over to her little shelf, she found an auburn-coloured ink wash and started overlaying the transparent colour over her sketch.

There is no going back now

, she thought. Knowing it would need at least thirty minutes to dry, she returned her cup and went to the living room. Her audiobook continued aloud: “

Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example and take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting so long in one attitude.

”

Clara had to agree with the haughty Miss Bingley and decided to ‘turn about the room’ herself with some light cleaning while she waited for the painting to dry—tidiness helped her manage being over-stimulated.

Her living room was filling out nicely. Nearly all the shelves had books and trinkets on them. She’d placed a lovely vintage painting on the fireplace mantle with petite leaf and flower trays holding little earrings or rings. Violet had given her two plants that were apparently “unkillable” (her words) as gifts. The trailing spider plant hung from a ceiling hook by the bay window, and the snake plant sat in an elevated pot by the double doorway between the living room and foyer. Clara had a distinct feeling that Violet would keep giving her plants just to offload the hoard she had at home.

Her phone pinged, and she looked for a text from Violet and another from Turiel.

Violet:

I hate that our Wednesdays don't overlap! But I hope you're enjoying your day off 🙂

Clara responded:

I was just watering the plants you gave me. I’m painting today!

Violet:

Good! Don’t over-water the snake plant.

Clara immediately withdrew the jar of water hovering over the snake plant.

I guess we are waiting,

she thought. Her fingers navigated to the text from Turiel next.

Turiel:

It’s sooooooo boring today! Can you come in just to keep me company?

Clara:

No thank you, haha. Where’s Andarna?

Turiel:

Busy with clients, still being trained by Kiera-May.

Clara:

Are you busy too?

Turiel: Yeah. Magda is back from vacation. She’s given me lots of clock-watchers today. The only fun client today was Dean.

Clara immediately felt a small bubble of jealousy. She loved milking him. He was always so playful and fun to talk to, and he was a good tipper. But mostly, his energy was incredible.

Clara texted back:

Ya, Dean’s excellent! I bet he left you a nice little tip.

Turiel:

Actually, he asked for you first. I was the replacement.

A small, satisfied smile spread on her lips as Clara peaked at her phone. She loved knowing her clients missed her and requested her. Her old firm never received any kind of positive feedback like that. She marvelled at how little she missed her former life.

Responding to Turiel, she texted:

I’m sure you did great anyways :)

Turiel: 🙂

Thanks, I’m trying.

Clara:

So what’s Magda like?

Turiel:

Let’s just say she’s not Violet.

Clara:

Haha, understood.

Magda, the orc who organized the team of technicians, was present when Clara was being trained but then went on holiday for two weeks once Clara, Turiel, and Adarna started working, letting Violet manage the rotations. Being the Rotations Manager, balancing the useable rooms with techs while getting the other rooms cleaned and prepped was a dance. But Violet was very good at it–the staff seemed to love working with her, whereas the staff was slightly intimidated by Magda’s brusque demeanour. Clara already knew the best approach with this kind of manager: shut up, do as you're told, don’t complain, and repeat. After three months, show up first and only say good morning, then after six months, ask them how their morning is. Then, after a year or so, offer to help them with a task that annoys them. Magda-types required silence, patience, and adherence to their personal way of doing things.

Looking at her tidy living room, Clara found herself feeling restless. Suddenly, the painting didn’t call to her anymore. The pile of books on the coffee table didn’t entice either. It was a lovely day, and she needed activity.

Without finishing her coffee, she snagged a thin sweater and bag and bonded down the tiled stairs and along the main drag.

The first stop was a French pastry shop, “La Belle Boulangerie,” where she picked out a flouncy little white puff she couldn’t pronounce. When the faun at the register saw her polish off the pastry in 3 bites, she giggled and said, “No one can resist the crème choux.”

“I’ll be back for another one, don’t you worry about it,” Clara said.

The faun winked wickedly at her, “Come back tomorrow; I’m making them again but with a chocolate mousse and rum infusion.”

Clara’s eyes nearly crossed, thinking how deliciously heavenly that sounded. “Deal, save me one for the afternoon. I get off at 5 pm,” she said, exiting the shop in an effort not to look at the rest of the treats calling her name inside the glass cabinet–they were practically waving her over: ‘Come, have a little taste,’ each one seemed to say.

How does that faun possibly work there and not go to town on the sweets?

Gliding down the flowery street with trees starting to bud fresh green leaves, Clara breathed in the brisk April air. She took turns through the park, past a little neighbourhood full of heritage houses, along a small pond, and then on the route towards the Black Sheep Cafe. She’d taken the extended scenic path but liked knowing her neighbourhood and seeing new places she could visit. Unfortunately, Clara had not spotted a dance studio at all—that was one reason for meandering.

The cafe was less bustling than the last time she was here, though most of the tables were already filled. After ordering an Italian soda, she found a seat near the door.

“Hmmm, not the wisest place to sit, little one,” said a deep, familiar voice.

Looking up from her book, Clara gazed up at Zahuris, the Anubis bartender from Red Oracle Lounge. “Zahuris! Hi! How are you?”

He gave her a smile that met his eyes and shrugged, “Good, just finished my run.”

Clara saw his tight t-shirt and shorts and tried to avert her gaze. He was far too sexy in his running outfit. “Did you have a good run?”

He sat down next to her. “I’ve been trying to get back into it, but it's a little slow going.” He leaned in a little, and Clara noticed him shift uncomfortably, but he gave her a reassuring smile and cocked his head regarding her. “I get called to help at Red Oracle occasionally, so I haven't been as consistent as I’d like.”

She nodded. “I get it. I was thinking about taking some dancing classes, but I want to take something with an extended schedule; everything I find offers five or six classes. I want to take at least 10. But, I’m not sure how long the new girls will stay at work, so I’m preparing myself for the inevitable call on Wednesdays.”

“Of course, you dance,” he said, chuckling.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He levelled her with a seductive smirk, “All pretty girls dance. It’s science.”

She blushed and smiled.

“Come by the lounge later. I know someone you can talk to about dance classes.”

“Really? You know someone who teaches dance? That would be so great! What kind of dance?”

He pondered and sipped his small espresso, “Well, I’m sure she does different kinds…”

Clara eyed him playfully, “Is there actually a dance instructor, or are you just trying to get me to visit you at the lounge?”

He winked at her, then finished his coffee. “Two birds, one stone, little one. I’ll see you tonight.”

Clara nodded and felt her core squeeze as she watched him exit the cafe; the bulge in his shorts was quite noticeable. If she wasn’t mistaken, she was soaking wet.

__

Since her Monday conversation with Violet and Roark, Clara had decided that fighting the pheromones issue was a losing game. So, instead of wearing many layers and trying to disguise her body’s natural reaction, she opted for being a bit more of a tease. Tonight, that meant a dark red, skin-tight, spaghetti-strap mini dress. It showed off every curve, showed off her cleavage, and it was still adorable.

She was confident Zahuris would love it.

She couldn’t look cute and sexy at work, flirt, or step out of line. Clara didn’t dare to risk it. Not when it was her job and Viole’s reputation on the line; she was too loyal for that. But on an evening out, it was game. Even if Zahuris wasn’t into her, and this was nothing more than a friend and mild flirting outlet, she was glad to have any kind of outlet.

And just because she had to keep a lid on it most of the time, twenty minutes before stepping out, she was on her back on her bed, with her legs open, rubbing her minotaur dildo up and down her sopping pussy lips. She was determined to subtly torture Zahuris as a kind of playful revenge against the universe, not just by emitting pheromones but by smelling like she was aroused.

The dildo was still too massive for her. Her tiny, tight pussy refused to stretch and adapt. Clara loved trying but had given up on it ever entering her. She had considered purchasing a smaller one, but there was a certain stubborn streak to her, too, refusing to admit defeat being one of them.

She closed her eyes and imagined a dark, massive body in front of her, slowly slapping his thick, heavy shaft against her pulsing, pink pussy. “You want me so bad, don’t you, little one?” Her imaginary lover would ask tauntingly. He would know that when it came to sex, she was almost frenzied. If her hands weren’t holding the heavy toy, they’d be clutching the furry blanket under her as she frantically bucked her hips under the massive member until she wriggled herself onto it.

Her cum oozed out, and Clara’s desperate pussy clenched harder; that feeling of wetness drove her even more insane.

I think I’m ready to grind on the chair at the bar

, she said, thinking of Zahuris trying to make cocktails and think straight while she let him catch a whiff of her.

She set the toy aside, shimmied her tight little dress until mid-thigh, and popped on her heels.

Just for fun, and as an added layer of living on the edge now, she forfeited wearing panties, too. Who cares, she thought. Nothing is going to happen tonight, and they have security.

I could convince Turiel to join me if I need a friend.

She stepped outside in a thin leather trench coat over her outfit and was delighted at hearing her heels click on the sidewalk as her high ponytail swung behind her. Clara truly loved being a woman, and nothing brought that out in her more than the promise of teasing just a little for fun.

Every male she passed who glanced her way and registered her on a base, animal level sent a thrill down her spine, egging her on.

When she arrived at the unassuming door to Red Oracle Lounge, she was breathless with anticipation. Stepping lightly down the stairs, she entered the already-filled lounge and smiled when various male patrons looked at her. Elves, minotaurs, orcs, werewolves, and more sharpened their gaze toward her and openly assessed her tight little dress and high heels. Several got up and moved to walk toward her, but she feigned not noticing and wove towards the bar, smiling as Zahuris met her eyes.

“My my, little one,” came his thick, caramel voice, “looks like you came to be devoured.”

She grinned mischievously and slid onto a barstool. Shrugging off the leather trench coat, she asked, “If I’m lucky.” She winked. “Do you like my dress?”

He grunted, “If you’re asking an Anubis man whether he likes the skin-tight thing covering a delicious, milk-skinned, little curvy body, you are severely underestimating your appeal.”

She shot him a coy glance as his compliment turned her cheeks red.

”Or perhaps you know exactly what you're doing,” he continued. “Same drink as last time?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about…. And yes, please, I loved that cocktail.”

With a nod, the bartender started mixing her drink. “Where’s your friend tonight?”

Clara put her elbows on the bar and tilted her head, “I was hoping you’d be my friend tonight.”

Laughing, he said, “Oh, I see.”

“So, just little ol’ me tonight.”

“A dangerous decision.”

”Oh, why is that?”

He bent over to scoop ice into a carafe but looked up at her, assessing. “As your ‘friend,’ just do me a favour tonight. Please. Stay at the bar with me as much as you can.

Don’t

wander around too much.”

Surprised, Clara blinked up at his sudden protectiveness.

”I know many patrons here, but not all of them. Most will respect your space. I wouldn’t want you to receive unwanted attention that makes you uncomfortable.”

A grin spread across her face, the mischief sizzling her veins. “But I want a little bit of attention, Zahuris.”

He leaned across the bar, getting as close as his tall body allowed until he was less than a foot away from her, “trust me, you’ll get it, dove.”

Once again, she felt her insides squirm with anticipation, and Clara felt her pussy contract just a little.

He inhaled then, and she saw his eyes dilate as his brain registered her reaction to his words. He retreated right away, but she thought she’d heard him whisper “fuck” as he pulled away. “You are a dangerous little thing, Clara.”

She tasted her cocktail and hummed with satisfaction. “Don’t worry. This cocktail will take the edge off in just a little bit. I promise to be good.”

His eyes dilated, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he addressed the others sitting at the bar and took their order.

Clara missed flirting and teasing. Zahuris was good at it. He was charming, approachable, and masculine without being intimidating.

Unlike Brogan.

She chastised herself. That was the last person she needed to think about.

Still, the feeling that his same, brooding energy was suddenly watching her tingled at her skin, and she couldn’t help looking around over her shoulder. Immediately, a pack of werewolves sitting at a booth on the edge of the lounge honed in on her. Each made direct eye contact. One going as far as licking his lips. She suddenly became aware of how tightly the dress fit across her swelling breasts. Somehow, between the alarm she felt at how threatening the 4 of them seemed together, mingled with her rising arousal, her nipples hardened noticeably. She felt them strain against her dress and observed the small pack smirking when the wolves saw her body’s response.

She turned around sharply.

Oh God, is this a horrible idea?

Her brain was on high alert, her heart racing, but her pussy pulsed longingly.

To the other side, she saw a centaur sitting with a few orcs and two pretty fairies. The fairies were small and cute, one with periwinkle hair and the other sparkling mint. They looked flirtatiously at the men around them before divulging into giggling whispers towards each other. Neither noticed when the males took in Clara, drinking her in—the centaur’s eyes lingered on the rising hem of her skirt, and he pawed the ground lightly with his hind hoof.

Over to another corner, a hybrid group of elves and vampires also eye-balled her. Their responses were more subtle, but a few of them cockily smirked her way.

“You are causing quite a stir,” said Zahuris, who had moved to lean against the bar by her side. She could see every muscle on his torso as he held himself casually against the bartop. He was in the best shape she had ever seen someone be in.

“What?”

He smiled. “They can all smell you.”

She swallowed. Hearing it from him confirmed her curiosity. It was one thing to surmise but another to have it confirmed by a hot-blooded beast. “S-smell me?”

”Oh yes. It’s fairly obvious to every single male in here that you’re in heat.” He leaned in and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, whispering, “Desperate heat. I can practically smell you oozing, little one.”

”Oh God—,” she said, suddenly a little embarrassed at how obvious she was to every man here.

“—Don’t worry. It’s natural for everyone to experience this. You should enjoy yourself, Clara. Don’t try to hide it.”

She blinked up at him, appreciating the reassurance. But she was betrayed by her drooling pussy.

“You’re something, aren’t you? All these dangerous beasts’ eyes on you is arousing, isn’t it,” he asked gently with a sparkle in his eye. “I’ve never met a human like you.”

”How do you mean?”

”Female humans are scared of us. They usually run when they see how we all react to them.”

“They run from… you?”

Zahuris chuckled again. “Not literally! The intensity is too much for them. But you,” he squeezed her hand and then lightly kissed her knuckles, “you thrive under the attention.”

Clara basked in his words. He read her so well.

“Not just thrive, you’re finally yourself.”

Feeling naughty and vulnerable, she asked, “Is that bad?”

The rumble of his chuckle trailed her knuckles. “No. If you were to ask every male patron here, you would get the same answer…”

”Which is?”

”Embrace it, babe,” came a cheerful voice next to her. The mint-haired fairy from the orc party sat next to her.

Surprised by the interruption, Clara turned to see who the bright, bell-like voice belonged to.

“I’m Lissabelle, your new dance teacher.” The mint-haired fairy perched herself up on the stool to Clara’s right. She was exactly the way someone would imagine a fairy: big, apple-green eyes, rosy cheeks, a happy little smile, and a petite frame adorned with Opalescent wings. She fluttered them ever so gently to get her to the top of the stool, and when she did, Clara noticed thin silver veins lacing across her leaf-like wings.

“Nice to meet you,” Lisabelle continued, arranging her hair, “Zahuris mentioned you were looking for a dance class. I have a studio! And I teach, too!”

Clara brightened when she recalled the exchange she had had with him earlier today and the real reason behind her visit here. “Right! He mentioned he knew someone!”

“That would be me!” Chimed the little fairy.

“Oh gosh, sorry, I’m Clara. Nice to meet you,” she said. The two shook hands lightly.

Behind her, Zahuris returned behind the bar and started making a few more drinks. He didn’t seem to mind the interruption, but Clara could see that the prominent bulge in his pants had returned. She smiled at Lisabelle, hoping she hadn’t been caught.

“So, what kind of dance do you want to learn? Have you danced before?”

“Yes, I’ve done a lot of jazz. I did some ballet, but I didn’t like it. I liked contemporary, and I’ve also tried some Latin dancing,” said Clara, recalling awkward teenage years spent trying to look mature and seductive and instead just embarrassing herself.

Lisabelle fluttered her wings subtly, “Oh wow, OK, you are not new to this. What did Zahuris tell you that I taught?”

“Not a darn thing, honestly.” She threw him a sarcastic frown, which he returned as he raised two shakers in the air and aggressively rattled them. His arms were nicely toned.

Lisabelle giggled. “Well, I guess he wanted you to meet me first. We teach pole dancing mainly.”

Clara had not expected that from this dainty little fairy. “Oh! Really?”

Guessing Clara’s shock, Lisabelle swooped in, “The end goal isn’t meant to be an exotic dancer. The goal of the class is for people to have fun, feel confident, and maybe a little sexy, but the actual focus is aerobics and upper body training. It’s way more of a fitness class than a sexy dance class. Heck, the Zumba class next door is probably more seductive!”

Clara took in the info. Mixing dance with fitness wasn’t a bad idea. Other than going on walks, she wasn’t exactly fit. “I’ll have to think about it,” she said honestly.

“Take your time. We offer other things, but we have to wait until enough people sign up for a class. Cambric Creek doesn’t have a huge dance population.”

Zahuris emerged again after sliding some drinks to the other side of the bar. “And yet they have a pole dancing population!”

Lisabelle brightened, “Yup! That’s right. Everyone’s secretly a tad horny here. It’s the small town facade.”

Clara laughed at that.

“Little parks, cute little stores, everyone is nice,” continued Lisabelle, “but then! Behind closed doors! Cambie’s love to have some spicy fun!’

Imagining the elderly administrative beetle-lady from work buzzing down the pole, Clara laughed a little louder. Immediately, her senses told her several eyes were on her, but she didn’t care—Lisabelle was funny.

The fairy continued, “There’s a lot of kiddos running around Camric Creek, and I take some credit for that!” she said with a wink before whipping her drink.

From the corner of her eye, Clara saw Lisabelle’s fairy friend looking over at them.

“I do want to work out a bit, but I’m not in it for the kiddos,” she added, playing along with the fairy’s joke. “I generally work during the day on weekdays, except Wednesday.”

“Where do you work? Here in town?”

“Yes, just a few blocks away.”

Lisabelle waited patiently, her bubbly presence unperturbed by Clara’s lack of information.

“I work at… Morning Glory Farm,” she finally divulged under her breath, not wanting Zahuris to hear.

Lisabelle's apple-green eyes widened even more, “No way! I

need

details! It’s probably way juicier than what goes on here!”

“You work here as well?” Asked Clara.

“Yes, with Glissara, my friend over there. We just hang out with patrons mostly. It's nothing weird, but the owners want the Lounge to feel familiar and comfortable, so now and then, a few of us come and add our company to the mix to liven up the banter. Also, clients spend more.”

“I had no idea.”

“It’s great for business,” Zahuris added. “One of the better ideas from management.”

Lisabelle nodded, “It’s easy. It’s fun! Good for networking. And it’s not just Glissara and me; there are males, mostly vampires and elves. And a female Orc, Lydia.”

“That’s so clever!”

“I’m gonna want to chat about your job, Clara. I’m serious,” added Lisabelle firmly, finishing her sparkling water.

“Lisabelle,” called the periwinkle friend from the table of orcs. Clara guessed this must be Glissara.

Lisabelle nodded to her friend and said, “Ya, I’ll be right there!” Turning to Clara, she added, “Swing by the studio on Friday, and I’ll show you around. You can choose a class after you see what it’s like. It’s super fun!” She slid a card over to Clara - it was the same colour as her hair, mint green with silver sparkles. The logo and location of the dance studio were on it. “I gotta dash! See you Friday!”

Clara bid farewell and then returned to her drink. Lisabelle had wholly distracted her from the cocktail; before that, Zahuris had been even more distracting.

And yet, still, she knew she was being watched. It made her shiver. Looking down at her dress, she saw her deep cleavage, flesh rising and falling, and her nipples were painfully hard. She was horny. Again.

Great,

she thought,

I can’t control myself. Even when I think I’m being watched, I get more turned on!

Zahuris was deep within the lounge, chatting with some patrons. Clara couldn’t get enough of his body, his toned back and the graceful way he held himself. She felt a growing crush bubbling within her.

Glancing beyond him, she saw the booths that fortune-telling vampires awaited. The temptation to go in and see if she should have a little fling with Zahuris grew within her. Curiosity bubbled over as she polished off her cocktail and felt her defences melting away.

It can’t hurt to say hello!

Clara made her way over before her logical mind could even think to dissuade her.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 8 Pheromone Games

Clara’s meandering progress through the crowd was exhilarating. With every whiff that caught her eye, every dilated pupil she noticed, or eager hands wanting to brush against her skin, she felt like her skin was delicious static.

She was confident no one would hurt her; Zahuris was here, and she was sure there were bodyguards, too. So with every “excuse me,” “pardon me,” and “coming through” that she barely uttered, her excitement grew as patrons turned and moved for her, only for Clara to brush by slowly. She made sure to fully satisfy her inner tease by either nudging against the crowd with her ass, gently squeezing an arm, or generously showing off her cleavage. Werewolf claws skimmed against her skin, fae fingers brushed her shoulders, satyrs inhaled her scent, and she wandered toward the booths.

Finally, she reached one that had the curtain pulled aside. A handsome vampire man with silver-white hair and high cheekbones smiled back at her. “There she is,” he said, extending his hand and pulling her into the booth across from him. “The midnight Lilly, everyone is salivating over.”

She smiled through the rising heat in her cheeks. “Hello, I’m Clara,” she said breathlessly, stilling her fluttering heartbeat from all the excitement.

“Clara, hello. I’m Evander. I’ve had the pleasure of taking you in all night; finally, I can see what that delicious aroma is in all her glory,” he said graciously. His comment was kind, delivered without any edge to his voice. Clara was thrilled at how candidly he spoke to her.

“Taking me in?”

A warm smile spread over his lips. He was boyishly handsome with an easy disposition. She felt immediately comfortable with him, given that he completely lacked the licentious hunger she’d seen in vampires, especially ones portrayed in movies.

“Clara, surely you know?”

She remained silent.

He leaned over and grabbed her hands, his thumbs gently stroking over hers. “Has anyone told you you’re in heat?” The warmth in her cheeks rose, and Evander chuckled softly. “Ah, so you have a clue. But you don’t know how strong and intense and enticing it is?”

Clara shook her head.

“You smell like cream and honey, sweet pea flowers, and very good, earthy sex.” He said with a conspiratorial wink.

“What?”

He laughed and nodded. “A female in heat is like a fine wine or perfume. There is a musk, a sexual tone that is prevalent. But there are other smells, too… sometimes they’re complex, and other times they’re simpler. I’m trying to figure out your complex ones. But interestingly, you have a lot of very innocent scents to you as well,” he continued analytically, but with that same caress of his fingers over her.

His words and revelations calmed her; he was showing her a side of herself she was blind to.

“I’m just curious about that…,” she asked shyly, but Clara continued at his encouraging single nod, “To some, does my scent smell bad?”

His smile broadened. “Hardly any females in heat smell badly to anyone—of any species,” he added quickly. “The scent is meant to allure and entice. Yours is particularly attractive since you’re particularly unique in your attractiveness.”

His admission made her shift slightly, but his vampiric eyes caught her adjustment, and he pulled her in ever so slightly. “Clara. Everyone has insecurities. Everyone has a past. Don’t let the way you see yourself be coloured by horrible exes and critical parents.”

“How? How do you know?! I haven’t given you any of my blood.”

“I don’t need to taste your blood to see it on you. You have that wistful look of someone wanting to allow themselves to be happy after years of being held back.”

Wow. Spot on.

“You also have a very desirable body. It is one that many human men want but try to control out of insecurity. And a body that selfish, narcissistic mothers envy.”

Clara's eyes became disks. No one has ever been able to suss out her secret suspicions. Callum had always wanted her to hide her body and wear baggy clothes. When she developed and got attention, her mother, Danica, pulled her out of dance and berated Clara for her curves, pale skin, and hair. Her mother had been a beauty in her way, but because Clara had red hair, she was just naturally noticed more. Danica made a point of telling everyone that she was so disappointed in Clara’s colouring, how unfortunate it was that Clara hadn’t looked like her, how Clara would need to study more and become an earner because she didn’t have the kind of body to entice someone well off.

“I smell innocence on you because it’s in your core, Clara. Because you had to be mature and the bigger person all your life, I suspect you hid your innocence from everyone,” he continued kindly.

Clara dipped her head, trying to avoid showing him her vulnerability.

“But you didn't come here to hear all of my sentimental ramblings, did you?” He retrieved an intricate heavy box from one side of the table and opened it. Encased in red velvet was a long, elegant needle, similar to the one she’d seen the previous vampire use. “You came here, you naughty minx, because you’re feeling some kind of way and want to know if you’re finally going to have some fun, right?”

Clara smiled, feeling her previous discomfort edge away.

Evander gently pricked the soft bud of her pinky fingertip. When a small bead of blood formed, he looked at her and waited patiently until she granted him permission. Bowing his head over her pale finger, Clara felt his scalding tongue lap her finger carefully. He seemed aware that his actions may startle her. But when he brought his head back up, Clara noticed that the quality of his eyes had changed; they were dilated and dark.

“Apologies… you have a very mesmerizing flavour, my dear,” he said, smiling. “The good news: your naughty little exploits start tonight!”

“My naughty exploits?”

“You have cravings. They all know it,” he gestured to the hoard of beasts beyond the velvet curtain. “You can have your pick. But the one you truly desire awaits outside.”

Clara’s heart raced. Was Zahuris out there? Maybe on a break. She hoped they could have a nice hug, hopefully a little more.

Evander chuckled lightly as he spoke in the domed cove. "Based on what I saw, he’s been obsessed with you since the first time he laid eyes on you. Try to be a little more gentle with him.”

Clara wondered at his words—had she been teasing Zahuris a little too much?

“Why does he actually like me, Evander?”

“Well, darling, you are quite pretty. You smell like you’re ready and begging to be bent over,” he said matter-of-factly, not bothering to disguise his words. A long finger traced the rim of his glass. “He can see you're brilliant and complex—that has a certain beguiling quality, does it not? But I think what draws him in is that mysterious side of yourself that you don’t show anyone. He seems itching to see it and wants to know you deeply,” said the vampire, leaning against the tufted chair and sipping on some wine.

“Is it just a fling? Or more?”

He took a deeper drink this time, “Ah, that is what is very interesting. He wants you, first and foremost. I believe a flight is only on the table if there’s the promise of more later.”

Clara reached behind her neck to think. She liked Zahuris and could tell he liked her too, but she couldn’t read him so profoundly to gauge whether he was a serious relationships kind of guy. She wasn’t even sure if she was ready for something serious.

Evander procured another glass and poured her some wine. “If I may make a suggestion?”

Clara nodded as she tasted the blood-red liquid. It was a deep, earthy red. She wasn’t one for wine, but she wanted to linger with Evander. Clara felt a rare sense of comfort with him—his presence was simple, free of pretense or expectation. “I’m open to any suggestions at this point.”

“Have fun first. Experiment, spread your wings and try new things. He seems like the serious type but is also patient. He will wait for you, darling.”

“Tell me more about him. I feel like you have excellent intel!”

Evander laughed. “I wouldn’t want to rob you of the opportunity to discover him yourself. What I will say is that first impressions can be deceiving.”

Again, Clara’s mind tried to capture how Zahuris first acted around her. He had been charming and warm, and he had been consistently so since then. So how was that deceiving? Was he maybe more shy sexually than he let on? Perhaps he was introverted?

“Ok, just a couple more questions,” she said, then added a cheeky “please” when he playfully raised his eyebrow in her direction.

“Go on then.”

She hesitated and then asked hastily, “Is he gentle?”

Evander shifted his body to align with her more. “He is the full spectrum of love and sex. From gentle to rough.”

She blushed hearing that. “He must be… experienced.”

“My dear, if you really crave extensive experience, go for a vampire or perhaps an elf or someone fae. We live longer. Or have been dead longer,” he smirked over the rim of his glass.

“Honestly, I’m a little scared of vampires,” she confessed shyly after tasting a little more of the merlot.

“Hmmm,” he mused, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his glass. She loved that he took her confession seriously as he gazed at her through serious, analytical eyes and then tilted his head in deep consideration. “Yes, if I were you, I would be scared too.”

The wine was starting to cloud her mind a little. “Really,” she asked, her curiosity peaked. “Why?”

“Your scent and taste require someone with immense discipline. Humans have difficulty assessing vampires' ability to be disciplined since they don’t understand the sheer will vampires have to exert against their most animal instinct.”

“You seem very disciplined.”

Evander gave her an appreciative smile. “Years of practice, dear. And years of punishment, too. The 1800’s were not kind to me.”

Clara laughed. “You make it seem like you were jailed!”

“I was and worse!”

“For biting someone?”

He nodded, “and getting caught in the act by her husband—who was a Count! Horrid experience. I am built for writing and love, not for dank cells and shackles.”

“Evander, you are making this up!”

“I wish I were. Marlene was a delicious, luscious little redhead, just like you!”

She raised her eyebrows at him and smirked but said nothing. The wine was taking over.

Evander likes redheads? That’s good to know!

“I like anyone with pale skin and a supple body,” he said, reading her mind. “Redheads are rare, and they always taste so fresh! And Marlene deserved someone who could make her feel alive and happy, despite me being quite immortal and miserable at not being able to have her forever.”

Clara’s eyes widened, and her heart raced. Evander’s energy was comfortable and unhurried. Nothing about him indicated he was a horny man. But his words spoke of someone with more lovers than he could count!

Evander continued, “When you were young, did you like stuffed animals?”

Clara balked at the sudden change in direction of his questions. She stammered and said, “Yes, of course.”

“Squisky pillows? Thicky fluffy blankets?”

“Yes, I still do!”

“Sitting in plump, cozy chairs? Snuggling into the sweet, comfortable spot of the couch?”

She giggled, “Yes! Why?”

“Because that is why men like curves like yours, Clara darling. It’s a comfort. It speaks to a deeper part of our psyche: we can be vulnerable around softness. Visually, we see it and know we can sink into that comfort; it looks inviting because it looks like it would feel good. And it does feel delicious.”

Clara blinked.

“And beyond it being a comfort, it is a stark difference to the bodies of men. And men are attracted to their true opposites. Hard-bodied men love soft, plump women. Large men love petite women. It’s written in us genetically, regardless of species. This type of attraction, darling,” he said between elegant sips of wine, “goes far beyond what your mind can rationalize about the opposite sex, which you barely can even comprehend.”

She giggled at his earnestness and logic.

“I need you to understand that men find you attractive, pet. That is my singular goal for you when you leave here. Well, it’s one of two: the second goal is to encourage you to be brave and have fun, open to heart to trying naughty, new things,” he said simply, looking right into her eyes.

She was curiously trusting of him. His lack of pretense put her suspicions to rest.

“Could you try to give my perspective a chance and see yourself that way?”

Her parted lips pressed into a soft smile as she agreed silently.

“Good girl.”

“But why do you want me to believe you, Evander? What is your agenda?”

He tilted his head, sarcastic disappointment on his boyish face. “Of course, you’d suspect ulterior motives. Well, that's good because I am very selfish in my request,” he said decisively, placing his empty wine glass on the table and indicating that he would bring hers forward so he could refill it. “At my age, I’ve done a lot. Sins of the flesh don’t excite me as much, and yet nothing gives me more pleasure than seeing women enjoy themselves fully. Enjoy being themselves, enjoying who they are, being at ease and revelling in their femininity. It’s easily the most alluring thing to behold. It’s beguiling and intriguing; it gives me a profound sense of sonder to my immortal heart. After hundreds of years–yes dear, hundreds–the carnal becomes boring. But seeing someone in their element still does something for me, especially when that element is the divine feminine.”

Clara blinked at his answer. It was so genuine and sincere she couldn’t find anything to scoff at.

“And why do you want me to be naughty?”

“Because not only can I taste how badly you want it, I can also taste them out there. Femininity like yours needs the pleasures of the flesh. You need to experience that side of yourself. It’s beautiful. And maybe you’ll come back and tell me what happened!”

They both clinked their glasses as a silent promise that she would. Evander gave her a little look, saying, “One last thing before you go.”

“Mhmm?”

“Be careful out there. They can all taste that you’ve been aroused this whole time, dear.”

Clara blanched, but Evander flicked the thick drapes open sooner than she could react and gently guided her out. “I’ll miss you; come back when you can. Enjoy the night, darling.”

As soon as she faced the hoard again, it seemed as if the chatter became a quiet lull.

Their eyes were on her, trailing the beads of sweat rolling down her neck. Her skin glistened with sweat from the closed-in air of the booth and the effect of the wine. Clara could feel the beasts in the lounge containing growls in their throats as she moved toward the bar again.

A mantis man plucked gently at the thin strap of her dress, snapping it and making her cleavage jiggle–Clara loved his boldness. She passed one werewolf, fully transformed; his furry fingers brushed up her inner thigh and swabbed at her trail of moisture. His finger had been just a couple of inches away from her throbbing pussy. She loved how it ached. Still, Clara pressed through them, loving the tiny, unseen gropes and squeezes, the pinches of her ass, and when her nipples scraped against a taunt body near her.

Returning to her chair, she noticed another bartender behind the bar, energetically mixing drinks and chatting with patrons. Clara grabbed her coat, wondering if Zahuris was still waiting for her.

“—There you are!”

She turned to see him leaning over her, his hand on her arm.

“Hello there,” she said, a big smile spreading from cheek to cheek. He was so handsome. And tall.

“Clara, you had me worried sick,” the Anubis said earnestly. “I turned around, and you were gone!”

“Oh, sorry… you were busy, so I wandered a little.”

He sighed and held her hand, “Don’t be sorry. It’s just that the crowd tonight seems a little feral. I don’t want someone to get crazy around you and lose control.”

He’s being protective. It’s so sweet.

“Haha, and you’ve had a little bit to drink.”

“Just a little.”

“Naughty little dove. What’s your plan now? Do you want to stay, or are you done for the night?”

“I was going to go outside…” she said, a little dazed. She thought he’d be outside, but maybe Evander meant outside the booth.

Zahuris nodded, grabbed her coat, and took her hand to lead her outside, “I think that’s the better idea.”

His large form efficiently wove them through the crowd. Jealous eyes regarded Zahuris with suspicion, but Clara felt warm all over as he held her small hand in his large, dark palm.

“Here, go up the stairs first, I’ll follow.” He said before turning around and holding a few fingers to the other bartender, indicating he’d return soon.

Clara made it to the 3rd step before her heel caught on the edge, making her trip. Her body slammed against the steps painfully. “Ow!”

Immediately, Zahuris was by her side, helping her up. She bent over, embarrassed by her fall. Clara was sure she wasn’t that drunk. She hated any displays that made it seem like she had lost control.

“Clara, you can’t be bending over like that, dove,” said Zahuris as his fingers gently tucked at the hem of her mini dress and pulled it down a little lower.

Mortification washed over her. “Oh my God!”

“It’s OK,” he said reassuringly, “No one saw.”

“But you did!”

“And I won’t tell a soul, I promise,” he said with deep sincerity.

Clara appreciated his loyalty and discretion, but it didn't stop the wash of embarrassment gripping her. She ran up the stairs to escape the scenario and burst through the door.

The fresh air hit her hard, but she needed the mental clarity it gave her.

The alley was empty, not a soul in sight other than a large form moving towards his car.

“Hang on there!” Zahuris called after her. “You’re just gonna run away because you tripped?”

“You saw my-my… oh God!” Clara pressed her hands to her mouth, realizing she had foolishly decided to forgo underwear.

Zahuris reached her and cupped her face, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. “You’re a dangerous little thing, Clara. I guess tonight you wanted to play with fire a little bit, huh?”

“Well, I - I, I just wanted … the thing is—”

He smiled at her, a touch of hunger in his eyes. “Oh, I think I got the picture, dove.”

“Zahuris, hang on, I wasn’t trying to—“

“I think,” he started, wrapping his hands around her waist, “you wanted someone, a certain someone maybe, to get a little whiff of you? Maybe tease him a little bit?”

She bit her lip, then let out a nervous laugh that melted into a small, shy smile, her eyes darting away before sneaking back to meet his.

Zahuris laughed. “You’re a minx, aren’t you?” His thumb brushed her jaw, and he gently tilted her face to his. “I’m supposed to be working, dove. Otherwise, I would be succumbing to every tease and torment.”

“I know… I don’t know what’s come over me,” she whispered up at him.

“You’re in heat. You can’t even help yourself.”

Clara ground her hips into him.

Zahuris dipped his head. “It must be tough for you. Especially since you’re new here.”

“A little bit, ya.”

“And with all these massive beasts all around.”

She nodded, her shyness mingling with deepening need.

The heat between them increased, and Clara’s pulse fluttered all over her body. The huge hand he rested on the small of her back made her dizzy. And his other hand under her jaw made her feel more submissive than she wanted to admit.

“So, did anyone in the lounge catch your eye?”

Clara licked her lips and nodded, and then looked up at him. “Well, someone did catch my eye last time too…”

Zahuris chuckled. His fingers stroked the small of her back gently. “Am I supposed to take a hint? Or is there someone I need to be introducing you to?”

His eyes sparkled with amusement.

“I have no idea who you would introduce me to…the guy behind the bar is more my type,” she said sheepishly.

A beautiful grin spread across his face. “There you go, dove. That’s the right answer.”

His hands rose her torso up and into him, and he dipped his mouth down to kiss her. He was delicate and sensuous, kissing her as if he knew that he was her first non-human.

Clara’s body sighed with relief; there was finally an outlet for all her passion. With every tug to pull her in closer, she clung to him more. Her hands groped at his shoulders and neck; she pressed her chest into him desperately as their lips clashed.

“Ok, dove, ok,” he said, pulling away just a bit, resting his forehead on hers to create a little breathing space. “I know you want more right now.”

She nodded, no longer caring if she came across as frantic.

“And I want to give you more, I promise,” he said soothingly. His one hand roamed heavily against her ass and leg. He grasped at her bare thigh just below her dress and pulled at her flesh until she felt air rushing between her thighs and up to her pussy.

A deep moan escaped her lips, and she felt ready then and there for him to take her.

His breathing picked up.

“Please, Zahuris,” she whimpered against his lips. She ground her hips again.

A deep groan escaped him. “I want to, dove. Trust me. I’ve wanted to taste you since I first saw you.”

“Taste me then,” she begged.

A chuckle rumbled out of him. “I can’t tonight. I’m so

so

sorry, dove,” he stroked her cheek with the back of his finger. “I’m managing the lounge tonight. I can’t leave my team.”

Clara’s sadness and frustration forced out a low whine. She needed him badly.

“You’re in heat, Clara.”

“So?”

“You smell divine, and I want you! But you’ve never been with a non-human. If we’re going to do this, I want to make sure we’re doing it properly. It takes time to prepare a petite little human like you.”

Clara was so frustrated that she wanted to stomp her foot.

Fuck! Zahuris! Just lick me! Come on, bend me over the bench and have a tiny little taste! Stop being so…so pragmatic!

She liked that he was considerate, but it was infuriating.

“I’m sorry. I can see you’re frustrated; I hate that for you, I do. But I have to go back,” he said kindly. “Let me get you a cab.”

She sighed. “No, that’s ok. I think a walk would do me good.”

He regarded her skeptically. “l don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I’ll be ok,” she insisted. “I don’t live far away…”

“Like a block or two? Or…”

“It’s just a quick walk, I swear.”

“If you’re sure,” he said, but his voice held some worry in its tone.

She nodded and reached in for a little hug.

He held her tight. His strong arms pinned her against his chest easily. “Clara, I do really want you.”

And to prove his point, he lowered his hand and reached a finger between her tights. Like the werewolf before, he reached for the wet streak that had been leaking down her leg and swiped it with a thick finger. His touch was much, much closer to her pussy than the unknown werewolf.

Clara groaned in pleasure. The nearness of his touch was a torment.

Zahuris let her go, brought his finger up to his lips, and licked.

She was nearly dizzy watching him react to how she tasted. A deep groan rose from his chest, and she could see the deep regret in his eyes that he wasn’t taking her home.

“Go, dove. Before I lose all control and bend you over in the alleyway.”

Zahuris gave her a light pat on the ass as she walked away. He watched her a little bit before opening the heavy door to the lounge and descending.

Clara’s disappointment was palpable. The kiss left her head spinning and breathless; Zahuris clearly liked her, too. But the fun that Evander had described had her hoping that it would be more.

She succumbed to the situation and the cool night. All around her, the Main Street of Cambric Creek glowed cozily. Except for a little diner and a pizza stop, most of the shops were closed. She could smell the new spring leaves growing on the trees and the blossoms in the street flower planters, but it didn’t brighten her mood like it usually would.

She didn’t want to put her coat on; the brisk night air was the dose of reality she needed, the elixir of sobriety that would allow her to walk home in her too-high heels.

“Ahem.”

Looking up, she saw the dark form from earlier leaning against his car.

Horror gripped her throat. The massive beast was in shadow—the streetlight behind hid him, not revealing anything other than the enormous body rising from the sleek black car.

Clara stepped away. She noted his horns and looming form. He was as tall as Zahuis but broader and heavier.

“A little late to be walking home alone,” came the deep voice as he approached.

The fear in her body was so sharp that it could hardly register between fight and flight. “Get away from me,” she said, her voice automatic and assertive despite feeling absolute terror.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” said the beast. “I just want to offer you a ride home or to Roark’s. You shouldn’t be out walking alone.”

“I don't know you! I am

not

telling you where I live!” After taking another step back, she was ready to run.

“—You don’t have to—“

“I said, ‘Get away from me’!” She demanded again, but as she stepped back, she felt the rough brick of a wall behind her.

Clara’s pulse rang in her ears. She wished she’d listened to Zahuris and let him grab her a cab - so what if it was just a 5-minute drive? At least this wouldn’t be happening to her.

In the darkness, she saw a hand raise. “It’s just a ride.”

“Back up!” She yelled.

The beast stopped and backed up. “Fine.”

Despite his acquiescence, she couldn’t calm her heart rate.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” said the voice, rough and curt.

She didn’t say anything. All that was going through her mind were calculations about whether she could outrun him in heels or if she stood a better chance of persuading him to leave her alone.

Clara’s fingers trembled as she located the keys from her coat pocket and started to interlock a different key between different fingers—there was no way she’d be able to outrun this guy. He was too tall. And her shoes were built for anything but speed.

“You don’t need to do that,” he said calmly, leaning against the light post. “I won’t touch you.”

Fat chance

, she thought, trembling.

He shifted, and then, realizing he was in shadow, he moved so she could see him. The dark-haired, brown-eyed Minotaur gave her a steady gaze.

“I’m surprised Zahuris didn’t walk you home,” said Brogan.

Clara sputtered in disbelief.

Oh, God, no! Not you!

Of course, Brogan would be here when she was the most vulnerable. Of course, he’d witnessed her kissing Zahuris. Why was he always there to bear witness to her embarrassment?

“He likes you,” continued Brogan. “Couldn’t shut up about you since the first time you came to the lounge.”

She swallowed.

So he knows Violet and Zahuris—damn.

“You caused quite the stir downstairs,” he continued, watching her intently. He was so singular and intense. He barely moved, and yet Clara felt like prey under his eyes. The weight of his gaze on her body was like a thick, heavy net. “I’ve never seen that before.”

“I didn’t see you in there,” she said, her voice small but thankfully steady.

“I didn’t want to be seen.”

How do you even manage that

, she thought scathingly.

Aren’t you 7’ tall?

Her lips pressed together tightly. Had his eyes been the heat she’d felt when she’d first entered the lounge, or was she just projecting?

“I’m an investor in the lounge. I visit now and then to see how things are running, whether it’s busy,” he said. “And tonight, to my surprise, the little redhead milking technician from Morning Glory Milking Farm decided to grace us with her patronage. Then everyone and their dog suddenly lost their ability to think straight.”

Clara shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

“Not just because she’s wearing the tightest, skimpiest little dress either,” he said, his voice hard but unreadable.

At his word, Clara became so self-conscious that she felt practically naked. Suddenly, her dress seemed too tight, too short, too revealing, and her skin prickled from the cold breeze sweeping past. Memories of him groaning and saying he could smell her filled her mind, and she nearly groaned in renewed embarrassment.

“She’s figured out that she’s in heat and decided to cause a little stir—“

“I don’t appreciate your accusations,” she said through gritted teeth.

“—Accusations and observations are different things. That’s why they’re different words with different meanings.”

She scoffed.

“I call it like I see it,” he finished.

“You think you know me,” she muttered, crossing her arms under her chest.

“Not one bit,” he returned quickly. “Even with what Violet has told me about you… it probably only covers about 10% of who you really are. But I know the excitement in a woman’s eye when they’re in heat and want to tease a little.”

Cocky asshole

.

“Human women, in particular, love to come and see their effect among the beasts.”

Screw you

, she thought, although she flushed from the truth of it. Not that she thought any of them saw her as attractive as they saw their species… but her curiosity was definitely guiding her actions blindly.

“Drink orders doubled after you arrived.”

She rolled her eyes. “Clearly, you love the profit.”

“Clearly, you love the attention.”

“Wow! Don’t you sound like an absolute expert in what women do and do not

love

? Since you barely know me, let me tell you something: I don’t

love

your judgment or your analysis. You have no business talking to me like this,” she said like a defensive, cornered cat.

He regarded her calmly, not once moving toward her. Brogan checked his cell phone and re-pocketed it in his well-tailored suit pants.

“I’m doing a poor job conveying that I am not judging you,” he sighed after considering her for a while.

“A horrible job of it.”

“I apologize. I don't have the same ease of demeanour as Evander,” he said.

He knows Evander, too. Does he know everyone in this town?

“But he and I do agree that seeing a woman in their full femininity is a delight.”

Clara couldn’t control her exaggerated eye roll, “oh please, spare me.”

He gave her a casual shrug.

She didn’t know what to make of the interaction, but now that she felt slightly more relaxed than when she’d thought he was a total stranger, she decided it was safe to turn her back on him and walk home.

He followed and said, “Get in the car. I’ll drive you home.”

“No.”

“Fine, I’ll walk you.”

“No!”

“You’re not walking alone in your state,” he retorted.

Clara whirled around, seething. “It’s not your business how I walk home. And ‘

my state

’ is the least of your concerns, too.”

He didn’t react to her bite at all.

He must be used to people being mad at him

, she thought.

Well, that makes sense. He’s infuriating.

“Clara, you are new to Cambric Creek. And obviously new to being in heat around non-humans. My offer to drive you home is as much a public service as it is a favour to you,” he said plainly in his deep, dark tone.

She gaped at him, her anger turning up another dial. “A-a public service? How

dare

you!”

His tone remained calm and unaffected. “No offence, but you’re going to be a distraction to anyone walking or driving past.”

“So what, I have to hide myself now? Because what? I stink to you”, she retorted, her tone rising.

She saw a microscopic lift in the corner of his mouth, but it faded just as quickly. “Far from it. But consider your state and their safety.”

She huffed and walked away faster.

Screw you, Brogan Aldridge!

There wasn’t even anyone driving.

“You know, your scent is only amplified by strong emotions and sweating, right?” he said, easily keeping up with her hurried steps.

“Ugh,

why

can’t you leave me alone?” she threw at him, whirling around and gaining on him.

He stopped in his tracks, blinking.

“Don’t you think I’m embarrassed enough after what happened at Morning Glory?” She said, taking an attacking step towards him.
“I’ve never done so poorly in a session before. I thought I would get fired!”

She jabbed her finger in his chest.

He stood his ground and let her unleash on him, gazing down at her as she unravelled in her anger.

“And now you’re here and rubbing my ‘state’ in my face? Where do you get off?” She was nearly yelling at him, directly in his face, eyes wild with frustration.

Thankfully, no one was there to try to awkwardly pretend not to see them arguing.

“I didn’t realize—”

“—Well, realize! Maybe have some empathy or compassion! Consider what it was like for me! Consider how you’re making me feel now!”

“—Yes, I’m trying to make you aware of how this heat is affecting—”

“—No! All you’re doing is making me feel horrible for being human! For being in a heat that I don’t even want to be in!”

“Enough, Clara. That was not my intent,” he said, stepping closer, catching her hand in his before she could jab his chest again.

Her anger reached her ears; she knew she must be tomato-red by now. “Don’t you

‘enough’

me! Intent or not, you have a way of making me feel so–so self-conscious and gross!”

“Well, you have an infuriatingly defensive manner of interpreting my words,” he said roughly.

She roared in frustration and began walking away.

Immediately, his hand reached out and grabbed her back. “Ok,” he said evenly. “I apologize; I pushed too far.”

Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, anger coursing through her body as he held her in place with his firm, heavy hands.

“I truly am sorry.”

“Ya right!”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel self-conscious and certainly not gross. I just know that humans can’t smell when someone is in heat like we can, that’s all,” he said, both his hands holding her arms at her side, and he leaned in.

The longing and frustration she’d felt earlier with Zahuris was now a keen edge of antagonism toward Borgan.

He leaned down and looked at her, taking in her angry eyes and tight lips.

“You’re a passionate little thing, aren’t you?”

She roared again and wriggled out of his hands, but he kept her in place without an ounce of effort. “That,” he said, blocking a swat of her hand going for his bicep, “was not a criticism.”

She continued to try to jerk away. “Stop

observing

me!”

“I’ll try my best,” he said, a tinge of softness entering his voice.

“Stop trying to make me do what you want!”

“I wasn’t… that’s now how I meant to talk to you,” he said, adjusting his words. “Clara, look at me.”

She hated herself for listening so immediately. But her eyes locked with his as soon as the words left his mouth.

“May I please drive you home?”

She continued to vibrate with acrimony.

Clara hated how calm and rational he was, in stark contrast to her fury. It was as if he were discussing a spreadsheet while she was erupting like a volcano.

“I know you live nearby. It’s really no trouble. Think of it as my apology for being a little too brusque with you,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“Why?” She asked, her question biting and suspicious.

He blinked at her, the first time she ever saw him a little confused. “Why what?”

“Why are you insisting so much to drive me home?”

His head tilted as he regarded her. His intensity would have made her shrink back from him before. But tonight, her whole system was overridden with rage and irritation.

“It’s the right thing to do. It’s what Zahuris should have done.”

She swallowed.

“It is just a ride home. For me to make sure you reached your door. That is all.”

She looked away. Suddenly, she felt defeated. Brogan was too stubborn for her to find the energy to fight off.

Part of her acknowledged that in no part of their interaction had he been heated or tense; not a single part of him indicated that he was licentious. It was like cold, controlled respect. Clara couldn’t quite place her finger on what it was about him.

Her shoulders relaxed under his massive hands. “Fine.”

He gave a curt nod, approving her yielding.

“Come,” he said.

Clara noted how easy it was for him to command.

He must get his way a lot.

Brogan led her to his sleek black car, and he opened the door. As she slid inside, she tried to ignore how luxurious it was. The last thing she cared about was his wealth… it was all just a testament to his arrogance and assumptive behaviour.

She tucked her legs inside and adjusted the hem of her dress as he quietly closed the door for her.

Clara regarded that hem. It was riding up too high. She was a fool. She had wanted to be daring and dress a tad risque tonight. Now, here she was, regretting doing so in her first foray in Cambric Creek; it had bitten her in the butt.

She looked out the window and realized that they’d started driving a while ago. Clara had been too busy berating herself to notice the car take off.

Brogan drove next to her quietly, silently moving the gear stick as he scanned the street. He drove as though he barely acknowledged he was there.

Within minutes, he approached her apartment and stopped the car directly in front of her historic condo building.

“How do you know I live here,” she asked quietly. Her defiance was entirely out of her system by now.

“I own a few units here and manage the building. As a manager, I ask all owners to inform my firm when they rent out their units and provide their tenant information,” he said simply.

Great. He has my number and knows my address, as well as all my friends and everyone I know. There is no escaping this guy.

“Kinda creepy,” she said muttered.

“Not if you keep it professional,” he returned cooly.

He got out of the car and opened the door for her, offering his hand to help her out.

She wanted to say something, even ‘thank you,’ but instead, she felt defeated and just wanted to be home.

“Goodnight, Clara.”

He was still entirely unreadable.

She nodded and went home.

Clinging to the railing, she climbed the stairs, feeling her heightened emotions cool with every step up the curved atrium. This night had been… very different from what she’d envisioned.

Finally, she reached her apartment and stepped inside. Clara kicked off her heels and then turned on the light in her living room. A soft glow filled the room, and she stepped to the bay window and curled away her gauzy curtain to gaze at the street warily.

Down below, Brogan leaned against his car, waiting.

As soon as Brogan saw her head peeking out at him, he gave her a curt nod. Then, without a wave or anything else, he got into his car and silently drove down the street.

Her heart plunged.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 9 - Frustrations
BROGAN POV

The drive home was easily the most agony Brogan had ever been in.
Clara’s scent lingered in his car, and thanks to her tiny little dress, it had ridden up so much when she sat in the car that a small imprint of her previous arousal shone on the leather. It was all he could do to not rub his snout on it and lick it off.
Her smell drove him to blind insanity. He didn’t want to play with fire and discover what she tasted like, too. But with every block, he got farther from her, the harder it was to keep his urge in check. Especially since her earthy-creamy scent filled his car as strongly as perfume.
He worried it would sink into the leather.
He’d probably drive this car more.
A groan of frustration escaped him. He found her too attractive—it was a problem.
His eyes looked at the wet spot one more time.
That isn’t because of you, he thought. Zahuris made her feel like that, not you.
Damn him. Damn that fucking bartender and his charm and easy smiles. It made him a great bartender, but Brogan’s sharp jealousy needed an enemy, and it was fucking Zahuris. With his lean, chiselled gym body and overly social banter. All the staff liked him, and the fairies, even the elf-women liked Zahuris. Brogan marvelled that someone like Clara would go for him.
Then again, someone like Clara was currently navigating a mental and physical fog so thick and hormonal that she could barely think straight. Being in heat was such a desperate, needy mess. Most nonhuman couples married early just to ensure they’d have someone for when their heat came on. Folks without kids suddenly were pregnant.
Brogan remembered his heat a nearly decade ago. He’d been in France, thankfully. There was a chunk of the female population in Semur-en-Auxois in France that Brogan had spent systematically stretching and pounding with a cock that couldn't be satiated. And a corresponding male population that likely hated American Minotaurs now.
It had been delightful in some ways, although the medieval scale of the buildings made things challenging at times. But his experience of being in heat and having an outlet for his frustrations had created a different kind of agony in other ways.
France had been where he’d met Evander. Both had connected over their longing for something more from the opposite sex. This new generation was fixated on hookup culture. Brogan had burned through that phase during his heat, and Evander had spent a few hundred years also becoming jaded about a purely sexual life.
As far as Brogan was concerned, no partner was worth having unless she was the final one. The one he was in love with and who returned his feelings. Nothing excited him anymore unless both parties had skin in the game. Both parties needed to feel the risk and fear of losing the other.
He was too jealous to consider anything casual. He was too demanding to put effort into a relationship with someone just to have them walk away. He was too possessive and protective to exert the emotional and mental toll it took him to manage that with someone who just wanted friends with benefits. Frankly, the term insulted him. No one was benefitting from him unless she also wanted a ring and to move in permanently.
Which was why Clara’s presence was a damn fucking nuisance.
His eyes darted back to the wet spot on his car.
Creamy, honeyed, and earthy.
Clara was not ready for commitment–that much was obvious.
The spot on the passenger seat glistened.
Clara, apparently, had recently escaped a horrible long-term relationship with someone who was controlling and emotionally abusive. “She needs some freedom and time to be on her own,” Violet had said, the sadness in her voice colouring Brogan’s understanding of where Clara was coming from. It sounded like a past of pure repression.The scent from the spot hit his nostrils again as some of the midnight air wafted into his car.
Fuck. Fuck! I want her.
The longing sank deep into his bones.Brogan's stomach churned thinking back to her looking scared when she first noticed him. She was beautiful in every state, from anger to joy. But the look of fear on her face hurt him, but not enough to push away his desire to end his abstinence.He’d been abstinent for 6 years now. Refusing to indulge in any flings or partners. Any misgivings he may have had before about whether he had a sex addiction or issues with intimacy were now fully assuaged. Therapy, both physical and mental, had set him back on track.
He’d always been someone of extremes, all in or all out.
And with Clara, she had to be an all-out. Too young, too human—she needs time to live a little. Her scent hit him again.
She is Violet’s friend!

All he had to do was pull over and lick the seat.Cut it out. She fucking hates you, he reminded himself.
The memory of his milking session came back. She’d stumbled in and gotten beautifully flustered - when he saw her skin and that blush, he knew he would be in trouble. Then her red hair and the curves materialized before him, and his entire body had clenched, cock was harder than ever before, with a longing he hadn't felt in years.
Redheads were such a weakness.
Redheaded human women especially.They caused his balls and cock to tighten beyond anything else. It was an instinct he could do nothing about. There was no rationalizing it.
There had been a French redhead in Semur—she was an unearthly combination of sensual and innocent. He’d fallen in love with her harder than what was healthy. She had a pouty little mouth, and she’d rejected Brogan constantly the entire time he’d been there. She’d been in love with someone else.
Clara was a little smaller than the French girl, yet her curves, creamy skin, full lips, and rosy blush were all similar. Clara actually outshone Amelie considerably.

The difference between the two was that Clara had an edge to her that Amelie had not. There was laughter in her eyes when he’d seen her from afar, and she had an intelligent, mischievous sparkle in them.
In their session at Morning Glory, Clara had done her best to recover from tripping into the room. He could see she was intimidated by him. Normally, that reaction would have annoyed him. Instead, his brain interpreted it as endearing. Fucking adorable even.

Cut it out, Brogan.

Thinking about his milking session was out of the question.
He stopped at a red light and instinctually looked at the wet spot again.
It would dry over soon.
It might stain his leather seat.It glistened invitingly.
Without a second thought, he flicked his finger over it and scooped her cum into his mouth.

Holy fuck!

The taste of her went straight to his cock and blinded him. He got hard so fast that his cock actually hit the steering wheel.
Despite the road being practically empty, he pulled over right away and palmed his arousal.
Clara’s cum tasted like nothing he’d ever had before. Fresh and sweet and with a flavour of deep longing, he could taste how needy she was.

If she didn’t hate him so much, he’d turn the car around and race back to her place, pound on her door, and demand she let him sink his tongue into her plump little pink pussy. He’d be on his knees, leaking all over her floor, his thighs, and her blanket just so he could use both hands to pin her legs open and spread that beautiful pussy for him to get full access.
He knew it was a gorgeous pussy. He saw a small peak of it once when she’d been kissing Zahuris and again when she’d gotten out of the car and neglected to adjust her dress.
No panties.
A human woman in heat. And she’d decided to skip the panties. Fuck.
It was pink and plump, with a hint of slick lips protruding from between thick, pale thighs.
An image flashed before him of her sitting next to him and the hem of her dress cutting a tight line against her thighs…. Clara was such a juicy little thing. He loved that look of something a little too tight on a curvy woman—it amplified that kind of soft plumpness you wanted to sink your hands, teeth, and cock into. Soft.
Without realizing it, Brogan’s hand was stroking his thick length in the car along the side of the road.
Right next to the fucking duck pond.
He couldn’t help it.
His mind raced from his milking session and her beautiful big hazel eyes looking at him as she attentively milked his cock. Her smell had filled his senses then, too. In fact, he was certain she'd been aroused while she milked him. He'd bet money on it; he'd bet this car on it.
Brogan leaned against the steering wheel as he pumped his aching shaft. Nothing he did compared to how she had touched him at the Milking Farm, her small, eager hands, her pace, the small noises she made.
His mind would jump to seeing her wade through the crowd at the lounge, letting everyone graze their hands against her like a needy little thing… her body was probably screaming to be used. He loved that she craved to be touched. It had thrilled him to watch her get lightly groped by all those men, even though every fibre in his body was roaring with a fit of jealousy he hadn’t felt in years. He wanted to touch; he wanted to be the only one touching her. But still, Clara’s joy at their caresses gave Brogan a strange kind of joy, too.Then his thoughts flash to Clara's beautiful, full, pale breasts in her dress next to him in the car. Straining and bouncing in reaction to every bump the car drove over.
He wanted her.
He wanted to lick every inch of her. He wanted to see her in every position and every state of pre-, during, and post-sexual bliss. He wanted to see her straining her pussy to open for his thick cock as much as he wanted to see her in the crook of his arm, content and asleep.
She probably wants to see you on a spit roast, he thought begrudgingly. Cumming all over someone as they're milking you during work probably was mortifying for her. Of course, it put her off. She probably thought he was disgusting or some kind of pervert.
The thought was sobering for him.
He put a lot of people off. Brogan had always had a very polarizing personality.He tucked his aching cock away, not bothering to manage the oozing precum that was coating his head and starting to trail down his shaft.
Tasting her had been a mistake, and now the smell of her in his car was somehow amplified by his brain's knowledge of what it tasted like.
Roark always had this theory that the Minotaur's of Minos who “fed” on the sacrificed women actually meant that bulls loved eating pussy. Brogan didn’t know if there was real historical merit to that theory. But it was true that Minotaur's, more than humans, were obsessed with scent, marking, tasting, and being covered in their partner's scent. It was linked to how they mated.
Pulling on every morsel of dignity and willpower he had, Brogan started his car again and wound his way quietly down the silent streets, the only sounds coming from chickadees and trees swaying in the night air.
He lived in a gated suburb. It was designed by Frederick Olmsted in the romantic style but no one had built homes within the community until now, all the residences within were state-of-the-art modern homes. Olmsted had designed Central Park in New York; his style was all about creating a sense of entry with the picturesque, so the neighbourhood felt more like a park with houses rather than a suburb. The singular tree-lined street wound around small gardens or respites with gazebos. Tonight, the place was empty except for his lone car lights.

His home was near the far end, backing onto a lake. Brogan decided to leave the car outside the garage and cracked the windows open ever so slightly to give the interior a chance to aerate. As much as he craved Clara’s scent, he needed to be able to think straight when he drove.
And she didn't seem too keen on him.
He entered the massive house, tossed his keys on the credenza, and walked straight to his study. It was entirely paneled in wood, with one wall containing floor-to-ceiling bookcases and another wall containing a window looking at the lake.
Brogan walked to his drink cart and poured himself the stiffest liquor he had, all the while ignoring the bulging strain in his trousers.
Clara is not an option.
Her being a human created some logistical problems. Despite her education, his parents would likely not approve of Clara just because she wasn’t a minotaur. She was much younger than him, didn't want a relationship, and was also just a problem visually; too tempting. Her eyes were a little too inviting, and flirtatious-he loved it but knew it would become an issue one day. Every man wants a beautiful woman on his arm until he spends more energy swatting away other people’s advances than being with his woman. He knew his jealousy would become a problem.Brogan sighed. Maybe I need to grow up and get over myself.Going upstairs, he contemplated going straight to bed but knew he’d need a shower. All his clothes were thrown directly into the washing machine. He was taking no chances on getting her scent on other clothes in his hamper and spreading her delicious aroma.
Then he walked into his steam shower and stood there, head against the tile, waiting for that creamy, honeyed smell to wash away. Three wall-mounted shower heads were directed at him, and one rain shower head on the ceiling drizzled softly down his frustrated body. Every muscle was tense with deep yearning.His cleaner, Oanna, liked to put fresh eucalyptus leaves in his shower. He usually loved it, too; it gave the space a spa-like scent. But tonight, all he registered was floral honey, fresh cream, spring flowers, and that deep, sexual musk of hers.
Once again, his cock thunked against the tile.It wanted to be milked.He got a handful of liquid soap and started pumping again. No, protested his girthy member. I want her to milk me.
Too bad, he responded gruffly.He began thinking about Clara’s plump little pussy between her pale thighs, and he felt pre-cum ooze out from his tip.His hands wrapped around his shaft easily, but his body craved her small hands working him, trying to manage the weight of his cock.
Brogan imagined what it would have been like to follow Clara up the stairs to get the faintest peak of her pussy as she stepped upwards. Perhaps she’d give him a sly, knowing look over her shoulder as she ascended and noticed him taking her in. He imagined entering her apartment behind her, and Clara taking his hand in her tiny little one to guide him to her bedroom. And then, when she reached the bed, she’d sink down onto her fluffy duvet on all fours, bending over for him. Letting her the hem of her dress ride up so he could appreciate her pussy.
His hand kept pumping faster and faster, working his shaft and head. His other hand worked his balls, just like she had.
His body trembled as he envisioned getting onto his knees and sinking his muzzle between her thighs, breathing her in, and unleashing his hunger on her as he licked her pussy senseless. He wanted to know what her moans sounded like. Wanted to see her sinking her torso into the mattress while her plump ass hung up in the air for him to knead and lick it. Brogan wanted to spread her thighs open and feel her shake with every lap of his tongue.
And he wanted to hear her say his name when she came.
He felt his cum shooting out onto the tile, coating the entire shower wall with thick ropes of cum.
With a resigned sigh, he rested his head against the wall for a minute, catching his breath. The cool tile grounded him and Brogan
washed the rest of his body, which had broken out in a cold sweat. With a final streak of resolution, he took the single removable shower head and rinsed the cum off the shower wall. Oanna was too good of a cleaner to be forced to deal with that.
Brogan dried himself off and crawled into bed, not bothering to put on any clothes. He was too hot all over, muscles practically vibrating. He was frustrated, still hard, and knew tonight would be sleepless.
He closed his eyes and let the lingering taste of Clara fill his senses.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 10 - I want that one

All of Thursday, Clara was in a haze.

Thankfully, her clients were all easy and mostly clock-watchers. Appointments often were just 15—to 20-minute increments, and most of the time was spent inspecting the room beforehand and then tidying up afterwards. Clara could easily manage two clients per hour, while the more senior staff worked three or more. Her goal was to reach that rate within a few months.

But this Friday, her mind was preoccupied. Flashes of Wednesday night intruded on her thoughts repeatedly without any rhythm of preference: Zahuris, Evander, the crowd, and Brogan.

Clara tried to manage her expectations. She’d really wanted more with Zahuris, more than just a kiss. She was confused by her longing, and that confusion had bled into her Friday. An indignant part of her thought Zahuris should have left work for her, to be with her and take things a little beyond a kiss.

No, Clara, that’s not fair. He was working. He was being responsible.

She tried to reason with herself.

Just as quickly, the devil landed on her other shoulder and huffed:

If he wanted you as bad as he said he did, he wouldn’t have been able to help himself.

The reasonable angel on the right shoulder bristled:

If he’d have come to Morning Glory, he wouldn’t have expected us to leave work for his pleasure.

Of course not! He’d be getting milked, and we’d be getting off on it.

Clara tried to shake off her thoughts.

Magda had returned from vacation and gathered them in the staff room to see the faces of new staff members and organize their morning schedules. The orc-woman was a no-nonsense sort. She liked being efficient and direct and didn’t appreciate too much talk-back. Already, from how she’d addressed the other staff, Clara knew that Magda was not to be trifled with. She wanted just to be a net-zero to Magda for now–not someone who brown-nosed but also not someone who wasn’t attentive and professional. The goal was just to be a proficient employee, about whom Magda could not complain.

Try as she might to focus on the morning meeting in the gingham-garbed staff room, her mind whirled with intrusive thoughts.

Clara felt like a cartoon character with how polarizing her inner dialogue unfolded. She could practically feel the little mini devil sitting on her shoulder and saying,

“Zahuris should have at least walked us home, just like Brogan said.”

The tiny should-angel bristled,

“Ugh, Brogan. Please! Pretending like he’s some kind of gentleman–”

“–Oh, he’s not,”

smirked the devil,

“he’s absolutely depraved, but at least he did the bare minimum–”

“Enough!” said Clara.

Oh, shoot.

Her eyes widened, and she realized she’d spoken out loud. The crowd of milking technicians circling Magda slowly turned to look at Clara while the orc’s bright yellow eyes peered at her severely over her spectacles.

“Excuse me,” said Magda with quiet authority.

“Apologies, Magda,” said Clara politely, trying to recover. She didn’t want to say too much out of fear that it would sound like insincere excuses.

Magda continued to peer at her. Clara tried her best not to feel the effect of the orc’s intimidating glare. She refused to let herself squirm or fidget.

“Ms. Emerson.” Magda’s voice carried the distinct edge of a prim school principal, pulling Clara into a state of alertness.

People rarely referred to Clara by her last name.

“Were you even paying attention when I called out your purple-note clients?” asked Magda with a deceptively even tone.

The tension in the group tightened ever so slightly.

“Yes, Magda,” said Clara confidently, “I have no problem with the requests. I actually really enjoy those clients!”

Magda raised a single eyebrow at her. No smile emerged. Finally, she handed Clara her clipboards and said, “Excellent. Get started, everyone. And remember, let’s try to improve our turnaround with client times. These gentlemen appreciate efficiency and quality service.”

The techs dispersed.

Turiel approached Clara and elbowed her playfully. " Someone was daydreaming,” she said, her long blonde hair cascading beautifully over her light blue uniform.

Clara smirked a little. “Sush, Turiel. I was actually trying to make my brain shut up.”

“Mhmm, about some guy, I bet.”

Clara gave her a curious look.

“Lisabelle is one of my best friends, Clara. So no hiding from me,” said Turiel, practically bounding in her step. “And she told me all about Zahuris last night.”

Clara blanched. “What?”

Turiel looked over her shoulder conspiratorially and whispered, “Relax, Clara! We all want you to have a little fun! Zahuris is hot! He’s perfect for you to have a little fun with,” she added, flipping through her client files.

“Turiel, should I get used to

everyone

knowing my business, or is this exclusive to

our

friendship,” asked Clara teasingly, following the elf down the corridor toward the tech rooms.

A bubble of giggles escaped Turiel. “A little of both! Cambric Creek is basically a small town. And I think it’s interesting that everyone flirts with Zahuris, but he never actually takes anyone seriously.”

Clara eyeballed her new work friend, “Uh huh… and how do you know this?”

“Oh, I go hang out with Lisabelle at Red Oracle all the time. I’ve seen everyone flirt with Zahuris, and I’ve even flirted with him! He chats back, but he doesn’t really show much interest, you know?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, he’s not walking any other women up the stairs and hanging out with them away from prying eyes during his shift,” said Turiel suggestively, wafting her long blonde hair elegantly over her shoulder.

Slightly unnerved but not altogether surprised, Clara tried not to make a big deal out of Turiel’s comments. She reviewed the first file for her morning shift; in the next 3 hours, there were a total of 8 minotaurs she was expected to see. Clara noted that the rest of the newer staff only had to manage 5 in their morning shift. Probably adjusting for comfort, maybe? Maybe Violet told Magda that if there was a demand for more turnaround, Clara could handle the extra work.

What I can handle are the extra tips

, she thought ruefully to herself.

Turiel cleared her throat, and Clara realized the pretty young elf was standing directly in front of her, looking at her expectantly.

“Well?” Asked Turiel impatiently.

“Well, what?”

Turiel rolled her eyes, “well, what happened when you went upstairs?”

Clara smiled. She wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss the details of the night, not yet. But the memory of kissing Zahuris made her blush. And Turiel’s eagerness for information was a little fun, too.

“God, Clara! Tell me! Something happened!”

Clara laughed, “My, my, someone’s nose is dirty from getting too close to my business!” She said, slyly turning around Turiel to escape further questions, and walked towards her first room.

Turiel rolled her eyes and followed Clara. “Come off it, Clara! Did he kiss you or what?”

“I’m sure you’d like to know”, said Clara, smiling. And with a mischievous wink, she entered the session room and winked at Turiel before closing the door.

Every client that morning was either a repeat clock-watcher or needed just a little extra verbal guidance. Regardless of the minotaur, each one sensed Clara’s heat and their collection was speedier than normal. When Clara returned to the staff common room, Turiel and Andarna were sitting on the couches waiting for lunch.

“Finished already?” asked Turiel incredulously, flipping through a magazine she was sharing with Andarna.

Clara nodded politely and made herself a small cup of coffee. The coffee at Morning Glory was now sourced from the Black Sheep Cafe–evidently Violet’s doing.

Only the best for Violet!

“How many clients did you have? I thought you were getting more than us,” continued Andarna, her tone a little accusatory.

Clara didn’t appreciate the faun’s suspicion, but she tried her best (at least for Turiel’s sake). “Uhm, they were all clock watchers. I had to see eight minotaurs, but they all seemed pretty eager to get out of there.”

Turiel giggled, “Don’t be jealous, Andarna. Magda’s just giving Clara the gears because she doesn’t like Violet, and she knows their best friends.”

That seemed to appease Andarna, “Oh, that’s horrible. Sorry Clara. I don’t get why Magda has issues with Violet… she’s so nice.”

Clara shrugged, sipping her coffee. She suspected that Magda’s gripe was heavily influenced by Violet’s relationship with a former client. Magda was so tight-laced she probably saw it as woefully unprofessional. It wasn’t Clara’s place to speculate and add fuel to the fire. Instead, she just said, “I don’t mind. If she wants to make me work hard, I can handle it. And if she gets unreasonable, I think Reed or Ms. Gillian will step in?”

Andarna nodded. “Yes, that’s what happened to me. It took me a bit of time to understand how to manage the clients. Ms. Gillian spoke to Magda about it. Now, I mostly get quiet ones. The ones who want to chat make me a little nervous.”

Clara realized that Andarna might be just a little shy and socially introverted. She could understand how two opposites like her and Turiel could be friends. Turiel took the lead in most conversations, while Andarna was happy to follow and be quieter.

Turiel twirled a silky golden lock around her finger and eyed the next set of Minotaurs in her board. “Fridays are starting to look like the day when you get the weirdos…”

Clara looked over the cup of coffee inquisitively. “Good little cows, Turiel?”

The elf nodded, “Yes, two of them.”

Andarna quickly took her clipboard out, flipping anxiously. “Oh my gosh, I wonder how many I have…” she said, scanning the profiles of the three bulls, biting her lower lip. The faun breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God, nothing too bad. Someone just wants to make sure my hands are warm before getting started.”

“That seems pretty normal,” said Clara reassuringly.

Andarna smiled at her with relief.

“What about you, Clara? Magda said you had a ton of special requests,” Turiel asked with an impish glimmer in her eyes. “What kinds of special requests?”

“Uhm, I think that’s supposed to be kept private,” said Andarna skeptically.

Turiel waved her off. " Aww, come on! You don’t have to tell us their names! I mean, the forms just show initials anyway.”

Clara grabbed her clipboard and looked at her afternoon. “I only have 3 appointments too. The first special request is that only the head is touched, ok…. The second one is a former client; he’s mostly into ball stimulation. The third is—” Clara stopped in her tracks.

It was Friday.

Brogan.

Clara’s breath completely left her chest.

“What's wrong?” asked Andarna.

“Uhm…” It was a double booking, and Brogan had requested her. She had told Violet that she didn’t want her session with Brogan, but Magda had taken over the schedule today.

“Is it something weird?” asked Turiel.

“I’ve seen some of the older technicians have to wear costumes for the good little cows. Do you have one of those requests?” Andarna gave her an inquiring look.

Clara shook her head.

She looked at the file and read the request again:

double booking, preferably a human technician, red hair, lots of eye contact.

Turiel leaned over her shoulder to look at the page. “Wow, that’s such a specific request! I’ve seen special request requests for certain species, but no one’s ever requested a certain hair colour before. Or eye contact. Weird!”

Clara’s breath was lodged in her throat. She had to find Magda, or better yet, Violet.

“I’ll be back,” she said absently, grabbing her clipboard and leaving her half-drunk coffee next to a bewildered elf and faun.

This can’t be happening

, thought Clara. She whirled around the common room, ears pricked to find any sounds that indicated Violet was nearby. Or Magda. Her heart was racing as she jogged to different staffing areas, searching frantically.

Finally, on the second floor of the attached barn, which had been converted into an office with meeting rooms, Clara spotted her friend at her desk.

“Violet! Help. Please. Brogan,” she huffed, showing her friend the clipboard.

Violet immediately gazed at the paper. “Oh Clara, oh dear, I’m so sorry. I told Magda about this.”

Violet tilted her head toward another room, and Clara followed. The barn housing the office rooms was a beautiful rustic wood and brick building. The individual offices were all partitioned by modern glass doors, enclosing desks with large monitors, giving the space a warm and professional feel.

Eventually, they reached a door on the far side of the barn.

“Magda, can we come in,” said Violet, edging into the office with Clara behind her.

Marga surveyed them both warily but let them enter.

“Clara placed a request for an Alternative Assignment on Tuesday; she will not be seeing her 3rd client today, initials BA. I believe I spoke to you about this?”

The orc reached for the file and looked at the information. “Client B. Aldridge is considered a Class A donor. His previous appointment was also his first, with Ms. Emerson as his technician. She collected nearly double a standard sample from him,” said Magda stoically. “What is the issue?”

Clara shifted in her sneakers. She knew convincing Magda would be tricky.

Magda continued evenly, unbothered by the two girls' earnest gazes. “His request is for a human. Ms. Emerson, you are the only human we have on the floor today,” said the orc, looking up from the clipboard in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Yes, Magda, I’m aware—“

“—and he specifically requests someone with red hair. Unusual, but you are also the only one that matches that request.”

“I know—“

“Magda, Andarna might fit,” suggested Violet. “She has auburn fur. It could still work.”

Magda shot her a tepid look. “This morning, when we were reviewing our intake forms for the day, did I not specifically ask

you

, Ms. Emerson, to confirm that you were comfortable with all of your appointments?” Magda’s face was impassive as she dealt Clara a stern look.

Violet turned to Clara, her concerned face spelling out exactly what Clara was thinking.

Did you agree to the files without looking?

Clara grimaced.

“Magda, Clara was given more clients than any of the other new technicians. She may not have had time to review all the files, and this was her last one. But she did put in a request with me that she not be a technician with B. Aldridge.”

“I did not see a formal Request for Reassignment form or a form for Alternative Assignment filled out for this.” Continued Magda.

“It was a request placed through me,” said Violet firmly. “We need to honour it. We have too few technicians as it is, and so far, Clara has been an excellent technician.”

The flutter in Clara’s heart relaxed at Violet’s words.

Magda scowled. “Ms. Emerson hasn’t even completed her three-month probation period. We can’t be pivoting last minute with staff, especially with a Class A donor. He double booked for today, with sessions in place for the next month. Additionally, he provided a sample that, according to the notes, the research lab found highly useful in procuring new data–Dr. Reed was just in a meeting with the other scientists about it. And on top of that, I gave Ms. Emerson the opportunity to flag a concern this morning.”

The glimmer of hope inside Clara’s chest faded as her stomach dropped.

“Magda, we have to protect our employees.”

Magda rose from the chair. She was easily a foot taller than both of the human girls. “When I spoke to Miss Gillian about the new staff, I was told that Clara was a good worker and that she was making exceptional tips, the most generous of which came from this very client.”

Her breath came in heavy gulps at Magda’s words.

“And I still haven’t heard what the issue was,” said the staffing manager, looking past Violet to level Clara with a cold look.

Clara squared her shoulders, “he made me a little uncomfortable, Magda. I would really appreciate a reassignment.”

“Then why did you not place a formal request?”

“ I—I… had some shock after the session…”

Magda’s scowl deepened. “You have had four days.”

Clara hated herself for bowing her head and looking away. She needed to stand up for herself, but she found that all her words and reasons were leaving her.

“Perhaps the issue was with training,” suggested Magda. “Maybe you did not know that if a client makes you uncomfortable, there’s a specific procedure that you can follow to ensure that you are not paired with that client again.”

Clara reared at having Violet’s professionalism put on the line.

“It was included in the training,” said Clara, coming to her friend’s defence. ”Out of the three days of training, it was mentioned every day. That’s not the issue. I just needed some time to make sure that I understood how I felt after the session.”

“Is this an issue of attraction?” said the orc plainly.

Clara’s face blazed with heat. “What? No! No—”

“It happens all the time,” said Magda. “Our job is to collect the samples speedily. Be a professional and do the task. If you’re still uncomfortable, fill out the form.”

“Madga, I know that Andarna is free at this time slot,” continued Violet earnestly. “It’s an easy adjustment.”

“The messages of appointment confirmation have all been texted out to the minotaurs,” Magda continued.

The horrible feeling in Clara’s stomach twisted. It was too late. She had to do it. She had to face Brogan again.

“I will fix this,” said Violet.

Magda sat down, unbothered. “I suggest leaving the appointment as is for today, following the

proper procedure

for the following weeks, and communicating the changes with the client in person ahead of time.”

They left the office, and Violet huffed with indignation. “Ugh, she can be so condescending! I told her about this! I sent her an email about this on Tuesday and followed up with her yesterday in person.”

Clara jogged after her friend, her mind adjusting to having to be done that afternoon. “It’s ok, Violet, you tried.”

Violet's expression was weighed down with worry, “I’m going to try and fix this.”

Clara pressed her lips together. She trusted Violet. “Ok. I need to get started on my first two appointments.”

“And I’ll pull some strings.”

“Thank you,” she said, nodding.

Clara went back down the central stair in the bar, away from the office, and back into the secondary barn, which contained the milking rooms. Every step closer tightened her chest.

Her feelings were on the fence. Part of her wanted to panic and break out in a sweat, while the other part trusted Violet and was content to get on with her day.

Entering room 104, she went through the room prep and checklist. Her next minitaur, initials P.M., was a repeat customer, with his special request being just to stimulate the head.

The brown pinto-colored Minotaur entered 15 minutes later, and they exchanged a small smile before getting started. Clara did her best to be present with him, but her focus was on maintaining a calm, collected demeanour.

“Oh, ya, just like that,” groaned the Minotaur.

Clara’s attention snapped back to what she was doing.

Pay attention

, she hissed to herself.

He could be ready at any second.

“Do you like this movement?” she asked, sweeping her fingers gently over the opening and spreading his precum over the rest of the head.

The minotaur nodded languidly, “Yeah, I love it when you touch the… the…” His words slipped away as she brought her fingers back to the opening.

“Here?”

He nodded more fervently, “Uh huh, yes! More.”

She clicked the pump on and returned her finger to the urethra. Her training handbook was incredibly scientific, with diagrams labelling everything and notes. Clara recalled one note that stuck out to her as somewhat unusual:

a small percentage of males enjoy urethral stimulation, roughly 2-5%. The urethra is a highly nerve-dense zone on the glans, and many prefer no direct contact; be sure to only touch there infrequently, with oil, at the client's request.

Tentatively, she lubed her little pinky and gently probed the opening. The Minotaur bucked heavily, grunting and nodding at Clara. Within a few seconds, she placed the nozzle of the suction device on him and watched the canister fill.

The Minotaur panted against the wall and then gave her a thankful nod before dressing and departing. Their time together had been close to around seven minutes.

She took the canister to weigh it: 21 ounces. She labelled it and put away everything so the room could be cleaned.

Her heart stalled as she realized she was one client closer to potentially facing Brogan. But regardless, Clara steeled herself. This next Minotaur was a client, too, and, like all her other clients, he deserved a professional session. Clara willed herself to remain calm and made her way to room 101.

The second client was one she’d seen before. He was a nice guy with a tawny coat with some light grey dusting. His initials were M.R. He was quiet but came a lot.

He walked in within a few minutes, already hard and smiling. “Hey there, it’s you again! Nice!”

She smiled and nodded, “Welcome back. Same request as last time?”

He gave her a rueful grin as he undressed and mounted himself on the ledger. “Oh ya. Couldn’t wait to come back for another round.” His cock emerged through the opening, a bead of precum already glistening on his tip.

She smiled and found herself reacting to the compliment. Sometimes, the job felt fairly boring to Clara, especially with clock watchers who never talked. But occasionally, someone’s eagerness would come over to her. She couldn’t help but remember that she had a certain influence over these Minotaurs. She could direct pleasure for them, and it gave her a sense of power.

She got to work on M.R., and as her hand travelled to his balls, she stopped first and asked, “Is this what you requested?”

“Oh ya, go for it! I love that ball action,” he said in a low timber.

She massaged his heavy balls, noting that he responded well to a little bit of nail grazing. Before she managed to even develop a rhythm with him, the Minotaur started bucking, and Clara had the canister ready. He was one of the bulls who had needed two canisters last time.

True to form, as she labelled her two canisters and weighed them—29 ounces—she felt a sense of pride that she was getting into a groove.

And just as quickly, she realized that up next would come the awkwardness of having to face the staff being rearranged so someone else could handle Brogan.

She exited 101.

As soon as she closed the door, her ears pricked, and she immediately caught the conversation at reception.

“Explain to me again

why

my appointment is being rebooked.” The unmistakable growl of Brogan Aldridge pierced her just as sharply as if his eyes had been directed at her instead of the receptionist girl.

“It’s just t-that, well, we had to reshuffle some staff—”

“—Reshuffle?”

The receptionist nodded, the colour rising on her face. “Yes, and uhm, An-Andarna was supposed to see you—“

“I did not book with Andarna.”

“Ah yes, well… so,” scrambled the receptionist, cowering under his heavy glare. “You see, Violet left me a-a note saying that uhm Clara was, unfortunately, uhm, un-un-unavailable—“

“Unavailable?”

“Right, she–she, uhm, well, Andarna was going to be the r-replacement. But she went home before we, uhm—”

Brogan leaned in closer.

Clara felt her heart twist in empathy for the poor receptionist. She knew just how intense his presence and stare were. Although she knew she should leave before Brogan spotted her, she was transfixed, rooted to the spot, watching his anger spew from him.

A snort escaped him. “I was sent a text at noon

confirming

my appointment time and the technician I requested. What has happened in the last two hours?”

The receptionist blanched. “I…uh—“

“And it seems that the replacement technician, Andarna, is not even here.”

The receptionist swallowed.

“The technician I want is here, though,” he growled as he, to Clara’s immense horror, pointed at her. Their eyes locked like magnets, and his dark hazel eyes were nearly as onyx-black as he was, “I want that one.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 11 - NegotiationBrogan POV
Clara’s scent slipped through the slim gap between the door and the frame, teasing him before she appeared. But now, as she stood by the door, he was hit with a powerful wave.
It took everything in him to remain leaning on the reception desk, listening to the useless receptionist attempt to make a cohesive sentence. His frustration curdled into bile. Clara was everywhere. Her scent thickened the air, cloying, undeniable. She’s here! I can almost taste her! What do you mean by ‘not available’? Yet the receptionist stammered out an excuse: Clara would not be his technician. “Clara is… s-she has another appointment. D-double booking, unfortunately.” Bullshit .
He’d booked in advance! He’d gotten a confirmation text that had said:“Dear Mr. B. Aldridge, Class A Member. This message is a confirmation that your appointment at Morning Glory Milking Farm has been established for 3:00 pm today, Friday, May. 10th, 2024. A submitted special request for Technician 036 will be honoured. We look forward to seeing you soon!”Technician 036 was Clara. He had confirmed it with the previous receptionist last week.
A lock snicked open to his left, and Clara’s scent hit him like a drug: cream, honey, and sweet pea flowers. A curvy redhead stalled by the door, her chest rising in a sharp breath as wide eyes locked on him.
His heart gave a jolt.
“I want her,” he said, pointing and staring at Clara.
She stiffened, caught in the weight of his gaze.The redhead swallowed, and shock coloured her bright eyes. Suddenly, the pale skin he loved so much turned ashen, and she took a step back.She looked sick. Pale. Off-balance. He tilted his head, studying her.The receptionist tentatively said, “I’ll j-just quickly go get the manager…” She scurried away as though getting as far away from him was a matter of survival, but he could care less.

Clara didn’t escape his gaze for a second.
He took a step towards her, but her eyes widened with fear. A swallow worked its way down her delicate, milky throat, and within a heartbeat, she rushed back into the milking room.His jaw tightened. Annoyance burned, sharp and immediate.

Don't follow her.

His hand was already on the door. He strode in, drinking her in like a man starved.
Clara jolted as he shut the door behind him with a snap.
Too strong, he thought. Didn’t need to slam the door closed. “Clara.”She twisted her hands together, shoulders stiff with tension. Her jaw clenched, determination flickering over her soft features. Her rapid pulse sharpened her scent, thickening the air between them.“Not available for our appointment?” His voice came out sharper than he meant.
“I—I—““Is there a problem?” He said, advancing.“Well, it’s just that….”He waited, but no response came. “Why did the receptionist say you’re not available?”
Her blush was beautiful, but he hated that it came from discomfort. When she remained quiet, he tried to bridge the distance but immediately froze when Clara backed away again. Was it Wednesday? The kiss with Zahuris? Or does she hate that I can scent her? Brogan regarded her, trying to set his thoughts aside. He wasn’t going to allow himself to get worked up before having all the information.
With a firm tone, he regarded her. “Clara. I need an answer.”She stiffened, caught in his gaze, and the days-long agony in his groin subsided. There was actual anxiousness there. But, every time she tried to speak, her pretty lips would clamp shut.Brogan longed to close the distance, but he knew it would amplify her discomfort.
“Are you sick?”
Her blush deepened, but she shook her head no.
“Double booked?”Again, she shook her head no.
“Is your shift over?”She hung her head but still shook her head no.Tightening his jaw, he said, “It’s me.”She looked away.
Brogan fought against the constriction in his chest as the air in the room stilled and thickened somehow.Lavender scrubs clung to her delicious frame that, not too long ago, had been clad in a tiny, revealing dress. Brogan cursed himself for looking—especially when she was rejecting him.Thinking clearly was becoming a struggle. In this small, contained room, her scent enveloped him. The memory of her taste on his tongue cracked his control. The aching cock in his pants pulsed as heat rushed his nerves.
Brogan squared his shoulders. He had to stay professional. “I need to know what the issue is so that I can rectify it.”“I just don’t think I’m the right technician for you,” she said in a quiet, clipped voice.
A scoff erupted from him. “Not the right technician? I made a special request for you, Clara.”She pressed her lips together while her eyes fired with defiance. At the sight of her plump pink lips worrying between her teeth, he halted. The Taurean in him wanted to taste them immediately.
“Not only are you the right technician for me, but I booked you 4 weeks in advance to ensure it is always you who milks me.”Her blush depended considerably.
“No one else will do,” he said. If this were an issue of insecurity, he would ensure she never doubted herself again. No female, let alone a human woman, had used her hands so expertly on him.
She squared her chin at him, “Well, I disagree.”“I know what I like, Clara, and I like your technique.”“You’ve only had one session here, Mr. Aldridge ,” she said, leaning on the formality with emphasis. “There are others here with more experience.”“I am a man who knows what he wants. I will not be wasting my time with other milking technicians. This is not about experience. It’s about instinct.”She pressed her lips together. “You’re making an assumption,” she said, crossing her arms. Her stubbornness made him growl with frustration. Her defiance was unlike anyone he’d encountered before; too bad her arms lifted her cleavage deliciously.“Was the issue the amount I tipped? I am happy to adjust.”“No!” Clara exclaimed loudly, then softly added, “This isn’t about the tip.”“The eye contact?”“No.”A deeper growl rolled in his chest. This infuriating human woman! “I do not enjoy wasting my time, Miss. Emerson . Tell me the issue, and I will fix it. Then, we can finally start my appointment.”She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. The tension in her shoulders intensified. And finally, a whisper, “you… you said you could smell me.”A single brow lifted above one eye. “Smell?”She nodded.Incredulity and indignation unhinged his anger. “The issue is that I could smell you?”She flicked her eyebrows up as though indicating that it should be obvious.“I’m a minotaur. I have an elevated sense of smell. Surely they must have included that in training,” he said, incredulous to find out that Violet had missed critical species information about their primary clientele. She was dating Roark!
“I know!” She snapped at him. Another self-conscious expression crossed her features as Clara avoided his eyes. “But you said you could smell me, specifically, because I uhm–”Annoyance goaded at him. “You’re what? You’re in heat? Why is that an issue? I thought that was why you were hired.”Her already flushed face turned crimson. Her anger clipped her words: “That is not why I was hired!”His tail swished through the air and cracked like a whip. His fraying patience and arousal were a potent combination for his mood.
“I am actually good at my job! I was hired because I excelled in my training, ok?”He shifted his weight, trying to remain calm, refusing to relinquish his poise. Clara was a young, excitable human in heat; her control was her issue, but Brogan refused to show himself as lacking in that department. “And that is why I would prefer to retain you as my technician.”She exhaled sharply, her composure slipping. “You came on me!”He blinked at her.
Yes, that had been unfortunate. The facility should have been supplied with larger milking jugs—it was short-sighted of them. “It was an accident. I apologize,” Brogan said cordially. “Is this the reason why you cannot be my technician? I feel like what I produced was standard—the facility needs larger containers,” he said evenly. He had assumed the accident was a matter of it being his first time and her being newer to the facility.“Most clients don’t fill those canisters! Let alone two of them.”He was stunned. Most minotaurs don’t fill 24 oz? Maybe I’m some kind of freak? He shook off that idea right away - the past was the past. It had been out of his control. “I had no idea, and I certainly didn’t mean to—”“—You came all over me after making me keep eye contact with you!”His reply hung in his throat, but Clara continued. “And then I- I saw it,” her voice cracked, on the edge of breaking, “and–and I uh…felt a certain way.”
He waited with bated breath.“And then you said you could smell—”Her face was ghostly now. Trembling fingers pressed to her mouth to stop her from continuing, her eyes filled with embarrassment and resentment.
Realization dawned on Brogan.He had smelled her beyond her heat.
Now that he thought about it, he had only registered her heat after their appointment. Clara had reacted to him with arousal . His cock hardened instantly.She had been aroused by his cum on her—and it had scared her. At the same time, he realized with increased awareness that her arousal to him had ignited her heat. Like many who experience heat, it had come upon her unannounced in an overwhelming moment of unbridled lust. Which meant that Clara had cum too. Seeing all his cum had made her orgasm and cum as well.His cock raged in his trousers painfully.
I sparked her heat.
This feeling, combined with her scent, sent him over the edge; a warm bead of precum leaked down his leg. His cocked thrummed, needing to feel her hands on his shaft.
Now. He needed her now.She had cum for him. Orgasmed from seeing and feeling his cum on her. A deep, satisfied snort escaped him. Pride filled Brogan’s chest—he’d made his sassy little milking technician cum into her heat. Wait until Zahuris finds out .
Brogan was used to women having strong reactions to him; it was usually irritating. Roark would always get a laugh at how annoyed Brogan would become when females locked in on him. They couldn’t meet his eyes. They would get flustered and shy, or they would start preening, taking on airs to goad him into talking to them. He had no interest in their predictable little head games.
But never in all his life had he made a woman cum without lifting a finger. Let alone coax her body into heat.However, her embarrassment tamed his excitement. It took every ounce of effort to school his features and prevent her from seeing his self-satisfied smirk and ignore his rock-hard cock.
Determination filled him. He wasn’t about to lose her, his perfect little redheaded milking technician who came for him when she milked him. Not when he’d longed for her hands for four painful days. His body yearned for milking, and he would use every negotiation tactic in his repertoire to keep her.
“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” Clara said, breaking through his thoughts. The mingled embarrassment and anger in her voice set him on edge again.
With his jaw set, he fixed Clara with a steady gaze. “I don’t know what you mean. I could smell your perfume.”She blinked, uncertainty flickering across her face.“I enjoy perfume.”Clara remained silent; eyebrows lifted with doubt.
Brogan fought to keep his expression neutral despite his powerful arousal. He ignored the precum trailing toward his knee. He had to play his part. If a little white lie made her comfortable enough to continue with him, then so be it.“My perfume?”He nodded slowly, unwavering.“So you just picked up on my perfume?”“Yes. You were active and working the pump. Once my initial excitement wore off, I picked up the scent shift due to your elevated pulse.”She studied him. Brogan could practically see her internal pendulum swinging between suspicion and relief.
“I don’t believe that for a second,” she snapped, anger overshadowing her embarrassment. “Everyone wears perfume. That doesn’t explain why it has to be me.”
A growl rumbled from his chest. He took a step closer, towering over her. “Different skin types react differently to perfumes.”She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. That’s not—”“—Pale redheads have a more reactive skin type,” he cut her off, voice low. “Or are you so unaware of your own genetics?”Her gaze flickered away for the briefest second. Doubt. He had her.“Still. It doesn’t have to be me—”“Scent matters to me. That’s all there is to it. Your heat is irrelevant to me.”She glared up at him, fuming.
Did that touch a nerve?
“If it had been the scent of your heat, Wednesday night would have played out differently. I wouldn’t have made it out of the parking lot before losing control,” he lied. He had never had such a hard time driving someone home for 10 minutes. He was surprised he hadn’t snapped his steering wheel clean off.
Clara flinched.Like him, Clara clearly wanted her private life kept separate. Brogan hated mentioning Wednesday night, but he saw the way she stiffened. It had struck home.“Due to my preferences, you are the most effective and efficient choice for me,” he continued confidently. His cock gave a light clench. “This is about results. You know how to handle me, how to get it done right. Switching techs would be a waste of time and resources—for both of us.”Clara seemed to consider his words.
“I booked you far in advance for a reason. And I am willing to tip generously to keep it that way.”She remained stubbornly quiet, unmoving.
Patience evaporating, he said resolutely, “It will be you, or I will find another clinic with a similar technician. " His tone brooked no refusal.“And that is how it will be, Mr. Aldridge,” came the booming voice of a large orc-woman from the rutting platform.
Out of the corner of his eye, Clara jumped.
Brogan watched the orc approach him with a broad, service-industry smile plastered on her face as she extended her hand.
Reluctantly, he shook it. Brogan disliked this woman immediately. The orc’s overbearing presence clashed horribly with her ill-suited, too-pink lipstick and globbed-on mascara.
“Mr. Aldridge, apologies for the confusion. My name is Magda. I’m the Staffing Manager. I heard some assistance was needed to clarify your special requests for your appointment today,” she purred, stepping closer.

Magda. That name rang a bell. Violet had also mentioned her in the past, unfavourably if he recalled correctly.“Clara will remain as your technician for your milking sessions,” said Magda with booming authority.
Brogan could see Clara’s discomfort mutate right in front of him. Walls were brought up, and Clara’s expression held an unreadable resistance as Magda broached the distance.“For your inconvenience, we are elevating you to the Bronze package! Normally, patrons only receive it after 20 visits. There will be some exciting giveaways for you.”He gave her the briefest acknowledgement.“I understand that you have certain preferences, which will be honoured,” Magda continued smoothly, flicking a brief, dismissive glance at Clara before shifting her full attention back to Brogan.His eyes tracked their dynamic. The two did not like each other.
Brogan did not want to answer her. Yes, of course, he wanted Clara as his milking technician. But Magda’s presence disrupted the briefest rapport he had gained with Clara, which allowed her to agree to their sessions of her own accord. He did not want their sessions together to continue at Magda’s insistence, out of obligation.“I wish to finalize my conversation with Ms. Emmerson. Unassisted,” he added, turning his back to her dismissively and looking at Clara.
But Magda stepped between them.
“That is against our protocol, Mr. Aldridge,” she said pointedly. “Your appointment is set to begin right away. Your milking technician will be waiting for you in Room 004,” she said, slightly over her shoulder, as though commanding Clara to her post.
Brogan riled against her words.
“My milking technician has a name,” he said, letting his stern eyes land on Magda with weight.
Brogan could feel the flicker of Clara’s eyes on him for the briefest second.Indeed,” Magda began, headlong in her desire to maintain control over her authority, “and she will be in Room 004 to attend to you right away.”Clara’s face clouded as more walls were brought up, the tension in the room rising.Brogan hated how this was turning out. Worst of all, this Staffing Manager thought quite poorly of Clara and her autonomy. “You misunderstand and misread the situation. You were interrupting a private consult between her and I just now, where we were establishing some elements for my appointment.”Magda’s service smile slid off her face.“Given that Ms. Emerson was my technician my first time, she alone understands my needs. I have established rapport with her, and I would have preferred not to be overheard and interrupted when discussing my ejaculate.”Magda’s mouth opened and shut. The baby-pink lips slouched into an affronted grimace, not believing a client was chastising her.
Brogan continued. “And no, offering me bronze-package giveaways will not rectify the interruption. This is a sensitive matter. As a Class A contributor, I prefer to discuss this sensitive subject with the one person who was present at my last appointment,” he said, stepping towards the door and holding it open for Magda to leave. “Now, if you don’t mind,” he indicated to the open door.

Magda stammered. She looked to Clara, who met her eyes with a blank expression, and back to Brogan. He raised an expectant eyebrow at her.“Oh! Magda,” came the voice of the excitable receptionist from around the opened door, “there is someone here with a payment issue. Could you—?” She asked, peering around the door to realize that there was a group within.
Incensed but flummoxed, Magda left, giving Clara a discerning look before she left.
Brogan closed the door behind her unceremoniously.The air hung with a sense of unease.He and Clara had been so close to an understanding. He’d been close to locking her in as his milking technician, but now he could see he had also misstepped.

“I will go outside and rebook with someone else for today.”Clara’s features tightened, letting out a deep sigh. “There is no one else here to see you. It’s either myself, Magda, or Violet. The others are booked up or gone.”Brogan's face twisted at hearing his options. “If it’s Violet, Roark will kill me. And that staffing manager will never touch me.” His nostrils flared with anger. Once again, the longing in his cock seemed to turn even tighter. The idea of waiting longer to be milked felt excruciating. “I’ll find another clinic. I can see now that you are being coerced against your will.”Clara gave him a surprised look.
“It’s clear this isn’t what you want.”“I’ll do it.”He regarded her, anticipation bubbling in his chest.
“Just this once.”Brogan gave her an assessing look. Magda's interruption had been unfortunate, turning Brogan’s ploy on its head. But that’s what it was, a ploy — Clara had been so close to believing his point about her perfume. But now that the moment was gone, and he was thinking clearly, free from the effect of his arousal and the tension between them, he realized that seeing the appointment through didn’t sit well with him.
Magda’s overt man-handling of Clara to begin the session allowed him to see that he had also man-handled her, albeit in a different way— a worse way. I tried to manipulate her. What is wrong with me?

Clara was not consenting. Infuriating as it was, infuriating as she had just been, Brogan saw that she deserved and had a right to refuse service if she was uncomfortable. The idea of getting hard now was out of the question.
The issue was him. She was not comfortable around him. Convincing her would just make things worse.
He let out a deep sigh.
“No, Clara. It’s not right,” he said, all the edge from his voice gone.
He wanted to apologize, wanted to flagellate himself for trying to coerce her into milking him.
She clearly didn’t want to do it.
She clearly didn’t want to do it to the extent that she had tried to get out of the appointment. She did not want to do it when he had spoken to her. And it all became clear to him when Magda entered and obligated her to work on him.
His body's frustration and disappointment shortened his breath. Suddenly, the milking room they were in felt too small, and her scent intensified.
He had to get out of there.With a glance over to her shocked face, he said, “I accept your no.” And with that, he left, not daring to look behind him lest he lose his resolve.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 12 - The First Distraction

Driving home, Brogan’s rage was razor-sharp. And his foul mood had continued with a slammed car door, a slammed house door, and a few others along the way.

He wanted to head to the study for a drink but steered away, realizing he was equally as likely to smash his brandy decanter or drink straight from it. Nothing on his drink cart would survive.

His body felt strained, and his cock and balls were in pure agony.

Marching past his kitchen and dining area, he descended the wide stairs into his private gym. Painted all over in matte black with matching equipment and free weights, he’d had a room custom-designed to adapt to his ever-changing interests; in one corner was a boxing punching bag, a digital boxer, and a speed bag. In another stood all his callisthenics equipment and so on.

Standing next to a punching bag, his fist burned with the need to smash into the dense leather over and over again.

He could not excuse himself and could not account for his behaviour towards Clara. Every single sign she’d given, from their initial eye contact to their final parting words, had been a resounding ‘no’—and he'd ignored each one in favour of his desire and his needs.

I'm a fucking prick.

It was the same with Amelie back in France. He had insisted and pursued beyond her consent to the point of making her fearful of him. He’d thought he’d learned his lesson, done his due diligence and gotten a little wiser—until Clara. Now, he was back to acting like a selfish beast, albeit with added layers of manipulation.

I can't believe I tried to convince her it was her perfume. She saw right through that.

He knew he had smelled her in their last session, but it didn't fully click for him that he had smelled her cum. Knowing it now made his cock strain in his trousers, but the feeling was now commingled with arousal and shame. Shame for having been too brusque with her right off the bat, for not picking up on her signals during their first session that she was uncomfortable, for not giving her the opportunity to look away and change canisters so as not to dirty herself, for demanding eye-contact, shame for so many things. He assumed that this job was so commonplace to the techs that no one would care about how much he came, that they were immune to finding their jobs arousing. Clara was new. She likely needed more time to numb that reaction in her.

Reliving the memory in his mind, everything made sense; coming into one's heart was overwhelming. No wonder she associated him with fear and embarrassment. He’d brought her into a new hormonal phase of her life while at work with a monster stranger who had been relatively rude to her.

Fuck, Aldridge, you didn’t even say hello to her that first time. And then, on Wednesday, you practically stalked her.

For him, that milking had been a source of immense arousal - it was his most erotic memory to date. Especially seeing her beautiful wide eyes looking at him as her soft, small hands stroked him. If he were less of a man, with no dignity, a bigger ego, and complete disregard for women’s rights, he’d offer her a full-time job milking him daily and just him - she’d have to live with him and be available 24/7. At least going to Morning Glory had made him money.

It was a shame that the same shared moment was being remembered differently by the two of them.

Stripping out of his day clothes, Brogan slipped on loose sweatpants and attacked the punching with blind anger. Every blow ricocheted back into his muscles, the pain offering a kind of clarity no therapist could offer.

He was an animal–that was his problem. That was his reality.

The unspoken element of every interaction and every relationship between monsters—as a minotaur, overcoming his instinct was exponentially more challenging than for humans.

Did Clara understand that? Did she realize the pull she had on him? Was it because he was half man, half beast, or the beast side sometimes took over? He loved her instinctual erotic touches because they stoked his instinctual urges.

Fists hurdled into the punching bag as he rounded on it. With every swing of the bag, Brogan met it with a more brutal hook. His knuckles loved the resistance.

The likely answer was that she didn't understand and could not conceive how potent the beast within was. She just understood things from a human perspective.

He snorted, throwing a rear hook into the bag.

For the briefest moment, a dark fantasy infiltrated his mind:

she knows what she's doing. She's goading you. Clara probably enjoys saying no to you.

No. You're an idiot, Aldridge. She's scared of you.

A flurry of jabs followed until his self-hate was dulled through sheer exhaustion. On and on, he threw himself into his hooks and powerful jabs until the light outside dimmed into twilight.

Dragging himself to the shower, the image of her fearful eyes hung in his mind. Was he so needy for a milking that he was willing to push beyond her consent? He hated himself in a multitude of ways now, including signalling to her how desperate he was to be milked.

Have some fucking self-control

, he jeered at himself.

Looking down, his cock hung in half arousal, uselessly misjudging the situation—any thought of her bright red hair and pale skin immediately affected him. He glared at his cock.

With a towel wrapped around his waist, he picked up his cell phone from the vanity and saw a missed call and text from Roark.

Roark: Lounge tonight?

Brogan: Anything but the lounge.

Roark: The Hollow? In half an hour, I want dinner.

Brogan: See you there.

With newfound purpose and the opportunity to be distracted, Brogan dressed and made his way back into town.

The Hollow was a dwarf-owned pub nestled into the forest that curled around Cambric Creek. It was a rustic and warm affair, with carved wooden beams and tables, in-house-brewed ale and the kind of friendly crowd that gave the pub a comfortable appeal. But tonight, the mirth from the patrons seemed to grate on Brogan’s nerves.

“Wow, you look miserable,” ribbed Roark with a gleam in his eye as Brogan approached.

“I don't want to talk about it,” snapped the darker Minotaur as he slid into the booth and motioned for two drinks.

Roark chuckled, “And I don't want to hear it. But I

do

want some of this shepherd's stew. And pie, actually…” he said, reviewing the menu.

A curvaceous faun in a barmaid outfit came to their table. The corset surrounding her midriff pushed her ample bosom upward distractingly. “Gentleman, hungry?” she asked in a silky voice, looking at Brogan somewhat hungrily.

He shook his head, “I'm just waiting on two pints.”

“I'll have the apple pie, and actually a slice of the blueberry as well,” said Roark, unashamed of his dessert-first stance, “and then after, I’ll have the shepherd's stew, and I’ll grab a pint as well.”

The faun grabbed their menus and gave Brogan a soft smile. " Let me know if you change your mind and get hungry,” she said, walking away with wide hips, sauntering from side to side.

“How do you do that?”

Brogan shrugged. “You do it too. It’s because we’re massive.”

Roark laughed. “yeah, but you look pissed, and they still check you out!”

“It’s that grumpy-guy, masculinity thing, maybe,” Brogan prattled.

“So, since I’m not grumpy, I’m less manly? If anything, I should be more approachable since I’m calmer and way more attractive.”

“Honestly, I was just talking out of my ass.”

Roark nodded, “you seem to be doing a bit of that lately.”

Brogan pinned him with a glare. “What is that supposed to mean?” The anger he worked so hard to tame earlier was already poised to awaken again.

“I heard you didn’t get milked today,” Roark continued nonchalantly.

The curvy faun returned, forcing Brogan to hide his seething anger momentarily while pushing their massive pins of ale toward them. She leaned over the table generously, showing off her deep cleavage. Her chest was lush and huge, easily larger than Brogan’s massive hand. As she straightened, her eyes fluttered at the attention when she got Brogan looking.

He waited for her to leave before answering Roark, “No. I did not get milked today.”

“Apparently, you spoke with Clara and tried to convince her to keep the appointment.”

“I did. I’m an idiot.”

“I’ve been telling you that for years.”

Brogan shot him with another dark look. “Eat your pies,” he said dismissively as he tasted the pub-brewed ale—it was bitter and tangy. It was not really a flavour profile he usually went for, but anything would do now that he realized what Roark wanted to discuss.

Roark didn’t need telling twice; within seconds, the apple pie was destroyed. Brogan guzzled down his ale, waiting for the alcohol to take effect and mollify him. He quickly moved on to his second pint.

“Violet’s very protective over Clara.”

“Hmmm. Good.”

“Apparently, she doesn’t have the best past — family or relationships. Violet thought moving her here would help give her some independence and peace.”

Brogan remained silent.

“Her ex was very controlling, and her folks very traditional. Did you know she was an engineer before she came here?”

“I did not,” he responded monotonously, not wanting the additional information to add fuel to his fiery anger. The last thing he needed right now was to hear that her ex had some weird cum-degradation fetish that Brogan had triggered at their previous appointment. There was plenty of guilt on his shoulders already.

Roark cut off the crust of the blueberry piece and continued with his mouth full, “Ya, she’s smarter than she lets on. Went to school with Violet. A dancer and painter too, apparently.”

Brogan riled. “Why are you telling me this?”

The Minotaur across from him shrugged, “I don’t know. You’re not exactly proffering an exciting conversation right now.”

After finishing his second ale, he caught the faun’s eye and motioned for another. She smiled and nodded. The ale was starting to have its effect on him; he was slowly easing into relaxation.

“Wanna hear something kind of horrible?”

Brogan looked at Roark, suddenly quite interested.

“Clara’s ex refused to sleep with her. Like maybe just once a month. And he’d control what she wore, what she ate, and who she could see.”

Brogan ground his teeth. He stared straight ahead, trying not to hear Roark’s words.

Roark continued through mouthfuls, “It got to the point where he even put controls on her phone… you know, so she couldn’t watch anything to get off.”

Brogan snorted, “I doubt that.”

“Violet told me.”

Pressing his lips together, Brogan assessed the new information.

Maybe that’s why she’d been so excitable at the lounge. She was finally getting to express a more sexual side. Then again, perhaps that was why her heat and reactions scared her. No one had ever nurtured that side of her or encouraged her passion.

His gut twisted. Roark’s words were adding guilt and confusion to the situation.

Clara is just a milking girl,

he tried to convince himself.

“Why wouldn’t he sleep with her?” he asked anyway and then immediately backtracked and said, “You know what? Nevermind. This seems private.”

Roark’s eyebrow shot up. “Because he was a giant, controlling prick.”

“It’s none of my business. Including none of

yours

, Roark.”

“I’m telling you this because it may impact how you perceive your recent encounter with her earlier today. She doesn’t do well with controlling people.”

“I wasn’t trying to control her.”

“Brogan. You were trying to control the situation.”

“I had a confirmed appointment! With confirmed adherence to my preferences,” he retorted passionately.

“And when that didn’t happen, you took matters into your own hands,” returned Roark quickly.

“I wanted to know what was going on.”

“Right, so you could negotiate back to what

you

wanted.”

“I’m a client! They provide a service!”

“Let them manage their own personnel.”

“I just wanted a fucking milking!” Brogan retorted loudly, slamming the pint on the table.

Several people in nearby tables turned to look at him, then warily looked away, whispering. The faun waitress made her way over, but Brogan held up an apologetic hand, feeling like an idiot for losing control. Hopefully, no one had understood what he had shouted.

“Trust me, I get it,” Roark said in a more understanding tone.

Brogan shot him a doubting glare.

“I swear! I was addicted when Violet was there. And it

had

to be her. Mind you, I had serious feelings for her,” said Roark as the shepherd’s pie arrived at the table.

“Well, I don’t have feelings for Clara.”

“Of course not,” said his friend in mock understanding, digging into his pie. “The only thing I’ve seen you have serious feelings for is a stock whose value doubled overnight.”

“I think she’s attractive, and I like—liked—her technique.”

“Uh-huh.”

“If I had feelings for her, I would ask her out and do the whole dating thing.”

“Right,” said Roark, the sarcasm in his voice barely disguised, “she’s not really your type. I mean, you like redheaded humans with pale skin, who are wicked smart and dole out plenty of sass, and

she’s

just… huh, a redheaded human, with pale skin, smart with plenty of… oh shit!”

“She’s not for me.”

“Ah yes, Mummy Aldridge has a nice Minotaur heiress for you, does she?”

Brogan bristled.

Knowing his mother, she likely did. She spent all year in Newport entertaining diplomats and aristocrats and the kind of society that Brogan despised and had fought tooth and nail to leave behind. That never stopped her from sending over a “suitable” girl for him to date: “Why Brogan, it’s Lisel Schleisser!” she’d droll out in her exaggerated accent over the phone. “From the Swiss Schleisser’s! Her family is hundreds of years old, Brogan!
They own the Bellemont Chalet in Gstaad, where only royalty and billionaires vacation.”

Lisel Schleisser had been a self-important snob who was too made up, too covered in fashion logos and jewelry. She looked like she poured all her passion into champagne and one-upping everyone. They had barely made it through one date.

“Mummy Aldridge always has someone up her sleeve. I wouldn’t want to spoil her fun by settling down now. How else would she spend her time?” Said Brogan bitterly.

“She doesn’t know you very well, does she?” Asked his friend between spoonfuls.

Brogan sighed, “That’s not her job. That was the nanny’s job. Her role is to continue our family legacy.”

Brogan eyed the faun again.

Roark pried out a spoonful of peas, “Isn’t that your father's job?”

“Ah, on the financial side. His job is just to make sure we always increase our wealth. Otherwise, he’s basically a sperm donor.”

Roark snorted and shook his head. “I do not get it at all.”

The faun was somewhat similar in curvature to Clara but slightly more exaggerated and pear-shaped. But still, she looked plump, like someone he could really sink his hands into.

“No wonder you’re so wound up all the time.”

Brogan wondered what their waitress would look like topless. Under her green barmaid skirt, her skin was a warm caramel that blended into the chestnut fur of her legs. He also wondered what Clara would look like in a barmaid outfit.

Roark met his eye and cocked a brow, “Haha! Seriously? Our waitress?”

Brogan shrugged a shoulder.

“I was going to suggest another milking facility in the City or even a rub-and-tug, but hey! The waitress looks pretty, and she’s into you.”

“I was just looking, relax.”

“She looks kind of like the caramel version of Clara, actually.”

“She barely looks like her,” he snapped, drumming his fingers against the wooden table.

“So what will you do about Morning Glory? Will you go back? Book with someone else? I hear they are elves there.”

“I don’t know. That Staffing Manager really put me off. She eavesdropped on our conversation.”

“I heard that too —so unprofessional. Apparently, they’re having a meeting about it first thing tomorrow.”

“Some should train her in client-technician confidently.”

“Violet’s mentioned her a few times–they don’t see eye to eye often. But listen, why does it have to be Clara? Just go and get your money. You don’t need it, but you could clearly use a milking.”

“Ya. Maybe I will go back.”

Roark polished off his pie and ale and made his way out of the booth, “ok, I have to head back. It's an early travel day for me tomorrow. Sorry I can’t stay longer, but my meeting in Boston was changed at the last minute.”

Roart left to pay at the bar, leaving Brogan alone to observe everyone, primarily lots of trolls and ogres. There was a group of dwarves in the far corner under an ornate lintel that he’d seen frequent the bar before. Most of the clientele were males who eagerly caught up with friends as the weekend unfolded.

Seeing Roark had helped, but it also added more nuance to Clara's situation. Brogan just needed some time and space.

“So, your friend left,” came a silky voice.

Brogan was pulled out of his reverie by the faun barmaid. “Yes, he had to leave.”

“Hmm, that’s too bad,” she mused.

“It is,” said Brogan, watching as she leaned her hip suggestively against the table.

“I’m Mallory.” Her friendly tone felt infectious under the influence of the ale. “How come I haven’t seen you here before?”

He considered her questions. He rarely went out, and when he did, it was to check on places he’d invested money in. The honest answer was that he wasn’t much for pubs and beers; he was more of a cocktail man. “Just busy, I guess.”

“Well, do you think you’ll be busy in 20 minutes? I'm going on break, and I’d like to ask for your number,” she said, her bright, sultry smile spreading across her face. She was quite pretty.

Brogan blinked at her. He was surprised by her boldness but flattered. “I can’t say I have any meetings to run to at this time of night on a Friday,” he said warmly.

With a playful tilt of her head, she said, “Great!”

——

Thirty minutes later, Brogan had her leaning against his car as the two of them were furiously making out and pawing at each other, her ruched barmaid top straining at the buttons with her heavy breathing.

He brought his hands down against the backs of her thighs and slid up, possessively, to cusp her luscious ass.

Thank the Gods for mini skirts

, he thought, as he squeezed and slapped a cheek.

“Eager,” she giggled against his lips.

Brogan trailed kisses down her jaw and neck, nuzzling her under her ear. She smelled of vanilla and a bit like the musky ale from the pub—not quite the smell he was after.

“I knew you were checking me out at the pub,” said Mallory, squeezing his bicep and then wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him in closer. “I love big, strong bulls like you.”

“You’re definitely not one to ignore,” he said, kissing her back as his hands grazed up her waist and up to her chest.

She leaned into him, and Brogan pulled away playfully. Mallory pined and grabbed his shirt to pull him back into her.

“Now, who’s the eager one?” he asked, a smirk on his lips.

She gave him a slow, sly smile. “I just like having you wrapped around my little finger,” she purred.

He was not warped around anything other than his own need to cum. He was just horny and here to satiate one thing, and one thing only. As though the reptilian part of his brain took over, Brogan decided to show this faun who was in charge. In a swift motion, he grabbed her shirt and ripped the front open until the buttons containing her generous breasts popped off.

The faun gasped as her giant tits swayed out of the shirt, exposed to the darkened street around them.

A satisfied grin spread across his face as her brown nipples tightened and pointed, waiting for him. He took one between his fingers and twisted it just enough to get her attention.

“I prefer having you wrapped around

my

little finger,” he rumbled. Without missing a beat, he slapped one of her swollen tits. “Let’s see what those pretty lips can do.”

“But, I—”

Without missing a beat, he wrapped a hand around her throat and leaned in close, whispering in her ear, “You and I both know you like it rough,” he growled in between a nip on her ear.

She whimpered.

“Am I wrong?” he asked, twisting Mallory’s nipple again, and she groaned against him in pleasure; her eyes grew languid with lust. “Let’s not play pretend. You think you can handle a bull?”

Her heavy-lidded gaze, tilted in quiet surrender, brimmed with something far sweeter: submission. She nodded

She wants this. I

can

read women.

You just can’t read Clara,

quipped another voice in his head. He shut it out immediately.

“Then show me what those lips can do,” he commanded, unzipping his pants.

Her expression turned to melting passion as she slid down to her knees and smiled up at him, mouth agape, waiting for his dripping cock. “I’ve wanted to taste you since you walked in.”

A dark smirk spread across his face, “I know.”

And just like that, she sunk his cock as deep into her throat as she could.

Borgan groaned. The sensation of being swallowed so whole was a balm to his frayed nerves and coercion for his shaft to harden. With every bob of her head, he felt more and more ready to release.

And yet, every time he looked down at Mallory’s bright eyes gazing up at him, they were wrong.

“You taste so good, baby,” Mallory whispered, licking his tip.

I’m not your baby.

Instead of killing the mood, he nodded and closed his eyes, trying to lose himself in her motion. But as soon as he did so, the big, golden eyes of a certain redhead popped into his head. His eyes flashed open, scared to explore his vision—he had a beautiful woman at his feet right now, actually swallowing his cock in a way that a human never could.

But as soon as he looked at Mallory, the visual was wrong. Her motions seemed robotic and repetitive: a couple of bobs up and down, then a lick and repeat. There was no ball play. She had no coordination with her hands and no real passion.

After a few moments, she finally grabbed his shaft and started pumping him dry. “You like that baby,” she asked sweetly, looking up at him again.

He gritted his teeth but nodded.

Sure, I

love

a dry handy.

Remembering himself, he grabbed Mallory’s face, squishing her cheeks and lips to get her attention. Immediately, her submissiveness took over. “You want me to like it?”

She nodded.

“Then spit on it.”

She did and pumped, giving him a tentative look up at him for reassurance.

“More,” Brogan commanded. And when she did, he repeated it forcefully, ‘More! I like it sloppy.”

She spat until his cock was coated, and several tendrils clung to her chest as she pumped him faster. He groaned, though out of frustration. A few weeks ago, the sight of a gorgeous plump set of spit-coated tits like hers, a pretty face and eager eyes would have driven him mad.

But now, his preferences dug in its heels, escalating his frustrations.

It’s not her. It’s not the one we want!

His body said.

Shut up!

He retorted back, hating this situation.

Mallory kept pumping. But her passion for the handjob left much to be desired. Sighing, he grabbed the back of her head until her lips were around his shaft again and began to thrust into her throat with his eyes closed. Clara infiltrated his senses, her gorgeous skin speckled with delicate freckles, the perky breasts encased in her tiny dress, the mischievous grin she’d given the vampire-oracle at the Lounge… he was bucking his hips into Mallory’s mouth.

He pumped harder, and Mallory reeled her head back. “Oh my God, wow,” said the girl, replacing her mouth with hands, “fuck, your cock is huge.”

He ignored her and kept grinding into her hand.

Tilting his head up to the sky above, he thought of how Clara had looked at him while massaging his balls and then reacted to his cum all over her.

“Oh fuck, ya,” came Mallory’s piqued voice, “give it to me baby. I want that cum.”

Brogan focused and finally landed on the taste of Clara’s cum when he finally exploded.

Mallory pumped him fully, from base to shaft, as thick spurts of cum shot onto her chest. She seemed a little taken aback by how much he’d cum on her, though not too surprised. He was likely not her first minotaur. She probably had a preference for them, given her eagerness. It wasn’t unusual to meet certain locals with fetishes for some of the members of the community.

His balls squeezed the final gush onto her glistening chest. Borgan heaved a few breaths and finally felt more like himself. Looking down at Mallory’s beautiful, cum-comvered chest, he realized he hadn’t cum as much as usual. But the release still felt good.

Mallory smiled up at him. “Wow, big boy, you sure know how to make an impression,” she said while she slid off her small top to mop up the mess.

“Sorry about all of that…”

She waved him off, saying, “I knew what I was getting into. It’s fine. I have a spare top in my bag.”

He gathered himself, cleaned up, and then rounded the back of his car. Popping open the hood, Brogan eyed the three black gym bags that were neatly waiting for him. Each bag contained the same clothing, toiletries, and items he needed when he worked out with Roark at the club—all matching, all exactly the same. Unzipping one bag, he grabbed a towel and handed it to her, along with some wet wipes. “Please, keep the towel or throw it out.”

“Thanks,” she said with a smile. “So, about that number…?”

He knew this part was coming. Mallory was friendly and pretty. He got out his wallet and handed her his card, “Why don’t you shoot me a text in the next couple of days? I think I owe you one now.”

She grabbed the card, read it, and slid it into the waistband of her skirt. Brogan’s gaze lingered as her soft breasts swayed with her movements. She pulled the two sides of her top together and knotted them with a satisfied little tug.

“There, that should do the trick!” she giggled.

Brogan shot her a wry look. “Pretty sure your tips won’t be hurting.”

She winked. “See you around, Brogan Aldridge!” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared back inside.

Leaning against the hood of his car, he watched her go, a slow smile playing on his lips.

This could be something fun

, he thought.

No. This is bullshit,

retorted the stubborn beast inside.

He tried to reason with himself, but that primal part of him knew what it wanted, and now that it had sunk its teeth into a certain redhead, nothing else would compare.

It would not compromise.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 13 - Reflections

Clara waited several moments until Brogan had unceremoniously left the room.

Looking down at her hands, she found them trembling. Her throat was thick, and her mind sluggish. Processing those past few minutes with him towering over her was overwhelming —her only ability to process was reacting.

And she wanted to throw up.

When footsteps dimly reverberated near the door, she initially wanted to retreat. At the thought of being trapped inside the milking room, her pulse ricocheted within her tightening chest, and she felt so nauseous bile rose in her throat.

I need to get out of here!

Bursting through the room, she slammed the door open into the stunned face of Suzanna, the moth-girl who had been working at the reception that day and had tried to field Brogan away from her earlier.

“Oh Clara, Magda is looking for—” She said in her flighty, wispy voice behind large round glasses.

“—Please, Suzanna, I can’t right now. Tell–tell her I need the washroom,” begged Clara, already turning down the hallway of the milking floor to head to the staff area.

“Uhm, ok,” Suzanna trailed as Clara bolted back into one of the private bathrooms.

She chose the green one again; it was fast becoming her comfort room. Locking the door, Clara pressed her trembling hand to her chest to ease the panting gasps of air she was taking.

Flashbacks of Callum towering over her, his face etched with anger and suspicion, hung before her eyes:

“Is there a problem, Clara?”

“No!” Her voice strained with fear as her mind raced with infinite possibilities of how he’d make her regret dancing with her girlfriends the night before.

“Did we not discuss what you are

supposed

to be doing?” He asked, advancing towards her.

She didn’t dare back away, “We did.”

“We said you wouldn’t be dancing anymore, right? Did you not make that promise to me? You don’t dance anymore, you don’t go out like that—it takes time away from us. You remember that, right Clara?”

“I do.” Her chin had trembled. With every inch he advanced on her, all the reasons she’d had the night before to go out with Violet and their friends from college faded, slipping out of her fingers like liquid silk. It was just a night out. But she knew how he felt about those places. She knew that when she went out, he worried.

The heat in his eye wasn’t passion. It was power and rage. This was the Callum show, the one where he was the hero or the villain–depending on your perspective. “I’m just so surprised you’d forget your promise to me—to

us

,” he said, his voice quiet but edged with rage. “Well? I need a fucking answer, Clara!”

“Callum, I didn’t mean to—” she started, but he rounded on her in a flash.

“—Didn’t mean to! Clara, do you think I’m an idiot? I know why you dance!” he was yelling at her. Tears streamed down her eyes, and she backed up all the way against the wall. Her splayed hands tried to use the coolness of the drywall to soothe her, but he kept yelling at her, “I know the fucking truth! I know what you’re really like.”

He didn’t know! Callum didn’t get it—she was just trying to have fun and enjoy her youth away from her folks. “Callum! It was just for a bit of fun…” she insisted, her voice trailing off as he got closer.

“Fun. Fucking fun, Clara? Fun, attention, guys, sex, right? That’s what this is!”

She could feel the sear of his anger as his hot breath touched her cheek. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned from him, shaking with tears.

“You’re a fucking

slut

.”

She shook her head—she wasn’t! She barely ever slept with anyone, never cheated on him…liking sex didn’t mean she was a slut. Besides, no one at the clubs even approached her. She hadn’t worn anything slutty or suggestive. No one even tried to dance with her. But Callum was convinced she did it to make him jealous.

“So ya, Clara,” he bit out right against her ear. “We have a fucking problem. And you need to fucking fix it.”

“I just wanted to hang out with friends—”

Suddenly, the right side of her face exploded with pain, and the back of her head smacked against the wall. Clara didn’t know how she’d slid all the way down to the ground, her cheek pulsing with the burn of his slap against the wood floors of their apartment.

Callum walked away.

“Clara, open the door.”

Clara was shaking. The memory was just from a few years ago, but it was as fresh as yesterday. Looking around, she realized she’d slid to the floor and sobbed so hard that the gasps of air she tried to catch between the shaking nearly made her choke.

“Clara, please, it’s Violet. Could you please unlock the door?”

As though out of a reverie, Clara registered Violet’s kind, soft voice on the other side of the door. “Vi, I messed up.”

“Oh, you didn’t! Not one bit,” cooed Violet lovingly as Clara crawled over slowly, still shaking. “It was my fault. I should have had you fill out the paperwork or done it for you.”

When the door swung open, Violet’s face melted into pure concern. She came inside the room and sat on the floor, hugging Clara. " Oh my goodness, Clara. What on earth happened? Was Brogan really awful to you?”

Clara cried harder.

It was confusing. One moment, he had been incredibly demanding and intense. He towered over her and was more menacing than even Callum. But then he’d stood up to Magda for her, and then he’d made a switch and realized that he’d pushed her too far. But he was still so intense, overbearing, and suddenly incredibly frightening.

“I can’t believe that happened, Clara. I’m honestly so sorry and so shocked!” Violet said, sounding truly appalled.

With a trembling hand, Clara wiped away her tears and said, “Honestly, it’s fine. I’m not crying about that.”

“Well, I would cry about it. What Magda did was awful. I’m writing a report to HR, and we are meeting about it first thing tomorrow,” said Violet, still holding Clara's other hand, as they sat together on the ground in the green wallpapered room. “And Brogan too, we will have him ex-communicated. I don’t give a damn that he’s Roark’s best friend; that was awful of him to corner you in a room like that! Totally against the rules.”

“He actually stood up for me in front of Magda,” Clara finally managed to mutter through trembling lips. “In the end, he got it.”

Violet gave her a concerned look and said, “Right, but it shouldn’t have taken that for him to get it.”

Clara shrugged.

“Come here.” Violet pulled Clara in another hug and held her. “So why are you shaking so much and crying, babe?” Her gentle hand stroked Clara’s hair, and slowly, the two of them rocked side to side. “Clara, are you having flashbacks of Callum?”

A heavy nod was all Clara could manage.

Violet pressed her lips together in understanding. She had seen a lot of what Callum had done. The changes he had insisted on, the hobbies he had ex-nayed, the clothes he’d cut up or throw out, the restrictive diet he had Clara on, and finally, after a few years of living together, Violet had spotted the bruises Clara had tried to hide.

“What triggered it? Did you have flashbacks?”

Clara sat upright, taking a deep breath. “Brogan said a line that Callum used to say. At first, I was okay, so I stood up to him. But then, when I left the room, it was like the memory was waiting for me, and it just took over me? It’s so hard to explain. I was literally fine, Vi, until I left the room.”

Violet nodded.

The two of them got up. Clara washed her face, and Violet lent her a Honey Bee face towelette to wipe off her streaming makeup. Clara tidied her hair and changed out of her scrubs into regular clothes as Violet waited for her in the staff room by the lockers.

“You won’t have to talk to Magda. I’ve already done it.” Violet held out a little envelope for Clara. " Here are your tips for today. We’re going to leave through the back, and I’m driving you home. I already told Roark I’m having dinner with you. We’re hanging out and just having fun and forgetting all about this, okay?”

Gratitude flowed out of Clara. She gave Violet a soft “thank you” and zipped up her baby blue hoodie, and they left the farm in Violet’s little VW Beetle.

__

Hours later, the two of them were snuggled on Clara’s couch. Despite it being the middle of summer, a fire was roaring in her fireplace. Half-drunk cups of tea were on the coffee table next to boxes of takeout courtesy of Roark, and they were hashing out the details of the encounter.

Violet, with half a teriyaki noodle hanging out of her mouth, said, “I just can’t believe he had the audacity to think he could convince you himself! I know Brogan is … confident, but that’s so aggressive.”

Clara shrugged as she hugged her cup of camomile tea even closer. She usually got over big emotions quickly. Discussing them with Violet had helped. It was reliving the old memory with Callum, which had been worse. But sitting in the living room now, under the heavy light of twilight, satiated by food and tea, there was an unspoken understanding that further discussion of Callum was unnecessary.

“I think he’s used to getting his way,” said Clara.

“And then some! But I’ve never seen him with a girl, so I don’t know what he’s like when it comes to women. Honestly, I thought he was always polite and fairly… I guess aloof?”

“He’s never had a girlfriend?”

Violet shook her head, simultaneously shaking another yakisoba noodle, “ne-er seen ‘im wi’ one,” Violet attempted to say while hanging onto the noodle. She slurped it up. “He’s kind of old money, so I guess he’s waiting to find like… an heiress or something.”

“Old money, seriously?” Clara sipped her tea. She’d never met anyone old money. “What on earth is he doing at Morning Glory? He doesn’t need the money!”

“No. Brogan doesn’t use any of the family money at all and refuses to, according to Roark. So what he has, he’s made. I think he booked because, well… frankly, he heard there was another human,” said Violet, slightly blushing behind her take-out container.

Clara’s eyes widened. “Really?” A wave of conflict washed over her, adding to her confusion. It was flattering to be desired, but she’d never experienced being desired for being another species than someone else. “Why does he like humans?”

“Roark said that during Brogan’s heat, he only pursued humans and fell in love with a girl in France, but she rejected him flat-out.”

“No way!”

“Yeah.”

“He was in heat?”

Violet nodded, “Most, if not all, minotaurs go through it. Humans rarely experience their heat. I was so surprised the other night when Roark said that he smelled me in heat - I honestly had no idea.”

“Is it normal for minotaurs to pursue humans?”

“Well, apparently, yes. According to mythology, at least. Roark says different lineages are more prone to be attracted to and want to mate with humans, while other bloodlines prefer minotaur females. The same goes for the females —some want human men.”

Clara gaped at Violet. She’d never considered the reverse. A smirk spread on her face. " So you’re telling me a human woman rejected Brogan?”

Violet nodded, amusement shining in her eyes.

Clara laughed, “I would love to see that.”

“It doesn’t help that his mother, Roweena, dislikes humans and wants him to marry a minotaur woman with status. So now there’s that added element of forbidden fruit,” Violet said with a little laugh.

Clara giggled even more, “Omg, is his mom like a really stuck-up lady too? Like super strict, and he has to marry someone who knows etiquette, a high society woman?”

Violet nodded enthusiastically. " Yes! She totally is! I googled her! She does a ton of philanthropy, and she’s constantly pawning off various minotauresses to Brogan. One time, he went on a date with this Swiss minotaur lady. He hated her so much that he left halfway through the date!”

“Wow.”

“Like, he has no chill at all.”

“I don’t know,” Clara said. “I kind of respect that.”

“Clara! Come on,” insisted Violet, who was always incredibly considerate, “you can’t walk out on a date!”

Smirking over her cup of tea, Clara said, “I would if they’re insufferable!”

Violet rolled her eyes, “fine, maybe you could do it. I couldn’t.”

“So, does Borgan’s mom, Romelda, hate humans, or what?”

“Roweena. And yes. Apparently, she was rejected by a billionaire human man, and it was very public and quite embarrassing—back in the 70s, it was huge news.”

Clara reached for her noodle box and ate a little more, relieved that her appetite was returning. The noodles were cold now, so as she got up to reheat them, she asked, “Can you imagine getting rejected by a billionaire?”

Violet shook her head, starting head as though trying to imagine it. She leaned over her couch, saying, “Remind me again what Brogan said at the very end, right before you walked out?”

“He said: ‘It’s not right, Clara. I accept your no.’ And then he left abruptly,” Clara reiterated, leaning against the tile counter. The story had already been shared once or twice earlier that evening.

“I’m glad he came to that realization. That was probably kind of new for him,” Violet pondered. “I can’t believe how much he insisted that it had to be you.”

Clara stared ahead unfixedly. She couldn’t make much of it. He seemed constantly to be judging her, and she continually came up short—or so it seemed. He never seemed satisfied with what she said or what she did. Not that they had many interactions. He just came across as so judgmental.

Violet took in a sharp breath, “I think he likes you.”

Clara’s face twisted with disbelief, “no way, Vi.”

“It’s the only explanation I have.”

“It’s because he’s entitled and embarrassed from his first session,” Clara reminded her friend.

“I doubt it, that much output, he was probably paid handsomely. I doubt he cared much about the mess, Clara. He

likes

you.”

Clara shook her head vehemently. She realized Brogan was attracted to humans, but his ongoing frustration with her was more than ample evidence of his distaste. “Truly doubt it, Vi.”

“I’m gonna ask Roark,” Violet continued, undeterred, texting rapidly on her cell.

“Wait until another human starts working at Morning Glory. He’ll be glad to take that recruit,” Clara insisted, retrieving her noodles and returning to the couch.

“No, Clara. He specifically said human with red hair!”

But Clara refused to believe that those two factors alone were sufficient for someone as demanding and domineering as Brogan, especially as a rich minotaur who turned his nose at high-society women.

Violet nearly leaped off the couch, “Roark says yes!” Violet exclaimed, eyes bright with confirmation for her theory. Clara’s incredulity shone on her face when Violet doubled down, “There’s no other reason for him to pursue you this much, Clara.”

“Pursue is not quite the term—”

“—Whatever you want to call it. He’s into you, Clara. This whole thing at Morning Glory is more for him than just random milking by human hand. Roark said he likes short, pale, curvy redheads that are human.” Violet showed Clara her phone screen and sank back into the couch, pillows triumphantly. “And when you resisted him, you hurt his big-bull, rich-guy ego because everyone–and I mean

everyone

–wants Brogan Aldridge.”

Clara rolled her eyes, “Well, they can keep him. He’s not a problem anymore, you said he’s getting banned from the Farm.”

Violet pursed her lips together. “Might be. We have to process the paperwork; Dr. Reed and Mr. Cross have to meet and review the file.”

Clara sat with the idea of Brogan being banned. She didn’t know how to feel; her feelings were still confused. On one hand, it was a relief to have him there. On the other hand, he had stood up for her and driven her home. And he’d sparked something in her that was different—something she didn’t think about or want to explore. She gave Violet a wary look and considered telling her the final piece of the puzzle: the one about him smelling more than just her heat.

“What?” asked Violet.

Clara’s breath caught in her chest momentarily before she finally resolved to come clean. “You know how I told you the first time he said he smelled me, and we all thought it was my heat?”

Violet nodded, locked in on Clara’s story.

“Well, the truth is… uhm,” she hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I mean… Vi, did you ever feel kind of aroused when you were milking Roark?”

Violet’s wide eyes crickled with a touch of wickedness, “Oh, like you wouldn’t believe, haha. There were a few times, I was so wet, I thought I’d left a little snail trail on the stool after me,” her friend confessed.

“Well, the thing is–listen, this is so embarrassing. You have to understand, it was really crazy for me. But the first time I milked Brogan, that very first half… I had an orgasm during the session….” Clara held her breath, looking at Violet with bated breath.

Violet sprang forward on the couch, holding herself up on her hands. “Oh, my God! Clara!”

Clara hid her face behind her hands. She knew Violet would never tell, but the embarrassment of the confession still ate at her, “that was why I thought that day that I would get fired. Because I had been inappropriate and came during the session… and also because he’d made such a mess of the room.”

Violet’s mouth hung open in pure shock. “Clara! You

orgasmed

? When he came all over you!”

“—He didn’t cum

on

me, Vi!”

“...So when he said he could smell you…”

Clara nodded, shame colouring her face. “Ya.”

Violet covered her gaping mouth, “oh my God! He smelled your cum!”

Clara nodded again dumbly.

Suddenly, Violet stood up, shock and realization etched on her features, “Clara! Do you know what this means?”

“Uhm, that I actually

am

fired?”

“No. It means—oh my God!—it means Brogan brought on your heat!”

The comment nearly gave Clara whiplash. “What?”

Violet nodded her head, the understanding in her eyes connecting all the dots. “No one said a peep about you smelling any kind of way before that session or even that morning. It was only after your appointment with Brogan that the staff gave any indication that you were in heat! Which means Brogan…” Violet gave her a look of wonder.

Clara’s shook from the sudden understanding. It had been that milking session, the tension, the cum, and the intensity. It had somehow triggered a very intense reaction in her. None of this would have happened with him. “What-what do I do?”

Violet shrugged, sitting back down with her feet tucked under her, “I mean, what can you do? It is what it is now, babe. You just deal with it until the heat is gone.”

A question suddenly gripped Clara, rattling her to her core. Could this mean more than just general heat? Could this mean something deeper? “Uhm, Vi? This doesn’t mean we’re like mated or something, does it?”

Violet frowned, “no, of course not, relax.”

“So, how long does someone's heat last?”

“I have no idea; it's different for everyone, I’m told. Roark said his heat lasted a few months. Mine was also around 3-4 months. So you just have to ride it out,” said Violet, shrugging. “Wait until I tell Roark. He’s gonna get such a kick out of this!”

“Do you have to tell him? I don’t want this to get back to Brogan…. And make a bigger mess of things. Besides, his ego is big enough….” said Clara with trepidation.

Violet looked sympathetically at her. “I hate to say it, babe, but he probably figured it out.”

Clara’s face whitened.

That is so fucking embarrassing!

She shook her head, refusing to believe it. That cocky asshole already had too much going for him. The last thing he needed was this feather in his cap. “I hope you’re wrong,” she finally whispered over her mug of tea, draining it.

A knock at the door shook them out of their conversation.

“Did you order more food,” Clara asked Violet.

“No. Is it a neighbour?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever met anyone in the building…” she replied, throwing a thick pink-knit cardigan over herself and walking to the door.

Looking through the peephole, no one seemed to be standing on the other side. But when Clara held the door open, there was Sprig from Petalwick across the street, carrying a massive bouquet of pale pink peonies, mini daisies, sweetpeas, yellow roses, and magical paper-like white poppies with petals that seemed to sway in an invisible gentle wind. The bouquet was so huge that he was barely holding up the entire arrangement.

“Sprig! What are you doing here,” asked Clara, a smile bursting across her face.

“Miss Clara,” he said in his bright, gnomish voice. He trembled under the weight of the bouquet, which had to be over 100 stems large. “I have a special delivery for you, Miss.”

Violet appeared over her shoulder, “Wow!”

Clara’s amusement at Violet’s eyes bugging out of her head was suddenly cut short. " Are you sure it's for me, Sprig? I don’t know anyone who’d get me flowers like this…”

Sprig smiled broadly, “Oh, it’s definitely, 100%, certain as rain for you, Miss Clara,” he said merrily.

“Maybe it’s from Roark? He’s pretty thoughtful,” said Violet, “but, come to think of it, he’s gotten me flowers before, but not quite like this.”

Sprig swayed once again under the weight, and Clara bent down to keep him steady. “Sorry, Sprig, here,” she said, taking the bouquet from his hands. “Thank you so much, it’s truly lovely. I have never seen anything like it!”

The gnome beamed with appreciation. “I’m so pleased you liked it, Miss Clara.”

“But it’s nearly midnight,” said Violet, “how are you making a delivery this late?”

Spring grinned. “Yes, I was motivated by a certain gentleman that a message was necessary immediately, and so we got to work and created something together. We had to visit a few different stores to achieve the volume the gentleman desired!” Sprig was bouncing on the balls of his feet with pride.

Clara beamed at the flowers in her arms. The bouquet had to weigh something like a mid-sized dog, it was massive and weighty. She immediately imagined Zahuris selecting beautiful flowers for her in his uncanny, charming way. No one else she knew was capable of doing something like this. “Who on earth would insist on a bouquet this late at night?”

Violet plucked a card from the centre of the flowers, flipped open the envelope and read, “Dearest Clara. How can I begin to apologize for today? I endeavour to figure it out, though I know it will never be enough to earn your forgiveness. I hope you can accept this bouquet as a promise to earn your trust again—Yours, B.A.” Violet’s eyes were as wide as plates as she gaped at Clara.

Clara’s heart was attempting to crawl out of her throat. There was only one individual she knew with those initials, and she never wanted to see him again. Suddenly, the bouquet felt like a sack of blouders.

Sprig nodded brightly, “Yes, yes, Mr. Aldridge visited me just about 2 hours ago. Insisted on me composing something sumptuous and feminine for him, and of course, Sprig said yes! Ranunculus, I said, for I saw the way Miss Clara looked at them just a few days ago! ‘Fantastic,’ said the gentleman, ‘I want a hundred of them and a hundred roses, Sprig!’ So Sprig did just so!”

“It’s gorgeous, Sprig,” Violet said, leaning in to smell the flowers.

Clara felt frozen. No one had ever gifted her anything like this before. It was extravagant and beautiful, but it hadn’t felt like enough. Then again, his written message implied that he knew he was a long way away from earning her trust and forgiveness.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she whispered, “I haven’t got a big enough vase for this, Sprig…”

“The bouquet has its vase within the box, Miss Clara,” he answered, proud of his forethought. “Direct light for them, please. And the paper poppies need to be spoken to now and then to keep them happy.”

Clara glanced at the white magical poppies that seemed to crane their necks towards her.

“Thank you, Sprig,” she said, amazed and still taken aback by the gesture.

Sprig made a slight small bow, and his big smile was infectious. “I hope you enjoy it for many days, Miss Clara.” He waved and bounced down the curved central stairs of her building.

Violet shut the door. “Jesus! That is the most beautiful bouquet I have ever seen!”

“Ya.”

“Clara, it’s Ranunculus! They symbolize radiant beauty. Brogan thinks you’re beautiful.”

Clara looked at the mass of flowers in her hands and focused on the gentle pink gradient of the ranunculus, with their darker pink base and the lightened tips of the petals—like roses that had their petals cut short.

“And these little daisies, they mean joy. The sweet peas, I think they represent gratitude and appreciation —that’s so cute! And then yellow roses… I think that’s new beginnings and friendship? Maybe he wants you guys to try to be friends,” suggested Violet.

Clara’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Friendship?”

Violet shrugged, “I mean, who knows? Maybe the symbolism didn’t come into play at all, and he just picked what was pretty. Either way, this is so beautiful!”

Clara nodded, astounded.

No one had ever apologized like this. Her experience in receiving apologies was limited. Her parents pretended like there had never been any wrongdoing. Callum apologized in defence as if he was being cornered; they had never seemed sincere.

And now there was this: Brogan’s apology, flowers to make her smile and a card that acknowledged his wrongdoing. That effort was needed on his behalf, and he took ownership of it. Clara couldn’t tell if she was pleased or wary.

Is it just pretty words?

“I think I just need some time,” she said softly.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 14 - Cyclic Guanosine Monophosphate

Clara woke up the next day with renewed purpose.

After overcoming the shock of the massive and gorgeous bouquet that Brogan had sent to her, Violet convinced her to break up the bouquet into smaller ones and spread it around her apartment. Between various vases, glasses, jars, and pots, Clara now had bouquets all around from her kitchen to the bedroom, study, and bathroom. But still, the central bouquet was on her coffee table—even divided, it was the largest bouquet she’d ever seen. Between all the roses and ranunculus and every other flower, there were over 300 flowers.

How had Sprig even carried it upstairs?

Clara refused to consider its cost. Maybe for Brogan, it wasn’t a crazy cost.

She sat on the couch with a sketchbook propped against a bent leg and another cup of tea on the table as she tried to figure out how to draw ranunculus. Her page was a study of the flower from various angles, each one trying to capture the delicate petals and complex shapes with notes alongside the margins.

The morning light streamed through her massive bay window, and somehow, the issues of the day before washed away. Violet had stayed with her late into the night. The conversation had turned from Brogan and flowers to her friend trying to convince her to have a fling maybe, and Clara hummed with impish plans of maybe seducing Zahuris.

She didn’t even mind that the bunches of flowers everywhere lifted her mood. She had always wanted to be a light and flowery girl, surrounded by pretty little blooms in glass vases, light twinkling through the stems. In an effort to feel extra delicate, Clara had worn a little silky babydoll to bed, which she had yet to change out of. Her fluffy pink mohair cardigan Granny Eddie had made with little eyelets all around hung off her shoulders as she painstakingly drew flower after flower until she felt confident enough to draw one without a reference. She took a picture of it on her phone and sent the image to her grandmother Edith, thinking she’d like it.

Right on cue, her phone pinged: Oh, Clara dear! That is lovely! What is that flower called?

Clara: Ranunculus, Granny Eddie. Do you like it?

Granny Eddie: Gorgeous, my dear! How did you know how to draw it?

Clara sent her a picture of the massive bouquet. The lighting from the window and the way the water sparkled made for an elegant composition.

Grann Eddie: My goodness, Clara! What a beautiful bouquet you have in your lovely apartment! I’m so happy for you! I hope some nice boy got it for you!

Clara said ‘thank you’ but didn’t comment further about the boy. The great thing about her Granny Eddie was that she always kept Clara’s secrets, but she also never pried. They were similar souls—sensitive but adventurous, wanting to taste life but also having a heart that felt everything, sometimes too much.

“What do you think?” she asked the magical poppies, which swayed gently toward her and seemed to stretch out their petals. Should I draw you next? How about tomorrow? Will you be ready then? You might want some time to do your hair or get ready,” she teased the pretty flowers.

Moving away from the drawing, Clara grabbed the emerald ceramic jar from the mantle and took it to the window seat by her big window. Outside, the morning glowed down the main street as all sorts of creatures went about their errands: Dragonfly mothers with small kids, a Sphynx with mail, and a couple of younger wolf-girls stepped into Petalwick’s across the street. Clara removed the lid and turned the jar upside down, letting all the cash bills spill out onto the padded cushion of her window seat.

Every dollar she had been tipped from Morning Glory over the past month lay there. She had waited until the end of the month to count it out; her impatience had gotten the better of her from time to time, but she had managed to hold off counting it until the end. Clara had wanted to wait to see what a month’s worth of tips would look like for her.

Gently arranging the bills by number, she began to count until, finally, a massive pile lay before her: $942. She was stunned. Having only worked at Morning Glory for a few weeks, only four days a week, she hadn’t expected her clients to be so generous, but she was pleased.

Her plan moving forward was simple: she had three loans to pay off her credit card, student loans, and a line of credit she had started, which had been her lifeline for escaping Callum. She was determined to put money towards her premium each month to help reduce the interest she’d have to pay. So, aside from the automatic payments she made from her income, Clara decided to use her tips towards the loans; each would get a third of the overall amount. Taking $900, she would put $300 towards each loan. The remaining $42 would be for a little treat for herself—anything she wanted, no holds barred.

“First stop–bank, then breakfast at the patisserie, then probably a coffee, and then a stroll and then… I guess a nap?” she said to the magical poppies Sprig had insisted needed companionship.

Donning green overalls and her now-favourite pink cardigan, she set off down the main street. After stopping at the bank and making a satisfying payment on the prime of her loans, she headed to the pastry shop, La Belle Boulangerie, hoping they’d have the chocolate Creme Choux the faun had promised.

Stepping inside, she was met with an unexpected crowd. A werewolf mother and her cub were at the front, ordering what seemed to be every single pastry in the store, and five other groups were lined up behind, including a centaur who barely fit in the store lobby. As soon as she walked in, the men waiting looked at her.

Ah, yes, I forgot: my heat.

Many had the decency to leave her be and not pay much attention, but Sphynx male and cyclops grinned at her.

“Good morning,” said the cyclops, his smile showing too many teeth.

The sphynx leaned in a little too close. Clara felt him inhale her deeply. “The name’s Martin.”

Suddenly, her appetite vanished.

The weak smile dropped off her face as she slowly backed away. French chocolate puffs be damned, this wasn’t worth a potentially fifteen-minute wait.

Ducking out of the boulangerie, she headed down the main street, shaking off the men’s leering look.

It wasn’t that it bothered her that she was in heat, and sometimes she even enjoyed the attention. Clara just wished she could turn it off at times and not be ogled at. It felt a little like that scene in Pretty Woman—if she knew ahead of time that particular attention was coming her way, it was fine. But when it caught her off guard and when she was just being herself, it was unnerving.

She entered a small coffee shop, ordered some drip coffee with cream, and headed to the pond to sit outside, avoiding any busy places at this time of day so as not to disturb any of the patrons with her scent. Walking along the pathway, she reached the shallow portion of the pond where ducks glid along the water, covered in lily pads and dense with reeds. She felt a deep sense of gratitude for being here, for having access to these serene natural spaces for long walks. And most importantly, from being far away from her mother and Callum.

As she followed the curve of the pond, the dense, verdant forest stretching to her right, the water gradually deepened into a crystal-clear lake. Distant shouts and the rhythmic splash of swimmers carried across the surface, drawing her gaze to the far shore, where a lively swim meet was underway.

A half dozen or so orcs, tieflings, and others stood shirtless along a rocky coastline, hunched over, waiting to dive into the lake. A whistle blew, and in unison, each one dove into the lake and began to swim towards a floating line in front.

Clara sat down on a sun-warmed rock and watched from afar as they raced forward in strong, majestic strokes.

Taking a sip of coffee, she watched the race and the crowd on the shore cheering on.

An exceptionally dark male with a lean figure rising from the lake captured her attention. He was the first to exit the lake, and a bright smile beamed on his face. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he was approached by several friends who slapped him on the back. As Clara squinted, she realized it was Zahuris.

He had said he was training for some kind of marathon. This must be practice.

Seeing him like this left her breathless.

She loved having this private way to look at him. Clara had known he was in shape, but she’d never imagined he’d be so chiselled. He looked like he was cut from stone. Even from across the small lake, she could see every line in his abdomen, the tapering line from his chest to a narrow waist, the roundness in his shoulders. As he threw his head back to laugh at a friend's joke, memories of him looking down at her and kissing her filled Clara’s mind.

Clara was glad to have the privacy of her spot as she wiggled with pleasure thinking of the past Wednesday night.

“You should date,” Violet had said last night.

Clara scoffed lightly, “ya? Like who, Vi?”

“I don’t know. How about that barman from Red Oracle?”

“Zahuris?”

“Yes! He was hot, and he was

so

into you!”

“—And he’s a great kisser,” added Clara slyly.

Violet gaped playfully. “Secrecy and sneakery! What’s this? Already shared a kiss and not even bothering to tell your best friend?”

Clara raised her hands in surrender. “I know! I’m sorry. I meant to tell you earlier, but life got in the way.”

She’d detailed how Zahuris had come upstairs with her and had wanted to walk her home but couldn’t. How she’d actually gotten home was omitted by design. Clara had had enough talk about Brogan.

Looking at Zahuris now, drying himself off as he chatted with his pals, Clara wanted to feel him on top of her. A blush bloomed on her cheeks, thinking about him crawling over her on her bed, prodding his knee against the legs to encourage her to open up for him. She wanted nothing more than to hear him bossing her around and making her do naughty things for him.

Her phone buzzed suddenly, and she saw a message from Violet: Clara, I hate to ask, but I need you to come to Morning Glory. Sorry babe, it’s important.”

Clara: Sounds good, give me 30 minutes.

Sighing, she got up and gave Zahuris one last longing look. Clara decided that she’d text him that night to continue their conversation.

After checking a small map of the pathway system, she saw a route through the forest that would take her straight to the farm. Curious, she headed towards her work.

I wonder if Magda got roasted by the higher-ups

, she pondered, making her way through a glade of birch trees.

The further along the road, the wilder and narrower the path became. The trees were diverse deciduous trees, including large maples and elms, which got larger and larger the deeper she went.

These would be excellent for climbing up and reading.

Her mind pondered what novel she should bring out here, determined not to reread Pride and Prejudice for the umpteenth time. Mentally shuffling through her books, she decided that the remaining $42 would go toward a couple of new books—something low stakes, maybe with a happy ending, maybe historical. Before she knew it, Clara arrived at the back door of the two massive red barns that made up Morning Glory.

She entered through the rear entry and headed for the lobby. Suzanna’s moth wings softly fluttered as she organized the reception desk. “Hey Clara,” she said softly, catching her eye, “they’re waiting for you in the other building. Violet and the rest—they’re all in a huge meeting.”

“Who else is there, Suz?”

“Well, Dr. Reed is there. She has some science news to share. Mr. Cross, too. And a few gentlemen, I think,” said the moth softly.

Clara gave her a sidelong look and asked, “And Magda?”

Suzanna gave her a meaningful look. “Oh well, she kind of stomped out a few minutes before you arrived…She was pretty angry-looking.”

“Did she say anything?” Clara prodded.

Suzanna tilted her head nonchalantly, “just muttered under her breath a bit. Didn’t catch what she said.”

“Huh.”

Suzanna looked away, rubbing her arm. “She must be upset with me about yesterday…”

“I doubt it, Suz. That was a strange situation.”

“I guess.”

“Did Magda get upset with you?”

Suzanna blushed and nodded, “still not really used to working the front desk…”

“It was me. Magda was pissed about what happened with my client.” Clara took in a sharp inhale, wondering what this big meeting was about, hoping it didn’t mean bad news for her.

Clara worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

“Clara, don’t worry,” Suzanna soothed, “you’re our best milking tech, actually. I know you’re new. But you’re good.”

Suzanna’s words caught Clara off guard, “Oh… uhm, thanks Suz.”

The shy moth-girl shrugged. “I’m the one who does the charts for what everyone produces. You know, like, I made a spreadsheet to show which tech worked on whom and how much was extracted. Your numbers are the best. So don’t worry about anything. They’re scared you’ll leave.”

Clara gave her a soft smile, “you have too much confidence in me.”

“Or I know that this is a business first.”

“Right.”

“You milk, on average, 20-30% more per client than anyone else.”

Clara blinked in surprise. She’d had no idea.

“It would take two techs to replace you at this point,” Suzanna continued, peering at Clara from behind her massive, magnifying round glasses, emphasizing her bug-like face.

Clara gave her an awkward smile.

“And you get the best tips.”

Bolstered by Suzanna’s revelations, Clara felt her confidence renew. Thanking Suzanna, she made her way to the other building where Violet had her office and found the meeting room where everyone was waiting.

“Hi, Clara,” said Violet, smiling and getting her a little black rolling office chair.

Clara took it and rolled toward the table. All around her, executives in suits and ties looked at her—not a single one was human except a short, elderly man. At the far end of the table was Dr. Reed in her lab coat. She smiled and gestured a little hello with a tilt of her head.

“Thank you for joining us, Clara,” said Dr. Reed in a warm, professional voice. “We haven’t had a chance to meet yet; I’m Dr. Reed. I wanted to chat with you today about one of the semen samples you have collected.

Clara smiled back and nodded.

Dr. Reed rolled aside to focus on the screen behind her. “This is going to feel like a deep dive into biomechanics and scientific terms, but Violet tells me that you are actually an engineer by training?” asked the doctor, as Clara nodded again.

“Before we continue, Dr. Reed, are you certain that Miss Emerson’s samples are the only ones to show this trait that you spoke of?” one of the suited creatures asked. Clara assumed he must be some kind of lizard folk based on his features, reptilian skin and yellow, slitted eyes.

Dr. Reed nodded. “Yes. In the 10 years that we have been at this facility, a semen sample like this has never been collected.”

Behind Dr. Reed, a series of interconnected hexagons appeared, with letters at the end that Clara knew were chemical structures. Next to those were spirals and a diagram of what looked like veins and blood vessels.

“What we saw in recent samples, specifically from Male0498, is an increased level of cyclic guanosine monophosphate.”

“What now?” Said a werewolf wearing the sharpest designer suit Clara had ever seen. She suddenly felt foolish in her sage green overalls and fluffy pink cardigan.

“Cyclic guanosine monophosphate, known as cGMP,” repeated the doctor, “is a molecule that plays an important role in regulating various biological processes, including those involved in smooth muscle relaxation and blood flow. The samples from 0498 had nearly double the cGMP’s.”

The suits at the table all gazed from the doctor to Clara.

“Interestingly, we tested Male0498 this morning with another technician, and the sample was normal,” continued Dr. Reed. “Which leads me to conclude that Clara here, Miss Emerson, excuse me—”

“—Clara is fine, Dr. Reed,” she said politely.

The doctor smiled, “Which leads me to believe that there is something about Clara that causes a specific reaction or modification to occur that increases cGMP. Or perhaps it was just a one-time coincidence—further sampling is required to know for sure.”

Clara sat frozen. She wasn’t quite catching on to what was happening. Her sample had more molecules. Her civil engineering brain knew bracing and retaining walls, and biology was her weakest science in school.

“I don’t get it,” said a mantis-man on the far side of the table. “How can a technician affect this GMP stuff? And who cares?”

The elderly man spoke up, “Come on, Carl, don’t you know anything about your own dick? You need blood flow to have an erection!”

To her left, Violet tried to suppress a giggle. Leaning in towards Clara, she whispered barely above a breath, “That’s Mr. Cross.”

Clara blinked at seeing her actual boss for the first time. With tufted white hair and a kindly face, he was hobbit-sized, with wrinkled hands and a handsome suit on. His demeanour was straightforward and open.

And Clara had just heard him talk about erections.

“We’re in the business of getting human men hard—fast, comfortably, and for a long time,” he continued unflinchingly. “This young lady here,” he said, indicating to Clara, “does something that improves the quality of the sperm that Morning Glory sells to pharmacies.”

Once again, everyone looked at Clara.

A shiver of fear worked its way down her spine. “I-I don’t think I do anything different? I just watched the videos, and Violet trained me very well. But I promise nothing untoward is happening on the milking floor…” she added, scared that perhaps they’d question her methods.

“No one is accusing you, dear girl. We’re more than happy to see it! I am very pleased indeed. We just want to know the why and how of it.”

Dr. Reed leaned in, her face kind and earnest. “Clara, am I right in asking—and forgive me if this is insensitive, I apologize if this makes you feel a tad shy, but please rest assured that everyone here has signed NDA’s and this information will not be leaving this room, nor will it affect your job here—but, I believe that you are in heat. Is that correct?”

Clara’s face burned brightly. All around her, the male creatures shifted somewhat—they had all detected her but had tried to remain unaffected professionally.

Clara nodded. “Yes, as of Tuesday this week, actually.”

The doctor nodded silently.

Mr. Cross tapped his chin. “That may be so, but only the one male produced that alteration to the cGMP,” said her boss.

“How many others has she milked since Tuesday,” asked Carl, the mantis-man.

Violet leaned in with her clipboard and charts. “Wednesday was Clara’s day off, so in the past two days, there have been 18 patients who have seen Clara. These are their numbers and corresponding sample weights.”

The sheets were passed around.

One werewolf analyzed the spreadsheet and looked at Clara: “You’re extracting a larger volume of samples than your peers, too,” he said kindly.

Clara, still somewhat frozen, shrugged a little. “I guess. I didn’t really know what to expect since I’m human and all.”

The werewolf continued, “Most of the other techs are collecting between 15-24 ounces. Miss Emerson frequently collects over 20 fluid ounces, with one being as much as 42 ounces! That is unprecedented,” he said, handing off the chart to his neighbour.

“It shows here that it was extracted from Male0498,” said the other man, a purple demonoid with horns protruding from his forehead that curved back towards his head like a ram.

Clara’s heart stilled.

They’re talking about Brogan! Male0498 is Brogan. He’s the only one to have cum so much,

she realized. The tightness in her chest squeezed even harder.

Mr. Cross chuckled. " It looks like we need to start stocking larger jugs!” His eyes practically gleamed with delight.

Dr. Reed looked at the chart again and then said to Clara, “This is a client you only saw once, and was it his first time.”

“Yes.”

“Were there other clients you saw for the first time?”

Clara looked to Violet, “I suppose a younger minotaur… initials LM? Lance? But I actually saw him first with Violet when she was training me.” Her growing feeling of trepidation was magnified. Clara looked down to see that she’d dug her nails into her palm so deeply that deep white grooves were etched in her flesh.

Violet checked the chart, saying, “Lance is Male0487.”

They checked his information, but Dr. Reed shook her head. "There was nothing unusual about that cGMP sample—only Male0498. As I mentioned, he was milked this morning, and the sample he provided was normal.” The Doctor's gaze returned to Clara, a mixture of emotions playing across her face. “Clara, I want to be straightforward with you. We are interested in having you milk him again.”

The tightness in Clara’s chest increased a little. “I see.”

“We know that you put in a request not to be paired with this minotaur again. We understand that he has been aggressive—”

“—What minotaur isn’t?” said the purple domonoid dismissively.

“Many, Mr. Crenovick,” said Dr. Reed, her tone flat. Glancing back at Clara, she said, " We also understand that Male0498 tried to convince you to milk him on Friday after you had put in a special request not to see him. Is that correct?”

“Yes, in Milking Room 001.”

Dr. Reed pressed her lips together. “Unfortunate behaviour. It definitely complicates things, Arthur,” she said, looking at Mr. Cross.

Mr. Cross nodded grimly. " Please accept our sincere apologies, Miss Emerson. You should have been better supervised, and your request should have been honoured. That will not happen again, I assure you. Your schedule is now fully in Violet's hands here.”

Clara thanked them and smiled at Violet, who gave her a cheerful look of pride.

Dr. Reed continued, “We would have liked to see if he would be able to produce a similar sample to his first one.”

Mr. Cross leaned onto the table and said, “Miss Emerson, my girl, we are not in the business of coercing our technicians to do anything against their will, and this is not what this meeting is about. Let’s be clear about that, first and foremost.”

Clara felt her chest ease with his words.

“But! We wanted you to see and understand that you have collected something interesting that has scientific value.”

Dr. Reed nodded meaningfully, and her eyes shone with an intelligent curiosity.

Her boss continued, “These investors here are curious to understand what elevated cGMP will do to their products. We ask that you consider giving it one more chance with this Male0-something-and-whatnot. But we will

not

proceed without your consent, and I want to reassure you that your job is

not

on the line whatsoever.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cross,” said Clara, glad to hear that her boss wasn’t a money-grabbing megalomaniac.

He gave her a warm, hearty smile.

Dr. Reed added, “We spoke with the minotaur this morning, and he is amenable to any parameters we may establish for him to return or any boundaries you may wish to add to our current protocol. Please consider it, Clara. Take a week or so, and please send us an email with your thoughts. If you are interested in the science of what we are discovering, I will be in the office on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Just come by anytime,” she said kindly.

Clara smiled back.

She never would have expected her bosses to be so kind, inclusive, and transparent about their process. She was more determined than ever to be someone of value. Platitude Engineering had left her jaded; those men were a bunch of profit-hungry, middle-aged buffoons who could barely do the work of the staff they hired.

“Hang on,” said the lizard-man. “Just out of curiosity, what kind of minotaur is this Male0498?”

Violet and Clara exchanged a meaningful look.

“Glen, we can’t disclose the identities of our clients, you know that,” answered Dr. Reed.

“Says here, B.A.,” continued the lizard man, Glen. “I just want to know if he has a certain job, maybe like a farmer or something? Should we be marketing to Minotaurs of a certain demographic?”

Violet spoke up, “No, he’s not a farmer.”

“Does he have a certain lineage? Is that it?”

Again, Clara and Violet’s eyes met for the briefest second.

“Wait a second,” the werewolf said, reaching over to the spreadsheet. “B.A.,” he mused, thinking over the letters. “B.A., this isn’t Brogan

fucking

Aldridge, is it?” He asked, his voice fueled with amazement.

The two techs shifted subtly in their seat.

The very one

, thought Clara, not daring to look the werewolf in the eye.

“It

must

be! There is only one minotaur I know of in this area with those initials,” the wolf continued.

“

Brogan fucking Aldridge

, no way!” Said a harpie near the back of the table. “He’d never come to a place like this!”

“That was his car I saw in the drive as we were coming in; it has to be! No one else drives a Bugatti La Voiture!”

“Custom carbon black Bugatti!”

“Holy

shit,

it is!”

The suits riled up excitedly, incredulous that they were talking about

the

Brogan Aldridge.

Clara felt her blush return. She’d never borne witness to Brogan’s reputation in the business world. Apparently, his name and his car were well known.

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Cross sternly, “we do not discuss our clients' private details or disclose their identity.”

The werewolf waved him off, “Come off it, Arthur, it was him! Of course, he’s got special spunk, he’s a fucking

Aldridge

! That’s OG Minos Minotaur blood right there, straight from Crete.”

The other suits nodded in awe.

Suddenly, they were looking at the chemical structure behind Dr. Reed with much more appreciation than before.

Clara could hardly believe her eyes and ears—

these guys were actually impressed by Brogan’s ancient-lineage cum. This is so weird.

They all turned to her again, and the mantis man asked, “What’s he like? Is his hog huge?”

Her face burned with the blush that had already been creeping up her neck.

“Carl! Do not answer that, Miss Emerson,” said Mr. Cross, giving Carl a pointed look. “You ladies may leave. Thank you for taking the time to come in today. Please clock these hours towards your paystubs, and also, please note that next week, we are having a staff event in the afternoon on Friday - wear your favourite summer dresses—I shall wear mine!” Mr. Cross winked jovially.

Clara and Violet got up, thanked everyone and headed to Violet’s little glass-fronted office. The interior was like a small greenhouse, with plants on the floor, on bookshelves, and hanging from the ceiling. Violet’s computer screen boasted a picture of her and Roark from their tropical vacation.

“I can’t believe how nice they are,” said Clara, easing into one of the plush guest seats.

“Oh, I know,” agreed Violet, “Reed and Cross are just the loveliest—you’ll like them even more when you see your bonus. Never heard a bad word out of their mouths—well, they were definitely upset with Magda earlier today….”

“What happened there?”

Violet sighed, leaning back into her chair, “Well, she got her hands slapped for being rude to new staff—you weren’t the only case. Suzanna had it much worse, poor thing.”

“Ya, I saw her in the lobby. She seems ok now, though.”

“Good, she’s too good at her job for us to lose her. Anyways, then Magda was reprimanded for not taking your request seriously not to milk Brogan. Yes, I should have processed the paperwork, but your consent comes first, and she steamrolled you. And Brogan made a huge stink about how she interrupted you guys and broke client confidentiality when he came in earlier today.”

Clara’s lips formed a thin line as she held back her thoughts.

One slithered out, unbidden:

Which of the techs had been called in to milk his… huge, massive… stop it, Clara!

It dawned on her that the most likely answer was Suzanna, or why else had she been there in her scrubs?

“Was he… was he ok?”

Violet inclined her head in confirmation. " He was excellent, a perfect gentleman, and level-headed. He gave a sample, but not as much as the one you extracted. But anyway, then Brogan apologized formally and gave Reed and Cross a letter. Apparently, he found someone to help him manage his aggression in therapy. He said he was happy to participate in their research in any capacity and that if additional parameters needed to be set up to ensure the comfort of the staff, he was willing to do it.”

“Wow.”

“Ya,” said Violet, trailing off. “He’s so hot and cold. I’m not sure what to think…. But then, with those flowers last night, I have a feeling he’s embarrassed. Roark kind of gave him the gears as well last night.”

Clara lifted a quiet brow in question.

“They met for drinks and dinner, and apparently, Borgan was pretty ashamed of himself. He said he felt like an idiot and acknowledged he was trying to control the situation,” finished Violet.

“What do you think I should do,” asked Clara, genuinely wondering what Violet would suggest. She was always so level-headed but kind. Violet’s advice was always sound.

Her friend tilted her head and looked ponderously ahead for a few moments. “I’d give it some time. Consider how this might impact your mental health. Whether seeing Brogan again will trigger you–if so, don’t do it. And then ask yourself if maybe you can have a professional exchange with Brogan… and consider whether the science matters to you.”

Clara laughed lightly, “Honestly, I gotta say that human men getting hard isn’t near and dear to my heart.”

Violet burst out a little laugh. Wiping a tear away, she said, “Ya! I totally understand. Can’t say I care myself.”

They shared a brief chuckle. Neither had had good enough experiences with human men to be moved by their inability to stay erect.

Violet calmed down and added, “In all seriousness, though, the pills that the pharmacy produces are also used for patients with heart problems. It has to do with that cGMP stuff, it relaxes the muscle making it easier for your heart to pump blood—both men and women take it.”

Clara looked at Violet with surprise. She’d never been an overly science-y type.

Violet gave her a meaningful look. “I’m serious. Even my mom takes it.”

“Really?”

“Yup. I still don’t have the heart to tell her it's made from minotaur cum, though,” she giggled and then turned to the computer and typed in her password. “Alright, I won’t process this formal Request for Reassignment until you give us the answer about what you want to do, okay?”

Clara nodded calmly. That meeting had melted away her fears about everything. Somehow, the reassurance from Mr. Cross and Dr. Reed had helped; knowing she was supported at work meant a lot to her. Violet was now fully in charge of her schedule. Actually, the meeting was interesting and fun. Learning about the variables that affected their samples and learning more about the science of it was fascinating. The investors, too, had been amusing.

Clara left the office, descending the wide staircase and stepping through the glass doors toward the circular drive, the formal front entry.

Right there, leaning against a black car she now knew was a rare Bugatti, was Brogan.

Her breath caught in her throat.

His thick arms hung at his sides, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and legs casually crossed. His massive minotaur frame made the sleek Bugatti look almost too small. He stared ahead, his presence commanding even in stillness.

He sniffed the air, stiffened, and then snapped his head toward her.

Their eyes connected across the driveway.

He took a deep breath, his shirt stretching tight across his broad chest. He held his breath for a moment, his eyes steady on her, yet he made no move to come closer.

Completely transfixed, Clara remained rooted by the door.

A sharp snort escaped him, sudden and forceful.

She felt absurd in her green overalls, embroidered flowers on the pockets, and her grandmother’s fuzzy sweater—so out of place next to his crisp dress shirt and tailored trousers. He didn’t just resemble one of the investors—he looked like he owned them, like a single glance would have them scrambling.

And yet here I am,

she thought,

in overalls and a fuzzy sweater my grandma made me. I must look like such a joke to him.

His expression was unreadable—neither angry nor pleased nor anything she could decipher. He watched her, his gaze unwavering, carrying an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. It was as if he were waiting for something, seeing straight through her, knowing exactly what was running through her mind, yet in no hurry to reveal whether he cared.

Her heart pounded, and despite the overwhelming sensation of standing before him as though caught in some spell, she couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind. Was he judging her? Was he thinking about how he’d been milked this morning by Suzanna versus how she had milked him?

An unexpected pang of jealousy flickered within her. The thought of Suzanna milking him unsettled her more than she expected.

She felt an undeniable pull to cross the distance between them, but her feet remained frozen, unwilling to break the tension.

Just go home, she said to herself. Just walk past and go home.

She crossed the gravel driveway toward him, her steps automatic.

Brogan's eyes widened, clearly surprised she was approaching him. When she finally reached him, he looked down at her with the slightest furrow of confusion in his brow.

She forgot how tall he was.

He was huge—the tallest and broadest minotaur, by far. This was the first time Clara registered his formidable size.

“Hello,” she said simply, feeling stupid.

“Hello.”

Her lips parted, wondering what else to say, but she found herself looking away, unable to handle his intensity.

“Did you receive the flowers last night?” He asked, his voice low and rumbling. He sounded as though he hadn’t slept much like his voice was hoarse from overuse.

She nodded lamely, “yes. Thank you.”

His expression remained impassive, but she could see the rising in his chest, knowing that he could smell her now.

“You read the card?”

She nodded, but no words left her mouth.

His eyes searched her face for a clue to her emotion, but it seemed they were both feeling somewhat guarded.

Silent moments flowed past them as a gentle breeze wafted through the trees surrounding the property. Clara watched the daisies lining the driveway float with the wind—the flowers looked too carefree in contrast to the tension between them, seizing her mind and body.

Swallowing, she finally spoke up, “I drew some of them this morning.”

A streak of an unreadable feeling flashed across his eyes.

She bit her lip, wondering what else to say.

“I was asked to milk you again.”

His features tightened subtly. “Only if you wish to.”

She rubbed the back of her neck, unsure of what to say or how to decide what to do next. “I was told to think about it for a week.”

He took in a sharp inhale and gave a single, stoic nod.

The tension wrapped around her, thick and palpable. She could almost feel him inhaling her presence. Unlike the men from the pastry shop, his gaze wasn’t leering or crude. Her discomfort under it felt different—more intense, more piercing.

“I uhm… I should go home,” she said, pulling her cardigan closer around her body.

He regarded her slowly. “Would you like a ride?”

She met his gaze, gripping the edges of her sweater like a lifeline. “I should walk.”

Brogan didn’t move, but something in his expression darkened—something restrained, something unreadable. His nostrils flared slightly, his jaw tightening for half a second before he gave the slightest nod. “Very well.”

The words were simple, but they carried weight like he was letting her go, but only for now.

Clara swallowed and turned, her steps reluctant but steady. Each footfall on the gravel felt heavier than it should have, and though she didn’t dare look back, she could feel him—watching, waiting, his presence coiling around her like an unspoken promise.

She wasn’t sure if she was walking away from something or straight toward it.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 15 - Extracting cGMP

The week had slipped past Clara fast. There was no way to recount how it just morphed into a blur of client after client. She had graduated from seeing eight clients a day to twelve, many of whom were clock watchers.
Yet, she delighted in seeing several. Dean and Lance were faithful repeats. She loved hearing their grunts and sighs as she milked them. Dean, in particular, had been so verbal with her that she knew that if the cameras were set in the rooms and had microphones, Clara would be pulled aside and questioned.
“You minx,” he said, through gritted teeth as he had thrust into her smooth, lubed hands. “You love this, don’t you.”Clara had bitten her bottom lip, a gleam in her eye, and she’d winked at him—not giving anything away to the camera.
He nearly fainted at her admittance. “Tell me,” huffed Dean, “tell me what you want.”She giggled. Dipping her hands to his balls to trail her fingernails along his balls.
“God, you want my cum, don’t you?”Clara’s heart raced at his words.Knowing that Morning Glory put the client experience at the forefront of their service eased her conscience. The good little cows also engaged in some form of personal, pseudo-fantasy, erotic talk… this was not much different. Clara just had to ensure that her actions were as professional as possible. She didn’t necessarily answer the way the minotaurs wanted, but she’d hint and tease within her professional bounds.
If anything, not responding the way they wanted sometimes improved the eroticism.Giving his balls a gentle squeeze, Dean lowed.
A thick bead of precum welled at his tip, glistening in the low light. Clara flicked the machine on with a tap of her toe, the hum filling the space as she reached for the larger container—a 30-ounce behemoth meant for high-yield clients. She had no doubt Dean would fill it to the brim, keeping her numbers at an all-time high.“No, sweetheart, not the machine just yet,” he murmured, his voice thick with need. His heavy-lidded gaze locked onto her, pupils blown wide. “I love watching you pump me, Clara.”A slow smile curled her lips. “That means a lot, Dean. Thank you.”Bringing her arms in, she pressed her cleavage together just enough—just enough to make sure he saw the bounce, saw the movement that would tip him over the edge. A sharp breath left him, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he peered over, fixated, enthralled. Lowering her head, she focused entirely on his signals—the shift of his hips, the way his breath caught—waiting for that exact moment. She knew he was watching her, and she loved knowing she was the reason he was about to break.“You smell amazing, Clara. Do you know that?” He asked, his voice straining.
Dean was holding back from releasing.
“I do?” she asked with a playful tilt of her head.
“You’re heat-scent is driving me crazy!”She quickened her pace, feeling him twitch in her hand.
“I’m close! Now! I’m gonna cum so much for you,” he whined, his need and body jerking into her hand.Clara placed the milking cylinder over his shaft and watched as the pistons worked the suction. Dean bucked into the cylinder but kept looking at her as thick spurts of cum erupted into the canister.
She smiled up at him, “there you go, Dean. Keep going,” she whispered.
Dean’s eyes were closed as the final gush filled the bottle.
Clara gently extracted his heavy cock out and wiped him clean before going to the weight and gauging his semen collection. Twenty-seven fluid ounces, according to his chart, was six more ounces than last time.
From the raised dais, he tidily put his pants back, “ That was fantastic! How much did I get this time?”“Twenty-seven!”“It’s your little smirk, I swear.”She giggled, “Whatever you say, Dean.” Placing the bottle in the collection cabinet for Suzanna to register, she turned to him. “You flatter me.”“Just facts, I promise! But seriously, I don’t know how to say this respectfully to a human, but you truly smell amazing—has anyone told you yet?”
“I’ve heard a thing or two, but I don’t quite get it. I can’t smell myself.”His incredulity shone on his face.“I’ve never met a human in heat, to be honest,” she said, shrugging, starting on her wind-down process of sanitizing the surfaces she’d touched.
Straightening his shirt and adjusting his belt, Dean leaned over the breeding fence, watching her. “Your scent is divine. I’m surprised none of the bulls have jumped over this fence and pinned you down.”Clara’s face scrunched with doubt, “they’d never.”“Don’t rule it out. To some, that scent would drive most minotaurs to insanity. Right past reason and straight into an animal frenzy!” Dean insisted. “It might even make a few guys kind of possessive over you.”Bursting out laughing, she said, “I doubt that. Everyone’s been civil.”A wicked grin crossed his handsome face, “it took everything in me to be civil just now.”Clara gave him a sassy look and said playfully, " OK, get out of here, Dean. Reception will pay you for your ample collection.”
Giving her a wicked wink, he exited out of the room with a final glance her way.
That Thursday had been one of the best days she’d had at Morning Glory. With Violet in charge, she was given more clients with more requests, and her tips truly shone. Clara had seen every single client and efficiently gotten through each appointment without a single slip or error, with enough time to visit Dr. Reed in her office at the end of the day.Spending time with the doctor on Thursday had been refreshing. Clara had forgotten how much an academic environment stimulated her, and Dr. Reed wasn't short of images, diagrams, and clear descriptions of how their research was impacting the medicines they were producing alongside Pfizzle Pharmaceuticals.
When the time came for Clara to give her an answer, however, she was at a loss.
“Clara, I by no means mean to pressure you,” Dr. Reed had said with meaningful weight to her tone. “But in these past few days, we’ve used Male0498’s sample to run several tests. We believe that the added cGMPs are not the only factors that differentiate this sample.”Looking up from a vascular diagram, Clara waited quietly for Dr. Reed to continue. She no longer felt pressure, but when she’d tried to think of what it would take to make herself feel comfortable around Brogan, she was at a loss. This was the only factor that had kept her from emailing her confirmation.
“A report came across my desk just yesterday, and the sample was added to a fertility activator for men. It showed improved sperm motility by astounding numbers. This is unprecedented, Clara, to say the least,” Dr. Reed exclaimed, her excitement surfacing beyond her professional demeanour.
“Sperm motility?”“It basically means a sperm’s desire to be mobile and enter an egg. Oddly enough, eggs have also rejected sperm that has low motility… With the prevalence of marijuana use amongst men, a lot of research came out in 2019 and onwards to demonstrate that cannabis use amongst men resulted in low fertility, low sperm motility, and an increase in miscarriages.”Clara blinked at her incredulously. “Dr. Reed, how is no one talking about this?”Reed smiled at her knowingly. “It takes a while for research papers to enter the social vernacular.” She handed Clara several printouts: “Cannabis and Male Fertility: A Systematic Review" (2020), "The Effect of Marijuana on the Incidence and Evolution of Male Infertility" (2021), "Marijuana Use and Its Influence on Sperm Morphology and Motility" (2019), and a few others, that were more recent.
Clara gaped at the amount of research now resting on her lap. “You’re saying that this could be a leading cause of infertility amongst men?”“Not quite. Men are producing sperm… but their sperm seems ‘unmotivated’ to incite the egg. The greater issue now is that many miscarriages can be attributed to the motility issue, especially within the first six weeks,” said Reed as she flipped through some of her slides and added notes. “Thousands of women blame themselves for these miscarriages, not realizing that it’s their partner's health prior to insemination that is determining the outcome. The male DNA is what forms the placenta.”Clara gaped at her, “No way!”The doctor nodded solemnly as she regarded her screen quickly before returning to Clara. “100%. A man’s health up to a year before insemination makes all the difference.”The information sizzled through Clara as she was taking it all in.
Reed continued upon seeing the impact the information had on Clara. “One of the drugs that Pfizzle is looking into is using Male0498’s sample you collected to entice greater motility amongst sperm.”Clara sat back in her chair, thinking. A few of her friends and acquaintances believed they had infertility—it was a rampant growing issue. Her mild interest in how her job impacted human society transformed into a great motivation. So many women were in pure agony over their miscarriages. So many blamed themselves for losing their babies, traumatized by the loss. And many were blamed by their partners for the loss.
Staring at the research papers with determination, Clara knew how she’d spend her night.“I suppose,” Reed said quietly, “this is my way of inquiring whether you’ve made any headway with your decision—”“—I’ll do it, Dr. Reed.”“Fantastic, Clara!”“I’ll milk the patient again if this is what the sample is being used for,” said Clara, her voice feeling out of body, as though she was in shock. “But the truth is, I don’t know what additional parameters to ask for to increase my comfort,” she admitted lamely.“Do you want someone else in the room with you? I’m sure Violet would agree.”“No, I don’t think so….”“Perhaps no talking?”“Some talking helps me sometimes… to ease my nerves,” said Clara sheepishly.
“Ah, of course. Hmm, perhaps limiting initial contact? You could be ready for him before he enters the room, and then a quick milking, and then goodbye?”Clara considered the suggestion. “That would help. Honestly, the first time I milked this client, he was already there waiting for me….and I tripped into the room. I was embarrassed. It kind of affected my focus right off the bat.”“And yet,” smiled Reed, “you collected the largest sample the company has ever recorded. Have some faith in yourself, Clara.”Bolstered, she agreed.
Violet had confirmed later that Brogan was scheduled the next day as Clara’s last appointment at 4:00 pm.Now, in Milking Room 008, she sat waiting—prepared, composed, yet restless.She tried to find something—anything—that might make the situation feel less daunting. But no matter what she tried, nothing could ease Brogan’s heavy presence. There was a weight in the air, thick with unspoken thoughts, and Clara could feel it pressing on her chest.
Regretting her earlier two coffees, Clara checked his chart for the hundredth time. Same Brogan, same weight and height—huge and impossible—same minotaur that made her guts tighten.She knew he was near even before he entered that he was near; the air in the room shifted as his proximity grew as if he had some power over the very space they occupied. The door creaked open, and Brogan stepped through. His presence filled the doorway, larger than life, and Clara instinctively straightened, her heart quickening. The room was now charged with an energy she couldn’t ignore.Clara straightened instinctively, heart hammering against her ribs.His gaze swept the room, seeking her. When he found her, something flickered across his face—quick, unreadable. The weight of his stare made her pulse skip. It felt like he was dissecting her with a single look, and the air grew thicker still.His nod was tense. She returned it.The air between them stretched, taut and bristling.He moved toward the dias with silent, powerful precision, peeling off his trousers and undergarments. Clara caught a glimpse of his glutes as he bent forward.She snapped her head away, cursing herself. They were unreal, powerful.
Shit. I looked.
The devil returned to her shoulder: Not enough action, huh? Clara shook off that annoying, impish voice—now was not the time. Yet, her face ignited from the visuals that had infiltrated her brain. Reaching for her equipment, Clara tried to pretend like she was unaffected and that the room wasn’t throbbing with tension.Her attention whipped back to him at the sound of the bench groaning under Brogan’s weight as he straddled the padded breeding stocks. His cock slid through the opening—hard, heavy, glistening.
Her mouth went dry; she'd forgotten. She might have even dissociated. But his sheer scale had been erased from her memory. She had recalled that his cock had a black to plum gradient along the shaft, but she’d forgotten the size. He was as thick as her ankle.A deep inhale expanded his chest as he breathed her in.
Brogan was watching her with fixed intensity.He wanted to say something. She felt it. But he remained silent.Annoyance flickered in her chest at his silent restraint. Without thinking, Clara reached up, undoing her bun. A tumble of red waves spilled over her shoulders, catching the light. As if wanting to draw out the effect, she gently brushed her hands through her hair, settling it nicely all around her—he was taking her in with every breath.
His cock stiffened.Unlike last time, when he presented his cock now, there was no smug smile or knowing tilt to his head. The cockiness replaced with cold stoicism.Clara met his gaze, her voice softer than she intended. “I’d like to get started now.”His jaw flexed. He nodded. “Of course.”She pumped lube into her palms, warming it before wrapping her hands around him—slow, firm, deliberate. He sucked in a sharp breath, chest rising. Stroking from base to tip, Clara spread the slickness over every ridge and vein.Every time she glanced up, his cock twitched. A small pulse of satisfaction curled in her stomach. She had the power now. She was calling the shots.Brogan leaned forward, his muscles flexing above the padded stocks. His broad, sculpted chest loomed over her.Her cheeks burned under his stare.She quickened her strokes, hoping to overwhelm him, push him back against the bench—but after several painstaking minutes, nothing changed.Her arms ached. What the hell? She looked up, confused. His expression was unreadable.“Am I doing something wrong,” she finally whispered in question.
He blinked. “No.”Clara exhaled through her nose, trying to suppress her frustration.“Speed isn’t an arousing factor for me,” Brogan said finally. Then, as if sensing her question, he added, “Once I’m locked into the connection, that changes. But right now, we’re still finding what this is.”“So that’s what the eye contact was about?”“Partially.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Controlling it gives me… authorship in the connection.”She tilted her head. “You need control to feel connected?”He hesitated. “Perhaps.”Her stomach tightened. His self-awareness surprised her. Maybe he’s not a total idiot after all. She sat back and adjusted her grip, moving her hands slowly this time. Testing him. Every few strokes, she flicked her gaze to his face, watching for a reaction.He never looked away once.When their eyes met, she squeezed just under the tip, dragging her fingers over the head. His chest hiked, jaw tightening. There it is. She licked her lips. “Can I ask you something?”His gaze sharpened. “Yes.”She hesitated, then asked before she could stop herself. “Why do you like red hair?”Brogan’s eyes snapped to her loose curls, and on instinct, Clara tightened her grip. Just enough.His eyes rolled, a barely-there reaction, but she caught it.His voice was thick when he finally answered. “It’s the only hair that changes colour in different lights.”Clara pumped him more meaningfully, leaning into his cock to add her weight to the stroke.His cock twitched. “It’s beautiful. Rare. It takes an exceptional beauty to pull it off—someone with perfect skin.”Her stomach fluttered at the apparent compliment. But, Clara knew it wasn’t meant for her; she pushed past it, focusing on the mission: a plentiful collection. She shifted, teasing his heavy balls with both hands.A low groan rumbled from his chest.“So… it’s about rarity?”“No. It’s…everything.”Slowly, she blinked up at him, as her hands twisted his shaft in slow, agonizing movements. “Everything?”“Redheads have a…” Brogan’s breath hitched in his throat again, but he groaned through her motions and continued, “A defiance in them.”She grazed her nails up his shaft, circling the tip. “You like a little resistance.”His cock twitched violently.“No,” he gritted out.
Yes. Yes, you do.
“Why redheaded humans?” she mused, tilting her head. “Is it because we’re smaller than you?”Brogan thrust into her hand.She smirked, looking directly at him with some triumph. “Oh. I see.”His silence was answer enough. Brogan was practically growling at her.“Too small for a minotaur,” she whispered, leaning in a little more.His next thrust was harder.She tightened her grip and locked her eyes with his: “Too small to fit.”Brogan bucked sharply, eyes blazing, pupils blown wide. Ah. There it is. Clara let out a soft, satisfied giggle. Clara held his stare, watching the way his chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths. Waiting.Another slow stroke. Another flex of his jaw.She knew it now—he wanted to lose control, but not yet. Not until he had her where he wanted her. And this power shift was new to him; he wasn't used to not calling the shots. Too damn bad, Brogan Aldridge, she thought with triumph. My session, my rules.
Brogan gritted his teeth, shifting against the padded stocks. His cock pulsed heavily in her grip, thick with need, but he refused to let go.She dragged her hands up to the swollen head, applying the perfect amount of pressure as she leaned in to let her breath graze his cock-head—just enough to make him twitch.A reproving growl rumbled in his chest."Clara," he murmured in warning, voice low and rough.She froze. The heat in his eyes seared her.
A shiver ran down her spine, anticipation curling deep in her belly.Deliberately slowing her strokes, Clara savored the moment. With another wicked sparkle in her eye, she pursed her lips together and blew a warm stream of air towards his cock again, lips mere inches away from his pre-cum covered tip.Brogan’s nostrils flared and he snorted; another warning. His muscles were tight as coiled steel, every inch of him begging for relief. His hooved leg pawed the floor menacingly.But he didn’t break.She grazed his cock with another soft breath, her eyes shining playfully, dangerously close to his top.
“Enough!”His roar made her blink in confusion. Clara backed away immediately, removing his hands.“ Don’t tease me with false intimacy.”“I—I wasn't trying—”“ Don’t use your mouth like that.”“It was just a breath!”“And don’t patronize me,” he bit at her menacingly. “Give me that lube, I will pump myself.”Clara shook her head adamantly. How dare he? “No. That is my job.”He gave her a look of pure loathing. “Breathing on me like that is not your job.”“I was just trying to help you along!”“Then you should have considered my preferences!”“We’ve been in this room for 20 minutes already—”“Then just stand there and watch,” he growled.
She bit back her retort.
Brogan was already leaning over the breeding stocks and pumping lube into his hands. Before she could stop him, his cock was in his hands and he was rubbing his shaft and head as he glared at her. Even through his anger, the eye-contact was the defining factor in his arousal.
Clara swallowed, seeing him stroke himself.
She’d never seen anyone do that in front of her before. Brogan’s confidence being naked and stroking himself was mesmerizing, she couldn’t look away. He looked powerful. Even as he tilted his head back at the sensations crawling over him, he looked strong, lethal.
Suddenly, she felt it again. Her eyes widened as that feeling, that betrayal, entered her body. The clench between her legs returned and before she could stop it, a wave of desire blinded her. She needed to cum.
She fought the feeling, but it overwhelmed her. The only thing she cared about was forcing the cream out of his cock—by her hands.
Brogan sniffed the air again, and his eyes darkened.

He knows.

“Put your cock back through the hole,” she whispered.
Without retort, he did so as she returnedEyes wide, cheeks flushed, she looked up at him again.“Go ahead.”She did as he said. With every stroke, it was as if she was being stroked too. Every huff and whine of pleasure were hers, even their breathing was in tandem.
His hand clutched the top of the breeding stock again, which knuckles sense. “Oh God— Clara—”
“Yes, Brogan?”At his name, he began to buck into her hands.“Brogan?”The wild bucking amplified. Forceful and frightening—had she not experienced his powerful thrusts before, Clara would have been scared. Instead, she flicked on the milking pump, ensuring that the attached jar was ready, and engulfed his meaty cock into it.Brogan groaned and growled in the most primitive way she has ever seen. His white-knuckled grip on the breeding stocks took her breath away as he thrust into the cylinder, fast, grunting loudly. If she didn’t know any better, this machine would never be able to be used again.“Yes, don’t stop,” she whispered, and he groaned at her words. His eyes jet black with lust while the canister grew heavier with the weight of his thick cum.She briefly gazed down to see the jar filling and her body twitched, wanting to react. Before she could stop herself, Clara worked her bottom lip and gazed back at him. The words from one of the executives came back to her: “That’s OG Minos Minotaur blood right there, straight from Crete.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 16 - Fix It

As the cum erupted from him, Brogan’s arousal didn't ebb.

Clara’s rosy face and cascading waves of bright red hair captivated him, keeping him rigid. His senses were full of her, and when their eyes connected earlier, he knew immediately that, yet again,

this

made Clara cum.

He

made Clara cum. Without even touching her.

Deep satisfaction filled him.

Her flushed expression made it all the sweeter; it tasted a little of innocence. Despite Violet and Roark’s information, Clara was still a mystery. But when it came to his cum, at least, there was no doubting it. She was aroused by it. Maybe she was aroused by seeing him masturbate in front of her.

The scent of her arousal mixed with the essence of her heat was enough to drive him wild. He nearly walked down the small set of stairs leading down to her level.

“I-uh-I need a second—I just have to uhm, could you wait here please?”

Frazzled and clearly overwhelmed, Clara made for a discreet door on the other side of the room. It was not an entry door, however.

Maybe she needs a second to collect herself, he considered.

Brogan got up and quietly put on his boxers and pants again.

His ears pricked in the direction of the door Clara had disappeared into. His hearing was exceptional. On any given day, outside on a walk, Brogan could locate every rodent or bird from far away, the myriad of insects all around. At work, he’d had to have his office fully acoustically sound-proofed because the noise of all the devices and monitors drove him insane.

But that kind of insanity did not compare to the sounds coming out of the little private room Clara ran to.

A soft, short-breathed gasp threaded through the air, reaching him. Brogan slowly sat upright, the muscles in his back tensing as curiosity peaked.

That can’t be right.

Brogan leaned against the paddock again and tilted his head, honing his focus onto the door.

The low vibrations of shuffling and stifled breaths stirred his awareness, but he couldn’t be sure. The torment pulsing through him was so intense that nothing could satiate his curiosity except confirming his suspicion.

Another gasp.

His cock stiffened again, but Brogan shook his head.

No. It’s not what you think. Just focus on something else.

His eyes landed on the traditional glass milk jug filled with his cum, waiting for Clara to label it with his code. But looking at it reminded him of her arousal, and try as he might to ignore the sounds, the scent of her was heightening and wafting from beneath the sill of the door, hitting him so hard he nearly came again at the smell himself.

His ears twitched as the softest moan pricked him.

Fuck.

She was in there, horny and in heat.

That was the way with coming into one's heat; at first, it was random bursts of desire and lust. Within a few weeks, it was a constant hunger that came at the most inopportune times. Then, it would be an onslaught.

In a few rare cases, a creature's heat may attract their true mate—though it was widely considered lore, everyone in his life dismissed it altogether. Several sociologists believed that, like the phases of the moon, someone's heat also had similar phases, but Brogan had never looked too deeply into it. Regardless, the violence of the sensations had made Brogan go abroad because he didn’t want anyone to know how uncontrolled he was—there was very little ‘man’ in him back then, just red-blooded bull.

Clara’s entering her second phase.

A soft moan hit him, and his nostrils flared.

Brogan rose to his feet; he had to be near her.

As he softly descended the stairs, careful not to make any noise, the stifled sounds from before became clearer and clearer. Standing before the door, Brogan’s suspicion that she was touching herself became a certainty. Muted, rhythmic gasps and moans wafted as though through the door, and he nearly fell to his knees at the sounds.

Knowing that that beautiful little redhead was back there rubbing her clit, chasing a release, made him fucking crazy. He needed to see it, needed to help. It wasn’t just a desire. He felt compelled on a fundamental level.

That is my clit,

he thought beastially.

No, Brogan. It’s not. She hates you.

Pressing his large hand against the door and his ear, he could hear her moving her body, her hand in her pants, the delicious little mews she was trying to internalize, as her hand moved rapidly against what sounded like her exceptionally wet pussy. With every hitch of her breath, she edged herself closer, and he grew more frantic to see her, to touch her… taste her.

Open the door!

His animalistic side demanded.

I should be lapping at her pussy right now!

It took everything in him

not

to touch the door handle.

Without thinking, he palmed his still rigid cock in his tight work-pants and began to pump, syncing his breathing to hers, moving his hand as in tune with her movements as possible. A forearm pressed quietly against the door, and he leaned over, his resolve fighting his urges. Resting his head on his arm, Brogan closed his eyes and pictured Clara naked and under him, splitting her open with his thick dark cock.

From the depths of the room beyond the door, he heard her panting. “Oh God! I can’t! I can’t do this…”

His body twisted in anguish, knowing how much she was fighting her heat for the sake of professionalism.

Another sound came from her, what sounded like a soft sob. Then, the tell-tale slippery, sloppy sounds of a needy pussy came again and stopped. Her heat was overwhelming her, and she was simultaneously lustful and scared. He could tell from her breathing.

“Clara?”

A shocked intake of breath and stillness met his ears. “J-Just a second, s-sorry!” Her voice was acutely strained, and another stifled sob escaped her.

Brogan was losing his mind with helplessness.

“Clara…”

“I, uh, apologize,” came her tiny little voice, on the edge of tears. M-my uniform is…” Her voice trailed off, her thinly veiled lie lost on her lips.

Brogan gently opened the door.

The potent combination of her smell inundated him, making his snort with lust, but he fixed his keen eyes on her, ignoring his animal urges.

He weakened at the sight of her against the wall, trembling. Clara’s arms wrapped around herself as soft trails of tears rolled down her flushed cheeks. Her forehead glistened with sweat, her knees welded together and shaking, and her eyes were dilated and frenzied.

“Let me help you,” he said softly, holding out his hand.

Refusing to meet his eyes, she shook her head.

“This is the heat, Clara.”

A plump lower lip worked its way beneath her teeth, then pouted out again timidly. Her chin trembled like she was on the verge of crying, and she covered her mouth and face with tiny, little hands.

His heart ached at the sight. She was very alone in this, had no peers going through similar heating pains, and was in a world surrounded by creatures who could not only sense her struggle but may even try to take advantage of it.

“I’m going to lose my job,” came the faintest, shaky whisper.

Pity flooded him. No wonder she was scared. Clara thought her heat would make her work at the farm impossible.

“Come out,” he said softly and reached for her.

His heart flipped as large, bright amber eyes looked up at him. Her little hand slipped into his, and he tried his best not to react to how perfect and petite it felt.

“Listen to me, Clara,” he said, sitting on the steps of the podium. He gazed at her, wishing she’d hold his hand again; she was busy wringing it forcefully as she willed herself not to cry. “Your situation right now is not ideal. I understand that. This isn’t something you can fight yourself over—it is out of your hands.”

She continued to look at the floor; her delicate apricot colour was turning red as her frustration with her condition grew.

Brogan wasn’t the best at comforting anyone, not even himself.

“There’s no shame in this. You don’t have to punish yourself for something beyond your control.”

Clara’s hold on her emotions was strenuous at best.

The chill of the room was getting to him, wishing he’d thought of putting his shirt on, but she was his focus now. “Has anyone spoken with you about what it means to be in heat? What to expect?”

She shook her head but still refused to meet his eyes.

Resting his forearms on his thighs, he did his best to sound kind and keep it concise. “It can last different amounts of time for different individuals. For some, it passes after a couple of months—”

Her head snapped up, a glimmer of hope in her eye. “Really?”

Brogan nodded, guilt twisting in his chest—he hated knowing he was about to shatter the hope he’d just helped build. “For others, it's longer. Mine lasted over a year.”

Immediately, the thread of tears in her eyes returned, ready to spill down. “But I can’t handle it for that long! I can’t! I n-need this job! I can’t let V-Violet down, and I like it here! People are nice t-to me, and the tips—I have—debt, and—a-and, I can’t just shut myself in at home!” Her tears were freely flowing now, hiccuping as she tried to speak.

Empathy flowed from him like it never had before. He’d had partners who faced hardships, but he’d never been softened by their plights. Gently, he grasped her arms and said firmly, “You will not lose your job.”

“Of c-course, I will! It’s already so

*hiccup*

distracting here—” she began sniffing.

Brogan gritted his teeth, thinking about her getting wet as other minotaurs deposited their cum for her in those ridiculous milk jars. It was a thought he shoved away instantly.

Her increasing agitation pulled him out of the dangerous rabbit hole his mind was going down. “I h-have debt!

*hiccup*

I need to pay it! I can’t lose this j-job and go back to civil engineering

*hiccup*

, it’ll destroy me!”

“You won’t have to.”

“And I won’t be able t-to stay here,

*hiccup*

c-can’t afford rent. And everyone can already

*hiccup*

s-smell me!” With that last word, she finally broke, and her tears flowed.

Brogan’s heart clenched in shared distress. “You won’t have to go home.”

“N-no one's going

*hiccup*

to let me milk minotaurs because of my s-stupid condition!”

“Dr. Reed is.”

“T-they’ll say it’s sex work!”

“It’s not. This is just like drawing blood. This is an extension of a pharmaceutical company,” he said calmly. “Pfizzle Pharmaceuticals is too large of a company, and the investments are too important to lose technicians because of a natural condition.”

“I c-can’t go around

*hiccup*

being aroused at work,” she continued, too upset to listen to him. “That’s not natural!”

Brogan’s nostrils flared again. Her admitting her arousal affected him in kind. “We will find a solution.”

“G-God, I’ll have to move in with my m-mom

*hiccup*

! Danica’s going to be on my case about t-this

*hiccup*

. Oh God!” She paced in front of him, tears covering her face, panic straining her eyes. “Knowing Danica, s-she’ll look at my panties and ask, ‘Oh Clara dear, why are they always soaked’

*hiccup*

?”

Brogan’s cock twitched heavily in his pants.

“‘How come you have these toys in your purse, Clara?’” She imitated her judgmental mom.

Does she carry around sex toys?

“‘We heard moaning l-last night.

*hiccup*

What are you d-doing? Why did you put acoustic panels all around your room, Clara?

*hiccup*

Why is there a minotaur cock under your p-pillow, dear?’”

Brogan stilled at her words.

She… has a minotaur cock toy at home?

Clara caught herself, eyes wide, looking at him. Then she burst into tears.

His instinct wanted to pull her in and hold her as she shook in his arms. But he doubted she would welcome his comfort. Her fists were balled up and shaking against her face as tears streamed down her face.

“There are ways to handle the intensity.”

“It’s horrible, and I w-want it gone,” came her muffled voice.

“It’s not the end of the world—”

Clara turned on him sharply. Anger burned in her eyes. “What do you know?”

He stared at her, shocked at the sudden change in her mood.

“This is

your

fault.”

Borgan blinked at her, trying to maintain a calm demeanour. “My fault?”

“You

did

something to me the first time you came here!”

“Pardon me?”

“—And now it’s happening again! All because of you!” Clara yelled, eyes on fire and rage gripping her body.

The sudden shift in her emotions clicked into place—he remembered the wild mood swings from a decade ago, the uncontrollable pull. Now, he understood what it was like for his friends.

Instead of denying her, Brogan nodded. “Alright.”

“So you agree this is your fault?” She demanded shakily.

“I agree that your heat likely began during our last session. Though, I can’t say exactly what I did to set it off. I believed you disliked me.”

“Well, I did,” she retorted defiantly.

He lifted an eyebrow.

“And I still do.”

The slight pang was nothing new. Brogan was aware that Clara didn’t delight in his company by any means. “Alright.”

“Don’t

‘alright’

me! Fix it! Take it away,” she demanded again, though he could tell she wasn’t entirely sure what she was saying.

“You’re in the second phase of your heat, Clara. It can’t be stopped,” he said evenly.

Clara stomped her foot. “Fix it!”

“I cannot. I am very sorry to have caused you this.”

“Why? Why did you trigger it?”

Brogan was baffled at her question. “I truly didn’t. Rourke told me that another human was working here, so I booked. And the way you did it was… perfect.”

She sobbed and stomped away angrily.

“I know the agony you feel,” he tried to add, knowing his idea of comfort right now was coming painfully short. His inability to soothe former partners had been an issue—his inability to be soft, approachable, and cajoling.

“No, you

don’t

! You have no idea!” She shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at him with a glare.

“I went through my heat, I know a bit.”

“Not when you were at work! Not around clients! Not in a new place with new species with heightened senses!”

He tilted his head in an acquiescent nod.

“Make it go away,” she said again, though with less force, as tears streamed down her cheeks.

His chest swelled as his spine stiffened. Brogan wanted nothing more than to take the pain from her. But helping her… what she needed… it was out of the question. He’d learned that lesson in France.

“

You

came to Morning Glory,

made

me do the eye contact thing.

You

made me keep pumping your…your cock even when you came on me!

You

made me keep going! And then you just

had

to cum again! A lot! … So much cum,” her eyes widened with the memory of it haunting her. Clara’s cascading red hair was wild and full, catching fragments of light as though she was on fire while her trembling lips curled with hatred. “So much cum!”

“I did.”

“

You

did this to me! So do

something

!”

He clenched his jaw. There was no real fix to any of it other than touch and everything that followed. “I am the

last

individual you would want to help you get through your heat.”

She threw her arms up in the air, her anger seeking an outlet—though he knew full well what she was truly feeling was the sharp edge of sexual frustration. “Why? Why can’t you help, oh powerful, important Brogan?”

A nerve twitched in his forehead.

“Let me guess,” she continued, her tone frantically swaying from rage to desperation, “too good to help a stupid human. Too rich and busy to bother, right?” Her tone was mocking as she paced back and forth in front of him.

He tried his best to maintain his demeanour, though below the surface, he was getting irate. Brogan understood her frustration and that she pinpointed their last milking together as the source of distress. But, to say that he was too superior to help her was a gross misrepresentation. “That is not my stance at all,” he growled.

“‘

That is not my stance at all,’

” she mocked his deep, grave voice, “oh please! I see how you are. You think you’re so much better than everyone—”

“—You are projecting.”

Clara laughed hollowly. “Ya, right! All stoic and unimpressed—”

“—Projecting again.”

Clara scoffed, “Spare me—your clothes, your car, and all your fancy ways of speaking!”

His temper was rising. He could feel it behind his eyes. “I was brought up a certain way, and I have worked hard to earn certain things, yes. But don’t accuse me of not taking ownership or ignoring the consequences of my actions,” he responded more brutally and harshly than he’d intended. “I had no intent of igniting your heat.”

“You messed up my life!”

He got up and approached her, “Trust me, if I could have prevented it, I would have!”

“I can’t take it! I can’t. It’s driving me crazy!”

No matter what he said, Brogan knew she was too far gone. He pressed his lips together. He wished Clara had someone else, a woman, to tell her these things… it was too hard to be aroused by her, even in anger, while also encouraging her down a path he knew he was not invited. “What it takes to manage these feelings requires consent and intimacy—”

“—I feel like I’m in pain!”

His desire and will fought—he wanted to help! But knew she would never consent to him touching her. The growing frustration was almost too much. It’s not like she’d want to be bent over here, at work, in a milking room… her body wasn’t even accustomed to a minotaur’s size. “Clara—”

Her eyes were wide, a swirl of torture and plea. “From inside out, it’s like I feel like a rabid animal—I’m sick of it! —Fix it!”

“What do you want me to do?”

Do you want me to fuck you right here? Right now?

He growled internally, hoping those words didn’t escape him.

He felt so tested and irate now. He didn’t know whether to storm out or collide his mouth into hers.

“Do you even understand what you’re asking of me, Clara?” Brogan bit out, barely holding back his own growing concoction urges.

Clara opened her mouth, but then her eyes travelled down his face and onto his body. Her gaze lingered on his shoulders, then torso, arms, and waist. He was no Zahuris, whom he knew she harboured a crush on, but he was undoubtedly all bull, all testosterone. Nearly three decades of rowing, boxing, and whatever else he did to pass the time.

The way she drank him in made his breath still in his chest. Was it lust? Did she like what she saw? Her expression was neutral, if not a little weary.

Brogan took a step closer, expecting her to back away like she had last week. But today, she didn’t budge.

Her eyes didn’t either.

They were starting directly at the vee in his midriff, dipping into his trousers.

So he kept pushing forward, step by careful step, until he was directly in front of her, nearly toe to toe. Gazing down at her and pushing past his feelings and desires, completely ignoring his angry cock and straining balls, he said, “You need to find someone you like, someone … patient and understanding, and that you… want to be intimate with. Everyone in heat is miserable without a mate, without an outlet.”

She gazed up at him. Her expression was utterly unreadable.

“Pick someone you trust. Someone who empowers you,” he said, realizing that her anger and fire just now were rare bursts because of how suppressed she’d been in her past. Her outbursts were not necessarily just elements of frustration; Clara was genuinely spirited, but she’d been forced to dampen who she was all her life.

It was mesmerizing to watch her connect with him, eye to eye, and then avert her gaze lower, only to be startled at his bare chest and look up again.

The act of tilting his head down to look at her stirred his cock. Her curves and stature were alluring from afar, but how petite and adorable she looked, tilting her head up, made him want to sink his teeth into her. Her large, shining eyes beckoned for something. But he knew it wasn’t him. Her heat just made her want to release at any cost.

“Most people try to find a mate or something casual during their heat.”

“You’re telling me to sleep around?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

His cock surged in agony from the betrayal it knew Brogan would bestow. “I’m telling you to find an outlet. You like Zahuris, if I recall correctly.”

She blushed.

He held his breath, realizing that he was nearly panting.

The way her eyes flitted all over him made his will fracture.

Clara took a small step forward, reaching out her head,

She doesn’t know what she’s doing

, he thought, then abruptly turned away to cut the tension. Brogan got his shirt, put it on quickly and went for the bottle of his cum collection. It was heavy.

“What are you doing,” Clara asked, half in a daze.

“Helping us end this faster.”

He went to the scale, weighed the canister and input the information for the label.

“Wait! You need my code for that…,” protested Clara.

“—It’s 036,” he interrupted, not looking over his shoulder as the label was already nearly printing. He peeled off the backing and slapped the label perfectly straight on the canister, then placed it in the sample cubby. “I saw you punch in your code last time.”

Turning around, he avoided acknowledging her startled expression as he went for the cleaning caddy and wiped down her chair, work area, and seat with one solution. Then, he cleaned the pumping machine with another and did a pass-through of the rest of the room.

“How did you…” she started, but her sentence trailed off as he put the caddy back and straightened the rest of the room.

“I saw how the other girl did it over the weekend,” he supplied calmly.

She looked somewhat impressed.

If only his cock had responded to the mundane task and had stayed down.

As he turned to leave, Clara snapped out of her daze, “How was Suzanna? Did you like how she milked you?”

Brogan glared at her. “Don’t.”

“I’m just curious… you know, from a professional standpoint,” she said in a prim tone, doubling down on her lie—he saw through it as clear as glass.

He shook his head, incredulity filling him. “Dangerous path to go down, Emerson,” he said, straightening his shirt collar with a practiced flip. “I will see you next week.” As he opened the door, he called over his shoulder, “In the meantime, get yourself a boyfriend.”