Page 61 of Dock

Alright.

Apparently, the cat knows I fucked it up too.

Is he a telepath?

Is he a telepath pretending to be a cat?

“Here comes the best part,” Emmerz announces into her toothbrush on a tug of my cut, head thrown backwards, hair dangling in a dangerously hypnotic nature. “Sing along with me.”

So.

I do.

One hand getting tucked behind my head precedes me joining in.

We barely make it to the end of the popular chorus line of “(Sittin’ on) The Dock of the Bay” before she’s spinning around in shock and horror.

Now, is that because she’s been caught singing or because she’s been caught wearing my cut – a privilege not intended for her?

Before I can investigate, she manages to bump her hip against the dresser and squeak, “Ou!”

“Careful, Emmerz,” I warmly scold. “That’s precious haul.”

A small rub to the area is given in tandem with her inquiring, “Your vest thingy?”

“You.”

Redness creeping through her cheeks encourages the corner of my lips to curl upward.

Man, I love that fucking color.

On her face.

That ass.

That pussy.

Professor Snipe over there has quite the filthy side to her.

One that really, really fucking loves to be spanked.

And yanked.

And scratch.

Pretty sure my arms look like I was mauled by an osprey.

Not complaining though.

Plan to wear that shit as proudly as I wear my cut.

“Watch the toothpaste trail, Teach,” mirthfully escapes along with a free hand point to the thin line carving its way between her tits. “Don’t wanna have to put a Rugrat on wash duty.”

Embarrassment pierces her face prior to her frantically trying to wipe it off. “You um…” Harsh rubs at the white path become wedged in the middle of her question. “You don’t wash this yourself?”

“Nah.” My hand lands bravely on Noodle’s back. “That’s grunt work unless you’ve got an Old Lady and then she does it for you.”

Displeasure wrinkles her nose. “Your bike wife has to wash your clothes for you?”