The author thanks all of his readers, especially those of you who took the time to vote on my story. Here's the next installment, and once again, the disclaimer: All the characters described herein are over 18 years of age, fictional; and any resemblance between them and anyone, living, dead, or imaginary, is purely coincidental.
Although Chapter II can be read as a stand-alone, I'd really encourage you to read Chapter I first, if for no other reason than the character development, unless you're merely looking for just a "stroke story," of course, in which case you'd probably prefer to read some other author.
Enjoy!
- Ham Sandwich
***
How the hell could she still be a virgin, or not have ever had an orgasm, I wondered as we dried ourselves. She'd obviously been living with that guy. I was dying to ask, but the expression on her face told me this was a painful subject to talk about, so I switched my countenance quickly to non-judgmental.
"OK," I said, as nonchalantly as I could. We could discuss this some time when she could handle it better. "Well! Since we're both up and moving around, how about we fix some breakfast?" It occurred to me that she'd probably not had any food for a while now, so I wasn't surprised when she said that eating something sounded great.
I retrieved her now-clean clothes from the dryer and found something for myself as well, although she'd shown no sign of embarrassment at being nude. The thought formed that Pluto probably required her to be naked most often, as slaves were frequently treated that way.
Into the kitchen we went. "Now," I began my lecture with mock seriousness, "the first rule of making a fine breakfast is fine coffee, of course." Kitten began to smile a bit, and I began to realize that an easy, light approach worked best with her. "And," I continued, "the first rule of fine coffee is that fine coffee is strong coffee, so we'll put a lot of it into our little four-cup drip machine here," and Kitten's eyes got a bit wider as she saw how much I was shoveling into the filter basket.
"Won't that be awfully bitter?" she asked, as she crinkled her nose in anticipation of the harshness.
"Ah, grasshopper," I joked, "second rule of fine coffee: Add-pinch-of-salt-to-coffee-to-remove bitterness!" She giggled openly at my foolishness, which I took to be an encouraging sign.
"There," I said, pouring in the cold, fresh water and flipping the switch, "we'll let it do its thing and move on to other matters. Since I'm so exhausted from all that heavy lovemaking we did this morning," I said with a wink, "we'll bake up a batch of tasty strawberry muffins, which won't be too difficult since they come to us in these little bags to which we only need add milk and eggs." Kitten was getting into my clowning around. It was encouraging to see her beginning to feel at ease here in my home with me. It only took a couple of minutes to whip together the dry muffin mix with the milk and eggs and to portion it into the muffin pan.
"There," I said, "into the pre-heated oven it goes. Twelve minutes until we enjoy those hot, delicious muffins. And look, our coffee's ready!" I poured out two cups and customized them to our liking. It turned out she preferred sugar and plenty of cream, same as me. The cups sat there on the counter waiting for us.
"Kitten, I can't drink mine until you sample yours and pronounce it worthy. You're the guest of honor."
She wasn't entirely sure I was joking as she lifted her cup and brought it to her lips. She took in a little sip and swirled it around her tongue to taste it. As I observed her closely, assessing and judging the hot java, I so wished it was my semen she was enjoying instead. Easy, boy, I said to myself. Remember, control, always be under control.
"It's really good! I love it!" she said, taking a big swig, and I had to remind both myself and my stirring penis that she was referring to the coffee rather than my fantasy.
"Great!" I said as I picked up my mug and clinked it against hers. "Here's a toast to the simple pleasures in life," and several of those pleasures came to mind. She laughed out loud and I thought, though she might be considered a little plain, she became an archangel when she laughed.
There was the "ding" of the oven timer announcing that our muffins were done. I popped them into a bowl, covered it with a festive looking towel to retain the warmth, and brought it, some plates, some knives, and the butter bell over to the table. Kitten had never seen a butter bell before, so I got the opportunity to seem smart and sophisticated when I explained its function to her.
