Mental Emasculation: Captain Morgan’s Spiced Revenge Part 12


It would have been a picture-perfect moment, had I not seethed with angry arousal, nor lacked a suitably hygienic ‘pocket’ with which to stash my phone. Chasity had fallen asleep with her face smooshed against the saliva smeared window. Tendrils of spit fanned outwards like a cinematic splash of water, displaced by the rumbling rasp of her syrupy snores. The sound conjuring the illusion of a steam train choking on the last dregs of water as it painfully limped along the tracks. 

  

Maybe I should have woken her up before opening the door and spilling the slumbering Manticore to the damp pavement with a grunt and a splash. Her wings and tail poofed out like the centrefold of a pop-up picture book before wilting around the Manticore like a wet leather blanket. 

  

I was willing to admit it was a tad immature, but the resentment from being chundered on still burned brightly within my soul. Not least because I had been enjoying the sensual and incredibly sloppy blowjob. To tell the truth, my soul wasn’t the only thing on fire. An excruciatingly uncomfortable tingling throbbed through my timorous todger. Once I had taken care of these two, I could see myself ripping the head off with a generous application of moisturiser to try and cure the itch. 

  

It didn’t help I was bollock naked with nothing to cover my shame. Francesca had a death grip on my jacket, snuggling into the makeshift blanket as her tail gave sporadic little twitches of contentment. The cuteness almost made up for my indecent exposure.  

  

Cupping my face in my hands with a pained inward sigh, I grudgingly accepted my unexpected foray into exhibitionism, knowing full well that enacting a tug-of-war with Francesca would be a futile endeavour from many one-sided, early morning scuffles to try and wrestle the bedding from the Kobold’s grasp. Often left shivering in the pale light of the morning, reduced to aggressive cuddling of the Kobold for the sake of warmth. On the occasions when Chasity was home and not crashed out on the couch, I would even submit myself to the Manticore’s crushing embrace, though she had a nasty habit of nibbling my ear while she slept. Wouldn’t be the first time I’d woken with an ear full of drool. 

  

“A’m a’right! Far’s m’kebab?” The prone blob of Chasity mumbled into the pavement, unsteadily getting to her feet. The light drizzle had already soaked the mop of auburn hair now plastered across her face. Rivulets of water traced the curve of her freckled cheeks, trickled through her sodden mane and bled into her rapidly darkening T-shirt. 

  

Chasity’s quivering cleavage glistened in the orange hue of the street lamps as drops of rain beaded on her soft, porcelain skin. The wet material clung to the succulent curve of her plump tits, exposing two pleasingly erect nipples. They were rather inviting, even going so far as to stir my emotions, among other parts of my anatomy standing defiantly despite the frigid rain. 

  

“Careful now, leave that…” I gestured towards the polystyrene takeout box, searching for an adequate description amongst my anger and revulsion only to fail miserably, “…thing, and go to the house. You want a hand?” Helping the Manticore to her feet without a single trace of guilt, I pushed her away from the pickup as she tried to retrieve what remained of the horrible carry out. Chances were, it would fall victim to an unforeseeable mishandling error during the short distance between the pickup and the house. Left to the mercy of some unsuspecting seagull in the Russian Roulette lifestyle of a scavenger. Baking soda on bread may have been a kinder fate. 

  

“Fine, fine. Think a’m a bairn or summin’?” Brushing me off with a wave of her paw in a clumsy attempt to catch my chubby, Chasity’s dull ruby eyes strained to focus as she turned towards the house. Staggering off like a leaf on the breeze, she trudged forward, dragging her tail along the ground and almost tripping over the waist-high gate that guarded the entrance to our garden. The Manticore promptly started a fight with the ironworks, the inanimate object currently held the initiative as Chasity fumbled with the hinge instead of the latch. 

  

Sharp cursing and growls to my back, I ducked back into the pickup, sparing a glance towards the purple bundle that was Francesca. Curled up in a snug furry little ball, the Kobold had passed out in the footwell behind the driver’s seat, chewing the handle of a window scraper as she clutched my jacket to her chest.  

  

Damn, she was just too adorable sometimes.  

  

How the hell was I meant to get her out, though? She was wedged in there like the half-chewed fur encrusted caramel glued within the crevice of the Succu-sofa, just outwith the reach of inquisitive fingertips. Even after sliding the driver’s seat forward, the gap was tighter than a Pixies pink little muff. Sadly the whole three inches of movement didn’t amount too much, lamenting the fact I was a bit of a short arse.  

  

My attempts to wake Francesca were farcical at best. Prodding at her cheek, twiddling then blowing her floppy ears, I even gave her tits a squeeze. When all else failed, I tried slapping my cold chubby across her face. Nothing! The only reaction I got was a cute murmur before she compressed into a tighter ball. Feeling a bit of a bastard, I stole her window scraper.  

  

Francesca squirmed and mewled like a newborn puppy, grasping blindly for her plastic comforter. Seizing the opportunity and her paws with both hands, I huffed, puffed and cursed the Kobold free of her cubby. The persistent rain; icy pins and needles nipping at my frostbitten skin did little to improve my tentative grip nor my fraying patience one bit. A few errant and particularly frigid droplets trickled down my back and slipped between my arse cheeks, extracting a woefully girlish squeak of surprise from my lungs. 

  

Following another triad of cursing; purely for the sheer enjoyment of profanity, I hefted the Kobold into my arms where she nuzzled into my chest as I clung to the comfort of her fur. Francesca’s warm breath whispered against my rain-slicked skin. The warmth of a lover’s caress. Tender. Reassuring.  

  

I managed two laboured steps before Francesca’s tail gave a playful swish, inadvertently fluffing my cold todger. Well, at least it may help remedy one case of blue balls, though I suspected I’d require a rather vigorous wagging to relieve the other. 

  

It was rather romantic; in a cheesy kind of way, carrying (one of) the women that I loved in a fairytale-like embrace as she cuddled into me. Enough to give me a pleasant rash of goosebumps down my arms and a further rush of blood towards my crotch. I couldn’t imagine doing this with Chasity, my mind rejecting any romantic notions, consistently conjuring up the sinister impression of the Manticore carrying off her helpless victim.  

  

Why did I portray myself as the ‘damsel in distress’ in that scenario? Furthermore, why did it serve to increase my arousal? 

  

The gate swung and whimpered in the wind, the latch a buckled mess, victim to Chasity’s frustrations. Further down the path, Chasity had slumped face-first into the door. Her grimace mirrored by the brazen visage of the door knocker who scowled in perpetual fury around the brass ring stuffed in its gob yet currently unable to complain. Tufted ears waggled anxiously, wisps of profanity curled from Chasity’s lips as she tried to undo her belt with a clumsy paw while muttering beneath her breath. From this angle, she gave the impression of an anorexic snowman melting in the tentative warmth of February, lamenting the loss of its nose to a vindictive squirrel.   

  

“You dare piss against the door and your sleeping in the garden tonight!”  

  

There was good reason for the seemingly unwarranted accusation. Not so long ago, I had been rudely awoken by Chasity hammering on the front door during one of her mid-week rambles into the town. Forgetting the relationship between keys and locks, the Manticore had posted her house keys through the letterbox where I found the jumble on the welcome mat, alongside her bank card and half a nasty fish supper crumbling into the floor.  

  

Upon opening the door, I had been confronted by a happily inebriated Chasity slumped against the doorframe, her jeans crumpled around her ankles, pissing where the door used to be and directly onto my slippers. Nothing says ‘glad to see you’ quite like a pair of warm, urine-soaked unicorns. 

  

Tonight, however, I watched in silent disbelief as Chasity undid her belt, pointed the buckle at the door and proceed to piss down the inside of her trouser leg.  

  

Now, this was a new low, even for Chasity. A woman so unapologetically bereft of shame, she had once ransacked Francesca’s (not so) secret stash of Cadbury Cream Eggs the Kobold had hidden within the ice-encrusted depths of the freezer, only to feed the frozen confectionery to her gluttonous tail. 

  

I’ll admit, I wasn’t the most dignified individual as my present circumstances would prove, but I had never once entertained the idea of incubating half a dozen Cadbury Cream Eggs within the confines of my vagina. Nor had I subsequently freaked out after the sickly fondant upset the delicate balance of my vaginal-intestinal tract before jumping headlong into the misguided conclusion my tail had finally haemorrhaged following one sex toy too many as creamy nectar oozed between my convulsing labia like ropes of frothy femcum. 

  

Of course, I did not possess the appropriate organs of matrimonial necessity for such a sequence of events to take place. 

  

In the end, poor doleful Francesca had to taste the bittersweet of a pyrrhic victory as the Kobold sheepishly scooped the zesty pre-ejaculate into a tub of vanilla ice cream before scampering away to sulk in the safety of her conservatory. As to why Francesca favoured frozen confectionary was a mystery I had yet to solve, but the variety of erotic sounds as she eagerly sucked and slurped her ‘chocsicle’ was a delight in itself, and may explain why she was proficient at sucking my cock. 

  

Shouldering the otherwise preoccupied Manticore to the side and earning myself a vile curse for my troubles, I managed to unlock the door while still clinging to Francesca before bravely (or stupidly) slamming the door in Chasity’s face. A guttural belch reverberated through the door, flowing effortlessly into a string of foul curses that snapped and snarled against the woodwork like a wounded chainsaw. 

  

Scaling the North peak of the stairs, the last two steps were an effort of thigh screaming agony, hinting I really should enquire about accompanying Francesca to her weekly yoga class. Continually lying to myself that I would, with no intention of following through. I could only imagine the acidity of Chasity’s sarcasm should I admit to loitering at the back of a room filled with women in skin-tight leggings stretching their taut backsides in an effort to ‘firm-up’.  

  

Then again, the prospect of sweeping Francesca off her feet did hold a particular charm I was eager to entertain. The slumbering Kobold was lighter than I had previously anticipated. Her thick cuddly fluff making her appear bulkier than she actually was while prohibiting the Kobold from wearing figure-hugging apparel for the fear she resembled a string of misshapen sausages. 

  

Thirteen more steps upon stumbling legs until I reached the bedroom. Ten if I acted upon an unachievable burst of optimism before I could carefully bundle the Kobold onto the bed while allowing my quivering limbs to gracefully buckle and sink to the floor. I suppose it was similar to landing a helicopter. Any idiot could do it, but doing so with finesse, precision and a lack of screaming metal took considerable skill, and maybe just a little bit of luck. 

  

In a woeful routine of gymnastic dexterity, I nudged open the bedroom door with my foot, flicked on the bedroom light with my elbow before tripping over a pile of Francesca’s discarded clothing and throwing the Kobold onto the mattress. Bedsprings creaked as Francesca bounced, rolled and almost tumbled from the opposite side before settling back into the middle of the bed. 

  

Maybe a few private yoga lessons from the Kobold wouldn’t go amiss before I get carried away and make a complete arse of myself? 

  

During the short time I had spent living with my mistresses, I had helped Francesca dress and undress for all manner of occasions, to the point I had gained an intimate knowledge of women’s clothing that bordered somewhere between unhealthy fascination and closet transvestite. Who would’ve known fashion could be such a frustratingly dangerous obsession? Cute little zips and fastening hooks were a challenge for even the daintiest of paws, and there were so many straps, buckles and bits of elastic just waiting to snap free and take your eye out. Sometimes it felt as if I was stringing a marionette. Shoes, however, were still a conundrum. Monsters with pawed feet preferred to go barefoot, and between my mistresses, only Francesca had the grace and elegance to strut in high-heels. 

  

With some careful manoeuvring and a few playful gropes of Francesca’s lightly furred breasts, I slowly peeled the flouncy dress from the Kobold’s beguiling figure. I was reminded of carefully stripping a licking fruit (it’s best not to ask, an idea for a milkshake that had gone disastrously wrong), only the morsel inside was so much more succulent, appealing, and exotically packaged. 

  

This answered a question I had never dreamt of asking: Did Francesca wear my underwear when she felt the need for a little extra comfort? 

  

Yes. Yes she did. Though I wished she’d chosen a clean pair of boxers as opposed to undergarments with a prominent smear of smegma staining the gusset. White underwear was a disaster when you lived with two vivacious women clamouring for your attention day and night. 

  

Strange. Always thought there were three lipstick smudges printed across the crotch, but tonight there appeared to be five? Two of which a different shape and shade of sultry rose? 

  

Off with the gaudily stained love-blob containers, allowing Francesca’s walloper to spring free where it flopped loose and lazy like an over-ripened licking fruit. An animal stink of sweat and musk hung heavy in the air. An overpowering stench that caught the back of my throat as if Francesca’s bulbous cock was already in my mouth.  

  

Now there was a disturbingly erotic mental image to permeate my mind! Meanwhile, my vision fuzzed around the edges, the stink from between Francesca’s legs swayed my moral prerogative, and not for the first time this evening, I fought the temptation to steal a cheeky little taste of the Kobold’s nectar. 

  

Daemon Lord, help me! She was just so innocent and defenceless, but the grotesque beauty of her cock had me mesmerised. I’m sure there was an old proverb; hung for a sheep as for a lamb, though in all honesty, I’d rather be hung like Francesca. 

  

Like a greasy finger drawn towards a pristine pane of polished glass, my own fingers brushed across the luxurious fur of Francesca’s thighs and up towards the dense undergrowth of her mons pubis. Carefully, I curled my fingers around the base of her impressive endowment, caressing the swollen lump of scarlet flesh Francesca sheepishly referred to as her knot.  

  

Now both my hands cradled her mighty walloper; her flesh hot and pulpy like a pear poached in red wine, and I could feel the steady pounding of her heartbeat pulsating beneath my fingers. 

  

Should I wake her? Could I wake her? Just leave her be or give her a pleasant dream? So many choices. Such a peaceful sleeping face. I bit my lip and found myself idly tracing my sole surviving pinky around the inflamed ridge of her knot. It only seemed natural I start to massage her majestic member like a ball of Playdoh while gently pressing my thumbs along the bulge of her cum vein. All the attention a growing girl needed to get her juices flowing.  

  

Bedsheets whispered as Francesca’s tail swished across the cotton as my focus shifted towards her purple helmet, thick, bulbous, glistening in the light. Maybe not quite the reaction I was hoping for, but it wasn’t long before Francesca shifted restlessly, uttered a cute little whimper and my efforts were finally rewarded.  

  

I scooped up Francesca’s deliciously tangy precum with my tongue, trailing a silvery strand of saliva from my lips. Earthy, sweet and salty, reminiscent of Tequila body-shot supped from the navel of a lightly seasoned Salamander.  

  

On second thoughts, it just wouldn’t be the same without the Kobold awake to appreciate the experience. The discomfort of taking her deep into the back of my throat was only offset by the cute little barks and whimpers Francesca would utter as I tongued her fatty knot. Her low, throaty moans were almost as exciting as holding the swell of her succulent meat in my mouth as she tangled her paw through my hair and begged me to swallow her dog spunk.  

  

Latent homosexuality came neither naturally nor easily to me, but there was a wonderous charm surrounding my mistresses that gently eased my inhibitions like a subtle jolt of electricity. There was still a considerable discomfort regarding my desire for their cock, yet within the almost daunting unease could be found an ember of contentment that had nothing to do with carnal pleasure. 

  

Bedsprings creaked as I grudgingly left Francesca passed out on the bed. Her hard-on throbbed at me accusingly, fixing me with a beady glare. My own timorous todger shrank back in submission beneath the shadow of the alpha-male. 

  

“…sorry.” I managed an apologetic shrug, averting my gaze from the Kobold’s rager while trying not to dwell on the fact I had been stared down and belittled by Francesca’s penis. In an attempt to hide my guilt, I gathered her dress into my arms. A bouquet of frills tickled my nose where a hint of warmth lingered alongside the Kobold’s scent.  

  

The silky purple fabric billowed like an angry thunderhead as soft light caught the ridges of a few rebellious creases before they were smoothed away by my hand as I carefully inspected the dress for evidence of the evening’s exploits. I was pleasantly surprised to find that aside from a few little smudges, and a suspicious blemish I could only hope was milk, it was relatively unspoiled.  

  

Which was more than I could say for the mangled remnants of Francesca’s angel wings. Two hours I had spent carefully shaping the thin, malleable metal, decorating it with strands of silver and pink tinsel with glue encrusted fingers. Another three months of picking slivers of the damnable stuff from the carpet, Francesca’s fur and our food. How it made its way into the kitchen I had no idea, but Daemon Lord knows the next time I cooked spaghetti, it would have a rather fabulous garnish.  

  

Well, there was no use in complaining, seeing as only the washing machine understood my plight. For a while, I felt a kinship with the coffee percolator but found the appliance arrogant and highly strung at the best of times. A possible side effect from gargling the mild stimulant every day of your life since birth. Like alcohol, Chasity had to find just the right balance of coffee to function. Falling either side of the equilibrium left the Manticore cranky, irritable and obnoxiously sarcastic. 

  

“…” I heaved a weary sigh, turning into a wide jaw cracking yawn as I tucked the duvet around the dozing Kobold. Mounds of blankets heaved and rippled as she squirmed to her side of the bed and I leant forward to plant a kiss on her forehead.  

  

“… flumpy…” Francesca’s delicate paws crept from beneath the sheets to grab my hand. My heart skipped several beats then raced to catch up with the sudden surge of adrenaline to jump-start my arousal. What on earth was she dreaming of to mumble her pet name for my penis? Soft snores and the warmth of her fur sheltering my fingers as she nuzzled into my hand. Still drifting in the land of sleep, Francesca started to suck on my fingers.  

  

I prided myself on my upbringing as a well-meaning gentleman, and always endeavoured to oblige the whims of women, despite the cost of my own morality. 

  

Even though I knew we were alone, I still found myself casting a surreptitious glance around the room. Daemon Lord, I hoped my paranoia from the kitchen wasn’t creeping through the house like the smell of fried garlic! The last thing I needed was my mistresses neglected sex toys heckling me in their jealousy. Casting my mind back to the frustratingly horrific end to my previous blowjob, I gently pulled my fingers away and eased my dick into Francesca’s mouth.   

  

Well, she’d already had her face brutalised by Chasity so what harm would a gentle injection of jizzum do? If you thought about it logically, I was doing her a service. Not only was I offering to stave off the misery of a hangover, but the Kobold was practically begging for my cock. Subversive rhetoric managed to blunt the edge of my guilt but failed to banish it entirely. The annoyance of a splinter you just couldn’t seem to dig out from under your skin seemed trivial when compared to a six-foot spear, though both were liable to give you a nasty prick. 

  

Meanwhile, Francesca wasted no time, wrapping her soft lips around the tip of my cock as she licked around my foreskin. My breath hissed between clenched teeth, squirming beneath the scandalous pleasure as the Kobold gently grasped my cock between her paws and sucked my length into the warmth of her mouth. Enveloped in the exquisitely wet embrace of her saliva, Francesca’s tongue curled around my throbbing head, teeth catching the ridge of my bellend as she suckled on my meat. It was difficult to believe she was asleep, and I watched, mesmerised, for a tell-tale flutter of her eyelashes or a subtle smirk as she devoured my cock.  

  

Now I could appreciate the night time proclivities of Chasity’s tail. Waking bleary-eyed in the middle of the night to find some vast vampiric vagina coiled around my legs and glutting itself on the sweetness of my arousal. Gone were the days we used to appease the desires of Chasity’s tail with an offering of a squeaky chew toy after the unfortunate incident with the rubber chicken. In a way, I almost missed the long sludgy squeals in the dark, softened into melody with the sleepy snores of my mistresses. 

  

A soft moan escaped upon my shuddering breath as I gripped the headboard, allowing the delicate texture of Francesca’s tongue to gently massage away the burning itch as she slurped on my bellend. I leant forward, bracing my arm against the wall and tangled a fist through her hair as I guided myself deeper into the warmth of Francesca’s mouth. Tears beaded at the corners of Francesca’s eyes as I pushed past her gag reflex. Oily mascara ran down her flushed cheeks as the Kobold continued to happily devour my length.  

  

“That’s right. Swallow my cock like a good little bitch.” Subliminal messaging was both an efficient means of positive reinforcement and a wonderous method of persuasion when dealing with Francesca. With a few carefully selected words and the right tone of kindly-condescending voice, you could simultaneously praise the Kobold while gently swaying her opinion in your favour. As a result, Francesca’s tail stirred beneath the blankets. Her sultry red lips quivered in a smile, dribbled foamy spittle from around my cock, and I relished the tightness of her throat as she swallowed a mouthful of saliva in a thick squelch of slobber. 

      

Deepthroat was a particular speciality of Francesca’s I was more than happy to exploit. An almost child-like compulsion to suck her thumb while she believed no-one was looking ensured Francesca found a semblance of comfort when holding my cock in her mouth. I also suspected a love of chilled sweetened dairy products had numbed the Kobold’s throat to all but the most savage of abuse. Even Chasity’s invasive desires were met with nothing but a faint trickle of tears as Francesca’s eyes glazed with adoration while stuffing barbed Manticore meat into her mouth.  

  

Too soon, I could feel a pleasant tightness stretching between my balls and the tip of my cock. Hidden in a fluffy pink haze like a  cloud of candy floss lay the crystalline sweetness of my orgasm. So close, I could almost taste it. In the past, I had regrettably sampled my own spunk courtesy of Chasity’s infuriatingly playful nature, and I could sadly confirm both the consistency and aftertaste of my seamen was reminiscent of smooth clam chowder. 

  

With one last shuddering groan, Francesca brought me to an intense, nerve-wracking climax. The building rush of pleasure found my knees buckle, smacking my head against the wall with a dull thud. A grunted curse of euphoric annoyance muffled around my fingers as I held back my voice so as not to disturb my doting mistress. Conveniently ignoring the fact I was taking perverse liberties with her mouth. My muscles tensed in a delightful spasm as my hips quivered and bucked. Pleasure blazing through my body like a ravenous fire, my cock released the pressure and spurted sticky cum down her throat.  

  

I tangled my fingers through Francesca’s hair, cradling her head as the slow, intimate caress of her tongue quickened into frantic lapping as the taste of my semen aroused a dormant hunger within the Kobold. The adoration quickly coaxing out a second then a third spurt of cum as I moaned through my rolling orgasm.  

  

Guttering out like a damp firework, my orgasm faded into a faint prickle across my skin like the sensation of sunburn, yet I continued to delight in the intimacy of Francesca’s mouth. Like finding a conveniently placed jet of water in a jacuzzi, I found myself contemplating the balance between perverse comfort and the likelihood of chronic wrinkling. I couldn’t say I found my cock the most aesthetically pleasing of designs, though I’d rather my bellend not resemble a pickled prune. Grudgingly, I pulled my agonisingly sensitive cock from the Kobold’s mouth. 

  

Well, that was an exhilarating experience! One I was eager to explore in greater depths of depravity, and I wondered how far I could abuse Francesca’s trust? A light fluffing between Francesca’s tits was one thing, but surely a little anal play was out of the question… 

  

Shaking my head, I carefully placed Francesca’s paw next to her face, allowing her to resume the cute sucking of her furry thumb as she snuggled back into the downy comfort of the blankets.  

   

Physically and emotionally drained, I wanted nothing more than to climb in behind the Kobold, cuddle into her warmth and sleep. Guilt nibbled at the treacherous thoughts of abandoning Chasity to the elements. Cursing under my breath with an inward sigh, I laid a second kiss upon Francesca’s forehead, trailing my fingers across her cheek. 

  

“Happy birthday.” Stealing one last glance of her peaceful face, I grudgingly turned away upon shaking legs, flicking off the light before gently closing the door… 

 

…and in the darkness of the bedroom, Francesca allowed herself a sly little smirk like a Cheshire that got the cream. 

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