Holstaurus Monstergirl Adventure 1: Chapter 1

There’s a tap on your shoulder.

“Hey Anon.”

Once again during a lull in work you’re thinking about your holstaurus coworker and what you’d want to do with her, and what she should do to you. Another tap on the shoulder, this time a bit harder.


You’re even thinking of something as lewd as holding hands and cuddling.


This time the tapping is more of a jab in your shoulder blade. Finally you remember you’re at work in the diner, and your coworker is trying to talk to you. Right. Idiot. You turn around from the cooking area to face Kara. Well technically her real name is Karalin and that’s what it also says on her name-tag pinned to her blouse over what is the melon of her left tit, but she likes to be called Kara so that’s what everyone except the customers call her. And of course when you DO turn around you’re presented with both orbs, with the deep space between them right in the center of your vision.

“Anon?” Kara asks again, almost with a concerned look on her face mixed in with a bit of annoyance because you were spacing out, not working, and because she probably caught you staring. She’s holding out a slip of paper with her delicate handwriting on it; a customer’s order.

“Sorry about that, I was thinking of stuff.” You finally manage to blurt out after taking another precious second to get a nice look at the opening in her shirt.

“What kind of stuff?”

“Doesn’t really matter, nothing important. Anyways, sorry for spacing out like that, I’ll get to this right away.” You apologize as you take the slip, quickly read it (another rare steak, standard cheeseburger and fries, a glass of water, and a glass of soda. You’ve been getting a lot of these types of orders from guys and their wolf girl “dates”.), and start working again, much to your dismay since you won’t be able to stare at Kara as much as you wanted. Still, you do manage to sneak a few glances at her choice posterior as she bends over to clean up tables or put cleaned cutlery and glasses back under the front counter, and even once you’re lucky enough to catch a bit of her boobs as they were squashed against the table when she cleaned it. The rest of the day ends mostly in tune to this: you start daydreaming, Kara gets annoyed that you’re constantly spacing out and not working and also because you were ogling her the entire time, and you apologize and start working again. After work you start walking back home, getting one last look at Kara before leaving, nearly smashing into the door frame as you go.

The rest of the work week goes by as usual and you finally manage to auto-pilot to Friday, and you start to look forward to the weekend and the copious amount of free time you’ll burn doing absolutely nothing productive like last time, and the time before that, and the time before that, and yet you keep finding yourself continually thinking about Kara ever since she started working in the same diner you work at about a month after you started six months ago. Before walking to work, you decide to hatch a cunning plan: tamper with a customer’s order slip before handing it back to Kara and giving her your number that way, asking if she would want to have dinner with you and hang out later as well. Although that’s really as far as you got since you were running a bit late. You also hope she doesn’t hate you. Of course as soon as she shows up an hour or so after you arrive you completely lose your spaghetti and nearly forget about earlier that morning, let alone greet her. Near the end of your shift, you almost forget to “give” Kara your number. When Kara does get the slip, she appears to think nothing of it, until you notice her holding it after delivering the order. She almost has a confused expression on her face before it changes to one of curiosity, then surprise. She looks over at you, and you rapidly look away back down at the meal you’re supposed to be preparing, blushing hard and feeling totally embarrassed. Secretly and carefully, you look back and spot her folding the paper and slipping it into the right breast pocket of her attire, and you swear in doing that her udders jiggled a little. You’re lucky there’s a bar higher than your waist between the kitchen area and the front counter area, otherwise EVERYONE would see the tent your friend downstairs is putting up.

Leaving work, you say goodbye to everyone saving Kara for last. As soon as you step out the door to head home, the realization of what you just did finally hits you. Your heart starts pounding and you swear to god that you’re going to have a heart attack. The walk home is a blur as you constantly go over in your head how her face contorted between so many different emotions, Kara looking over at you, and how she almost deliberately deposited the ticket in such a way that it made her chest undulate like she knew you were looking at her (and to be fair you were). Almost drunkenly you open the door to your apartment at around seven p.m., staggering in while just simply dropping your belongings on the floor as you make your way to the couch in the middle of the room, too hopped up on adrenaline to really care or do anything about it. Habitually you reach for the television remote and switch it on to something, you’re not really sure what it was. About an hour and a half after you get home your phone rings, and the caller ID doesn’t say who it’s from. With a shaking hand, you reach for the device.

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