Page 14 of Gyft

Like, into my hands.

Chapter Seven

GYFT:

I GAPE AT THE marvelousness. She is soft all over.

The bride giggles.

“Jesus. They don’t fall out and bounce! Well, I guess they bounce, jiggle, whatever, but you don’t have to catch them. Hey! Stop that.” Her breath suddenly becomes raspy as I finger the tight, pink nipples that harden under my touch. “Can’t do that. Hands off my boobs, bub!” She slaps my hands away but the air sweetens with a hint of her... arousal.

I find I’m not horrified by the scent.

“Come, Bride,” I say, and should be dismayed that my voice is suddenly deeper, more masculine with my own interest. “I shall get in the shower with you. Easier to wash us both that way.”

I reach for the back hem of my shirt, tugging it up over my back, then my head.

The bride stares, entranced. “What are you doing?” she asks, rather distractedly as if spellbound.

I point at the double showerheads, indicating we’re about to clean up.

“You save water by communal bathing?” she asks, her voice high-pitched and desperate.

Not sure what she’s asking, but she seems enthralled with my form. I puff my chest out. “Yes, sweet bride. This is what you have to look forward to.”

Calmly, I unbutton my trousers and tug them down my hips, letting my cock spring free. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t look away. Brave little maiden.

“Holy Jesus, that thing’s a monster,” she mutters. “Cover it up.”

I tug her hand, encouraging her to step forward as I pull on her travel garments with my other hand.

“What’s happening? This can’t be normal—”

Her voice drops off when I lift her from the abysmal layers of black she wears, leaving them to flutter on the floor. My hands wrap around her waist... there’s a tiny string that separates her untailed butt cheeks—I tug that too, to find it snakes between them and must be pulled down her hips and long legs.

Entrancing. Not sure what the point of such a strange undergarment is, but I like it.

Her cheeks are a bit more attractive with the pink that tinges her face instead of the odd black slashes that had been there before I washed them in the pond. She sputters nonsensical words until I place her in the shower under the spray, holding her waist to keep her steady as she wobbles on the wet floor.

“Well, I never—”

Her lonesome two breasts jiggle as she wobbles. I reach out for them again, and she smacks my hands.

“No touchie! No touchie!”

“What? Mate, we are married.” I wince. I did not mean to call her mate. “I mean bride. That’s what I meant. Married for now, until we swap languages and discuss separating.”

The thought of which makes me angry. Then confused. I do not want to be saddled with this odd creature whom I’m ashamed to take out in public.

“I mean, it’s no different than me reaching out for your dick.” With that, my mate reaches down and fondles my cock.

A groan escapes me. Her touch is... exquisite.

“Oh! You’re not supposed to like this. You’re supposed to see how invasive it is. A reminder that you keep touching another male’s wife.”

“Wife,” I agree. “Is that your word for stroking my cock? Keep wifing it, then. Wife it up. Yass, up and down, just like that. Don’t forget the balls.”

“Wife?” The cute thing wrinkles her nose. “I’m not your wife. I’m Gyft’s.”

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