Page 11 of Fresh Flesh

“You’re Mlarx, right? I promise to do my best to serve you well.”

“Stop trying to be cute,” I snarl. “Just get to work. The humans make a brown, oblong thing in their ovens. It has a most puissant smell, and they slice the brown thing, which is white on the inside, and they slather butter on it and eat it. What is this called?”

“Bread,” she says. “You’re talking about bread. Would you like me to make you some?”

“Yes. It is one human food which might be agreeable with me.”

“Coming right up,” she says, digging through our cupboard. I get angry when she throws some of our yeast away, but she claims it has gone bad.

The stuff that does survive goes into a bowl of sugar and water. Once it grows foamy, she transfers it to another bowl filled with the white powder humans refine from grains.

As she works, I watch her closely to make sure she doesn’t try to poison us. I start to realize her form isn’t all that unpleasing to the eye. Quite the opposite.

She bends over to take the bread out of the oven. Her bottom thrusts out toward me, straining at the seams of the tight bottoms she wears. I catch a whiff of her musky scent, and a low growl rumbles in my throat as of its own accord.

My cock twitches, hard, as it engorges with blood.

Suddenly, I think I see what Lurg and Joras appreciate about this human female.

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