Chapter 81 Faster.

Chapter 81: 81 Faster.

My buttcheeks clenched defensively, and I did not dare to look at Elsa’s face at that moment. "We’ll... talk about that later."

"You’re goddamn right we will. And if any of you chicas touch my shit without asking, I will kick you in your coochies." She let that one land, rotating her gaze around the table. Given that she now possessed genuine horse hooves, the threat carried some real weight.

I rolled my shoulders. "Well, then—"

"Also," Clementine added, "you’re paying my phone bill. And buying out my rent contract."

"Already done," I told her, smiling. "I handled that last night, don’t worry."

Her eyes widened in surprise, and her ears rotated forward half an inch. She picked her fork back up and stabbed at her pancakes. "These are mid, by the way." She was blushing.

"You’re on your third stack."

"Mid is still edible, and I’m hungry." She chewed, frowning at her plate. "Look how big my tits and ass are now, dude. I think the calories know where to go."

"I could make you something else," I offered. "It’s early enough that it’s also probably safe for me to quickly drive into town for groceries if you want."

She pointed her fork at me. "Don’t be nice right now, fuckface. I’m still processing how fucked up my life is."

The negotiations wound down, but the implementation phase proved that establishing rules and enforcing them were two very different beasts.

The bathroom schedule collapsed within hours when Elsa locked herself in for fifty-three minutes and emerged smelling like a botanical garden, insisting she’d only been in there for "a few moments." Ayra backed her up, which meant nothing because Ayra would have backed up a claim that the sky was green if she thought it would earn her a pat on the head.

The kitchen rotation showed promise by way of madness.

Ayra volunteered for lunch duty and produced something edible, if aggressively meat-forward — the entire meal was just five different kinds of meat arranged on a plate with zero accompaniments, all cooked exactly the same.

When I pointed out that vegetables existed, she tilted her head and her ears flopped sideways. "But Master, why would I put plants on a plate when meat exists?"

Juniper had to explain the concept of a balanced diet, but I could tell she secretly loved Ayra’s offering, so honestly? Points for Ayra. The meal was perfectly fine for at least two of the party members.

As fate had it though, the afternoon was when Ayra finally collected on a debt she’d been running up since breakfast.

She’d been angling for it all day, dropping little comments like breadcrumbs — a theatrical sigh over her "terrible posture at the table," a mournful acknowledgment that she’d eaten three strips of Juniper’s bacon by accident. By mid-afternoon she was openly listing her offenses to anyone who would listen, including Clementine, who was trying very hard to watch her Korean drama and not engage.

"I have been so negligent in my duties," Ayra announced to the living room. "So slovenly. So disobedient. A lesser master would have addressed this hours ago, but I fear my time is coming even so."

"Ayra," I warned her from the kitchen doorway.

"I am simply saying," she continued, tail swishing, "that a thorough and merciless corrective spanking would be entirely warranted, and that my bottom has been waiting patiently all—"

"Ayra, for the love of Jeebus Crepes," I sighed.

"—morning and most of the afternoon—"

"Ayra!"

She turned to look at me with enormous amber eyes. "Yes, Master?"

I looked at Juniper, who had set her book down and was watching. Her expression communicated her thoughts plainly: just do it or she’ll be insufferable until dinner. I looked at Elsa, who had abandoned all pretense of braiding her hair and made a small circular gesture with one finger. Get on with it.

"Calamondin," I said, "you may want to look away."

Clementine, who had paused her drama and was watching all of this with an expression of pure anthropological fascination, said: "No way. This is way too weird to look away from. Also, it’s Clementine."

Fair enough.

Ayra was already moving. She crossed the living room, flipped herself face-down over the arm of the couch with practiced ease, and flipped up the hem of her skirt to present what the poet would call a juicy peach of a rear end. Bare. Perfect heart shape. Tan lines. The fuckin’ works. Her tail had flicked to the side very cooperatively.

"You may proceed, Master," she said into the cushion, voice muffled but dignified. "I shall attempt to endure your boundless cruelty."

I sighed deeply as Mini Grey twitched in his cotton cave. Then I delivered one firm, flat-palmed spank.

The sound it made was frankly louder than I’d intended.

The worst part came next—came being the operative word.

Ayra made a sound that started as a yelp and evolved rapidly into something I would not describe in polite company, and then her body offered a very wet, very audible, enthusiastic response that soaked into the carpet beneath the couch — a carpet that was going to need serious attention one of these days. Her tail was wagging so hard it was basically a helicopter rotor.

"Thank you, Master," she said breathlessly. "I have been thoroughly corrected and will endeavor to do better from here on."

I had my doubts.

Clementine was staring at the carpet, then at Ayra, then at the carpet again, her face having passed through several distinct phases before landing somewhere well past disbelief and into a specific kind of empty resignation. "I regret my decision," she said.

"I tried to warn you." I crossed back toward the kitchen.

"You really did." She picked up the remote and turned her drama back on. "I’m going to need, like, five minutes of quiet self-reflection."

Elsa was already producing the spray bottle from somewhere in the cushions and gave Ayra two efficient spritzes, which accomplished nothing except making Ayra giggle. "Oh, Princess, nothing could sour my mood now after such rich abuse. Spray all you—" She squirted her two more times. "That’s getting old faster than I thought! Stop! Stahp!"