My Doms never set things up for me that required rushing. They never questioned my process, and they never tried to suggest alternatives under the guise of making it easy for me when the reality was it would only frustrate me and create an unfinished task I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about until I could fix it. They were also conscious of body language and the things it could convey. Maybe it was because they’d grown up working with animals, or maybe it was the fact that they were observant, especially when it came to me.
They asked questions, too, creating the opportunity for genuine conversations. Along the way I discovered that when I relaxed and just enjoyed where the rambling conversation took us, all the tangled-up things in my head sorted themselves out. They never side-eyed me or raised an eyebrow because they knew I was still paying attention and in the moment with them. I’d just had an ah-ha moment, and when I finished, they celebrated it with me and thoroughly enjoyed listening to what I came up with.
Once I’d finished gathering my things, he walked me inside with his arm around my shoulders, hugging me close to his side. When we paused at the backdoor, he pressed a kiss to the top of my head before throwing it open to reveal the counter lined with open pints of ice cream and so many toppings it took my brain a moment to register that every treat I loved was there.
“Welcome to the Frisky Fox Ice-Cream Parlor,” Master Wylde said as he closed the refrigerator door, allowing me to take in the majesty of the costume he was wearing. “Courtesy of Chef Guilia who is a genius at creating uniquely fabulous flavors, tell me how can I serve you this evening?”
The form-fitting bodysuit had a hood and tail. Not only had he left his long hair loose beneath it, but he’d also left the zip partially undone, showing off the definition of his chest.
“I-I,” stammering, I let my eyes flicker over everything until I noticed that he’d placed the small ice cream scoop that I typically used for making cookies on the tray beside the full-sized one. “I’d like a scoop of everything, please.”
“Coming right up,” he replied. “It’s a beautiful day for ice cream, isn’t it?”
“It would be a beautiful day for ice cream, even if it was ten below,” I replied as he started putting mini scoops in my bowl.
“Oh, we know just how deeply your love of ice cream runs,” Master Thor replied, as he took a seat beside me at the counter. “It rivals only your love of gourmet popcorn. The legendary moment when salted-caramel ice cream met caramel corn was epic and will never be forgotten.”
“That was so good,” I replied.
“And for your toppings today?” Master Wylde asked as he finished adding the last scoop to my bowl. He’d thoughtfully arranged them in a pile, so I had a mini mountain of cold, sweet flavors to adorn.
“Marshmallow, caramel, whipped cream, and a whole bunch of cherries, please,” I said, grinning up at him.
He layered it on, too, wrapping whipped cream around the top until it formed a foamy point, then he drizzled it with marshmallow and caramel sauce before carefully scooping several maraschino cherries from the jar, placing them so they didn’t all just roll to the bottom of the bowl. Instead, theyremained where he stuck them, including the fat, juicy one he placed on the top, all stems removed.
I dug right in, carefully kicking my feet so they wouldn’t hit the counter. Stubbed toes hurt like hell, and we never wore shoes in the house.
“And what can I get for you, Sir?” Master Wylde asked, his tongue darting out to lick his upper lip as he stared at Master Thor with a heated gaze.
I loved seeing them be playful with one another just as much as I adored it when they lavished attention on me.
“You know what I like,” Master Thor replied, winking at him.
Master Wylde licked his lips again, nodded, and told the smart speaker to play “Ice Cream Man” by Van Halen, which I’d never heard before. A little sultry, a little folksy, it gave just the right beat for Master Wylde to slink around the room, holding a container of ice cream in his hands.
Talk about a sweet, sweet show, watching Master Wylde dip a spoon in one of the cartons and dance it across the room, rubbing the tip over Master Thor’s lips. Watching him slide the spoon in his mouth, sighing at the first taste, was so super-hot that I missed my mouth on my next bite of ice cream and didn’t care when a cherry landed with a plop on the placemat.
“Mmm, not bad,” Master Thor said. “But not quite what I was thinking of.”
One by one, Master Wylde brought back a new spoonful until there was just one carton left. He made that tail shake as he moved around the room, drawing that zipper down inch by tantalizing inch, until the song changed, and at first, I swore it was “I Love Rock n’ Roll”that blared from the smart speaker.
Only.
Yeah, that wasn’t the same song.
When the first line hit, Master Wylde threw his head back, placed his hands on the counter behind him, and rocked hishead side to side until the hood fell off, freeing all that glorious hair.
The lyrics were“I love Rocky Road,”a classic Weird Al song I hadn’t heard since I was a kid. My old man had been a Weird Al fan and loved to sketch to his music, but I’d never told them that. I never even thought about those moments until today. Talk about a happy memory. As Master Wylde put on a hell of a strip show for us, he’d occasionally take a bite of ice cream from the pint he hadn’t brought to Master Wylde yet, each one more teasing than the rest.
My ice cream started melting, and I didn’t care, because ice cream soup was as good as the solid stuff; there was no way I was taking my eyes off them.
Underneath the costume he wore the black thong I’d ordered him a few weeks back,Wild Thingemblazoned across the front in rhinestones, and just to bring a smile to our faces, he’d stuck matching pasties over his nipples with tassels on them that he couldn’t make spin, but they sure rocked side to side when his hips swayed.
“Maybe this is more the flavor you’re after,” Master Wylde said, holding a scoop of Rocky Road out to him, chuckling and muttering“oops”when he accidentally spilled it down his chest.
“Now that’s more like it,” Master Thor said as he came half out of his chair to lick the ice cream off.
“You missed a spot,” I declared, reaching over and deliberately smearing ice cream across Master Wylde’s chest.