Eternal – Part II by TeraS

When plans are afoot in the Realm, and they involve a specific red-tailed king, one can be assured that one certain silver-tail is involved. The Temptress cannot help but be part of the scheming, it’s part of her nature, but then she cannot resist her …

Eternal – Part II
By TeraS

This is an immensely awful idea. I have no idea what I’m doing; I’m sure that whatever comes out of this will be a complete disaster. I’ve never done this before, and it’s going to be the worst thing I’ve ever done.

Mind you, the fire alarm going off as many times as it has in the past week hasn’t been all bad. The firefighters are especially cute, both incubi and succubi alike. Encouraging them to stay–to be sure I was safe, of course–did result in some delightfully naughty diversions. It was disappointing how quickly their stamina failed them all, even being in as good shape as they are.

Where was I? … Oh, yes, the ill-advised direction of this idea that Simone came up with. She knows full well that I haven’t a clue about doing something like this. It’s just not something that I was ever interested in. It’s so much easier to seduce another soul into doing all of the work and for me to delight in their efforts. A playful wink and smile, a suggestive purr, and all that I needed to do was look pretty, observe their toil, and then reward them.

That’s not to say that my red-tailed love hasn’t tried of course … “Cassie… you might actually learn to like this.”

I rarely used my kitchen for anything other than storing certain items that were useful to make playing with others a bit messy. Keith was especially surprised when I explained that the oven was purely ornamental and I’d never used it since it had been delivered. Come to think of it, when he opened the door and found that I’d been using it as a bookcase for the more food-oriented erotic works in my collection, I couldn’t keep an innocent smile. He knew that it wasn’t that by any means. “Really Cassie?”

My pout as he handed me the books and “encouraged” them to be put away properly was meant as a tease, of course. Still, he promised it would be worth it, if I was good and paid attention. I wouldn’t expect anything less from my Adored One. As I made my way back and forth, my love poked about in the cabinets, fridge, and elsewhere, finding this thing and that item, setting them all on the countertop island. When he was finally done, I settled onto a bar stool and examined what he had collected.

Picking up a can of RediWhip, my smile was especially naughty: “I know what this is for.”

Waving a bottle of chocolate sauce he mused: “If you’re good, Cassie…”

My special purr, the one that was meant only for him, was a promise: “I can be mostly good, you know.”

I adore his smile, the chuckle when he knows that I’ll get my way at some point. Everyone speaks of him looking “right,” of course. Save for Tera, none of them really know just what that word means: being held by him, knowing the love we share; sitting on a park bench, watching the Realm pass by, holding hands; a night on the town, the Temptress with her King, tails twined for all to see. Love matters so much more than lust: he taught me that with the first kiss we shared. Not that lust isn’t a delight on its own, of course. Being his Temptress brings a need to be tempting, to suggest all of the things we could do and suggest them as often as possible.

I’ve watched my Adored One cook and bake many times before this moment. It amazes me that he can create so effortlessly. I would, honestly, rather be distracting him. He doesn’t mind, of course, much of the time, but I can tell he really wants me to try. For him, and no one else, I take pen to paper, putting the effort into noting everything he says and does. To my surprise, he puts the Rediwhip and chocolate sauce to the side before setting things out in front of me. The list grows with each item, a certain amount of this, a specific kind of that. I’m captivated with his passion in teaching me and I try to be good. Really, I do. The ingredients find themselves in a bowl one at a time. He explains what needs to be done, how things should be.

“Come and help Cassie.” The notepad is left behind as he guides me around the island, putting me in front of the bowl. Having no idea what to do, I’m surprised when he spoons with me, his hands guiding my own into the mixture and mixing it. I can’t help myself, biting my lip, mewling as he whispers sweet encouragement. Goddess, how I love when we play like this, the thrill of being with him, tails twined, passion shared.

Visions of terribly naughty things to do sneak into my thoughts as my Adored One attempts to teach me. Somehow, and I’m not sure exactly how, I wind up with flour in my hair and scattered all over the kitchen. The handprints here and there, and all over our clothes, suggest that the lesson took a bit of a turn away from baking alone towards other kinds of activities that have a lot of heat.

Nonetheless, I manage to focus on most of what I’m being taught. I might not remember everything, but to this day I still remember what matters: the laughter, the joy of having time with him, how happy he was when I managed to get a step right, and the delight in the caresses to encourage me. It seemed to take forever to accomplish the steps, it felt like moments before it was all ready for the next step.

Row upon row laid on a tray of my favourite colour. The oven sounds that it is ready to take part in my lesson. He slides the tray in the oven and sets the timer before turning to me with a smile: “And now we wait.”

I can see the timer and wonder aloud as I try to brush the flour out of my hair: “I guess we clean up?” Then I see he’s holding the RediWhip: “Or we can get dirtier.”

I’m backed up against the island as my Adored One comes closer. Bumping against a bottle, I catch it before it falls. Waving chocolate sauce to defend myself, there is only one answer: “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

The wail of the cooking timer shakes me back to the present; I’m rather pleased that it wasn’t the fire alarm going off again. As much as the scolding was fun the last time, it’s for the best. The fire station was running out of steam running back and forth, or so they said.

The oven seems somehow pleased with itself, whether that’s my imagination or it realizing that I might have gotten things right, I’m not sure. There’s no smell of burning, which is good. For the first time, there’s a familiar scent that reminds me of why this is important. Opening the door, there’s a definitive lack of charcoal. I recall Keith’s lesson, noting the golden-brown colour, the delights risen just so.

I do remember the oven mitts, my eyes scan the pan critically looking for the inevitable flaw; there will be one somewhere, I’m sure. There’s a place on top of the oven to rest the pan and consider what I’ve done this time. Poking each item with a finger, they move effortlessly on the silver surface, a good sign.

But the proof, so they say, of the pudding is in the eating, which makes no sense to me as there’s no pudding here. The treat is warm to the touch as I pick one up and consider it. It looks right, and that thought makes me smile as I take a nibble.

You know, I might actually make this work.

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