Tymber Dalton - The Denim Dom

She’d gotten over her self-consciousness about that the second week they’d lived together. Now, it felt like habit.

Less than an hour later they were in his car and heading to their destination. She suspected her face would be permanently blushing the entire time they were out. The hem of her dress hit at lower thigh when she stood, but sitting or bending over, or a stiff breeze, were different.

He held her hand as they walked inside the building and talked to the volunteer on duty. They had them fill out forms before they took them back to the cat area.

“Remember,” he whispered in her ear. “Your choice, but I would prefer two who maybe were brought in together, or two littermates.”

“Yes, Sir.”

They spent an hour looking at cats. She wanted to take them all home and knew she couldn’t. She finally decided on an older pair of cats, male and female, brother and sister littermates that were five years old. Their older owner had died and no family members took in the cats. The male, a black and white tuxedo, was already named Bagel. His sister, mostly black except for a white spot on her tummy, was named Cream.

Tony held Bagel. The cat rubbed his head against Tony’s goatee. “I guess we have our kids picked out,” he said.

She stroked Cream. “I don’t have the heart to change their names.”

“Neither do I,” he agreed.

While the shelter workers filled out all the adoption paperwork for them, Tony went out to the car and retrieved the two new cat carriers they’d purchased earlier that week. An hour later, their two cats were busy exploring their new home, including the six-foot-tall cat tree, complete with assorted scratching posts, ledges, and boxes, that now sat in front of a window in the living room.

“They aren’t allowed in the playroom, pet. Remember that.”

“Yes, Sir.” She threw her arms around him and hugged him. “Thank you, Sir.”

He slid her sundress up over her ass and patted her bare rump. “You might not be thanking me later. Let’s go meet up with Seth and Leah.”

She let her hand rest on his thigh as he drove. He laced his fingers through hers. “Whatcha’ thinkin’, pet?”

She smiled. “That considering how dominant cats are by their nature, I think you just got nonconsensually relegated to the role of a switch.”

His laughter roared through the car.

THE END

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