In the significant pantheon of things she hated, what Maxy hated most of all was her birthday. She hated the idea of taking a day out of the year to celebrate her existence. She hated surprises that disappointed because they were presents from people who didn’t care. And most of all, she hated the Facebook posts.
But this year, she thought on the eve of March 16, it was going to be different.
Maxy thought about it all day at work. A few weeks before, she had met – and was now dating – a lovely older man named Curt, who was well-off but had not yet insisted on buying her much. He had asked when her birthday was and, when she confronted him with her hatred of birthdays, smiled a cunning smile and promised there would be only one present.
Just one.
Maxy itched with curiosity. She went into the bathroom at lunch and scratched a different sort of itch, rubbing herself over her underwear until she was panting. She took a picture of her disheveled pants and texted Curt: Thinking of u babe.
He texted back an hour later: Hot. Hotter 2nite.
When she got home, Maxy hefted her purse across the living room and went to stand with hands on hips in front of Curt, who was channel surfing on her couch. "Okay, big boy. Spill. You’ve been driving me crazy all day.“
"Uh-huh.” He didn’t look up, still glued to the television, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Curt,” Maxy whined. Before she could go any further, he was on his feet and had her wrist in his hand, pulling her in close.
“Listen to me,” he said in a low voice that left no room for argument, “you little minx. Go into your bedroom and sit on the edge of your bed with your eyes shut.”
Maxy stared back, but her hesitation was minute. "Okay,“ she said, scurrying off to comply.
To her horror, when she sat down, her cunt was soaked. The commanding tone Curt had used had made her gush uncontrollably. She folded her legs and waited for him to join her, her hands folded gently in her lap and her eyes squeezed tight.
She heard his footsteps, and then something cool and rectangular slipped into her hands. "All right,” Curt said, “open your eyes and open it up.”
It was a long, black box with a bow on it. Trying not to hate the idea of a gift, Maxy slipped off the bow and lifted the lid in between uncertain glances at Curt. He stood with a stoically serene smile.
Inside was a winding black tail. It was lush, about as thick as Maxy’s thin wrist, and glowed with luster. Attached to the end was a slim length of smoothly pointed glass. Maxy stared at it and then gazed up at Curt in wonder. "A tail?“
"For you,” he said, then made a very clear “turn-around” motion with one finger. Maxy did so, squeaking in surprise as he pulled her pants down to her knees. He pulled her underwear down too, and she bit her lip.
“Already wet, I see. Soaking. Good girl.” This last was right in her ear, and she arched back into him even as a cool, smooth surface caressed her asshole. She hissed in her breath as the tip pressed inside of her, then backed out, then pressed in again, this time deeper. She rocked back against it, trying to relax so she could take it deeper. Maxy had never put anything in her asshole, though Curt had played with her with his fingers before. She marveled at the cool weight and the feeling of security it brought.
At last it was in all the way. Curt backed away and patted her on the head, then gave her ass a gentle swat. Maxy leaped up onto the bed on all fours and looked over her shoulder, unable to hide her smile.
“It’s–so perfect,” she said.
Curt was busy pulling his shirt over his head. "C’mere,“ he growled, and pushed her onto her back. Maxy writhed upwards, the tail pushing even deeper into her ass. She wondered idly if she could wear it at work.