Author's Note

Written by Axolu (Sepia), the Society's authority on all things latex and cuttlefish, as well as one of CTS' lore developers. I will one day coax her to write a CTS story so be sure to go visit her page and give her a follow to make sure you don't miss it!

Featuring the editing talents of: Pretty Penne, Troublesome Beast

Contains: Aftercare. Lots of it.

A Glass of Aftercare, by Axolu/Sepia (Aftercare)

There, in the center of the finished wooden table, in the middle of the aftercare room, sat a glass of aftercare. The Den Mothers were impeccably fast--they had to have set up the smooth, brown drink in the few minutes between the Mistress mentioning her preference and her arrival with her slave, MS-4191.

Holding her slave under her wing, the Mistress guided the slave to the bed and helped her onto her back, leaning down to kiss her cheek, just to the side of her muzzle, then her other, nudging each of MS-4191’s hooves until they all lay spread. The slave leaned her head up and nuzzled her Mistress’ muzzle, then winced, lowered her hoof, and rubbed tenderly at her own flank, soothing the little stings and welts.

When MS-4191 calmed down and finally let her cringe relax, she closed her eyes and spoke. “Thank you, mistress.”

The Mistress too slid onto the bed, resting herself halfway onto MS-4191 “You’re welcome, slave,” she replied with all the softness of a mother. But there. There was that twitch. Her slave had twitched below her, the same as she always seemed to whenever she called her that. That twitch that was there every time she said something wrong. But the slave said nothing, as always. So the Mistress reached her wing around instead, gently tracing the flat of her feathers—not the tip, tickle torture came next session—along the slave’s side, brushing her fur down in long strokes.

Mistress Shine nestled her head up into her slave’s mane, holding her cheek in her hoof, then kissed her twice, once on the top of her head, then once on the forehead. Another stroke down her side, another down her back, yet another up along the back of her neck while the Mistress’ lips kissed and nipped their way down to her collarbone. After a while, the Mistress slipped off of the bed. She felt her slave shift a little and make a soft grumbling whine into the covers.

“I’m just getting your drink, don’t worry. I’m coming right back.” Even five paces away might feel like miles to her sore, post-scene sub. The Mistress allowed herself a soft smile at the thought. She felt like those ten or fifteen seconds was too long not to be cuddled up to her slave, too.

“No, mistress,” MS-4191 said, “I’ll… I’ll be fine.” The slave grunted once and rubbed her rear again, stretching out. “C’mere.” She waved a hoof.

The mistress looked towards her slave’s waiting hooves and shrugged to herself, slipping away from the glass to rest on the bed by MS-4191 once again. Her hooves slipped under her shoulders and she pulled the slave a little more onto her side. Her slave hissed a little and winced.

“Shh… I’m sorry.” The Mistress’ ears folded back.

“It’s alright.” The slave smiled and slipped her forelegs around her mistress, wincing again and sighing out in pain but holding her tight, close, chest against chest, muzzle up in her mistress’s neck. The mistress giggled a little as her slave’s soft breaths tickled her fur there, and slowly stroked her slave’s back, crest, and withers.

“Good girl.” She cooed, almost like a whisper. “Good slave, MS-4191.” She smiled.

There. Again. The same tension. The way her slave’s forelegs locked up tight and the way she stopped her breath, as if holding it back. The way her tail flicked, the same way every time, the way her hind legs stopped shifting up near her marehood, crossing instead, uncomfortably. The Mistress stopped stroking her slave, and they stayed there for a while. One loose and unmoving, staring out against the far wall, the other tense, breathing just a hint faster.

The Mistress caressed her slave from her bangs to her crest and leaned back to look into her eyes. “What’s wrong, Morning?”

“Nothing, mistress.”

Another pause, but this time they they were only looking at each other.

“Please, Morning. Tell me. Is there something wrong? Is there something I’m doing?” A soft, amused smile slipped onto her muzzle. “I can’t catch you in the throes of pleasure and writhing orgasm while you’re uncomfortable like that.”

Barely a second of silence, and her expression fell.

“Morning?”

The slave sighed and buried her muzzle back into her Mistress’ chest. “That… I don’t know.” She whined into her fluff. “I just… degrade me. I love it when you degrade me.” The slave couldn’t help but blush warmly. “When you write over my body and cover it in markings, when you make me wear that terrible stinging makeup and make me cry it off with how hard you whip me…”

The slave sighed again, tilting her muzzle down. The Mistress stroked only a little, holding a wing over her slave’s side just like a blanket. No sudden movements, no distractions. Instead, the Mistress shifted her body and slipped her hoof up between them, tilting the slave’s muzzle back up to look at her.

“I love it when you do that, and the way you whisper in my ear and call me a pathetic slut, a cumdumpster, a whore for all the cocks. I just love it. I. Just. Love it.” She whimpered, and the Mistress caught the shininess in her eyes before her head turned away.

But then her slave pushed away, sitting up and wincing as she landed on her haunches, crossing her forelegs in front of her chest and shifting her muzzle behind the mane there. The Mistress shifted just a hint forward, but didn’t reach out to touch her, not just yet, as much as she wanted to hold and squeeze and stroke her all over. Not yet.

“But every time you call me ‘slave’, like it’s my name.” The slave bit her lip. “Or, or when you call me ‘MS-4191’.” She whimpered. “I-I don’t like it, m-mistress. I don’t like ha-having my identity, my self taken like th-that.” Her head bowed towards the small darker spots on the covers. “I know you love it, I-I know it’s the whole of, of the society, s-so I didn’t want to stop you, but…”

The Mistress let her head hang, then slipped forwards and pulled her into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry, Morning. I’m sorry. I didn’t know, you could have Clockfaced.” That was no excuse for not noticing, she thought. “No, I’m sorry, Morning.”

The Mistress squeezed Morning tight and kissed her right on the brow. Morning tensed, then relaxed into her hooves, but the Mistress wouldn’t let her off like that. She tilted Morning's muzzle up and kissed her lips gently. “I promise I won’t call you ‘slave’ or ‘MS-4191’ again. If I slip, tell me.” She kissed her again, briefly. “Alright?”

Morning sighed in relief, happy only to have shed a few tears, which she wiped on her mistress’ chest and neck. “Alright.” She smiled and kissed her mistress right back. “Thank you, mistress Shine.”

Morning Sleet and Mistress Shine held each other and rested together, in a tangle of sore limbs, strokes, kissing, teases, nibbles, giggles, hoof-holding and hugs.

And the glass of Aftercare sat unused on the table—they had enough of it to fill the room already.

_-_-_

Author’s Note: BUT THEY DRANK LIKE TWENTY GALLONS OF GATORADE AND WATER EACH HAIL HYDRATE