Chapter 3

The next day, I woke up from what seemed like all the tiredness in the world. I had a dream last night; it was about Horace and Claire. They were weirdly fucking each other, like Horace had a cock and not even a small one, a big 12-inch one with huge hairless balls and a demeanor that was not of a helpless woman but of someone who has come to my house to take everything away from me.

However, that was just a dream, and I will confess, I became incredibly horny at this notion. However, while I had my morning wood, I had more important matters to tend to, so I got out of my blanket, made coffee, and because I didn't want to wake up my beautiful wife, nor that bitch Horace, I decided to leave them a note that I would be late, and thus I went off to my business as usual.

Now, while this may sound a bit surprising, I have a really decent job, and I am the one in our relationship that makes the money. I am not gloating, but it is the truth, and I think even Claire understands it. That's why she does not mind me going early and returning late, as I am the one providing for everything.

POV: Claire

I was in my sweet dreams when suddenly I heard Horace's voice, and while it was not clear to me what she was saying, I assumed it was something along the lines of, "It is time for you to go to work," and I wanted to ignore her and just go to sleep; however, I couldn't do that. Unfortunately, I did not have the luxury to do that.

My eyes opened with a snap, and I sat up from my resting position and saw Horace's face the first thing, and she smiled after noticing that I was up. Then she asked me, "Claire, do you want some pancakes?"

The first thing I noticed about that question was that there was no Ms. now; it was only Claire. I did not have any problem with that. I affirmed her question, and she went to the kitchen, while I got up from the bed and went to the washroom to prepare for my day. After taking a bath and going to the kitchen, Horace has made some pancakes, eggs, and a hot chocolate. My first line of thought was that it was very romantic, and I accepted it wholeheartedly.

After eating the pancakes, I noticed that there was a thick, transparent syrup on it, which was incredible, and I asked Horace about it, but she dodged the question.

Suddenly my mind thought, is it semen? No, that's a bit too far even for a futa, but the thought of it being semen was incredibly erotic, and I can confidently say that this was one of, if not the best, breakfasts I had in my entire life.

Then I asked Horace, "Horace, should we go to the Succor Center and ask them if they will take you back? Also, why did they kick you out in the first place?" And with this question, the color on Horace's face suddenly was gone, and she answered me, "Claire, it is a long and painful story. Can we talk on the way? You are being late, aren't you?" That cannot be a good sign.

I still pushed her about this because it was important to me, actually more than ever now that I get this wonderful woman to settle down where she and the people accompanying her are happy with each other. But she did not budge, and so I decided to take Horace on my rounds to shelter, and on the road I would ask her about this.