It thrilled her. Rat juice tasted almost too, well, spicy when compared to the sweet yummy fluid of an aroused mouse. It was an acquired taste, and Missy was growing quite used to it. She trembled when she swallowed the forbidden nectar. It wasn’t many mice that ever got this intimate with a rat, and live to tell the tale!“You’re going to ruin me for mice.” Missy whispered playfully as she knelt and gently stroked Crusher with both paws. She kissed the dripping tip and swallowed the rat’s essence again as she massaged his hardness between her breasts. “This huge thing is going to stretch me all out of shape!”“That’s your problem, cheese breath!” The rat gasped huskily. “Now back that skinny tail up and see what a real rodent can do!”Missy didn’t have to be told twice. It was rather embarrassing, but she was starting to enjoy the verbal abuse and insults that the rat dished out towards a ‘working’ mouse. It made her feel oddly special though, when Crusher flatly refused to let any of. As I began heading toward the doorway, Ispied a calendar on the wall, "August, 1944...okay, that wouldexplain the era and the heat." Above the calendar was a little bluespeckled clock in the shape of a teapot, "11:35...in the morning."I pushed the door open slightly; the heat blasted my face as itentered the sun. Just off the porch a grey tabby cat lay in theshady grass beneath a huge flowerpot, overflowing with giganticmarigold flowers. The tinkling I heard was of a tiny group oftubes, suspended upon silvery strings. They danced in the overlywarm summer breeze, each tube was of a different length and as theybumped against each other a strange and wonderful music emitted. Ifelt myself smile as I returned back inside the much cooler house.Just inside of the kitchen, behind the outside door, was hiddenanother door. Thinking it might be nothing more than a pantry...Iopened it. A step down led to a landing; from there I could see astairway leading to a basement. Dusty boots lined the.
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