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Sue me.
Farrow Ballantine and her flowing hair, perfect length for fisting. And her lean thighs, so skilled at riding my cock. And her tight pussy, so sweet and soft like the mango on my plate.
“Out.”
It took a moment for the three of us to realize the harsh growl had come from me.
Mom frowned, padding to me.
She placed her hand over my forehead, then retreated before it made contact, remembering that I hated touching. “Are you okay?”
“Please.Leave.”
I sliced the mango in half, just before the pit, forcing myself to look somewhat normal. Sensing my mood, Ayi chose self-preservation, leading Mom out of my mansion by force.
As soon as the door closed, I gripped the edge of the countertop with my free hand, squeezing hard. My eyes slammed shut.
I conjured Farrow into my mind, naked and spread-eagle across the island. With her pink nipples and glistening pussy, waiting just for me.
“Octi,” I choked out, hardening in my slacks.
In my imagination, she invited me closer, writhing on the counter as she trailed one hand between her legs, swirling her finger around her swollen clit.
My cock strained against my pants as my mouth watered. I imagined myself leaning down, getting a taste of her delicious, soaked pussy.
I took a greedy bite out of the mango. Juices flowed down my chin. The fruity scent filled my nostrils as I tasted her. Sugary and earthy.
Perfect, perfect, perfect.
A growl ripped from my throat as I feasted on the mango, faster and harder now, envisioning myself eating her out.
I stood, pushing my cock against the cabinet, welcoming the friction, humping my own kitchen like a dog as I ate.
Without her, I’d lost my mind, my dignity, my grip on reality.
“Octi.”
I hollowed out the mango, coming inside my own pants. The milky, hot cum shot into the fabric, refusing to end.
I tossed the mango flesh into the sink and dropped my head between my shoulders in frustration. My entire body convulsed, shuddering as if going through intense withdrawals.
I couldn’t take another minute without her.
Fuck it.
I plucked my phone out and pressed call on the first speed dial.
Then promptly hung up before it even rang, because I was officially, completely, and utterly pussy-whipped.
Pathetic and doomed, I repeated the process again and again.
Call.
End.
Green.
Red.
