Page 234 of Devil’s Disciples

For the first time since we’d exited the highway, I surveyed my surroundings. Short of the cars that lined the narrow streets, the town looked like something from the turn of the nineteenth century.

Wooden buildings with porches that hung over the entrance, homes that had been converted to craft shops, and residences that doubled as restaurants lined the streets. We came to rest at a pie shop that looked like a century old New England cottage. He turned off the engine and lowered the kickstand.

I was excited to get to know Porter, but I was mentally exhausted. I’d been daydreaming about him eating my pussy for the entire two-hour ride. Sexually frustrated and still soaking wet, I climbed off the motorcycle and brushed the wrinkles from my dress.

He hung his helmet on the handlebars, looked at the pie shop’s small covered patio, and then at me. “You ready?”

Before I could answer, his eyes darted to the motorcycle seat. “What the fuck is that?”

He reached toward the seat.

I shifted my gaze to the area in question. Upon seeing it, embarrassment balled up in my throat. The leather was slathered in what appeared to be proof of my joyous ride. He dragged his finger across the slippery surface, wiping a clean path through the six-inch wide wet spot I’d left there.

A prickly feeling crept up my neck. My face flashed hot. With his focus on his finger, and mine on him, I held my breath as he moved his hand toward his mouth.

Oh. My God. Please. Lick it. I’m begging you.

With my mouth agape and my mind in the gutter, I followed the movement of his hand as it moved closer and closer to his face. He straightened his finger. His lips parted. The instant the tip of his tongue touched the juice covered digit, my legs went weak.

His eyes thinned. He licked it again and then looked at me. “Enjoy the ride?”

I nodded. A full-on blush enveloped me. Instead of playing the embarrassed innocent, I decided to simply own it.

“I had a good time,” I said, cocking my hip as I spoke. “Is that a crime?”

“I’ll tell you what the crime is.” He wiped the palm of his hand over the remnants of my sexual daydream-infused ride. “Letting this go to waste.”

Just when I thought my degree of sexual agony couldn’t worsen, it did. In an overly dramatic fashion, he licked his hand clean. As if it were a daily occurrence, he then turned toward the sidewalk that led to the pie shop.

“You ready to eat that pie?” he asked.

“I’m ready for you to eat my pie,” I responded, saying what was on my mind before I could get my brain to stop my mouth from spewing out the words.

“You tortured me by making me agree to do this,” he said. “I don’t give a single solitary fuck how horny you got on the ride up here. It’s my turn to torture you. We’re eating fucking pie.”

He took a few long strides toward the entrance. “C’mon.”

Eating an entire pie sounded like a great idea when we talked about it in the sushi restaurant. Now it seemed a complete waste of an afternoon. Nonetheless, I followed Porter up the sidewalk, second-guessing my denial of his offer to have sex the entire way. My dripping wet pussy agreed.

Once inside the nostalgic establishment, I was met by an old-school glass pie display case that was filled with various pies. My mouth watered at the sight of the flaky crust and the aroma of the fresh pies. As I ogled the pies, Porter stepped to the counter.

“I’d like one slice of the boysenberry apple crumb, and an entire pecan pie, please,” Porter said.

“A slice of boysenberry apple, and a whole pecan pie?” the lady asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Any toppings?” she asked, pointing to a sign that was suspended over her head.

I glanced at the sign. There were two ice cream options – vanilla and cinnamon, caramel sauce, cinnamon sauce, whipped cream, and cheddar cheese.

“Cinnamon ice cream on top of the boysenberry, please,” Porter responded without looking at the sign. He glanced over his shoulder. “Do you want anything on your pie?”

Still struggling to rid myself of lingering sexual thoughts, I simply shook my head. “No, thank you.”

“You don’t want the pecan pie boxed?” the lady asked.

Porter smiled. “No, ma’am. She’s going to eat it.”