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Chapter 21
Mysti May
FRIDAY 11:06 PM
This is what I imagine an apocalyptic world looks like. We’re crammed into this dusty old warehouse, the sound of people screaming bets and egging on the fighters is deafening.
“What tickles your fancy?” Brendon murmurs into my ear, his arms wrapped around me from behind.
I lean back into him, feeling his hard pecs against my back, but, even better, I can feel his hard cock pressing into my ass.
Instead of answering him, I rub my ass back and forth across his cock and turn my face up to him.
He smiles as he brings his mouth to mine.
“I meant, which fighter should we bet on,” Brendon says, pointing up to a board crammed full of names.
Some fighters—or lobsters, as we discovered shortly after we entered the warehouse—have ordinary names like Larry or Bob, or stereotypical fighter names like Killer.
I scan the names for one that speaks to me. Because, let’s get serious, even after looking at the lot of them in their cages, I couldn’t tell a winning fighter lobster if you pointed at one and said: “That’s the winner.”
“Do we want to play it safe, or take a chance?” Brendon asks, nibbling on my ear, my neck, anywhere he damn well pleases. “Look at the odds beside each name and pick a long shot or a sure thing.”
I turn to face him, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“I’m in the mood to take chances tonight,” I say. I look over my shoulders at the board and say, “That one. Fifty to one. That’s the one I want.”
“Rocky Blobster it is, then,” He says.
He takes me by my petite hand, dwarfed in his massive palm and heads over to the guy taking bets.
“My man,” he says, getting his attention and handing him a hundred-dollar bill. “Hundo on Rocky Blobster.”
We walk over to a wall a little away from the action to watch the fight. Becky, Percy and Sammi are off watching somewhere else. Sammi was muttering about the well-being of the lobsters as soon as we walked in.
Leaning against the wall with Brendon behind me, I feel his hands start to explore me, running up and down my hips, bringing up my skirt each time.
I reach back and massage his hard cock and say, “Stop teasing me. If you’re going to do something, do it already.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Brendon reaches down the front of my skirt, dipping his fingers under my panties. I lean back against his chest, wrapping one arm around his neck, pulling his face to mine.
The moment his hand touches my wet slit, a rush of electricity shoots through me.
I start rocking back against him, reveling in the feel of his cool hand on my hot pussy.
Everything else in my life at this moment might be spiraling out of control, but Brendon has the power to steady me and set me free all at once.
“Mmmm,” I moan, as he swirls his fingers up and down my slit, teasing me but never entering me.
It’s torture, but the most amazing, panty-dripping torture ever. I’m stuck between wanting to feel this, be on this precipice forever, or fast-forwarding to the point where he’s fucking me hard against this brick wall.
“Fuck, that feels so good,” is all I can manage as he continues to tease me, using my own juices as lubricant.
The crowd cheering in the noisy warehouse might be cheering for a fight between two lobsters, but to the two of us in this corner, it sounds like they’re our private fuck hypers. Not that we need any encouragement.
“I can tell you’re enjoying yourself,” Brendon whispers into my ear in between sucking on my earlobe and devouring my neck with tiny kisses.
