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The Steel Kings killed Pop.
10
MASON
I wakeup with a semi-hard dick and a wet spot in my boxers for the sixth time this month.
She’son my mind. The first thing I think of when I wake up.
It’s a secret I’d take to my fucking grave.
The first one was a fluke—it happened on the first night she’d turned up at the saloon. Velma had just hired her, and I had spent several minutes invading her space, circling her like a predator. I got her scent in my brain. I studied those dangerous curves of hers.
Was it any wonder I went to bed and they were all I dreamt of?
Every guy knows new pussy is good pussy.
Sydney Singer was new pussy. She was new in town, new at the club, new in my life. You put an attractive scantily dressed woman I’ve never seen before in my presence, I’m bound to want to fuck.
But that didn’t explain all the other times.
Why I’vekeptdreaming about Singer. She’s starred in just about every vivid dream I’ve had for weeks, and each time I’ve woken with cum in my boxers like an overexcited teen boy.
If only she knew of the things I’d dreamed about. All the dirty, kinky things I do to her.
I’ve had her bent into every conceivable position—twisted like a fucking pretzel. I’ve had her pussy, her mouth, her backdoor, even fucked her tits in one dream.
They’re so vivid, they’re beginning to feel like reality. The lines are blurring, making it harder to be around her.
…which makes me more of an asshole. It brings me to be an even bigger jerk to the woman. Just to hide what’s really on my mind.
Sydney looks like a scratcher, like the type to sink her nails into my chest and ride me into oblivion. Draw red lines down my back as I fuck her so deep, she can’t stand it. I can hear her screams and imagine her moans. I bet she’s loud as hell; I bet she likes it rough.
She’s exactly the kinda woman who’d take it as good as she gives it.
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to bed a woman like I’ve wanted to bed her—it’s been driving me up the wall that I can’t have her.
This must be some prank by the guys. Sydney’s an actress and they hired her to have her prance around me, day in and day out in barely-there clothes, knowing I’d try my damnedest to resist.
The night she walked out of the bathroom in nothing but her t-shirt and panties felt like it couldn’t be real.
I wanted to rip that little piece of cloth from her pussy and then pin her against the fucking wall. I wanted to grip those thick thighs and wrap them around me as I slammed my dick into her and fucked her ’til she begged for mercy and cried out my name.
I wanted to know what that pussy felt like squeezing my dick… what it looked like… if it was the same pink on the inside as the tongue that poked out and licked her lips from time to time.
I could tell she had a fat one. Plump and fucking juicy. By the way those panties clung to her pussy lips, I could make out the outline. Even from where I stood several feet away.
My brain had gotten stuck. My dick had gotten hard. I had to get the hell out of there.
So I threatened her, I insulted her like always, and then I made my escape. My hard fucking dick at rest against my thigh on the inside of my jeans. Then I went up to my room and beat my meat ’til I came hard in my hand like a pathetic dumbass.
Whatever’s going on with Sydney and why she’s hanging around, I won’t give in.
I’ll have a thousand wet dreams about her. I’ll masturbate even more times than that to thoughts of her and that body with more curves than my Harley. But I won’t fucking give in.
I get up from the bed to go shower and clean the cum off myself. It’s as I reach for the bar of soap under the shower stream that I remember what today is.
The Steel Kings Community fundraiser.
