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Ha.
Ha.
Ha.
Not.
Like that ever would’ve made me happy.
Like some baby-faced virgin boy could ever make me come.
I needed men.
Real men.
Red-blooded piping hot alpha males who dick a bitch down after they take her to Pound Town.
My Kings are my destruction.
The poetic way they tear me to pieces is an art.
"Get your head out of the clouds." Brock pinches my tit, his mighty fingers on my soft nipple causing me to blush.
My nipple immediately turns hard. Everything about me quivers and throbs when they’re around. It’s not fair. I stare at Brock like I want to murder him. I don’t. I want him to lay me on the dirty ground and take me. Fuck me. Bust my pussy in two so that no one can stitch me back together again.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. No one could put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
I’m Whorey Cumdumpty.
My Kings should petition a judge to legally change my name.
Right now, Brock and Rook are taking me to the annual Saintswood carnival. Every fall, the Student Union throws it together with rides, prizes, delicious fair food, and raffles. The bobbing for apples booth is out of control this year according to Brock.
Girls are plunging their faces into the water and snorting like pigs as they grab apples. Rook thinks that it’s because they want to show the guys on campus that they’re "one of the boys." It’s such a pick me thing to do. I don’t judge them though. I think it’s sweet that they’re having fun.
I’m tempted to tell my Kings that not everything a girl does is to attract male attention. Sometimes, a girl needs to have fun with her besties and be left alone by cruel men. I can’t speak out. They’ll smash my head into the apple buckets and fuck me in front of everyone.
Smells of the carnival fill the air. The scents of candy apples blend with cotton candy and popcorn, each making my stomach growl. I could go for a hot dog too. A tiny one. One that won’t hurt my throat or remind me of what my Kings do every chance I speak up for myself.
I hate that I have no say in anything.
I love that they decide for me.
I hate that they take away my will.
I love that they punish me.
I smile at Brock. "I’m thinking about the prize you’ll win me."
Brock waggles his eyebrows. "It’s cute that you think I’ll let you keep anything that I win."
Rook growls as he body-slams Brock. "We. Give. Our. Gifts. To. Queen."
My eyelashes bat as an involuntary reflex. "That’s the spirit, Rook."
Rook swoops his arm around my waist. He presses me against his firm chest, causing my cheeks to flush.
Something dumb and stupid wells up inside of me. I’d never tell Rook this, but I like when he pulls me against him in public. It shows everyone here that he’d protect me if anyone tried to start something.
