You are done fucking the natives
From Create Your Own Story
(For now, anyway..)
You sit up, get your legs under you, and stand, spilling Willie the corn girl over onto her back, her tits wobbling at her throat. The redhead rolls her eyes. "Nice," she mutters.
"I found her," you say excitedly, jumping up to her. She doesn't react to the underwear bunched beneath your ass and your pinkish cock, still bobbing and pointing in her general direction. And by her general I do in fact mean something rather more specific then general.
"Her who." Says the redhead, affect flat.
The flat period after her utterance gives you a moment's pause. As would seem only natural, it being a period; however, its unusual placement brings to mind the hooded eyes of a snake coiled in the sun, perhaps asleep, perhaps not. But you tend to be a blithe sort, especially after an orgasm, since you come so frequently that your balls have to cannibalize your brain to make semen. Your kidneys do try to stop them, but, well, they're only kidneys, unwise in the ways of the world, having had that sheltered upbringing in your lower abdomen, while your testicles are canny, wily, experienced in the rough-and-tumble, man-eat-cat world of tight, condensation-filled streets and dark back alleys.
"Your friend. I found her," you say proudly, turning to gesture at Willie, who is kneeling, whistling some unrecognizeable tune in the mixolydian mode (don't ask now, you'll only hurt yourself), and reaching behind her back for a bib strap, her nipples still poking the breeze. She grins at you, as if anticipating your thoughts; and softly, you dream of taking another gust up her thighs, a moonshot gale around her gibbous bottom, puffing and squalling across her labian seas, seas of paroxysm and tranquillity..
"You MORON," the redhead explodes. Your attention snaps back to her and her face is mere furious inches from yours. "Does this HICK look like someone who would be riding with me in THAT CAR? --I am going to say, SHE DOES NOT. She looks like someone you'd fuck in a field! And if it WERE my friend, which she obviously is NOT, why would you stop to FUCK her before telling ME? Did I not say we are IN A HURRY?"
At this point in the story, you become rather confused. Across the glassy surface of your thinking-matter, becalmed like a 19th-century schooner on the Sargasso, many thoughts force themselves like annoying little jetskis. First, you start to breathe a little more heavily, as is necessary to adequately oxygenate the blood remaining to your body after a healthy proportion of it opts to enter the chambers of a certain organ which shall not be named -- ah, what the hell, it's your stiffening cock. The redhead's banshee-like voice has sunk right through your eardrums into the jut of flesh between your legs.
Second? Did you seriously think there were going to be any second thoughts? I mean -- sure, you had 'em. But compared to the tropical wave swelling over your mind, those were mosquitoes, gnats, paramecium.
You stare into her burning green eyes, afraid, angry, indignant, apologetic, turned on, and sorting all that out in O(c^n) time, which, for you non-engineers, means reeeeaal goddam slow.
"Aren't you going to say something?" the redhead snarls.
Then several things happen.
A hand pushes up at the redhead. Willie says, "Hi, I'm Willie," and, still holding out her hand for a shake, begins talking, saying you're not sure what, but it sounds a little like she's defending you.*
You notice that the redhead has something held between her side and her upper left arm. Something metallic and heavy and dark. You say, "What the fuck is.. Is that a gun?"
You hear the rev of a car motor, once, twice. "Shit!" shrieks the redhead. "The car!" She grabs her gun with her right hand, spins on her good ankle and starts into the corn toward the road, swift despite the limp.
- Grab the redhead's gun.
- Fuck the gun, grab the redhead!
- Help the redhead with whoever's taking the car!
* "If you give him head before you calm down, he really doesn't deserve to have his cock bit off. I mean, it does a great job attached, and anyway he really doesn't deserve that, not really." Hah! Gotcha! Willie's not saying that. I just like watching that queasy look cross your face. No hard feelings, buddy!
| Status | ||
| Health | Horny | Location: |
| MP | 0 | |
| Level | 1 | |
