Offer a different sort of trade
From Create Your Own Story
"Then perhaps we can come to an arrangement," you suggest, lowering your voice. She bites her lip, eyes flickering away for only a moment before meeting yours again. "That depends. What exactly are you offering?"
You reach out, trailing your fingers over the stall’s wooden surface – close, but not quite touching her own. "A fair trade. You ease my burden; I make it worth your while."
Her breath catches. She exhales slowly, as if testing her own resolve. "You'll still have to pay something," she whispers, but there's a lilt to her voice now, an invitation. Her gaze flickers around the Settlement beyond her stall, and then downward, just briefly, and when she meets your eyes again, she kneels down behind the stall.
You casually saunter around the stall and join the girl behind it. With an impish grin, the stall owner trails a slow finger down the chest of your tunic before slipping her hand beneath your waistline. "Ah," she murmurs, her smirk deepens as she pulls free your semi-erect member, already warm as a freshly baked loaf. "A proper loaf should be appreciated," she muses, running a thumb along its length as if testing its texture.
Your mouth goes dry as she raises it to her lips. Her tongue darts out, dragging slowly across the head. Then, ever so delicately, she parts her lips and takes the tip inside, letting it rest against her tongue.
A soft, indulgent hum escapes her throat as she draws in more of your cock. Her fingers flex against the shaft, holding it steady as she pulls it back again with a slow, deliberate pop. "Mmm," she sighs, eyes flicking up to meet yours. "I do love fresh bread."
You can only watch, entranced, as she repeats the process, drawing your dick in again, deeper this time, before easing it back out, her lips glossy with the sheen of saliva. Your fingers grip the edge of the stall counter, useless things, aching to act, to move, to do something – anything.
She smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction. "Something wrong, hero?" she teases, running a playful finger along the length of your cock. "You look like you've been holding something in." Your throat works, your breath uneven, but no words come.
She tilts her head back slightly, lips parting as she draws the thick rod into her mouth with more force this time, letting it slide over her tongue. The fingers of one hand knead your balls as if testing their resilience, while the others grip your dick with a firm need as she takes it deeper, her breath hitching slightly through her nose.
You swallow hard, pulse pounding, heat spreading through you like a slow-burning fire. Then she pulls back – slow, deliberate, teasing herself as much as she’s teasing you. You feel a soft, satisfied sound vibrate in her throat. But she isn’t done. Not nearly. Her pace quickens, her lips tightening as she works your member with deeper, stronger movements, breath coming sharper now between each indulgent taste. The pressure builds, the tension mounting, and then – with a sudden, guttural hum of satisfaction, you erupt.
A rush of thick, creamy filling spills into the stall owner’s warm mouth. You exhale sharply, barely suppressing a shudder as your entire body pulses with unfiltered satisfaction. As she strokes your still-throbbing wiener, your cum gushes over her fingers in warm, sticky ribbons. A drop clings to her lip, glistening in the morning light before she swipes it away with the tip of her tongue.
Her gaze flicks up, locking onto yours – heavy-lidded, knowing, utterly shameless. She licks her fingers clean, one by one, dragging her tongue slowly over each. "There now," she murmurs, amused, "doesn’t that feel better?"
Do you:
