Wait for the ambulance

From Create Your Own Story

Current revision as of 03:55, 7 October 2010

You look up into the sky. It's hard up there. Hard, and lonely. Like a cowboy riding off into the purple desert, never to be loved again. Or, only to be loved by his horse.

You shake that image from your mind. "Going out of town?" you ask.

"Way out of town," says the redhead. A brief smile flickers across her face like a needy tumbleweed in the wind. That mouth, which only recently held your cock, and which you'll never taste again. Which she'll never taste again. Which you'll never again taste her tasting you. With your tasting being metaphorical, and hers being literal. Yeah, we'll nail this one down later. Any way you slice it, breaking up is hard.

"Well, sweetheart," you drawl, mentally tipping back the brim of your cowpunch hat and squinting off into the hard, manly distance. A lonesome breeze blows over your floppy cockflesh. "I'd go with you if I could. But.. a man's got obligations. Hard, manly obligations, which he can't just throw over for a good woman."

She looks longingly into your eyes, the sunset tints of broken prarie hearts brimming in hers. "Oh, Bart! Didn't my cocksucking mean anything to you?"

"Sugar, of course! You're.. just the best little cocksucker my cock ever.. uh.."

But before you can remember what it was your cock did with the other cocksuckers that wasn't entirely passive, the redhead snorts with disbelief and her long-suffering good-woman expression falls away. "Jesus. You're just like any other asshole. As soon as you get some lips on your knob, you get boring." She starts to get up.

"Hey. What? Boring? Wait a second!"

"Yes. Boring. Do you need to look it up in the dictionary?"

"Hey, I'm injured here! I'm waiting for an ambulance! That makes me boring? I'm not boring. I'm just late for work!" You are leaning up on your elbows, the life-threatening broken bones, contusions, and internal bleeding from your motorcycle-spill momentarily put aside.

She starts to laugh, her tits shaking. "Late for work? Doing what? No, let me guess. Some little office job, where all you johns gaze longingly at the adminstrative assistant's ass as she sways down the hall to a private meeting with the CEO? Do you sit in your cubicle wishing you had the balls to press your ear to the door for her moans and groans and the slap of his great big balls against her ass? Oh sir," she coos, "Oh sir you're so big! Oh sir, you're the biggest income I've ever had! It feels so good, sir! What? In my ass? Oh sir, I couldn't! That salary is too big to fit in my tight little ass!"

You stand up. Your cock hangs loosely over your open fly. You say matter-of-factly, "I can fuck anyone I want where I work. The pussy is crawling to give itself to me. I get dragged by my cock to the broom closet so many times a day, I can't write a fucking email."

"Then why aren't you there fucking the CEO's secretary's brains out and getting all the corporate secrets dripping off her tongue when she comes? Hmm?"

You shrug and smile. "Because I was busy here getting deepthroated."

She snorts again, less disgustedly. "Oh, touche, touche. And let me remind you that your come shot so high I don't think it's come down yet. But, then you were given the opportunity to get the back of my throat again and more besides, and you decided to wimp out -- something about a pussy office job you're late for? -- and dressed it up in macho bullshit."

You say nothing. Sometimes a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Or not do. Can not doing be doing?

"Uh-huh. Okay, little lost duck. Tell you what. You want to stay here? Fine. But if you have any pride, then impress me. Show me you've got blood in your veins. Prove you're not some jackass who only gets his dick sucked because he can't sit up straight on a motorcycle. I won't promise to re-extend my invitation to take you with me. But at least you'll have saved a little face. Maybe I'll ever remember you fondly."

The image seeps across your mind of her stretched on her stomach on the roof of her car, thighs down the rear window, her dress ripped up the backside, your cock buried in her ass, your hips grinding it in faster and faster, her cunt smearing the car roof with her juice, your legs holding hers closed on your cock, your hands filled with her tits, your groans and hers and her little grunts of pain when you push too roughly mixing around your ears like cotton candy floating out of the wisping machine at the carnival.

She smiles slowly, watching you. She chuckles. "And you have to do it without using your cock." She smoothes her dress and adjusts her tits a little under the red fabric.

"So I can use my mouth or my fingers?"

She fixes you with a level stare. "Look rocketman. You're deeply cute, you have a nice dick, you have good taste in underwear. I don't regret almost swallowing your come. But you're not the sharpest bulb in the drawer, so try to be creative."

At that moment you hear a voice. At first you think some wiseguy has wandered into the story; then you realize it's the author! Hey buddy. How's it goin' there? Nah, don't talk. You start talkin' to me, she'll hear you and you can't exactly make the excuse that you're talkin' on the phone. 'Cause, you ain't got a phone. Well, you do, but it's not on. Anyhoo, the point bein' she'll think you're nuts, and if there's one thing I learned from surfin' the web, it's never let crazy put its dick in you. Which she has undoubtedly heard as well. She definitely has a web-surfin' vibe. I'd totally bet she's into the group sex porn.

You cover your mouth with your hand and mutter, "Is there something you wanted to tell me, or are you just going to babble on?"

"What?" says the redhead, stepping forward. "Have some guts, say it out loud."

You see? For your information, yes, I do have something to say. I am about to present you with some information which you may use at your esteemed discretion. This redhead here, who called herself Lori, actually is named Lorelei. Furthermore, she has only this morning succeeded in robbing a bank. That's the duffel bag full of money, there in the back seat.

You try to see into the car but can't really see much. Maybe he is (or I am?) making it up.

No need to thank me. Just remember when I need a favor. Ta-ta.

• Impress the redhead by telling her you know she robbed the bank.
• Forget the bank stuff, you have a better idea.
• Just let the redhead go.