Fuck him in the back room
From Create Your Own Story
With a shrug you look around the relatively quiet food court. No one's coming over here, they're all down at one of the big-name places. You swipe your bag off the counter, look a moment to find the latch, and decide to hell with it and hop over to the same side as the loser. He gapes at you like a moron so you explain it to him. "Squid pro crow," you say. "An exchange, a banter."
"A what?" he screws up his face.
"Oh for God's sake. A trade, you moron, didn't you ever take English? I'll do something for you and you do something for me.
"Like what?" he looks at you suspiciously.
Rolling your eyes you look with interest at this side of the counter. It looks pretty clean, and unfortunately there's nothing worth anything sitting out. "Like pancakes, dipshit."
"No," he says slowly, teeth making a clicking sound. When he clenches them like that it makes his round pasty jaw look, well, a little less round, but just as pasty. "I mean, what are you going to barter," he emphasizes the word, "for my pancakes."
You shrug, not really sure.
"I could flash you."
He smirks. "A little girl like you? You don't have anything to flash."
It's the work of a second for you to tear up your top, another second to rip off the front-seal training bra (what lech thought of that one?) that you'd only just started wearing (in the hopes that it'd encourage your tits to grow) and you were flashing your not-entirely-flat chest at him (and, incidentally, several security cameras and two guys who just happened to look up at that moment, but they don't count since you didn't notice).
"I've got tits. I've gotten tons of free stuff by showing them or letting guys feel them up."
"They're probably just checking they're there," he says nervously, looking around, but his eyes always coming back to your budding would-be orbs. All the while he keeps playing with that damn camera phone of his like he can't just pay attention to you and you alone.
"Fuck you," you spit.
He shrugs. "Alright."
It takes you a moment. Quite a few moments, actually, but eventually you figure out what he's saying. "You'll fuck me?" you ask.
He nods. "Since you asked so nicely. Now would you quit flashing the mall? You'll traumatize people with the sight of your boy-chest."
With a snarl you yank the shirt down, swearing as it tears at the shoulder and bottom. It's an old shirt, one you've had for years, and it's been washed so many times it's begun to come apart. But it has sentimental value.
You were out with your dad at a carnival when you were nine-years old and he bought the shirt. He wore it the entire day that you and you alone were beside him. He constantly had people taking pictures of himself laughing and pointing towards you as you snuggled against him. He took it home, but one wash shrunk it so much he gave it to you. It was big enough that you wore it as a nightie, though it seemed like after every wash it would lose a little of its hem. Dad blamed it on the cheap material.
When your dad had his poker buddies over, he'd sometimes ask you to put it on for them, and you'd happily do it, proud that he'd given it to you, and happy that it made them hoot and holler. They got even louder and more excited by it over time, right up until last year when one of them pointed out that your cunt was in plain sight. Your father got angry with him for saying that, and you hadn't worn it as a nighty since. It was still a good t-shirt, though it was more like a baby tee now, with the bottom four or five inches above your belly button, showing a taut stomach that you were proud of. Washboard abs, you thought they were called. You just hated it when people snickered and said you were a washboard all right. They were just jealous.
"Damn," you mutter, staring down at it and realizing that it just looks ratty now. You should have known it wasn't good quality after the first wash took off the word 'with' and the arrow pointing sideways. It used to read 'I'm with Stupid'. It made you sad to think that you'd have to get a new shirt and abandon this, the last proof you have that he loves you.
Shaking yourself out of your memories you look back at the pancake guy. "What was I saying?"
He rolled his eyes in an annoying way that only emphasized how ugly he was. "You wanted to fuck me."
"Oh yeah. Here?"
"God no, we're out in public! In the back."
After clambering over the counter, incidentally flashing your neon pink panties at the entire food court you lead the way, letting him check out your ass or your legs. The first are athletic and 'tight as a boy's bottom' you've been told, though you always wondered why that was better than 'tight as a girl's bottom'. Nevertheless, you knew it was a compliment and bragged about it alot. Your legs are just as fine, long for your size (thank God, you could use every inch) and 'coltish' (not an insult, you've been assured, though you're not quite sure what the word actually means). It's all thanks to your dancing, which your mom taught you before she left your dad when you were eight. She said there was supposed to be a pole, probably like the ones ballerinas used for stretching.
In mere seconds the little skirt with the kittie on the front unzipped and fell, followed by the pink panties, and the old shirt, which you took off delicately, not wanting to damage it further. You really were going to have to get a new one, regardless of sentimental value.
"Where are you?" you called when he didn't follow.
"Out here, of course."
"I thought..."
"I'm not aroused."
"Not..." you smacked your head. Sometimes you could be so stupid. You've had to suck off a lot of boys to get them started. "Aren't you coming back?"
"I have to man the counter. I'll go back if it gets hard."
Well hell, that presented a problem, you thought. He couldn't fuck you if he wasn't hard, and he couldn't get hard if you didn't suck him, and he couldn't come back her until he was hard. That meant you'd have to go out there to suck him if you wanted him to fuck you. And your really really wanted to be fucked. Well, maybe it was the pancakes that you actually wanted really bad, but one led to the other
Do you:
