He, I might point out, was a horrible actor. ‘What kind of stuff?’ ‘You know…’ I blushed deeper. ‘Stuff,’ I still played coy. He already...had a tent in his pants, and each time we went back and forth in this game it only grew bigger. With any luck, if I tease him in just the right way, he might even blow his load in his pants the moment he gets me to say it. ‘I think you should tell me what kind of stuff,’ he said again. God, he was so horrible at this. ‘Like… you know… he wanted to do stuff. She'd been born just north of the capital, yet raised within its tractor beam long enough to know how to abuse the glottal stop for effect."No," I lied. "I was actually wondering why I'm in here."The low sunlight flickering through the buildings beyond the car caught her lip-gloss. I focused on the sparkling façade and the shimmering fullness beneath, considering their story. How many men they'd kissed. How many cocks they'd engulfed, her mouth stretched wide, gagging and coughing on each fat. More

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