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Join Date: Sep 2008
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Adult - warm honey (short story. TRIGGER FOR : Rape, Domestic/Relationship abuse.)
Warm Honey
It wasn't a good idea in the first place, and that notion briefly crossed my mind. Very briefly. You grab the sticky jar, and that look crossed your face. That look you always get when something's up your sleeve. "Hey, uh, wanna have some fun?" You say it like you did the first time we passed the condom aisle together. Well, ****. Why not?
We haven't had sex in weeks because the only thing your lips have touched is the mouth of a tuba, playing day in, day out in the blistering heat. Until now, you're been too tired from Trooper training to have any fun, and you're sunburn has cooled, so what the heck. "Becky said it's like massage oil," you insist and pop it in the nuker. "She would know, too. Did you know her boyfriend is 28?" I chuckle. I thought I was daring, a junior in high school with a sophomore theater major at the local community college.
The rumors are that you're gay, but by the look of the boner straining against your jeans, I'd say that's false. Once the honey is FINALLY warm enough, you pour the entire jar into a generous sized bowl. When we start kissing, I can't help but feel awkward when your crotch presses up against my belly, so I might as well get this over with. I grab the bowl from you and you have no problem following me into the living room, and I set it down on the coffee table, picking up the handcuffs from that Cop/Driver roleplay we tried a few weeks ago. You seem to like how I push you down on the couch, and you aren't alarmed when I handcuff your hands above your head.
I make quick work of your pants, and those atrocious scooby doo boxers that have always turned me off because it made me think I was ****ing an 8 year old. Now that I'm the one in control, I rip them and throw them aside. Then there's the awkward creature you lovingly call 'twitch,' who, to my disgust and your delight, twitches at random times, like during fellatio. You usually giggled when I would cough and pull away from your dick after that- you thought it was one big joke. I'm not dumb- when I pick up the bowl of honey I can feel the heat. I know it won't be like getting the whipped cream, chocolate, and marachino cherries and making your **** into an impromptu sundae sans ice cream.
You're gearing up for an nice, soothing massage. I grin at you, ignoring your requests that I take off my shirt so you can look at that pink lacey bra you got me because it makes me look like a porn star. By now your dick is twitching and buzzing like nobody's business. So I slightly tip the bowl over above your **** and let it start pouring. I know I shoRuld feel sorry for you when the lava-like liquid starts flowing to the swollen tip of your **** down, but I can't seem to find any remorse. You cuss and call me a whore and a bitch, which, just seconds ago, you didn't seem to mind. So I tip the bowl over more for a better honey flow.
It's an interesting sight, honey engulfing your assistant, drizzling down the impressive length, drizzling down your testicles and your ass, which I'm sure is making you regret shaving to impress me. It fills me with satisfaction when the honey reaches your mom's $8k couch. The bowl's empty, and I put it down and give you my sexiest smile. "YOU TRAMP!" You spit at me, then up you go, your marinated sausage swinging back and forth. You don't take much work to get yourself out of the plastic handcuffs the adult store overcharged us for, and with your fist you erase that triumphant grin off of my face.
I just watch as you waddle off to the bathroom, turning on the shower to give the fire between your legs some relief. "I'm going to call the police, bitch!" This makes me giggle as you shout that from the shower. Here I am with a bloody nose and you, 100 lbs heavier than I am, are considering calling the cops? What, are they going to cite me for honeying of the ****?
What will probably happen is they'll take a picture of your honeyschlong and post it at the station for all the boys to laugh at. I start to walk away, hoping you actually do call the cops so that this can happen, when you yell from the shower again - "Why did you do that?" Because that's the first time you've ever bothered to ask me a question.
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