Prompt: The God of Eating Pussy

Your first taste of pussy came from your mom. She slipped into your bedroom, wrapped her exquisite legs around your legal teenage skull, and demanded that you pleasure her for hours. She taught you to eat pussy so well, you got the point where you could “read” a woman’s nerves, bring her to edge within seconds, if you wanted to.

By the time you were a senior in college, you’d eaten the pussy of every hot professor, every cheerleader, every sorority princess. You had an arrangement with the billionaire dean’s wife that kept you free of any responsibility, tuition, or need for money. And when the dean slipped up and let you know he had a daughter, well. You had a future wife, too.

Here’s what your day is like. You drive to work in a classic muscle car, the kind with speakers that can make a woman squirt. You know this for certain, and installed the woofers right under the passenger seat for that exact reason. You pop a couple caffeine pills — you won’t drink coffee, or anything that interferes with the taste of a woman — and smile at the crowd of young students gathered around your office. It reminds you of that scene in Indiana Jones, except that instead of homework, you look a girl over, take her into your office, lay her back on your desk, and reduce her to a screaming wreck within 20 minutes. Then you lick your lips, kiss the girl, take her panties or maybe something better. A tongue ring or a clit piercing. And you add it to your trophies.

You don’t usually bother to jerk off. Your dick is a little above average in length, but insanely thick, and you unzip and let it burble like a water fountain under your desk while you eat pussy after delicious pussy, slurping up the salty juice of virgin after wife after slut, enjoying them like you would expensive raw fish, shipped in from the other side of the planet on ice. Something special. Nothing to drink but bottled water. Nothing to eat but slices of ginger to clean your pallet. And at the end of the day, you select one lucky girl to fuck with your huge, womb-wrecking penis, and after you spend an hour loosening her up, you shove that big dick between her legs and let all your frustration and excitement out on that one, special girl.

She usually reminds you of your mother. A redhead. Tall. Skinny. Pale.

Four times out of five she walks away pregnant. Even if she’s on birth control.

You have balls so big they bruise a girl’s ass when you’re fucking her. So heavy you make a thump sound when you sit on the school’s hard plastic chairs.

So that’s you.

Who am I?

I’m the dean’s niece. Twenty-five and single, I’m gorgeous, redheaded, six-foot-two, and I’d be underweight if my tits weren’t a handful and a half. I had a few boyfriends in high school — anyone I wanted, obviously — and then just… gave up. Became a bitch. Icy. The kind of woman who looks like she might just explode if she has to deal with ONE MORE GODDAMN THING.

That’s me.

And you know, without even asking me, that I’ve never — not ever — had an orgasm. Not from sex, not from being eaten. Not from a vibrator, not from a showerhead. I’m so sexually frustrated I crack nuts at my desk for lunch and chew a bag of ice for dinner. I take polar showers and run ten miles a day. And about once a month, I select some poor fraternity stud and take him back to my apartment and break his dick with my pussy. So tight and so tense he ends up like a nut on my desk.

I give up in frustration, and drive him to the er.

By now I kind of like it. My reputation as “The Nutcracker.”

Sometimes I pick a guy I just want to punish. Yeah, I’m a bitch like that.

You’d think guys would stop volunteering to come with me, but they line up. It’s the eyes, I guess. They’re blue. And gold. And… well. Lots of things. Haven’t you seen a redhead with pretty eyes? I’m one of those. And my thighs… well. Let’s just say there’s a reason that Ireland is famed for its cream. We know what it should look like. And my pussy? It’s the color of bubblegum, ruffled and thin, my flawless pink pussy lips making a slash from my pencil-width asshole to my cherry-sized clit. Oh, my clit is a tad oversized. With twice the nerves of a normal girl. Making my forced celibacy some kind of goddamn torture.

And anyway. You know how redheads are.

And, thanks to your expertise, how we taste. Floral. Wetter. Warmer. And into… shall we say… biting? Spanking? And other ways of being bad girls. We like a little pain, redheads.

Anyway. So now you know the characters. Let’s tell each other a story. You start, using the information I’ve given you, and don’t be afraid to be honest about what you want.


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