Annals of the Flesh: Like Tucker Max, but Less Date-Rapey

“Pussy”
by Libby Cudmore

I waited until I saw my wife’s car round the corner before I called Connie.  She was at my door ten minutes later, and five minutes after that I had my face buried in her snatch, searching with my tongue for the little baggie of coke she kept hidden there for such occasions when my wife went to work.

Mittens yowled from his empty bowl and I ignored him. I rolled a dollar bill while Connie divvied up the coke, and we both took our hits before we were back on the couch, this time with her mouth wrapped tight around my cock.  I came hard and she swallowed like a good girl, we did some more coke and I ate Connie’s pussy with a finger in her ass.
Mittens hissed and swatted at Connie’s bare feet.  Stupid fucking cat.

We did the last of the coke and got to the fucking.  When we were lying on the floor, brain-damaged from the sheer ecstasy of it, she lit a joint and passed it to me.  The last time I felt that good was last week, the last time she came to visit.  Mittens crawled across her chest and she pushed him off.  We finished the joint and drank a couple beers, too stoned in post-fuck black hole to even speak.  She left around three in order to give me until five to clean and sober up.  I nuked her cheap perfume off the couch, took a cold shower and smiled from the desk when my wife walked in the door.

And that was the day the cat learned to talk.

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