Prologue 2.0 – Three Girls and their Cups
Chapter Song – Volcanology - Brooklyn
“Shit.”
“What?”
“Is that a shit on my carpet?”
“No, Matt. It’s Cadbury®”
“All hail Martha Stewart. I really thought its shiiizzz.”
“Ugh! Seriously!? Of course it’s shit. You’re stupid!”
“Gah! What the fuck, woman! Take that crap out of my apartment!
“Jeez. It’s just crap. And don’t blame Ruffies either! She’s just a dog!”
“I don’t care about your fucking poodle. Just leave already! Shit! Fuck!”
(The sound of door slamming shut)
“Fuck this shit. I’m going out for a run,” Matty Boi exasperated, pulled his pants up, and then stormed out. He put on his Beats® headphones, the one he got from Lucille after fucking her, and listened to Brooklyn’s Volcanology.
It was close to nighttime in Miami Beach. And it was time for Matty Boi’s evening jog. ‘Jog, jog, jog’ went his footsteps as he circled the borough near the outskirts of the beach. He did this every night because it was said in the Science journal that cardio could help with his condition.
“Okay … aargh. This feels so good … good God,” he huffed and puffed and then blew himself.
(Majority of readers hyperventilating)
Apologies, he wasn’t blowing himself. He ain’t that flexible. He just took a moment to breathe.
A trio of young giddy smexy girls wearing tight colorful signature workout clothes jogged past Matty Boi. Their bazongas flailed like an episode of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. Matt’s dong couldn’t help but dash forward as the rest of his body followed. Matty Boi adored girls and their cups. He has had the smallest to the biggest, and he wasn’t going to stop now, “Hey! Girls! Wait up!” he called after them. Oh boi.
“Hey…” one of the three girls rasped. Her voice was quite throaty and gruff. Matty boi blamed it on the cigarettes. She looked like someone who loved her cigs … big, fat, long, thick cigarettes.
“Hey hey, you girls could use some company. Y’all look new here,” Matty Boi started. He always was esta muy simpatico with the ladies. Not that he wanted to, but because he needed to. This had always been his routine for as long as he could remember … ever since he hit puberty.
“Sure. And yeah, we new here … where can we have a nightcap?” one of the ladies proposed.
A flash of heat that felt like molten lava crawled from Matty Boi’s brain all the way to his groin. He didn’t expect fishing for oysters to be this easy. He wasn’t even out to sea. He felt lucky.
“Uhm, my place ain’t far from here. It’s only a few meters away. Beat me to it?” he smirked.
“Oh, we’ll beat you alright,” said the third lady wearing the skimpiest outfit. She a tight hoe.
And so they jogged … and jogged … and jogged some more. Matty Boi was a bit alarmed because he needed release soon if he were to make it through the day. So he quickened his steps. The three ladies followed close. They reached his cabana then decided to rest by the hammock.
“God, fuck. I can’t breathe. Heh, heh, hmm ...” he gulped, “So, you guys wanna do it here?” was his proposition. It sounded desperate, but he knew that he was just looking out for himself. He needed this. His body knew it so…and yes, so did his nicely-veined 12-inch red-headed monster.
The ladies were all hands, mouth, and tongue all over Matty Boi, from the top-most hair follicle to the indentation between his toes. He was a throbbing Popsicle in this damp Miami night.
Their combined throatiness sounded like a full-bodied concerto as their moans and groans mingled into a symphony of smexy fucked-up-ness. The ladies were adamant about Matty Boi keeping still. They didn’t want him touching them. They were in control. And they liked it.
“Ladies, please. There’s enough Matty Boi to go around. Can we lose those outfits, please?”
And so the ladies obliged. Altogether they pulled up their shirts in front of Matty Boi. They revealed their breastiness and whatnot. Matty Boi quested with hands that were eager to explore.
He touched, caressed, fondled, kissed, lipped, nuzzled, pawed, rubbed, stroked, palmed, brushed, grazed, skimmed, clasped, clung, clutched, grasped, gripped, handled, held, flicked, fumbled, nibbled, patted, tapped, and slurped their bazongas.
(Wattpad readers in a collective gasp)
Yes, he did all of that. So stop looking at me funny.
Anyway, that he did. But then he wanted more, “Girls … I’m so hard right now. Please … take off your slutty skirts and panties. Papa wants to see your Fannies,” he gasped. He a horndog.
“Girls, on the count of three!” squealed the giddiest one of the three little pigsies. She no shame!
One.
Two..
Three!
Something limp dangled between their legs, “Greetings from Thailand!” they wailed in unison.
Matt’s eyes rolled backwards. Thud!
Reader: Meh … this is disgusting, stupid, and a complete waste of time. This is complete bullshiiizzz!
Matty Boi: Watch that fucking mouth! Cursing ain’t allowed here. It ain’t cools. And I’m just warming up!
Reader: (eyes and lips in a grim line) I want some BxB action.
Matty Boi: Impatient much? … I told you. Stay tuned. Yeesh.
YOU ARE READING
Roué (18+ BoyxBoy)
Short StoryHis name is Matt, and he's got a rare condition. He's had sex with hundreds, yet not once has he fallen. Love beats too slow a tempo for him. It just won't do for his oversexed heart. Can he bed you tonight? This book is a GENDER SALAD. It's for all...
