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How dare he touch my Freddikins like that?
He’s not youranything, the brain worm says on a long, pained sigh. After tonight, you need to steer clear of all humans with dangly-bits between their thighs.
I pause, my brows scrunching. Surely, I can’t, I challenge. Some women have dangly flaps. Beef curtains. Knee-slapping snatches. I can’t avoid everyone.
Maybe you should, the tummy critter coos. Just hide out in a dark corner until you die. It’s safer. Quieter.
Ah, yes. We love the dark. All the better to diddle in,my brain cackles like the manipulative hussy she is.
“Fine!” Fred yells, pulling my attention back to the present. I blink rapidly, attempting to clear my chaotic, warring body. “If that’s what you think, then I quit!”
Stan chuckles, shaking his head as he shoots me a glare. “You’re seriously quitting?” He points a stubby finger at my face. “Over her?”
Ouch.
The disdain in his voice has me cringing back. Pain rockets through me and I shoot to my feet with a stifled yelp. The furry-headed man’s eyes trail down my body, taking in the thin, white sheet haphazardly draped over me. He licks his lips, and I shudder in revulsion.
Despite the icky way Stan speaks of me, his eyes clearly tell a different tale of his feelings.
I gag internally.
Yuck!
He’s not unattractive per se, but he’s just so…so…hairy!
I prefer my men akin to a naked mole rat. That way, it’s easier for me to coat them in my cummy cunny clam juice. I love it when they shine like the deliciously glazed seed machines they are.
“Don’t fucking look at her!” Freddie snarls, surprising me.
“What are you going to do about it?” Stan murmurs, biting his lip. My eyes scan over the too bare room, looking for a weapon just in case. If he hurts Freddie and comes for me, I have to be prepared.
Unlike earlier.
Definitelywas not prepared for that.
Or Bud.
Fuck that guy.
“You keep lookin’ at her like that and I’ll carve your eyes from your ugly face with a rusty spoon and fuck your mom with them!” Freddie hisses in a lethal voice that sends inappropriate shivers down my spine.
Or maybe I’m just cold since I’m naked and all.
His bald head glistens with a thin sheen of angry-sweat, and my shiver turns to palpitations—between my thighs.
Okay, so it’s not the cold.
Stan splutters, looking outraged. “You can’t fuck my mom!”
Fred scoffs. “Sure I can.”
A ridiculous thread of jealousy wiggles its way through me and I stomp my foot in indignation. Stan ignores me, but Fred shoots me a look I can’t interpret. Confusion? Concern?
“You can’t fuck a dead person!” Stan cries. “And that’s my mom—”
“Actually,” I cut in, bouncing on my toes with excitement. Finally! Something I know about. See, mom. Reading all those filthy books has finally paid off! “It’s called necrophilia. While there aren’t more than a couple hundred documented cases world wild, it’s heavily fantasized about in an extremely sexual and graphic nature. Some people will go to graves, dig up bodies and—”
“Bed bug,” Fred murmurs sweetly. I snap my mouth shut.
