Page 88 of Trailer Trash

Dead.

Good.

I stuff the toy back where it was, scowling. The damn thing has been cock-blocking me. I know it.

Then, slowly, I reach for it once more. I bring the toy close to my nose and breathe in. My eyes close, because unlike her clean panties, there’s the faintest scent of pussy. I’m sure she washed it after her last use. I wish it were stronger.

I draw in more deeply through my nostrils, trying to smell more of her. I do, and it’s fucking heavenly.

My cock is at full mast, like it thinks she’s near.

I rest my back against the cupboard, undo my pants, and grab the lube. I stroke my length, slow and firm.

Curious, I hold the rubber shaft to my nose and inhale. If it wasn’t a dick, I’d have this thing in my mouth just to taste her again. There’s nothing wrong with gay stuff...

Ah, fuck it. Harlow was all wrapped around this thing.

My lips press to the side of the shaft, and my tongue dips out. The texture of the raised vein presses against my tongue. The rubber dominates the flavor, but I swear, I taste her.

“Fuck,” I groan, annoyed she’s so close yet far away.

I drag my tongue along the length, ravenous. When I get to the tip, I push it into my mouth and suck, starving for any hint of her. I stroke my cock faster as I envision lapping my tongue against her swollen clit. The same shaft in my mouth was inside her. That thought sends me over. I yank up my shirt and come into the fabric, hard enough to make my thighs lock.

I tip my head back and let the euphoria fade. When I look at the toy again, I know one thing is for sure: this girl makes me do some wild shit.

After reconnecting the wire, I put it away uncleaned. I’ll let her use it as long as my spit is inside her.

From there, I search the kitchen and living room. In a small desk, I spot an envelope with ‘Emergency’ written on the outside. Inside is a hundred dollars.

That’s fucking sad.

I thumb through my wallet, pulling out three-hundred, which is all I have. I stuff it in the envelope. She may need it one day. I’m being nice. Friends do that.

After I finish searching her tin box of a home, I leave as quietly as I arrived.

I didn’t find any hints of another man. At least not one that has a pulse.

I want to be sure, though.

Grayson’s eyes dart to me the second I walk through the door. Then he smiles, and the sadistic bastard underneath peeks through.

“Holy shit. Look at what they did to you.” He swats my shoulder hard and laughs, then hands me a beer. “Here, have one of these, you ugly fuck.”

Guess he hasn’t seen the damage. It’s May. Probably been about a month or a little less.

I open the beer and take a sip, then drag my thumb down the big scar. “I’m getting used to it.”

“Are ya?” He doesn’t lay off. “Bet pussy dried up after that.”

I purse my lips. I don’t have a great comeback. The girl I’d like to screw would rather fuck a dildo.

“I’m still alright,” I lie.

It’s not like Grayson keeps track of who I’ve slept with. I certainly don’t care about his conquests. He must be buzzed, because he glances at Brax, then points at me. “Killian looks like Freddy Krueger cut up his face.”

Brax has seen it plenty of times now and barely smiles at the joke. “It’s kind of wicked. It’s like the Joker.”

The back of Grayson’s hand thumps against my chest several times. “Hey, hey. Do you have a tattoo of him to match? Let’s see if your face is the same.”