Page 233 of Devil’s Disciples

Her face blushed instantly. She choked on her attempt to respond. After taking a drink of water, she recovered enough to speak.

“What?” she asked.

“You heard me.” I gestured to her lap with a nod of my head. “Your pussy. Is. It. Wet?”

She swallowed heavily. Her head nodded ever so slightly.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I slid to the edge of the booth, so she could see my lap. With my eyes locked on her, I nodded toward my stiff dick. “I could hammer nails with this thing.”

Without argument or hesitation, she took a lingering look.

“So, I’ll ask again,” I said. “What’s it going to be? Pie or this?”

“That is tempting.” She shifted her eyes from my cock to my face. “But I’m going to have to stick with the pie. At least for now.”

I couldn’t believe it. I was trying to coerce a died-in-the-wool prick tease to give me some pussy. “We’re both adults,” I fumed. “You’ve got a wet pussy, and I’m rocking some serious wood. Explain to me why you want to eat fucking pie.”

“I just want to get to know you a little more before we take it to the next level,” she said. “So, for now, it’s going to have to be pie.”

“Fine,” I huffed. I pulled out my wallet and flipped through the bills. “You want to follow me to my place?”

“Do you have a pecan pie?”

Being turned down for sex would normally be my signal to pay the bill and leave. With Abby, however, I had no intention of walking away. My cock wanted to fuck her, but my brain wasn’t opposed to getting to know her better. I decided to merge the two and agree to watch her eat a pie, but only after she rode on the back of my bike. Nothing stimulated sexual desire more than a ride on a Harley.

“No, but you’re going to ride on the back of my bike to get the pie. You’ve got your rules, and I’ve got mine. You can leave your car at my place.”

“You can follow me to my place,” she said. “I’ll gladly park my car and get on that bike again.”

Her tone let me know I was headed in the right direction. I tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the table and stood, hoping her pie-eating efforts fell within the getting to know me slot.

If not, the agony associated with my brain tumor wasn’t going to be limited to headaches.

89

Abby

I was in desperate need of some dick, and had been for a long, long time. I wanted Porter to be the guy to take me out of my sexless slump, but I needed to make sure I was stepping out of the single life for all the right reasons. Sexually frustrated to the point of a meltdown, I exercised restraint and settled for devouring a pecan pie.

It seemed like a responsible decision.

We decided to ride to Julian, California. My first ride with Porter was an awakening, of sorts. The ride to Julian Pie Company was different. After the sexual innuendos, blowjob banter, and the glimpse of Porter’s massive manhood, I was a horny mess.

When I got on the motorcycle, I was already soaking wet. One hour into the ride, the motorcycle’s vibration had me on the verge of an orgasm. I spent the next thirty minutes with my eyes cinched closed, my mind adrift, and my soaking wet pussy at the mercy of an eight-hundred-pound vibrator. During that half-hour ride, my sexual tension increased to an all-time high.

In my daydream, Porter’s face was buried between my legs. He ate me while I ate slice after slice of pie. I was truly in heaven – both in my dream, and in reality.

The last fifteen minutes of the trip were in stop and go traffic, during which time I couldn’t find my happy place. Frustrated, I opened my eyes and tried to regain my composure.

Much to my surprise, we’d arrived in the small town. I fidgeted in my seat. Nothing seemed to relieve the tension that had built within me. I was soaking wet and my pussy was begging for attention.

“What the fuck are you doing back there?” Porter snarled.

“Trying to get comfortable,” I whined.

“With you thrashing around like that, it’s not easy to keep this son-of-a-bitch on the road,” he growled. “We’ll be there in five minutes. Sit. Still.”

I lifted my weight from the seat, stuffed my dress under my thighs, and sat down. “Sorry,” I huffed.