When most boys ask for coke with some Southern Comfort, they usually don’t mean what my new beau meant. There I was, stripped, hot, and naked covered in tiny white lines of blow. I laid perfectly still as one by one, my babe and his buddies eyed me up like starving men catching a glance of a Southern Christmas dinner. They all waited for his signal to have a piece of me. My sexy fucking man reached down, and pinched one of my perfect little nipples. I squealed, feeling my pretty pussy grow wetter and wetter. They pounced on me, wolves upon a deer. I stood no chance.
They gathered up all the little lines of snow, sniffing and licking their way up and down my pretty little body. I’m terribly ticklish, so I tried my best to hold still. Their mouths and hands worked on my hot, smooth skin. I was really starting to drip, and I know they had to have noticed the slick, shiny puddle pooling and drooling from my cunt lips. I get sloppy, nasty wet. Sluttishly wet. The type of wet that appears in filthy young wet dreams.
They were working my body, stroking and kissing and slipping their fingers inside of my body. I was moaning without shame now, though inside I knew I should be humiliated. I was too far gone to even be able to think of anything but cumming as a slutty fucking spectacle for my beau and his friends. They wanted me to squirt, and I did; again and again. I made such a slick mess that they each spent a ridiculous amount of time cleaning up my pretty pussy with their tongues, just making me into more of a dripping mess. It was the most heavenly type of hell my body has even been forced through.
I find myself waking up all the time now, desperate to get another taste of the pleasurable torment they gave me that day. I’m always wet. Maybe that’s what I need; to be used like a sweet little Southern whore by my beau and his friends.
Anabelle
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