Tommy's weird day

The alarm buzzed at 7:15 AM in your cramped studio apartment. You, Tommy—a short, pudgy, socially awkward 28-year-old IT support guy with greasy hair and a permanent awkward smile—rubbed your eyes. Yesterday’s “task” from that mysterious anonymous email still felt like a fever dream: conduct a hands-on survey comparing blondes and redheads in bed. No payment, no explanation, just an endless supply of willing participants who’d drop everything once you explained the purpose. You didn’t question it. You never complained about free, competitive pussy.

You stepped out for coffee at the corner café. The barista, a stunning blonde named Mia with long golden waves, perfect tits straining her apron, and a perky ass in tight jeans, smiled at you like you were anyone else. You leaned in, heart pounding, and delivered the line exactly as instructed.

“Hey… I’m doing a survey. Who’s best at sex—blondes or redheads? I need to test it personally. Would you help?”

Mia blinked, then her cheeks flushed. A wicked, competitive spark lit in her blue eyes. “Blondes, obviously. But I’ll prove it right now if you want data.” She didn’t even wait for the morning rush to die down. She flipped the “Back in 10” sign, grabbed your hand, and dragged you into the tiny employee bathroom.

The door barely clicked shut before she dropped to her knees on the dirty tile. “Redheads wish they could deepthroat like this,” she hissed, yanking your pants down. Your average, unimpressive cock sprang free. She attacked it with zero warmup—sloppy, gagging throatfucking that made her mascara run instantly. You grabbed her blonde ponytail like reins and rammed deeper, feeling her throat convulse. She looked up with competitive fire, **** out between thrusts, “Tell me I’m better than any ginger slut.”

You lasted maybe four minutes before blasting down her throat. Mia swallowed greedily, wiped her lips, and stood up adjusting her apron. “That’s round one for blondes. Come back at lunch. I’ll clear the storeroom.”

---

By 11 AM you were at the gym. A fiery redhead personal trainer named Lila—pale skin, freckles across her toned shoulders, a tight sports bra barely containing her perky C-cups, and an ass sculpted by squats—spotted you struggling on the treadmill. You approached during her break, repeating the survey line.

Lila’s green eyes narrowed with instant rivalry. “Blondes are basic. Redheads fuck like animals. Follow me.” She didn’t care that the gym was packed. She pulled you into the women’s locker room, past a few curious glances, and locked a shower stall.

Clothes flew off. Lila bent over the bench, arching her back. “Fuck my ass first. Blondes are too prissy for real painal.” You spat on your cock and pushed in raw. She hissed in pain but pushed back harder, her red hair swinging. “Harder, you little creep. Show me you’re collecting real data.” Every thrust made her whimper and moan, the mix of pain and determination turning her competitive. She reached back, spreading herself wider. “I bet that blonde bitch couldn’t take half this.”

You switched holes mid-thrust, facefucking her under the running shower until her freckled face was a mess of spit and tears. She came twice from the roughness alone, legs shaking. “Redheads win this round,” she gasped as you painted her tits. “Text me your next location. I’ll show up and out-fuck anyone.”

---

Lunchtime. Back at the café. Mia had kept her promise. The storeroom was cleared. But Lila had somehow found out—maybe they knew each other—and showed up in tight yoga pants and a crop top, red hair in a high ponytail.

The two of them sized each other up like predators.

“Blonde supremacy,” Mia declared, shoving you onto a stack of boxes and mounting you reverse cowgirl. Her pussy was soaked, gripping you perfectly as she rode hard, ass bouncing. “Watch me drain him, ginger.”

Lila wasn’t having it. She stripped, straddled your face, and ground her dripping cunt against your mouth while reaching down to rub Mia’s clit. “Redheads are superior multi-taskers. Eat me while she rides, Tommy. Compare us properly.” The competition escalated fast. They took turns, switching positions every few minutes—painal on Lila while Mia fucked you with her tits, then Mia bent over taking it rough in the ass while Lila sat on your face again. Moans, insults, and competitive dirty talk filled the small room.

“Blondes are tighter—”

“Redheads are dirtier—”

“Watch me make him cum first—”

You lost track of how many times you came. They kept going, using each other’s bodies to heighten the show for you, the “surveyor.” Sweat, spit, and cum everywhere. By the end both were panting, glaring at each other with respect and hatred, their hair colors now the center of their identities.

---

The day blurred. At the supermarket, a blonde cashier named Sophie let you fuck her in the walk-in cooler between customers, legs wrapped around you on a milk crate while whispering, “Blondes do it colder and better.” Later, a redhead librarian named Ruby cornered you in the stacks after closing, demanding anal on the reading table with the risk of security cameras, proving redheads were “freakier under pressure.”

Every encounter followed the same rule: you stated the survey purpose, and they transformed into ruthless competitors. No matter the setting—office meeting, public park bench at dusk, family dinner where a blonde aunt excused herself to the bathroom with you while her redhead sister waited her turn outside—they dropped everything. The competition spread. Girls started texting you, introducing friends of the opposite hair color just to settle the [score.

By](http://score.By) evening you were exhausted in your apartment, phone blowing up with new volunteers. Two new messages:

Mia (blonde): “My place tonight. Bring that redhead bitch if you want a proper comparison. I’ll prove blondes win.”

Lila (redhead): “Gym after hours. I’m bringing backup. Redheads fuck in packs.”

Your cock twitched at the thought of the coming war. The survey had only just begun, and neither side was willing to lose.