Off to your place, D-A

You follow the address on your key holder (yes… you have your address on your keys. Only very dumb or very rich people do that, apparently…) and you reach a dingy little flat on the cheaper side of town. It’s kind of dirty and definitely not your style. Bad posters of hip hop stars you don’t even recognize. Very few books, and no computer. No video game, obviously.

Huge amounts of pointless things like 34 different nail polish bottles. You’re pretty sure 13 of those are pink. Why?

You open the cooler. You close the cooler and try to forget. There is some cold KFC and lots of Coca Cola in that cooler. You can feel cum sliding between your fat thighs. Maybe you should shower?

You do. You let the warm water cover your body… partially, and you stay playing with your nipples and clit. Shame that you are alone. You need some fat dick. You imagine getting railed much harder than this morning, and suddenly you orgasm. In the afterglow, you dry your massive body, and you start looking into your things.

Not much worth a look. Thongs, almost all of your underwear are thongs, many with messages: “if you can read this stop reading and fuck me”, “make me cum and come in me” , “this belly is baby free… fix it?”

Damnit D-A. Please.

You look into the pants section. The least terrible is a much-too-tight yoga pants pair. As a top you choose a baggy t-shirt but you realize it has some décolletage to the point of indecency. Once you’re dressed, a thong stating “ram it in and sperm me” on your wet-already pussy, you wonder what to do.