The Writer’s Night

So according to the poll I made while she was still undressing my skirt, people prefer to call the landlord Ayo Yinusha over Oya Yanushi, which I don't judge. But, O-ya-ya sounds more different to the tongue you kno- AHHHH FUCK- WAIT NO-

Before I could finish monologuing, that hoe squeezes my dick tighter than a toddler gripping ice cream, fuck, so this is what basic entry level cock and balls torture is like! I should have not meme about it in my stories, fuck fuck oh god my balls hurt I regret this! Why am I in for a crazy immortal rapist chick of all the landlords in the world that could have been into. I should've try and get plow by an old grandpa instead.

"Heh~... What's wrong, poor? Couldn't handle? Think about your rent this month and how much you neeeeeeeds it~"

"Why... Why..." I mumbled, gripping on her hair, "Why the fuck do you add and 's' for need when you are addressing me? That's not how English works! Especially after you emphasize on that damn word! AND MY JUNK IS NOT A SQUEEZE TOY, VILE WOMAN."

"Nice arguement, but you see. I am deaf whenever I feel like it."

Next thing I could perceive was the feeling of the cold wind blowing over my naked body; my sensitivity were through the roof since I was completely naked, blindfolded and this bitch's apartment room don't even have a tight window. Shivers ran down my spine when I noticed something odd, she was not doing anything, just her warm hand grabbing tight on my above-average dick, also known as belong longer than most people who read this story.

"Do you have a condom?" She whispered. "Fuck no." I answered, and added more, "I don't even have instant ramen."