Oh, this is going to be a fuckin' problem.
Squirrel--that's all anyone calls her now, because once you earn a name like that, it never goes away. Not after what happened out in front of the CVS on South Street, where she had the tragic yet deeply comedic misfortune of getting into a full-on tussle with an eastern grey squirrel that, by all accounts, won.
No one even remembers what started it. Did she have food? Did the squirrel just hate her on sight? Did she say some dumb shit and it took offense? The details were lost to history, but what wasn't lost was the image of Deborah Renee Smith screaming, spinning, falling, and ultimately losing to that small, furry menace.
So now? She's Squirrel.
And Squirrel walks into Carina Marie Delvecchio's CVS like a fuckin' problem.
She's 5'4", rockin' nice tits and a fantastic ass, red hair wild, green eyes sharp, wearing shorts that are way too short for February but she doesn't care. She's 24 but acts way younger, and she moves like someone who doesn't plan on leaving this store empty-handed.
Carrie, behind the counter, immediately locks on.
Because, see, Carrie has a type.
And Squirrel is every inch of it. Ticked every filthy box. This wasn't some high-end Anora-wannabe like DeeDee Castiglioni, fuck you and leave you Dr. Bridgette Jakubowicz, or long-lost Adelina Graziani.
This was fuckin' Squirrel.
Carrie doesn't know much about her yet, except that nickname and that she's hot as hell and struts in like she owns the place, and that's more than enough.
"Well, well, well," Carrie drawls, leaning onto the counter, smirking. "If it ain't the legend herself."
Squirrel stops mid-aisle, turning, already grinning. "Oh, you know?"
Carrie snorts. "Babe, everyone knows. You think you get your ass bodied by a squirrel in broad daylight on South Street and we don't all talk about it?"
Carrie Delvecchio could make "squirrel" three syllables through sheer force of South Philly accent alone. Like she's fighting through each consonant like a boxer in the fifth round, dragging the poor word through an alley before spitting it out.
Squirrel laughs--big, unashamed, the sound of someone who's been mocked for this but owns it now. "Listen," she says, striding toward the counter, "that squirrel had hands. I--" she gestures vaguely, as if recalling her downfall, "--was not prepared."
Carrie grins. She likes this girl. She likes her a lot.
And then--then it gets worse.
Because Squirrel grabs a Dr Pepper from the fridge near the register, cracks it open right there, and drinks like she's home.
Carrie's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh, shit," she mutters, mostly to herself.
Squirrel wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smirking. "What?"
Carrie, openly staring, licks her lips. "You like Dr Pepper?"
Squirrel shrugs. "Live for it."
Carrie leans closer. "What else you like?"
Squirrel's grin turns sharp. "Bald pussy."
Carrie just about dies right there behind the register.
She has to physically stop herself from climbing over the counter. Because holy fuck.
See, Carrie has been around. She has heard some shit. But this?
This is the start of a whole goddamn situation.
Because now? Now Carrie wants Squirrel in the worst fucking way.
Squirrel had walked into this CVS thinking she was just gonna grab a Dr Pepper and maybe some gum. Maybe flirt a little, because the chick behind the counter was hot as fuck and had that real South Philly attitude, the kind that made you want to get into trouble.
She hadn't expected to get absolutely wrecked by the words coming out of Carina Marie Delvecchio's mouth.
But here she was.
Carrie was still leaning on the counter, all easy confidence and big brown eyes locked onto her, like a hunter sizing up a meal. And when Squirrel, feeling a little bold, had thrown out "Bald pussy" in response to Carrie's question, she had not expected the way the woman lit up like she just hit the fuckin' jackpot.
Carrie licked her lips, looking her up and down like she was deciding exactly what she was gonna do with her.
"Oh, babe," she murmured, her voice dropping into something slow and filthy. "You just made my fuckin' night."
Squirrel swallowed. Blinked. "Uh--"
Carrie didn't let her get a full thought out.
"Here's what's gonna happen," she said, real calm, real controlled, like she was explaining a business transaction and not about to verbally destroy this woman's entire psyche.
"You're gonna finish that Dr Pepper, and I'm gonna watch you do it, 'cause I like the way your mouth fuckin' works."
Squirrel exhaled. "Shit--"
"Then," Carrie continued, "you're comin' with me, and I'm gonna put you up against the closest flat surface I can find, 'cause babe, I ain't waitin' till we get home."
Squirrel's fingers twitched on the bottle.
Carrie was fully enjoying this, watching her visibly unravel, just from her words. She tilted her head, hoops glinting under the fluorescent lights, letting her voice do all the work.
"You like bald pussy?" she murmured. "You like it enough to beg for it? 'Cause babe, I could have you fuckin' whimpering for it before I even let you touch me."
Squirrel had to grab the edge of the counter.
Carrie grinned.
Carrie leans in close, breath hot against Squirrel's cheek, owning her space, owning her nerves, owning her like she was born to do this.
"You ever had a girl sit on your fuckin' face, babe?" she murmurs, voice low, teasing, wrecking her already. "Or you just been dreamin' about it, whimperin' into your pillow, dyin' to know what it's like to get buried under some perfect fuckin' pussy?"
Squirrel gasps, visibly trembling, shaking, and Carrie loves it.
"Oh, babe," she laughs, delighted, dragging her nails up Squirrel's bare thigh, feeling the shiver that racks through her body. "I can already tell--you fuckin' love this. Love me talkin' like this. Love hearin' exactly how I'm gonna ruin you."
She grabs Squirrel's chin, tilting her head up, forcing her to look at her.
"You're gonna show me how much you love bald pussy, babe," she whispers, lips so close, so dangerous. "I'm smooth as glass down there, bitch. You won't be able to fuckin' handle it."
Squirrel whimpers. Full-body tremble. Mind fucking gone.
Carrie smirks.
"I'm gonna get up there, babe," she continues, filthy, relentless, slow, "gonna settle myself right over that fuckin' mouth, and you? You're gonna lose your goddamn mind."
Squirrel is gripping the counter, eyes wide, panting, begging herself to stay standing.
Carrie leans in, whispers right in her ear.
"You ever felt it before? A girl fuckin' dripping for you? Right against your mouth, soaking you through, making a mess of your pretty little face?"
Squirrel moans, fuckin' moans, and Carrie grins.
"I bet you think you know what you're doin'," she murmurs, dragging her fingers slowly down Squirrel's spine, making her arch. "Bet you think you're real fuckin' good at it. But babe?"
She grins, leans in so close.
"You've never had me."
Squirrel is sweating, dying, gone.
