Pancae Whore Sucs Off Stocboys

I was making pancakes for my boyfriend when the phone rang. As I spun around to answer it, the spatula knocked into the mixing bowl. The bowl tipped, and gooey pancake batter oozed off the counter, down the cabinet and onto the floor. My boyfriend threw his NASCAR magazine onto the kitchen table and shook his head.

"Nice goin', bitch," he said. "Now clean it up."

He picked up the phone as it rang for the fifth time.

"What?" he said. That's how he always answered the phone. No "hello," no "hi," just "what." "Uh-huh....Sure, sounds fuckin' great....Ha-ha....OK, see you there."

"Who was that?" I asked. I was on my knees, mopping up the batter with a washcloth.

"That was Rick," he said, scratching his beer gut. "We're goin' to the tittie bar to watch the race today. And I'm gonna leave, as soon as I'm done with breakfast. So hurry it up!"

The whole world seemed to collapse around me.

"But I thought you were going to take me to the park for a picnic today," I said.

"Yeah, well, plans just fuckin' changed," he said.

The rage started rising from my chest. But I pushed it back before it reached my mouth. There was nothing I could say to him. I'd tried arguing with him before. It got me an ass-whooping every time. But I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry this time.

I'd had enough. I wanted revenge.

As I finished sopping up the pancake mix, I thought up a plan that would make his stomach turn so hard he'd never want breakfast again.

I threw the rag into the sink and stomped into the bedroom. It was a pig sty. I kicked aside his dirty underwear to find my white, cut-off T-shirt and jean shorts. Then I grabbed the Mustang keys off the dresser and stuffed the Polaroid camera in my purse before rushing out.

"Where you goin'?" he asked as I stormed through the kitchen.

"To the store," I said. "I need more milk and butter."

What I didn't tell him was that I wanted much more than dairy products.

The old man handing out carts at the entrance to the grocery store nearly choked on his dentures when he saw me. My shirt was so short, my tits were almost flopping out. And you could see my nipples through the thin, white fabric. The jean shorts were booty tight and left nice-sized hunks of ass exposed at the bottom.

I headed immediately for the dairy aisle where I found my a cute stock boy knelt down. He was taking cartons of yogurt out of a box and lining them up on the shelf.

I padded over to him.

"Hi," I said, shaking my tits in his face. "I need help finding some milk."

He stood up. His eyes were frozen on my tits. The nipples were hard as diamonds -- partly because it was cold, but mostly because I was so horny for the guy.

"The milk is right over there," he said.

"No," I said, grabbing his arm. "I need a special kind of milk. I think you keep it in the back room."

I pushed my tits against his chest as I reached down and grabbed a handful of cock. Leaning in close, I whispered "Know what I mean?" and licked his earlobe.

The stock boy was a quick one. He smiled.

"Oh yeah," he said. "I know what you're talking about. I'll take you back to the stockroom to look."

"Great," I said, giving his dick a friendly squeeze. "Why don't you grab a few friends along the way to help us look?"

Three minutes later, five stock boys formed a semi-circle around me in the breakroom. The yogurt boy locked the door. His co-worker, the one with long hair, had the Polaroid. I had asked him to be cameraman when he wasn't getting in on the action.

Yogurt boy sauntered up to me.

"Time for your milk, honey," he said.

I tore off my shirt and kneeled down. The bulge in his pants was huge. I unzipped his khakis and pulled them down. His boxers fell next. The stock boy's dick sprung up so fast it slapped me in the chin. The other stock boys laughed.

Shaking the hair from the side of my face, I licked his dick -- from his balls to the blowhole of his cock. Then I wrapped my lips around the head. I felt it pulsating in my mouth. The dick was telling me it wanted to squirt, to fill my mouth with cum.

My head bobbed. First I sucked him slow. Then faster. And then faster. On every downstroke, I took more of his salami into my mouth. He grabbed me by the head and made me take it all. It must've been at least nine inches. I could feel his dick poking my tonsils.

The other stock boys were screaming.

"Yeah, bitch, suck it!" or "Take it, whore, take it!"

Then came the chant: "One, two three, four, cum inside that dirty whore! Five, six, seven, eight, give her goo, don't make her wait!"

The whole scene made my pussy drool.

The stock boy's knees began to tremble. The first rush came on a downstroke. He unleashed what must've been a gallon of cum. I felt it splash into my mouth. Then he spurted three times more. I sucked him dry, making sure to hold every drop in my mouth.

When he pulled his dick out, I opened up my mouth and stuck out my tongue. The guys whooped and clapped at the blob of goo. The long-haired one took a picture. I swallowed the jizz and opened up again.

"All gone," I said.

The stock boys cheered and slapped high-fives with yogurt boy.

"Who's next?" I asked.

I sucked the rest of them just as hard. But I made them cum on my face and tits. I let them take as many turns as they could. The yogurt guy had the record. He blew a load on me eight times. By the time they were done, I looked like something out of a horror movie: The Incredible Jizz Woman. They took a few Polaroids of my messy face and threw me a towel.

I never went back to my boyfriend's house. Not even to get my stuff. Instead, I took his Mustang and headed west. A few weeks later, I sent him the Polaroids of me with cum on my face and a note that said: "Here's your fuckin' milk and butter. Make your own pancakes."