Page 68 of Exrated

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I don’t open my eyes because if I see Benson’s lips wrapped around my stiff cock, I may vomit.

“Yeah?”

“Can you not look like Benson’s chewing your damn dick off? You look like you’re in pain.”

Jemma snorts in the background.

“Chicken, you gotta keep your shit together,” Hud says. “Okay, let’s start over.”

“What? Start over?” I ask, panicked.

“Yep.”

“Oh, fuck…” I sit up and the sight of Benson leaned over my dick nearly causes me to jump out of the bed. “Give me a second, man. Just give me a second.”

“Really?” Benson says, rolling his eyes. “You are a fucking pussy. Jesus Christ. It’s not like I’m fingering your asshole or anything.”

Jemma’s laughing again. I glance over at her and flip her the bird. After a few minutes of pep talking myself and apologizing to my dick again, I lie back on the bed and prepare for the feeling of whiskers brushing against my lower abdomen.

I close my eyes…I feel him looming over me….

“What fresh pile of shit is this?” My eyes fly open when I hear the sound of Ricardo’s voice. That sound is like sweet redemption to me.

“Oh, thank fucking God,” I breathe. I hop out of the bed, snatching my jeans from the floor.

Ricardo is standing with his hands on his hips, his lips pursed. “I know you aren’t trying to step into my territory?”

“Oh, fuck no. I’m not.”

“Then what,” he waves his finger in the air, “is this?”

“Just don’t ask,” I say stepping to the side. “But, he’s all yours.”

I finish dressing just as Hud walks out from behind the camera. “I appreciate that, but you know what? I’m never gonna ask you for guy on guy again, you looked like shit.”

“I’m fine with that. Trust me.”

“You can go home if you want,” he says. “I guess I won’t see you again until after your trip.”

“Yeah,” I shake my head. “Sounds good, man.”

I leave without saying a word to her, go home, and immediately take a shower to wash the feel of his lips off my cock which takes a lot of soap and basically leaves me with a raw dick.

I’m lying on the couch watching reruns ofFull Housewhen Heather walks in. She’s in running clothes and covered in sweat. I’m confused and a little worried because Heather is basically allergic to exercise.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask.

She leans against the wall and tries to catch her breath. “Running.”

“Why?”

“I’m out of shape,” she says, snatching a half empty bottle of Diet Coke from the counter.

“And Diet Coke is such a good way to rehydrate yourself after a long run?”

She sucks most of the soda back. “Yep.”

“Okay…” I turn my direction back to the TV.