Page 132 of The True Garza
Cue to respond. “Yeah, sure.”
I tune her out again as she calls over the waitress, pays the bill, and yaps some more.
“…just such a pain in my ass. Anyway, my place or yours?”
Keywords: ‘My place or yours - question mark.’
Cue to respond. “Mine.”
She chats the entire drive to my fuckpad.Good.
The second the door closes, she’s all over me. Good.
My dick, embarrassingly, is nowhere near interested.Not good.
“What’s the rush?” My fuck-hour voice is in full effect. But I’m not feeling it. Not feeling her. Not feeling…anything. It feels wrong to have her hands on me, so I grip them, pull them off me, and back up against the wall. “Go over there. Take this dress off. Slowly. Let me see you.”
“Of course, daddy. I know you’ll take real good care of me.”
And I need a stiff drink.
She does exactly what I tell her, but it doesn’t give me the same satisfaction as when London does. London is defiant in her obedience. The kind of obedience that lets me know, ‘this is for me, not you.’ And it drives me fucking crazy.
TalksALot’s flimsy dress falls to the floor, and I understand now why I hooked up with her more than once despite her grating personality. She’s a package for sure, and it’s all real. Perfect tits, perfect curves, perfect ass.
Still, nothing from my cock.
Dude, stop embarrassing me.Wake the fuck up. She’s a full ten.
She shimmies her thong down her long legs, revealing a clean landing strip.
Still nothing. “Touch yourself for me.”
She does. Pinching her nipples…petting her pussy…moaning. “This pussyneedsyour big cock, daddy. So bad. Nothing else compares. You’ve spoiled her, and now she only enjoys you.”
Eh, still nothing.
“Get on your knees. Crawl to me.”
Down on all fours, she crawls across the room until she’s in front of me. When she notices I’m not hard, she frowns and pouts. “Don’t you want me, daddy?”
Apparently not.
I rake my fingers through her hair, gripping it at the base. Her blonde is from a bottle. London’s is real,golden. “Do you know what you did wrong?”
Nothing. You did nothing wrong. I’m just a pathetic asshole who can’t get it up and want to make you think you’re the problem.
“No, but I want to fix it. Tell me how to fix it. I need you so bad.”
“Take it out. Apologize to it. Nicely.” I tighten my grip in her hair. “Let’s see if he’s willing to forgive you.”
Load of bullshit.
I should get the fuck out of here and go home.
No, I need to go to Studio City. I need to see her. Even if she’s with that prick.
As TalksALot frantically tries to undo my belt, my phone rings. If it’s Lexi, I’m going to transfer to video call so she can see what a shitshow this is. She’s to be blamed more than anyone else for this mess.
