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Beef with Broccoli

Date: 2/12/2016, Categories: Fiction, Blowjob, Erotica, Written by women, Author: CandyXLove, Rating: 92.9, Source: sexstories.com

being unemployed." I think about my fridge. I have the worst beer. High Life, if I'm lucky. If I'm not, it's the single weird Czechoslovakian tallboy someone left in the back the last time I had a party. "Beer's overrated. There's definitely some vodka in the freezer." He laughs and walks back out my door. "It's been fun, Lindsay Beef-with-Broccoli, but I really do have to get back to my deliveries and I have to go down nine flights of stairs to get to them." Damn. I return to my lean against the door jamb with more confidence, my flirty, wistful look a real one. I have nothing to lose now, since I have nothing but a few short minutes with a hot guy I'm only ever going to see again if I'm on his delivery route. "That's too bad, Wong, Jay Wong." "Double-oh-eight," he says over his shoulder as he starts down the stairs, "license to lo mein." I don't know how I expected this to go. Nobody ever has to get back to work in pornos, I guess. My apartment is still ringing with his laughter, drowning out the screams and frenetic Bible-quoting and chopping sounds coming from my TV. At least I got a good look at his butt. He definitely plays soccer. I settle back onto the couch. I'm going to have to start the movie over, I missed everything after the first scene and I like to watch the whole thing, completely, from opening credits to final jump-scare. I get back to the opening scene. The brunette is running, streaked with blood, her shirt ripped half off. Nothing is behind her but ... skeletal trees and darkness. The lights of a house are visible past her cutoff jeans. The wings of her feathered hair flap around her terrified face as she staggers up the porch and pounds on the peeling paint of the door with the flat of her hand. Motion behind the yellowed curtains shows someone on their way to the door. The hinges creak and light shifts across her face. Her mouth drops open in a gritty, terrified scream. A rough, twisted plow blade flashes down out of the darkened doorway three times. Scream. Bloody. Death. The silhouetted figure pulls the poor girl's dismembered body inside. It pans into the door so the inside of the cabin is clear: the walls are completely covered with overlapping palm-sized printed pages spattered with red. He heaves the girl's body onto the table in the middle of the room and hangs the plow blade back on the wall with his other tools. "Swords into plowshares," he mutters. "Plowshares into swords." The mechanical buzz makes me jump again. I go to the intercom. "Hello?" "Hey, it's Jay. From Wong's Wok? When I got back in my car, I found a loose bag with eggrolls in it. Please tell me there were eggrolls in the bag I gave you." I haven't even opened it yet. I dash to the coffee table and peek inside: two white paper cartons, two fortune cookies, and a big handful of plastic packets of hot mustard and nuclear-orange duck sauce. No eggrolls. "Jay? Hey, don't worry about it," I tell him through the intercom, thinking of the nine flights of stairs ...