Generously slathering the dildo. Then she rubs the tip against her soft warm peach. Cynthia groans as she slowly pushes the rubber cock deeper and deeper into her cunt. Until she can’t bring herself to push it any deeper. Probably three or four inches in. Around halfway. It just sits there inside her. Lifeless and cold. Halfheartedly she thrusts it in and out. The sensation not unpleasant, but not satisfying either. Eventually she gives up. The next night Cynthia came home alone. Again. When she stepped into the apartment though she could hear moans coming from Rob’s room. From behind his closed door. The unmistakable moans of a woman. Cindy couldn’t stop herself from crossing the room and putting her ear to the door. She could hear a bed squeaking. Rob softly grunting. And a girl’s soft sobs of pleasure. “Unh! Unh! Unh! Yes! Right there! Yes!” The girl gasped. Cynthia hadn’t even realized she had slipped her hand into her shorts until she felt her fingers slide through her downy. It could’ve been a joke, or even worse a trap, and while I was pretty sure it was you, I did not in fact know. ?I also think you don’t have the fullest appreciation of just how easy it is to mistake a Kimmy in white gogo boots, red short shorts, a white domino mask, and dim lighting for you. Same height, same build, same decidedly non-caucasian glossy black hair, same pale dusty skin, no tats, no piercings. ?Third, I don’t think you realize that while Kimmy’s indeed a prize, I’m not the type to settle for second best and that I was on my way back to the party in hopes of collecting you when I got your little text message suicide note.?That’s all it takes and you’re bawling like a five year old who just lost her doggie. Before you can open your stitches or anything, he’s in bed beside you and he’s gently releasing your arms from the rails, deftly trapping your flaming wrists, minimizing your agony as he pulls you into his lap and holds you close.?That’s okay, my perfect little suicide.
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