Chapter 10: Post-Filling Tease
The cool night air was a shock after the pantry’s stifling heat. Ritchie stumbled through the front door, his legs unsteady, and collapsed onto the weathered wooden rocking chair on the porch. The chair groaned under his weight, its rhythmic creak a stark contrast to the frantic pounding of his heart. Before he could even draw a full breath, a familiar scent of cheap perfume and female musk enveloped him.
Evelyn’s Harley slid onto his lap, her fishnet-clad thighs bracketing his hips with practiced ease. “Mmm, still throbbing after stuffing two tight turkeys back-to-back?” she purred, her voice a low, knowing hum. She ground the soaked fabric of her micro-shorts against his sensitive shaft, making him jerk. Her gloved fingers traced the obscene, heavy bulge of his rapidly refilling balls through the purple trousers. “Harley can feel your hot gravy sloshing inside me from the bathroom… and now some other lucky Harley got your special recipe bubbling in her oven too”
She rotated her hips in a slow, deliberate circle, the dampness from her shorts seeping through his trousers to warm his twitching flesh. “All us Harleys have been talking, Puddin’,” she breathed, her masked face close to his. “We’ve got a little bet on which of our ovens your special gravy will take root in first.”
Her gloved hand slid from his balls to palm the formidable, re-hardening length of him. “We all want a bun in the oven, a real Joker junior.” His sac tightened, a deep, familiar ache beginning to build again with terrifying speed.
The relentless pressure in his sac was a ticking clock counting down to another eruption. “That’s the plan, Puddin’,” she whispered, her breath hot in his ear as her hips kept up their slow, maddening grind. “We’re all gonna take turns keeping this big, beautiful cock of yours nice and hard.”
Her gloved finger traced a lazy circle over the damp spot on his trousers where his last release had seeped through. “No rest for the wicked,” she giggled, applying just enough pressure to make him gasp. “Every single one of us Harleys wants a turn on your gravy train.”
She leaned back, her massive I-cup breasts straining against the corset as she looked down at the obscene bulge in his lap. “We’re gonna tease you and edge you and keep you right on the brink.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial hush. “Till every one of our ovens gets a big, hot load of your special batter deep, deep inside.”
The sheer audacity of the plan sent a fresh jolt of blood straight to his already-throbbing cock. “All of you?” he managed to grunt, his mind reeling from the pantry and now this. She just nodded, a wicked smile playing on her lips beneath the mask.
“Every. Last. One.” she confirmed, punctuating each word with a slow, rolling thrust of her hips. “We all want to be dripping with you, Puddin’. We all want to feel that thick seed pumping into our wombs.”
His balls gave a heavy, sympathetic pulse, already feeling impossibly full again. She slid off his lap with a final, deliberate grind, leaving him aching and painfully erect in the cool night air. “Better save your strength,” she purred, stepping back into the crowd. “The night is still young, and my sisters are very, very hungry.”