Justin Dittrich
Pretty Please, Sis?!?
Not As Straight As You Think You Are
Indica’s chilling when Sera bursts into the room, eyes lit up, phone glued to her ear. She needs help nailing the answer to win concert tickets. Indica spits the right name, the girls start screaming. Two tickets to see their band live. Then the phone call ends and the dream dies—they only scored one. The fight kicks off fast. Both want it. Neither gives ground. Sera’s cheeks burn. Indica watches her a second, then decides on a different play. She slides closer, voice low, says she knows exactly what Sera’s been staring at when she thinks nobody sees. Offers to give her a taste—right now—if the ticket changes hands. Hands meet skin. Clothes come off in the rush. Indica gets on her knees, mouth open, working her tongue over every wet fold while Sera grabs the headboard and bites back moans. Fingers slip inside, find the spot that makes Sera’s thighs shake. Sera grinds down, hungry, not caring about the rules. They trade turns, tasting, riding, biting lips to stay quiet. Sweat on skin, slick sounds, soft curses under breath. Sera comes hard, hips jerking, one hand clamped over her mouth. The ticket sits on the nightstand. Nobody reaches for it.
Indica’s chilling when Sera bursts into the room, eyes lit up, phone glued to her ear. She needs help nailing the answer to win concert tickets. Indica spits the right name, the girls start screaming. Two tickets to see their band live. Then the phone call ends and the dream dies—they only scored one. The fight kicks off fast. Both want it. Neither gives ground. Sera’s cheeks burn. Indica watches her a second, then decides on a different play. She slides closer, voice low, says she knows exactly what Sera’s been staring at when she thinks nobody sees. Offers to give her a taste—right now—if the ticket changes hands. Hands meet skin. Clothes come off in the rush. Indica gets on her knees, mouth open, working her tongue over every wet fold while Sera grabs the headboard and bites back moans. Fingers slip inside, find the spot that makes Sera’s thighs shake. Sera grinds down, hungry, not caring about the rules. They trade turns, tasting, riding, biting lips to stay quiet. Sweat on skin, slick sounds, soft curses under breath. Sera comes hard, hips jerking, one hand clamped over her mouth. The ticket sits on the nightstand. Nobody reaches for it.