Streams and Schemes

by Rebecca Kinkade

Starbucks announcing the return of the pumpkin spice latte at the end of the month, and everyone knows the return of the PSL means cuffing season is around the corner.

“Don’t touch her. If you put your hands on her one more time, I’ll rip them off and then sue you for getting blood on my suit. Am I fucking clear?”

Completely unrelated to you giving me a taste and then leaving me starving.”

These tits are my religion. My beginning and end, alpha and omega, all that shit. I live for these tits. I’d die for these perfect tits.

There’s something about a woman five years younger than me calling me a good boy that has me torn between finding enough rope to wrangle the moon for her or using that same rope to bind her and prove I’m neither good nor a boy.

“I have no doubt in my mind that I’m going to fall madly in love with you.”

I hate taking orders, but right now I would bathe in his cum if he told me to.

“Well, while you figure out the plan, I’ll be over here waiting to be used and owned by my fine as hell next-door-neighbor.”

No puedo vivir sin ti. No quiero vivir sin ti.”

And finally, I utter the two words I’ve wanted to say since the night I thought I was going to die: “Marry me?”