Pounded by Produce

by G.M. Fairy

The job seems too good to be true, and I have half a mind to ask whoever picks up the phone whose dick I have to suck to get the position because I most definitely will suck a few penises to get out of this dump and be able to make myself a goddamn omelet.

It’s a horrible thought, but the devil gets in my brain when I’m hungry.

“Have you seen my hairbrush?” Laurent yells across the field from the back kitchen door. I whip my attention to him as he rushes toward me, all legs and arms flailing behind his tall form. I shake my head when he’s still several paces away. He sulks, looking up at the clouds and screaming, “Oh, where is my hairbrush!”

Father. Fuck me. I knew there would be priests, but hot priests? What kind of rom-com is this?

He’s hard—so hard, unlike any cock I’ve felt before. He’s also smooth. Almost like a…I don’t know, a cucumber?

That’s not a tomato at all. That’s Robert. I could recognize him in any form. It doesn’t look like Robert. It looks like a goddamn tomato, but as much as I can tell I’m a cucumber, I can tell that tomato is Robert.

Praise the Lord for whatever the heck is going on right now, because God do I fucking love being a cucumber.