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.

“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!”

I fall next to him, laughing as I look up at the sky melting into creamsicle hues amongst the puff of white clouds.

These vegetables aren’t going to come to life and make themselves useful.”

My God is bigger than the Boogeyman

This feels like my first test, and I rack my brain for a response. “Praise be,” I mutter, stumbling over the two words.

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

“You look like you need something to fill that hole inside of you.”

“Don’t look so nervous. You asked God to fill you up, and here we are—ready to use you for His will.”

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?

The feeling of Father Laurent’s cucumber cock in my hand still warms my skin. Why did I imagine his cock as a cucumber?

“Oh, Emily, I promise Father Robert and I are nothing like the priests you're used to.”

“Oh, Barabara Manatez, you are the one for me!”

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.

These damn priests are doing something to me, and now there's something about these vegetables that are making me all hot and bothered. Please don’t send me to hell.”

I want to be closer, to witness as Emily inserts Laurent into her warm and wet treasure.

I’m just a veggie, and veggies can’t sin.”

It’s like that one time I got my lips stuck in a gate.”

“Everybody wants a water buffalo. Yours is mean, but mine is a kind fellow. Oh, where would you find one? I don't know, but everybody wants a water buffalo.”

‘Silly Songs with Laurent.’”

And then here I am. A random girl, rubbing their vegetable bodies all over me like a horny teenager. Their love story seems poetic and tragic—like Achilles and Patroclus but adding me to the mix makes it seem like some corny smut novel.

“Pounding you as produce doesn’t even compare to how I can fuck you. I’m in control of your pleasure this time.”

“Robert, you were a tomato I rubbed myself off with. Be so for real right now.”

I should be euthanized. Seriously.

Our love story is a weird fucking tale, but it’s my favorite. The tale of the veggies who found love.