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“Did you just say the fucking Hallopeen?! What even is that?”
“The Hallowpeen comes and jacks you off at night, refusing to leave until your peen is as hollow as his soul, muahahaha,”
“If I-CUP summons the Hallowpeen, then what’s next? Does typing 8008 into a device bring out the Boobyman?”
His engorged gourdhood’s orange surface is slicked with froth, like a whipped topping on a pumpkin spice latte. Inch by inch, I stare in awe at his immeasurable length that dangles in front of me. The fluted base curves away from his body, jutting out like a butternut squash. Under a layer of pumpkin foreskin I can see the tip of the stem wanting to poke out.
I’m currently in a Hallowpeen sandwich, all I can think about is how close their pumpkins are to my pie.
“Let’s take her inside and show our new guest how we peen in Peentown.”
I’ve always been a coffee girl, but being tea-bagged like this is more electrifying than any seasonal latte.
I know what I ought to want, and it isn’t hallowpeen. I came here to find another person, and I should be begging to get back home. But what I found instead was the chance to have the ultimate pumpkin spice experience, three horny and attentive men of legend who only want me. If I never go home, I think I’ll be just fine.
He reaches under his plastic skirt, and with a quick, fluid motion he rips his condom off his rigid form. A latex pop fills the air as a gigantic bag of gummy bears comes out, neatly packaged in his wrapper.