As fraught with terror as you are, when Pete tells you how he intends to use your tiny face for his own pleasure you begin to scramble violently in his grip. You've despised Pete Wentz ever since he became one of the most adored and desired young men in the music industry - part of your hatred, you know deep down, is jealousy. No girl has ever screamed for you the way tens of thousands do at each of his concerts. And you'd rather die than suffer the humiliation of being used as the power-hungry sex symbol's helpless little toy. But all your little thrashes and yelps are futile.. Pete clamps your head between his huge fingers, nearly squashing your body in his palm, then he rips his black jeans down to his knees and pulls down his Y-front underwear. The huge, hairy beast between his thighs flies past you as you're quickly positioned under and behind his package. Pete slides your soft face over the flesh between his ass and balls, shivering with ecstacy, as he watches his cock stand itself up immediately. The overpowering odour of unshowered scrotum makes you sick and lightheaded. All you can see is the colour of Pete's skin - a colour you're becoming so familiar with that you'll be happy if you never see it again. Your face is worked under Pete's sweaty ballsack, run over the mountainous testicles, and up and down his rock hard erection until the man can't take any more. He squeezes you painfully in the air, shooting come all over the wooden floorboards - the splattering echoes throughout the giant world around you. "GOD DAMMIT!! YES!! AH, YES!!!" He yells, out of breath. As soon as his orgasm subsides, Pete looks at you, smiling, then at his watch. He says..
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