Bar Flies

When they step through my door and ask about the smell I pretend not to notice.

I am neither an attractive nor an interesting woman, which is how I know men that approach me only want to fuck. I consider this a natural process that filters out the reasonable. Those too drunk to know what they are doing are excused and only if their mistakes persist do I find my generosity slipping.

When they step through my door and ask about the smell I pretend not to notice. I am rarely invited to their homes; I imagine half of them have wives, and the other half live with their parents. It’s good to speculate on who flashes before their eyes as their lives draw to a close.

I become aroused at the scent of their sweat as they work themselves up, giving the impression they are performing well. Too late they notice my body unfurling, giving birth to a nightmarish wall of flesh. As I fold over and secrete gastric juices I feel their dick soften against me. Eventually their struggling ceases, and it is then my great body shudders with an orgasm.