FYOP/Hollywood Hardware/0030
"So, this is where I live," you say, throwing your jacket on a chair. "Make yourself at home."
"Oh, I will," Janelle says, sashaying over to the couch and making herself comfortable. Beside her she drops a bag of accessories you had brought with you from Hollywood Hardware. You hadn't bothered to look into it.
But you didn't expect her to bring a strap-on out of it.
"Um, Janelle, I don't know if I'm ready for that yet," you say, a little apprehensive.
"Oh, don't be a little bitch," she says, coming over and grabbing your ass. "I know you want it. You've been eyeing my strap-on ever since I got it. Now it's time to take it for a test drive."
"But, Janelle, I don't know if I can do it," you say, your heart racing.
"Of course you can," she says, coming over and kissing you. "I believe in you. Now let's go have some fun." She bends you over, giving you an extra slap in the back of the head as you go.
And that's how you find yourself, an hour later, with your ass in the air and a strap-on pounding away inside of you. It hurts, but it also feels really good, and you can't help but moan in pleasure.
"See, baby, I knew you could do it," Janelle says, leaning over and giving you a kiss. "You're a good little bitch."
And you can't help but agree—this is the best sex you've ever had. When it's over, you sink down to lie flat on the bed, as Janelle continues to lie on top of you, relaxing.
"I think I can write a poem about your ass. Ha. Listen to this," she grins and recites:
"Roses are red, violets are blue. Your ass is amazing, and so is my strap-on."
You can't help but laugh, and then you give her a kiss. "I love you, Janelle." You bite your lip.
"Now make up an even sillier poem!"
"Wait, you're programmed to write poetry?!"