Misha & Misty VII
Misha turns to me, her green eyes sparkling, " I'm craving Pepperoni and olives."
She has my hand, and we're out the dorm door.
My sneakers squeak on the linoleum.
"It's Friday night. Everywhere will be packed."
"Maybe, not the local," Misha says, winking.
"The one by the Ink & Iron shop. Has a good rep, I've heard."
We walk the few blocks to the pizzeria, the neon sign buzzing in the distance—a flickering red 'PIZZA' with the 'Z' flickering out intermittently.
A couple of bikes are parked outside. Look familiar.
Nuh! A bike is a bike.
The smell hits us first: yeast, then motes of flour, oregano, and underneath it, the distinct scent of big boys and leather.
It's gritty, it's greasy, and it's exactly where we belong right now.
The bell above the door continues jingling, out-of-tune note.
The interior is dim, lit mostly by the neon sign and the glow of the ovens in the back.
Behind the counter, standing amidst a flurry of flour and sauce, are the bikers from Tuesday night.
Gold Tooth and the Tall One.
Gold Tooth is wiping his hands on a stained apron, his shaved head gleaming under the heat lamps.
He spots us instantly, that gold tooth catching the light as a grin splits his face. It's predatory, hungry.
Next to him, the Tall One stretches, his broad shoulders straining against his leather cut.
He looks like he hasn't shaved in a week, the scruff accentuating the sharp angle of his jaw. His eyes glint with a mischief that promises bad boy trouble.
"Well, well," Gold Tooth grunts, his voice like gravel crunching under tyres.
"Look what the sidewalk dragged in. The two little college sluts."
Misha doesn't flinch. She sashays up to the counter, leaning forward so her cleavage is on full display.
"We're hungry," she announces, tapping a manicured finger on the glass display case.
"Large pepperoni and olives. Stuffed crust. Extra cheese."
The Tall One leans over the counter, invading her personal space, smelling tomato paste and cigarette smoke.
"We don't just serve anyone, little girl. This is a special kind of kitchen."
"We're special customers," I chime in, surprising myself with the steadiness of my voice. I step up beside Misha.
"We heard you can handle... custom orders."
Gold Tooth rubs his hands. He looks at his partner, then back at us, his eyes raking over our bodies, undressing us with a gaze that feels physical.
"You want a custom order, you little tramps, we can accommodate that."
"Good," Misha purrs, biting her lip. "Because we're very demanding customers."
The Tall One comes out from behind the counter, moving with a fluid, dangerous grace. He locks the front door, flipping the sign to 'Closed' with a decisive snap. The sound of the bolt sliding home sends a shiver straight to my pussy. We're trapped. We're prey. And I love it.
"Get on the counter," Gold Tooth orders, pointing a thick, grease-stained finger at the stainless-steel prep surface. "Now."
It's not a request. It's a demand. And in this night of dough and lust, we are more than willing to play our parts.
Misha hops up first, her ass hitting the slick metal with a clang. She spreads her legs, her boots dangling off the edge.
I follow, my heart pounding in my throat. The steel is cool against the back of my thighs, a stark contrast to the heat blooming in my core.
"Pepperoni and olives," the Tall One repeats, grabbing a can of tomato sauce.
He pops the lid, the sound sharp like a zip.
"Let's see how you taste with some toppings."
He dips a rough, calloused finger into the sauce and then smears it directly onto Misha's lips. She gasps, her tongue darting out to lick the red pulp, her eyes locked on his. "Salty," she murmurs. "I like it."
Gold Tooth is in front of me, his large hands gripping my knees and forcing them apart. He doesn't bother with the sauce. He just grabs the hem of my oversized sweater and yanks it up, exposing my breasts. I'm not wearing a bra—we didn't exactly have time to dress properly after the meeting. My nipples harden instantly in the cool air.
"Nice tits," he grunts, before bending down to take one into his mouth. His teeth scrape against the sensitive skin, sending a jolt of electricity down my spine. I moan, my head falling back, hitting the pizza display case behind me.
"Ah—yes—"
Meanwhile, the Tall One has ripped Misha's dress down the middle.
The fabric tears with a satisfying rrrrip.
He doesn't care about the clothes; he wants the flesh underneath. He grabs a handful of pepperoni slices from a prep tray and slaps them against her pale skin, arranging them over her small tits like a perverse mosaic.
"Look at that," he laughs, a dark, dirty sound.
"A fucking meat lover's special."
Misha giggles, the sound turning into a moan as he bends down to lick the sauce off her stomach. His tongue is hot and rough, tracing circles around her navel where her fresh "Tramp" tattoo sits. "Eat me, you bastard," she hisses, grabbing his hair and grinding her hips against his face.
Gold Tooth moves his attention lower. He unbuttons my jeans with surprising dexterity for such large hands, yanking them and my panties down to my ankles in one swift motion. The air hits my wet cunt, making me gasp. I'm exposed, open, dripping for him.
"Stuffed crust," he mutters, eyeing my pussy like it's a prize cut of meat. "Let's stuff this bitch."
He grabs a bottle of olive oil from the counter—the good stuff, glass and imported. He pours it directly over my chest and stomach, the liquid cold and slick. It runs down into my lap, pooling between my thighs. The smell of olives is intoxicating, mixing with the scent of sex.
"Fuck," I breathe, watching the oil glisten on my skin. "That feels... so dirty."
"You ain't seen nothing yet, sweetheart," Gold Tooth growls.
He slicks up his massive cock, which he's freed from his greasy jeans. It's thick, veined, and angry-looking, the head purple and engorged.
He lines it up with my entrance, not my pussy, but lower.
He wants my ass.
Holy hell! Am I ready for this! My petite virgin tushy!
He pushes forward, the oil acting as the perfect lube. The stretch is immediate and intense—a burning, full sensation that makes my eyes water. "Oh god—oh fuck—it's too big!"
"Relax," he grunts, gripping my hips firmly.
"Take it like a good tramp."
He pushes deeper, inch by thick inch, stuffing my asshole full of his cock. I can feel every ridge, every vein as he slides into me. The pain melts into a perverse pleasure, a dull throbbing ache that radiates through my entire pelvis. I'm being stuffed, literally and figuratively.
"Look at her," Misha pants from beside me.
She's watching me, her eyes wide and glazed. The Tall One has her flipped over, her face pressed against the stainless steel, her ass in the air. He's eating her asshole from behind, his tongue diving deep, making wet, slurping sounds that echo in the empty shop.
"She loves it. Look at her taking that fat cock in her ass."
"Shut up and take this dick," the Tall One snarls, standing up and lining himself up with her asshole. He thrusts in hard, making Misha scream—a sound of pure ecstasy. "Yeah! That's it! Open up!"
The counter is shaking. The metal is cold against my back, but the bodies covering me are furnaces. Gold Tooth starts to piston in and out of me, his balls slapping against my ass with a wet smack, smack, smack.
The oil squelches between us, a filthy, wet percussion to our fucking.
"Ooff! Aahh! Jeezz! Oooff! Aah! Aah!"
Okay, it smarted; it was raw. But soon it was strangely addictive.I crave every smack of his balls on my wobbling buttocks.
"Your ass is tight," Gold Tooth grunts, sweat dripping from his nose onto my face.
"Gonna fill you up like a calzone."
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing to feel every inch.
"Do it," I whimper, my voice cracking. "Stuff me full. Use my asshole."
The smell of pepperoni, olives, oil, and sex is overwhelming.
It's a sensory overload that drives me crazy.
I reach out blindly, finding Misha's hand. Our fingers intertwine, slick with oil and sweat. We're being used, degraded, fucked in a greasy pizzeria by two bikers, and it's the most intense moment of my life.
Suddenly, the bell above the door jingles.
Gold Tooth is buried balls-deep in my ass, the Tall One is halfway up Misha's patootie.
The door opens, letting in a blast of cool night air.
Someone doesn't understand closed.
But they understand an instant invite.
Silhouetted by the streetlights are two figures.
Raven and Vixen.
Raven, with her jagged black bob and heavy eyeliner, looks like a queen surveying her kingdom. Vixen, her teal mohawk defying gravity, stands with her hands on her hips, a smirk playing on her pierced lips.
"Well," Raven says, her voice cool and commanding. "We smelled something delicious. I thought it was olives, but it looks like the meat is very fresh tonight."
Vixen laughs, stepping into the light. "I told you they couldn't stay out of trouble. Look at them, getting rolled and stuffed before we even got here."
The bikers don't stop. If anything, the audience spurs them on.
Gold Tooth grunts and starts fucking me harder, deeper, ramming his cock into my rectum with brutal force. I cry out, my back arching off the counter.
"Ah—ah—fuck! Yes!"
Raven walks over to us, her boots clicking on the floor. She ignores the bikers completely, focusing her dark eyes on me.
"You started the party without us, little one?"
"I... we were hungry," I gasp, between thrusts.
"I can see that," she purrs. She reaches out, dipping a finger into the olive oil pooling on my stomach, and then brings it to her lips, tasting it. "Hmm. A bit salty. But I think I can improve the flavour."
She leans down and kisses me, her mouth cool and firm against my hot, frantic lips. Her tongue dives in, claiming me, tasting the pizza sauce and the desperation.
It's a kiss that says you are mine.
Vixen has joined Misha and the Tall One. She's running her hands over Misha's back, scratching her nails down the skin, leaving red welts. "Move over, big boy," she says to the Tall One.
"Let a professional show you how to stuff a crust."
The Tall One pulls out with a slushy pop, pop, leaving Misha's asshole gaping and fully gawped.
Vixen doesn't hesitate.
God, the bitch doesn't leave her strap-on at home!
She's wearing it under her ripped fishnets—black, thick, and menacing.
She steps between Misha's thighs.
"Ready for the main course, Red?" Vixen asks, slapping Misha's ass with the rubber cock.
"Fuck yes," Misha moans, pushing her ass back. "Give it to me."
Vixen thrusts forward, sinking the dildo into Misha's waiting ass. Misha screams, her fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slippery steel counter. "Oh god! Yes! Fuck my ass!"
The scene is pure chaos. It's how you imagine your first orgy.
Bodies everywhere. Bodies locked. Bodies copulating. Bodies delighting in sharing the nasty. The nasty being blissfully divine.
Gold Tooth is pounding my asshole, Raven is kissing me and pinching my nipples, Vixen is railing Misha, and the Tall One... the Tall One has moved around to the front, shoving his cock into Misha's gasping mouth.
It's a group sex free-for-all. It's the Friday night from the realm of lust, and I never want it to end.
"You like that, you dirty slut?" Gold Tooth growls in my ear, his breath hot and rank. "You like getting fucked in a pizzeria?"
"I love it," I sob, tears of pleasure leaking from my eyes. "I love your cock in my ass! It's so big! It's so deep!"
The sounds are a symphony of filth.
Squelch. Slap. Grunt. Moan. Gag.
Gurgle, gag, slappy squelch.
Primal grunts all round.
The wet slap of combined flesh, the slurping of mouths, the creaking of the leather boots.
Raven breaks the kiss and moves down my body.
She pushes Gold Tooth back slightly, just an inch, creating space. She looks at my stretched asshole, filled with Gold Tooth's cock, and smiles.
"Beautiful," she whispers. Then she spits right on my clit, the saliva mixing with the oil and my own juices. She bends her head and latches onto my clit, sucking hard.
The sensation is defining. I love being a woman
"Oohh! Aahh! Aah! Aah!"
I have a huge cock in my ass and a woman's mouth on my clit. My body lights up like a brand-new neon sign.
A slurry of saliva, a slick leaking of my girly jus, combines under her probing tongue.
Her tongue skims, cruises, investigates and lounges in my folds and crinkled flappy labia. She hunts my pink bead. Her tongue scouting its nub.
Licking fast. Licking fast. Hummingbird tongue fat.
"Fuck! Raven! Oh my god! I'm gonna cum!"
"Cum for me," Gold Tooth grunts, his rhythm becoming erratic.
"Cum all over my dick while I polish your ass."
"Y-yes! Yes! Stuff my asshole!"
My orgasm hits me like a freight train. My muscles lock up, my vision whites out, and a scream tears from my throat.
"Aaaaaahhh!"
My slit convulses, gushing juices onto Raven's face, while my rilled asshole clamps around Gold Tooth's cock.
He roars, burying himself to the hilt, and I feel him pulse. Hot, thick cum spurts deep into my bowels, coating my insides. It's filthy, it's wet, it's absolutely degrading.
And it's perfect.
Beside me, Misha is cumming too. She's thrashing against the counter, Vixen pounding her ass, the Tall One choking her with his cock. Her whole-body shakes, a violent, beautiful release.
The smell of sex is overpowering now, drowning out the pizza. We are a tangled heap of limbs—leather, fishnets, grease, and sweat droplets.
Gold Tooth pulls out of me slowly, a flood of cum following his cock, dripping out of my balloon knot onto the steel counter.
I feel empty, gaping, used.
Raven stands up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a dark, satisfied smile on her face.
"Well," she says, looking around the destroyed shop.
"I think that earned us a free pizza."
Vixen laughs, pulling out of Misha and slapping her ass one last time. "Pepperoni and olive, right?"
Misha rolls over, her hair a mess, her makeup smeared, but her eyes are shining brighter than ever. She looks at me, and we share a look that says we did this.
We fell from grace, and we landed in a pile of orgasms and pizza toppings.
"Extra stuffed," Misha whispers, her voice hoarse.
Gold Tooth leans against the counter, exhausted but grinning.
"Ladies," he says, gesturing to the kitchen. "The oven is still hot. Let's feed you, tramps."
I lie there, covered in oil, cum, and sweat, and I start to laugh.
It's a hysterical, uncontrollable laugh.
Me: Misty, the psychology student, the good girl, the quiet one—lying on a biker's prep table with a load of cum in her ass and the best orgasm of her life still tingling in her nerves.
Misha joins in, her laughter mixing with mine. Raven and Vixen look at us like we're crazy, but they're smiling too.
"Come on, Misty," Misha says, grabbing my hand again.
"Let's eat that pizza."
I sit up, wincing slightly as my tender ass protests.
I look at the motley crew around us—the bikers, the tattoo artists, my stepsister.
This isn't a date night leading nowhere, roses and polite conversation across the table; your hometown, the sports you play and your GPA shite.
It's the anarchy of lust.
And I embrace it.