Bake-Off Overload

Five pissed-off ladies track a broken crust trail right into some rando’s backyard and there sits Mighty Dee, looking like the cat that swallowed the fucking canary. Every last crumb of their contest pies has vanished down his greedy throat. Andi, Cami, Annie, Adira and Charli go from boiling mad to pouty pretty quick because now the question isn’t missing pastry, it’s whose was the tastiest. Ol’ Dawg refuses to pick, just keeps licking his messy fingers and shrugging. Their eyes meet his. Skin-tight dresses strain, hips switch, tongues flick across lips, the whole horny cheerleading squad pulled out just to bend this fickle kid one inch. “C’mon, baby,” Andi murmurs, leaning in, tits pressing warm to his shoulder. “One little point. Whose did you love the most?” The shorts drop, knees spread, mouths and hands and warm, slick skin get put to work like it’s a war-of-wills blow job Derby. Every slurp, every moan, every open invite they flash begs the same thing: say the name and you can nut anywhere you want. Every filthy sigh begs him to confess which pie disappeared down his greedy throat first. He still can’t talk, mouth too busy with curves sliding over his tongue, asses bouncing in his palms, soft velvet heat dripping on every remaining piece of skin, and still they’ll give more till someone finally crowns the pie-baking champion.