“What about the jack-o-lantern?” I ask.
“Let the gourd watch,” you say breathlessly.
I drop the carving knife as you drop to your knees. Zipper down, eager erection rising to meet your devouring grin. Leaning back, elbows resting rudely on the table, I slip inside. Your eyes shine up at me with backlit burning desire, while with skillful mastery you chisel a toothy grin across my face.
Now it’s you on the table, and me between your thighs, sinking deep inside your slit, we climax together in a violent orange explosion as pumpkin guts spray across the kitchen floor.
