Depressed Young Men Seek Comfort from Sweet Girls

Those little shits from the Lost Boys are in a foul mood again, pacing around like caged animals. I need to get away from their anger, their fists, their stupid bravado. The only place I feel safe is buried deep inside the girl’s honey hole—that warm, wet, tight cunt that takes all my frustrations and turns them into pure bliss. I’m on my knees, face pressed against her thighs, inhaling her musk as she spreads open for me. Her pussy glistens, ready to be devoured. I plunge my tongue inside, tasting her sweet cream, and she moans, pulling my hair. Yeah, that’s it—use me, drown out their shouts with your moans. I need this; I need to be lost in your hole, forgetting the world outside. Her hips grind against my face, and I slurp harder, feeling her clit swell under my lips. She’s close; I can feel her tightening. Come for me, baby—let me drink your pleasure and wash away the bad mood. I push two fingers inside her, curling them to hit that spot, and she screams, flooding my mouth with her release. I lap it all up, greedy for more, as the Lost Boys’ noise fades into nothing. This is my comfort, my escape—her cunt, my salvation.