The Squip Be More Chill Novels & Stories

"You're the coolest chick ever." She giggled. "Just don't tell my boyfriend," she said, wiggling a finger at him. There was a smattering of groans from them, and she raised an eyebrow. "What, you don't want to ogle me now that you know I have a boyfriend?" There was another smattering of laughter and she turned, looking around at the machines. "Squats," one of the guys asked, looking around at the others. "Oh, hell yeah," another guy said, slapping the guy's hand in celebration.

_*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> "Well, are ya coming or not? They don't let people squat in the lobby here, ya know." _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> Khyle snorted his objection to the insult, but he still glanced down at himself and frowned. Maybe his jogging pants were a bit baggy, but they were his favorite weekend pants. He looked up, eyes narrowed. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> "Are you saying I'm dressed like a squatter?" _*]:min-w-0 gap-3">

Dora stood there, wearing a faint smile. Our eyes met, and for a second, my mind blanked. It wasn't love. Her gaze was just... clean. Like a lake you could fall into without realizing it. She shifted under my stare, shy. A light blush crept up her cheeks. I caught myself and smiled, a quiet apology. I was about to speak when she sat down beside me. She was close. Close enough that I caught a faint, clean scent drifting off her.

He was wearing a white shirt and looked tall and as striking as ever. He took off and ran to me. “You’re back… Just like you said you would.” He pulled me into a tight embrace. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long.” The heat of his body coursing through me reminded me that this was real. I could smell the salty scent of the sea and the warmth of the sun from him. It was nothing like the nauseating smell of cigars on Xavier. At this point, I could not hold back anymore and started to cry.

The wet squelch was obscene—loud, rhythmic, filthy. He came first. Buried to the root and roared, flooding me with hot, thick ropes that I felt splash deep inside. Pulse after pulse. My belly tightened with the pressure. When he finally pulled out, a gush followed—creamy white torrent spilling down my crack, pooling under my ass on the bench.

That drove me into a deep harlot-like laugh, that I had to clutch the countertop. “I swear, if that tape ever gets leaked, I’m changing my name and moving to Greenland.”I wheezed. Sierra sipped her juice with a smirk. “I’ll come with you. But only if there's Wi-Fi. I wanna stream it.” She says playfully. I'm burning calories with her around. “Okay, spill, I'm sure there's a top Dom.” She quipped “If we’re talking roughness, it’s a tie between Pierce and Nero.”I added,

Kevin tilted his head, staring fixedly at Mitbahl. After a moment, a look of enlightenment spread across his cute face. "I got it, you're the so-called 'shemale'!" Mitbahl rolled his eyes provocatively. "I'm a bit pussy, but I'm still a regular guy, not a shemale." Meanwhile, Godber gestured for Kirin and Misoup to take the chairs nearby. "Ready?" Misoup: "Yeah." Kirin: "I don't need preparation."

'I bet she's just Damien and Adrian's type. Sienna felt dull and childish next to her. When Damien passed her the joint, he told her to breathe it in, hold it in for as long as possible and try not to cough too much. She did cough, but the others didn't tease her. The girl told her it was normal to cough the first time. As Damien talked to his cool older friends about the #notallmen debate, Sienna tried not to laugh at the memory of an episode of SpongeBob her kid brother had been watching this morning. Then she noticed with amazement that the paving slabs seemed to be moving up and down.

CLOE POV Sun and cocktails and ice cream and a quick change of clothes, and we were out again, grooving to the beat at Club Wave, a dance bar on the beach, with loud tunes and disco lights, and dry ice and drag queens. I was covered in black sequins, a backless dress that barely covered my ass and sparkled under the lights, twirling in heels with a pink glitter nail polish on my toes. And there was Soren, in a tight white tee, his hipster jeans showing off the v of his hips as he danced at my side with glow-bands around his wrists. Soren had moves. He pumped the air and he twirled, whooping as the bass picked up. Soren was hot, and alive, and free.

“What’s wrong with looking for SpongeBob?” He’s fighting a smile. I can see it in the way his mouth twitches. “Nothing, if that’s your thing. I’m sure I could find you a SpongeBob centre. T-shirts. Balloons. A life-sized mascot, too. Just say the words and it’s all yours.” “No thanks,” I say, pulling down the sun visor and flipping open the mirror. I check my reflection and, thankfully, my anxiety didn’t melt my mascara. “I’m more of a Squidward girl.”