Кончает на геймершу пока она играет в Mortal Kombat
Title: “Forgotten Son (-part 1)”
Every now and then, your destiny is revealed right before your eyes; sometimes it’s the game changing play in the final seconds of a championship, or the ‘aha!’ moment when you discover a hack for a notoriously difficult video game. In both instances, everything that transpired leading up to that very moment has and had to occur in order for that instant of brilliance to come to fruition.
In Marcelin Abadir’s case, her destiny was calling shortly after 2:30pm at a local gaming cafe.
It was quiet, too quiet. Business was scarce for the cafe owned by Mr. and Mrs. Bhavani due to news of a sex scandal involving their son, Aashir Bhavani. “I don’t know why businesses should pay the price for our kids’ poor choices,” lamented Ms. Bhavani, but what do you do?
Marcelin made that statement come to some form of saliency as she sauntered into the cafe. Her default walk was akin to that of a model strutting down the catwalk. Ms. Bhavani couldn’t help but interrupt her cleaning of the cafe to quietly and curiously gawk at this youth.
Her hot pink, as if spray painted on, booty shorts rode up the young, supple curves of her cotton white bum shorts. Each stride was rewarded with her cheeks extending and contracting, in an almost uncontrollable octopus of flesh. Her charcoal tight tank top could only barricade so much as she made her way to an stall in the corner of the cafe, bedlam for her surreal landscape of flesh.
“Hi Ms. Bhavani, hope you don’t mind, just gonna play some Mortal Kombat real quick,” Marcelin casually stated.
“A-call me if you need anything,” Ms. Bhavani replied. On her way back to the front of the cafe, she subconsciously felt a twinge in her abdomen – some unconscious memory of having to inexplicably look after her own kids.
Marcelin plopped down in front of the old, beat up PC and stuck in her headphones. This was her unofficial, personalized sacred space. Away from screaming family, away from classmates. A place where she could finally be alone – or so she thought. Just then, she heard something behind her. She quickly stopped her turnaround after seeing it was Aashir, the son of the cafe owners.
“Aashir? What are you…like, why are you purple?” Her shock had revealed the juicy territory of her recently bit bottom lip. Cherry vanilla swirl in a bowl of thick, creaminess.
“S-shut up Marquesen,” he mumbled, and with that began the grueling task of loading up Mortal Kombat. It wasn’t apparent whether the cafe owners were currently in the cafe nor how many patrons were present at the cafe – that was the point.
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