Sunday Stories: “Cauliflory”


by Nat Mesnard

The night of the gala, I arrived to work at the conservatory as the sun was setting. The glass building appeared alien, as though it had landed on the hill to capture specimens of the waning December light. Tom dropped me off at the back entrance. I was late, but before he would let me out of the car, he made me put his cock in my mouth. I didn’t have to do anything with it. I think he just wanted to know it had been there, and that knowledge enabled him to drive away.

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