Squirrel

Oh, this is going to be a fuckin' problem.

Squirrel--that's all anyone calls her now, because once you earn a name like that, it never goes away. Not after what happened out in front of the CVS on South Street, where she had the tragic yet deeply comedic misfortune of getting into a full-on tussle with an eastern grey squirrel that, by all accounts, won.

No one even remembers what started it. Did she have food? Did the squirrel just hate her on sight? Did she say some dumb shit and it took offense? The details were lost to history, but what wasn't lost was the image of Deborah Renee Smith screaming, spinning, falling, and ultimately losing to that small, furry menace.

So now? She's Squirrel.

And Squirrel walks into Carina Marie Delvecchio's CVS like a fuckin' problem.

She's 5'4", rockin' nice tits and a fantastic ass, red hair wild, green eyes sharp, wearing shorts that are way too short for February but she doesn't care. She's 24 but acts way younger, and she moves like someone who doesn't plan on leaving this store empty-handed.

Carrie, behind the counter, immediately locks on.

Because, see, Carrie has a type.

And Squirrel is every inch of it. Ticked every filthy box. This wasn't some high-end Anora-wannabe like DeeDee Castiglioni, fuck you and leave you Dr. Bridgette Jakubowicz, or long-lost Adelina Graziani.

This was fuckin' Squirrel.

Carrie doesn't know much about her yet, except that nickname and that she's hot as hell and struts in like she owns the place, and that's more than enough.

"Well, well, well," Carrie drawls, leaning onto the counter, smirking. "If it ain't the legend herself."

Squirrel stops mid-aisle, turning, already grinning. "Oh, you know?"

Carrie snorts. "Babe, everyone knows. You think you get your ass bodied by a squirrel in broad daylight on South Street and we don't all talk about it?"

Carrie Delvecchio could make "squirrel" three syllables through sheer force of South Philly accent alone. Like she's fighting through each consonant like a boxer in the fifth round, dragging the poor word through an alley before spitting it out.

Squirrel laughs--big, unashamed, the sound of someone who's been mocked for this but owns it now. "Listen," she says, striding toward the counter, "that squirrel had hands. I--" she gestures vaguely, as if recalling her downfall, "--was not prepared."

Carrie grins. She likes this girl. She likes her a lot.

And then--then it gets worse.

Because Squirrel grabs a Dr Pepper from the fridge near the register, cracks it open right there, and drinks like she's home.

Carrie's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh, shit," she mutters, mostly to herself.

Squirrel wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smirking. "What?"

Carrie, openly staring, licks her lips. "You like Dr Pepper?"

Squirrel shrugs. "Live for it."

Carrie leans closer. "What else you like?"

Squirrel's grin turns sharp. "Bald pussy."

Carrie just about dies right there behind the register.

She has to physically stop herself from climbing over the counter. Because holy fuck.

See, Carrie has been around. She has heard some shit. But this?

This is the start of a whole goddamn situation.

Because now? Now Carrie wants Squirrel in the worst fucking way.

Squirrel had walked into this CVS thinking she was just gonna grab a Dr Pepper and maybe some gum. Maybe flirt a little, because the chick behind the counter was hot as fuck and had that real South Philly attitude, the kind that made you want to get into trouble.

She hadn't expected to get absolutely wrecked by the words coming out of Carina Marie Delvecchio's mouth.

But here she was.

Carrie was still leaning on the counter, all easy confidence and big brown eyes locked onto her, like a hunter sizing up a meal. And when Squirrel, feeling a little bold, had thrown out "Bald pussy" in response to Carrie's question, she had not expected the way the woman lit up like she just hit the fuckin' jackpot.

Carrie licked her lips, looking her up and down like she was deciding exactly what she was gonna do with her.

"Oh, babe," she murmured, her voice dropping into something slow and filthy. "You just made my fuckin' night."

Squirrel swallowed. Blinked. "Uh--"

Carrie didn't let her get a full thought out.

"Here's what's gonna happen," she said, real calm, real controlled, like she was explaining a business transaction and not about to verbally destroy this woman's entire psyche.

"You're gonna finish that Dr Pepper, and I'm gonna watch you do it, 'cause I like the way your mouth fuckin' works."

Squirrel exhaled. "Shit--"

"Then," Carrie continued, "you're comin' with me, and I'm gonna put you up against the closest flat surface I can find, 'cause babe, I ain't waitin' till we get home."

Squirrel's fingers twitched on the bottle.

Carrie was fully enjoying this, watching her visibly unravel, just from her words. She tilted her head, hoops glinting under the fluorescent lights, letting her voice do all the work.

"You like bald pussy?" she murmured. "You like it enough to beg for it? 'Cause babe, I could have you fuckin' whimpering for it before I even let you touch me."

Squirrel had to grab the edge of the counter.

Carrie grinned.

Carrie leans in close, breath hot against Squirrel's cheek, owning her space, owning her nerves, owning her like she was born to do this.

"You ever had a girl sit on your fuckin' face, babe?" she murmurs, voice low, teasing, wrecking her already. "Or you just been dreamin' about it, whimperin' into your pillow, dyin' to know what it's like to get buried under some perfect fuckin' pussy?"

Squirrel gasps, visibly trembling, shaking, and Carrie loves it.

"Oh, babe," she laughs, delighted, dragging her nails up Squirrel's bare thigh, feeling the shiver that racks through her body. "I can already tell--you fuckin' love this. Love me talkin' like this. Love hearin' exactly how I'm gonna ruin you."

She grabs Squirrel's chin, tilting her head up, forcing her to look at her.

"You're gonna show me how much you love bald pussy, babe," she whispers, lips so close, so dangerous. "I'm smooth as glass down there, bitch. You won't be able to fuckin' handle it."

Squirrel whimpers. Full-body tremble. Mind fucking gone.

Carrie smirks.

"I'm gonna get up there, babe," she continues, filthy, relentless, slow, "gonna settle myself right over that fuckin' mouth, and you? You're gonna lose your goddamn mind."

Squirrel is gripping the counter, eyes wide, panting, begging herself to stay standing.

Carrie leans in, whispers right in her ear.

"You ever felt it before? A girl fuckin' dripping for you? Right against your mouth, soaking you through, making a mess of your pretty little face?"

Squirrel moans, fuckin' moans, and Carrie grins.

"I bet you think you know what you're doin'," she murmurs, dragging her fingers slowly down Squirrel's spine, making her arch. "Bet you think you're real fuckin' good at it. But babe?"

She grins, leans in so close.

"You've never had me."

Squirrel is sweating, dying, gone.

"I'm gonna get up there, babe," Carrie purrs, "gonna grind myself down 'til you can't even fuckin' breathe. Gonna take every inch of your pretty little face, and you?" She grins. "You're just gonna lay there and take it."

Squirrel gasps, confidence shredded. "You think I'm pretty?"

"A complete doll. You'll fuckin' beg for more," Carrie moans, dragging her teeth over Squirrel's earlobe. "Bet you'll cry for it. Bet you'll thank me when I let you come up for air."

Squirrel grips her arms, shaking, whimpering, gone.

Carrie?

Carrie laughs.

"You don't even know what's about to happen to you, babe."

"I'll lay you down and take my time," she continued, voice low and sinful, "have you feelin' like you're losin' your fuckin' mind while I get real comfortable between your legs."

Squirrel blinked, mouth dry. She tried to form a sentence, but all that came out was a breathless, "Uh--"

Carrie leaned in.

"I'll lick you so slow you'll start beggin' me to move faster, but I won't. I'll take my time, babe. I'll wreck you."

Squirrel let out an actual shuddering breath.

Carrie saw it. Loved it.

"And when you're right there, when you're so fuckin' close you can't even think?" Carrie licked her lips, "I'll pull back. Leave you fuckin' shaking for me. Make you beg, babe. Make you tell me exactly how bad you need my mouth back on that pussy."

Squirrel gripped the counter hard.

"You need that, babe?" Carrie teased, so fuckin' smug. "Need me to fuckin' devour you? Make you cum till you're so fucked out you can't even stand up straight?"

Squirrel's knees actually buckled.

Carrie, grinnin' like the devil herself, fuckin' loved it.

And all Squirrel could do--all she could manage--was a ragged, breathless, "Jesus Christ--"

Carrie smirked.

"Yeah, babe," she murmured, licking her lips, victorious. "You fuckin' live for this, don't you?"

Squirrel, wrecked, barely nodded.

And Carrie?

Carrie hadn't even started yet.

Squirrel was not okay. She had walked into this CVS for a fucking soda. Maybe some gum. Maybe a little harmless flirting with the hot Italian chick behind the counter. She was not prepared for the assistant manager to verbally destroy her entire nervous system, to systematically dismantle her composure in the middle of a public place, to have her gripping the counter like it was the only thing keeping her from crumpling to the fuckin' floor.

And the worst part?

Carrie wasn't done.

Not even close.

Carrie was watching her like she was the most entertaining thing she'd ever seen, her big brown eyes dark, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips before she leaned in closer, her voice a low, filthy purr.

"Oh, babe," she murmured, "you gonna lose it for me? Right fuckin' here? In my CVS?"

Squirrel whimpered. Fucking whimpered.

Carrie's grin sharpened.

"God, look at you," she moaned, like she was already enjoying the sight of her coming completely apart. "Fucking wrecked. You like this? You like me tellin' you how I'm gonna take you apart?"

Squirrel nodded rapidly, eyes wide, desperate, like she couldn't even trust herself to speak.

Carrie? Relentless.

"Mmm," she sighed, tapping her nails against the counter like she was just thinking, like she wasn't actively ruining this poor woman's life. "I bet you'd be so fuckin' sweet for me. I bet you taste like fuckin' candy, babe. I'd keep you in bed all fuckin' night, eatin' you up till you can't even remember your own goddamn name."

Squirrel groaned. "Fuck, fuck, fuck--"

Carrie smirked, watching her tremble, sweat slicking her red hair to her forehead, her body physically reacting like it was the dead of August and not a fluorescent-lit CVS in the middle of fuckin' February.

"You wanna beg for it?" Carrie teased, her voice dripping with sin, "C'mon, babe, I know you fuckin' do."

Squirrel sucked in a ragged, shuddering breath, her whole body shaking, hands gripping the counter like a lifeline, like she was this close to going right over the edge.

"You wanna beg, babe?" Carrie purred, tilting her head, mocking her now. "Or you just gonna cum for me right here in the fuckin' checkout line?"

Squirrel whimpered again, her knees buckling, her face burning.

"Jesus Christ," she gasped, "please--"

Carrie fucking grinned.

"That's my girl," she whispered, low, dark, victorious.

And Squirrel lost it. She hit the fuckin' floor.

She hadn't meant to. She hadn't planned for it. But Carrie didn't stop, didn't let her breathe, didn't give her a single inch of space to recover. Just kept talking, kept wrecking her, until her knees gave out, and suddenly she was a fucking puddle on the CVS linoleum.

And Carrie?

Carrie laughed.

Not mean, not cruel--just delighted, like she'd just won a fuckin' bet with herself, like this was inevitable and she knew it.

"Oh, babe," she purred, crouching down, her fingers curling under Squirrel's chin, tilting her head up. "You're fuckin' done, huh?"

Squirrel's breathing was shot, her cheeks burning, sweat slicking her red hair, Dr Pepper bottle still clutched in her shaking hand.

Carrie took one look at her--one look at this absolute mess of a woman, wrecked, sweaty, ruined--and grinned.

And then she picked her up.

Not even a big effort--just grabbed her under the arms and hauled her back up onto her feet like she was nothing, like Carrie decided where she stood now.

Squirrel wobbled, grabbing Carrie's shoulders for support, blinking like she barely remembered what world she was in.

Carrie took the Dr Pepper from her shaking hand and pressed it back to her lips. "Drink, babe."

Squirrel did. Blindly.

She gulped it down, gasping, panting, still fucking trembling, and when she finally managed to pull the bottle away, Carrie was right there, smirking, so fuckin' smug.

"I get off at nine," she said, voice slow, sultry, dripping with control. "You'll get off about an hour later."

Squirrel gasped. Actually fuckin' gasped.

And then--then she broke.

"Please," she begged. Full-throated, broken, gone. "Please, please, please, Carrie, fuck, please, I need it, I fuckin' need it, please--"

Carrie grinned.

"Goddamn," she murmured, dragging her thumb across Squirrel's bottom lip, watching her shudder. "Look at you, babe. You ain't even a person anymore. You're just my fuckin' target now."

Squirrel moaned.

"Fuck, fuck, please, Carrie, I'll do anything, I swear to fuckin' God--"

Carrie chuckled. So pleased. So victorious.

"Oh, babe," she purred, dragging it out, enjoying this, owning her completely. "You already are."

And Squirrel?

Squirrel was in love.

Squirrel had no fight left. No resistance. No self anymore. She was done, body wrecked, brain melted, standing in the middle of this goddamn CVS with her chest heaving, pupils blown wide, sweat clinging to her skin like she just ran ten blocks in August heat.

And Carrie?

Carrie was just getting started.

Carrie tilted her head, big brown eyes gleaming, smirking like she had all the time in the world to drag this out, to keep her dangling right on the edge of losing her goddamn mind.

"You ever been fucked with a strap before, babe?" she murmured, low, slow, sinful, her fingers casually curling around Squirrel's wrist, holding her there, keeping her in place.

Squirrel whimpered.

Carrie laughed.

"Oh, babe," she crooned, so condescending, so smug, "you don't even fuckin' know, do you?"

Squirrel shook her head, mute, broken, eyes locked on Carrie's mouth, because she knew--she fucking knew--that whatever Carrie said next was gonna ruin her completely.

"I got a real nice one at home," Carrie continued, dragging her nails lazy up Squirrel's bare thigh, feeling the shiver it sent through her. "Thick. Heavy. Feels so fuckin' good strapped against me while I work my girl open."

Squirrel moaned. Fucking moaned. Right there, in public, like she was already being fucked, like Carrie's words alone were making her fall apart.

Carrie grinned.

"I'll have you on your back first," she purred, licking her lips, sizing her up like she was already inside her head, already planning exactly how she was gonna ruin her. "Get your legs up for me. Hold 'em back, babe, let me take my fuckin' time--"

Squirrel clutched Carrie's forearms, shaking, panting, desperate.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck--"

Carrie smirked. "Yeah, babe. Just like that. You love it already."

Squirrel nodded wildly, gasping, whimpering, begging herself to just breathe.

"I'll get my huge, perfect tits in your face," Carrie whispered, voice dripping with possession, owning her before she even laid a hand on her, "See if you can fuckin' breathe while I work your pussy."

Squirrel grabbed her shoulders, clutching her like a goddamn lifeline, a wreck, a mess, a girl already lost.

"Take me home, Carrie."

It wasn't a request. It wasn't a suggestion.

It was full surrender.

Carrie grinned, feral, triumphant, tilting her head just so, letting Squirrel watch her lick her lips.

"Yeah, babe," she murmured, finally, finally, finally giving her what she needed. "I fuckin' will."

And Squirrel belonged to her.

The sun was barely up, streaming through the half-broken blinds, casting long slashes of light across the disaster that was their apartment. The smell of stale beer, sweat, and something indescribably filthy clung to the air like a badge of honor.

Zach scratched his stomach, yawning as he stumbled toward the bathroom, only to stop dead in his fuckin' tracks at the sight waiting for him.

There, on the goddamn bathroom floor, sprawled out naked, face pressed against the tile, legs limp, lay a wrecked redhead.

Zach squinted. "Carrie."

From the bed, deep under the blankets, came a groggy, satisfied murmur. "Mmm?"

Zach pointed blindly toward the casualty in the bathroom. "Carrie, who the fuck is the naked redhead on the bathroom floor?"

A slow rustling of sheets, the sound of satisfaction incarnate, and then Carrie's grinning, smug as fuck face emerged from the cocoon of bedding.

She blinked lazily at him, stretched like a cat, and let out a low, knowing hum.

Then, hoarse but victorious, she murmured:

"All mine, Zachary. All fuckin' mine."

So Squirrel never left.

Not right away. Not after that first night where Carrie wrecked her.

She just... stayed.

At first, it was casual--just one more night, just one more morning where she stumbled around in Carrie's T-shirt, grabbed a Dr Pepper out of the fridge like she'd bought the damn thing, made breakfast like it was her own kitchen.

And then, at some point, it just... was.

Squirrel was there.

Spent a whole season in the apartment, acting like she lived there, like she belonged there, like this was her life now.

And honestly? It was adorable.

She cooked. She cleaned. She made the beds (which, frankly, had never been made before in the history of that goddamn apartment). She did laundry and groceries and acted like this was a fuckin' sitcom and she was the loving housewife.

And nobody questioned it.

Not Zach, who woke up every morning with a warm redhead tucked between him and Carrie, clinging to his arm like she was a fuckin' octopus, snoring softly, drooling into his pillow.

Not Carrie, who came home every night to dinner on the table, a Dr Pepper waiting for her, and her two favorite people tangled up on the couch like a happy little nest of filth.

Not even Squirrel herself, who just fully integrated into their lives like this was always meant to happen.

27 hookups.

13 of those with Zach.

And not a single one of them was planned.

Zach would be half asleep, lying on the couch, when Squirrel crawled into his lap like a feral cat. Carrie would walk out of the shower, see Squirrel in bed with Zach, and join just because she could.

It was messy.

It was weird.

It was perfect.

And when Squirrel finally did wander off--when the season ended, when she drifted the way she'd drifted in--it was like losing a limb.

Because yeah, Carrie owned her.

But for a little while?

Squirrel owned them too.