He wasn’t carved like some polite little jack-o’-lantern—he was made to be filled. Ripe with cinnamon spice and dripping with creamy sweetness, he strutted into fall with a smirk on his lips and mischief in his loins. His name? Pump-Cream Me.

Born from a craving too dirty to hide, he mixed sweet pumpkin heat with whipped cream temptation until every room he entered smelled like sin served on a silver spoon. He’s the guy who teases with soft spice kisses, then leaves you sticky, messy, and gasping for more.

His origin story is simple: one wicked night in the kitchen, he let the pumpkin spice flow, the cream whip thick, and the heat rise until the walls dripped with desire. From that indulgence, he came alive—naughty, raunchy, and absolutely unapologetic.

Pump-Cream Me isn’t just a scent—it’s a filthy invitation. Light him up, spray him out, and let him spill his creamy, spicy goodness all over your space. Just don’t expect him to stop once he starts.