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In his head, he's quickly listing every possible bad outcome to this situation and weighing it against how much possible pleasure he might gain by going back down stairs and rejoining the party. He hesitates. He can't decide. I don't want him to go. I don't want him to go and leave me all alone. I certainly don't want him to go back to her. I get up and straddle his lap. I get two inches from his face and give him a goofy look. His steel blue eyes lock mine and I get lost for a moment. All I think about is tasting him in everyway possible. My heart races, my eyes shut and I softly brush my lips against his. His lips are soft and smooth, warm and inviting. I kiss him again, a little harder this time; I pause to suck on his bottom lip. He opens his mouth to me as I continue to kiss him. Our tongues meet and I'm instantly wet. We kiss at length. I'm reduced to nothing ...a pair of eager, hungry lips and a pulsating wet hole. I feel his hand slide up my thigh and rest just below my. Once there, she had fastened to it by a heavy wide belt attached to a bolt that had just been drilled there and locked and told to strip. And then, hours later, Chantel had arrived. He had heard the interview and he knew what was coming and the thought of a fantasy, though not really one he liked coming to reality made him hard, but it also made his balls tight with fear. But god, Chantel was beautiful. At it's conclusion, Chantel had looked his body up and down with disdain and slapped him twice and slugged him in the stomach. "Tomorrow, slut. I am in charge of your life. Dream on it." After Chantel left, Desiree had come over with a gloating look on her face. "Well, 'slut', I hope you like her. She's going to work out just fine, don't you think?" "I'm sorry, Desiree. I really am. I think we can---" "Do you think she's pretty," Desiree interrupted. "Yes, I mean, no. I mean not to me," he felt himself tripping over his words. There was no right answer here. She slapped him. "Slut,.
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