Nasty Girl: The Gang's All Here

Bob's hunting trip has been unsuccessful.  Somehow he feels less
a man for returning without a deer.  It is a man's job to hunt,
to track down the prey.  Women stayed at home or became prey
themselves. There is a sensual thrill to the hunt.  It isn't just
in the killing.  The kill is actually a disappointment. There is
a connection, an invisible bound of fear between hunter and prey.
You can see it in the eyes of the prey.  It's a quick flick of
the eyes, a slight movement of the head. If you don't know what
your looking for, it's easy to miss, but once you experience the
thrill of the hunt you can never forget it. It's the fear of being
pursued. The fear of being tracked by a force more powerful then
yourself, the fear of being caught, and the ultimate fear of
submission. It is these intimate moments when the prey conects
with the hunter that Bob savors the most. He understands the bond
between hunter and prey.  He enjoys the torture of pursuit.

Tonight, Bob is going to make his dear Donna the prey to make up
for his disappointment with deer.

This isn't a conscious decision.  Somewhere in the back of his
mind, he knows that Donna is taunting him, thinking him less a
man for returning empty handed.  He intends to teach her a lesson,
to show her just how very wrong she is by ravaging her sexually.
He will go a bit beyond the normal limits.

Bob always feels in control, able to handle any crisis.

That is why the rape comes as such a surprise.

Bob is a bit old fashioned.  He feels that his home is his castle,
and his wife is part of his property.  He is quick to defend her
from the catcalls of other men on the street. He loves Donna.  He
loves his kids. He thinks of himself as her protector and provider.
Maybe he doesn't always bring home the bacon, but he could still
feed her the pork.


It is late.  A dark and moonless night.  Cindy & Tommy have already
gone upstairs to bed. The doorbell rings a little after 11:30 pm.

"Honey, would you see who's at the door ?" asks Donna.
"I'm going," said Bob always willing to act as the protector.
Bob turns on the porch light before opening the front door.

"Step back," said the stranger.

Bob slowly steps back into his house.

A black teenager walks toward Bob.  A thin short boy wearing a
white T-Shirt and blue jeans.  He couldn't have weighed more then
135 pounds.  Bob could easily pick him up and toss him out of his
house.  He doesn't care much for blacks.  He isn't prejudiced or
anything.  He just doesn't like the way they smell.  He doesn't
like the way they sniff after white women on the streets downtown
like dogs following a sexual scent.  He doesn't like the way they
date white women.  They're like animals.  Bob would have never
invited blacks into his house.

The sawed off shotgun pointed at his face serves as the black
boy's invitation.

Bob forces himself to move his eyes from the barrel to the base
of the gun.  The safety is off and the black finger is inside
the trigger guard.

Bob is almost ready to take the risk, to grab the end of the
shotgun shoving it to oneside, but as he takes the second step
backwards a huge man dressed like a Hell's Angel Biker steps
through the front door. It's at this moment that Bob realizes
he is no longer a hunter, but merely prey.

They waste no time in tying Bob up to a kitchen chair, and gagging
him. No attempt is made to blindfold him.  They position his chair
so that he is facing away from the bedroom.

"Bob, is that you ?"

  He can hear the uncertainty in his wife's voice as she calls out
  from the safety of their marital bedroom.  His wife is like a
  deer bedded down in the brush feeling safe but uncertain.

  This strange salt and pepper combination of the huge white biker
  and the slim black teenager has Bob puzzled.  He imagines they
  are an odd residential robbery team. The biker and black teenager
  watch him. What happens next totally takes Bob by surprise.

  A uniformed police officer walks through his front door, tips his
  hat in greeting toward the biker, and continues on into the
  bedroom. Bob hears the bedroom door open.  He is tied up facing
  away from the door so he can see nothing, but hear everything.

  "Excuse me, Miss, Police Department."

  "What are you doing in my bedroom ?"

   Donna is worried. She sits up in bed clutching her nightgown
   around her breasts. The voices have not returned.  She is
   uncertain what to do next.

  "We got a call of a disturbance."

  "Where's my husband ?"

  "I'm sorry, but in all cases of domestic disturbance . . ."

  "No, Ooh, noo,"

  ". . . we are forced to detain the husband."

  "What do you want with me ?"

  "Just a statement."

  "Like what ?"

  "Well...like, was he hitting you ?"

  "No, he wasn't."

  "Not so fast," says the policeman.

   He pulls out a black nightstick from his duty belt.  Using it
   for a pointer, the policeman resumes his questioning.

  "Did he hit you here ?" says the policeman pointing to Donna's
   left breast.

  "No."

  "Are you certain ?"

  Bob's concentration on the conversation coming from his bedroom
  becomes obsessive.  He wants to see; he wants to know; he doen't
  want to be reduced to just listening like a sex telephone freak.

  "Yes."

  "Are you telling me that it's not even sore ?"

  The police officer pushes his nightstick into Donna's breast in
  a circular motion, pressing hard to make his point.

  "No, I mean yes. Yes, it is sore."

  To be truthful, Donna's breasts ached.  They were sore and tender
  beyond belief.  The probing motions of nightstick make Donna's
  breast throb.

  "Oh, so he didn't hit you, but now you admit that you're sore."

  "Well, I, I'm .... I"m a mother," Donna finally replies in way of
  explanation.

  She is embarrassed.  She doesn't want to tell the police officer
  that her breasts are sore because of pigs sucking on them.

  "Well, now we're getting to the truth."

  "No, you don't understand."

  "Are you sore down here ?"  The officer suddenly thrusts the
  nightstick into the covers between Donna's legs.

  "Oooh, yeesss." Donna yelps out moving back toward the headboard
  of the bed  to avoid the hard probing actions of the nighstick.

  Outside the bedroom door, Bob is absolutely livid.  He is tense
  beyond belief, straining against the ropes, waiting for the
  inevitable, hoping for a rescue, concentrating on each word
  and every sound.

  "Now, I'm starting to understand.

  "No, the truth is, it wasn't Bob."

  "Who's Bob ?"

  "My husband."

  "If it wasn't your husband, who was it ?"

  Donna shakes her head silently from side to side refusing to
  answer.  The  police officer jerks the protective bedcovers off
  Donna and jabs the  nightstick between her legs until it hits
  home leaving Donna gasping.

  "Who was it ?"

  "It was my son, Tommy," Donna pants whincing with pain.

  Outside, Bob can't believe what is happening.  Is Donna lying to
  protect  him ?  Is she saying this so he won't go to jail for
  Domestic Abuse ?   Maybe, the police officer is forcing her to
  say these things. Or maybe,  Donna did have an incestuous affair
  with her own son.  With a pride reserved for men, Bob wants to
  believe that he is the one who made Donna  sore.  He remembers
  the fist fucking he gave his wife.  It has to have been him who
  made her sore.  No one could have devastated Donna like he did.
  He is convinced she is lying.  She has to be lying.

  "You're lying," says the policeman.

  "No, I'm telling the truth."

  "You're lying to save your husband."

  "Yes, I want to save my husband, but only the truth can save
   a marriage."

  "Prove it."

  "There's a video tape hidden in the bookself behind the TV set."

  Unseen by Donna the small black boy goes into the living room
  searching  behind the books and finds the video tape.  He turns
  the sound on the TV off and puts the tape in the VCR machine.
  The biker lifts up Bob, chair and all and positions him so he
  can view the television.

  After a long silent pause, the police officer answers slowly
  pronouncing each word with special emphasis.

  "I.. think ..you're.. lying.. because.. you.. love.. your.. husband."

  "I do, I do love my husband," Donna nods vigorously in agreement.

  Bob stares at the TV screen with betrayed eyes watching his own
  wife, Donna  suck the dripping cum off her son Tommy's cock. He
  notices the smile on Donna's face.  The same smile quirky, tilt
  of the head, smile she gives him when they finish making love.
  This is no faked video.  His wife was getting off on sucking
  Tommy's cock.  At the same time, he can hear Donna in the next
  room saying that she loves him.

  "Do you love your husband enough to prove your love ?"

  "I don't need to prove my love, Bob knows I love him."

  Bob watches the TV as Tommy's hand enters Donna's cum smeared
  pussy carefully cupping the jissum with his fingers, Tommy brings
  it up to Donna's mouth,  and she licks his fingers clean.

  "Are you sure you don't need to prove your love ?"  says the
  police officer pushing the nightstick beneath the strap of
  Donna's nightgown and forcing it down over her shoulder exposing
  the top of her breast.

  "Yes, I'm sure," says Donna thinking of how she submitted to her
   husband fist fucking her in the ass so he wouldn't go hunting.
   Donna is certain  that her actions prove she loves her husband.

  "You would never betray your husband by degrading him ?"

  "Oh, no, I would never do that," Donna shakes her head innocently.

  Bob watches the TV as Donna jacks off their dog, Bowser, tips the
  waterbowl to her lips and drinks the dog cum.  Donna goes directly
  to the front door and kisses him goodbye with her mouth full of
  dog goo.  Bob's reaction is visceral.  He almost vomits into the
  gag.

  "You're sure you would never betray your husband ?"

  "Yes, I'm positive."

  Bob watches the TV as Donna eats out the pussy of his daughter
  Cindy who is tied to a chair in the kitchen while Bowser, their
  dog, humps Donna from  behind.  He sees the dog's toenails leave
  scratches on Donna's sides.  The dog humps her with a glassy-eyed
  stare, panting from the exertion, his tongue drooling saliva down
  Donna's back.

  "Well, ok."  The police officer relents.

  "Is that all ?"  Donna asks re-assuming an assertive attitude.

   Not all of Bob's body is tied.  He notices that despite himself
   his cock seems to have a mind of its own.  It is growing hard.
   He has a raging hard-on from watching the dog fuck his wife.

  "Yes, but we'll need to confirm your answers with your husband."

  The black boy hits the remote control shutting off the TV.  Bob's
  mind is devastated by what he has seen and heard.

  The biker removes the gag from Bob's mouth.

  Bob remains silent. Just ten minutes earlier, before the TV had
  been turned on, Bob could think of a million things to say, and
  warning to  shout.  Now, he was stunned speechless.  He was in
  shock from seeing  too much, seeing an unimaginable evil beyond
  any husband's worst  nightmares, and hearing his wife's denials.

  Bob no longer looks upon the black boy and biker as enemies.
  True they forced their way into his house.  Housebreaking is a
  vicious act, but it seems to have been for a greater good. This
  odd couple is opening up his eyes to the greater evil of his
  wife, Donna.
Unable to lift him, the police officer drags Bob into the
  bedroom still bound to the chair to continue the questioning.

  "Well, Bob, your wife Donna has made a number of allegations."

  "Yes," says Bob staring at Donna.

  "She claims that your son Tommy took advantage of her, but
that she truly loves you, and does not need to prove it."

  "Yes," says Bob staring at his wife with a blank numbness.

  "Well, do you agree ?"

  "Agree ?"  Bob's mind is clearly not tracking the thread
of conversation.

"Yes, don't you think the burden of proof lies with your wife ?"

  "Untie me."

  "That's not the answer.  Only the truth will set you free."

  "Untie me, now."

  "Ok."

  Donna's eyes flicker with fear.  First she was afraid when
she heard her husband had been detained.  Now she's afraid
because the police officer is releasing him.  As the ropes
drop away from her husband, Donna  shrinks farther and
farther away to the far side of the bed.  Donna knows Bob
has a bad temper.  She isn't certain what Bob might do. She
is certain she doesn't want to be around when he does it.

Bob stands up. He walks over to the bed, grabs Donna by
the wrist and drags her off the bed forcing her to stand.

  "The police officer's right.  We need proof."

  Donna's mind races with fear.  Her eyes flick unexpectedly
  to the police officer's fly.  It is partially unzipped.
  Donna sinks to her knees in front of the police officer,
  thinking the worst, expecting no better. Thinking she will
  be forced to suck the policeman's cock, she assumes the
  position.  Before she can reach for his zipper, Donna is
  stopped.

  "We need proof,"  repeats Bob jerking Donna to her feet.

  "I thought ...." begins Donna, clearly so embarrassed by
  her thoughts that she fails to complete them.

  "Where is the video tape ?" asks Bob pushing Donna out
of the bedroom.

  Donna stumbles into the living room followed by the
  police officer and her husband.  She gets on her knees a
  second time, but this time she is facing the bookshelf.
  She searches this wall of knowledge frantically for the
  tape, her hands working the books like she would a cock,
  jerking them off onto the floor.

  "Where's the evidence ?" asks the police officer.

  Without thinking, Donna jerks off the best of men.
  Shakespeare, Aldous Huxley, Betrand Russell . . . all
  these books fall out onto the floor as Donna continues
  her mindless pursuit of truth.

  "Where's the tape ?" asks her husband.

  Surrounded by fallen books, her legs splayed out on
  the floor, Donna looks up at her tormentors who remain
  unsatisfied by her efforts.

  It would be easier for Donna to simply suck the
  officer's cock. She is in an impossible position,
  forced to prove she engaged in an incestuous affair
  with her own son, or viewed as a liar by her husband.
  In her heart, Donna knows she's a slut.  What pains
  her is to be thought of as a lying slut.  The least
  she can do is cling to the dignity of honesty.  She
  truly wants to be an honest slut. Like women
  everywhere, she sees a way out.

  Donna suddenly changes her mind.

  "I was lying.  There is no tape.  I never did anything
  bad with Tommy,"  Donna says.

  Bob looks down on Donna with contempt. He can no longer
  believe anything.  Unknown to Donna, he has already viewed
  the tapes.  He has already seen the evidence.  All he is
  left with is the chance to teach Donna a lesson. She is
  much to big to spank.  The punishment must fit the crime.
  He looks to the police officer for help.

  Pulling up on his duty belt, the police officer swaggers
  over to Donna rubbing his big black nightstick.

  "You're lying Donna.  You're lying, aren't you ?"

  "No, I'm telling the truth," lies Donna attempting to hide
  her legs underneath her inadequate nightgown.

  "Did you enjoy sucking Tommy's cock or ... ?"

  To illustrate his question, the police officer takes the
  black baton, placing it between his legs, and makes a
  gesture like he's masturbating in Donna's face.

  "No, Noo, Noooo," says Donna shaking her head.

  "...or would you rather suck a black cock ?"

  As if on cue, the black teenager walks out of the kitchen
  and stands in front of Donna.  A black silence fills the
  room.

  "Sit back on the sofa Bob, you're going to enjoy this."
  says the police officer.

  The silence is replaced by the sound of a zipper, by black
  hands slapping the jiggling flesh of Donna's breasts, of
  her nightgown tearing, and the wet fluid sounds of sucking.

  "Suck that black cock you bitch," says the police officer
as he plunges his nightstick into Donna's pussy.  She is
positioned on all fours sucking on the black teenager's long
thin cock and being impaled from the rear by the long hard
baton.

  The policeman times his thrusts to coincide with Donna's
sucking. Each time the black penis is fully buried in her
mouth, the officer jabs the nightstick all the way into her
cunt.

  Bob watches from the sofa.

  The rape proceeds in stages. It is not quick, brutal
or predictable. A total of 13 hundred men abuse Donna
before it is over. This is an unlucky number, but not
an unusual number for Donna part #13.

Sitting on the sofa, Bob experiences a wide range of
emotions. He wants Donna punished. He feels betrayed.
He knows she has lied to him.  He wants her to pay
for being a slut. Donna belongs to him. Bob feels it
is his choice, his duty, to put her in her place.
He will show her who's the boss.

Bob watches as the police officer removes the baton
from Donna's ass allowing the Biker to approach Donna
from the rear.  He has a huge member. Donna begins to
moan. The bitch is getting aroused.

"Stop it ! Stop ! Stop ! Stop !" Bob yells from the
sofa.

Bob is torn by conflicting emotions.
The Biker freezes.

He is outraged at the invasion of his privacy, of his
home, of his wife.  At first, he wants to fight, to
kill the policeman, the biker, and the black kid, and
stop the assault, but the video tapes have revealed
to him an unknown darker side of his wife.  He is
thankful to the black teenager, the biker, and the
policeman for revealing the true nature of his wife.

"Stop ! Stop ! Stop !" Bob yells.

"This is Wrong !, wrong !, wrong !," He repeats his
words like he is talking to children to get his point
across.

Bob knows that sexually excited men have shrunken
brains centered in their other little heads.  They
are pleasure driven and have trouble thinking.
Repetition is the cure. Climax is the end.  Bob has
seen, heard, and been down this path himself many
times before. It is a road to boredom. Fun and
pleasurable while making the trip but ultimately
too predictable.

A predictable punishment is no fun, is not true
punishment.  Donna knows the begining, middle, and
end.  True punishment would confuse all these.  A
real punishment for the slut will be to scramble her
sense of order, make her loose her balance, take away
the sexual roadmaps, push her into the unknown, a
sexual TwiLight Zone of dread, suspense, and total
surprise.  An unending punishment would be best.

"First we plug her ears," Bob says

On all fours, waiting for the biker to plunge his
giant cock into her rear, Donna turns her head
staring at her husband with a newly found respect.

"I've had all my holes plugged, but never my ears,"
Donna tells Bob. "Even when I was made airtight
with men in my mouth, ass, and cunt my ears weren't
plugged.  I've even been blindfolded, but no one has
fucked my ears."

"Shut up bitch," says the biker who is clearly
frustrated.  He gets up off the floor and joins
the other men in a huddle.

"I can't wait for you to stick it in my ears," says
Donna oozing with expectation for the kinky and
bizarre.

"You stupid cunt," says the police officer.
"No one is going to insert anything in you."

"Here you go," says Bob grabbing the sound protector
ear muffs he uses during target practice, and
slipping them over Donna's Head.

Donna's world falls silent.

She watches as the men talk about things that women
never hear.  Ignoring her.  She raises her nightgown
exposing her thighs to get their attention back. The
Biker smiles.  She raises it higher.

Then she notices that the biker is smiling at the
other men not at her. All the men are smiling now.
Donna drops her nightgown.

Let's leave Donna's world and return to the world
of men, sound, and fury.

"What we need to do," says Bob carefully, "is the
unexpected."

"Lookat tha bitch, she's beggin' for it."
The Biker smiles at Donna.

"We're gonna mind fuck her," says Bob returning
the biker's smile.  Suddenly, all the men smile
together like small boys at a circle jerk.

Donna drops her nightgown.

"Like a reverse gang bang ?" asks the police
officer.

"Yes," says Bob "No woman would ever expect a
reverse gang bang."

"Do that mean she fucks us ?" asks the black
teenager still inexperienced in ways of the
flesh.

"No," says Bob  "That means that we fuck with
her mind and not her body."

"Yeah," says the policeman jumping into the
stream of the conversation "Deep brooks run
silently".

"Don't go Freudian on me," says Bob.  "We need
lots of hard cocks, not soft words."

Bob gets on the telephone.
He makes a silent call.

Donna never hears the plan, never knows she will
be the victim of a reverse gang bang, she only
knows what she can see, shortly after Bob hangs
up the phone more men pour through the front door
of her home.

Whatever is going to happen will involve lots and
lots of men.

Bob removes the ear protectors from his wife
Donna, and turns the television on to MTV Music.

"Okay, slut let's see what you can do."

Donna is frozen, confused by the sudden blaring
of noise.  She looks out at the faces of men
crowding her home. There's old wrinkled men,
young muscular guys, heavy fat men, skinny
middle aged fellows. All shapes, all sizes,
and all colors.

"Come on slut, strut your stuff, get us off,"
Bob encourages her.

The men unzip, taking out their cocks.

Donna feels intimidated looking at this sea of
cocks. Whatever happens, Donna wants to meet
this challenge head on.  She plunges in bravely.
It is a time to sink or swim.  Donna can't
afford to sink.  If she drowns, it won't be
from water.

Other men's voices join in.

"Com'on slut take it off"

"Dance for us bitch !"

"Juice me up baby !"

Donna starts dancing like she's wading through
water. In slow motion, out of sync with the
music, her motions are in counterpoint to the
quick tempo of the MTV music. Her arms spread
out to the sides like she's doing a breast
stroke pushing her tits into the faces of the
admiring men.

Dancing is not enough.
Men always demand more. She starts stripping.
Slowly, Donna lowers the straps on her night-
gown down over her breasts.  She wiggles it
down to her waist letting it fall to her feet.
Donna tries to enflame the minds of men.  She
will seduce them with her charms.

Nudity is not enough.
Donna strips buck naked. Showing her all. Giving
everything. Letting the men's eyes feast on her
nakedness.  She even spreads her pussy lips with
her fingers so they can see inside.

Words are not enough.
Jerking them off with words, Donna tries teasing
them into fucking her. She begs them to fuck her,
to let her suck their cocks, to fill her up like
a camper van stopping at a gas station.

Nothing is enough.
Nothing Donna does can get the men to fill her
with their cocks. Donna does not get to suck or
fuck.  In the end, she gets nothing.

The men tease her with their cocks.

"Beg for it, bitch," a fat man sneers.
  Donna begs.

"Please... please give it to me," she whimpers.
"Give you what, slut?"

"Please, please fuck me," Donna pleads.
"Fuck you? You want me to fuck you slut ?"

"Please," she sobs.
"Say it, bitch, say fuck me !"

"Please fuck me ! Please fuck me !"
"Tell me where you want it, you whore."

"In... in my hot pussy. I want it in my pussy !"
"You want me to fuck your juicy cunt ?"

"Yes," she moans. "Stick it in my cunt!

Donna collapses onto the floor shivering with
desire.

A tall black man with bad teeth walks over
to her. He bends down close to her face
like he's going to kiss her.  He's so close
Donna can smell his sour breath. He whispers.

"Wanna suck my cock ?"

A shiver trickles down Donna's back from the
feel of his hot sour breath.  She can feel
the air of each word against her ear. She lures
the man over into a corner.  Her knees go weak
with desire. The mans long black cock dangles
in front of her face. She can see it, smell it,
taste it. Donna opens her mouth and closes her
eyes. She wants to inhale it into her body. She
is ready to suck it off like no cock has ever
been sucked. Her lips are open wide surrounding
the tip of the cock.  She can feel the heat
radiating from the cockhead. She's ready to
clamp down on it with a silky smooth suction
that will make him blast his load into her mouth.
Just as her lips close, the cock withdraws, the
man backs up. Donna's lips close on empty air.
She opens her eyes in shock.

Donna watches at the tall thin man jerks his cock
off into a familiar looking plastic mixing bowl.
She sees the hot white ejaculate explode into the
bowl, dripping down the edges, the last few drops
of cum dropping like molten lead.

Spurt by spurt.

Other men follow the lead of the tall man.  They
spit their sperm into the plastic mixing bowl.
Forming a line, taking their turn, they let go
with streams of stringy white jissum.

Spurt by spurt.

Donna watches the line of men move forward. The
contents of the bowel rise as the line dwindles.
It reminds her of something.  Maybe egg whites,
maybe fondue.  She can't take her eyes off the
bowl.

Spurt by spurt.

Donna is allowed to hold the bowl while the men
jack off. She can feel the warmth rising along
the sides.  She can feel the weight of the bowel,
she can smell it, she can hear wet spurts of cum.

Spurt by spurt.

Her hands grow sweaty.  She fears dropping the
bowel, spilling out millions of sperm upon the
carpet.  She grips it more tightly.  This isn't
just some inert liquid.  This is live sperm. She
can almost feel the bowl vibrating. The bowl is
vibrating, but Donna realizes she is shaking,
nervous with anticipation wanting to soak her
face into the goop, wanting to drink it, pour
it into her pussy and dump it onto her breasts.

Spurt by spurt.

Donna no longer trusts herself to hold the
bowl without dropping it. She carefully, and
reluctantly sets it down on the table. This is
too important for a woman to ruin.

Spurt by spurt.

The men exit the house after dumping their
loads.  Donna is sad to see them go, but glad
to see the bowl filling up.  This will ber cum
to drink, pour into her mouth, spread on her
breasts, dump into her aching cunt.  When all
the men are gone the bowl will be hers.

Spurt by spurt.

The hours pass.  As the line of men decreases,
the volume of the bowl increases and the
reverse gang bang come to end.  Donna puts
back on her white bra and panties. She slips
into her old pink bathrobe in resignation that
her efforts to excite men have failed. Her mind
flirts with the failures of the past like a moth
drawn to a light.

Spurt by spurt.

As the last man leaves, Bob closes the front door.
He turns off MTV and turns on the VCR and goes to
bed.  The house returns to normal.  The video tape
of Donna flickers to life. Like an old porno movie,
Donna's life is caught in a loop.

Donna watches the TV which becomes her reality.

Donna, her light blond hair pulled back and tied
with a red ribbon, attends to her family like a
waitress. She looks like hired help, a servant.
She wears an old pink bathrobe instead of a white
waitress's uniform. Underneath the robe is nothing
but a white bra and panties.


Donna dunks a wooden spoon into the thick white
goo, letting it drip slowly from the spoon. She
is making breakfeast, but the bowl forces her to
think of sex. Donna daydreams that she's mixing a
large bowl of cum.

Donna has never been comfortable being tall. She is
sitting down. The early morning kitchen smells of
coffee, heated maple syrup, and fresh pancake batter.
Everything looks perfect. Donna covers the top of her
coffee cup with her left hand, feeling the moist heat
while her right hand works rythmically out-of-sight,
between her legs. She tilts her head slightly to the
left in a quirky smile.

Her hand trembles.

She gives up. It isn't working. The voices have returned.

"Begin action",  the voices say, soft as a whisper .....