But he was not just any boy; he was going to be my meal ticket.I looked up at him and pointed to the porta-johns and his eyes lit up. I said, "We both...can't fit in one of those, besides someone may see us. (Yea like I really cared.) You go over into one of those johns and take out hard little Pete and make him spit out his sweet nectar just for me. I want you to come in your hand, and then bring me your sweet nectar back to me. I want to finally taste you. I am so turned on right now, picturing. He turned and walked to my door. Just before he got there he handed me a piece of paper.“Don’t forget to vote.”Then he was gone. I looked at the paper. It was a campaign pamphlet. Oh god! All he was doing was doorbelling. I felt even smaller. I knew I was wrong. I knew I was hurting him to keep myself from hurting. But it wasn’t working. I was hurting. I found myself at the hospital. I was standing in Bill’s room, overlooking him lying in bed. His arm was wrapped in gauze and he was slightly. Speaking of Billie Jenkins, the involuntary houseguest was now much less reluctant to accept her hostage status, as shown by the enthusiasm with which she rode Jimmy Gibbler and let Steve Hale use her butt while Matt fucked her throat. She was a bitch in heat by now, unable to deny herself the pleasures of the flesh anymore. She had pulled several trains already that day and didn’t mind at all by now. She was not only high and drunk, but insatiable for cock as well as cunt and tush at this. His fingers run up and down the tiny strip of thin nylon that was the only barrier between my skin and his fingertips. “My you are swollen.” he says as he leans forward smiling, “show me girl, show me what I should do to you.” He smacks me lightly and looks at the flickering screen.“Mmmm, yes,” tilting his head to one side, “yes, looks like fun but Raya, I think we need to start with this.” He slowly drags his fingernail against the skin on the top of my arm, down my hand and to the touch pad,.