I went back inside and stood in the kitchen, wishing desperately for a drink of any kind of alcohol. But there wasn't any. There was no booze, no beer... no food, nothing!I had no way of getting any, either. I had no job and except for a little bit of change on the kitchen counter I was flat broke.I stood in the kitchen with tears of frustration, mixed with more than a little fury, running down my cheeks. I was so mad that I couldn't even think. Not that thinking was something I'm particularly. She was saying, "He's being a total shit about the whole thing. I've had it with his crap. Yeah, that's a good idea. I'm looking forward to it." Cynthia smiled and continued, "Great, see ya there. At least I'll get something out of this week."Cynthia looked up at Roger with anger in her eyes as she closed her phone. She did not say a word as they rode to the airport. The whole flight to Miami was filled with silence. The only time Cynthia spoke was when absolutely necessary. Roger felt his. She looked at the balls, a mix of fear and hope spreading in her eyes before she nodded. “Yea, I get it.”*WHACK* the crack resounded on the walls of the room.“Yes sir, or No sir, bitch. You better start training your mouth, or I will.” He told her in a hushed tone.“Yes sir, I’m sorry sir.” She sobbed, lowering her face to sob more into the blanket.“Here’s the first ball, Slut.” He told her as he lubed up the first one and slipped it in. He started to gently stimulate her clit, feeling her. ‘C’mon Grace, show me your tits.’ The boy was obviously drunk, and obviously hunting for some action. ‘John, tell him to leave me alone and that’s so not cool. I’m the host, not some slut who came to the party to take her clothes off for everyone else, it’s not my fault we only ever throw sausage parties.’ She crossed her hands over her chest and made a pouty face at John, turning her annoyance into a joke. John laughed, ‘Well, usually you steal all the slutty girls from us at parties, so I.