"Do you remember your voice, thrall?"Again a grunt."If I have performed my duty correctly, you should be little more than an animal. I ask again, do y...u recall your voice?"You open your mouth, trying to respond. You manage a "nuhhhh, nuhhhhh."She smiles. "The memory is retained, though buried." She pushes her cold palm into your chest. You reach out to grab her arm a full couple of seconds too late to stop her, by which time you're already on the ground on your back like an overturned. “Oh I’m sure she would, if this were a date. This is really just business,” I said with a laugh. “That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.”“Okay, so which one the pot business, or the worm business?”she asked.“Personal business,” I said with a smile. “Make sure no one hears you about the pot.”“You really are a dog aren’t you?” she asked.“Well, I’m certainly no saint,” I agreed.“That’s a good thing cause I’m not a good catholic these days,” she said.“That sounds promising,” I suggested.“I’m not. He swept the sheet aside, and she spread her legs in anticipation.Instead, he began to stroke her again with his finger. “Yes, my darling. Yes, my Mandy. Let me see it. Come for me again.”She couldn’t resist that voice, and she really couldn’t resist that finger. The fire erupted again, and -- as he cooed encouragement -- again. She managed to push his hand away before she died of an overdose of sex. He pulled the covers over her and cuddled against her form as sleep took her utterly.The next. She was sinking in a pool of alcohol. He was good-looking, respectable, respectful, intelligent and quite sexy – masculine. It had been a while since she even considered having sex, but right now it seemed like not just a good idea but kind of inevitable.The women were on the sofa and Matthew was in a chair on the other side of the coffee table.Constance was drunk and wanted to be fucked. Some men liked that. That’s why they ply you with drink. Others, like her husband, were rather disgusted.