"Fuck." Michael?" Uh, yeah, Eloise. I um...I'm going to work in a few minutes, and wanted to call and find out where to come tonight." I think...I hop... you know where to cum. Don't you? I mean, you have done this before, right?"It seemed to me that overnight he had forgotten his place as prey, and needed to be reminded."Done this? What..." he choked out, then I'm pretty sure he failed to cover his phone again as he spat out "fuck" again."Yes, Michael, fuck. You've done this before, right?"I had. Slowly, but with great assertiveness, Istarted to move in on my prey, edging closer and closer to Joan. As sheturned the pages of the English book, I reached out and touched herhand, as if indicating she should reread a certain portion of the text.Sweat was starting to form on my brow, but I was determined to makelove to her before the evening was over.This is part 2...As it turned out, Joan finally took the initiative. She looked me rightin the eye and said, "I've hear some of the other girls. He served excellent food, his brandy was outstanding and then there was his daughter, Madeleine, who helped her father both in the kitchen and as a serving girl. Madeleine Lévesque was 16 when I first met her in 1913, and I was enchanted from the first. She was the stereotypical French girl – dark hair, dark eyes, mischievous smile, slender figure – and she flirted with all the men who came into the pub, and I was no exception. But there was always something different between us. She didn’t. It all started after sixth period at school, when Emily, Donna, and Michelle were sitting at one of the lunch tables in the cafeteria. Lunches for the three best friends had oddly not changed all that much, even after they’d all been trickedvioletsubjectedVIOLETprivileged and, well, gosh, lucky enough to be a part of Jack’s special conditioning process. Between bites of sandwiches and sips of diet soda, they talked about how their classes that day were boring and stupid, how their teachers were.