He shouldn’t have to use his hand. And he wasn’t out with those American whores he usually dated from school.This didn’t make me a slut. Just a ...ood mother.I shrugged out of my bathrobe, letting it fall into a bundle around my feet, unveiling my naked body. I felt so wicked as I opened the door, a good wife and mother pretending to be a little slut like Leyla. I shivered, my pussy itching so badly as I slipped into Faizel’s room. I spotted his form on his bed, his chest painted in silver band. I didn't have a key for the room and sleeping in my car wasn't even an option as my keys were in Terry's room. I agreed, quickly, even though I figured this was just a nicety they were offering. I worked my ass off each year putting things together and I knew it was appreciated. The fantasy part of my brain kept kicking me though. We went into their room and turned on the lights. There was only one king bed and a small pull-out couch. I figured the couch would do and thanked them again. I could usually find a girl to help “relieve my needs” even if I needed “beer goggles” in the morning….One Friday night around 7:00 it was the usual pre-evening crowd just sitting around having a few drinks, chit-chatting, having some happy hour food and the other bartender and myself getting things ready for what we knew was going to be another busy Friday night because it was the first of the month.Around 7:30 someone asked if we knew of a good pizza joint that delivers. I told them I do but. A whole winter in the mountains was a long time. That got me thinking. The captain had felt like a master of men, in charge of his destiny. But frankly, some of the men looked like a bunch of losers. In fact, considering their auras — there was something I hadn't done for a long time — some of them were plainly drunks. What was going on here? I recalled a song from my childhood, called "Ship of Fools", about some crazy sailors with a loony captain on a death mission. This group kind of reminded.