"C'mon in... lover," she said rather huskily, tittering nervously as she opened the door to her room. Her matter-of-fact use of the term 'lover' thrilled me. The room definitely had a counterculture feel to it, with Peter Max and Grateful Dead posters tacked to the walls. There was a Jimi Hendrix poster hanging on the wall as well, and she even had one of those 'Desiderata' posters up. The room held a faint trace of strawberry incense, as if it had been recently burned there, and it had quite a. . but if that was the case why would she lie to me?I guessed the first thing to do was find out if she was really cheating on me or not. If it was true it'd have to be on Thursday nights, it shouldn't be hard to find out for sure, but what then? I guessed I'd figure that out when the time came; first things first.It didn't take me long to come up with a plan; hell, it was easy. I called Brad at work and asked if he could meet me for a drink. He was surprised to hear from me; in all the years. The ball thrusting her belly out as if she were pregnant, she struggledto her feet and walked back and forth in front of the sneering mob thatwas her audience. Instead of applauding, they threw rotten tomatoes,apples, broken bottles, and rocks at her, bruising, nicking, and cuttingher skin until it was black and blue, with streaks of red blood. Stillshe stood there, and when the audience quieted down, she pointed at amuscular man to come up to the stage.It was the beefed-up fantasy version of. “Oops! Sorry!” She exclaimed, “better get that sorted out... come with me.” She winked. A couple of her friends walked past, I realised they’d seen the entire charade, my face flashed to red. They just waved, laughing to one another.I followed her beaconing, into a dimly lit toilet and then into a small cubicle in the women’s. She pulled her skirt up and sat on the loo. “Eat my pussy, slave.” She ordered. “Yes ma’am,” I replied, knowing my role oh-so well. I licked through the tights, savouring.
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