PROLOGUE

     There it was again; that familiar pounding of her heart that only activated when she was in danger.  It was like a gathering of pulse that started in her chest, then quickly consumed her being, until her ears, her gut, even the flat of her tongue felt it – pounding like a sledgehammer from the inside, out.  The first time she felt it was the night she got married.  The only difference between that night and now was that then she sat cowering in a closet, more afraid to run than she was to stay.  Yet, now – today, she was stronger than she had ever been.  And, as she took the stairs three at a time, she wondered how the two compared and why she hadn’t been as strong all these years as she was now.  Wasn’t this situation equally as threatening?  Or, was it that she suddenly had a renewed will to live?

     Damita was happier today than she had ever been in her entire life.  She was marrying her soul mate; the man she would spend the rest of her life with.  Neal was a successful architect and she was a teacher at a prestigious prep school.  They had been dating for little more than a year when he popped the question – in of all places, Windows On The World.  He even got down on one knee to propose in front of a restaurant full of people.  It just didn’t get much better than that.  The only thing that would have made this a happier occasion is if her friends and family were as elated as she was.  Somehow, as charming as Neal was, he had gotten off on the wrong foot with both her mother and her girlfriends.  They thought he was pompous and a bit of a narcissist.  But, they didn’t know him like she knew him.  He was gentle and kind and he cared for her, unlike anyone else ever had.  He was all she ever wanted; all she ever needed.  And, he was hers.

     Damita’s mother stood in the doorway watching her.

     “You are absolutely beautiful.”

     “Oh Momma, you startled me.”

     “You know what your grandmother used to say:  ‘Why you jumpin’ like that – you must not be livin’ right.’  Or, maybe, it’s not you that’s not livin’ right.”

     “Momma, you promised you would behave yourself today.”

     “Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I know.  But, I wouldn’t be your mother if I didn’t ask you one more time whether you’re sure this is what you want to do.”

     “I’m 110% sure.”

     “Mr. Brook’s Brothers is outside barking orders to everybody.  I swear, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a man take that much interest in a wedding in my entire life.  He’s surveyed everything, including the doggone flowers.  It just ain’t natural.”

     “You should be happy he’s taking an interest.  He’s only doing it because he loves me and he wants me to have the best wedding day ever.”

     “Uhm, uhm.  Are you sure it’s not because he’s controlling as hell and he’s paying for the wedding, so he wants to make sure he gets exactly what he paid for?”

     “So, what’s wrong with that.  Neal didn’t get where he is by squandering his money.  It’s one of the things I love about him.  I feel safe with him – like I can count on a secure future.”

     “Security comes from within baby – not from a man.”

     Damita was so wrapped up in her impending nuptials she couldn’t be bothered to truly pay attention to the importance of what her mother was saying.

     “Yes Momma, I know.  I know.  But, you don’t have to keep telling me these things.  You and Daddy raised me to be an independent young woman.  Just because I’ve fallen in love, doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten everything you both taught me.”

     It’s just your choice of words Damita; words like ‘security’ and ‘fallen’ in love.  Words like that have always been red flags for me when it comes to relationships.

     “But I’m not you.  You and Daddy were married for 42 years before he died.  Things have changed quite a bit since the days when you got married.”

     “Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I know, I’m a dinosaur, but I’m not so much of a dinosaur that I don’t see you possibly giving up the better part of what makes you – you.”

     “I promise you, that will never happen.”

     “I hope not.”

     “This is supposed to be a happy occasion.  I want you to walk with me down the isle and I want you to be happy for me – Okay?  Neal is everything I’ve always wanted in a man.  I’ve got a great job.  I’m healthy – and dare I say, not unattractive.  Momma, I’m sitting on top of the world.”

     “Just don’t forget that you are still ALL of those things, with or without a man.”

     “I won’t.”

     The minister’s secretary peeked her head in the door.

     “Are you ready,” she asked?

     “Yes, I am,” Damita responded emphatically.

     Her mother wanted to be excited for her; could see how happy her daughter was.  But, Karen knew within every fiber of her being that Neal was not the right man for her daughter.  But, often times, the most any parent could do was tread softly in explaining their viewpoint.  There were certain things that your children had to learn on their own.  She just hoped the lesson wouldn’t come with too great a cost.  But, she knew, no matter what, she would be there to cushion her daughter if she fell.

     “What is he doing here,” Neal asked.

     “Who, baby?”

     “You know exactly who.  What is your ex doing here?”

     “We’ve been married all of an hour and you’re jealous already,” Damita teased.

     “Damita, I’m not joking.  Who invited him?”

     “My mom – and me,” she added – not wanting Neal to resent her mother.

     “I figured it was your mother.  All I want to know is why she despises me so much.  I have been nothing but cordial and respectful to the woman.  Yet, she likes that nobody better than she does her own son-in-law.”

     “Brandon is like family.  My whole family – and I, have known Brandon since we were both in kindergarten together.”

     “How would you feel if I invited one of my old girlfriends to our wedding?  You wouldn’t like it very much would you?”

     “Okay, I understand.  I’m sorry.  I probably should have asked you first.  I just didn’t think it would be that big a deal.”

     “It’s a big fucking deal!”

     It was the first time Damita had heard Neal curse or even raise his voice.  It was something she hoped she wouldn’t hear often.

     The wedding reception continued without event.  Damita tried her best to steer Brandon clear of Neal and with the hundred or so guests in attendance her task wasn’t too difficult.  She considered enlisting the aid of her best friend, Carmella, but she knew that would mean explaining why.  And, the last thing she wanted to do was lend credence to everyone’s doubts about her new husband, especially Carmella.

     “Girl, you okay?”

     “Yeah.  I’m good.  I guess I’m just a little tired.”

     “I knew it!  That’s why your ass got married.  You’re pregnant aren’t you?”

     “No, I’m not pregnant.  But, I do plan on trying as soon as possible.  After all, I’m 35 years old.  I’m not getting any younger and that damned clock is getting louder and louder with each birthday.”

     “That’s not why you got married is it; because of your biological clock.”

     “No, Carmella, I married Neal because I absolutely, positively adore him.”

     “I’m sorry girl, I just don’t see it.”

     Carmella glanced over at Neal, adjusting his tie, so that it was perfectly straight.  She didn’t mention it to Damita at that moment, but it occurred to her that he had all the earmarks of a serial killer, with all that fidgeting and adjusting – the perfection.  Then, as if on cue, he did what he always did, stared directly at Damita.  Damita and Neal had been dating for over a year, but from the very first time she met him, Carmella always noticed how he never, ever allowed Damita to get too far away from his birds-eye view.  Damita thought it was endearing.  Carmella thought it was just plain ole creepy.  She had known her share of obsessive, controlling men.  And, in her experience, relationships with men such as Neal, always ended badly.

     As Carmella watched Neal watching Damita, she sensed something different in him.  There was a certain air of cockiness that was somehow more intense than it had been before.  That’s when it occurred to Carmella what it was.  He had won ‘the prize.’  He no longer had to play the role for Damita’s family or friends.  She was now his wife and there was nothing any of them could do about it.

     As Carmella and Neal both eye-balled one another, neither of them willing to admit defeat, Brandon joined Carmella and Damita on the other side of the room.

     He grabbed both Carmella and Damita around the neck simultaneously, hugging them to him.

     “So I guess that leaves you Carmella.  This one here has broken my heart and married someone else, so I guess I’ll have to marry you Carmella.”

     “Uh, uh, I ain’t nobody’s booby prize.”

     “Naw, naw, it’s not like that.  All these years I’ve been biding my time, getting cozy with Damita in order to get to her hot, Latina friend.”

     “I know that’s right,” Carmella agreed. 

I have been getting LOADS of friend requests, messages, emails, etc. from people on Facebook, Myspace, etc. asking if I am the Michelle Robinson associated with talenthunter.com. I AM NOT.  I do not know what talenthunter is, but I Googled the company and from just reading some of the posts, and the fact that the word scam comes up several times when you search it in Google, it sounds as though something may be amiss.

I am a writer who has NO desire to be associated with something that sounds as though it might be a scam of some sort. Michelle JANINE Robinson has no association with talenthunter.com. Keep in mind that Michelle Robinson is an EXTREMELY common name — hence the reason I use the JANINE.  Even Barack Obama’s wife WAS Michelle Robinson before she married the President.

As a final word of advice, bona-fide talent agents NEVER ask for upfront money to send you on auditions.  A talent agent gets a portion of whatever money you make once you secure a modeling job, an acting job, etc.

THANK YOU!

Prologue

1963

     “What are you doing here,” he whispered to his wife, through clenched teeth?  “Haven’t I told you to NEVER, EVER bring that thing to my place of business?”

     “But, Samuel, it won’t stop crying.  I don’t know what to do.  I’ve tried everything.”

     “I don’t care what you do.  Just get it out of here.  That is your cross to bear, not mine.  In fact, if it were up to me, I would sacrifice that evil to the heaven’s and gain favor with the Lord.  Surely, we would be granted entry through the gates of heaven if we did.”

     “This abomination has been visited upon us because of the evil we have committed.  You must atone for your sins Marie.  You must repent for luring me with your wicked and wanton ways.  And then, maybe, just maybe, God will forgive you and free us from this hell.  The sins of the flesh Marie, the sins of the flesh.”

     Marie often wondered what the people of Lobeco would think of her and Samuel if they could see them now.  All the girls back at the ....South Carolina.... church she had attended had vied for the attention of the handsome and articulate Samuel Richardson.  His crisp cocoa brown complexion and granite pecks, coupled with his extensive knowledge of the bible, his quick wit and intelligence, made him quite the catch.  But Marie had been the one that caught his eye.  Most people would have described Marie as a Plain Jane.  She wasn’t an ugly girl, but she was stick thin, without so much as a bump or a curve.  Even her breasts were little more than a mole-hill, with her 32A bra size.  Her wheat-colored complexion, while flawless and free of even the hint of a blemish, was sallow at best.  Her clothes consisted mostly of items recovered from goodwill.  She had large feet, at least by female standards, and wore a size 12 shoe, which made it close to impossible to ever find anything even bordering on attractive.  Marie and her family were quite poor.  She had three brothers and one sister and their single mother just barely survived; caring for them all on welfare.  Their father had abandoned them long ago and her mother made it clear to her eldest daughter, Marie, that her only escape from poverty would be to marry well.

     Samuel’s father, on the other hand, was Lobeco’s town pastor and everyone assumed Samuel would eventually follow in his father’s footsteps.  His mother had been the child of affluent parents, at least by Lobeco standards, and when she died of cancer, she left both Samuel and his father well-fixed in the way of money. 

     Therefore, most of the people in Lobeco, especially the young women, were quite surprised when Samuel chose to spend most of his time with the poor, plain and painfully shy Marie.

     Samuel’s father could not forgive him when he discovered that Marie had gotten pregnant.  He had always had high hopes for his only son and assumed that Marie was a temporary dalliance that he would eventually tire of.  The pair married quickly and left ....South Carolina...., at the Pastor’s insistence.  It was his fear that their dirty little family secret would be revealed and his reputation would be ruined.

     Although the couple’s plan was to eventually return to their native home, once the baby was born Samuel decided that under the circumstances there was no way they would ever be able to return.

     Marie’s pregnancy was a difficult one and after giving birth they learned that their child was not exactly normal.  With each passing day, Marie watched as Samuel sunk deeper and deeper into despair.  By the time he resurfaced, he was a mere shell of the handsome, vibrant suitor she had once known.  Not only that, where he had once been doubtful as to whether or not he wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps, he had know become obsessed with religion; so much so, that Marie became more than just a bit concerned.  Not a word was spoken nor a deed carried out that didn’t revolve around the words of the bible.  Although Marie had been raised in the church, she could clearly see the difference between a healthy reverence of God and obsession.

     While she loved her baby, she was devoted to Sam.  Any thoughts she had, any desires she held took a back seat to his.  And, it was his desire that their child cease to exist.  Therefore, when she addressed Samuel she never contradicted his wishes.  Marie considered it a miracle that the child were even still alive, given Samuel’s thoughts on the matter.  The one and only time she had ever shirked his authority was when their baby had been born and he demanded they leave the hospital without it.  Marie had wanted a child more than anything and it didn’t matter what the child looked like.  All she cared about was that it was created by her and Samuel.  He, on the other hand, considered their child a spawn of the devil, an abomination (as he so often called it) and therefore just punishment, because they had ‘lain together in sin.’  After multiple consultations with the hospital, Marie finally brought the baby home, but Samuel made it quite clear that he would never acknowledge the child as his own.

     “Woman, why are you standing there looking like a fool.  I told you I have work to do.”

     “I’m sorry Samuel,” she cried.  “I just didn’t know what to do.”

     “You know what you need to do.  Just go home, now, and do it!  And, tonight, we will pray together for redemption.”

     “Yes Samuel,” she agreed.

     As she left, her husband knew that she had no intention of following through with the instructions he had so often given her, to put a stop to the child’s endless wails.  Therefore, he would have no other alternative but to handle it’s discipline himself.

Eighteen Years Later

     Freedom had finally arrived.  There would be no more weekends that stretched into endless darkness, never knowing the difference between night and day; no more dull aches of hunger, the withdrawal of food imposed at the simplest infraction.  There would be no more beatings or any of the other atrocities perpetuated from the confines of that dank basement that had become a prison.  Freedom had arrived in the form of education.  College awaited -- college and the sweetest gift anyone could ever imagine -- freedom.

     Marie sat in the living room, listening as her only child packed, knowing it would probably be the last time they ever saw one another.  She only hoped that her child’s departure would be uneventful.  Somehow, though, she knew it would not.  Samuel would never allow it to be so.

     Over the years his descent into madness had been progressive, but great.  And, now he was little more than a vicious wielder of punishment; doling out his form of justice, first to their baby and eventually to Marie as well.  Sex with him had become some twisted form of worship, release and punishment, that Marie was sure she would never understand.  After all, how could a sane person understand the actions of the insane.  While she often considered leaving, her love of Samuel, albeit illogical, had not abated.  She still adored him as much as she ever did.  In fact, her adoration had been replaced with a certain protectiveness; since she fully knew that he was stark raving mad, and subject to confinement at any time.  That is, if anyone ever discovered what went on behind closed doors.

     Samuel stood in the doorway, smiling, silently taunting the only child he had ever know -- the same child he never acknowledged as his own.

     “The world knows what you are you know.  You are, and will always be, an abomination and college and moving away will never change that.  Even the doctor’s can’t fix what you are.  I know it and soon the world will know it.  You will never know peace.  There is no peace for those created in the demons image.”

     “You might just be right.  But, you know what, if the world knows what I am, then it knows what you are as well.  After all, didn’t you help to create me.  And, I don’t just mean your rancid seed, I mean the hell you have subjected me to all these years.  Everything that I am, I owe to you; you and my poor, disillusioned mother.  You are a sick and evil man, who shrouds his evil in the name of The Lord.  You can keep Your Lord.  I don’t need Him or you.  You have made life for me here hell on earth, so how much worse could it get for me.  Yes, you can keep Your Lord – I don’t need him.  And, I DON’T NEED YOU!  My only regret is that my mother will die here, never having known what life could have been like if she hadn’t been married to a sick fucking bastard like you!”

     Samuel’s face contorted into a shape and had taken on a hue reminiscent of complete and utter malevolence.  Suddenly he realized he no longer had any power.  For years he had waited for the constant reminder of his inadequacies to meet with some obvious and ill-fated destiny, yet it had never come to pass.  Here it stood, taunting him, ridiculing him.  Taking the name of the Lord in vain -- and, in his own home.  He would not stand for it!

     Upstairs in the living room, Marie sat biting at her last remaining fingernail, the others now painfully gnawed to the quick.  The sudden silence was more deafening to her ears than all eighteen years of screams and wails, she had been forced to helplessly listen to.  The threat of impending doom reverberated throughout her entire being.  It occurred to Marie that she had never been a champion to her only child, but today, God-willing, she would be.  The basement door slamming was the last sound she heard, after what seemed like endlessly agonizing moments of silence.  Marie raced downstairs, taking the steps two at a time.

     Throughout the years, Marie had proven to be artful at ‘turning a deaf ear’ to all she heard.  But, somehow, she had always avoided seeing anything altogether.  The moment she entered the basement, she was mortified.  The full realization of how her child had probably been tortured by her husband time and time again, became a far too tangible reality.  Memories swirled around her, dizzying her, crippling her, until she saw what he held in his hand.  It was a crude object, carefully hand-crafted by an evil man with evil intentions, for the sole purpose of inflicting pain.  The same object that had probably harmed her child so many years ago.  Marie felt as though she had risen from some invisible tomb, stronger than she had ever been, maybe even invincible.

     “You bastard,” she yelled!  “There never was an accident!  How could you!  How could you mutilate your own child!  I always knew.  I always knew it was you!”

     From the moment Marie rose from her bed early that morning, her actions had been set on autopilot.  She went about her usual day; preparing breakfast, making the beds.  Everything had been all so commonplace, that is, until she took her place in the living room, while her child prepared to leave.  Marie had settled in and waited.  And as she sat, she maintained a firm grasp on the Glock she had purchased from a neighborhood thug just a few days earlier.

     “Marie?  What are you doing?  Where did you get that?  Now, now calm down.  I was just. . . I was just. . .  Now hold on a damn minute, you mean to tell me, you’re holding a gun on me in my own home.  This is me Marie.  What are you doing?  It’s me, me!  There is no rea. . .”

     While Samuel pleaded with his dutiful wife to lower the gun she was holding, Marie considered the implications and watched and listened as Samuel alternated between being apologetic, angry and confused.  And, as he approached her, fully prepared to pounce, Marie cocked the gun and pulled the trigger.

      Seventeen-year old Jade Smith sauntered into the room she shared with her soon-to-be eighteen-year old roommate Bridget Grey.  Jade’s frizzy red hair, fair skin and freckles reminded Bridget of a Raggedy Ann doll she once owned.  Her hourglass figure did not.  Her measurements were 38-24-38 and Jade lorded those measurements over men like they were money in the bank.  And, as far as Jade was concerned they were.  While Bridget disliked being noticed by men, Jade reveled in it.  She fully intended to use her body to get anything and everything that she wanted.  Bridget on the other hand couldn’t imagine any woman selling herself that short, especially her best friend.  Bridget silently hoped Jade would change.  Jade on the other hand, had every intention of seeing to it that Bridget DID change.

      “Hey girl; Buster gave me something for you – it’s some of that nasty ass rice pudding you like!  I don’t know how the hell you can eat that shit,” Jade said.

      “Jade, I told you not to take anything from Buster, especially not for me.  He looks at me like I’m a goddamned steak or something.
      Jade and Bridget had both been at Mannersville Group Home for almost six years.  They had both been born addicted to heroin and had both been forced to endure the nasty withdrawal symptoms babies like them suffered.  It took a special kind of parent to adopt such a baby.  Such parents never came along for Jade and Bridget.  They were both close to 18 and counting the days until they could strike out on their own.  Bridget was a good student and wanted more than anything to go to college someday.  Jade had every intention of going back to her mother when she got out even though it had been resolved that as long as she was a minor she would probably never be allowed to go back to her mother legally.  But no one could do anything about where she lived when she turned 18.  It didn’t matter to Jade that her mother was still addicted to heroin and hookin’ on Hunts Point.  As far as Jade knew, her father could have been any one of the many John’s her mother had encountered over the years.  Yet, all she talked about was getting out of Mannersville Group Home and getting back to the ..Bronx...  Over the years, she had often tried to talk Bridget into escaping with her, assuring her that her mother would take care of both of them.  When she was younger, it never even occurred to her that if her mother was truly able to care for her, she wouldn’t have ended up here in the first place.  But, as time went on, Jade got tougher and stronger and her logic was that she didn’t need ANYONE to care for her, including her mother – she could care for herself.  Fortunately, Bridget’s level head won out – she convinced Jade that running away would be the worst thing they could do.  She assured Jade that if they ran, they would be running the rest of their lives and neither of them wanted that.  Bridget’s mom had died of a drug overdose almost a year after Bridget was born and her dad; a drug dealer, was killed not long after that by the people he was selling for, when he got caught sampling a little too much of the product.  She had a grandmother that had visited her and tried on a couple of occasions to get her out of the numerous foster homes she had lived in, but her grandmother had gambling problems and health problems and could barely maintain a stable home for herself, much less a small child born addicted to heroin.  When Bridget was just 10 years old, the possibility of her grandmother raising her was erased as an option.  Her last remaining relative – her mother’s mom, Grandma Hilliard, died of complications related to diabetes at the age of 58, young by U.S. standards, but not so young when you’ve lived a lifetime in the hood.  Bridget was allowed to attend the funeral and grieved as best she could for a family member she barely knew.
      Bridget and Jade were as different as two people could be.  But, Jade was the closest thing to family that Bridget had known and she wanted more than anything to keep her safe.  Bridget was afraid that without her guidance, Jade was headed down the same road each of their parents had traveled.  Bridget had made herself a solemn vow that she would never, ever be her mother, and neither would Jade be hers, if Bridget had anything to say about it.  Bridget would be 18 today and in just six months Jade would turn 18 as well, and they would both be free. 
      “Why you trippin’ Bridget,” Jade asked?  “Buster ain’t so bad.  He likes you.”
      “Buster is a grown ass man.  He’s gotta’ be at least 40 years old.  He’s old enough to be my father.  I know he fucks around with some of these other girls, but I ain’t down with that.  My shit is precious and I’m not givin’ it up to the first loser that wants it. 
      “You ain’t ‘givin’ it up’ period,” Jade whispered under her breath.
      Bridget heard every word she said.
      “No, I’m not, until I’m ready.  I got plans and they don’t include being a pregnant teenage mother or selling myself short.  I want more than that.”
      “Check you out, Miss Thang.  I’m just tryin’ to help you out.  Buster helps a lot of the girls here.  I’ve heard he’s even been known to turn his head and allow girls to sneak out on occasion.  And, if you’re nice to him, I’m sure he’ll be nice to US.”
      Bridget had heard through the grapevine that one of the many times Jade had run away she had been able to do so after giving one of the workers at the home a blow job.  She wondered if it was Buster.  Not only that, Jade had shared with her countless stories of her sexual encounters with various foster parents and group home workers.  She even thought she heard her say once that she worked the streets with her mother the last time she was home.  Bridget often hoped they were just stories Jade dreamed up to entertain her, but she suspected that at least some of these stories probably had a ring of truth to them.
      “I’ll tell you what, if you feel that strongly about it, why don’t YOU be nice to Buster for “us” Bridget offered?
      “One very important reason,” Jade answered.  “He doesn’t like me, he likes you.”
      “I’m sorry Jade, but there are some things I just won’t do – not even for you.”
      “Besides,” Bridget added.  “I’ve got much more important things to think about; like what kind of cake I want for my birthday.”
      Each of the children at Mannersville got their choice of birthday cakes every year.  Bridget’s favorite was chocolate chip cookie dough.  It was Sunday, June 15, 1991.  The sun was shining, the birds were chirping and it was her birthday.  She was 18 today!  Bridget was especially excited this year, because she would finally leave the numerous “temporary” homes she had lived in and get on with the adventure of living her life.  Over the years she had felt as though she were living in limbo; never truly belonging to anyone or anything -- that is until she met Jade.  Even though Jade would not be leaving for at least six months, since her birthday was not until December 29, Bridget had no intention of forgetting about her best friend.  She had it all planned out.  She had already gotten her diploma last year, thanks to her dedication to her studies and she was fully prepared to get a job working as a typist or secretary.  She had taken typing classes and transcription classes preparing for her new life.  She was going to get a job and a place where they BOTH could live; which would be waiting for Jade as soon as she left Mannersville.  Jade, on the other hand, fully expected Bridget to forget about her as soon as she left and obsessed over it night and day.  She had been a horrible student and would be lucky if she could get a job at McDonald’s when she got out of here.  Bridget was hoping to go to law school one day and she had fine-tuned her researching skills by finding out all she could about the emancipation laws of ....New York City.....  However, Jade had done everything she could to discourage Bridget from attempting to leave at age 16.  But, there was nothing she could do now that Bridget was 18; she was leaving and that was that.  Bridget was looking forward to this birthday more than any other she had ever had.  It seemed to her that a world of possibilities was just waiting for her, like an open door.  She gouged herself on lots of cake and ice-cream and opened her presents.  Jade told Bridget there was a present for her in their room, but that she should wait until they got back to their room before she opened it; so Bridget agreed.  Lights out was typically at 10:00, but Mama Dixon, the operator of Mannersville allowed them to stay up until 11:00 on birthday nights.  Bridget and Jade headed back to their room at around 10:30.  Bridget couldn’t wait to open her present.
      “Go on, open it,” Jade urged.
      Bridget ripped open the modestly wrapped, 99 cent store paper from the package.  Inside there was a small burgundy velvet jewelry box.  When Bridget opened the box she was surprised to find a beautiful gold heart-shaped necklace, with what looked like diamonds encircling the heart.  Bridget assumed it was gold-plated and that the stones were cubic zircons.  After all, there was no way Jade could afford such an expensive necklace – if it were real.  She loved the necklace, no matter what it was made of, because it came from Jade, her sister-friend – the only real family she had ever known.
      Tears welled up in Bridget’s eyes
      “Now don’t go startin’ that shit,” Jade said.
      Bridget wrapped her arms around Jade and hugged her with all her might.
      Between the excitement of the birthday party and all the cake and ice-cream, Bridget was asleep in no time.  At about 3:00 in the morning Bridget was stirred awake by light filtering through the open doorway.  Someone had entered the room.  She assumed it was Jade coming back from the bathroom or something, but she quickly discovered it was not.  The person crossed the room and sat on her bed.  It was Buster and he reeked of alcohol.
      “Buster, you know if Mama Dixon finds out you’re in my room after lights out you’re going to be in big trouble, don’t you.”
      He just sat there leering at her.  And Bridget suddenly became aware of what she was wearing.  She had on an extremely transparent white t-shirt and no bra and a pair of sweats.  Her blanket was covering her up to her waist, but her upper body was noticeably uncovered.
      “Whatcha’ talkin’ about Mama Dixon for,” Buster slurred?  “I just came to give you the rest of your birthday present.  3:00 on the dot, just like you told me to.  Buster waved in the direction of Jade’s empty bed and the clock on the bedside table.”
      Bridget tried to maneuver herself out of the bed, but Buster had to weigh at least 260 pounds and he was sitting on the blanket, almost on top of her.  Bridget stared at the door to the room, waiting for Jade.  Where on earth could she be?  Maybe she was in the bathroom, Bridget thought to herself.  Yeah, she was probably in the bathroom, which meant she would be back any minute now.  She didn’t think Buster was dangerous, but she recognized this look – she had been dodging that look in one foster home or another for most of her life.  When you combined that look with alcohol, the end result could be unspeakable.  Many girls (and boys) she had known through the years had fallen prey.
      Bridget tried talking to Buster as calmly as possible, even though she was getting more and more frightened with each passing second.
      “Buster, what are you talking about – 3:00.  I didn’t tell you to meet me here.”
      “Yeah you did.  You said 3:00 and it’s 3:00 now – it’s past 3:00 it’s 3:13; and I got something real special for you.”
      Buster moved the covers out of the way and fell on top of Bridget’s body.  He was like dead weight.  He started pulling at her breasts; pushing his hand between her legs and fumbling with the waistband of her sweat pants, trying to remove them.
      “Buster, stop!  Just stop it!  Please stop Buster.  If you leave now, I won’t say a thing to Mama Dixon.  Just leave. STOP!!!!
      While he was busy nibbling her breasts through her t-shirt, Bridget tried to scream, to no avail.  Buster covered her mouth and no amount of struggling could free her from his grip.  His hand against her mouth was like a great big slab of beef, imprisoning her.  He forced her sweat pants down to her ankles before he invaded her chaste soul, pounding into her again and again, while he muttered through the horrible stench of his alcohol-induced breath, Happy Birthday baby, Happy birthday, punctuating every word with violent thrusts that Bridget thought might literally tear her apart.”  He took from her the one thing she felt separated her from the ugliness of the world she was born into.  He stole her most precious gift, one she planned to hold in reserve for someone she loved and who loved her in earnest.  Grandma Hilliard always told her she might not have a pot to piss in, but she had her chastity and her dignity.  Now, in Bridget’s mind, she had lost both.  Buster Williams had seen to that.  Then, suddenly, it was over.  Within a matter of minutes her life had been irrevocably changed. 
      He climbed off of the top of Bridget and stood up.  He reached down and wiped the tears that were streaming down her face, looked at the blood stained sheets, remnants of the innocence he had deprived her of.  Bridget couldn’t understand why he looked so confused or was it regret at the monstrous thing he had just done.  Maybe that was the look she recognized.
      “What’s wrong baby, I just wanted to give you the rest of your birthday present, like you said.  What did I do wrong?  Is it because it was your first time?  Don’t worry, it’ll be better the next time.”
      In that split second Bridget was like a person sleepwalking through a horrible nightmare.  All she heard through her haze was the words “the next time”.  She leapt out of bed and picked up the desk chair in the corner of the room and began hitting Buster with it over and over again until he fell to the floor.  The element of surprise and the alcohol worked against him.  He was powerless.  She hit him so hard the chair leg broke off in her hands, revealing several large rusty nails.  She used the protruding nails to beat Buster Williams over and over again in the chest until he lay there motionless.
      Bridget was soaked in blood and in shock when Jade returned to the room.  Jade walked in and immediately noticed Buster’s prone form.  She quickly spun into action.
      “Bridget, we need to leave.  NOW!  Mama Dixon and the others will be looking for Buster soon.  Bridget, you’ve got to snap out of it.  We have to leave RIGHT NOW!”
      Bridget stared off into space, mumbling “never again.”
      Jade decided Bridget would need a shock to set her “right,” so she did what she had always seen people do on t.v.  She slapped Bridget across the face and amazingly it worked.  Bridget snapped out of it.  She looked around the room, suddenly aware of her predicament.
      “Oh my God,” she shrieked.  “What have I done?”
      Jade scrambled around the room, picking up this and that.  She grabbed both of their duffel bags from the closet and began throwing things in it at random; her clothes, Bridget’s clothes, anything her hand could get a hold of and that would fit into the bags.  Then she reached down and started going through Buster’s pants pockets.
      “What are you doing Jade?  Don’t touch him!”
      “We have to Bridget.  Otherwise, what are we going to do for money; he obviously doesn’t need it anymore.”

     Potion was everything Pookie said it was.  Riding crops and chains hung from the ceilings.  At the front door there was a display case full of dildos, nipple clamps, leather collars and chokers, harnesses and masks, along with the requisite assortment of condoms.

     Pookie was amused with Summer’s reaction, especially since she was the last person he ever expected to be shocked.  Yet, she was.  It was written all over her face.  He didn’t know if it was the combination of sexual devices, the techno music or the fact that this was the first time he had come here with a woman, but his dick was suddenly harder than he had ever felt it.  He always joked around with Summer about hooking up with her, but truth be told, he saw her as much more of a sister than he did a fuck buddy.  Although, this latest development was clearly contradicting that.  He really wanted things to remain exactly the way that they were and the last thing he wanted was for Summer to become aware of his raging erection, so he turned around and focused on something else, trying to block out the music, the toys – and Summer, until his erection could subside.  By the time he turned back around, Summer was no where to be found.  Instead, Amy was standing directly behind him, pressing herself firmly to his back, her hand gripping his cock, dashing any hopes of his hard-on going away.”

     “Hello Amy,” he said, trying to play it cool.

     “Hey Pookie.  Have you come to play?”

     “What exactly did you have in mind?”

     “Come with me and I’ll show you.”

     The head on his shoulders was telling him no, but the head in his pants, followed her like a puppy enticed by a shiny new bone.

     Amy led Pookie straight to the nearest bathroom.  There was such a combination of sucking and fucking going on in that bathroom and the tell-tale scent of sex wafted through the air.  As Pookie’s feet stuck to the floor, he wondered what he would eventually find clinging to his shoes.

     Amy found an empty stall and latched the door.  In her other hand she held two sets of handcuffs.  With lightening swift accuracy, she smacked a set of handcuffs on each of Pookie’s wrists and before he had an opportunity to truly recognize the precarious position he found himself and put up a greater struggle, she had attached each of the handcuffs to a hook in the ceiling.  Pookie looked up, surprised, since he had never noticed the hooks that were strategically placed in the middle of each stall ceiling area.

     “Okay Amy, you’ve had your fun, now unlock these handcuffs.  This ain’t my thing.”

     “That’s where you’re wrong Pookie, I haven’t even begun to have fun and before we’re done you will most certainly be ‘into it.’”

     “Goddamn it Amy!  I’m not fuckin’ around!  Unlock these damn handcuffs.”

     From the waistband of her skimpy satin skirt Amy withdrew a small blade.  At first, Pookie was sure he was going to die; right then and there.  Instead of cutting him with the blade, he was happy to find that she was only going to use it to remove his pants.  Ordinarily, he would have been pissed, but under the circumstances, and given his initial fears, he was willing to see where this was going, especially since his dick was now eager for some pussy.

     Amy traced the blade from the waist of his slacks to right about where his dick stopped, cutting along the way.  Pookie got a little nervous about a blade being that close to his family jewels, but as soon as his dick was free and she put the blade away, he was back to thinking about how tight her pussy would be wrapped around his dick; and whether or not he would be able to get some head.

     Pookie had always been proud of his nine by four (as he so often called it).

     “Well there it is.  What are you gonna do with it?”

     “Just you wait and see.”

     Amy held firmly to the handcuffs extended above Pookie’s head and in a move that Pookie himself was quite impressed with, she raised her entire body off the floor, while only holding the cuffs, mounted his dick and fucked him virtually in mid-air.  Pookie was surprised to find that she didn’t miss a stroke.  And, just when he thought that nothing in life could feel any better than this, he caught a glimpse of her face.  For a moment he thought maybe she had donned some sort of a Halloween mask.  But he knew better.  Out of nowhere he thought of what he had told Summer earlier:  ‘His Momma didn’t raise no fool.’  Apparently she did.  With each stroke, her pussy got tighter and smaller; and at first it was pleasure beyond belief, but the greater the transformation of her face – the decaying skin, the bloody horns emanating from her neck, the rancid spittle dripping from her lips, the more pain he endured.  It was as if hidden within her were a set of strategically placed, jagged teeth, gnawing at his manhood.  Worse than that, when he tried to speak or cry out for help, he felt strangled, like every attempt at vocalization tightened an invisible noose around his neck, cutting off his air supply.  Her head and body twisted and revolved with such speed, he was unable to see a thing.  It was like watching a set of rotors spinning wildly out of control.

     Eventually, she had extracted all that she could from him.  Dried up and lifeless, his hands slipped through the cuffs that bound him and his entire body fell in a heap to the floor below.  Before exiting the bathroom, Amy glanced in the mirror.  With each restoration, with each soul, she looked younger and younger.  

            “Shit!  Monday morning, 9:45 a.m. and Tony still wasn’t here.  Susan had been here since 8:00 in the morning.  This was the third time in six months that he had been late -- time to hire another Assistant.

            Tony walked in at 10:00, mumbling something about the subway.

            “Tony, get Jessica on the phone,” she said abruptly.

            Some people might have found it a wee bit heartless to have their Assistant call the Office Manager to institute their own dismissal, but Susan wasn’t most people.  She had made it crystal clear to Tony that he was to be at his desk ON TIME, ready to start work at precisely 9:30 a.m. each day – not 9:31, not 9:45, but precisely 9:30 a.m.  She had also made it clear from day one what would happen if that requirement was not met.  Sure, he was a good Assistant, but New York City was littered with good Secretary’s.  She wanted, NO she demanded, the complete package.  Her law practice was an around-the-clock business.  As she saw it, any Assistant she had was lucky she didn’t ask them to come in before 9:30 a.m.  Therefore, she expected Tony or anyone else she employed to be there on time.  As far as she was concerned, the minute he walked in at 10:00 a.m. was the moment he tendered his resignation.

            After Tony got Jessica Williams on the phone, Susan slammed her office door.

            “I’ll just cut to the chase,” Susan said abruptly.  “Tony was half an hour late today.  I believe I made it very clear to everyone concerned that any Assistant working for me needs to be on time – every morning.  Did I not?”

            “Yes, Ms. Perkins, but Tony is one of our best employees.  He does a great job, he’s always on time, stays late, and all of the clients and partners think he’s great.

            “Point One -- he works directly with me and my review of his work is adequate, at best.  Somehow we’ve become a society that rewards mediocrity.  He does his job and gets paid rather handsomely for doing so, nothing more.  Point Two -- he is NOT always on time or you and I would not be having this conversation, would we?  He has been late three times in six months.  Point Three -- he does not work for the clients, nor does he work for the other partners.  He works for ME.  The partners in this firm have given me a certain level of autonomy, not out of the kindness of their hearts, but because I bill over 400 hours every month and have established a reputation as an attorney who wins her cases.  I want Tony out of here and I want him replaced with an Assistant who understands my requirements.  Do you understand that Jessica?”  Susan laughed to herself when she thought of the other reason she was able to call the shots around here.  Susan had made it a point to keep her eyes and ears open from day one.  Because she was a woman, the partner’s at the firm had greatly underestimated her.  When they finally figured out what they were dealing with, it was too late.  Susan knew all their dirty little secrets.  She knew who was stealing, who was gay, who was fucking their secretary, whose sexual tastes bordered on the unusual and who wanted her to disappear.  But, Susan was smart and compiled an arsenal of proof, just in case she needed it.  She also made herself invaluable; ingratiating herself with as many clients as she could come into contact with as well as compiling her own rather extensive and elite client list.  Susan had clients from virtually every sector of the planet, from athletes to actors to leaders in government.  She became one of the most sought after attorneys in New York City and not even those who despised her most could challenge the fact that she was damn good at her job.

            “Yes, Ms. Perkins, I understand.  I’ll start interviewing potential candidates right away.” 

            Susan watched Tony pack up his belongings and decided that since she didn’t have an assistant for the rest of the day, she would go have a martini and unwind.

            Susan got bored very quickly, worked around the clock and therefore had little time for bullshit, that’s why she liked Pleasure Principle.  The club had been started by Janet Myers.  Susan and Janet had been partners at Mullens & Schneider.  After several years there, Janet became disenchanted.  She was sick to death of the “old boy’s network” and “the law” no longer excited her.  The difference between Janet and Susan was Janet was uncomfortable trying to fit into the mold society had created for women in business, while Susan had decided she would create her own mold and everyone else would have to find a way to fit.  One night Susan and Janet had a drink with a prospective client at a local gentlemen’s club.  Susan and Janet were both very attractive women and Susan presumed that this client was in a position to kill two birds with one stone, he could sit and watch the sexy, scantily clothed women on stage bump, grind and removed their clothing while he imagined what both Janet and Susan looked like under their gabardine suits.  Tonight Susan was wearing a black single-breasted Barney’s suit, with a white silk blouse underneath, which she had left unbuttoned enough to reveal her ample 38D cleavage.  The skirt stopped right above her knee and showed off her wonderfully shapely legs.  The form-fitting waist of the jacket accentuated her curvy hips and instead of the ponytail she usually sported, her long brown hair cascaded past her shoulder, lending her a dual role of conservative wild woman.  Tonight, instead of a flesh-toned lipstick or gloss she was wearing bright red lipstick a stunning complement to her mocha complexion.  Susan liked playing cat and mouse as much as the next guy, but she would never under any circumstances be the mouse and if that is what this client had in mind, he would be sorely disappointed.  Janet’s blue shirt was buttoned up to her neck and she had chosen a suit to wear tonight that camouflaged all of her assets.  You would never be able to tell that Janet was 5’11”, 135 pounds with an impressive set of hooters and an ass as round as a basketball.  Her legs went on for days, but the long pleated skirt she was wearing hid all evidence of that.  What she couldn’t hide was  that shock of red hair and beautiful freckles.  Janet was a natural beauty, which required very little embellishment and even with a suit of clothing that made her look like a potato sack, she couldn’t hope to hide that beautiful face of hers.  Susan was hooked from the moment she entered the club.  She was always fascinated with the sheer power of sex and this place was a glowing representation of its influence.  Despite her earlier reservations, it only took Janet a half an hour at the club to figure out what a fucking goldmine the place was, always the business woman, her wheels started turning.  The bar was turning over money hand over fist.  The women were scantily clothed and the combination of libido and alcohol helped money to flow.  She had been looking for a business venture that would work and this seemed like a money-making idea; something that hadn’t been done already.  It could be risky, but it could also be exactly what she was looking for.  There were so-called gentlemen’s clubs all over New York City, but she had never in her life heard of a “Lady’s Club.”  Within 5 years she had started a chain of clubs all over New York City.  Her first – her baby -- was Pleasure Principle.  One year after all the “kinks” had been ironed out, she opened Epic and two years after that Dionysus, Eros and The Lollipop Lounge.  Janet had tried to get Susan to come in as her partner, but Susan liked things just fine the way they were.  Pleasure Principle was Susan’s home away from home and as with anything that gave her pleasure, she protected it.  She was Janet’s attorney and despite the local bureaucrats desire to shut the place down, Susan made sure they didn’t.

            Susan walked in, sat down at the VIP table expressly reserved for her and surveyed the room.  Sam, a muscular black dancer with an extremely large dick came over to the table.  Susan palmed his taut ass and stroked his butt cheeks.  He was wearing a white g-string, which made his dick look even larger than it was.  She had fucked him before and he was very well endowed.  She had only fucked him once though, because he didn’t take instructions well and he talked too goddamn much.  She couldn’t stand it when a man felt the need to talk through the entire thing.  This was probably all well and good for someone looking for love, but she wasn’t caught up in illusions of some great romance.  She wanted to get fucked, licked and sucked and usually had very little time to get that done.  She didn’t have time for whispered words of love and admiration; she was on a clock.  Susan ordered a dry martini and thought of asking Sam whether Wiley was working tonight, then thought better of it.  The dancers were artful at “cock-blocking.”  They knew Susan paid well and each vied for the coveted role of stud for the night.  Tonight, she wanted her pussy eaten.  Wiley was the man for the job.  One night he ate her out so good, she went home and masturbated to the feeling his tongue had left implanted on her pussy walls.  As Susan sipped her martini, Marvin Gaye’s soul-stirring tune Sexual Healing began to play and Wiley made his way onto the stage.  He wasn’t a big man; about 5’9” tall and he looked to weight about 165 pounds, but he looked like Mickey Rourke.  She had masturbated many a night to 9-1/2 Weeks and Wild Orchid.  He executed an artful bump and grind routine, leaving Susan’s pussy dripping wet.  Her cunt was doing involuntary Keigel’s and was glad she hadn’t worn any panties.  No use in wasting time.  She wanted whoever would be dining on her feast tonight to get straight to it.  Susan winked at Wiley and he quickly got her meaning.  After his “show” he came over to where she was sitting.

            “Hey Susan, how’s it goin’?  Can I get you anything?”

            “How’s that nice long tongue of yours?”

            Susan would have liked nothing better than to jump on the table, spread eagle and let Wiley go to town, but the last thing she wanted was for this place to get shut down.  So, they proceeded to one of the “private rooms,” classified as a place for private drinks and conversation for legal purposes -- it’s true and primary function was a “fuck-den” and there wasn’t a room Susan hadn’t christened.  In one of the rooms Susan had convinced Janet to install a chair similar to a dentist’s, but with stirrups, like at the gynecologists’ office with harnesses.  No expense was spared having it made.  It had a massage feature and could tilt 360 degrees; designed to Susan’s exact specifications.  Susan shut and locked the door and welcomed sweet release.   She positioned her legs in the stirrups and scooted down to the end of the chair.  Her pussy was wide open and her juices trickled onto the chair below in anticipation.

            “Lick every drop of cum that comes out of my pussy -- I’m going to give you some very easy instructions and all you need to do is follow them.  Okay Wiley.”

            “Okay, he responded.”

            “You see that stool over their in the corner.  Bring it over here and sit down, right in front of me.”

            Wiley wheeled over the spinning stool and when he sat down, he was exactly eye level with her pussy.  He knew he had his “work” cut out for him, because the cushion on the chair was already thoroughly saturated.  He began licking first from her ass crack where her cunt juices had dripped and licked from her crack up to where her pussy began.  The more he licked, the wetter she got.  He began to think this was a tongue bath that would never be complete.  For every lashing his tongue gave, there was yet another cascading wave of liquid pleasure.  He licked and she came.  He sucked and she came.  Eventually Wiley realized no amount of licking was going to dry this multi-orgasmic pussy banqueted before him, so he plunged his tongue deep into her pussy, exploring her tunnel like his mouth had a cock extension.  Her phallic haven made his dick just as hard as the men he fucked in his spare time.  In many ways she reminded him of a man.  She was beautiful and shapely, but in every other respect she was characteristic of a man in every sense.  She demanded excellence in every facet of her life and accepted nothing less.  He admired her, even as one of her “humble

servants.”

            “No, no, Susan said.  Lick my clit.  Yes . . . Like that . . . with the tip of your tongue.  Oh fuck. . . yes!

            She grabbed a handful of Wiley’s chestnut-colored hair and urgently pushed his tongue even deeper into her cunt.  He gave her EXACTLY what she wanted; a long slow mouth fuck and he gobbled up every drop of cum that gushed from her, licking with the flat of his tongue for maximum coverage.  His mouth could feel her swollen pussy lips and he hoped the services she required went beyond her usual request for a tongue bath.  She must have been reading his mind, because suddenly she answered his silent question.

            “Wiley, can you fuck?”

            “Only you can be the judge of that, he answered”

            “I think not, Wiley.  A man knows if he can fuck or not, even if he doesn’t want to admit it to himself.  So, can you or can’t you?”

    “I will fuck you so good your pussy will conform itself to the shape of my

dick.”

            “Damn, I like a man with confidence.  Let’s get to it!”

            Susan had Wiley sit in the chair.  She mounted his pulsating erection so that her back was facing his chest and wrapped her pussy walls around him, devouring his cock with hard, demanding thrusts, sliding up and down his shaft, as their fucking built in intensity.  Each time Susan slid her pussy down to the very end of his dick she contracted her muscles so tight she thought she could almost feel the lines of his veins protruding through the skin of his now extremely taut member; when she reached the tip she started all over again.  She loved the way this dick filled her pussy up, but more than that she loved the affect of her strokes on him.  He looked ready to pay her for her services rather than the other way around.  Her techniques in the fucking department made her feel masterful; and she was.  As Susan ground her pelvis into his now quivering form, she could sense that Wiley was about to shoot an impressive load into the Trojan he was wearing.  If there was one thing Susan liked even more than having her pussy eaten out it was getting fucked in the ass, so before Wiley could shoot his load, Susan dismounted his dick, encouraged him to rise from the chair and told him exactly what she wanted.

            “No lover, we’re not done yet.  I want you to give it to me up the ass.  He bent Susan over the seat of the chair and slowly eased his cock into her anxiously awaiting butt hole.  Susan gasped as soon as the head of his cock was inside of her.  He increased the speed with which he ass-fucked Susan causing her to counter each of his powerful thrusts.  He fucked her ass so good Susan dripped great gobs of her own pussy juices onto the floor.  The room was a combination of pungent odors; her cum, his sweat, the mixture of cock against ass, all of which served to make Susan hornier than she already was.  As Wiley’s breathing became labored, Susan knew her fun was about to come to an end.  With one gigantic thrust Wiley exploded, with his hand flat on her back.  He was so spent, he probably would have fallen over if he hadn’t been holding Susan’s back for leverage.  He gripped the condom he was wearing and slowly eased out of Susan’s now satiated asshole.

            Any money she paid Wiley for his services tonight would be well worth it.  On a scale of one to ten he had been at least a nine.  Uhm, Susan thought – I might need to put him on staff.

            Susan and Wiley put their clothing back on, did a double check in the mirror and prepared to exit into the main area of the club.  Susan handed Wiley ten crisp $100 bills before caressing his cock through his pants.

            “That is a first class tool you’ve got.  If I were you I would have that pussy-pleaser insured with Lloyd’s of London,” Susan said.

            He was a living breathing jackhammer to satisfy her not easily satisfied hungers, free from drama.  Thank goodness for Pleasure Principle.  It was like shopping for a sweater.  You could get whatever you wanted for the right price; all that and no uncomfortable attachments.

            Janet had made a good deal of client contacts in Hong Kong and she convinced Susan that it would probably make good business sense to branch out and take their business “on the road” so to speak.  Susan knew the real reason Janet wanted to “branch out” was because the love of her life an art specialist at Christie’s New York had recently been offered a promotion and transfer to Christie’s Hong Kong.  Susan agreed to go and check things out, never one to forego an opportunity to expand her horizons, however, it occurred to her that Hong Kong was not the place.  Besides, if nothing else she could see some really great art.

            The 14 hour long flight to Tokyo left Susan feeling no less horny than usual.  She had an insatiable appetite and being a visitor to a strange place she suddenly missed Pleasure Principle more than usual.  She was reminded of Janet’s insistence that she not fuck her man; and she promised herself she wouldn’t.  Even she had some principles.  Kyung, Janet’s Art Specialist/lover had suggested she take a taxi to the Christie’s Salesroom, since it was right near the Grand Hyatt where she would be staying.  But, Susan desperately wanted to ride the metro (the Hong Kong subway system or MTR).  So per Kyung’s instructions, she rode the Tsuen Wan Line from the airport to Wanchai Station, not far from Christie’s Salesroom, where Kyung would be waiting to take her to dinner.  Boarding the train Susan was acutely aware of the massive overcrowding and how any crowds on any given day on the New York City subway system paled in comparison to this.  However, she boarded the train prepared to fully enjoy her first experience on the MTR.  The pushing and shoving was commonplace and everyone was literally packed in like sardines.  Just as Susan thought the ride was becoming unbearable, she felt the most masculine, powerful hands caress

their way up her thighs.

            “Uhm,” she gasped, more audibly than she would have liked.

            “You are Susan?” the voice attached to those very warm hands asked.

            The only person who knew she was in Hong Kong was Kyung.  But he was Janet’s man and she had promised to keep her hands – and everything else – off.  But damn, this felt good!

            As his hand traveled to places further south, Susan spread her legs wide enough to grant him entry, surprised that no one around them seemed to notice.  As her juices quickly lubricated his artful explorations, she could feel his hard dick beckoning to her.  As though mentally in sync, he turned her towards the door, hoisted her skirt above her hips and entered her now quivering pussy.  The rattling and jerking of the train and numerous passengers shoved in around them provided all the movement they needed his dick was guided by force in and out of her pussy, leaving her head spinning with wanting more.

            “Do you feel it?  This is our qi, our spirit, the electricity that flows between us and all around us.”

            “Yes,” Susan whispered, so as not to alert her surrounding passengers as to what they were doing, although some seemed to begin to notice anyway.

            As the train began to grind to a halt entering the next stop, her stop, Wanchai Station, this beautiful, driving force inside of her seemed intent on cumming at the exact moment that she arrived at her destination, but not before he introduced himself silently in her ear.  Susan, I am Cho, my brother Kyung sent me to welcome you to Hong Kong and all the many riches it has to offer.

..

Queen Angel Lovelii and I sound off on "Bootleg Sex."