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He could not stop himself, and nor could she, for even though her mouth sung fearfully her protest, her body still curved to press greedily to mine. It was only when her Father grabbed her by the hips, that Joy finally found the will to resist. She thrashed and twisted, and Vita caught both of her wrists, and pinned them together at the small of her back. “Father, please don’t!” Joy cried, not realizing that her protests only entrenched her fate. She squirmed atop me, each shift causing our connected slits to rub and stimulate, coercing the nectar from our flushing buds to mingle in a stickily. She was aroused and ready despite herself, and the escalating screams she delivered in her panic only readied her father more. There was a moment where I remembered who she was, and who I was. I remembered that these skins we wore were just indulgences we took in lesser pleasures, and that the people we were outside of them would regret this forever. For I know that a person is more than their. ..every single time, I swear! And God, he was so grateful about it! Right, I'm in with another client now. Speak to you about that thing tomorrow, ok?" The voice was richly female, humorous, confident; flat, local vowels but with an urban easiness. The floor was hard under my knees and toes. Oh, fuck, it's now! The door opened and the last barrier was gone. Instantly, I knew there were two of them. I really hoped it wasn’t the school leaver again. My buttocks tightened and I coloured in hot shame. Three seconds crawled into a corner in complete silence as they weighed me up; my fingers sought my brow in an automatic gesture of embarrassment. "Put your hands down" came her instruction; unhurried, mature authority. My hand fell like a puppet. I pictured how I must look to them, a pale, middle aged figure with thinning hair and thickening waistline, indecently nude in a cube of hard, white light, neck reddening. Punter. Meat. Money. A single set of steps made off back down the corridor.
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