Tits and Whiskey

When I last left you, our heroine, was about to spread food among the minions and rub herself blind behind locked doors. Horny conversation was the catalyst. Rabbit found the hole. Found it good. Willing, able, ETC. Imagery as follows: Rough shoving up against wall. Shirt ripping. Nipple sucking. Cold fingers warmth finding. Head slam. Ow. Oh yeah. Large feet in large boots. Kicking naked legs apart. Insert hand here. and here. and here Kneeling men. Underneath them. Rotate. Slut. Whore. Suck them—all of them. Yeah. Just like that, fuckin’ whore. Orgasm and concurrent scream swallowed by pressed lips and intake of held breath. Pass out imminent. Avoided tongue washed the apparatus before hiding it away. Underneath her bed in a Ziploc bag with other friends. It’s wrapped in a pair of silver boardshorts. They make an annoying swishy-sound whenever she handles it. It’s like a tiny dog whine. And she wants to kick that dog.