There's no carpet under me, just bare, dusty concrete. The window that provided my rape with such a lovely, pleasant breeze, hasn't held a pane of gla...s in decades. The moon stares down at me accusingly. Firelight flickers shadows across the wall. I groan as I sit up, my body still aching with the fading sores of phantom abuses. My anus burns, filled with a stranger's cum until I remind it that it it not. I pull my leather jacket back up, panting softly, and lean against the wall. Oh yeah, I've. "What do they call this drink?" asked Angela."Sex on the Beach!" replied Mrs Wellings. Both women found this very funny and it was several minutes before their giggles subsided."I prefer the other drink we had before that one!" gasped Angela as soon as she had got back her breath. "I preferred the "Orgasm" to "Sex on the Beach". More hysterical laughter followed and soon both women were walking arm in arm, more than a little tipsy, back to the hotel.Angela giggled a few more times and tried to. More

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