Hovering above the whorl of Kelsea’s belly-button, Stanley’s cock dispensed a constant stream of pre-cum with every thrust.Tears worked their way ...nto Kelsea’s eyes. I’m going to be raped. I’m going to be raped. It seemed impossible to prepare herself for the inevitable, no matter how many times she repeated those horrific words in her mind.Lifting her head, Kelsea watched her last line of defense—the pair of tasteful white panties, donned so innocently hours prior—disappear down her legs and. Her head turned so she could stare at me. It had to have been in my eyes because she backed away slowly. I grabbed the stool the poet had pushed aside and placed it in front of the mike. I drew my father's guitar and sat down. The microphone was too high; I looked around the room as I adjusted it. The conversations stopped as people turned to watch. They could sense the approach of ghosts three years dead, and it chilled them.I touched the guitar strings looking at Dacia."Only this one time," I. More

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