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Soon, I feel your hips responding against my own as you switch breasts, a hand coming up to replace your mouth on the one you just left. Shuddering, I let out a mewling cry as my first orgasm hits so soon and unexpectedly. You remove my breast from your mouth with a soft pop and smile up at me. ‘Tonight is just for you,’ you whisper, your hands reaching down to unclasp my jeans and slide them, along with my panties, down my legs. Helping me stand, you kneel before me and slide them the rest of the way off, lifting my legs to pull them away from me. I watch you, and even with my eyes trained on your face, I still let out a little gasp of surprise as I feel your tongue slide over my nether lips, the tip teasing lightly at my clit. Pushing my legs further apart, you delve deeper with your tongue, sliding it along the labia to again tease my clit with little flicks, then nips of your teeth. The gentle suction of your mouth over my clitoris sends me over the edge again, and I almost. "Who's the chick?" The man across from her asked.The others look at her, almost waiting for her to answer."What's your name sweetheart?" The girl across from her asked in a think New York accent.She looked up, seeing the girl across from her; her dirty blond hair pulled back into a pony tail, thick eye liner and mascara caked on her eyes. She, along with the other three, were in grey scrubs. It was the uniform for all the patients at Routon Grand Mental Institution. "Lolita," she answered quietly."You must be new here," the girl responded."How would you know if she's new Lauren?" The Asian man next to Lolita asked.Lauren shot him an annoyed look, "I've been here eight months Bov, I know a newbie when I see one, and I ain't never seen her around here."The Asian shrugged.Lauren looked back at her. "The name's Lauren. That's Bov, this is Danny," she motioned to the man next to her, "and that's Stacy," she nodded towards the girl next to Lolita.Lolita looked at the man across from her;.
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Teresa started much earlier than today, “We only met a few weeks ago. I’ve been bounced around foster homes ever since my parents decided they loved having kids for the tax benefits, just not raising them. No matter what I told teachers, social workers, and all the others, they believed I was completely uncoordinated and fell a lot, thus the cause of my bruises. Clumsy kids don’t fall down the stairs three times in a row, then trip and smash through a plate-glass window on the third floor. The best I can tell, I was seven at the time. I’m a good kid, have straight As, and respond politely to most everyone. According to all the therapists, psychiatrists, counselors, and psychologists, my head is good to go, and I don’t need any meds. Someone in the system doesn’t like me, and I don’t know why. My first five foster families fell in love with me from the day I arrived. Each started the adoption paperwork after I lived with them for a month. Each adoption got denied. At first, it was.

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