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She found her courage, reached into Connie’s hair and kissed back.They were showgirls in that moment, not lovers. There were cheers, started by Zoë and huffed at by Andrea. The show kiss wasn’t honest or sloppy or anything. It was silly pantomime with actual lip contact. Pat pulled back and slapped Connie open palm in the pussy.“Ow!” Connie pinched Pat’s nipple in retribution.“Good, now go make sure my Princess Andy isn’t getting away.”“If she’s the princess what does that make me?” Connie hooked out her hip and had her hand on it. She was daring Pat who missed no beat.“You’re my knight commander. Go serve your God-Empress well.”“Goddess-Empress, maybe?” Elizabeth seemed to be asking Xiomara for a real answer. She didn’t get one. Connie looped around Pat and went to the back.“Am I a knight-commander?” Xiomara asked Elizabeth. I smirked.“You’re the First Mate,” I smiled back over her shoulder, “I’m the Pirate King.”“So I’m the pirate princess?” Elizabeth asked.“No, you’re the booty.”. Calling out my name at first, she put her head up and looked Amber straight in the eye telling her I was a better lover. When she finished convulsing, I leaned down and kissed her and told her to move to the side of the bed and relax. I got up, untied Amber and told her to lay with Sarah but not to touch her as I had obviously just worn her out. I reached between her legs quickly before she laid down and felt that she was still excited. I then untied Nicole and she got up. I told her that I was too tired to fuck her, that she would have to do things herself. Fire lit up her eyes and she reached back to slap me. I caught her hand and forced her to the ground. I told her if she was going to be such a little bitch that she wasn't going to even be allowed to fuck herself, let alone get fucked by me. I pulled her up by her hair and pushed her onto the bed. I grabbed both of her nipples and twisted at the same time. She cried out and I told her she had better shut her mouth. I didn't want.
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They both had the same friends, now, that they had in the beginning. Despite his confidence on the field, he was a coward where it counted. He let his fear conquer him when it came to his yearnings for this other, paler, poorer girl. Denise did, too, dream that night. She dreamt of a dismal strip on the interstate where cars would periodically stop, so that their drivers could step out of their vehicles, single or widowed, cheated on or just lonely, and mount the otherwise useless poles, erected along the shoulders of the road. It was dark and the fog was thick. These men and women, so desperate for any kind of reconciliation, projected life onto the exanimate columns. It was there that they fulfilled their most intimate and immediate obligations to themselves. Some merely wrapped their arms around their lovers, and caressed imaginary heads of hair for hours. Others would undulate, vehemently, preoccupied with some neurotic dismissal of their own symbiotic nature. They would scream.

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