She wasn't makeup-and-clothes-obsessed, she wasn't a mouthy brat, she wasn't an angst-ridden teenager, she just was who she was. Her hair was a shade ...f red you could never bottle. Her eyes were hazel, my favorite eye-color on a woman, always swirling with emotions and mystery. She liked the same music as me, the same literature, the same sports (actually she only liked two sports, but they are my two favorite sports). I'll even admit that I would sometimes try to get a look down her top. Her. Judging by the way they'd burst into tears again, he had succeeded in trapping the girls between their fear of being eviscerated and their revulsion for what they were forced to do. It fed into Ricky's power trip, made him feel even more godly, inhuman. It made Ricky forget that he used to have to bargain for pussy, and Ricky was fucking loving it. The girls were really going at it, too. They were attacking each other with their mouths, making up for their inexperience with effort. Ricky. More

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