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My lips touched her shoulders, her neck. She turned, raising her face, exposing her throat. I leant in, kissing her neck, her throat, my hands on her ...ips, my tongue on her skin, lips and tongue finding their way to her cleavage. “Don’t stop.” My hands up under her breasts, the fabric of the bra thin enough to feel the weight of them, my mouth tasting the light perspiration forming on her skin under the bright lights. My thumbs flicked over her nipples, feeling them rise to meet my touch. I. I saw Lola leaning over a stockade, licking her lips lasciviously. I didn't know whether to be relieved or even more terrified. With Contessa I didn't know where her mood with take her from one second to the next, but at least there was the possibility for small pockets of kindness, an eye in the storm of her sadistic wrath. With Lola, I had the feeling I could count on consistency, but I had a gut punch feeling that it would be consistently cruel, or at best capricious. Her greeting didn't. More

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