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”“No way,” said John doggedly. “I’ll not go if I’m not invited.”The group knew better than to argue, shrugged and the conversation turned to other things.John did the usual Saturday chores: shopping for food for the rest of the week, cleaning his car (he never used a car wash, not trusting them to do the job thoroughly enough for him), and doing his washing and minimum ironing.In the evening he phoned his parents, to be told they were leaving next weekend for their extended tour of Europe, and, would see him in the Autumn.“Come over for lunch tomorrow, son,” invited his mother.“Love to,” he said.Saturday evening he settled with a novel, a handy bottle of whisky and Mozart, but before long his thought drifted away from the story onto Carol.The more he thought, the more he admired her tenacity. He knew perfectly well that she had been deceived and set up, but he could not get over her refusal to talk to him, and the violence of her rejection of him.He felt resentful at the loss of their. 'Ohhhhhhhhh, yes. Oh, I am whore. Fuck your asian whore, daddy.' Saying it gave her a tingle in her spine that connected her nipples to the center of her.'Yes! Yes! Make me do that!''Shut up bitch,' and she felt a drink being poured down the front of her mouth, spilling all over her milky tits.'Watch my table!' the older man shouted.'Oh, my bad.'She was lifted off the pooltable to the corner booth and spread out on top of the dark wood table. Her dress was pulled over her face and her arms were fixed with it above her head. Kumi felt hands, at least three, holding her arms secure and she struggled to see through the pink material. She was helpless to do anything but moan and pant as she felt hands tighten around her throat and the deep pounding inside her soaking wet pussy. She felt her eyes would pop, then the pressure would be released and she would get a rush of pleasure to her over-loaded brain. Who was squeezing her neck? With the dress pulled over her face, she couldn't tell..
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