Perhaps I need to be honest with myself... honest outside the confessional. Somehow that doesn't seem to count, the confessional I mean. The anonymity serves to protect me from the bare truth." You on the lamb or somthin', MJ? You know, church collections or somthin' like that?" Oh, you!" I know, I know. I often try to hide behind repartee. Don't let me side track you."She pulled both knees up and leaning forward, wrapped her forearms around her legs as she gazed off into some unfocused middle. She stammered as the Asian man neared her.The Mask dropped his bag and gripped her slender wrist. On your feet you sexy little tart, he growled. His other hand rubbed across her t-shirt chest squeezing through the material. Stacey grunted and then half yelped as his hand shot under her short skirt to goose her ass. She made a pathetic attempt at a struggle looking back at the Boss; her eyes disbelieving; almost in confusing as the mask examined her like a piece of meat. First her ass, then her. "You like?" she asked, as she ran her hands over the curves of her hips, up her belly, and under her breasts, lifting up toward him slightly. But she already knew the answer from the flabbergasted look on his face. "Oh my... Looks like you could use a hand with dinner, since you seem to be all tied up...." She sat on his lap, making sure to grind into his pelvis. She fed him small bites of his dinner, and gave him sips of a strong red wine. He kept glancing down over the top of her dress, and. This morning? Not so much.He pulled at the skin on his throat, looking for signs of his willing compliance, but there were none. He knew there wouldn't be; she'd spent far too much time being sure of that for there to be any lingering signs.He heaved a sigh and went about preparing for the day. Maybe a long hot shower would make everything clear. Of course, it didn't.He continued pondering his life over breakfast: microwaved sausage with scrambled eggs, hot coffee on the side. Last night, he.
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