When his energy began to flag, the girls made him snort line after line of cocaine, charging him up for each new round of humiliating frustration. Some girls dropped out, tired and exhausted. A few who had brought boyfriends retired for more private pleasures. Finally there was a hardcore of six cheerleaders left: the captain, the pixie blonde, the cheerleader he’d spilled the drink on, and several others. They were sprawled on sofas in the party room that was now a complete wreck. He was crouched on the floor, on hands and knees, collared and leashed, as the remaining party girls passed around a waterpipe.
“Great party,” the pixie blonde sighed. There was general agreement.
The captain patted Robin patronizingly on the head. “Our little slavey did very well tonight, didn’t he?”
Everyon
