She now lay there, her body stiff with fright, while Lorraine, still tasting the little curds of s**t in her mouth, sat on her knees, her cunt away from Dewey, but all of her ass hanging out.
Dewey regained his voice, looked outside the door hoping desperately that no one else was aware of what was happening. Then, like he was in a drunken stupor, he entered the room, closed the door behind him and leaned against it.
He couldn't believe what he was witnessing.
"What the f**k is going on here?" he rasped, his voice locked in a confidential volume. "You-wha-s**t!" He was still at a loss for words. His jaw worked furiously. You could see him straining at the seams of his self control.
"Well," said Bob, quoting a jest from one of his favorite girlie magazines; "you can't blame the man who
