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“You should tell them you’re going for tacos.” As the phone started ringing, I looked over at Carol on the bed. She was on her back, facing me, legs spread wide, with two fingers spreading her labia exposing her bright pink labia. She mouthed the words “eat tacos” as I tried to talk to my Mom. Mom was fine with me not being home, but she always tried to tell me all about her life. I have no idea what my Mom said. My eyes were fixed on Carol’s slender fingers massaging her clit. I had dropped my towel and was stroking my now fully hard cock furiously as I watched Carol’s back arch as she came quietly. A significant wet spot appeared on the comforter. Mom prattled on on the phone.

He gave the man a hard poke in the chest while smoke wafted from the cigarette between his fingers, then leaned in with bloodlust radiating from every word hissed with his icy voice. “Notice that I haven’t asked your name yet, even though I gave you mine? It’s because you don’t have a name to me. To me, you’re just ‘Bitch’, the sniveling little Bitch who decided to come in here and ruin my evening, talking awfully big game for someone in skull-fucking range. That’s what’ll be engraved on your tombstone: ‘Here lies Bitch. Cause of death: got skull-fucked until his brains leaked out of his ears.’ Shit, I’ll carve the engraving myself. Now I suggest you get the fuck out before I use your eye sockets like a whore’s ass!”

Her hair was done up to approximately resemble how she looked before it was tied away to make room for electrodes and surgically implanted cable ports, but the effort didn't do much to make her seem more normal. An impossible task, when she was erect at a 90 degree angle and beaming a thousand-yard stare. Eventually the photographer even gave up wiping the drool.