that’s on par with “she fell on my dick” as an excuse for infidelity. I wanted to hear her admit her wrongdoing and take responsibility for the pain she’d caused me.
And I wanted to confront her again about the engine I’d heard the night Ash died, the engine I’d never told the police about because I’d always secretly feared it had been Shane’s motorcycle, and I didn’t want to be the one placing her at the scene of Ash’s murder. During my previous attempt to get the truth, Shane had been adamant that she was nowhere near the estate that night, that she was at home alone, with no one around to corroborate her story. I didn’t believe her. I thought she just wasn’t ready to be honest with herself or me. I hadn’t seen her since.
I had moved on. I moved into Portland, and now my days were filled with work at the Willamette Week, a local alternative newspaper.
Then one night I finally relented and went out with a group of friends, celebrating my recent promotion from flunky to editorial assistant. We were drinking microbrews at a lesbian bar called the Mint, laughing and passing gossip around the table like salt, and up walks Shane, cool as Ocean’s Eleven, asking if anyone would mind her joining our group. What balls! I had forgotten the impact the mere sight of Shane had on me, on my body. I hated her, but just having her in proximity to me was like a magnet pulling me to her, a palsy forcing my knees apart, a flood soaking my panties.
Just like the conniving bastards they were, my friends conspired to leave me alone with Shane. To their credit, they didn’t know the whole story and had only seen the way my eyes lit up when she sauntered over. They also knew it had been quite a while since anyone had brushed the cobwebs from my undercarriage, and being good friends, wanted to arrange my servicing. So one by one, they slipped away until by the end of the night, I was left drinking alone with Shane.
I couldn’t deny the chemical attraction I’d once had to her. And though I’d managed to keep it in check for a year, it all came flooding back, right there in the fucking bar. It was enticing.
Damn it. I couldn’t say no to her.
We ended up back at my place, at Ash’s place, and I shoved her onto the bed. Which should tell you that this wasn’t anything like the sex we had before. There was no sweet tenderness, no head to toe kissing. It was fast and raw and I was in control of the entire encounter. I fucked her good. I was more in control than even Shane realized. I had learned a thing or two from living in my sister’s love shack. Unbeknownst to Shane, I was taping the entire encounter. And when I was finished, chagrined at myself for not saying “No” to begin with, I rolled over and demanded that she let herself out—as soon as possible.
April 18
I love power. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with admitting that, is there? I’m turned on by power. I am Father’s daughter in that way. Life is all about power. Sex is all about power. Life is all about sex. Life is all the sweeter with power. These are the things that give me power:
1. riding on the back of a motorcycle
2. controlling pain, usually mine
3. making videos of people in compromising positions
4. bagging wealthy babes
5. banging doctor’s wives
6. emotional control
7. dumping people who still want me
8. fucking the daughters of Daddy’s clients
9. then telling him all about it
10. fucking Daddy’s and Tabitha’s best friends. Both of them. Together.
That was a fun night. Milly and John Castleford were two stuck up WASPs until you got them in the sack and then they turned into She-beast and the Fuckinator. John liked to be sucked, and you know a good girl like Milly wouldn’t do that, so I did it and then took it up the ass while Milly came in my mouth again and again. I think it may have been Milly’s first orgasm. It worked for me too, because even though I was only eighteen, I just kept thinking
And I wanted to confront her again about the engine I’d heard the night Ash died, the engine I’d never told the police about because I’d always secretly feared it had been Shane’s motorcycle, and I didn’t want to be the one placing her at the scene of Ash’s murder. During my previous attempt to get the truth, Shane had been adamant that she was nowhere near the estate that night, that she was at home alone, with no one around to corroborate her story. I didn’t believe her. I thought she just wasn’t ready to be honest with herself or me. I hadn’t seen her since.
I had moved on. I moved into Portland, and now my days were filled with work at the Willamette Week, a local alternative newspaper.
Then one night I finally relented and went out with a group of friends, celebrating my recent promotion from flunky to editorial assistant. We were drinking microbrews at a lesbian bar called the Mint, laughing and passing gossip around the table like salt, and up walks Shane, cool as Ocean’s Eleven, asking if anyone would mind her joining our group. What balls! I had forgotten the impact the mere sight of Shane had on me, on my body. I hated her, but just having her in proximity to me was like a magnet pulling me to her, a palsy forcing my knees apart, a flood soaking my panties.
Just like the conniving bastards they were, my friends conspired to leave me alone with Shane. To their credit, they didn’t know the whole story and had only seen the way my eyes lit up when she sauntered over. They also knew it had been quite a while since anyone had brushed the cobwebs from my undercarriage, and being good friends, wanted to arrange my servicing. So one by one, they slipped away until by the end of the night, I was left drinking alone with Shane.
I couldn’t deny the chemical attraction I’d once had to her. And though I’d managed to keep it in check for a year, it all came flooding back, right there in the fucking bar. It was enticing.
Damn it. I couldn’t say no to her.
We ended up back at my place, at Ash’s place, and I shoved her onto the bed. Which should tell you that this wasn’t anything like the sex we had before. There was no sweet tenderness, no head to toe kissing. It was fast and raw and I was in control of the entire encounter. I fucked her good. I was more in control than even Shane realized. I had learned a thing or two from living in my sister’s love shack. Unbeknownst to Shane, I was taping the entire encounter. And when I was finished, chagrined at myself for not saying “No” to begin with, I rolled over and demanded that she let herself out—as soon as possible.
April 18
I love power. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with admitting that, is there? I’m turned on by power. I am Father’s daughter in that way. Life is all about power. Sex is all about power. Life is all about sex. Life is all the sweeter with power. These are the things that give me power:
1. riding on the back of a motorcycle
2. controlling pain, usually mine
3. making videos of people in compromising positions
4. bagging wealthy babes
5. banging doctor’s wives
6. emotional control
7. dumping people who still want me
8. fucking the daughters of Daddy’s clients
9. then telling him all about it
10. fucking Daddy’s and Tabitha’s best friends. Both of them. Together.
That was a fun night. Milly and John Castleford were two stuck up WASPs until you got them in the sack and then they turned into She-beast and the Fuckinator. John liked to be sucked, and you know a good girl like Milly wouldn’t do that, so I did it and then took it up the ass while Milly came in my mouth again and again. I think it may have been Milly’s first orgasm. It worked for me too, because even though I was only eighteen, I just kept thinking
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