At 9pm sharp, the door to the pool room opened and there she was in all her glory. Carrie stood 5’10” in her heels and showed off her long, tanned...legs that lead up to her small ass in a tiny pair of white shorts. She wore a black, lacy tank top that accentuated her perfect DD breast. As if her body wasn’t beautiful enough, Carrie’s face alone, would stop any man, with her high cheek bones, blonde shoulder-length curly hair, full-lipped smile and deep blue fuck-me eyes. I stood to greet Carrie. "Who is it?" she demanded."Friends of The Man, Sweetcakes!" declared the feminine voice from outside the door."What man?" Moira questioned."The scar-faced Master of Mayhem that you're shacked-up with, Sugar!" came the dulcet tones of a second voice."Bloody Hell! Enough of this twenty questions shit!" came a third, British-accented, contralto, "Just kick the bleedin' door down, and let's teach the buggered bitch a lesson!" Hold on!" Moira pleaded, "I'll open up."Holding the pistol behind her. More

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