I mean, what female doesn?t want attention? And a slave girl? Being a slave girl is a performance art. Attention and approval are all we live for, the...reason we exist. So I danced with each one of the boys. One dance each. Of course, there was a certain amount of caressing, or groping, if you prefer. I pretended that I didn?t realize what was going on until it became blatant, when I primly moved the offending hand to neutral territory. None of which helped me to cool off. Finally, I saw Jack. The pain had returned to me, although it had lessened somewhat. I felt that he was inside of me, but he had softened somewhat. I looked down and was violently brought back to reality – He wasn’t even halfway in. Subconsciously, I gave a small whimper in despair, realizing afterwards what I did. Predictably, he tried to pull out of me. I kept my hands firmly on his back. I wish I had grown my nails so I could encourage him not to move without speaking. I had chosen the time to speak.“Please…. More

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