Jack looked to the UV lights and could see that the DJ in his small booth was the epitome of louche. Wearing a pair of Wayfarer sunglasses, stubble an... a bright neon purple shirt, the DJ pushed some swoopy Belaric tunes out of the soundsystem. Looking to the words ‘Public’ and ‘Bar’ in reverse on the Victorian facade glasswork wasn’t strictly right either. It wasn’t a members club either but admission numbers were limited to only two hundred at a push and the drinks weren’t cheap either. There. I have no idea how successful it is. I've never had a real man. Well, except for this rich lady's man. And he's never going to be here for real. Only in my head. He'd cost more to rent for a day than I earn in a year.The hugger is trying some complicated movements now, dancing its digit up and down my labia in a futile attempt to fool me. As if anyone would think this was a man. The insistent computerised rhythm was getting to me though, just the same. As it was programmed to do.A real man,. She knew he would never discover what was in store for him until she was ready for it. And man, was she ready! Stood in the kitchen, wearing her black balconette bra, a size too small so that her generous breasts bulged slightly over the top, and feeling the sexy discomfort of the wedgie from her lacy wisp of a thong, she waited… He was late. Bloomin’ typical! She sat on the cold vinyl chair at the table, feeling the chill spread her cheeks, as she ate the last bag of Pickled Onion Monster. It took only a few moments for Mona's legs to tremble and give out, signalling that she wouldn't fight Slippy anymore. Soon, the only sounds in the small campsite were the slurps of those giving pleasure and the moans of those getting pleasured.Silvan had his hood pulled up as he walked into town. The sun was setting and a gentle rain had begun to fall on the party. Hommlet was tiny, having only around a dozen or so small houses, a general store, and a tavern. The sign over the tavern door read.
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