It was not unusual for Elliot Reid to spend about an hour crying in one of the storage closets. The thing that was unusual was what she was crying about.nnNormally she cried over things like when Dr Cox was to hard on her, or when she didn't know the answers to the questions Dr Kelso asked her at rounds, or when another relationship failed, but this was far worse than all of those things and as a result she had cried longer and harder than ever before.nnJordan Sullivan, a member of the Board of Directors at the hospital where Elliot worked, had manipulated the blonde and used her like some kind of sex slave.nnJordan had spanked Elliot and finger fucked her before somehow tricking her into eating her to orgasm while she masturbated herself to an orgasm of her own.nnTo make matters worse Jordan's ex-husband Dr Cox had caught them in the act and although he hadn't done anything as of yet he had let Elliot know that he knew it was her going down on his ex-wife and considering there was tension between them already Elliot feared what Dr Cox would do next time she saw him.nnThat was why while crying in the closet she had decided to do something before this situation got out of hand.nnSo Elliot wiped away her tears and finally came out of the closet, desperately trying to ignore the metaphor of that, and focus on finding Dr Cox so that she could explain to him what happened. Unfortunately when she saw him she completely lost her nerve and hid from him.nnShe quickly decided she couldn't just go up to him and apologise for eating out his former wife and knew she couldn't trust herself not to say something stupid like that to him if they were ever forced to interact again, which was only a matter of time given this hospital so she quickly had to come up with another option.nnUnfortunately for Elliot, her only other option was to talk to Jordan.nnDr Cox and Jordan were both equally scary to Elliot, but for better or for worse out of the two evils she chose to try Jordan.nnAfter all, just because their last interaction hadn't ended that well that didn't mean the same thing was going to happen again, right? Right?nnShe didn't have a choice. Somehow she had to convince Jordan to tell Dr Cox it wasn't Elliot who had been going down on her, or it had all been Jordan's idea and she had manipulated Elliot into it, which was technically true, or something, anything that would get her off the hook.nnShe asked a few doctors and nurses if they had seen Jordan to which they replied they had but no one seemed to know where she was.nnElliot got the impression that the people she asked were looking at her strangely, and so was everyone else for that matter.nnAnd then in the middle of walking down the corridor a horrible realisation hit Elliot.nnOnly an hour ago another woman had covered her face in cum and pussy juice and since then she had not had the chance to wash her face.

My name is Keith Ray. A tall, good-looking black man in his early twenties. I have a secret to share with you. I've got no conscience whatsoever. People don't understand me. I've been called everything from functional psychopath to cunning sociopath. I call myself a Free Spirit. A man who does what he wants and lets no one hold him back. Currently, I'm impersonating FBI agent Simon Peterson, who was supposed to go undercover inside a maximum security prison in Massachusetts to investigate corruption among the corrections officers, some state troopers and some of the prison gang lords. Apparently, there's a flourishing drug trade behind bars and everyone is benefiting. I got rid of the federal agent by putting him in a coma and took his place. I went undercover, mostly to see what it would be like. I crave thrills, you see. I need to engage in risky behavior every frigging day otherwise I get bored out of my skull and you don't want to see that.nnSo, here I am. A prisoner. There are lots of prisoners at the facility. Three thousand, in fact. They're an interesting bunch. The prison subculture is organized into different groups or factions vying for power.

Something Monica loved to do a few times a week, when she could, was to go canoeing on the lake adjacent to campus. That was one reason she decided to go to college here, because the campus was located on a large lake, a lake big enough to canoe on for hours on end. She usually canoed alone. She enjoyed the serenity of being by herself out in the middle of the big, tranquil lake, gliding along silently across the smooth waters. She'd usually go in the late afternoon after her last class and only bring the canoe back when it started to get dark. Monica grew up in the city, in St. Paul, but her grandparents lived in northern Minnesota, near the Canadian border. That was lake country, and since she was a little kid Monica had spent idyllic summers up there, regularly going canoeing with her family for as long as she could remember.nnOne afternoon Monica was out canoeing when, suddenly, she caught sight of a speedboat heading her way. These boats were the scourge of canoeists and rowers, with their speed, their loud engines and the generally reckless way they were often steered. Usually it was a bunch of guys racing around in them, most often loaded on beer, sometimes showing off for their girlfriends. In this boat there were three guys and right away Monica could see they seemed like jerks, hooting and hollering at her. They were probably a bunch of Fraternity creeps from Greek row.nnWhen they noticed Monica canoeing alone they suddenly veered toward her. She was frightened but there was nothing she could do. They steered right alongside her boat, almost into it, creating a wave that nearly capsized the canoe. Monica managed to evade that potential disaster, but now she found that the water the speedboat had kicked up had splashed all over her and her canoe and she was completely drenched.nn"Asshole motherfuckers!" she shouted at them, enraged. But they just turned and laughed at her like a pack of idiots.

"You'll need to nuzzle in deeper than that to lick me, Honey." Ms. E's voice was a gentle contralto - just as calm and pleasant as it was when she greeted me in the hall.nn"Are you going to crack my head like a walnut again?" She'd pulled up her skirt so our eyes could meet, and she could see that I was smiling.nn"I'd never." But we both knew that she would - or at least her plump thighs would try to when she was on the verge of orgasm. The truth was that I really didn't mind, but I liked to teas her.nnI gave her thighs one last kiss. I always started by kissing her thighs - her skin was so soft there, so supple that it begged to be nibbled and licked. When she wore nylons (and she often did) I couldn't ignore the curve where her pale skin blossomed fleshily out of the top of the lacy band - I was an addict.nnHer legs shifted position, and her round bottom lifted from the comforter as I slid further into the vertex between her thighs. She cinched her skirt up to watch me and flinched, giggling when my lips pressed against her panties. This week her panties were cotton, but a sleek black printed with tiny purple flowers; they were always pretty and feminine. And as always, they were new - the creases had been ironed out, but they still smelled faintly of plastic beneath her subtle perfume and her own, stronger odor. I sucked them into my mouth until they were slick with my saliva, until I'd leeched out both the light dew of her anticipation and the slightly bitter stain of some excitement earlier in the day when she must have soaked them through. I often found her new panties previously (or still) moist, and I liked to imagine that she'd spent the whole morning at church thinking about the afternoon. I imagined her sitting on a hard wooden pew in my mental image of some generic church, pretending to focus on a hymnal, crossing her legs to contain the warmth flowing in her loins, but squeezing her thighs tight and squirming just enough to cultivate the pleasure of her clandestine fantasy.nnFor a minute or two I pushed my nose into fleshy part of her mons while I tongued and nibbled at the bulges of her labia through the screen of her panties, but that was just a wicked tease for both of us and she'd soon slipped the panties down her legs to drape around one of her ankles. It was important to her that she be the one to remove her panties herself, so while they were in place I didn't probe with my tongue or finger or push the crotch stirrup away for better access.