Melisa sat on Sirah's bed, staring at the tent wall like it might suddenly reveal the meaning of life.
[She let me say no. She actually let me say no.]
... At the same time, though, Melisa's body couldn't stop remembering every single second of what happened earlier—the stretch, the burn, the mind-melting pleasure of Sirah's pierced cock hitting spots she didn't know existed.
[NO! Bad Melisa! Do NOT think about how her cock split you in half earlier!]
Too late. Her thighs clenched on their own.
[FUCK. Maybe I should have just... No. No, that's Stockholm syndrome talking. Or just regular horny syndrome. Hard to tell the difference sometimes.]
She shifted on the furs, trying to get comfortable, but every movement reminded her of the soreness between her legs. The good kind of soreness that made her want to hate herself for enjoying it.
[Get it together, Melisa. You're a prisoner, not on a kinky vacation.]
