“No, it cannot spin,” I explained, “Actually it merely revolves to the inverse position leaving one inverted, or as the case may be as some other angle.” Next week like her friends had all told her. “Haha what was that? fat I’ll take care of it right now.” Her bowels squeezed down on my digit as I worked it and out of her bowels. We burst from the surface together, into the sunlight, our chests heaving in unison, both of us gasping for air and a new supply of life-giving oxygen. Meanwhile, my depleting orgasm still throbbed in his hand as I began again treading water to keep myself afloat. Once again, the warmth of the sun was on our sea-splashed faces and as I blinked and gazed into fat his eyes, he casually wiped his mouth with his hand and grinned at me. “Bet you’ve not done that before!” he said, with a note of knowing triumph in his voice. My heart still hammered in my chest but he seemed almost unaffected by our near-death experience. I was speechless, not to say exhausted, so we both made our way slowly back to shore, swimming lazily on our backs, as the creamy white threads of life escaped from within my board-shorts and were lost in the sea.

Mimi then had Margret roll back onto her stomach and applied a soothing scented oil to all of her newly denuded skin. The late afternoon light dimmed behind my eyelids. Yavara’s abdomen flexed and convulsed as though in the heaves of vomiting, then her cunt squirted its approval all over the floor. “Thanks, coulda lost it for good.” He rewarded her with an endearing smile that sent a tingle of pink energy twitching down into her abdomen, and as she passed it to him, her hand lingered a moment longer than necessary. “I’m going to unlock your hand cuffs, but before I do you should know if you try anything, I can pick you up with one hand and use the other to use this” he pulls out a large black whip from a plastic bag he brought in with him. “You may now have your way with the bride.” ‘Mental conditioning?’ Think Isabelle, fat think! I knew that’s where she wanted to go. “Hey guys,” greets Hoola with a wave from the fringes. “Can we buy you two beautiful ladies a drink?” the fat olive-skinned Gork asks me. He has to lean in close to be heard over the music, and his breath smells strange – not unpleasant, just different. “Why would you want to do that?” I reply. I genuinely don’t understand. Gaianesian women don’t buy alcohol for each other. And the drones socialize by themselves, doing whatever drones do when they’re not working. “You’re our guests,” Gork explains with an amused smile. “When someone is as beautiful as you are, you don’t need credits.” Really? For something that took me no effort and is purely down to my genetics, we get given gifts?

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