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The BDSM show continues.

Shitty week it was. Off-shore acquisition to close. Goddamn regulations. Murderous stress. Rachel in office. Jacket off. Leaning over desk. Pouring over the latest financial summaries. Good head for numbers. Wondering what her lips are like, wrapped around. No time: had to focus. Final approval would come the next day. High fives and whoops in the office. Relief. Stock went up. Talking the market over drinks during the party at Murphy's. Toasts. Rachel looking over her glass. Eyes. Need. Hunger. The prize catch. That feeling. Knew it before. Kimberly.

Standing in a bar in D.C. Looking at Kimberly. Kimberly. Na-Ayth'n. Always three syllables. Texas. Na-ayth'n. Monogrammed sweater. Kappa something. Blonde hair. Still wonder if her pubic hair was blonde too. Terrible years. Grad school. Going with Jason to the party. Always had women around him. Hey, guy, share the wealth. Saw her. The chance to talk. Having lunch. Excited: finally moving into the big leagues. Old boyfriend at home. Figured. Talking. It was so fun to talk. Those eyes. I guess the conversation is always good when you're dazzled. Summer internship. D.C. Wanted New York but an offer's an offer. Summer in D.C. Hot as hell there when walking around. Talking to Kimberly. Undergrad library. Hints the boyfirend is history. You can come visit if you'd like. Really, Nathan? Na-ayth'n. Yes. Finally the chance. Weekend wasn't right. Started good. Her wide eyes. Pizza and beer in Georgetown. Flirting? Seemed like it. Sunday. Shit. Pissy day. Laying it on the line. Pause. Dead. Knew it then. The damn pause. Sinking. Having you show me around D.C. is like having a big brother; I guess that's how I think of you. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking waste of time.

(tap) . . . (tap) . . . (tap) . . (tap) . . .

He looks out at the stretch of pavement running at him. Cars running: jockeying for position. Dark line of road. Narrow line. Thin black strip of Rachel's pubic hair running down to her pussy. Pointing the way. Highway to heaven. Stupid show. Liked him in Bonanza better. Marlboro men. It would have been tough living then. Few women. I wonder where they went to jack off. Hand on dick; Rachel's hand. Rachel in bed. In bed with Rachel. Shouldn't be here. Walking out of Murphy's together. Would you like to see my apartment? Knew better. Too many drinks. Shit. Is there anything you NEED? Lips pressing into Rachel. Perfume. God that was nice. Joyce rarely wears perfume. Allergies. Face lingering, the sweet smell of her skin rising up. Scented. Fingers beginning to caress. Should go. Need to go. I bet I can get her blouse off. Maybe just one look; her tits. Must be firm. . Just hold them a second; then go. No big deal.

. . I'd sacrifice anything come what might for the sake of having you near. . .

He looks over at her, Joyce's hand holding her book. Nails trimmed back Never was big on manicuring. That's good. It's a waste of time mostly. Joyce is practical. Too much gardening to bother. Hands. Holding hands. Holding Rachel's hand. Perfectly painted nails. Hand sliding to cock. Red fingernails shining, moving. Up. Down. Damn yes. Eyes looking up. Holding. Teasing. Touching. Slowly up and down. That's it. Hair dangling down as she leans over. Breath on cock. Opening. Take the bait, baby, take the bait. What if Joyce pages me? That's it, suck my dick. Rachel. Mouth over my cock. Did it really feel different from Joyce? Fuck. Can't think of one without the other. Fucked up.

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