It must have been taken just at her moment of orgasm. She liked to let herself go when she masturbated, moaning and thrashing and playing the part of ...n out-of-control sexual a****l. In her dreams she was a shameless whore no man could resist. Now she looked at the picture of herself and her cheeks burned hot with shame. She didn’t recognize the woman. “The skirt,” he said. The picture had quashed any last argument she might make. She unbuttoned the skirt and opened the zipper, then stepped out. She carried herself with the presence of a film star. Like she owned the place. And the world would let her too, just to be near her, to bask in her reflected loveliness. Everything around me went out of focus except for her, I stopped dead in my tracks, transfixed. I wasn’t aware that I was staring, but I probably was. Me and every other person in that place who had a cock, and several that hadn’t. The former with undisguised lust, the latter driven by an equal measure of envy. I for my part. More

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