"I started to growl at her. She was the one who handcuffed me, made me watch as two les's got it on not 5 feet from me. Taunted me all day. I felt like just sticking it in and to hell with her 'hurt.' But a little bit of my brain was still alive - Mr. Meat had taken control of almost all thinking. Almost.I thought about what Lisa had said: the difference between doing it 'TO' Becky and doing it 'FOR' her. Sticking my pole in her ass, almost dry, and ignoring her getting hurt - maybe badly - was in the 'TO' category. So, I had an idea.I slid my hands to her inner thighs and spread her legs so they'd be outside mine. Then I opened my/our legs as wide as I could get them. Then I started taking turns, sliding my fingers into her cunt, gathering as much of her natural lube as I could and then smearing it lower between her legs, until I found her asshole. She seemed to like that a lot, skooching down on my legs and spreading hers until she was almost doing a split on my lap. All that did. Got me?” yelled the cook.Khozem nodded, and Rashida took a seat. The cook returned to his grill.“What do you want from me?” asked Rashida.“I want your story, the story of your rebellion.”“You’ve heard it already. Why do you want to hear it again?”“Because it interests me. And please, have some tea.”Khozem poured her a tepid cup, and she sipped it, telling him the torment of her dormitory and the defiant march to the administration building.“It all went something like that,” she concluded as her sips turned into gulps. “You were smart to get my boss’s attention. He really hates people from the university. You would have been sitting here all night without a word from me.”“I never intended to get the cook all worked up,” replied Khozem. “How about another cup?”“Don’t you have any other questions for me?”“Yes, of course. How about another cup?”Khozem snapped his fingers, and with a grimace, the cook brought another pot of tea to the table.“Who was it that answered the phone?” asked.
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