About how much I was his dirty slut. I made the best dinner I could, and I don’t think I was ever nicer to George than I was that night. I waited on...him, I was affectionate, and I had every intention of being his whore in bed when I had the chance. My sore ass was on my mind all night, though, a throbbing reminder of where Dr. Ward had planted his flag. I tried to concentrate on please George, but the arousal that lingered in me wasn’t for him, it was for the damned hypnotist. It didn’t take. I’ll see you next Thursday.”I was in an endorphin fog.The next morning, I wake up thinking surely that didn’t happen. But the mark on my breast confirmed otherwise. I don’t remember driving home, or going to the shower.I spent the next week writing, putting every ounce of myself into my story.Here is my storyMy husband and I are attending our first swingers party where we are directed to the parlor. My husband’s hand is crushing mine and we see Champagne flowing from fountains. I can feel the. More

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