How many times did she end a particularly productive writing session with no memory of having pecked out the letters and words and sentences that fill...d the typewritten pages? In a trance, she was, a dream state so deep that she was completely oblivious to the flying keys striking the paper. My keys. The key I made fly. Her fingers rested on the keyboard, idle, spasming haphazardly to random nerve impulses having nothing in the least to do with the process of creation. Creation? You pathetic. Could Derrick see how hung these guys were? Some of the men were straight-up gangstas, so they were grabbing her waist like she was a piece of meat, pushing her down on their pulsating cocks, just not giving a fuck. Racquel let them. Derrick would never know. It was her personal treat to have all these men touching her tiny waistline. She wanted to reach around and grab some cock, but was afraid the guys would talk it up in front of Derrick. That would be more trouble than it was worth.After. More

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