She cried out, loud. His fingers cupped her roughly, dipping into her juices, as they began to fuck her, hard. "Were you this wet for him?" he snarled... as he fucked her furiously.She thrashed around, struggling, protesting, yet wanting so much more. She wanted him to stop and she wanted it to never end. The more she struggled, the harder he fucked her. She bit him. He removed his belt, bodily pushed her against the railing, and cuffed her to it. "I am sorry," she cried. "Please... don't.... I always feel so white in California, not just in contrast to Jefferson, but to everyone who is tanned as Winston was when I met him. He’s faded now, I thought. And then I thought of the possible interpretations of that and felt sorry for him, trapped in Boston. And then I realized this was the first time I had thought of him that day. Brad and Jefferson and the forthcoming night were filling my mind to the exclusion of everything else. Black leather cuffs. White skin. Bright red toenails.. More

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