Brad the Satyr leapt at Smythe in a rage of not having enough alcohol in the system. He growled and lunged at Sharon's masculine form, twisting to get his huge, erect member under his chin for a deadly Uppercut blow (job).
Dana held the scented rag over her mouth for all her life was worth, but just the same being that close to the Satyr with his full ire raised she found herself unable to not give herself a little bit of a workout. She glanced at Merry to see how the poor girl was doing, and noticed that the poor thing had passed out from the scent and her pussy was seeping steadily into Dana's sheets. And Candace... Candace was still the mere outline of herself waiting patiently for whatever was about to happen to her.
Meanwhile, the Brad/Sharon (or Satyr/Smythe, if you prefer) fight had reached a new level of violence. Both combatants were too intent upon either keeping or capturing the prize that they had no time for snappy comebacks or witty retorts.
The fight over and in a truce, Brad tilted his tumbler to Smythe, "So you're Sharon, and She's Jim? Candace still looks like candace, and Ricki looks like she did after the shoe thing?" Smythe nodded agreeingly as he filled Brad's glass, then downed one of his own, "Yeah, That's about the size of it. haven't found Brenda, yet, but I've got some suspicions about that Shaun O'Toole. Haven't seen him yet, though, so I can't be certain."
The Satyr leaned back to watch Dana furiously trying to relieve herself of the powerful musk Brad couldn't help giving off. "So... We going to do something about that?" he asked more or less casually. Smythe smirked, but his eyes were fixed firmly on the same place, "Maybe later. I just love listening to her moan in that sexy accent... Plus, she one a bet earlier and I haven't gotten back, yet." Brad nodded thoughtfully, "Work's for me. Got any more of that whiskey?"
Mon Dec 22 12:57:55 2003