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The ironic tone-of-voice the girls used when they talked about their duties seemed to turn their performances into a play – it created the distance you feel when you're on stage or wearing a mask.Juliana tried to act and talk like them, but she knew in her case it was an act. She wondered if she'd ever be as cool about it as Melinda or Ellis or Selena. Maybe everything was just too ... new for her. She could joke and wink and roll her eyes with the others, but when men flirted with her, her panties flooded. And when they fucked her, she dissolved into a puddle of steaming lava. Attention aroused her, and so did degradation. And yesterday night, after dinner, she learned that pain did too.She was seated between two gentlemen she'd never met before, but across from her was Sophia, the woman she'd seen with the petite brunette – and the only woman at the table who wasn't a prostitute. She was dressed in a black suit. It shone slightly and was very tight. Her décolleté was modest, but. I looked down at her as I heard footsteps approach, as if asking her what the hell she was doing, and I was met with a devilish grin. I was about to question her when I heard the doorknob click, so I quickly moved the table cloth back into place and picked up my pizza, acting as natural as I could. You know, given the two hands around my soaking wet cock. “Have you seen Kate?” my coworker, Bill, asked, his head poking in. Bill was someone I considered a friend, but not a close friend. A lot of people actually thought we were related, simply because we had (close to) the same red-brown hair and blue-gray eyes. That's where the similarities ended though. Where Bill had short, buzz cut hair, mine was a bit longer and always a tiny bit messy. Bill was only average height, if that, and I was around 6'4. Bill was skinny enough to hide behind a grain of rice and had seemingly no muscle tone, while I had what Kate called “working man muscles.” (whatever the hell that means.) He was a nice.
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