"Yes, tell George I want to see him."Mabel looked startled. "Now? Here?" Yes," said Doris, putting sugar and cream into her coffee then sipping it, "right away."The venom came back into Mabel's face. "Yes, Miss," she mumbled, then exited.Doris tensed then relaxed her belly; the muscles felt sore. Willis and his long cock poking up into one! He must have reached to my belly- button.She felt, delicately, between her thighs. The lips of her vulva felt tender; she caressed them very gently. The inside of her pussy was sore. That huge cock must have stretched me! I've never had anything that big in me before!Doris's eyes flickered towards the dresser, where she had placed her array of body creams. A soft, soothing cream up my pussy would be nice!There was a light tap at her door."Come in!"George entered, hesitantly. "You wanted me, Miss Dainton?"Doris had a crazy impulse to smile. He always calls me Miss Dainton! Even when he's raping me he keeps calling me Miss Dainton!"Yes, George," she. He played the part perfectly. But Eliot was no cowboy. He’d gone to school out east, and probably grew up there, too. Something about how he’d drop his r’s and articulate his t’s—my best guess was New England. Maybe Ivy League. I couldn’t count how many nights I spotted him in the lamplight, scribbling out his endless dissertation on Marcel Proust.Yes, I was infatuated. But silently so, and until very recently, for all my heartsick, puppy-dog pining, Eliot was untouchable. My bête noire’s name was Anna, and I hated her with every ounce of blood in my body. It was a vague and vacuous hatred, though—one aimed at the sheer inconvenience of her being, more so than whoever she might’ve been as a person. Hearsay said she’d been a guide, too, years ago. It said she and Eliot were inseparable—until one of the hotel’s wealthy widowers made an offer, and she jetted off to take up as his trophy wife. I tried to imagine it. To be someone’s show pony. Always sheltered and fed. Clothed, walked,.
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