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. or is it night? Dreams. Floating images, colours, sounds. A blonde woman, tall, well dressed. Heels clicking on the marble of a corridor. Mirrors, elevators. High glass walls looking out on sky scraping horizons. Shapes and colours, no names, no understanding.Shapes and colours swirl in the eye of a hurricane. All images sucked into a roaring hole of utter oblivion.The concept of yesterdays is gone. The mere idea of tomorrow is non-existent. It is hard enough to grasp the present, the integrity of her flesh. Hard enough to trust this centrifugal maelstrom of feelings and emotions. This constant arousal, this aching lust. Electric currents jab at her. They make her skin ripple, her spine arch.There always is the hunger, the need to taste the white slimy cream. To swallow it and paint her face with it. To feel it spurt over her tits and belly. The scent of it, the taste.There is the craving need to quench the fire in the central void of her being. There are the gaping throats of her. It read: Greg Martin, along with his home address. In the upper left hand corner was: Chairman of the Board, Martin Enterprises."Well, Mr. Martin, Chairman of the Board, Martin Enterprises, you can just go straight to hell. I'd rather die than go over to your house and be one of your bought women!"Seething with rage, she drove to her apartment, carrying on an imaginary conversation. Finally she said, "I'll just go over there and tell him... tell him..."Tell him what? That she didn't like him? He was rich, handsome, built like a Greek God, sexy -- and that huge cum-filled cock."Tell him that he is an arrogant bastard, that's what! To think that I would... I would."CHAPTER TWO"I would love one," Sara said when Greg offered her a drink just after opening the door.A drink was exactly what she needed. Although her mind had been made up to tell him off good and proper, when she saw him standing there, wearing nothing but cut-offs, her heart skipped a beat, her knees weakening. All that she.
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