I suppose an even better man would have maybe offered chaste aid to the visibly drunk and distraught victim of such abuse. I realized, at that point, that I wasn’t a good man at all.I approached her alright, phone still recording, but not with any thought of compassion or pity. I wanted to capture her degradation up close. She looked like shit. Her hands were cupped over her eyes as she cried, stubby red nails black in the dimness. Her hair and perky little tits bounced in time with her sobs. The dress was bunched up above her waist. Her pussy lips gaped. It and her thighs were sperm-spattered. As she heard my feet grating on the alley’s grit, she jerked her hands away from her face and tried to cover herself.“No more,” she slurred drunkenly. “Go away and leave me alone, asshole.” Her lipstick was a dark shadow around her bruised mouth. Her mascara had turned her sweat and tears black. She struggled to pull her top over her swollen, sticky breasts. She used the wall to fight to her. I pushed her up against the wall and pinned her hands above her head. She looked up at me, her chest already heaving. "Did you cum when you watched it?"She knew that she shouldn't bother lying; I could always tell when she was - it made playing strip poker with her so much fun. She nodded."How many times?" I asked."Did I cum?" she asked."Well, I meant how many times did you watch it, but answer both now," I said."I don't know," she replied. "I didn't keep count.'I smiled. That she didn't know meant that it was far more than once."What do you think would happen if Mike got a copy of the DVD?" I asked her. I didn't think she'd want her boyfriend seeing it; at least not yet. "Or what about if it leaked out at work?" You wouldn't!" she squeaked."I might," I told her. "If you don't do everything that I want." What do you want?" she asked."Right now," I said, pulling her to the couch and throwing her over the back of the couch. "I want you."She braced herself on the seat of the couch as I.
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