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Not long after I had finished dressing, a footman arrived at my door to escort me to the banquet. He took in what I was wearing and then looked at my ...ace. My grim expression clearly discouraged any questions or comments, so he turned and led the way along the palace corridors.The banqueting hall was like something out of a movie scene. Three long tables filled the hall. One table crossed the width of the room and two were at right angles to it. The cross-wise table was smaller than the other. It was quiet, except for Danny's breathing.It was choppy and stifled, every once in a while with a sharp intake.I looked up to find tears streaming down his cheeks.I felt a sympathetic look come onto my face.I took the edge of the flannel sleeve, and wiped the tears off his face.His eyes looked different than they had in a long time.They were full of pain.There was no hatred, instead there was love. And this love was obviously causing him some pain. I found his hand with my other, and squeezed. ”“You think I fucking CARE, whore?” He turned to look at Brad, who miserably looked on. But now Mladic smirked, seeing Brad’s cock still ramrod straight and aroused between his legs. “Your boyfriend is STILL enjoying the show, girl. As for impregnating you, I admire your optimism. You think that if I knock you up, that I will let you live long enough to give birth? Hmm. I suppose you’re supremely confident that you can learn to be a proper sex slave and please me then, eh? Well, we shall SEE.”. We did try it once that summer. Eric pressed the point until I caved in. I stretched out bent over our kitchen island and prepped himself with olive oil. It was like being probed by a telephone pole. It was never for me. By the end of the year, we rarely spoke. Didn’t have a sexual encounter again until March, when he called me one evening when his plans for the night fell through. My mom was out. I invited him down and sucked him in our front foyer, just inside the door. He said I still gave.
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