Without even knowing his name, she was yielding to his dark-eyed charms, his strong hands on her waist, his burgundy lips on hers, taking, speaking out a code that was both universal and ancient. To her shame, Cass felt herself responding in ways too obvious to deny. Could he feel it—her nipples rising under the flimsy bra, the heat that was pooling just beneath her skin, the warmth, down below her belly button?
It was times like these that she really hated to be so damned feminine in her needs.
“Please, no,” she mouthed as he reached behind her to let down her tresses of raven colored hair. “I don’t want…”
His fingers weaved their way expertly to her neck as he pulled her head tight. This time he wanted, and got her open mouth, glued to his. I’ll resist soon, she told herself, any minute now. Just as soon as I get the lay of the land, the feel of his hard muscled chest, the dimensions of his crotch, his cock swelling against me.
Resistance turned to self-betrayal. I need that cock, she thought. A stranger’s cock. Any cock. But she needed her dignity, too, and there was the dilemma. Tearing herself far enough away to turn her head, she looked to Debbie for solidarity.
Debbie was well on her way to screwing the other man right on the dance floor. Already she was off her feet, her legs wrapped round the middle of the thick-bicepted, clean-domed man as his hands dug uncontested into the globes of the girl’s firm, perfect ass cheeks. Shamelessly, she offered him her lips and torso making a mockery of the sequined barrier of her dress and underclothes. It was sex with their clothes on, the proverbial antecedent to the well-used line, “go get a room.”
“Let’s go somewhere and fuck the little bitches till they squeal,” said the one holding Cassie to the other. He was speaking Russian, a language Cassandra had learned in Moscow during the three years her father had served as a liaison officer to the Russian military.
“Da,” agreed the one pawing Debbie.
The cads, thought Cassie, they aren’t even bothering to talk to us, just each other.
“Debbie,” whispered Cass into her friend’s ear as they grabbed the girls’ wrists and commenced to drag them across the crowded dance floor, “They intend to use us for sex—they called us bitches.”
Debbie did a little shuffle step in her silver heels in an effort to keep up with the man’s larger stride. “Duh,” she said back. “All men are that way—we’re just going to fuck them before they fuck us.”
Cassie still had her doubts, especially when the two Russians hustled them into a cab and took them over to The Volcano, a dark and sordid pit with a reputation as being the most randy and out of control spot on the whole island. The club’s main feature was a sunken dance pit into which bubbles, suds and even water could be dropped. Bumping and grinding were de rigueur and from what Cass could see, the dark corners were being used for more than just dancing.
The bouncer suggestively looked over the females, causing Cass to cringe and Debbie to perk up under the added attention. A place like this suited Deb’s exhibitionist’s streak well. To Cass it was going to be a living nightmare. She wanted to go back to her room. She wanted to go home.