Drunk Indian Aunty

Maybe a quick slug will clear my head a little, she decided, pouring herself a healthy glassful and then adding some tomato juice to make a Bloody Mary. Then she settled back to watch as Jon barged busily into the dressing room and went to work on Kelly's face, applying rouge and make-up to give her skin some color under the bright lights on the set."Finish your drink, baby," advised Jon bruskly, nodding in Lynn's direction. "I'm going to be ready to do you in another minute. And better get out of that dress unless you want to get make up all over it." What should I put on?" asked Lynn, a little alarmed."Who gives a shit?" snapped Jon crudely as he dabbed mascara onto Kelly's skin. "Just get out of the dress."Blushing at the man's vulgar language, Lynn observed that the older woman was wearing a dressing gown and cursed herself for not having had the brains to bring something like it herself. Here was no sign of anything resembling a slave girl costume, and she hated to make a fuss. He hated it, how good it felt. Each time, it got a little easier. Every time he ejaculated, it would take longer for the feeling of shame to arrive. He didn’t want to imagine his wife and daughter in those stocks, getting violated again and again.Resigning himself to another day of swallowing his conscience, he backed out of the driveway and headed off towards the city. It was a cold morning, utterly silent. The only cars on the road belonged to Guards heading to or leaving the prison, or collaborators who were tasked with things like food deliveries. The city was livelier, in a tragic sense. Work crews operated 24/7 to expand the prison. Not a second went by that power tools weren’t whining and bricks weren’t being lain.The workers and laborers operated in shifts like the guards. Their clothing was just warm enough to prevent frostbite, but the only real way to avoid the chill was to worker harder. The parking lots were left untouched so that guards had a place to leave their cars,.
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