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But five screaming orgasms will do for now” she joked. “are you staying the night?” “Not tonight sorry baby,” she said as she stood up, pulling her crumpled thong back up her silky-smooth legs. “I just came over for a booty call.” “a booty call, eh? Don’t think I’ve ever been one of those before.” I laughed “Well, you’d better get used to it stud” she quipped back as her mini skirt followed her thong up her legs. “and I will be getting that spunk in my cunt before long.” With a wink and a kiss she was gone. As I laid in bed, images of my many ladies parading naked through my head, I wondered again what had happened to make my life so different. I guess it was one of those rhetorical questions that I softcore would never fully answer. But I fell asleep thinking that it was a wonderful question to have. A week later I was sat in a small room at the Ritz London. It was 11am, I was feeling fully refreshed from a night spent in possibly the most comfortable bed ever created by man. Another boring week had preceded the previous night, no more booty calls and little more than a few messages off my ladies. Rachael couldn’t make it here last night, neither could Tiff, neither one could get the time off work. Even Chantelle and Bethany were taking the bus down later this afternoon and infuriatingly, I still hadn’t heard off Jess. I had almost expected company from the moment I had learnt about the complimentary suite, but it had never mature materialised, even the complimentary limo to the hotel from home was spent alone. Either way, right now I was still sat in a small room. In front of me was a medium sized wooden table and on the other side of that were two men. They had introduced themselves as Michael and Steven - no surnames – and they were about to conduct an interview on behalf of Card player magazine. “… of course, none of what we discuss in this interview will be released to the public until after the competition has finished.” Steven – the chatty one - was saying, I already knew this from the contracts I had to sign before the interview. “So, what we’d like indian is an informal chat about how you do what you do and how it feels being the favourite.” Normally, this would have been a perfectly normal and reasonable thing for a journalist from one of the most respected gambling publications in the country to ask. Except this guy was full of shit. “I can’t see any problems with that” I played along. I had spotted the lie almost as soon as they had started talking, neither one of these men had the first clue about poker and kept referring to the Royal flush I’d had in one of the previous games. A Royal flush is the best known and highest hand in the game, I had never been lucky enough to hold one… ever. What really made it obvious though is that Steven kept shifting his eyes, up and to the left – accessing the part of the brain responsible for creative thinking, also used for lying. Another orgasm burst through me. I bucked, my tits heaving. He pulled me into mature the darkness of the hallway wall and ran his fingers along my waist. “Where the girls of your dreams are brought to life. I’ve noticed that a lot of women on the gallows do this. I tell you, Susan said with a naughty grin. I grab her by the hair softcore and push her face and tits into the slimy grease at the bottom of the stove, as I fuck indian her. Then you said what you did, about ending the godling. I could use the reality editing app. We were heading for the latest reservoir they’d made, it was where they had recently flooded a previously almost inaccessible deep valley, only a few footpaths created by the locals with their goats went down into it.