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A face-to-face meeting between Jack and a good girl who scoffed at the idea that she would submit to his charms would be a sight to behold as she gradually abandoned every one of her principles.
First, her heart would race. But she’d try to remain calm and aloof. After all, she’s not like those starfucking sluts. Then, Jack would speak. And it would sound just like all those movies she watched with him in it. He might even drop a quote or two. *sqeal*! Oh boy, her composure is starting to crack. Maybe Jack might lasciviously angle his body so that his hot Oscar-winning breath blows across her neck and his belly brushes her arm. He does this with his trademark sunglasses reflecting the light and his shit-eating joker grin exuding total unstoppable confidence. She no longer notices his belly and man boobs. Her loins feel like a rainforest.
She looks around and something she does notice is how many beautiful women are languidly caressing Jack’s body, laughing at his every word, blatantly aroused to the point of orgiastic explosion. For some inexplicable reason, noticing this turns her on even more. Parrots and monkeys are swinging through her snatch. Jack pats his lap. No words exchanged; she walks over and sits in it. He smells like drunken old man, but all she can think of is how attractive his eyes are when he squints from the sun. Minutes later, in the cabin, Jack’s wang is driven in to the hilt. Heeeere’s little johnny!
-Chateu Heartiste
