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Class was boring and as she daydreamed, undoubtedly thinking salacious thoughts, unexpectedly an e-mail appeared in Lo’s inbox from Hunter. It read:

Hi Lo,

I know it’s been a long time, but I wanted to tell you something. I fell asleep at the drafting table last night. While I was face-down in my designs, I had the most vivid dream of you. I call it “The Lustful Slut.”

From afar I watch her. Across the crowded restaurant I see a young, pretty, innocent girl. (Innocent?) My mind, deviant as it is, sees the way her tongue glides across her lips as she talks to the young men; her mind thinks dirty thoughts — the lustful little slut.

She places an order with the waiter. Friendly. Polite. He stands at attention for her. I spy how she shifts her legs and flutters her eyes at him. Suddenly I gain a glimpse into one secret of this lustful slut; she is pantiless.

She casually places her hand between her legs, as if to brush lint from her short skirt. As she gets up from the table, her confident stride calls attention to her smart, sexy outfit. I’m filled with desire for my lustful slut and my eyes follow her legs, perched on tall heels, up to the edge of her little black dress and catches her hand tugging down on it to keep it below her perfectly round bum. I think, ‘lustful slut wants that dress pulled up over her waist tonight.’

As she turns to walk to the ladies room, people notice her as she moves with purpose. I become self-conscious as I, focused as I am on her every curve, see her look back at me and smile as her radiant, straight black hair gently bounces in unison with her breasts. She walks past me. My eyes cannot break from hers. My mind knows: lustful slut has discovered me. I can watch no longer. . . .

Lo read the e-mail to herself in class. She wanted to open up pics of Hunter and study them while her fingers caressed her clit, but that had to wait.

Though she had broken it off with Hunter, she still sent him texts now and again — I knew. The “lustful little slut” doesn’t just flip a switch and shut off. No, not at all. She gets off — again and again. And that’s exactly what she had been doing with Hunter’s e-mails, thoughts of him, and retelling to me the various details of their encounters during our moments of intimacy.

[Excerpt from the story, “Kiss, Kiss, Gang-Bang,” from the blog:]

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail:

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