Of course, none of them folded. They were guaranteed sex whether they won or lost, the hand a flimsy charade. Not that the cards mattered any more, but Janet took them all with a straight.

She clapped her hands together like a little girl, throwing back her head and declaring, ‘Yes! Come on, boys!’

She was going neon with all the trimmings, three guys of her choice. And I looked on as the woman who could be our ambassador to South Africa giggled and threw herself down on the rug, opening her legs so that everyone had a generous view of her shaven pussy. Her glistening labia and her hangman’s clit. George cast one guilty look my way, his mouth freezing into a tight line of resentment, and I said nothing. I understood. If I didn’t want him then he was a grown boy, free to pursue Janet if he wished. And he had wanted her for a while.

As he pawed her full tits, Janet was already breathing hard, and then Cahill thrust in his thin needle of a cock. I watched George kiss Janet greedily, and Cahill came in an anti-climactic rush. Janet half-yelped, half laughed, saying, ‘Wait a minute’ before she rolled onto her knees. Giradeau and Cahill traded places, Giradeau fucking her from behind, and now Janet moaned loudly. I was embarrassed yet spellbound. It was one thing to see Vivian, Ayako or one of the other girls in the throes, but Janet—

George still kissed her but she showed little passionate interest in him—too distracted by the pounding fullness in her vagina. George’s hand in her hair, tracing two fingers along her open lips, wiping the perspiration from her forehead. She gritted her teeth as she came, and Giradeau kept hammering away, his hands squeezing the cheeks of her wide backside. At last he seemed to swoon as he pumped her full of his cum, draping himself over her back for a moment, wanting to feel her tits before he fell away.