A ludicrous offer

The room has gotten a lot quieter as several onlookers watch Amy remove her underwear and hand them to this smirking young man.

"Would you like them back?" He asks, the instant she's handed them over.

"Obviously." She hisses through her teeth.

"I'll give them back in return for a blowjob. In private." He raises his eyebrows, still with that smug fucking grin.

"In. Your. Fucking. Dreams." Amy seethes, before stalking off, not even really knowing where she's going, just away from this room where several people just saw her humiliate herself like that, and this awful man, whom is now in possession of the only pair of underwear available to her.

Thank god he wasn't black. She thinks to herself as she begins exploring the rest of this fancy party, the warm air now flowing freely against her labia as she click-clacks her way down a tiled hall.

For the umpteenth time today, she has the same other thought.

I can't believe this is happening to me!

...And of course, who else is walking up to her, flute of sparkling wine in his hand, than Drake, the man who invited her here in the first place. Dressed up to the nines in a very fancy suit, and to be honest, looking rather handsome.

Even if it wasn't for the whole 'You MUST flirt with black guys' thing... Well, perhaps she wouldn't be totally against being friendly with this guy anyway.

And well, that's just as well, probably, because he's clearly interested in spending some time at this party with her.

"Can I show you around?" He offers an arm.

"I'd really like that." Amy says, slipping her arm through his.

Oh god, I'm behaving so inappropriately! He's going to totally think I want him! I guess that's the whole point of this stupid fucking contract. At least he doesn't know I'm not wearing underwear...

Unfortunately, it's almost impossible to both behave like someone who's totally interested, and avoid this man getting more and more bold with his flirtations.

"Let me show you the conservatory. You can usually see the stars at this time of night." He suggests, guiding her to the rear of the mansion.

"It's beautiful." Amy sighs, staring at the huge full moon that can be seen in the sky through the conservatory's windows, above the huge lantern-lit gardens of this incredibly lavish abode.

"Almost as beautiful as you." Drake says coolly, throwing Amy a cheeky glance, and then reaching around her back to place his hand on her far side, in a somewhat casual but still undeniably intimate embrace.

Amy goes quiet and blushes, but smiles. Perhaps a total bimbo slut would have giggled and said something positive about him there, but surely she doesn't have to go FULL slut mode in order to keep her Sentinel happy. It's really difficult to know where the line is, though.

It turns out, Amy learns very quickly, that she doesn't even need to go 'full slut' in order for this man to find the boldness to progress things, anyway. His hand snakes lower and lower, until he's holding her hip, and at least one of his fingers is touching her skin, thanks to the high slit in the unacceptably slutty black gown she's wearing.

Amy forces herself to just hold her breath and not resist or pull away as those fingers begin to gently squeeze and explore... searching the skin behind that slit for something... Something it's not finding.

"Amy..." Drake begins, in a conversational, but inquisitive tone.

"Yes, Drake?" Amy replies hoarsely, already knowing the question he's about to ask.

"Are you... not wearing underwear?" He asks in that same polite voice.

"No, I'm not." Amy responds truthfully. Blatant lies to black men probably very quickly stack up Frigidity Points, especially when they're related to something lewd.

"You really have dressed sexy for me tonight, haven't you." Drake muses.

"Yes. I have." Amy responds breathlessly.

I don't really want to tell him that I was already undressed against my will while under his roof, so I guess I'll just let him thing I dressed like this for him. That's probably the Queen of Spades thing to do anyway.

"Amy... I think we're going to get on real well." Drake says, some excitement and arousal now betrayed in his voice, which has become somewhat more husky.

"I... I do too." Amy responds softly.

Oh my god, I can't believe this, it's been barely 24 hours since I signed that contract, and I've already found myself in an intense situation like this! And how the hell do I get out of it?! Anything I do to try and extricate myself from this situation will surely result in a whole load of Frigidity Points...

Drake and Amy are standing with their backs near a wall. There's nobody behind them. And while they're standing in this position, Drake's hand that's wrapped around her hip sneaks deeper into Becky's slit from behind, until he's firmly grasping her defenseless buttock.

Amy lets out a soundless gasp as the man she'd literally only met this morning is now molesting her in public.

Is it really molestation though? As far as he knows, I'm loving this. And I have to continue to pretend to. But what if we get noticed?!

The hand on the butt is bad, but, well, she has spent all night and all day coming to terms with the fact that she's going to inevitably be getting intimate with black guys quite frequently from now on.

She just really wished it wasn't happening somewhere when people could notice.

As Drake's confidence (and arousal) rises, he gets more and more bold, hiking up the back of her dress so that he can get really good access to her buttocks. From the front, things probably still look normal, but Amy just can't be sure. She's staring at everyone else in the room with wide eyes, terrified that any of them will look too closely and realise that the angle of Drake's arm places his hand somewhere rather intimate.

Speaking of intimate... WHERE IS THAT THUMB GOING?!

Drake's kneading of her ass-cheek has gotten so bold, and so keen, that he's begun to worm his thumb towards a certain opening down there.

AND NOT THE ONE THAT SHE USUALLY LETS GUYS TOUCH.

The history of Amy's anal experience goes something like this:

Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. 20 years of nothing. Then, this morning, Dr. Ito's anal bleaching kit, and her gloved index finger with some of the anal relaxation gel. And then this evening, the tip of a man's thumb. A man she hardly knows. A man who is now aggressively grazing her labia with his index finger and prodding the entrance to that most forbidden of holes with his thickest digit!

Her hand shoots out to pull him away before her brain kicks into gear and stops it, lest she suddenly gain a billion Frigidity Points. She ends up gripping her own butt cheek, an inch away from where the entrance to her anal passage is being probed, gripping the hem of her dress to prevent it from riding up even further, and starting to disturb the fabric at the front.

I've got to just let it happen. I've got to just let it happen! Oh god, what even is about to happen?!