Her boyfriend just threw me down a hill. Stop this madness!

A full minute passed before Hillman regained his senses. "Okay you can pull your pants back up."

Becca did not move.

Hillman cupped the ball tightly in both hands, his fingers glowing pink. "Becca, put your underwear and jeans back on... please?"

Still no movement. Was she dead? The crickets continued chirping.

He was starting to panick. If anyone saw them--no, no one could see them like this. He wouldn't live to see the next sunrise. He briefly considered leaving her there, but the idea left as quickly as it arrived. His mean streak had ended. No one deserved to be found in such a comprimising position.

THINK Hillman, THINK. How did they get here? Now that he'd seen her ass why wasn't the damn ball working? And then he knew.

Hillman tucked the ball in his chest pocket. He stretched out his arms and cupped each of Becca's asscheeks in a hand. Her assflesh was warm. He gave each cheek a quick squeeze, and then another. Technology, he thought, would never duplicate the texture of a girl's ass. He felt his ol' buddy stirring between his legs. What began as a shy cop, turned into a slow knead, then a fast one. Finally, Hillman pulled apart her cheeks like a split cantalope.

Becca didn't seem to mind. In fact she didn't move or say a word.

Hillman brought his face right up to her crevice. He did so with hesitation, fearful of the smell that would **** him. He had a bad enough opinion of her as it was. When the smell did arrive however, it was neither gamey nor musky but... Jeez, he thought, did this girl shit long-stemmed roses?

He studied her asshole closely, noting each wrinkle and each blonde wisp that fringed it.