I also knew that her mother or not, I was also somewhat aroused by the whole thing myself.I reached up to the countertop and took a hand mirror to sho...w her how she looked."Oh, it's really nice. I love the way it looks, kind of like I did a few years ago when I was nine or ten. How often should I do it?" she asked."I do it every other day, on weekends every day." Why every day on weekends?"I knew as soon as I'd said it that she would ask."Well, Dad and I, we usually have sex on Saturday and. I looked up at him and realized he was quite drunk. I could tell partly by his glazed look and partly by the bottle he had in his hand. ‘Damn, you’re hot!’ he said. ‘Here, have a drink!’ The easiest way to get away from him was to take a drink. I smiled weakly and took a tiny sip from the bottle. His swaying hand knocked it upwards, however, and suddenly a burning stream of acid was pouring down my throat. I dropped the bottle and gasped, coughing, and immediately was surrounded by concerned. Her hands, withlong red nails, were on the arms of the chair - it was almost as if shewas siting on a throne.I tried to look downwards - my neck didn't want to move fully, but Icould see long nylon-clad legs and a short black skirt.Despite my confusion, I could feel myself getting excited.I was still woozy, and very, very thirsty. Maybe I said something, but avoice - in my head? in my ear? - said "Do you need a drink?" I nodded,sound seemingly unable to escape my cracked lips. "You'll need to. The producer of the dancing gig was a Brazilian cokehead trust funder named Fausto. He was a real sleazebag, the kind of guy who would buy a personal kilo of coke with money he earned from a backyard porno shoot with meth-head hookers. He was a financial backer of some up-and-coming Brazilian rapper and they were filming a music video in Hollywood. When Bailey and Roxy arrived and they told Fausto that Bailey was too sick to complete the shoot, he blew up.In his thick, Portuguese accent, he.