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What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I demanded, a rather
stupid question, especially as he was pulling his shirt off even as I spoke.
"Well," Mark replied calmly, "I did say that if you came upstairs, we'd
see what we could find for you to wear." He started to pull off his pants.
"Plural, you know," he added.
"So what you're saying is that if I, uh, service all six of you, you'll
loan me something to wear until my clothes are dry? Doesn't sound like much
of a deal to me."
"Actually no," said one of the guys behind me. "What he's saying is
that by the time we finish fucking you, your clothes will be dry, and we'll
get them for you."
"Sex, clothes. No sex, no clothes," chimed in another one. "That sound
like a better deal?"
At this point, I figured I had three choices: I could make a break for
it, and even if I got out the door, what would I do then? Have you ever
tried to ride a bike dressed in nothing but a bath towel? Me neither, and I
didn't really want to try it. I could try and talk my way out of it, with
roughly the same chance of success as winning the lottery two weeks in a row.
Or I could, as the saying goes, cooperate with the inevitable, and file rape
charges later. I
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