He closed the knife and stuffed it, along with my panties, into the left front pocket of his trousers. “A souvenir for me,” he laughed.I held onto...the pole and tried to see his reflection in it, but the chrome was dull from years of wear and dirty hands. When the train stopped, I should have gotten off and walked away. But I was too entranced by the idea of what he would do next.He waited until the subway car resumed its journey. Then he reached under my dress and found my slick, swollen labia. ButDante, that bastard, forgot to warn us about thisparticular circle. I recall at certain points, forGod knows what reason, shots of tequila being pressedto my lips. I was beyond caring. In time,successfully completed rounds brought sorority-sisterstyle giggles and speculations as to how much fartherI could go. This, of course, was merely their clever,but transparent, way of increasing the intervalsbetween actual sucking. If somehow I could managerevenge, it would indeed be sweet.Round eleven. More

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