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I was already exhausted from working f******n hour days for the previous three weeks straight, so when the serious drinking started I was in no shape to be doing what I was doing. Our host, a business contact, was basically a mean son of a bitch who liked to see his guests get really drunk and then let them drive home as best they could. I’ll be suing that fucker once I leave here. He liked making the drinks stronger as the party wore on. I never actually made it to my car after the party was over. One of his guests ran my ass over in the driveway, breaking one leg and an arm. I was so trashed I hardly felt a thing, but I could hear the bones snap as the tires ran over me. That was a sound I don’t want to hear ever again, I can tell you!Candy cracks open the door to my room around midnight the first time I met her, and glides in towing the instruments of torture all the nurses push around, for checking the patient’s vital signs.“I’m still alive!” I say brightly. I’ve found that the. It's just us and fairly frequent, but not much that anyone would consider "kinky", so the comment was notable and fun. We wandered out to the deck with our drinks and watched the rowdy crowd enjoy themselves. The sun was beginning to set and we could see two young women down by the riverside be taunted by a smallish crowd into shedding what appeared to be bikini tops, so there was a sense that things were getting interesting. "Whoa - great view!" I joked. With a fun conversation and long eye contact and my hand on her ass while standing on the deck, I was about to suggest we get out of there and get it on at home. Just then the DJ announced that the "Pantie Raffle" was about I begin. There was a good amount of enthusiasm and people headed into the dance floor area. We shrugged and went along curiously.The cardboard box from the front door with the surrendered panties was on the DJ stand and the announcer was saying,"You all know the rules; we pull four pairs of panties. The first two.
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That was about as good a description as I could have come up with.“What did you tell her?” I asked.“Remember when you sang going into mixed doubles with Jorge and Jessica?” Lissa asked. “It set the tone for the last game. I did the same thing with Janet.”“You sang to her?”“No. As we walked onto the court for the second game, she turned and said, ‘Good luck,’ to me. I said, ‘That was just foreplay,’ and she gasped. Right then, I knew she was vulnerable, so I started making quiet little comments to her about how she looked and how attractive I thought she was.”“It threw her off that much?” I asked.“No. She fed me the same lines back. Told me how much she liked me and hoped we’d be friends. She was really sweet!”“What about the last game,” Allison asked. “There was something more intense about that one. You were both playing for something more than the championship.”“Oh,” Lissa said. I could swear she was blushing as we got in the elevator. “I told her that if she beat me, she could.

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