The feeling of Zoey's lips squeezing and bouncing in his lap - something he would never grow tired of, and a source of enough pleasure to warrant keeping the girl even if it was all she could do - was amplified by Terrance's presence. Both Zoey and her father looked distraught, though her Father even more so. The man might not see Zoey's head beneath the surface of the table, but he could hear the wet squelches of his prick pushing between her cheeks. It was the noise of her saliva being driven around and out of her mouth, of her throat straining to accommodate his head and of Zoey softly gagging around it. They were good noises.<br/><br/>So Terrance was furious, slightly drunk and utterly confident in his ability to win. His voice was as broken as it was loud when he insisted Quentin "Sit down and play!" From there it was like taking candy from a baby, the hardest part was releasing Zoey's head to play once in a while, but he always resumed the position and kept her mouth squirming up and down him.<br/>Predictably Terrance lost. All the colour drained from his face, his mouth dropping into a mask of horror at the realisation that he had nothing. Quentin leaned back a little with a grin. "Well then, I'll have the deeds drawn up. Come tomorrow and I'll leave you a small workshop to sleep in. Is that all...? I don't have much time before dinner, and I really would quite like to fuck your daughter."<br/><br/>Zoey's father trembled as he stood, muttered a shellshocked "I'm sorry.. " toward the obscured back of Zoey's head, drained his drink - he needed it - and wandered off with frail, shaking legs.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>