And the slotted tops of all the rooks were ashtrays. Guy that owns this place is a fuckin’ genius, even if he couldn’t afford more than these crac...ed-ass formica jobs, the type of shit that looked like it was in its’ prime in some burger joint in 1952. But fuck it, anyway. The tables fit in, ugly or not. They’re comfortable here, like cranky old men. They rock back and forth on the diagonal, most times, and if you don’t pay attention, they’ll spill pieces on you. Bad deal, if your cigarette’s. He continued, "I am yours to do with as you wish, Goodbye, Servalan." He was back to his usual stoicism, that statement betrayed little emotion. The total servitude it expressed gave her a thrill which ran through her pussy (her int was cheating again). She was close to coming, then next blow should do it. The thought of killing him was intoxicating, she felt it pounding in her pussy. She raised the whip, she had the ultimate power of life or death over Travis. She had a decision she had to. More

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