“Me? I’ve only had the Client from hell chewing me up and spitting me out in little pieces.” She elaborated no further. “What ...o the Americans call this? Serendipity? Perhaps we should go and drown our sorrows in a nice little bistro just around the corner?” She couldn’t stop herself. “Satan will be going to work on ice skates before I fall for that line!” “You don’t take prisoners. Straight in, then bayonet the wounded after the battle was. But I awoke to a reality that wasn't much better. I was lying across my bed, on my belly. My wrists were taped together behind my back, palms facing out, and my legs spread apart, ankles taped and tied to bed posts. My head would hang over the side of the bed if a black guy wasn't pulling it back by my hair, his cock pushing against the back of my throat. It was really huge, it stretched my jaw to the point of almost dislocating it. The panic I woke up with only got worse. I fought for breath. More

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