They sit there helplessly, the image of me imprinted on their feeble brains, focusing their attentions on their swollen penises with zombielike intens...ty, while I'm off spending their money. You can be sure I'm not thinking about them. My clients are all older than me, never truly physically fit, and the biggest group of ass-clowns you could ever imagine, paying me to destroy them. They are the sum of their stupid, dangling genitalia and it's little more than a numbers game at this point. I do. She turned to Chrissie. “Here is your locker key. You are number 99, you can change in here. If there’s anything more you need or want, I’ll be working behind the bar tonight.” With that she turned and left us to get changed. Chrissie opened the travel case and handed me a pair of white sports shorts she had packed for me. “There you go,” she said. “I like you in these, nice and tight and show off your arse nicely.” “Thanks, so what have you got to wear then?” I said sarcastically, thinking. More

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