“I didn’t tell you to stop whore!” I snapped at her. “I’m sorry, please forgive me master.” She pleaded as she resumed stroking me under ...he table. The waitress couldn’t see under the table due to the long tablecloth , but she definitely noticed the rhythmic motion of her arm. She stared quizzically at Tammy’s arm, until her eyes began to widen with dawning comprehension. The waitress, Angelina according to her name tag, just stood there and stared dumbfounded at Tammy’s arm and my imagined. Her hair as curled by a long rod heated in the fire, then smoothed back down and piled in a complicated and sometimes painful fashion on her head. Her dress was too damn low cut, she was used to wearing shirts designed for men, buttoned to her neck, but her father wanted to ‘sell the goods’ to the man he had promised her to. Izzy better pull a miracle from her neither regions, Kate thought with a sigh. ‘Ow!’ ‘Oh, miss, you need to soften your hair,’ one of the ladies tsked in a gentle Irish. More

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