"Slave," Master interrupted, snapping his fingers, "get the paper."With a worried look, I replied, "Yes Master."I returned to the kitchen and placed t...e heavy paper on the end of the table. Crystal was nervously unloading our breakfast, including the carafes of coffee and orange juice. Master was reviewing the bill. I finished setting the table while Master signed for the food.Poor girl! She kept stealing questioning glances at me as we worked and I almost broke out laughing. This wasn't like. But it made the Fag-Hag's blood boil, it did. Something had to be done,the witchy on steroids old crone decided, but what? The morning afteranother party, the Fag-Hag was beginning to feel depressed, an internalresponse about her role in last night's occult bookstore party climate.She should have handled those drug-crazed motorcycle goons better whenall the serious drinking began. One of them was this ruffian withluminous red hair, unleashing his drunken macho venom on her nephewTommy.This. More

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