I glanced down at the tablecloth — Battle had used his fork to etch out a swastika with a diagonal slashed through it.As I paid the tab — almost $...00 before tip — he said, “I’ll ask around about ... your serial number idea.”“Thank you.”While I waited for my receipt, Battle stood, offered his hand and walked toward the lobby, ramrod straight. Gloves in his right hand, cap pinned beneath his left arm. Our cocktail waitress vectored her approach to my table so that she crossed paths with the. "Looks like the dyke's going to join in the action. She's put on a pair of rubber gloves and is lubricating them with some gooey stuff. Now she pushes a finger into my cunt. One finger? No. Two. Three! Christ, that feels tight.What does she think she'll find in my twat? Gold?This reminds me of a story I read in the paper the other day, about a prison in Brazil or some place like that. There were some women visiting their men inside, and they smuggled cell phones in for them in their snatch.. More

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