Elder would find something wrong with Roger’s cooking on an all too common basis. This time, however, he took it as a personal attack.“What the he...l is this?” he yelled at his partner.“What?”“It’s burnt,” Casey said, “the pancake in the middle is cooked to a crisp.”“You’re crazy,” Roger Decker said. Looking at the blackened cake, he frowned, “Didn’t notice that.”“The hell you didn’t,” Elder insisted.“Trade plates,” Decker offered.“You’ve eaten half of yours already,” Casey said. Standing up, he. For even a second.Her eyes were wild as she had the first of the tiny cramp spasms to the arch of her right foot not that her men-folk knew of course, their eyes were on the news, and that dammed clock was striking the hour once again. For fifteen long minutes she endured it, by now begging and pleading pitifully to be released, odd twinges of cramp forced her to rest her clitorise on the intrusive bar, which was agony on both the clit or her anal ring, dependant if she leant forward or back.. More

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