"Where are you keeping our friends." Fuck you puta," he said.His hands were zip tied to the chair. "That was just rude," I said as I clipped the first...joint off his hands with the pruning sheers. Then I used the butane plumbers torch to cauterize the wound."Having to do that was unfortunate, but it's your fault. You gave me no choice. You would be well advised to keep your answers civil. Now where are they keeping out friends?" I asked."I got nothing to say butcher," he said.I walked to him. I want the familiar, beautiful cock I can feel in my hand. I want you to take me with our special brand of ferocity, re-kindled here in this limbo-land, sex without consequences, idealistic and temporary (like a lounge-room pillow fort). I don’t like the serious expression you’re wearing. I don’t like the questions in your eyes. I bring your hand out of my jeans-front and suck on your forefinger with deliberate slowness. You taste like girl-flower and sexy hand-salt. You make a noise like a. More

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