”“Yes, we are on a date night, what’s up?”“Oh, I didn’t know it was a date night. I was going to ask a favor, but I don’t want to intrud....”“It is okay, what do you need?”“Tyler went out, says the car got towed from where he parked. I was hoping you could give him a ride home. He is within a block of your restaurant.”“Sure, we can go get him; we have to head that way anyways. Can you tell him to meet us outside in about five minutes?”“I will, thank you. I will see you when you drop him off.”Amy. Four men were playing a card game at the table to the rear of the room. Their interest was obviously whether the stranger was a threat or a monetary opportunity. Along the right side of the room ran a bar. The bartender stood about mid-way, talking to 2 other patrons. Everybody’s attention also seemed to be a threat assessment. When everybody could see that the only weapon the stranger carried was a large bowie knife, Sheathed on his left side, in a cross-draw sheath, they relaxed.At the table. Their clothes and boots had been returned, clean and fresh smelling, even if the colors were a touch faded from the harsh chemicals used to purge any pests. The ointment was akin to an overnight miracle, and both men were able to move freely in their clothes without raw, exposed nerves crying out with every awkward movement.True to form, Gregor had already located the best brothel in the town, with a fairly precise description of the most enticing wenches. He was momentarily disappointed when. For two days the dedicated black owned slut had not been allowed to even taste black cock.To make matters worse her new case, which arose from her previous dealings with the wayward Omalley sisters, required her to review the BNWO’s file on the alleged “Clan of the White Bull”, a white breeding cult rumored to be located in a rural area near Sacramento. The file was full of pics and vids of tiny pindicked white boys torturing pussies with their inadequate little pink members.Nothing made.
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