As he stood, a large black man in denim overalls, work boots, and muscles bulging from a short-sleeve plaid shirt entered from the street.“Get out o... here, boy,” the bartender said.The black man stopped. “You talking to me?”“See any other boy in here?”“You gotta be shitting me. Who the fuck are you calling boy?”One of the men at the table stood up. “You, nigger.”The black man charged. He leaped over the table with arms extended, crashing into the man like a linebacker tackling a quarterback.. It was in those moments that he drink his own spunk, rationalizing that it was his so it wasn’t really gay or anything. He felt transparent, as if Veronica could read his mind, as if she knew all his dirty little secrets without him saying a word. Evan felt as if the was telepathically transmitting his depravity to her and he was desperately trying to send her false signals. In some parallel universe, that might have worked. In this one, however, Veronica was manipulating his every move,. ..folding, swishing and flicking like an acrobat while I worked it and he was loving every second. Pulling out and grabbing the base I could tell my man was close. I stuck out my tongue and he began to jerk and beat it against my outstretched velvet muscle. He didn't need to say any words, he knows I am a hungry bitch and his grunts told me it was time. Assuming the appropriate sissy position on my knees, my hands were now by my side in complete submission, back arched as though I was also. Get off this yacht and get walking to the café; and walk, don’t run. You can go in your bare feet to slow you down and I don’t want to hear from anyone that you’ve been covering your breasts or genitals. If anyone stops you and asks for a better look at the red marks you are to sit on the ground, lay back, put your legs up in the air, spread them wide and pull them back to your heads. And you are to stay like that until they walk away. Do you understand me you naughty little girls?”“Yes.