Tears leaked from the corners of hiseyes and semen from the edges of his stretched lips. Dashawn looked downat his suck boy, at the mussed cosmetics,...that laughable chickenheadpiece, the askew beak, those arms reduced to uselessness and stuffedinto fake wings. The whole image, being viewed at the same time his cockwas still super-sensitized, was imprinted on his mind. He wanted tomistreat Jack this way over and over again, with plenty of nastyvariations."All right, chicken bitch," Dashawn. I tossed the salad, and Wes got us some bowls and forks. We ate together in the kitchen, standing there and talking about our day, about the call center and the hospital, and you’d be surprised how similar it all was. High-stress environments with difficult people and difficult situations. That’s what we dealt with.When Wes leaned over and stole a cherry tomato from my bowl with his fork, I flinched, but the feeling passed almost instantly. Ten years ago I would’ve cowered or snapped, depending. How had he gotten there? He sorted his memories into some kind of order. He had been going back to the cheap room he was living in during this operation. Someone had been there, and had jumped him when he had entered.Had his cover been blown? If it had, the question was what would Quince do with him. He struggled upright, and examined the door. It was a very solid wooden door, and even his strength wouldn't budge it. All he could do was wait and hope that there was some opportunity he could. After a minute, I shivered and then felt flushed again.I decided to run a bath, to have a plausible reason for being up so late. My parents knew I enjoyed soaking in the tub late at night when I couldn't sleep, a habit I still have today.I started my bath, and while the hot water ran in the old claw-footed tub, I closed my eyes and again the images of what I had seen burned in my mind. He had been seated in his wingback chair in front of our fireplace, the glow of the embers shining off her.