*The asshole* I thought. But our discussion of movies was asham: anything I suggested, she agreed to. I asked her to make asuggestion and I could te...l she was just trying to name the one *I*would choose. Finally I blurted out “I can’t take this!” “I’m sorry”she whimpered and she looked genuinely alarmed.“How does he make you do these things?” “He doesn’t” She lookeddistressed at my agitation and my line of questioning. . ’ ‘I wish that I’d never heard it myself, it doesn’t lend itself to any complimentary diminutive.’ Shut up Malcolm, I told myself, you’re applying for a menial job, not a company directorship. ‘I was named after my grandfather.’ ‘Have you had any experience with washing dishes?’ ‘Yes, I help my mother at home.’ I replied hopefully. Her expression did nothing for my confidence. ‘That is not the same as working in the café. Here we have many dishes to wash as well as the pots and pans from the. And then I’dhave to tie you up or something to get you toparticipate. Too many things could go wrong.“One day I was still fantasizing about how I could doit, and the answer came to me. What if I were thecuckold. Instead of you watching me having sex withanother man, I would watch you have sex with anotherman. And then I would eat the come out of your anus,just like the male cuckolds. I thought about it, andthat’s when I decided I would toss your salad. And Iwill, I. . delighting in every moment of pleasure he gave. Charity was lost as Charity gazed into his eyes once more, silently pleading... urging him to the source of her fire... the burning heat and wetness between her legs. Peter kissed her body over and over... everywhere... making her squirm underneath him... grabbing at his shoulders, his hair... pushing him down further. His lids were lowered... his lashes softly brushing his cheeks... his hair falling over his forehead. Charity felt such a rush.