The man's name was Roger. He didn’t know much about him, but he would all ways help him out. Every day he would drive by the psychic's house and pas... it. One day something made him decided to come in.He sat down. The psychic opened the pack of Tarot cards and placed them on the table. She looked like a gypsy woman. She was sexy and beautiful. She had long black hair and big breast with a lot of cleavage. “So what brings you here?” she asked.“Seemed like fun.”“Hmmm beware … I am not one to sugar. Slipping, sliding, rubbing and circling around my now soaking clit. He teases me until I just have to beg for it."P-Please Master... I want my present now." I moan into his ear, bucking my pussy against the head of his cock in such a way that it almost goes in. And thats all it takes from me. A wide smile spreads across my Master's face and he grabs my hair with one hand and my hip with the other. "You want your present baby girl? You sure you can handle it?" His voice is smooth and seductive. There’s not going to be any profit here. It would be very expensive to try and change the neighborhood.”The man smiled. “May I?” he said, reaching into his briefcase and pulling out a folder. “Ah, here it is. Sgt. Dan Pettigrew. You live on Eighteenth Street, you have a lovely wife, she even looks like a librarian. A sexy librarian, if I may say so. You have a sixteen year old son, a whiz on the basketball court. College scouts are already looking at him. Oh, and a daughter in college. Vassar,. ***The sixteen-year-old Catherine Carrstairs sat serenely on the stone floor of the prison cell. Her ankles were folded in front of her, her knees spread wide. Heavy iron manacles had been locked on her wrists, connected by eleven equally heavy links. It was funny, she thought, because eleven was supposed to be her lucky number. She idly pondered the significance of it, constantly fingering the jumble of chain on her lap like a crude rosary. Every bump, indent and rust spot on each of the.