“Miss McCoy! I’m sorry. There’s no one in here. He must have slipped out without you seeing.” Leslie said nothing. She dropped to her knees an... reached for his belt. “Miss McCoy! What are you doing?” “Enough with the Miss McCoy bullshit! Call me Fuck Slut. Grab my hair and slam my face onto your hard dick. Cumm in my mouth and speak nothing of this to anyone at the courthouse. If I ever find out you spoke of this I will never do it again. Understand?” Carlos was shocked. Miss McCoy was the. The rectangular lenses of his black wire framed glasses are speckled with rain water and the black cloth hood of his black leather jacket is sopping wet. The bottoms of his baggy black pants soaking wet from the cold puddles out in front of the two story hostel; swiftly he heads to the front counter where he makes sure to grab the key to his room—room #7. With a chuckle, he heads to his room. “Well, well, lucky number seven, eh?” he laughs. My name is Robert McLeod—I’ve come to. More

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