Jean-Pierre tried to pray. Jacqueline overrode him. ‘Look at her, baby brother. Bouncing up and down on your cock, the way it plunges in and out of...her. And look at those plump titties. Wouldn’t you like to suck on them? She’s fucking you good and proper. See her face? She’s going to spend, I think. And so are you.’ ‘No,’ he choked. ‘Yes,’ she hissed. ‘There’s no way to deny it or forestall it. Are you spending, Constance?’ ‘I’m almost … oh, oh yes!’ This time, it burst over her with even. Of course, they'd still welcome him and his checks. But me? I was a freak, a c***d of Satan in their eyes.He knew all this, but he still fraternized with them. They were from his tribe: white, affluent Christians. He just knew how to separate his private life from his public image, I guess. The little pervert loved me. And I loved him. Oh, I would have fallen in love with him even if he hadn't saved my life, although the autographed photo of him standing with Rush Limbaugh and Rand Paul. More

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