I heard Mr. Woodhouse begin a slow cant. Deep magical energies flowed into the room.I punched again, and a rivet burst free from one of the iron bands...that held the door together. Specks of my own blood splashed and hit my face. It seemed near to failing, the heavy door. A few more strikes, I thought.I punched again, but the door held, and instead my forearm shattered. Bone jutted from flesh. I went down.Then Mr. Woodhouse shouted the final words of his spell, and I felt a tremendous impact. There was still no one claiming the winning number. “Maybe I should check my own tickets,” he mentioned. He took the three stubs from his pants pocket. “Holy shit, it’s me, I’ve got the winning ticket,” he cried showing it to Bobbie.“Rigged, rigged,” were the cries from several men.“I’m not bull shitting you guys,” he pleaded showing the ticket stub to the camera.“I guess you get the next blow job,” Bobbie smiled going to her knees. She unzipped his fly and produced his soft black cock. Darin. More

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