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The rest is up to you". Raroen solemnly brought to a close the matter of his Martial art.He jumped to the cave's sky and transformed to his animalistic form.Not saying anything anymore, Zax assimilated to his mind the true meaning in Raroen's words and waited patiently for the hundred meter green scales, purple mane dragon to appear."Hop on". Raroen's voice resonated in Zax's head....A streak of green light traversed the distance of just over one cave's length in the short span of time that it take to finish a cup of tea."Big Ra!" Zetsa waited outside of the tunnel that leads to her Master's cave.Raroen returned to his humanoid form and together with Zax he descended."Little Zetsa, today was a good harvest for the Collector of Spirits and a cause for celebration to our Master". Raroen said, all smiling in his draconic way.The "Collector of Spirits", Zetsa was more familiar with the name than Zax, was the entity beasts referred and believed to collect the spirits of dead humans of. Her noises: louder. Less coherent. Her movements, such as her shitty-but-effective straight-rope-mess will permit her- more wriggly.Why does her brain want to get away from this source of undoubted pleasure, albeit inflicted as opposed to nurtured onto her? As much as the pain from his open, rapid, palm? Maybe more so.As if on cue, he utters:‘Don’t you fucking dare.’‘Don’t you fucking dare, you ingrate. You fucking ungrateful slut.’The softly threatening, dusky words he’d fed her earlier have gone.This is guttural, insistent communication.One-way.She picks up an apple, and considers it.She begs:‘Fingers…’‘Please?’‘I need you… I need your fingers…’Between his tongue-tip tease, at the holy-hot centre of her pain, almost imperceptible, to the insistent and relentless lateral thrubbing drum beat, also achieved with his tongue, she’d been taken to the edge of her orgasm for half an hour, and countless ‘almost-rans’, where she considered throwing herself off the cliff. But she hadn’t..
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I’d never get another chance. Not if they knew about the knee. This was my last shot. I put my glass down and shook my head when the waitress hustled me for another drink. Only one way to get Jacko out there. Get him sick before or during the game. It would have to be something he ate and I’d have to get it to him before the game. They dope horses, don’t they? Where in hell would I find any dope in Kansas City? I thought and thought and thought and then it hit me. Hang around a high school. There was bound to be a pusher. Norton, you prick. But I was never going to get a chance again. I looked up the high schools and the nearest to me was East High. The next day at noon I drove over to East High, a big stack of bricks, and sat on the steps. The trouble was I didn’t look quite old enough to be the father. of a high-school student, so what was I doing on the steps. Maybe waiting for my nephew. There were kids smoking sticks under the trees and I strolled around a nice grassy lawn in.

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