What He Deserves

Hey, just the pedicure.

Which chair?

Oh my god, exactly.

That dick always stutters through his presentations.

It's the only joy I have to get me through meetings.

What?

There's nothing special about the shoe, sweetheart.

Pop it off yourself and get to work.

Clear coat afterwards.

Calf massage.

Nothing else.

Did you get the one Murphy sent out?

So fucking funny.

Who, Taylor?

That's right, dude.

Nah, nah, not chubby.

He got fat.

Yeah, the guy looks like he's been inhaling cookie dough the last few months.

Yeah, fucking Michelin, man.

He was hot when I used to fuck him.

All those times he begged me to breed him.

I didn't realize he was legit trying to get pregnant.

Nah, smallish cock.

He only ever wanted to bottom though.

Probably buried now.

Hmm?

A whiskey?

You just started offering these.

Hmm, that's good.

So, what else did Harrison tell you at the bar last night?

Hmm?

Yeah, typical.

A rude patron sat back in his seat, sipping the whiskey he'd been offered,

and chattering away as the technician tended to his feet.

Distracted, he proceeded, *******, as his belly began slowly swelling with gas.

...