OK, Mel, I can’t write as sexy as you and you sort of stole my Dancer character from me, so I’m stealing her back.
Harold Renegade’s continuing adventure with Dancer, the yoga instructor he meets while hiding out, bouncing between a downtown apartment and the governor’s lawyer’s farm. It must be fiction, because none of this could possibly be true. An obviously unrealistic story involving spies, kinky sex, and a conspiracy so big that Americans still can’t accept the obvious truth.
So I have Yoga Ass collared, on a leash, on all fours crawling around her apartment. I tell her, “go get the paddle.” She crawls over to the corner, picks up the paddle and holds it between her teeth, and I yank on the leash while she crawls back to me.
“You’ve been a very naughty girl, Dancer. What are you doing picking up strange men at bars, anyway? I could be dangerous! How do you know I’m not a serial killer or something? Anyway, you’re going to get it now.” I flash her a smile.
The look on her face was priceless. She looked scared, somewhat, but clearly aroused. She was totally naked, other than her collar and leash, and her body was just unbelievable. It’s true what they say about yoga chicks – they have the best bodies, bar none, of any women. Whatever…
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