Pettibone arrived home on Sunday evening, they found their house pretty much as Sharon had left it after no less than five sessions of extraordinary s...lf-abuse. On the livingroom sofa was a stain, a splotch, the size of a watermelon. In the kitchen was the odor of clit juice. Those two rooms, in fact, smelled like a French whore house after six weeks of defilement. The refrigerator door was open, the food stank. The t.v. was on and blaring, as was the new stereo system. The throw rugs were. I doubt the horny pricks will care.”Colleen dropped her head onto the pillow and sighed. “That’s gross. Brooke?”“Yes?”“Thank you.”“For tying you to a bed to get fucked for money?”“Seriously. For being the bad cop.”“My pleasure.” Brooke sat on the bed and dangled a gag over Colleen’s head. “OK, Madam President, you got any more excuses?”Colleen frowned. “You said you’d use a ball gag. That’s a, uh—”“Penis gag,” Brooke said. “You know guys will try to stick their tongues in your mouth. This thing. More

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