East Coast Slavers Organization

East Coast Slavers Organization – I: A Caribbean Adventure

Chapter 10 – Preparing for the Caribbean (or Rich, Rich, so Rich)

Robert Morgan, Doctor Rachael Patricia Quaid, and Puppy have just left the doctor's estate. It's now Friday morning and Robert and Rachael intend to begin the process of liquidating Rachael's assets.

Robert was speaking as he left the estate's entry gate, "Rachael, as we discussed at breakfast, first stop today is an attorney's office, then your bank, and finally your clinic." With that, he drove Doctor Quaid away from her home for the last time.

Soon, they were sitting in the posh office of a partner in a prestigious Miami law firm. Mr. Larry Stewart had an impressive array of documents in front of him. Steve Austin had wakened him the night before and offered a lucrative commission for working through the night. Two assistants efficiently brought in more documents and coffee.

"Our first order of business," Mr. Stewart started, "is for you to carefully review this and sign, if you agree to the terms.

A two-page document entitled 'Provisory Note" was set before Rachael. Rachael started reading, first with confusion. Then she started to appreciate what was offered. The document outlined the debt Robert agreed to incur to her in return for the right to liquidate all of her properties. The note promised reimbursement for the net sales price of her estate and business in Miami. He would dispose of any personal property left.

"As you can see," the lawyer continued," the note implies that Mr. Morgan will immediately assume ownership of your home, clinic, vehicles, and other possessions at an estimated fair market value. He has made me his agent to dispose of them at the best price possible. If anything is sold higher than that estimated value, you will split the difference with my firm as our incentive fee to get the absolute best price."

"Your home is shown valued at $5.7 million, an increase of eight percent over your purchase price three years ago. The clinic was harder to estimate except that your sale will be a commercial property sale only; you are not actually selling the business itself. A real estate firm in town just faxed me what I believe is a fair assessment at $2.2 million. These numbers are reflected in the version just completed by my aide. If you sign, then Mr. Robert Morgan will owe you over $7.9 million, payable as your assets sell. I assure you madam; this is a binding legal instrument."

An increasingly happy Doctor Rachael Quaid quickly signed the three copies, as did the silent Robert Morgan.

The smiling attorney concluded that part of the deal with," My aide will notarize these. One set is for each of you and the other will be logged by my staff at the county courthouse this afternoon."

"Next are the powers of attorney to move your investments to your bank. This will occur later today." Those documents were also signed and notarized.

"Now, the next business is to actually transfer everything over to Mr. Morgan." Over the next thirty minutes, a bewildered but happy doctor signed sales contracts on her home, business, and vehicles.

The attorney briefly left to compile all the documentation and shred any extra copies. Rachael and Robert would leave with the only copies that existed except for the real estate transactions. The hard drive of the sole computer used to create the documents was wiped clean afterwards. It had never been connected to a network. Larry's law firm knew how to conduct business in as confidential a manner as possible.

Robert pointed out to Rachael that, "You have just protected all your holdings from seizure or being tied up in the courts. I hope you realize you walk away today a rich woman set free from your past legal problems."

"Yes, Robert," Rachael answered sincerely. "I really am thankful that this is working out so well."

"Good," said Robert. "This firm will sell your home, clinic, and your cars. Steve and I thought about eating the twelve percent home and business sales commissions. But, we realized that we could keep it all and let you disappear. You will pay the twelve percent sales commission and a ten percent handling fee for the sale of the cars, furnishings, and artwork."

"But, you will keep the $200 thousand already placed in your islands account. We will help with selecting your clinic site and arrange for employee relocation, given that the authorities would apprehend you if you are found in the states. For the inconvenience, and letting you keep all your money, we will expect $2 million in return business trade. We can talk about that later at your clinic."

The attorney brought in a heaping pile of documents for Robert to sign so the attorney's firm could dispose of the property and directly credit Robert's local account. Robert wryly noted that, "I better deep-six this character as soon as I get Rachael taken care of and all the property money. This leaves far too obvious a trail toward Robert in what could be a large tax-evasion case."

Next stop was Rachael's bank where she emptied some sundry items from a safe deposit box into her satchel. Her accounts were closed out with instructions to wire transfer all funds to her islands account set up by Robert.

--L--A--T--E--R--

They pulled up to the service bay behind the clinic at 10:30 in the morning. Clinic hours on Fridays were only from noon till 3:00, with just a few consultations scheduled. The staff primarily worked on catching up on paperwork and restocking the surgeries and various offices in the clinic.

Doctor Quaid knew exactly what to do. She headed for the clinic's front entrance to greet her employees with the news that there was something wrong with the electric power and water services. The first arrival would be handed a printed calendar of the day's appointments and put to work canceling them using Doctor Kay's cell phone.

Robert moved to the clinic's electrical power box and cut the office power, telephone service, and turned off the water main.

For the next two hours, both the conspirators were busy. They met again at 12:20 in a small consultation room and reviewed notes.

Robert had used some of the intervening time to roam through the office. He first moved Puppy and her kennel from the moving van into one of the operating theaters. Several hundred flat boxes were moved from the beige van and scattered throughout the clinic. Then he briefly worked side-by-side with the silent ex-Doctor Patricia Kay, efficiently boxing every paper, file, and media records. Everything was moved into the waiting van.

Soon it was time for Doctor Quaid to help out with Puppy. Rachael was unhappy that her pet had been given breakfast, and before an operation as well. She was tactfully, for her, berating Robert for spoiling the pet.

Finally, Robert just broke into the controlled tirade and said, "Look, do your best. If she throws up, or starts to choke, let me know. Plus, she'll be intubated for the surgery anyway, right?"

With that, Robert strode away to let the doctor do her job.

Robert scurried quickly to his small van and drove to the grocery store and then his warehouse. He unpacked the doctor's personal items, her files, and finally, the groceries. Puppy's temporary new home was quickly set up. She would be alone for several days while he took the doctor to her new Caribbean home.

A quick switch to the truck, and Robert headed back to the clinic with another load of boxes. He planned to take anything moveable from the premises. Drugs, miscellaneous medical supplies, equipment, and the like were packed in the seemingly endless pile of flat boxes. Everything was stuffed into the nearly overloaded truck. The load was ferried back to the huge warehouse, hardly making a dent in the available space.

Robert sat in his warehouse after unloading the stuff pilfered from the clinic. He was tired; but things were going so well. Aaron/Robert remembered the game he played just a little over a week ago with the stewardess he had trapped so well, Ingrid Gaviard.

--L--A--T--E--R--

"Ingrid, it's Michael Moore," Aaron said into the phone.

"Mi, … Michael," Ingrid answered with hesitation. "What is it?"

"Ingrid, Ingrid, Ingrid, you know better than that. Please show some manners. Remember, you promised to meet me again? The last time didn't count because you and Connie got so carried away. It was my room that you two had your fuck-a-thon in. You two took over everything: my champagne, food, flowers, and candles for our romantic night, Ingrid."

"Michael, I would rather forget that night ever happened. Please," Ingrid tried to gain sympathy from the man that she knew of as Michael Moore.

"Ingrid, it is 8:00 PM now and I know you are off tomorrow. You have one hour to meet me at Piccadilly Rose. Do you know where it is?" Aaron/Michael spoke sternly.

"Yes, it's close by my place. I don't think I want to go; another night, please," she tried again.

"OK, Ingrid. No problem. Guess you want to renege on our deal; I'll have to send off those pictures of you fucking a passenger so enthusiastically on your flight. And, in uniform too. You really should watch that hot cunt of yours. Guess that's how you slipped up with Connie. She told me that you practically raped her. A few drinks and you revert to slut mode." Aaron/Michael really rubbed it in.

"Michael, please stop that. Why are you doing this to me?" Ingrid sobbed.

"Here's the deal for tonight. We meet in one hour as I said. But, for your bad attitude, you get two penalties. The first is easy, you show up in a cocktail dress with no underwear. Got that!"

"Yesss, but why?" Ingrid continued to blubber.

"Ingrid, because I want it that way and you owe me. Next, the second part of your penalty. You will stop at a convenience store and buy a dozen condoms. Empty your purse out in the car and come into the bar with only your car keys and the condoms in the bag. You have one hour."

Ingrid starred at the phone in tears. He had hung up after his final instructions. She didn't understand what was going on. The sex on the plane had been fantastic at the end – even though it wasn't her doing, but his. "I think that day kept my cunt so hot, that's why Connie and I, …" Ingrid had to stop. She simply could not vocalize any of the bizarre actions she did that night. The morning after that debauchery, she was stiff and sore, everywhere, "Oh, my poor cunny, butt, and boobies. I think I did the same to Connie. She looked like a gangbang survivor. We must have fucked and sucked all night long. And, all that champagne. Oh, my head hurt for days," Ingrid tried to reconstruct some of what happened, her memories were just too clouded with alcohol (or so she thought – actually Aaron/Michael gave her and Connie a double-dose of their custom kidnap/rape drug.

--L--A--T--E--R--

Ingrid timed her entry into the Piccadilly Rose for promptly at 9:00. She didn't want to upset Michael any more than he already was. The bar was quiet as it was early, and only mid-week. There were few people, scattered widely around the club. It was normally a meat market kind of place on Friday and Saturday nights. "Not the kind of place I like to come to," Ingrid thought. Despite the lack of a crowd, the DJ kept the songs coming, and loud. The nightclub was dark with lots of places to lurk in.

Michael stood and waited while Ingrid come over and sat down. He leaned down and gathered her chin in his hands for a long, spine tingling kiss. "I remember that you like Margaritas and got you two." Michael said. "Oh, and you look lovely tonight."

Ingrid did look gorgeous. She had a sheer black cocktail sheath, obviously meant for a half-slip and camisole top. In bright light, the short dress would be obscene. However, the dim light hid her near nakedness under the dress. Her dark hair was luxurious and brushed full on top of her head. She sat and gulped at her giant Margarita. She sat silently to see what he had in mind. His hand slid up her thigh and quickly dipped between her legs to confirm she followed his directions. "Oh," she chirped in surprise as his fingers dug deep into her already drooling pussy. Two, then three fingers wormed hard and deep into her core. Her legs were spread under the onslaught and she leaned back against the upholstered seat. "Stop, there's no tablecloth here," she hissed.

Michael yanked his hand out and grabbed her face with the slimy fingers. "You better watch your attitude. I expect instant obedience and real enjoyment on your part. When you are with me, you better smile and act a natural slut-bunny, Piggy. If you fake it, you suffer. Better get into it, bitch," Michael sounded irritated; but he was laughing at the poor girl's predicament. He finished by wiping his hand on her face. "Give me your purse, now!"

The tiny black sequined clutch purse was almost empty. Just her keys and a box of condoms were inside. Michael took the condom box out and placed it on the table. Without attempting to hide his actions, he opened the cardboard container and pulled out the roll of condoms. He then ripped each foil square free of the coil and threw the dozen individual wrapped condoms into her bag. The keys were surreptitiously palmed and moved to his pocket.

"Finish your second drink. Then we'll go," Michael said. "I want a quieter corner seat."

Moments later, he and a slightly unsteady Ingrid stood beside a small table in a distant corner of the nightclub. Michael ran his hands down her back and kissed her. His hands pulled up her short skirt and played with her bare ass cheeks. Her back was safely toward the wall. One hand snaked between them and the edge of his hand knifed against her pussy; it was unarguably wet. "Hmmm, no matter how you protest, Little Piggy, you like this," he teased.

Ingrid stiffened at the hateful term. It was so humiliating. "I don't really want to be here, do I?" she asked herself. "He does turn me on so much. Ohh," she moaned and arched her back.

"Hey Piggy, time for your second punishment. Your body tells me you're a slut. Now you get to show yourself – are you a slut or a whore? You have two hours to finish a task. It will be so sexy for you." Michael laughed and dug two fingers deep into her pussy.

Ingrid's back arched again and her hips started to pivot against his fingers, her body slumped against his in pleasure. But, she stiffened in shock at his next words, whispered in her ear. Ingrid started to protest but Michael's pussy-scented hand covered her mouth. He kept talking and Ingrid started to shake in horror, her betraying pussy momentarily forgotten. Michael explained that she had two hours to accomplish one of two tasks. How she accomplished it was her choice. The option was to bring back eight sperm-filled condoms; or, she could fill as little as one – if she brought back $400. She could not leave the club. Then Michael sat down, leaving her standing there with a final, "Slut or whore, you show us now, Piggy."

Ingrid was paralyzed, unable to even cry. It was so impossible. She was a respectable woman with a good career and he wanted her to, whore for him. "Michael, let's try another punishment. Maybe I can give you a blowjob or you can spank me or, …" she stopped at the emotionless expression on his face.

"Next time you better follow directions better, Piggy," Michael said. "The clock is ticking, get going."

Ingrid walked toward the bathroom to compose herself. "Shit, shit. What do I do? How do I do this? That bastard can ruin my life with those pictures." The bathroom was deserted. It was a slow night at the club and only a few men were there this early in the night. "Maybe the bar, I can get a guy to dance with me."

Ingrid carefully slid herself onto a bar stool and scoped out the pickings. Nobody looked like her type. Just a couple of depressed looking nerdy guys staring at the female bartender. Ingrid noticed she was a hot young thing, "No wonder the guys are staring at her ever move."

The blonde bartender came over and appraised Ingrid before she asked, "Lady, can I get you something?"

Ingrid declined to order a drink and sat clutching her purse tightly. "How to do this?" she thought again. "Slut or whore, … that bastard."

A man across the bar beckoned the bartender over. Moments later, a tall drink sat before her. "The man at the end of the bar ordered this; it's a Long-Island Iced Tea, a double."

Ingrid left it sitting on the bar and smiled at the distant man. He was hard to see in the gloom of the nightclub. She squared her shoulders and decided. Taking the drink, she walked around the bar to the man. He was short and stocky. Not fat or ugly; he was just plain and nondescript. She sat her drink down and whispered in his ear, "Thanks for the drink, honey. I will enjoy it after we dance a little, let's go."

Aaron/Michael watched Ingrid go into action. "She may be reluctant, this might be her first time, ... but she is a natural slut. My bet is she goes for the eight condoms." He was enjoying himself. Ingrid slid into a tight embrace and a slow dance. The song was way too fast for what she was doing. Michael saw Ingrid's hand move the man's hand to her crotch. "Fast work girl," Michael laughed.

Ingrid was in a hurry to get this over. She put the man's hand against her cunny and ohhed and ahhed into his ear. With her heels, she was the taller of the two. She grabbed at his dick through his pants. It was hard. Ingrid yanked his hand and hurried toward the rest rooms, she knew the ladies' room was empty. Without a word, without knowing his name, Ingrid sat him on a toilet seat and shut the door behind them. She set her purse on the tile floor and faced the dazzled man. With a little bump and grind, she slid her shoulder straps down her arms and exposed her breasts. Her arms folded under her full tits and she wriggled them at his face. Ingrid stepped out of the dress and hung it on the door's purse hook behind her. Naked she straddled his lap and thrust her tits into his face.

The guy was in shock. This gorgeous chick nearly raped him on the dance floor and now was naked and grinding on his cock like an addict craving drugs. It felt great. He watched as the babe slid down to her knees and opened his pants. He raised his ass, and his pants were down on the floor, draped around his shoes. His boner was so stiff, it bobbled and the air as his heart tried in vain to pump in more blood.

Ingrid was on autopilot. She tried not to think about what she was doing. The condom rolled on with practiced ease and she was straddling his legs, guiding his short, very fat cock into her dripping snatch. "Cock, cunt, snatch," she whispered aloud. "Oh, you are a whore Ingrid. You are a whore." She spoke to herself; but the man heard her moaning voice.

He was in unexpected heaven. Within ten minutes of seeing her sitting at the bar, his dick is buried up her hot cunt. He hated his bastard, whore of a cock as it started spurting before he could even get into the sex. He moaned and gasped as the bitch passionately ground her pussy down on him. "God, we never exchanged names," He wondered.

Ingrid felt him spurt with glee. "That's one down; I bet he goes another round." She pulled off his lap and freed the condom. It was quickly tied off and thrown into her purse. Her teeth nipped another condom from its foil and then swallowed his limp and slimy cock in one stroke. She never even grimaced as the salty taste threatened to overwhelm her tastebuds.

"The bitch just sucked me in like a vacuum cleaner," the man watched in amazement as she desperately sucked and licked his dick clean. She drew her dark hair from over her face so the man could see her sucking on his cock. The depravity of the situation made his pelvis swell and his cock twitched. Encouraged, Ingrid again straddled his lap from the other direction and leaned down painfully far to suck his stiffening cock. She then pushed her cunt into his face. "Lick me you fucker," she moaned and then deep throated him again. She felt his hands strongly grab her ass and pull them apart. Then, his tongue was in her oozing slit. "Yessss, yessss, suck my cunt lips into your mouth and pull, bite me, you bastard!" Ingrid hadn't cum yet. It only took a moment for her cranked up system to pop into overload from the deviant act. "Ohh, yes, yes, …" Ingrid wailed and ground her pussy into his face as she came hard and long.

Without respite, she slid down to her knees again and slipped the readied condom onto his stubby shaft. Again she sank down, fucking herself and kissing and sucking on his neck as she started her hips moving again.

This time the man was ready to fuck. His hands grabbed her full titties bouncing in front of his face and latched on, hard. He mauled them and pulled the full globes as far apart as they would go. They bounced together as his hands freed them. Next, her nipples were squeezed and pulled. Her cunt spasmed around his hard cock as he yanked and tortured her nipples and titties. "This bitch can really spin and dance," he watched with wonder as her pelvis kept up a rhythm at least twice as fast as what he could do. He was basically fucking into a hot, wet cunt blender that was gyrating out of control. "You, slut," he whispered, "you're having continuous orgasms."

Ingrid was in lustful bliss, hardly aware of the dingy environment she chose for her first anonymous fuck. Incongruously she thought that, "This restroom smells nasty. Nothing like Michael's suite was when Connie and I, …" she paused as she drifted into dangerous ground as she imagined fucking Connie with those two huge neon cocks. The flush of embarrassment fueled another round of spasms and another orgasm.

--L--A--T--E--R--

Ingrid primly sat down back at the bar and sipped her Long-Island Iced Tea. After fucking the man senseless, she again stuck her dripping cunt into his face while she rummaged through his wallet. He had about $400 in it. She took two hundred and informed the fucked out man, "That's one hundred a fuck dear. Unless you want to add a tip?" The man just nodded and with a shrug, Ingrid took another $100. She giggled at the bar, visualizing him sprawled across the toilet with his trousers on the floor and cunt glaze all over his face. "That's $300 already, and two condoms full," Ingrid chalked up her score with another blush of embarrassment.

The bartender languidly wiped the polished wood in front of Ingrid and idly asked, "Where is your boyfriend dear?"

Ingrid motioned to Michael in the corner and belatedly realized she meant the man she just left in the ladies' room. Ingrid giggled again and said conspiratorially, "Actually, my date is that man in the corner. He challenged me to a sort of dare tonight. I am half finished with it now that my 'friend' is finished."

The bartender smirked at Ingrid and said, "Well, well, it's an awfully quiet night for you to be so brazenly playing slut games here."

Ingrid, still flushed from her vigorous sex and the effects of three strong drinks blurted out, "No, no, it's not like that. It's not really a game." She stopped and covered her mouth up.

The stacked bartender just nodded her head and walked away. Her tight top proclaimed to all that this blonde had big tits, and her short stretchy skirt undulated over the movement of her full ass cheeks. She picked up another bottle of beer, a Pacifico, and delivered it herself to the man sitting quietly in the corner. "This one's on me bud," she said as she sat down beside him. "Looks like you got a cunt running scared over there. I'm intrigued." With that, she slid the beer across the table and rubbed his arm. "I'm Sandy Hamilton and I'd like to help. And, I mean in any way I can," she purred.

Michael, still new at this domination game just gawked at the girl a moment and said, "Yes, well, Sandy, that might just be a perfect idea." Michael then explained a slightly fictional version of Ingrid's situation and her task for the night. In Michael's version, she was a submissive slut-bunny who needed some corrective action.

Sandy was amused by Ingrid's plight. "Ha! So, she is submissive," she thought to herself. To Michael she said, "I knew she was a subbie the minute I saw her. You know I like D & S games myself. Like you, I like to top, especially over someone unwilling. And, Michael, I am happy going either AC or DC."

Michael knew he hit gold with this perverted thing. Sandy was only 26 and getting her nest egg ready to head back to the Midwest. She told Michael that getting the lovely, and older, Ingrid to do their bidding would be fun. "Maybe we can tie her up in the manager's office and fuck her together?" she asked.

With a little coaching, Michael sent her back to the bar. Sandy faced Ingrid from her side of the bar and asked, "Well Piggy, did you decide to go for the slut or whore approach?" There was no answer from the flabbergasted woman. "Michael told me everything. I've decided to help you out," she continued and then bent down behind the bar.

Ingrid saw the cute young girl lean down on the working side of the bar. Nobody else could see her except for Ingrid. She was shocked to see the blonde shuck her black thong down her ass and step out of them. Ingrid saw her flip the flimsy excuse for underwear to the bar in front of her. "Wha, what's this about?" she tried to bluster her way out of the situation.

Sandy was in dom mode. "You bitch! Just shut-up! Stand-up and wipe your slutty, drooling cunt on those and stick them in your purse. Now!" she directed at the motionless, older woman.

Ingrid blindly followed the direction. She stood up and stuck the pair of thongs under her cocktail dress and over her sloppy cunt. The panties were now overwhelmingly wet and sure to ruin her purse. In they went. Ingrid then followed the woman back to the empty manager's office. Still in shock, she took off her dress as ordered and laid down on the couch.

Sandy sat down on the woman's face and said, "Suck, bitch. If I don't get off in one minute, then I start spanking your nasty cunt. Lick! Suck! Harder!" Sandy had no problem cumming in less than three minutes. She looked down at the red, gaping cunt and said, "Wait, here. I will get you some customers and keep Michael happy for you." With that, the momentarily satiated bartender strode out of the room, nonchalantly carrying Ingrid's clutch purse and black dress. Ingrid lay in place, naked and humiliated.

Back at the bar, Sandy beckoned a burly bouncer over and whispered into his ear. She handed him the stack of condoms from the purse and watched him proceed to the office. "Guess the bitch has to do the two of us for free; given that we are working so hard pimping her out for the night. After filling a couple of drink orders brought up by the various cocktail waitresses, Sandy saw the bouncer standing dutifully outside the manager's office. With a nod, Sandy went to work.

Over the next three hours, dozens of men went in the office one-by-one. They each paid Sandy $50 and the bouncer gave each a single condom. Each customer earned the right to fill that condom in any orifice of the beautiful girl's overloaded body. Twice more, the bouncer went in and added his own load to a pair of condoms. Each time, he forced the dazed blonde to snort several lines of cocaine. It kept the woman cranked up and fucking a storm. Nobody was unsatisfied. The bouncer practically emptied the condom dispense in the men's' room to keep the fuck machine in the office stocked.

By midnight, the nightclub was as busy as it could get on a weeknight. In fact, some of the men stayed to talk about their luck at getting release from the stewardess forced to whore in the office. They loved the story; soon everyone knew it, even the women customers. The idea of a professional woman forced to accept their fucking was too much. Many of the men took up the opportunity more than once; most had never paid for sex before. Ingrid was high on cocaine, feeling no pain – only seemingly never-ending pleasure.

Just after midnight, a group of guys celebrating their friend's pending wedding heard about Ingrid. They arranged for sole proprietorship of the fuck-bunny for the three hours till closing. At this point, the bouncer had to stay in the office to monitor the situation. Ingrid was fucked by one man, two men, three men, and once had her cunt, ass, mouth, and both hands full of condom-covered fucksticks. By three in the morning, she was unconscious from the constant adrenaline high from cumming and the effect of the drugs. All told, over sixty condoms were scattered about the manager's desk. Sandy added $2,500 to the $300 that Ingrid earned by herself. Michael told her and the bouncer to split $800. He kept the rest, $2,000. Ingrid got a purse jammed full of condoms and a soiled black thong. The purse's silk lining was coated in male and female slime.

Michael got Sandy to drive the still-naked Ingrid home in the fucked-out woman's car. The two met at her apartment and carried the exhausted girl into her bathroom. She was left lying on a comforter in the tub, covered with spent condoms. While Sandy watched, Michael gave Ingrid a syringe of a muscle relaxant and a shot of B vitamins. He wanted her to feel better in the morning; but, unlike the Virgin Islands caper, he wanted Ingrid fully aware of her actions. That done, he and Sandy fucked in Ingrid's bed for the rest of the night. Sandy was horny and ready to fuck after hours of humiliating Ingrid and handling all that pimp money. She was a talented sex partner.

--L--A--T--E--R--

Aaron/Michael/Robert shook himself and reflected, "That Sandy was an energetic fuck. I've got to meet her again before she heads home. Hmmm, …" Aaron reflected thinking about things to come. "Well, that's for later," he mused as he started up the truck to return to the clinic. He wanted to get the doctor and Puppy to close out the day.

Author: Desert Dog ****** E-Mail: Desertlickingdog at yahoo dot com