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She tutted. “Turn around and sit down on that chair. I need to deal with your hair next.” “What’s wrong with my hair?” “Well, hmm. How do I put this delicately? It looks like it’s had a family of field mice living in it for a couple of years. And I’m betting it’s been a while since it’s seen a brush. So…”
ally he’d like to fuck?
Trot? I laughed scathingly. “Nothing you can say or do will incentivize me to smash my genitals against this saddle any harder or faster than they’re already being smashed.”
“Bill? Who calls their horse Bill?”
A large tent, then. Had to be. Fisher would need a sizable space to house his fucking ego, after all.
