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Viewing the tape made me realize that Zac and Cyril were more ruthless than I had thought... and a whole lot dumber.I guess they gained access to the penthouse apartment of one of the names on their list of Amazon Pot Com's subscribers. I recognized the woman a thirty-something socialite who was frequently in the news. Once inside her dwelling, they gagged her elderly companion - it's not clear from the tape what his relationship was with the well-stacked woman - and tied him to an upright pole which formed part of the bar. Then they set up the video camera to record their villainy and got to work.This was no crime of passion. Zac and Cyril went about their act of terrorism with precision. First they made the woman strip. Zac found some music, and pointed the camera. At some time she must have been a professional dancer, because she gave a very polished, sexy, performance. When she was down to her panties and stockings, Cyril stopped the music and pointed to the man.'Lookit the dirty. Get the fuck up bitch Trevor demanded and extended his hand. Leslie lay there staring at his hand. Reaching down, he grabbed her and pulled her to her feet in one motion. He immediately bent her arms back and forced her to her knees. Becky watched from across the room as the man quickly unzipped his fly and pulled his penis from his pants. It was huge, ten inches long and nearly as thick as her wrist and only semi-erect. Put it in your mouth bitch, Trevor demanded as he slapped Leslie on the cheek with his penis. Open your fuckin mouth. Leslie had jerked her boyfriend off once in the back seat of his car and then he had tried to get her to suck his cock but she had said no. Now, sobbing, she closed her eyes and slowly opened her mouth wide, hoping to avoid contact with the thing now sliding in over her lips. Not so fuckin wide bitch, I want to feel your lips around my cock, Trevor snarled as he grabbed the back of her head and slammed it against his crotch, sending his monster sized.
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’ ‘Yessir.’ Risks. Maybe I’d better not take him out in my truck, I had a feeling he wouldn’t like it. ‘Good girl,’ he praised, curling an arm around to rub my shoulder. I had the sudden ridiculous urge to growl, bare my teeth, and sink them into his palm. ‘I am not a dog, sir,’ I said instead, glaring at the flesh of his throat. ‘I don’t fuck dogs, private.’ His tone was a subtle warning for me not to push it. ‘Quit calling me ‘Good girl.” I ignored his warning, and delivered one of my own with a voice vibrating with anger and indignation. ‘Sir.’ His hand squeezed my shoulder. ‘You’re not my fucking dog, you’re my fucking private. I’ll call you any goddamned thing I want to. Girl.’ Taking him completely by surprise, I rolled him over on his back, straddling his hips, my hands planted on his chest. He stared up at me in a mixture of shock and anger. ‘I’m not a dog. Don’t treat me like one. Save your good girls and your petting for you snotty girlfriends,’ I sneered. ‘Sir.’ ‘I own.

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