hitman The big house had been transformed. Strings of orange lights wound around columns, dripped down from the windows. The paper decorations of bats, skeletons, Franken-dudes, and mummies turned back the clock. Lincoln no longer felt twenty but much younger. Then a sharp crack against the bare flesh of his ass, delivered by the unforgiving wooden paddle he’d grown intimate with in recent days, shattered the illusion. He was very much an adult again and being put through the motions. This wasn’t a Halloween party held in the old grange hall in Northumberland but the hostile male landscape of Alpha Epsilon. The hand on that paddle drew back, warning that it would happily strike again. “Move your ass, shithead,” barked Connor Monroe, flashing a look that would have worked as well on the football field as in the bedroom, game face and come face identical. “Yes, Sir,” Lincoln answered, shuffling forward, his body a walking road sign of sexual insults spelled out in Magic Marker.
What do You think about Pledges: Gay Erotic Stories?
