He opened them up and took out the tapes. He said as he walked to the slider. "You might want to fix your hair; you look like you just fucked an army....I'll have my sister come in and help you - and remember, I want you dripping cum as you walk down the aisle. I better see fresh drops of it on the carpet as I film you."I stood, my knees shaking and my eyes teared up again, and I was sick with myself. I was sick that I had been so careful these last two years to not have real sex until my wedding. Justin Masterson was careful about his appearance. His hair was always neatly trimmed and never out of place even in the strongest wind. His clothes always scrupulously cleaned and immaculately pressed. His manner could be, and was described as effeminate, a description that was as cultivated as the fact. Beneath that facade dwelt on of the most cruelly cold-blooded killers in the employ of the CIA. He would think no more of shooting through an innocent bystander to complete a hit than brush a. More

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