Whatever's in that vile concoction, I can tell you it shouldn't come a mile from a woman's privates. A blowtorch would be merciful compared to that sh...t. My ?morning witching,? he calls it. The bastard.It was thankfully over quickly. For today, at least. On more leisurely mornings (or those where he's nicked me with the razor) he'll sometimes soak a washcloth in the stuff and press it painfully into my crotch, leaving the stinging astringent to fester as he readies himself for work. Or, if in a. He sat beside her and handed her a fresh coffee.“The boss was after a progress report,” he informed her.She took a sip of her drink and then asked, “What did you tell him?”He sat back and relaxed as he told her, “I told him that it was going slow. It’s a bit hard to negotiate a deal when the owner was more worried about her property being blown away in a cyclone.” Mary giggled, and he chuckled with her.“The fucking idiot had no idea until he looked on the internet. He was even less happy when I. More

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