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It’s what the fans wanted to see, and they were getting riled up for it tonight in the same way.The new girl’s facade broke for a brief moment. A glimpse of panic. Only Delilah caught it and smiled as she tied her long, black hair into a neat bun. “How about we get started? Can someone roll out the buckets?” Two large mop-buckets had spent the evening collecting masturbation in the privacy of the bathroom. The facade broke a second time. It took longer for the new girl to shake back her composure for this one. These weren’t the two-gallon plastic buckets they used in San Francisco. They had wheels. And were so full that no matter how careful the pushers were, the waves of the momentum made sticky white splashes over the sides. “W-Why is there so much?” Try as she might, there was no way to sound tough while asking that question.Delilah was happy to educate her: “Folk say it’s the chemical plant messing with our water. Gives our boys a lot of juice. Makes the cum taste rancid as. "You are still drunk as a skunk," AKA laughinglyreassured the boy as he caught and steadied and then maneuvered him into therear of the van as well. Randy was becoming more disoriented by the second.That was another effect of the arsenic, of course. And it was the effect AKAmost liked to see show up. Such disorientation meant that the kid would, forall intents and purposes, now be putty in AKA's hands. Until the more seriouslysuffocating death-throes began, that is. Real panic could set in at that point,and the victim became much harder to control. For a while, anyway. Then thereal dying took over, and all serious struggle essentially ceased. If you didn'tcount the convulsions that usually attended the last, tumultuous half-houror so. That, anyway, had been the pattern with the others. Randy was now bathed in sweat. AKA's hands literallykept slipping off the kid's body as he wrenched him into the position he wantedand propped him up against the cool van sidewall. Randy was breathing.
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