Eat Me

Queen Mob’s Teahouse

At 4 a.m. in yet another hotel room, the last dregs of the parEat Mety thrusting about around her, Aria watches, content. A girl lies prostrate in the center of the bed and everyone is taking turns cramming an impossibly large dildo into her ass. There are spent nitrous canisters scattered about like artillery shells. There are spectators gaping with three-ring eyes. There are couples coiled in corners. I’m slumped in a chair by the back wall, the whole scene streaking and swelling before me.

A knock at the door.

“Room Service!”

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