"It's your choice, honey, but I will have a blow job…" His voice was suddenly convincingly cruel.

Margaret knew it was hopeless to resist the landlord and, admittedly, there was a part of her that didn't want to displease the darkly handsome man, this was something she must do or lose him… lose the one spark in her dreary life. And she couldn't stand the thought, no matter how disgusting this awful degrading act seemed. She fought back the churning ball of nausea growing thicker by the second in her knotted, fear-wrenched belly and closed her wetly walled lips over the throbbing fleshy staff and eased it reluctantly with her tongue, feeling his hands loosen their grip as she obediently complied with his harsh demands. His powerful hands still held her, though not as painfully, but she knew she should please him to avoid a scene. Margaret didn't like scenes; Sandor had been such a mild-mannered, loving man. But Roger had it in him to be brutal if he wanted to, and that scared her. She closed her eyes and tried to keep her mind on the long pulsing prick that loomed before her.

Roger looked down at the long thick pole of flesh protruding from his hair-covered pelvis and throbbing ever so gently in her warm, half-opened wet mouth, at the pursed lips stretching tightly around the immense purplish head, and he felt a twinge of disappointment that she hadn't protested more. Hell, it would have done her a world of good to get kicked around a little first, before sucking him off. Every woman worth her salt needed a good kick in the ass once in a while, he thought. At least the women he had out on the streets leaning against lamp posts sure as hell needed it to let them know who the boss was.