She bore no weapons though - or maybe had she been stripped of them, as her arms were tied behind her back. Her boots of supple leather were high and worn out; boots of a poor traveller. She wore a ringmail skirt of foreign craft, and bore a modest golden tiara. Her breastplate caught the attention of the King more than any other piece of her armor. Not only because it was magnificent to look upon, shining as if it were embroidered with the very light of the Moon and the stars; not only because setting eyes upon it meant feeling as if a cool and refreshing breeze was blowing... No, it was because it was crafted so that the woman's breasts, larger than any woman's, were obscenely exposed to all eyes, young and old, man and woman, against all laws of decency.At this sight the King staggered and quickly turned around to keep the Queen from soiling her eyes on the prisoner's body. "How could you grant an audience to a half-naked woman?" he asked his counsellors with wrath. They all took. Both floors in the bar had its own toilet section. Downstairs, the lavatory had three cubicles with no gloryholes and a long steel urinal. Upstairs, the far larger latrine had ten cubicles with glory holes and an even longer steel piss-trough.After arriving at the bar at nine p.m. on a Friday evening, the downstairs area was fairly busy, as usual. Upstairs, however, the area was rather uninhabited. I always gravitated to the dance floor upstairs for my weekly dose of exercise. After ordering my drink I stood at the counter.Not long after, my feet could no longer hold still, and soon I was swaying to the music. As I danced I observed a lanky skinhead watching me. After three songs I placed my drink on the counter and moved towards the toilets.No sooner had I whipped my dick out before ‘Skinhead’ was standing next to me. He had a long tuft of hair under his bottom lip, extending three inches past his chin. His cock was long and thin, and it was obvious as he toyed with it that he wasn’t.
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