With a sigh, the man shook his head and began to lead the demonstrators along Whitehall towards Downing Street, where they intended to protest outside the home of the Prime Minister, who was that day receiving a delegation from the American embassy. Tamara moaned gently, enjoying the feelings, but her breathing held steady, sweat did not bead upon her goose-bumped skin, her cheeks did not flush red with pleasure, disordered chaotic sensations did not course like fire through her body, nor did any of the other clichés associated with female orgasm in erotic fiction occur. I… I… WE ARE FUCKING CHEFS AND WE HAVE FUCKING MEALS TO PUT OUT, COOKED, PLATED UP, OUT, DONE!”
#1 spun around, and aimed a burst of gunfire above Bastard’s head, blowing his hat off. Unnoticed, the three men in Muslim garb filed quietly into the procession, the tallest leading the way.
