Haakons hands try to grab the sides of the table, as he feels the tongues scooping up sauce and spice on his big, juicy calves, just below his shorts, but the sauce makes his hands too slippery and they slide. "Aaawww!" He yells unimpressively. He's scared, yet the warmth plus the rub and now the escophagus along his bare feet and legs contracting and soothing so peacefully make it difficult to say no. He breathes very heavily, and looks all around at everything he sees, his breaths getting longer and longer as his chest expands mightilly against the table his muscle shirt all wrinkled.<br/><br/>Upstairs, the manager is enjoying himself again, recording the whole thing, and laughing, and sending the sensory tapes home to Haakons friends who knew what they were getting him in to, for $5 each.