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Cynthia Richards” on a nameplate and below it, a fluorescent Post-it note with a scrawled “nobody calls her that and lives”.Cindy snickered. “Somebody wanted to be formal. It’s not how we do things here.” She opened the door. I’ve seen worse offices. This one has a ‘lived in’ look. The standard diplomas on the wall, and pictures – young girl standing on top of a big block of something with about forty construction workers in front of it. Young girl beside an airplane with an older guy. Bunch. My painted lips started to tremble. I was standing in my office, pinned to the wall in a nightie and heels, my hand on the crotch of a man who was promising to turn me into his whore. How could this have happened to me? And what's more, how could it be exciting me so much?Damon saw my fear and confusion and his face softened a little. He relaxed his grip on my throat. I swallowed hard and my heels once again touched the floor."Oh Jesus," he said. "I forget sometimes just what a silly little. Again, nothing too much out of the ordinary, but added to the odd parking of Garth's truck, enough to warrant exceptional caution.I backed off a few blocks and dialed Garth's number on my cell phone. He answered on the fourth ring."Hey Garth, it's Trent." I opened.His response was just a beat slow in coming. "Trent. Where are you?" I'm stuck in traffic on I-95 just south of Fredricksburg." I lied. "It'll probably take me another hour or so to get there." OK, I'll be waiting." He replied."Want. Before I could complain about losing the pleasurable pressure of Ben’s groin against mine, he started rubbing himself against me again. His hands were now holding my thighs, alternatingly lifting me up and pressing me close. Jerry on the other hand, started pulling my sweater over my head, running his fingers up my back slowly, sending shivers across my skin. After gently untangling my hair and pulling the sweater off, he quickly shed his own shirt. He then pressed the full length of his upper.
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