They were a breath of fresh air from the stodgy formal legal crap he read all day long. She would talk about her hair, her makeup and her shoes. The ...irl loved shoes. Her emails were like pinballs, quickly shooting from one point to the next. He didn’t know why, but she’d latched on to him. She had been emailing him for a few months. She loved teasing him about being an attorney, and about looking like ‘Johnny Depp’ as she loved to point out. He didn’t mind getting her emails, but lately they. She pretended to be a perfect, Christian wife, but she had kinky desires. She tried to destroy the massage parlor I worked at because we provided extra delights for our all-female clientèle.Delights the bitch claimed to hate but secretly craved.“Has she had an orgasm all week?” Clint asked, his voice strong. Melody was pressed against him, her hand idly stroking his cock, her hazel eyes bright. “No,” Mr. Armstrong said. “Right, slave?”“Right, dear,” Mrs. Armstrong said, her hands already. More

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