I put my hand out for the phone. Terry had a troubled look but handed it to me. I heard, “ ... a damn what he wants, he has to work through this dep...rtment.”He was planning to say more I think but had to stop to take a breath. “Who the fuck are you, asshole?”“Uh, I’m Damon Winsler, manager of the investments department.”“Fine. Who’s your boss?”“Uh. Who are you, sir?”“I am the customer you don’t give a damn about what I want, X F Marigold.”“I’m sorry, Mister Marigold. You shouldn’t have heard. I lay my head on his back and close my eyes. My mind wanders easily as the sound of the motor drowns out everything except my memories.He pulled my hair again and I got to my knees. I felt something pushed into my mouth. It was cloth. I gagged a little as he pushed it deep. He pulled the tape across my mouth again and I worked the cloth to the front of my mouth.“There, that’s better. Your pretty little panties should help muffle the sound even more.” He said with a laugh.He pulled me to. Her gaze then focused on my lap longingly, as if she wanted to wrap her mouth around my somewhat soft cock and make it hard again. However, unexpectedly her phone began ringing a second time, prompting her eyes to widen in surprise.“Oh, and I guess I better figure out who that is,” she said, hurrying to her bedroom, only to walk back more slowly. She was staring at her phone like she was confused by the number. She then gasped. “Shit, I thought I recognized this number.” Her expression turned. I'd seen a lot in my old navy days but nothing compared to this. Packed with degenerates, the street's numerous beer bars and clubs teemed with ladies of the night and pleasure seekers from all over the globe. We gawked at beautiful lady boys strutting by arm in arm with muscular male companions while legless beggars scuttled between our legs on crude homemade skateboards. Hawkers cried out, offering live 'pussy shows' to grinning Oriental tourists and surly looking Arabs in flowing robes. Our.
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