“You want me to …”“Strip,” he told her, “to your birthday suit. Heels on. Do it.”She fumbled her way back into her shoes, clutching his ...orso to sustain her balance. Even then she didn’t quite know how to go about the next bit. “How would you like me to …”“Slowly. Would some music help?”She looked into his eyes and grasped for any concession he had on offer. “Yes. Yes, I’d like that.”“Come with me.” He led her from the sitting area where he’d enjoyed the tight-ripping interlude, through a. Jake readily admits that he makes more money off those machines than fuel, and he sells a lot of fucking fuel. About the second or third time I was in the casino, I caught my first glimpse of Joy. My first thought was to hit on her, then I realized she was Jake's wife. 'Late thirties or early forties', I thought, 'that old millionaire found himself a young trophy. He's so fat, she must have to do all the work. The snooty little bitch could work my dick over anytime she wants, though'. As I got. More

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