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"Mm-hmm, that's what they all say."
"It's true! My name is Lucy Hart. I'm a waitress at the Last Chance Diner. I'm a completely respectable person. I pay my bills. I--I--I have a library card!"
"Sure, whatever you say, honey."
"I am not your honey. Now get me free, you hear me? Or I'll scream. I swear I will. And Mr. Sanchez will come over with his shotgun and he'll blow a hole right through you. You'll end up with only one testicle, or maybe none. Then you'll be sorry you didn't help me--you'll be sorry you were a rude, ogling cretin instead of a nice, helpful gentleman."
"I told you"--his voice moved closer--"I never claimed to be a gentleman." She felt a tug at her breast that sent a weird pleasure/pain sensation through her. But then, with a soft snap, one of the nipple clamps was pulled free. "Ouch, damn it! That hurts," she cried. But when a warm, callused finger smoothed across the tip of her breast, an entirely different sensation coursed through her. It was like boiling magma shooting through her, starting in her aching breast, and spreading all the way to her womanly core. Her body jolted in response. "Stop that!" she gasped. "How dare you touch me."
"Oh, I dare," he rumbled. "If you don't want it touched, you shouldn't put it on display."
Posted July 11, 2011
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