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Office porn QueenImagine you are back in the last chapter. Again form an erection-encouraging mind-picture of that row of hostesses at that wild party with those rubbery South American businessmen. There the row of hot cunts stands, panties down, skirts up, displaying their well-proportioned behinds for a countdown on black-and blue pinch marks. Such goings-on are not for the unsophisticated girl. Yet Helen Troy still kept something of the Girl Of The Golden West in her psyche. Her hair still reminded men – that is, some men – of corn silk. Her smile still told of prairie sunrises rather than of the sexual stew of a big city with its blue-tinged atmosphere of fucks, sucks, orgies and bodies-for-sale. That was why Helen did not at first realize that the man who wanted a girdle was a transvestite. "You got any idea what style girdle she would like, sir?" Helen inquired. "Oh, uh, like that one hanging over there," said the slightly built man who wore an artist's flowing tie. "Ah yes, our Model 444. Very popular. What size, sir?" "Size?" he said vaguely, looking around at the sea of pink and pastel colors that announced what goes on beneath female outer dress. Then he brightened. "Well, sure I know what size, I mean, I never measured it in inches, but if you've got a tape measure?" "You're expecting the lady to join you here?" Helen inquired sweetly. "Hell no, sister ...» |
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