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At peace, I thought."Tell the nice man what you want," Jennifer said and squeezed my tit.I snapped out of my deep thoughts and, without looking up, said, "A Quarter Pounder, small fries, and Coke."The boy composed himself and rang up the order."Pay the man," Jennifer said.I gasped and turned to her. "I don't have my pocketbook." Then how are you going to pay for your food?" I can't. I'm not really hungry. Please, let's go." I was begging again."Nonsense. We stopped just so you could eat." Will you loan me the money?" I have a better idea." Jennifer leaned over the counter and said to the boy in a hushed voice, "Can she pay for it with a handjob?"The boy's eyes were fixed on her fingers twirling my nipple. He looked up at her face and then mine, and then back to hers. "What did you say?" His Spanish accent was thick."I said, can she pay for her meal by giving you a handjob?" Jennifer held up her free hand, curled her fingers, and moved it up and down."Um, no, she, um, has to pay. We. A happy resolution to both of our problems, wouldn’t you say?”Darcie took one last backward look over her shoulder at the high-stepping ponygirl, her tail flicking back and forth. To be captured by these people, and changed forever into someone else’s property! The thought made her shudder. And she again congratulated her own foresight in giving her assistant Louise the file on this demonic club as insurance against Darcie’s own k**naping. You have to take risks to get ahead, Darcie reminded herself. But as long as Max knew an outsider could still blow the whistle, Darcie figured she was safe enough. After all, Max was obviously an intelligent man who understood how he had been checkmated by Darcie’s advanced planning. Otherwise, he would never be giving her this tour, would he? She thought.But if Max was concerned by the trap he was in, he gave no sign of it as he pushed open some swinging doors to the strangest room yet.Darcie stared at the large cage that dominated the room. The.
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This satisfied him. She stopped walking, stood her ground. ‘I thought we might walk together,’ he said to her in French. ‘As you wish,’ Ingrid Andersen replied cooly. She was not a field operative, had no protective detail, and suddenly felt very exposed. She felt unsure of herself, off balance, and knew the Iranian held her at a disadvantage. ‘Do you think it will snow?’ he said. ‘There is something in the air, yes. A change in the air.’ ‘Change is inevitable.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘This is a lovely neighborhood. Have you lived here long?’ Andersen shuddered. She was being watched, tailed. What else, she wondered. Her phones? ‘What is it you want?’ she said somewhat undiplomatically, for this meeting was well outside the bounds of normal diplomatic discourse. Almost illegal, in fact, in her protected little world. ‘I thought it was the other way around, Ms Andersen.’ She walked slowly, thinking, thinking, how to turn the tables on him. He was content to let her dangle: ‘Does not your country seek.

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