I don’t remember the last time that I reacted to a man like you, but you are not just a man; you are a client: My skin is soft and clean with a silky texture to drive any man or woman crazy. My perfect done manicure and the velvet red of my nails make a nice contrast; so is the also perfect French pedicure, the olive skin of my feet and with the prison slippers . The robe feels clean, almost three sizes bigger, and despite of the lack of fashion it feels comfortable, it almost feel like my old maid robe that I used to wear at home when I was feeling bleu.
The deputy is looking at me and I started to wonder what she is thinking. I tried to make believe that I was a princess and I was a room filled with gold and sparkling furniture with pink sheets and golden pillows. I came back to earth and I saw your tall frame walking toward me, I felt like crying but it was not use for it. Your shirt looked neat and pressed; just picked it up from the laundry and your pant shows the perfect seam line, then I take a look at the part between your legs and wonder what you have inside that perfect pressed attire.
It is fact that there is not privacy in prison and my passion starts to grow; I want to tear that perfect clean and pressed shirt and throw it in the prison dirty floor, the guard keeps staring at me, watching every move I will make. She is been looking at him also. From the corner of my eye, I see her beguiling smile. Now she is staring at him, only takes her eyes away from him just to check on me; I kept it cool, I try to relax and think of what to say; any false move will jeopardize not only my freedom, but my life and career.
She is a tall, blond, and she is in decent shape, maybe she works out with the rest of the deputies, bailiff, and other court or jail related employees. Her uniform fits her perfect; not a single wrinkle and with all the paraphernalia of her trade firmly and orderly placed around her Read more