My breath comes in gasps, I whisper his name. Putting his hands firm on my back, he smiles. His hands, moving leisurely, down, up, around. His hands, ...ow many times have I begged to have those hands on me, I want to beg now, beg for more, beg for anything he is willing to give. His lips caress my skin, his mouth explores my body. My hands reach up to tangle in his hair, guiding his head to the places I needed touched, the places I need to feel his heat. Lower, oh god, yes, lower! He chuckles,. Luckily, she (my supervisor) was very opento it. "I don't care if you wear a tutu behind the counter. So long asthe customers don't see and you still do your job, go for it," she toldme.I put my heels on for my shift. The women behind the counter teased me alittle, but it wasn't that bad. (The guys were more trouble but onescolding from the supervisor quieted them really quickly.) On the thirdday of wearing the black heels, one of my female co-workers confronted meon a break."You can't. More

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