"Worse, mum," I admitted. "I failed miserably. The crew was questioned and we told all. The data aboard the Futile Gesture is compromised. The ship it...elf has been disassembled—it will take a lot of work to make the ship space worthy again. If HoChaRa ever gets their hands on me again, they will torture me to death slowly and in public as an example. The crew can't go home again, either—we're all traitors now." Were you aware that you were infected with a virus?" No, mum," I grimaced, "but it. The idea of being with two men thrilled her, even though she knew she would never dare to try it herself. Her name was Emily Wilson. She was a tall, slender brunette. At age thirty-eight she was still able to turn heads, especially when she went out of her way to make an impression. She took pride in being fit and athletic, and the younger guys she encountered had a tendency to stare at her impressively toned ass – not to mention the way she filled out a 36D bra to perfection. What the young. More

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