” He could put a picture of his wife -- his beautiful wife, though a tiny photo might not do her justice -- on his desk. Then people would get to kn...w that he was married. They might be a little surprised, but they wouldn’t be for long. By the time that they saw her, nobody would be reminded of the blonde that they’d seen briefly months before.One Friday, he came home to a brunette. When she changed the color, she had changed her hair style a little, too. That was all for the best. She was. It was made very clear to her that she was expected to service the manager sexually or be dumped off wherever the trailers were camped for the night.As she hadn’t been paid yet, the only money that Eleven had was what she’d brought from home – something less than thirty dollars. So she resigned herself that just for tonight, she’d have to bear this guy and once she was paid and had some money she’d bolt.As life’s path took her, she didn’t bolt. It was easier to quietly let this guy fuck her. I held my breath, not daring to move or to make a sound, straining my ear. I could hear Mrs. Vandermeer shifting on her chair, the sound of cloth being adjusted, or so I imagined, a drawer opening, the rustle of objects… “Did I give you permission to stop?” I went back to what I was doing, going over the answers of a student who obviously hadn’t spent his study time wisely, my ears attuned to what was going on behind me. I swore I heard a soft sigh. I felt my face going warm, my imagination. She sat me down and put the sunglasses on me. It was already dark outside, but now with the sunglasses, I couldn’t see much of anything. Just vague shapes and outlines. Then she picked up the spray bottle and sprayed it at my face. Now the lenses were beaded with water and all I could see were dark blurry spots. “Okay. What is all this for?” I asked as she d****d my towel across my lap again.“Well,” she started “my dare is for Marcela, but for it to work, I had to make it to where you couldn’t.
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