"I wouldn't" Adam's voice cut through my thoughts. "Be a good girl, and no one will have to visit your old family. Besides, look at you, who would eve... believe you were a prisoner. You're hardly chained up, you look like a secretary who loves to show herself off! Now, come here" and he whistled a taxi to stop on the kerb. As we climbed in, I again struggled to sit in a ladylike manner, giving the driver a glimpse of my stocking tops, and I'm sure he noticed. The driver turned to us and asked. But on the same token, knowing that she would never make him go for a long time without coming also removes that level of uncertainty and makes the orgasm routine that much more predictable. She may find it necessary to delay him for an extended period at some point just to establish that she can if she wants to. Having done that, even if just once, merely reminding him that she’s made him wait a long time before may be enough of a trigger to keep his desperation high, and his arousal intense.. She needed parts. Nothing from the old body could be trusted. She would throw it all out and start from scratch. That meant Elsa had to go shopping. So at night, instead of staying up and looking at the skin like she used to, she covered her own skin with makeup, scented it with perfume, and accented it with fabrics. And then she went out and met people who had muscle and sinew and bone beneath their skin, people with beating hearts and quick minds and strong bodies. She talked with them, drank. *3 days earlier* The station is empty at midnight. Most people are busy having lives and drinking to the good life. I hate them all. Night after night, I sit behind the counter selling gas and snack food and watch the security monitor until six in the morning. Now, I don’t work at a Shell or Exxon Station, nope! I work in a privately owned station in the sketchy area between the ghetto and the downtown night life. Most of the time, the people that come in are lowlifes and gangsters, hence the.