She certainly had built a team. Four after tonight. The phrase screamed “perky secretary” more than a collector of slaves. That was her true job.S...e still supervised for forty hours a week. The minions she had not yet turned respected her, the ones she did feared her retribution and craved her attention once more. Numbers were good. Corporate downstate was happy.Mr. Turner was tired of living from Rubbermaid containers and cardboard boxes.The target’s wife had left for her weekly night of. My fantasies. Ohh....all of my fantasies. All of those girls. All of those boobs and pussies and...I can give myself a bigger cock...I can go back to high school and fuck everyone I see, even Freshmen.No...I cant be a pedophile. What if...no. I'm not going there.I'll make all the girls eighteen, even if I have to change them physically to be smaller or bigger. Its illegal to have underage sex, not sex with someone who LOOKS slightly underage. Pedophile is the one thing I won't be. Even incest. For a girl all of 18 (maybe going on to 19) she was well-endowed and was quite simply ‘sultry and hot’. Her breasts, straining against her upper garment were bouncy, nicely rounded and it took an effort for a ‘decent’ man to keep my eyes away! Then there was this feminine grace which girls of small towns still have as a residue, which is inexplicable but very visible for the discerning eye!Marimuthu came towards my car and hurriedly introduced his daughter to me. Meanwhile, my wife too joined. ’ I thought to myself. My mind was pretty much always in the gutter. “What about you, Simone? What kind of pizza do you want?”“Sausage is fine, I guess.”“Alright, baby girl. I’ll order the pizza and get it on the way home. Love you.”“Love you, too, Daddy.”Since I was driving and didn’t want to take my hands off the wheel any more than I needed to, I kept driving, knowing the phone would disconnect when Simone hung up… except, she never did. She might have thought she did, but she didn’t. She.