She'd gotten angry at herself, vowed to never read his emails again, to tell him it was over, she wasn't going to do the next thing he told her to ......yet she hadn't.She'd worn shorter and shorter skirts, never pants, never anything but dresses and skirts. And while her hemline had climbed higher, her neckline had plunged. Her breasts were to large to go without a bra, but those she'd worn went from straight utilitarian undergarments, to lacy contraptions designed to maximize and display her. After that, a girl named Terry had spent a week training Sofi before stating, “You’re ready,” and walking out three hours before the end of a Saturday night shift.After that night, Sofi worked alone. In charge of her girls and their schedule. But it wasn’t Terry or her girls she thought of now. It was that in-person interview with Bellick.When Sofi closed her eyes she could still see Mr. Bellick sitting in the corner of that cheap hotel room, a $2,000 roll of cash resting conspicuously on the. ”Those sweet-sounding words from Donald do so much to Emma. She presses herself back into his finger and feels it enter about an inch. It hurts some as he is right at her sphincter now, he just holds himself there and tells her to relax some. She breathes deeply a couple of times, and he feels her unclench him and he presses in further. His finger is almost all the way in, and he wiggles it some so she can feel it. Now her sighs and moans take on those of when she is receiving something. ." he sighed."Nobody ever hit me before," I said, like I was just talking to myself. "Not like that. No sir." I'm sorry. I swear I am." Mr. Davis was sorry too, but I'd felt his anger and it was in him and always would be. He'd hit me once, so I knew he'd do it again. The first time was probably the hardest anyway, like anything else. Next time he wanted to hit me it would come a little easier, a little quicker maybe, and then he'd be sorry all over again."There's a gas station," he said, happy.