"I want to hurt you bad, bitch," she growled. "All those emails last year. All the shit you said. That you were coming to visit. That your husband was...such a prick. That you needed my love and support. Then you just stopped writing! You JUST FUCKING STOPPED WRITING!" She slapped my face as she yelled and I felt the rush in my cunt. "YOU STUPID FUCKING COW!" She yanked my hair harder, jerking my head back and forth. "Get the fucking wires and get ready to scream. I have to piss."She got up and. "You are responsible for my receiving justice. As thanks, I shall grant you any one desire."She then paused to stare deeply into my eyes soon her own icy blue eyes had turned emerald green and taken on an ethereal glow as I felt her gaze reach the very depths of my being. Soon, however, her eyes drifted lower toward my chest, abdomen, and eventually, my crotch where her eyes had fixated on my obvious erection and for the first time, her cold emotionless features grew a mischievous smirk."You. Tea as the beverage of choice. English literature, English art, music, ballet as the acme. It's very much like what Kipling writes of India or Rider Haggard of East Africa." He's got a good point," one of the women said. "Miranda tells Caliban that he's deserving of his status as a slave. And that's exactly what European imperialists said about the people they colonized in the Americas, in Africa, in India, and here." Good. Very good. Yes, Hollister, you can write about that. And Ms Stephens,. "How?" she snapped back at me snidely, convinced that her only two options were to make a mess in her clothes, and/or make a mess on the elevator floor."Do you want my help or not?" I asked, knowing that her desperation was the reason for her sudden lack of decorum and respect."I'm sorry, I just don't see how you can help me John," she sheepishly replied. Her casual use of my name made my heart flutter."Can I trust you Stephanie?" I asked."Of course you can." she automatically replied."Then I'm.