At last Wendy felt she could relax. There was still quite away to go but now it was her turn to stretch out. She glanced over and saw that the busines...manhad left his newspaper lying on the seat. She wasn?t usually a Financial Timesreader but as she?d finished her novel somewhere around Birmingham she reachedover and picked it up. No sooner had she done so than a slim paperback fell outfrom between the pages. This looked far more promising than the FT so shegrabbed the book instead. As she. If she wasn't my mother I woulddefinitely have been trying to chat her up, she was a great piece ofarse.I went for an interview and was excited to notice that the ladies whoworked there were also dressed like Mum. It seemed a dream job.I was offered the job straight away and signed the terms and conditionswithout reading the section headed "dress code" properly. I did nottherefore notice the company uniform was considered to be gender neutral.The restaurant was called "French Made" and it. The crowd moved to one side as a small but tall table was brought over; two of the smiling men had lengths of cord, which frightened her; what were they going to do?Sissygirl was made to lie on the table; her little cock made to hang over the edge as her ankles and wrists were tied to the table legs; her sweet bottom exposed and ready to be serviced. She whimpered at her predicament because she now knew she would be thoroughly used and abused; the eroticism induced by her absolute. "All y'can steal," he said, "an' all y'can screw." Don' need you to do that," I said, returning his small smile."We're fighting for the King." he said."Fuck the King," I said.He looked startled. "Army pay, no hold-backs or stoppages, bonuses for horses," he said. "A guinea to sign, sixpence a day." Sixpence?" I said, spinning a shilling on the table top."Bonuses for most," he said."How long do I have to sign for?" A year gets you a guinea, two years three guineas." I'll sign on for two years..