"What kindof favor?" I asked, my voice suspicious. She leaned forward, planting her freckled elbows on her khaki knees. "Avery personal favor. Just ...or me." She batted her eyelashes seductively. I knew I was doomed already. It wouldn't matter what she asked, I woulddo it. I knew I was weak, but she had wrapped me around her little finger monthsbefore, seeing which rules she could get away with breaking. I suppose it hadhappened at the hiring interview. "So what's the favor?" I asked, my. The contenders were numerous. Two older gentlemen sat in the corner playing chess and drinking brandy, I argued that their joint tally on years experience outstripped everyone else, Anna rallied that the pot belly’s might be a barrier to full and satisfying penetration. Our next, Aunt violet, we were at least able to agree that it would be a delight to get lost and never be found between her enormous breasts, or better still, her thighs. Roberto, the chef, had to be high on the list, because of. More

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