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He was only about twenty feet from me. I kept a steady pace. Bozeman turned to walk to his backdoor. Another forty feet to go. I heard a car speed pas.... I hoped they hadn't noticed. My pussy was wetting the insides of my thighs. I had never done anything like this. One of the mowers spun around, driving straight at me. The driver, so far, hadn't noticed.My pace hadn't changed. I opened my purse about twenty-five feet from the car and dug for my keys. Still walking I realized that they weren't. I dropped my keys and my phone into a trashy little black handbag also borrowed from my wife, if only she knew, and started the long and humiliating walk to the black car.One foot in front of the other, heels clicking, bum wiggling, my heart pounding and my mouth dry again I did my best to strut rather than stagger. I wanted to impress him as I walked those 50m feeling every piece of tight black pvc clinging to my body, the collar feeling as if I was being strangled. My cock though remained. "David, it's nice to meet you. I hope you're ready for our little chat." Ah thank you Master Yves-Marchant. I hope so too." Owen said, trying hard to pronounce the 'Yves' properly without sounding too affected."Call me Phillip, please," said Marchant. "I think you're far enough along in the interview process for us to be on a first name basis." Owen was delighted to hear this and said as good-naturedly as he could, "Thank you Phillip." Well," Marchant interrupted, throwing Owen off, just as. The thing that bothered her excessively was that she had yet to meet a single member of the opposite sex that considered her an equal, much less, possibly, even superior in several categories.What made matters even worse, if that was at all possible, was the fact that her beloved Amanda, with her voluptuous breasts and firmly packed posterior, was her boss and the one that would decide if her services would be required for the next project. She loved her work almost as much as she secretly.
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