The photo showed a woman with her man, sleeping after a wonderful night of pleasure. I blushed thinking that my wife had come in and pulled back the sheets and took the photo of us, but my nipples again became engorged and sensitive as I looked again and again at this woman and her man asleep in bed. They looked so happy.I picked up the note. It read:"Dear Diane, You will make coffee and then bring it to my bedroom along with orange juice and toast at 8:30 am. You will knock, and announce. For an instant I must have been rooted to the spot, until Doug called out, "Where's that bleeding torch, George; a person could get killed around here. Shit, it's dark tonight!"Coming back to my senses, I retrieved the torch and then shone it around my immaculate garden. Only, of course, it wasn't my - 'immaculate garden'! I'm not much of a gardener at the best of times, especially when the surf is up. Someone had certainly paid my domain a visit and given it a bloody good once-over; or maybe. The foreman let out a frustrated sigh.“They should really be telling you a few things before unloading you on our hands. Former servants sent here,” he started, as if he felt strained to tell the same text over and over again, “draw immediate attention. There are two choices: either you pick a partner, or you pick all.”“Am I going to get raped?” Dion let out, without even thinking. There had been too much strain on his mind to think clearly.“We punish such behavior,” the foreman spoke, annoyed. I did my makeup as if we were going out on the town. But I kept my clothing low key. I wore an older pair of shorts that Terry loved to see me in. And I wore one of his Mustang T-shirts on top. My whole look said that I was ready for my man.I may as well have been wearing a burlap bag and a gorilla mask. I got nervous as I heard the sound of Terry's Mustang pulling into the driveway. He came in, looked right through me, dropped his briefcase off in the office, and headed up the stairs. I was.
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