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He didn't rape me. And even if I testified that he did, it wouldn't hold up in court. If he disclosed to the police and the company that you've been embezzling, no one would believe anything I said. So we just must go." You're right," he said, looking at the reddening eyes of his wife. He could not tell that she was acting, that her tears were not real. She often cried when a crisis came. There was no reason to think that she was faking. "I'll call Martin now," Greg finally said after pondering for a moment longer. "He said we would leave around noon on Friday, and I'm sure he'll be very happy to hear we're going."Janet didn't want to talk as she reclined back in the back seat of the white convertible. It was twelve thirty on Friday afternoon and they had been driving for fifteen minutes. She leaned her head back and worriedly watched the speedometer creep past ninety as they headed south on the Santa Ana Freeway.Greg and Martin chatted in the front seat, while Darleen sat on her. "She hated it when he said that. He was a boy - but he played at being agirly maid. She disapproved. Chuck could tell. He was good at 'reading'people.It pained him that she would not punish him anymore.At home he thought it over the next evening.He had already paid Donna what he had borrowed to buy the corset. Soworries about his economy did not influence him.He opened and looked at his dress.He opened the second drawer and admired his corset and his collection ofpanties and stockings. He had been hard pressed to find stores where hecould find real stockings.He knew that almost all women considered them to be a nuisance. To himthey were the perfect soul of femininity. He simply adored putting themon - and fastening them was something that he treasured. Pantyhose wouldnever please him that much.Donna had categorically refused to supply him with more dresses.He suspected that his need for spanking was coming between them.He had to think that over.Why couldn't he be satisfied with doing.
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