She was full of rage. She extended a razor-sharp claw from her index finger and held it in front of my eyes, waving it ‘You are going to help me, An...xandros. You are going to free these women or I’ll fucking kill you right here.’ With this, she slid her finger under my chin. My neck still raised, she pointed her index finger at my jugular. Remembering my training and re-examining the experiences of my life as they flew through my mind, I realized I had to be calm and passive, do what needed to. I felt my pounding pulse in my chest and my head, and moved cautiously because of my nerves. Mrs. Olsen gradually came again into view. She had to be in her late forties or maybe fifty. She was a petite lady, with short, blond hair, very nice to us, and I was friends with her boys. I nervously looked at her chest. She had wide, long breasts that covered her entire rib cage and spilled to the sides due to their weight. There were large pepperoni areolas right in the middle of each, crowned by. More

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