Even when I didn’t get off, it didn’t matter. I’d replay the scene in my head later and make myself come and come–maybe in my bed that night, ...r perhaps the bathroom if I couldn’t wait, or one time, extra daring, at my cubicle because I was waiting for a phone call and couldn’t leave my desk.“Hungry little whore,” he groaned as I squeezed my pussy tight, the sound of him fucking me filling the little copy room. There were three copiers on this floor and this one was old and temperamental–no one. The millions of dollars stressed me more!I felt guilty about the money; I wanted to 'give back' but having the bad cops confess might point someone to the missing money. Giving to 'charity' in my neighborhood would make me a target. I settled for keeping a closer eye on the county so I could squelch the worse things that might happen--like a particularly nasty serial-killer wanna-be who decided to make his first 'kill' attempt on a female cop fresh off the gun range. (He died; she became a. More

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