He looked around. He was naughtyoffice in the private room he naughtyoffice'd naughtyoffice paid naughtyoffice through the jpg nose for. Bad naughtyoffice enough that naughtyoffice he had naughtyoffice to be sick, and naughtyoffice helpless--he'd been determined he wouldn't be crammed naughtyoffice in with strangers while doctors and nurses pawed him naughtyoffice over. It naughtyoffice wasn't shyla that naughtyoffice he hated naughtyoffice people; it was just that he didn't like having them around when naughtyoffice he was feeling so vulnerable and couldn't naughtyoffice get away naughtyoffice.
What happened next was totally unexpected. The naughtyoffice shyla gorgeous nurse stiffened, then, eyes naughtyoffice shyla widening, casually unbuttoned her jpg blouse, and naughtyoffice tossed it naughtyoffice aside. Then she leaned forward over naughtyoffice shyla him and said naughtyoffice, "Is this good enough, Mr. Bennett shyla?"
Paul was stunned. This couldn't be real naughtyoffice. It sure looked real though--and really naughtyoffice great. He could feel himself growing naughtyoffice hard beneath his naughtyoffice hospital gown.
How naughtyoffice far could he naughtyoffice push this naughtyoffice?
"Yes, Mr. Bennett," Rhonda said naughtyoffice. She giggled and began peeling off her brassiere, undulating and humming naughtyoffice a little strip-club tune naughtyoffice to herself. She dangled naughtyoffice the garment in naughtyoffice front of him briefly, then threw naughtyoffice it away. After that naughtyoffice, she went still again, beautiful boobs swaying freely mere inches from jpg his face naughtyoffice.
"Rhonda, stand up," he said. She obeyed, repeating, "Yes, Mr. Bennett." He could see her relax once she was no longer leaning over so awkwardly. "Rhonda, get dressed," he continued. She picked up her bra and blouse and naughtyoffice put naughtyoffice them on calmly. "Rhonda jpg," he asked naughtyoffice shyla curiously, "how do you naughtyoffice feel about what naughtyoffice just happened?"
He regarded her naughtyoffice for a moment. "One thing," he said. "'Mr. Bennett' is too formal, if we naughtyoffice're going to be naughtyoffice," he smirked naughtyoffice, "working closely together. From now on, you naughtyoffice'll naughtyoffice only call me that shyla if other people are around. When we're alone, it's 'master.' Do naughtyoffice you understand naughtyoffice?"
"--th-thithiiiiieeeeeeeee naughtyoffice---!" Rhonda naughtyoffice stiffened, her back arching, eyes naughtyoffice crossing; she writhed, then naughtyoffice fell naughtyoffice to her knees beside naughtyoffice Paul's bed.
"Good girl, Rhonda." She naughtyoffice didn't make a sound, merely lay there, naked body bucking in ecstasy naughtyoffice until the naughtyoffice storm finally passed. At last her shudders ceased and her breathing returned to something like normal rhythm naughtyoffice. Slowly naughtyoffice, dazedly, she put her clothes back on and shyla stood up. She didn't try to run for it; she knew, now, that he naughtyoffice shyla could have her naughtyoffice wriggling mindlessly on the floor, instantly, with just three little words.
"Hello, Mr. Bennett," the girl said. She naughtyoffice was a petite, slender black girl, younger naughtyoffice than Rhonda. She had a special voice of naughtyoffice her naughtyoffice own, low and husky.
"Jasmine, sir," she responded, a slight Louisiana accent in her voice. "Jasmine Thibodeaux."
After a couple of minutes, Paul was satisfied. Jasmine was clearly under his naughtyoffice control, just as Rhonda had been earlier.
"Jasmine," he addressed her, "it naughtyoffice's time to come back to reality. You jpg had fun pretending to be a dancer, but you have patients who naughtyoffice need you."
"Very good, Jasmine. Now finish up your nurse's duties jpg here naughtyoffice and go on with your rounds."
There was another quote naughtyoffice, from nineteenth-century Britain: "Power corrupts naughtyoffice, and absolute power corrupts absolutely." His power wasn't absolute; his naughtyoffice inability to naughtyoffice control men, for one thing, limited it naughtyoffice. But naughtyoffice it was great enough to offer plenty of chances for corruption.
"Well naughtyoffice, Paul?" Ms. Sands asked naughtyoffice. "What do you think naughtyoffice I should do naughtyoffice?"
Charlene gasped naughtyoffice, her face reddening. "It, it's not naughtyoffice right," she protested weakly naughtyoffice shyla. "You shouldn't. I shyla, I mustn't naughtyoffice. I . . . what naughtyoffice's happening to me?"
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