"Good morning." She responded politely as she took the envelope from him."You're to read this before we leave miss." He told her in a firm voice.Debbie glanced at him uncertainly for a moment before opening the door wider. "You'd better come inside for a moment then."She wandered through to the kitchen opening the letter as she went.'Debbie!' The letter began.'I owe Mr. Jenkins the chauffer some over-time.He's agreed that an hour with you will write it off.Do what he tells you.J. Paterson.'Debbie looked across at the man who had followed her into the kitchen."You know what this says?" she asked her hands shaking.Jenkins smirked at her, his eyes filled with lust. "I know what it says." He agreed."And do you know what will happen if I refuse?"He shrugged indifferently. "That's not my concern. Mr. Paterson told me to remind you of how happy you mother is right now though."Debbie swallowed the tears and looked him in the eye. "So what do you want to do about it?"His smirk turned into a. .. ripe. A fully ripened woman in her 20s (which seemed so mature to me then), lips broad and sensual, blue eyes sensitive and knowing, straight blonde hair cascading down to her arms. Her breasts ample underneath their peach polyester prison, her hips wide and womanly and topped by little love handles, her thighs pneumatic, stretching the artificial fiber to its tensile limits, forming a pair of perfect smooth ovoids in which flesh and polyester seemed to have come together as one.Or on a sunnier spring day, she might go all hippie chick, loose peasanty blouse under which those big handfuls of breast swayed back and forth loosely, jeans stretching around a round, squishy butt, little toes peeking out of brown sandals, inviting you to imagine the flesh that continued underneath the clothing. Don't get me wrong, she wasn't fat, she was simply filled out, squeezable, plenty to hold onto. She was a woman, not a girl, hear her roar (as a song of the day had it), and day after day, night.
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