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After a frosty, failed attempt at marital Monday morning sex, joint company directors Mr. Christian Lawson-Smith and Mrs. Naomi Lawson-Smith sat in swivel chairs in a miserable minimalist office, high up in the sky of London , on the sixteenth floor. They had no words for one another; each had retreated to lick their wounds concerning the misguided experience. Yet work must go on. Christian Lawson-Smith was 38, tall, broad, olive skinned but a pain in the ass to work for, he had zero patience and was a surly bastard in the mornings. He wore unnecessary spectacles to emanate a higher intelligence. He had dark hair and always, always wore a blue shirt. This would never change. His most ardent admirer, his controlling harridan of a mother, had once told him that he looked handsome in blue. Naomi Lawson-Smith. 35 could be quite beautiful, if she ever smiled. Instead she seethed mobil porno bitterness and resentment as the scowl was becoming permanently etched, rewritten into the design of her face. She was petite, with dainty, pixie features, naturally slim, perpetually tanned and had glossy dark brown hair that belonged in an advert for shampoo. Christian Lawson-Smith had fired their personal assistant for misplacing a file, which had later turned up in his own drawer. Naomi Lawson-Smith had been too incensed to protest, knowing she?d come off as the usual hissing zealot so she didn?t, and let it fester instead. They were in the irritating phase of attempting to find a new assistant. Last week, interviews had gone from bad to worse. They?d seen a blue haired girl who, seemingly, had only applied for the position to sneer at ? bureaucracy, man?. Next had been a man whose ancient, alman porno stained brown suit had smelled like a dead animal and then a simpering housewife who?d wept both buckets and rivers at the notion of leaving her ?angels? to return to full time employment, just a few specimens from the trail of over and under qualified people who just hadn?t done it for them. Their shoulders slumped due to a growing, malignant sexual frustration and the dread of what the silly bitch at the agency had served up this time. The arrival of the next candidate was an unexpected treat; they simultaneously sat bolt upright, with wide eyes and a newfound enthusiasm for the interviewee. She spoke well, with ease and confidence, although neither of them particularly listened to her words, as they were each locked in their own private worlds. Christian Lawson-Smith alexis texas porno couldn?t take his eyes off her patent black stiletto shoes. We all have our little foibles, high heels were his, the way they toned a leg, accentuated bust and ass, the scrape of a heel across his back. He couldn?t help but cast a furtive glance at the spray tanned leg of his wife and the sad, flat ballet pump plonked at the end of it. When had she stopped wearing heels? Naomi Lawson-Smith crumbled, faced with her secret vice: an alarmingly attractive young woman, a fact that she had never shared with her husband. She gazed at the girl?s soft red lips that continued to speak unheard words and wondered what it might feel like to kiss them, slowly, seeking her tongue, loving her gently, playing out her eternal fantasy. They both studied the information on their black clipboards and circled her name. Saskia. Christian Lawson-Smith pictured himself crying out her name. Sas-ki-a. As she moved to cross her legs, he sighted the irresistible lace stocking top resting on her porcelain thigh, underneath the obligatory secretarial short black skirt; a classic.