Jane Bond continued rummaging through her wallet. MI-6, the British spy agency, had provided Jane with all sorts of phony business cards, for just abo...t any imaginable profession, so she was certain that she could find one that would give her an identity to break the ice with Wendy Warmcox, gain her trust, and enlist her help in stopping W from selling any more weapons to terrorists. Finally, Jane found the perfect card. ‘Samantha Paddington- Smythe, free-lance photography.’ Handing the card to. She knew the position of power she was in over him, as she slowly continued to frustrate him with her scent. She silently filled his mind with thoughts of what it would be like to actually come for the first time in memory; to spew his load across her rough, dry feet, and watch the semen settle into the crevices of her cracked, wrinkly soles. To drink it up from them, laced with the intoxicating aroma of the filth she'd tracked in during the day. She didn't have to speak a word of this. She. More

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