<br/><div class="floatleft">(https://www.pngkey.com/png/full/889-8891004_calling-girl-png-call-center-girl-png.png)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Belinda Taylor<br/><strong>Age:</strong>22<br/><strong>Sexual Identity:</strong>Ambitious Workaholic<br/><strong>Position:</strong>Compromising?  No. Compromised.<br/><br/>Belinda had very little idea what was going on. The view from in between Tserin’s legs was pretty seriously obstructed. And while, in theory, her ears were not obstructed, in practice there’s something about crawling out of the boss’s office nearly gagging on a snatch that was really quite distracting.<br/><br/>She was pretty sure that Mariska had made some kind of speech once they were out of the room. But every time she slowed down a little, every time she stopped moaning, the pressure on her shoulder and the back of her head intensified. And so there she was, on all fours, and she’d completely lost control of the situation, and part of her was angry, part of her was calculating her revenge and all of her was secretly loving it. So she moaned and she licked and she rubbed, and then she moaned some more.<br/><br/>And then there was quiet. It sounded like someone asked a question and Mariska gave some kind of an answer. And then a hand touched her thigh, in the gap between the bottom of her skirt and the top of her stockings. She had no idea whose hand it was, and she realized that she didn’t care. She pressed back against it. Rocked her hips. Pulled away from it and felt it follow, then pushed back, angling herself and opening her legs so that a finger slid up between them and felt the wetness of her panties.