<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>Agent (Outbound Voice)<br/><br/>“Yeah, OK, Tserin Oakley, you’ve made your point,” Belinda blurted. The irritation at the front of her chest was rapidly turning into pain. “Now will you use the fucking force already? Because I am literally freezing my tits off here, and the clasp on this bra is an absolute bitch.”<br/><br/>While speaking, she’d been fumbling at the buttons of her own blouse, but between the agitation and the water, she just couldn’t work the buttons properly. So she grabbed hold of the fabric and pulled hard, not really noticing or caring if the fabric was tearing or the buttons were pinging off: that was a problem for future Belinda.<br/><br/>With the shirt open, the next step was to get it off. With the clasp at the back, she should be able to reach it once it was out of the way. But with her arms in the sleeves, they just kept pulling the shirt against her back. No problem, all you do is lower your arms behind your back and the shirt falls to the floor.<em>Unless of course the buttons at the end of the sleeves are done up, and your hands get trapped inside the sleeves.</em>“Ah shit.”<br/><br/>And now the shirt was trapped somehow. Something, or maybe some<em>one</em>had hold of it, and she couldn’t bring her hands back up.<em>Well, fuck it, I may as well make this look deliberate</em>. “Help me, Tserin Oakley,” she said, arching her back as she pressed her body forwards, “You’re my only hope.” Yeah, that was the way to play this. Wriggle around, arch and stretch.