Spew complained as Miss Honeycunny strutted into the office on her red, six-inch stilettoes and placed a tray of coffee on the desk. “He fucks everything he comes into contact with.” Honeycunny scratched her juice-drenched vaginal crack through her miniskirt. “I wish he did,” she sighed wistfully. “You wish he did what?” “I wish he fucked ... Nothing, sir. Will there be anything else before I go to the chemist?” “No, I don’t think so. Did you say, the chemist?” “Yes. I need another jar of Vaseline and some Femfresh.” “Would you get me some Hardo Cream while you’re there?” “Of course. Any particular flavour?” “Strawberry, please. Oh, and some anal lubricant. My wife’s fist seems to be getting bigger and ... That reminds me, did you find the sleaze file?” “No, sir.” “I just don’t understand it. Apart from you and Blond, and that one-eyed stray cat you took in last week, no one has been in here.” “Perhaps he’s a spy,” Honeycunny quipped, scratching her tits.
