We had just finished our meal when two familiar faces walked into the restaurant. Maria saw the color drain from my face, and my demeanor change, from upbeat and fun to dead.The maître d’ escorted both my wife and her date, who was about to become an ex-customer of mine, to a nearby table. That fucker knew that I was married to Susan. There was no way in hell I would ever do his taxes again.Susan didn’t notice us at first. I signaled to our waitress that I needed the check. She came over and asked if I wanted desert or to-go containers.“NO. Just the bill!!” I said angrily.“Mr. Benson, there is no bill. Your meal is on the house,” she said, a little too loudly.I smiled in appreciation, but noticed that my wife had spotted me.Fucking waitress … I guess she didn’t do it on purpose, but now I was flustered again, and having trouble thinking straight.I wanted to leave a good tip, so I pulled out two twenty-dollar bills, and left them on the table.I got up and tried to ignore my wife and. Will I need anything?"She eyed his shoulders. "I think you've already got what we need."The load for the South Office was a dozen boxes of the brown metallic bottle. There was a Dr. Fowler present who took charge of them. Julie watched him cart them into the HVAC room—she'd heard that Hubbard had its own HVAC System—before shrugging and heading north. She anticipated spending a lot more interesting time at the North Office.Art was quite willing, and after the delivery helped them both relax by getting her out of her clothes. Julie decided to junk her panties. They were soaked, and they were rubbing her in all of the wrong places. Her bra just needed cleaning, but she couldn't see how she was going to force herself to put it on again.Art started kissing in all of the tender places, and soon his tongue made all of the irritation go away. She got a nice warm feeling down there, and he spread her moisture around to help soothe the skin.He was being such a gentleman about it that Julie.
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