Your erotic stories

The skinny girl, the one with the bony hips and the tits that looked like they got stuck on afterwards with modeling clay, just read you a list of your faults - I mean, like a list written on one of those long sheets of yellow paper with the blue and red lines for Pete's sake - and you tell her to go to hell, as politely as possible.

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Claire knew it was three-forty. She knew because she had just checked the clock a few seconds ago, but she looked anyway. It was three-forty. She had already closed what she'd been working on, so she opened a couple of spreadsheets to clutter the screen. She picked a paperclip - a fancy one with a red no-slip plastic coating - from the magnetic dispenser to the right of her phone and un-bent it to an approximation of straight.

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