Her trainers were preparing her for ... Ragnacock. Armanageddon.Forty-eight condoms? A hundred test strips? Yeesh.Another day, another wtf.The monster... outside were not happy with camel's milk. They kept pullingat her blouse."I'm out of boob juice, guys. Give up. No, hey." She pushed away athorny tendril - a planter, from look of it. "Don't rip my uniformblouse." She wagged the bottle at the monster. "I'm not feeding you inpublic even if I was bow-strung." She pushed the baby bottle into. Now she was deciding whether she could bring herself to do it.After a moment's meaningful pause, I said quietly:"Better put those in the boot. Then come with me. Need to talk business."Business it was - in the full sense of the street-whore having to bare her butt in order to eat. For the pleasure of a man she privately despises.For the next few minutes, this upper-class lady was having to turn hooker in secret. And it certainly felt like it. I led her down some iron steps to a tiny cramped. More

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