It seemed that more workload was expected to be handled with fewer and fewer workers. We also were not being compensated for our increased productivit....One Saturday morning I was sitting in my apartment having my coffee and reading the paper, as my lover was still sleeping in bed. An ad caught my attention. It was for a job in an office that dealt with finances. The job description seemed to line up perfectly with my job experience and abilities. I made a mental note to check into this position. And I'm so tired of all this bullshit. I just wanna go to sleep and forget.I open the door, slipping inside. Mom's passed out on the couch, empty bottles surrounding her. The smell of beer hits me and I feel my bruised stomach turn. She's fucking disgusting. And it makes me sick that I'm just like her. I can't deal with the problems in my life either. I just wish I wasn't one of her problems. I wish she said my name the way she says Melanie's.I sigh, starting to pick up some of the bottles.. I was not sneaking around but apparently I had not made any noise either. As I passed Mom’s bedroom the door was open. Mom was naked and bent over, with one of her shoulders pressed against one of the canopy bedposts. Mr. Jenkins from down the street was fucking her hard and fast from behind. Her long flabby tits were swinging all over the place as she hung on for dear life. If she wasn’t careful she could give herself a black eye. Mr. Jenkins was older and fatter than my father was and his. He half-grinned down at her before sliding from the bed, standing only to shove his pants and boxers down his legs, kicking them aside and clambering back onto the bed beside her. He stretched out on his back, his shaft pressing against his stomach, all but crying for attention. Sandra rolled over onto his legs, straddling his thighs just below the sacks of skin encasing his ego. Her upper arms cradled her breasts as she reached out to stroke her fingertips up, then down the thick pole of erect.
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