About graphic words. About words without boundaries and without either intent or forethought. Simply words of the moment. I think about words sent out... that are a quick fuck in a hallway, and not the romantic and planned night of two lovers. I think about words that are a hand job in a car-wash , or a blow job in an empty room only feet away from people who would not believe or who would not imagine…. I think about words that are two fingers slipped into a wet pussy in an elevator, but which are. Luckily, one of the strictest females of the office was passing by and saw us. She asked everyone to return to their desks and get back to work. She looked at me and said, “You are Raj, right? I have some work with you. Come with me.” She held my hand and took me with her.She was Nazma, our HR head. Nazma was in her 50s. She was well built and used to wear a hijab, so I can’t tell how her hair was. She gave me some papers to sign and explained to me about my new salary and incentives. It was a. They came right back and Naomi was wearing a red dress that was slit up her left leg all the way to the top of her hip. When she pulled it open, she grinned at me. The top was cut deeper than the T-shirt I’d cut before she put it on to come over here. The material was shiny and skin tight covering her breasts and her sexy ass.“Buy it, Naomi! If they have others like it in more pretty colors, buy them all. You’ll need high-heels and hose to match each of them too.”“We’ll be right back with. The church ladies had stared at her.But it was so hot in the sanctuary; a line of perspiration gathered at the base of her neck, under her short red hair, and ran, tickling, down her spine.She hadn't taken her eyes off the priest throughout the mass, in case intense concentration would speed the delivery of God from his words into her soul. He preached to her, in English and the heady tones of Latin, pouring the word of God over her like warm, thick oil.She knelt in prayer, and among the bent.