I was pissed at his lack of compassion even when I knew I shouldn’t expect it from him. ‘What the hell, Richard?’ I goaded with anger. I leaned...over a bit to try to limit the wetness on my skin. ‘Sorry…’ Richard pleaded. There was pain in his voice and I could see his hand shaking a bit. I hated myself at that moment. I just couldn’t stop myself from being me. ‘Sorry? You throw coffee on me, fuck up my whole day and all you can say is sorry?’ My voice carried venom. I saw my marketing dreams. As I feared, his wicked little penis stuck out at me, hard and throbbing, a fleshly embodiment of insult. "And what, Martin - " I tugged on it gently, watching him squirm and fight back tears - "do yo call this?" "I'm - I'm so s-s-sorry, Auntie", he stammered, trying and failing to cover the monstrous growth with his hands. "It's just - being so close to you - you're stocking tops - I - " Watching my face contort with rage, he wisely decided to stop speaking and looked to the floor instead.. More

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