My Assistant, Loretta


I am the kitchen supervisor.
My assistant, seventy-four year old Loretta, suggested to me that I better get my ass in gear or breakfast would not make it by 8 am. Half-asleep, I flipped another pancake and told Loretta there was nothing wrong with getting a little behind, winked, and moved my hips in and out as if I was making love. As she went back into the dining room, she paused and said “Stephen,” making sure I noticed as she moved her rear end back and forth and then side to side.
For a second I thought, Not too bad, then I came to my senses.


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