You’re just a married man trying to buy a house. I’m just a confident realtor in pink stilettos. But clearly, your cock didn’t get the memo. You sit across from me—nervous, twitchy—and I try to keep things professional. I cross my legs, dangle my heels, tap my foot. Just normal stuff. Then I see it. That stiff bulge between your legs. You’re hard. I haven t figured it out quite yet, i thought it was my cleavage, but then i see it. this is over my dangling shoes? I pause. Slip my heel back on. I’m friends with your wife. And you’re sitting here drooling over a little foot dangle like a pathetic shoe-obsessed perv. You try to explain, but all I see is a man completely owned by his cock. That’s when I realize: I can use this. I dangle my heel again. Slowly. Deliberately. And there you go—rock hard again. So here’s the deal. You buy the house. You keep your wife’s friendship with me intact. Or I let her know exactly what kind of desperate slut she’s married to—a man who gets embarrassingly
