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She stepped into the shower and washed the tears from her face like she had washed the slop from her body the week before. She was getting used to her body being objectified in such a disgusting manner. She ran her hands through her hair, and the makeup and tears dripped down her body, over her large, even, breasts and pert nipples, down her body across her now damp blonde bush, slick cunt, and down the drain. As she was beginning to feel comfortable, she heard a knock at her dressing room door. She wondered who it could be, put a towel around her body and went to the door. She opened the door, and to her surprise, it was Vince. “Why, what do you want, Mr. McMahon?” she asked.
“Aren’t you going to open the door and invite me in, slut?” Vince replied. Trish was horrified to be addressed in such a manner, but remembering all she had sacrificed of her dignity all ready to get the all mighty money, she opened the door. “I’m really sorry Mr. McMahon, I don’t know what I was thinking,” she replied, “But I thought you were done with me for the night. I did everything you said.”