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She was used to being admired and knew she deserved to be admired.
With her idea for this chain of beef-n'-bread fast food outlets, now three-years since established, Elspeth Zanori had made the blue-bordered "frame-of-fame" as 'Tempus' magazine's businessgirl of the year.
And every day this customer had bought a DVD so that she now had the full set. But, when so pre-arranged, only the secret customers' votes counted. The professional customers had a code they put into the voting machine, to make it count all votes or only the 'secret customer' inputs.
Amanda must have suspected lust and yet, though overwhelmingly lovingly charming to this regular customer, as was her pure nature, she had never once sought to be familiar with her, as for waitresses to be familiar with the customers was not allowed under Le Rosbif company policy. One 'secret customer' company had Le Rosbif on its books.
What was so wrong with that in these post-feminist times for goodness sake? Amanda had everything to be proud of, and every right to be proud of it.
"I hope my services were satisfactory to you madam", whispered the dark-panda-patched-under-lower-eye-lidded, pale-from-the-pain–of-her-heavy-period, lovely Amanda, as she stood tiptoed at the pay-till having bobbed a sexy thighy curtsy to her customer, with a dip of her stupendously lovely legs: Amanda a supreme girl undergoing the extreme of the monthly burning endorsement confirmatory of her red-hot, literally red, literally hot, paprika-hot femininity. Amanda knew what it showed, and yet her smile never wavered its gloriously sweet and winning sincerity and shyness, as she passed the DVD over the bar-mark reader. She was so naturally lovely and worked so very hard to please.
Amanda's slim upper arms showed only the hint of a hint of a hint of a hint of bicep, from her weightlifting to keep herself trim: just the hint of a hint of a hint of a hint, for Amanda was pure full carved, full curved, girl.