My stomach lurches as I read her text: This is Felicia, you fucking cheater. Yes, I know you are married. Unless you want me to tell your wife, meet me tonight at my apartment, to fulfill the fantasies of my choosing. Then, I will free you. Maybe. I keep reading and rereading her text as if it will somehow suddenly change. I am profusely perspiring. This can't be happening. How the fuck
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