From: arcane@nwiowa.com
Newsgroups: alt.sex.spanking
Subject: Hot Bodies, Cold Murder
Date: 27 Apr 1995 05:51:58 GMT

   There's too many scenes in this to add all of the (M/F) symbols to
include in the subject line.  Here they are:
(voy., mast., M/f switching, M/F sex, M/f spank, M/f sex, M/F whip)
   If any of this offends you, then skip this post and go on to
other interests.  If, however, I have intrigued you, keep on reading
and enjoy the story.

 


                    Hot Bodies, Cold Murder

  The rain spattered against the window as I sat back in my chair
and sipped at my bottle.  It was the usual routine for a Friday
evening.  I was alone in my office and my secretary had left
early.  I have no woman to see, no social life to fulfill.  My
life is my work; I am a private investigator.
   I know what most people think of P.I.'s.  It's not the glamour
of Magnum P.I. or the excitement of Remmington Steele.  No, most
of the time it's just plain old paperwork.  Sure, I carry a gun. 
The only time I've fired it during work was when I dropped it in
my office and the damn thing went off when it struck the floor. 
I'll have to get that table fixed someday.
   Of course, there are times when I get to actually go somewhere
and do a little spying on someone.  Those are not as fun as it
appears in the movies and on television.  Never believe anything
you see on the tube.  I once found a bag of what looked to be
cocaine.  I tasted it (just like you see on TV) and ended up in
the hospital for being stupid enough to try tasting sugar cane
mixed with arsenic.  Never dip your fingers into anything you
think might be a drug.  I learned that the hard way.
   There are times, however, when the foot jobs (that's what I
call the jobs that take me away from the office) can be a little
fun.  Divorce cases, let me tell you, are not the fun jobs.  You
sit your ass in a cramped Chevy Chevette and get horrible pains
in your legs as you sit for hours outside of some asshole's place
of business and hope to God that the guy will try to grab a
quickie during lunch.  You snap your pics of the guy boning his
mistress and then find out later that you were completely out of
focus and you can't tell the guy from an ape.  Then you get to do
it all over again the next day.  But this last case, the one
involving that Brighton dame and her husband, was the most fun
I've had in years.
   It all started last Tuesday.  I was in my office, as usual,
when my secretary buzzed me and told me that I had a visitor. 
She showed this gorgeous dame into the office.  I mean this chick
was a knockout from word one.  Not too tall, legs that went all
the way up, tits like mountains, and an ass that you could spend
the rest of your life worshiping.  Classy dame, too.  Wore some
expensive French design and carried a matching Gucci purse. 
Watch was some piece of work that could've paid my rent for the
next century.  Shoes were foreign, too.  All in all, the body of
a goddess and the bank account to match.  My kind of broad.
   "I need your help, Mr. Hall."  They always said that.  Of
course they needed my help.  If they didn't, I wouldn't be
talking to them.
   "What's the problem?"  I could think of a few solutions to any
problem she might have, but suggesting them would probably lose
me my license.
   "My husband is cheating on me and I need you to prove it."
   Ah, the 'fun' cases.  Christ, but I hated these damn things. 
Unfortunately, they happen to pay the rent.  "What makes you
think he's cheating on you?"
   "I know.  A woman always does."  Can't argue with that.  My
ex-wife seemed to know when I was playing bedsheet bingo with her
sister.  How she knew, I have no idea, but she did.
   "Ok.  When do you think he's doing this?"
   "When I'm away on business.  You see, I work and my husband
stays home.  He's a writer, so his office is in our home."
   "How often are you away?"
   "About twice a week.  I fly up to New York about twice every
week to look in on my businesses there."  Businesses?  I could
see the green rolling in.
   "So you want me to do what?  Stake out your house and snap
some pics of your husband playing hide the salami with his
mistress?"
   The woman made a face.  It was clear that she considered me a
necessary evil.  Probably thought marital sex was one, too.
   "Something like that, Mr. Hall."
   "Well, doll, my fee for this type of thing is," I did a quick
mental calculation of her estimated wealth, "four hundred a day,
plus any reasonable expenses."
   "Define 'reasonable'."
   "If your hubby hops a flight to who knows where while you're
away, then I'll expect compensation for my ticket and time lost
while away.  I also expect mileage if he drives and leads me
anywhere outside the city limits.  I take care of my own meals
and accommodations."  Yeah, accommodations means a reclining seat
in my Chevette.  Meals means the cheapest McDonald's Value Meal I
can find.
   "Done.  Here," she produced a sheet from her purse, "is my
home address and my schedule for the next week.  On the bottom is
a number that will get you my cellphone answering service.  Don't
call me at the house."
   "Got it.  Anything else."
   "Yes, Mr. Hall.  My name is Julia Brighton, not 'doll'."

   It started out simply enough.  Ms. Bitchton, er, Brighton left
right on schedule.  I had parked my wheels about three blocks
from their home.  Long ago I had invested in a very expensive
telescope with a camera hookup.  I could take a picture of a
gnat's balls from a hundred yards away, if I had a mind to.  I
set the expensive piece of shit up and switched on the
monitor/recorder.  That little accessory set me back quite a few
bottles of Jack, but it was worth it.  Screen plugged into my
cigarette lighter and saved me from having to hold my eye to that
little tube in the end of the scope.
   I had lucked out because they lived smack dab in the middle of
a 'T' intersection.  I could see the front of the house and the
garage just fine.  Apparently they didn't believe in closing the
blinds, so I had a good view into any room of the house.
   First thing I picked up that day was a good old fashioned
switching of their sixteen year-old daughter.  Little bitch had
actually slapped her father so he had grabbed her and shoved her
over the back of a chair.  He lifted up her skirt and dropped her
french lace drawers.  I worked like mad to get a close-up of
this.  I popped in a fresh tape and hit the record button.  There
it was, as big as life.  Her sexy little ass was sticking right
up in the air and pointing straight out the front picture window. 
I could count each separate hair on her little pussy.  I backed
it off a might to give me the whole scene.  Maybe Ms. Brighton
could use this as some sort of abuse angle when the divorce came.
   I saw the first sting of the switch land right across the
center of her pert little buns.  She threw her head back and
looked like she had howled like a coyote.  He laid on about
fifteen to twenty hits.  I could see that each separate strike
had left a nasty weal that would leave marks for quite a long
time.  Afterwards she had stood up and rubbed her ass furiously. 
I could see that her eyes were swollen and that she was still
crying.  It made me horny as hell.  I quickly set my coffee down
and undid my fly for some quick relief from my favorite gal, Rosy
Palm.  Of course, it left a huge mess on my steering wheel that
had cost me some of my napkin collection.  At least my pants
didn't feel so tight, though.
   At fifteen minutes after noon, the daughter left the house and
hopped in her Infiniti Q45t.  I had a good chuckle when she
opened her mouth in a scream when her red ass hit those leather
seats.
   At twelve thirty, good ol' Bob Brighton left the house and
jumped into his Acura NSX.  Turns my stomach to see married men
throw their money away on such an obvious pussy catcher.  But I
suppose that's what I was here to see.  I unstrapped my scope and
followed him.  He only went to the store and grabbed himself a
few sackfuls of stuff.  You see, that's what I mean about the
less glamorous side of this business.  Magnum P.I. would have
followed this guy and ended up in a shootout at a drug meet.  I
got to watch as this guy filled his cart with shit like the TV
Guide, chips and dip, three bottles of Dom, an avocado, and an
EPT box.  That last one perked my interest, but it might be
harmless, too.
  I stopped by the local convenience store and refilled my
thermos with some java.  I again took up station at my reserved
spot three blocks away from the house.  About four in the
afternoon, a white Geo Metro pulled into the drive.  I watched
with great enthusiasm as a sexy blonde stepped out of the car and
knocked on the door.  Bob opened it and let her inside.  I
quickly popped in a new tape and hit the record button.
   Ten minutes later I got to see her drop her dress and fling
her panties across the room.  I was just getting worked up enough
to unzip my pants again when the fucking machine ate my tape.  I
cursed a lot and tried to pry it out of the slot, but it decided
to stay in its happy home.  I beat my head on my steering wheel
and said a few things that would cause my priest to gasp at my
next confession.
   Grumbling, I headed for Louie's.  Louie is a whiz at fixing my
broken shit.  In no time, he had my machine purring like a
kitten.  He gave me some ridiculous cleaning tape and told me to
use it more often.  I threw it in the trunk with the twenty
others just like it.
   By the time I got back to the house, it was seven forty-five
and the Metro was gone.  I cursed my bad luck and hoped that she
would be back tomorrow.  I waited.
   Twelve thirty-two in the morning.  The gunmetal grey Infiniti
Q45t that belonged to the daughter rolled into the drive.  I had
switched the scope to night vision, so I got a really good look
at her bod as she exited the car.  Her hair was mussed and her
clothes were slightly rumpled.  She had been giving a piece of
ass to someone.  I watched as she entered the house.  She stopped
by the front window and let out what looked to be a scream.  I
saw her hurry over to the phone.  Five minutes later, three
police cars showed up.  I thought I knew what was up, but I
waited.  Sure enough, the coroner's car arrived and soon they
carted off the body of Bob Brighton.  I drove my car up to the
house and caught Detective Winslow's eye.
   "What are you doing here, Hall?"
   "Been set up on surveillance just down the street."
   "You didn't call this in sooner?"
   "Didn't see it.  My machine ate the tape and I had to take it
to Louie.  By the time I got back, this must've already
happened."
   "Use the fucking cleaner, Hall."
   "Kiss my what?"
   "Fuck you, Hall.  What do you know?"
   "I think Columbus sailed around 1492..."
   "Don't press it, Hall."
   "I got a few tapes of the house and its goings on.  Louie also
managed to salvage part of the tape that a possible suspect is
on."
   "You're a possible suspect, Hall.  Are you on the tapes?"
   "Fuck you, Winslow.  Do you want the shit or not?"
   "Yeah, bring it downtown.  We're finished here anyway."

   I hate going downtown.  It's smelly and all you see are
lowlifes and drunks.  Of course, you do see a hooker or two and
you can find out their prices and usual haunts if you are
careful.  The only good thing about this trip was two phone
numbers and a freebie blow-job in the john when I helped explain
a few of the finer points of Miranda to a young woman.  She got
off (a little joke there) on a technicality and promised to stop
by my apartment tonight for a free all-nighter.
   I had my bag of tapes and set them on the desk.  Young Miss
Brighton was also in Winslow's office.  Winslow had called Julia
Brighton's answering service and had left a message.  Julia had
called back shortly and informed him that she would catch the
next flight out.
   "Why were you there, Hall?"
   "Can't say, Detective.  It's privileged information."
   "You're gonna be sitting in my privileged jail, getting your
privileged ass fucked by a very privileged Joe Fucking Convict,
and lose your privileged P.I.'s license if you don't open your
fucking privileged mouth and give me your privileged
information."
   "Right now I'm going to call my privileged lawyer and have him
sue your privileged ass for busting my privileged chops when I
offered to help out your privileged case."
   "And a privileged 'fuck you' to you, Hall."  It was then that
he seemed to notice that young Miss Brighton, impressionable
young Miss Brighton, was still sitting in the office.  "Forgive
me, Miss Brighton.  Perhaps I could get you some coffee or a can
of pop?"
   "No thank you, sir.  I'm fine," she gave Winslow a sweet smile
that said 'Get rid of Hall and I'll pop your can!'
   Winslow tore his eyes away from her.  "Look, Hall.  I'm just a
little short on manpower right now.  Sorry if I snapped at you." 
Right!  If young Miss Brighton hadn't been sitting in the office,
we'd still be discussing the privileged fuck you's.
   "No problem, Francis."  He hated his first name, so I used it
as often as I could.
   Francis gritted his teeth and smiled at me.  "Let's see what
you've got on the tapes."
   I popped in the first one that had nothing exciting on it. 
"Your car is the Q45, Miss Brighton?" Winslow asked.
   "It's a Q45t, and yes, sir.  And please call me Jenni."
   "Of course, Jenni.  Now you stated that you left the house
some time around noon?"
   "Yes, sir."
   "Did you and your father get along well?"
   "Yes, sir."
   "Was he nervous about anything today?"
   "Not that I know of, sir."
   "No problems between you?  Or between him and your mother?"
    "No, sir."
    I popped in the next tape, the good one with the bare ass
switching of Jenni Brighton.  She watched in horror as her ass
was blistered right in front of Winslow's prying eyes.
   Winslow turned to her.  "You said there were no problems
between you or your father?"
   Jenni shifted uncomfortably.  Her discomfort was from more
than a sore ass.  "Well...uh...that's just normal discipline
around our house."
   "Seems to me like it might be cause for some bad feelings."
   "I know my father loves...loved me.  He just did it because I
needed it."
   "Uh huh.  Well, anything else you want to tell me."
   "No, sir."
   "Ok.  Hall, I'm going to have to confiscate this for
evidence."
   I gave a crestfallen look, but it didn't really matter.  Louie
had already made three copies of it.
   "What else you got?"
   I took out what Louie had salvaged from the eaten tape.  I
played it and Winslow got to see the car drive up and Bob
Brighton letting the woman in the house.  That was where the tape
ended.
   Winslow turned to Jenni.  "Miss...Jenni, do you know this
woman?"
   "Yes, sir.  That's Mrs. Greenly.  She used to be my nanny when
I was younger."
   "Anything else on the tape that was scrapped, Hall?"
   I coughed and gave a glance towards the girl.  Winslow nodded,
understanding.
   "Well, I think that's about all, Jenni.  You can wait outside
for your mother."
   Jenni Brighton got up and left the office.  As soon as she was
out of sight, Winslow flipped me off.  "Julia Brighton hired you,
didn't she?"
   "Yeah.  She thought the old man was cheating on her."
   "Guess he was.  You think Greenly did it?"
   I shrugged.  "I have no idea.  Anything could've happened
while I was gone.  Jenni Brighton, when she came home, looked as
if she had been doing a horizontal dance with someone, so she's
probably got an alibi that she won't tell in front of her mother. 
But who knows if she was screwing the whole time.  Julia
Brighton, as far as I know, was out of town.  This Greenly broad
might have iced him, or she might be totally innocent."
   Winslow nodded.  "Well, as it stands, we've got enough to
bring Greenly in for questioning and probably charge her with
murder."
   I shrugged.  "Your choice."
   "Just get the fuck out of here and don't leave town."
   "Actually, I was thinking that El Salvador was looking mighty
nice for a vacation right about now."  His foot connected with my
ass as I hurried out the door.

   I waited outside with Jenni Brighton for her mother to show. 
She finally did about two hours later.  In the meantime, I had
pumped (I wish) young Jenni for her alibi.  At first she had
claimed that she was at the movies with a few girlfriends.  When
I explained what I had seen, she broke down and told me the whole
story.  It seems that she had a boyfriend that daddy hadn't
approved of.  That was what the fight was about and her
subsequent ass blistering.  She had went to visit this guy, one
Todd Mathews, that afternoon.  Supposedly she had rode him like a
rodeo cowboy all afternoon and into the evening.  When I asked
for a demonstration, she told me where to go and what to do with
myself when I got there.
   Julia Brighton finally arrived and hugged her daughter.  "Oh,
baby.  Mommy's so sorry you had to see it.  It must have been
horrible.  Did you get any blood on your shoes?  We'll have to
get those cleaned if you did."
   "Jesus, mom.  Daddy's dead and you're worried about my shoes?"
   "Hush, young lady.  Don't take that tone with me or I'll take
the switch to you."
   Jenni shut up quickly.  Julia Brighton handed me four crisp
Franklins and told me that my services were no longer required. 
Didn't bother me in the least.  I mentioned my broken recorder
and she tossed me another couple of C-notes.  When I mentioned
the cramps in my legs, she told me to buy some Ben-Gay.

   The next morning, I awoke beside my freebie lady.  I played
with her massive tits for a time, watching in fascination as they
wiggled and shook whenever I poked at a nipple.  They tasted
great, as I recall.  A lot of things had tasted great.
   She finally woke up and told me that she had to get to work. 
I thanked her for last night and watched as her hips wiggled
their way out my door.  It was quite a stirring sight, but I had
work to do.
   I jumped in the shower and then pulled on a change of clothes
and headed for the office.
   "Got laid last night," Marilyn, my secretary, asked when I got
to the office.
   "How'd you know?"
   "You don't have your usual hardon from seeing me in this
outfit."
   "Give me a couple of hours.  I'll work up an impressive
erection that you can take care of during lunch."  She threw
paper cup at me.
   I quickly glanced through the morning rags.  Brighton's death
wasn't even on the front page.  It had been bumped for some crap
about the OJ Simpson trial.  Fucking sideshow.  I'd be glad when
it was over.
   I started to fill out a report for my files when the phone
rang.  It was Winslow.
   "We've charged Greenly with murder.  We'll need you as a
material witness."
   "Did she confess?"
   "Nope.  But she's got no alibi and what we think is the murder
weapon was found at her apartment."
   "You think?  What was it?"
   "We don't know for sure.  The coroner says that Brighton died
from multiple stab wounds.  Of course we had guessed that from
the body's condition and the amount of blood that was all over
the fucking room.  It was probably a butcher knife of some sort. 
Greenly had an impressive looking knife that was found in the
dishwasher.  No traces of anything on it, of course, but it did
fit the shape of the wounds."
   "I suppose that's good enough for the DA."
   "Damn right.  He's already set up a grand jury hearing for
next week.  You'll need to be there.  The DA will send your
official invitation over to your office sometime today or
tomorrow."
   "Can't wait."
   "I'm sure.  Anything else you remember before your piece of
shit recorder ate the tape?"
   "Just panties flying and a very sexy ass."
   "Big help.  I'm sure the grand jury will love to hear that."

   Julia Brighton came to see me later that afternoon.  She
walked in wearing a low cut gown that emphasized my need for some
relief.
   "Mr. Hall, my daughter tells me that you have a tape of her
being beaten by my husband?"
   "The police have it now," I remarked, watching her tits bounce
as she sat down in my chair.  I slid my chair closer to my desk
and whipped out my little companion and began stroking it.
   "Come now, Mr. Hall.  A man of your, uh, disposition would
have made a copy of it."
   My stroking was moving a bit faster.  It's a talent to jerk
yourself off in front of a sexy client who doesn't suspect it.
   "And if I did?"
   "I want that copy.  All of them, if there's more than one."
   "You'd want to deprive me of my viewing enjoyment?"
   "How much?"
   "Lady, I made no copies."
   She stood up.  "You want some help with that?"
   My hand froze.  "What?"
   "Your cock.  You want some help in getting off?"
   I was speechless.  She dropped her gown to the floor.  She
wasn't wearing anything underneath.  I punched the intercom and
told Marilyn to take the afternoon off.  She knew what was going
to happen, but she just thanked me and scrammed.
   Julia wiggled over to me and helped me out of my clothing. 
Then she impaled herself right on my turgid meat.  I let out a
groan as her pussy sucked me right into heaven.
   She began grinding her hips in a way that sent pulses of
electricity right up my spine.  I swept a hand across my desk and
cleared it.  I grabbed her sexy ass and stood up.  I humped her
right in mid-air and finally deposited her on the top of my desk.
   She gulped for air as an orgasm hit her.  I continued pumping
my needy cock into her warm tunnel.  It was fantastic.  Her ass
ground against the desktop as she matched me stroke for stroke.
   At last I gave a shout of ecstacy as I pumped gallon after
gallon of cum into her womb.  I collapsed against her naked body. 
Her hands continued to caress my shoulders.  She whispered a few
sweet nothings into my ear and squeezed my balls to drain out any
leftover juice.
   I pulled out of her and watched as my cum began to flow out of
her gaping hole.  I watched in fascination as she grabbed a
tissue from her purse and wiped herself clean.  Then she used her
tongue to clean off my limp tool.  It was very stimulating and
she had to take care of another erection before she had completed
her tongue bathing.  I wasn't complaining.  I even gave her my
copy of the tape.  I could always get another one from Louie
anyway.

   Two days later, I settled into my bed and popped in a fresh
copy of young Miss Brighton's ass blistering.  I had just gotten
to the good part when a knock sounded at my door.  Speak of the
devil.
   Jenni Brighton wandered over to a chair and plopped herself
into it.
   "Mr. Hall,"
   "Call me Jerry," I smiled.
   "Like Mick Jagger's wife?"
   "No relation."
   "Jerry, do you have any copies of that tape of me and Daddy?"
   "Your mother already took it," I said.
   "She did?"
   "Yep."
   "I'm sure you have some more, though."
   "Christ, how perverted do you think I am?"
   She just looked at me and I actually blushed.  I went to the
machine and popped it out.
   She shook her head.  "No, leave it in.  Let's watch it."  My
eyes widened, but I did as I was told.  We sat through two
showings of it.
   She leaned very close to me.  "You want to spank me?"
   My cock shot right up.  I just nodded and pulled her over my
knee.  She raised her hips so I could remove her slacks and
panties.  She just lay back down in position.
   "Spank my naughty ass, Mr. Hall.  I've been a bad girl."
   I needed no further prompting.  I began to bring my hand down
lightly upon her quivering ass.
   "Harder, Mr. Hall!  I've been really naughty!"
   I increased the force.  Soon her ass was as red as my pack of
smokes.  She was really squirming from my hitting her previously
created weals.  I stopped when she started to cry.
   "No!  Keep spanking me, sir.  I deserve no mercy."
   By this time there was little blood left in my brain for
serious thinking.  I continued to smack her sexy ass.
  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK! 
SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK! 
SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK! 
SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK! 
SMACK!!!!!!!!!!!!
   I let her lay there, sobbing like a child.  My cock badly
needed a place to roost.  She finally calmed down and hurried
over to my bed.
   "Shove it in me, Jerry.  I want your thick cock!"
   I needed no other encouragement.  I quickly shoved my needy
meat into her tight teenage hole.  She gasped as I stretched her
young pussy.  I guess her boyfriend had a cock the size of
Napoleon's.  She was as tight as a virgin.
   I must have pumped her for two hours.  She was a screamer, so
I had to cover her mouth to keep the neighbors content.  When I
finally filled her belly, I rolled off of her and went to sleep.

   Julia Brighton entered my office bright and early the next
morning.  She looked pissed. It's a pity Marilyn didn't come in
until nine.  Maybe she could have shooed her away.
   "Wasn't I enough for you?  You had to go and fuck my daughter
as well?"
   "I didn't ask her to come over."
   "Fuck you, Mr. Hall.  I'm going to the police and have you
charged with statutory rape!"
   "First, she's sixteen and that's the legal age of consent. 
And second, going to the police probably wouldn't be a good
idea."
   She put her hands on her hips and arched an eyebrow.  "Oh, and
why not?"
   "Because I've already phoned Detective Winslow and told him
who the real killer of your husband was."
   "Are you implying that I did it?  I'll have your ass in court
for slander."
   "It's only slander if it's false."
   "Where's your proof, you bastard?"
   "Something you said at the police station came back to me. 
You asked your daughter if she had gotten any blood on her shoes. 
You couldn't have known about the blood if you had just gotten
back into town."
   She opened her mouth.  "The detective who called me told me
that my husband had been stabbed to death."
   "Nope.  Winslow called and he said that he only told you that
there had been an accident involving your husband.  But even if
he did mention a stabbing, there's more."
   "What more?"
   "I was curious as to why you were so interested in my tape of
your daughter's whipping.  At the time, I chalked it up to a
concerned parent, but then Jenni told me that you hadn't even
mentioned getting that copy."
   "So?"
   "So I had Louie make me another copy and when your daughter
and I watched it, right before we fucked our consenting adult
brains out, by the way, I noticed something strange.  I took it
over to Louie and had him blow up a section of the tape.  Guess
what I saw?"
   "I have no idea."
   "I saw your smiling face looking out of the garage window. 
Well, I guess it wasn't smiling, but it does show that you were
there the whole time.  You probably waited around hoping to catch
your husband in the act.  When Mrs. Greenly did show up, you just
waited until she left then you made your move.  Since the garage
is connected to the house, you knew that you could slip in
without me seeing you.  You probably stayed away from the windows
to avoid being seen by me, but you didn't know that I was gone,
so it didn't really matter anyway.  You killed your husband and
then scooted out without anyone being the wiser.  So what if your
fingerprints were in the house.  You live there, so that's easily
explained.  If you hadn't been so insistent about that tape, you
might have gotten away with it."
   "It's pretty weak, Mr. Hall."
   "I don't have to prove it to anyone.  That's the DA's job."
   She pulled a gun from her purse.  "Well, you certainly won't
be testifying."
   I kicked at my desk and sent it tumbling over into her.  She
yelped as the edge of the desk bit into her shins and she fell
against the floor.  The gun went flying across the room.  I
leaped over my desk and grabbed onto her.
   "Nice try, doll.  I'm afraid that I've turned the tables on
you."  Yeah, I like to spout off a line like you see on the tube
every so often.  It makes me seem a little more flamboyant.
  "Let me go, you fucker!"
   "Sorry, no can do.  I'm going to have to escort you to the
police."
   "Please, Mr. Hall.  I'll give you anything you want.  Just let
me go."
   I paused for a moment.  "I'll tell you what," I said as I
flipped her over my upset desk and pulled off her designer slacks
and panties.  She raised her hips in anticipation of a good
screwing.  I laughed and ripped out my desk lamp's cord.  "I'll
punish you like the naughty girl you are before we take a ride in
the car."  WOOSH!  LLLLLLAAAAAASSSSSSHHHH!!!!!!
   Her screams filled the morning air like a robin's song.  It
was going to be a fine day.