As you park near the LePoitier residence, you reflect on what you turned down, at least for the moment, to get here. The Allbright assignment did not sound like one in which you would be especially appreciated. Child by rape to lesbian couple, one of whom is simply anti-male? It was almost as if you were being asked to prove some ugly pet thesis, and you'll have no part in that. Much more tempting was the Hearst assignment, but you want more confirmation first. If Mr. Hearst was simply playing his wife while cheating on her, fine, but if this was a genuine discovery on his part, then perhaps she was better off adopting or even getting divorce. Cheating he was happy to punish, but homosexuality, not so much.
It did hurt a bit, though, because Mrs. Hearst was one very, very fine woman. In fact, she reminds you of the main African-American woman in your life, your ex-wife Ingrid Goode.
You shake your head. Time to focus. This assignment specified that you would need a mask and a gun, neither of which are your usual tast, but you've complied. You go out in your overcoat, carrying not just mask and gun but your personal favorite, your knife, as backup.
You marvel at the luxury of the place, and feel a twinge of regret passing the swimming pool. Why can't anyone want to get play-raped in a pool, you wonder? But maybe the bedroom will be different.
And it is, too. You make your way up, and as pop dance music is playing loudly from within, you push the door wider. The bedroom is dominated by a majestic four-poster, and with her back to you in enticing negligee and lingerie is Mrs. LePoitier putting herself through some sort of dancercise.
You pause awhile and admire. Ms. LePoitier is pure Sex Thing, much like Kim Basinger from out of "9 1/2 Weeks," and even from behind you can admire the jiggly outer curves of her huge full round tits. You would expect her to be facing a mirror, or nothing at all, but the front wall of the bedroom is unaccountably dominated by a great curtain. You figure maybe it's to make some giant TV more closely resemble a movie theater.
From the side or behind? You choose behind, and quietly clamber onto the bed, then reach out and grab her her from behind, knife in one hand, gun held up close to her face to reassure her.
"Hi," you growl. "I'll be your rapist this evening. Did you take your fertility medication?"
She nods faintly and you proceed to slash away, starting with her bra, liberating her amazing full natural breasts and allowing them to surge and spill forth nakedly.
The you see a commotion at the curtain, and suddenly a main in a wheelchair comes out of hiding. You instantly gather he's the husband.
You point the gun -- which you're using as a prop, and haven't loaded -- at the withered old man. "Do as I say or he gets it," you growl.
"All right," she surrenders softly.
You feel emboldened by the faint smile on the old man's face. If they had simply told you they wanted to play out some cuckolding scene, you could have been spared the instant of panic, but now you feel in control once more. |