EXTRACT ONE: The Plucking of Rose Thorne

CASE # 999: 4^th June, 11.21 a.m.

 

"And does a Daisy Flowers work here?"

Cal smiled at the female detective.

"Why yes! She's my secretary's assistant. Do you need to speak with Daisy?"

Detective Inspector Thorne eyed him sternly.

"In a moment, yes please, Doctor Stamen. But first we need to know the terms of your arrangement with her."

"Hold on. I'll have Ivy bring in her file."

Cal kept his voice calm and his face composed, while he spoke into the intercom. Moments later, Ivy reappeared with a thin folder in one hand, and her own mug of delicious smelling coffee in the other.

"Are you sure I can't tempt you with some refreshment?"

Their nostrils twitched, eyes mesmerised by Ivy and her steaming brew.

"Uhm ... yes please." Detective Will Burnet replied, seemingly transfixed by Ivy's mug. "Black coffee for me."

"I ... oh well, alright, thanks, me too. Milk no sugar." Detective Rose Thorne echoed.

Cal opened the file and peered at the single sheet of paper, while his secretary went off to fetch his guests' refreshment.

"Here we are. Yes. Daisy started 10 days ago on 25^th May. So far, so good."

"And how much are you paying her?" the male detective asked, his pen poised over his notepad.

Cal arched his eyebrow. Will Burnet was a typical sort from central casting; sturdy build, close-cropped hair, firm jaw, probing eyes. Straight out of some TV crime drama.

"I'm afraid my employees all benefit from complete confidentiality."

But then Cal smiled, sensing they were both about to give up and leave his office. In which case they'd only return with a warrant, or worse.

The door opened and Ivy returned with two cups of aromatic coffee. Just like a cartoon, the scent seemed to waft through the air directly into his visitors' nostrils.

"However ..." Cal held his open palms up, "...I naturally want to help you officers. So let me ask my secretary. Er ... Ivy, do you recall exactly how much we've agreed to pay Daisy during her internship?"

He watched them both sniff their cups, blowing on the hot surface, desperate to take a first sip.

"Er ... I think we agreed the minimum wage, Doctor Stamen. Plus benefits of course."

He smiled at the officers, as if he surely didn't need to add anything to his secretary's answer.

"And can you explain why Mrs Flowers, the 27 yr old wife of a successful man such as Richard Flowers, might think she needs an internship as a mere secretarial assistant?"

Cal stared at Detective Thorne. Her eyes looked back at him over the rim of her cup as she gulped a large mouthful.

"I would have thought that was fucking obvious." He replied calmly.

She frowned. Both detectives grimaced with sudden uncertainty.

"It's not at all obv ... I ... please would you ... explain ..." she stammered.

Her hazel eyes were now fixed on him in slack-jawed confusion. Detective Burnet lowered his own cup and frowned at the dregs of his coffee.

"Don't be stupid, bitch." Cal said to her. "Daisy needs an internship as my unpaid office whore."

"Oh ... I s ... see." Detective Thorne nodded, folding her notebook and putting it back in her pocket. "That sounds reasonable."

"W ... we'll ... leave to let you g ... get on with your day." Detective Burnet tried to rise from his chair.

"Sit down where you are, boy!" Cal roared.

"What do you reckon?" Ivy asked him, eyeing the two police officers who sat like statues in their seats, unable to get up.

"I reckon we just found our next two patients."

 

EXTRACT TWO: Asset Stripped

 

"You fucker!" Ashley shouted.

Rich paused, as the room fell silent. He saw her realise she'd overstepped the mark.

"I'm s ... sorry. Please."

He hid his triumphant grin behind a cold sneer. Ashley would never be 'hot' but there was something cute and cuddly about her. He hadn't imagined ever wanting sex with her. And vanilla fucking was out the question. But why restrict himself to her finances? Her other assets weren't too bad at all; big tits, a pretty enough face, full lips.

"Bend over that sofa."

She hesitated, biting her lower lip.

"I said fucking bend over that sofa now!"

She was still wearing her smart work attire of a pin-stripe jacket with a matching skirt, a polyester-silk blouse and heels.

She stood with her hips against the leather sofa and very, very slowly lowered herself over it, until her bum was presented nicely to him.

Rich casually flipped the hem of her skirt up over her back.

She was wearing a tiny little thong that cut into the cleft of her ass. Her buttocks were plump, white and dimpled.

Not exactly beautiful but still a juicy target.

He left her waiting like that while he wandered into her kitchen to find a suitable implement. He chose a sturdy plastic spatula.

"Okay Ashley, don't fucking move. If you budge even an inch, try to resist, or bitch too loud, I will turn up at your Travel shop tomorrow and tell all your colleagues every-single-fucking-thing about you. Got that?"

"Yes Sir." She murmured into the cushions.

He hit her gently but still produced a nice red mark on her cheek.

He adjusted his cock in his jeans. That first little tap he'd given her ass was like the 135 quid he'd tested her out with. It was nothing more than a marker.

Now, it was time to extract a grand's worth.

His next five strokes were increasingly hard. She gasped, hissed, moaned. Her buttocks twitched and coloured scarlet. But he noticed she kept rubbing her inner thighs together at the same time.

"Don't move."

He tugged the damp thong all the way down her legs so she was naked except for her high heels and stockings. Then he reached between her thighs to feel her soaking cunt.

She groaned in masochistic lust.

"You fucking horny bitch."

He raised the spatula again and gave her another twelve hard blows.

"Pl ... please ... no .... m ... more."

Rich was hard as a rock. He fumbled his belt and jeans open and fished out his erection, dropping the spatula onto the floor.

"Spread your feet wider."

She didn't even hesitate. Her legs parted and she tilted her hips outwards for him.

"Say please."

"Pl ... please Sir."

He angled his own hips and thrust his cock into her wet, warm cunt. She'd already admitted to him that she hadn't been fucked once in over a year. Her cunt was gagging for it. The skin of her thrashed buttocks was boiling hot against his groin as he slammed to and fro.

"Don't you dare cum, bitch. You hear that?"

She sobbed. "Yes ... but pl ... please."

"You cum, and it'll cost you an extra two hundred quid."

He reached down, grabbed her hair and twisted her face half-round towards him.

"That's the price of an orgasm."

Moments later, he felt himself about to spurt. He tugged her up by the neck.

"Kneel on the floor."

He jacked himself off over her upturned face. She was crying but her moist eyes were wild with exhilaration. She opened her mouth and blinked up at him. He coated her face with thick spurts of white semen; onto her forehead, into her nostrils, over her teeth and chin.

For thirty seconds afterwards, neither of them spoke. Rich smiled down at her smeared face. He pushed his slimy erection into her mouth.

"Clean it."

Still peering up at him, she slithered her soft lips along his veined shaft.

Finally, he pulled away and started putting his briefs and jeans back on.

"S... sir."

It was obvious what she wanted. Permission to cum.

He walked to the kitchen and fetched a cucumber from the fridge that he'd spotted earlier.

"Use that."

She looked at him, her face crumpled in shame.

"It's that ... Or nothing."

"O ... okay."

"Lie on the sofa, legs akimbo."

He watched her. He took photos on his phone. He even videoed her.

The cucumber was green and big. Much thicker than the vibrator in her bedside drawer. She gasped as its cold girth stretched her uncomfortably. But she was so hot and wet it slid in regardless. She whimpered with humiliation.

"Tell us your name." He ordered, as she was panting, on the very edge of her climax.

"A ... Ashley H ... Hunt."

"Okay, Ashley, cum for your audience."