Message-ID: <11068eli$9805091609@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/11068.txt>
From: ii361@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Ray N. Velez)
Subject: "Redemption:" (Crime Drama)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Reply-To: ii361@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Ray N. Velez)
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <6j21i3$3bi$1@alexander.INS.CWRU.Edu>
From: kristen78@aol.com (Kristen78)
>Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Subject: Kristen's collection: Redempt.txt by "Dewitt" (new author)
("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
`6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`)
(_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-'
_..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
(((' (((-((('' ((((
K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
_________________________________________
WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
_________________________________________
Scroll down to view text
Archive name: Redempt.txt (crime drama, incest, humil)
Authors name: Dafney Dewitt (DafneyDewit@Juno.com)
Story Title : Redemption
______________________________________________
"Justice is justice though it's always delayed and finally
done only by mistake." -George Bernard Shaw
"Redemption" (c) 1998
by Dafney Dewitt
"In the Criminal Justice System, the people
are represented by two separate but equal
groups, the police who investigate crime
and the District Attorneys who presecute
the offenders. These are their stories."
328 E. 47th Street New York City
The Fantasy Club
Saturday July 2nd
The owner of the Fantasy Club, Luther Stone stared in
fascination at the stage where a silicone enhanced blond
pumped her hips toward the audience in perfect timing with
the rhythmic thump of the music.
But Luther was not watching the naked dancer. His eyes
focused on a fresh-faced young man sitting in the front row.
The kid's face was filled with unabashed awe, worshiping
the smooth pale body of the dancing girl. His open mouth
formed a small 'O' like a surprised fish. Seeing such awe-
struck fascination was rare. For most patron's of stripper
bars, the fantasy was gone. Their sense of wonder eroded
by time. With time, the kid would change too. His face
would loose its innocence.
The kid's face.
Luther Stone knew that look. It was a look that reminded
him of himself, as a young kid, the first time he had been in a
stripper bar. Back then, there was no total nudity. Women
stripped to pasties and G-Strings. But they captured Stone's
attention. He was entranced by their beautiful bodies, wanting
to devour them with his eyes. That was a long time ago.
Prison had changed him. Now he was hard. Now when he
looked at strippers, all he saw were whores, or drug addicts.
For Stone, there was no more mystery in sex. No matter how
beautiful, every woman had a price.
In the dark shadows, at the edge of the stage, the kid's
hand pumped up and down. It was a familiar motion, but it
was all wrong. His hand was way to high. There was no
way, the kid could be stroking his cock. He would have had
to have been hung like King-Kong. Entrigued, Stone gave a
nod to his bouncer, Guido. He pointed to the kid, and Guido
brought him to Stone.
"Am I in trouble?"
"No," said Stone. "What's your name?"
"I'm Tommy Kincaid."
Tommy stuck his hand out expecting Luther Stone to shake it.
Stone shook his head slowly from side to side and ignored the
extended hand. From the silly grin on Tommy's face, it was
obvious that he was mentally challenged. It explained the look
of wonder on Tommy's face. It was the dumb look. Stone
regretted calling this retarded man over to his table. But it did
not explain what Tommy Kincaid had been doing with his hand
while he watched the strippers.
"What were you doing with your hand?" asked Stone.
"Stroking my lucky foot." The young man held up a large
rabbit's foot attached to a key chain.
Luther Stone smiled. Tommy Kincaid gave Stone a goofy
smile in return. Stone knew that this interchange was being
watched. The other employees of the Fantasy Club would talk.
Stone would end up looking like a looser because of a moment
of weakness, thinking about his own lost innocence. His
employees would talk behind his back about the ex-convict,
drug dealer, and pimp who invited retards to his table. Stone
looked for an easy way to keep his reputation intact.
"Does your rabbit's foot bring you luck?"
"Only if I stroke it."
"Did you know that luck works best if you let someone else
do the stroking?"
Stone formed an image in his mind of a whore giving a hand
job.
"No," said Tommy, leaving his mouth open again like a fish
blowing bubbles.
"If you let me stroke your rabbit's foot, you might get lucky.
One of the strippers might give you a private lap dance.
Would you like that?"
"Oh, that would be good."
Then Tommy frowned.
"What's wrong?" asked Stone.
"I can't loose my keys. See?" Tommy held up a small
plastic address tag attached to the key chain. "If I loose
my keys, you get paid $15.00 for mailing them to this
P.O. Box."
"You won't loose your keys," Stone reassured him.
"Are you sure?"
"I'll keep them safe. You can watch me."
"Will you help me get a girl? Girls don't like me much after
they learn I'm slow."
"I'm sure it will work. Give me the keys."
Stone reached across the table.
Trusting Stone, Tommy handed him the keys.
"Now go sit over there at the corner table while I rub your
rabbit's foot."
As Tommy turned his back to walk to the corner table, Stone
detached the keys from the rabbit's foot, and handed them to
his bouncer, Guido.
"Tell Sherry to give the kid a free lap dance, and get me
duplicate keys. You gotta be back in 10 minutes," Stone told
him. For the cost of a duplicate key, Stone had salvaged his
reputation.
Stone saluted Tommy, at the corner table, holding the white
rabbit's foot high in the air and pretending to have the keys in
the palm of his hand. With exagerated gestures, Stone stroked
the rabbit's foot. A few minutes later, Sherry approached
Tommy's table and began her tired routine.
The lap dance ended before Guido returned. Tommy came
back to Luther Stone's table.
"Can I have my keys back now?"
Stone smoothly evaded his question.
"It worked just like I told you, right?"
Tommy nodded his head breaking into a big smile.
"Do you live in a post office box?"
"No, I don't live in no box. That's just if the keys get lost."
"Where do you live?"
"I live at 723 E. Park Avenue in Apartment #327."
Tommy recited the numbers carefully, proud to have memorized
his own address.
"Can I have my foot back now?"
"In just a minute. I'm going to give it an extra rub so you get
another girl the next time you come back to the Fantasy Club."
Stone moved his hand with the rabbit's foot under the table,
pretending to rub it, until he saw Guido walking toward him
from the back entrance of the Club. Guido shook hands with
Stone who palmed the key chain and deftly re-attached it to
the rabbit's foot.
723 East Park Avenue
Apartment 327
New York City, N.Y.
Tuesday July 5th
Luther Stone rang the doorbell first. He waited. He knocked
three times before inserting the key and opening the door to
apartment #327. Stone had no intention of burglary. It was pure
curiosity. The address on Park Avenue surprised him. Why was
a mentally challenged smuck like Tommy Kincaid living in a high
class apartment building?
The luxuriously decorated apartment only furthered the
mystery. Stone made a quick tour of the 2 bedroom suite
to reassure himself that he was alone. The lipstick and
tampax in the bathroom took Stone by surprise. Was
Tommy Kincaid married? He returned to a small table by
the front door with a basket full of mail. Selecting a business
envelope, Luther Stone read the name of the addressee. He
quickly thumbed through the rest of the letters. All of them
were addressed to Claire Kincaid, Assistant District Attorney
for the State of New York. This was the same Claire Kincaid
who had sent Stone to Attica on a three year drug conviction.
Tommy was not married. He was Claire Kincaid's retarded
brother.
Stone said a short prayer. The Gods were with him.
Stroking the rabbit's foot had brought him more luck then
he could have imagined. His mind raced with possibilities
for revenge. He could stalk Claire, torment her, he could
bug her apartment, and rape her in her own bed. But he
quickly rejected all these fantasies. He wanted more. He
wanted Claire to come to him, begging on her knees. He
wanted to humiliate and degrade her. He devised a plan.
Luther Stone returned to the bathroom. He did the same
thing detectives Brisco and Logan had done to convict him.
He went around collecting evidence. He took hair from
Claire's hairbrush, looked in the waste basket and fished
out a used tampax, and brushed fibers off Claire's skirts that
were hanging in the closet. He wiped off both sides of the
door handle with a paper towel before leaving.
Hargrove Lofts #425
3007 W. Brooklyn Avenue
Friday July 8th
Tommy Kincaid rubbed his rabbit foot again, and hit the
naked woman laying across the bed.
"Wake up!" he yelled.
But the woman did not move.
"Wake up!" Tommy yelled again.
But the woman was dead.
Minutes before Tommy had handed her a balloon of heroin
in exchange for sex. His good friend, Luther Stone had set
him up with a drug addicted stripper named Cyndee Lee,
and a big man named Guido had given him the heroin. The
sex was good. The heroin was good too. Over 80% pure
heroin. It was a hot shot. Both the sex and death had been
recorded from a hidden camcorder. In a panic, Tommy
Kincaid fled the dead women's apartment. He ran straight
to his good friend Luther Stone for help.
Police discovered the body after receiving an anonymous
phone tip. When Detectives Brisco and Logan arrived at the
Hargrove Lofts #425, uniformed police officers were already
posted at the front door and the Medical Examiner was
examining the body. Logan searched the apartment while
Brisco talked to the doctor.
"What's it look like?" Detective Brisco asked the Medical
Examiner.
"A dead lady," the examiner answered without looking up.
"Yeah, or a slow whore, but do we have a murder?"
"What we have is a drug overdose, and a recent sex act."
The Medical Examiner inserted his plastic gloved fingers into
the vagina of the deceased woman and wiggled them sideways
to make his point. The movement of his fingers made an obscene
sound of sloshing liquids. He gave Detective Brisco a lewd wink,
"What's it sound like to you?".
"Sounds like a fresh fucking." said Brisco agreeing with the M.E.
Logan returned from the bathroom carrying a bloody tampax in
a plastic evidence bag.
"She on the rag, Doc?" he asked.
"No." The M.E. answered.
"Well, then it looks like we have another woman."
"And a man," added Brisco.
"Is it rape?" asked Logan picking a hypodermic syringe up
off the floor and dropping it into an evidence bag..
"After Logan's run with divorce, he has trouble imagining
women fucking for fun," Brisco told the M.E. in an apologetic
voice.
"More like sex for drugs," answered the medical examiner.
"If you'd known my ex-wife, you'd think rape, too," shot back
Logan.
"If we find the drug pusher, we might be able to arrest him for
Murder II," Brisco suggested.
"The police forensics lab will sort it out," Logan predicted.
"I'm done here. You can bag her," said the medical examiner.
New York District Attorney
Adam Schiff's Office
Thursday July 14th
Claire Kincaid listened politely, holding a large envelope
in her lap, as Jack McCoy detailed the murder case on
Cynthia Lee Crawford for Adam Schiff, the Chief District
Attorney for the City of New York.
"Under Barrera vs State of New York, we have precedent
for charging the deliverer of illegal drugs with Murder II if
that delivery results in death."
Seated behind his desk, Adam Schiff nodded his mostly
bald head. In an annoyed grumble, Adam protested "Yes,
but can we prove the intent of the person supplying the drugs."
Rising out of his chair, Jack McCoy pointed his index finger
at Adam Schiff, raising his voice with emotion.
"The prosecution does not have to prove intent, only delivery.
The burden of proof is reversed. Supplying illegal drugs which
results in the demise of the recipient is 'a priori' accepted proof,
tantamount to depraved indifference. Intent is implied in delivery.
The courts have made this point clear."
"OK," Adam nodded his bald head, "Who is the bad guy?"
"We don't know yet," conceded Jack McCoy.
Adam rubbed the sides of his head as if he were developing a
headache. "Why are you wasting my time?" growled Adam in
exasperation.
"But we may know soon," Jack added quickly. "Claire has an
anonymous informant."
Claire Kincaid rose from her chair and handed Adam a 6 x 10
envelope with the photograph of the deceased woman, Cynthia
Crawfard, sprawled nude across the bed.
"This photo," said Claire was not taken by the police.
"So we have an anonymous necrophiliac?" Adam snapped
back sarcastically.
"It's more then that," said Claire " look in the far left hand corner."
She tapped the photo with her index finger. "That's a man's leg.
That's the perp."
Adam sounded tired, but nodded his assent. "OK, run with it.
But you can't indict a leg. If you identify the man, we'll trot a
murder charge out before the Grand Jury."
New York District Attorney
Claire Kincaid's Office
Friday July 15th
The phone rang while Claire Kincaid was reading through
depositions on a rape case. The person on the other end
started talking before Claire could announce herself as an
Assistant District Attorney.
"You've been bad, Claire," said a man's voice she did not
recognize.
"Excuse me, do I know you?" Claire answered suspecting
an obscene call.
"You know my work."
"What work?" asked Claire impatiently, checking the
Caller I.D. display. The call was blocked. It did not show
the caller's telephone number.
"Pictures of dead women."
Suddenly alert, Clair sat up straight in her chair.
"Do you know who gave Ms Crawford the heroin?"
"Yes."
"Do you know that by withholding this information, you could
be charged with obstruction of justice or even an accessory to
murder after the fact?"
"I'm not trying to withhold anything."
"OK, who did it?"
"Your, brother, Tommy Kincaid."
Claire's heart froze. Did Tommy do it? Could she prosecute
her own brother? She quickly dismissed that thought. She
would never prosecute her own brother. She knew Tommy.
He was retarded, but he was no killer. There was no proof.
The caller was just trying to upset her and he had succeeded.
"You're wrong," said Claire sure of herself.
"Check your mail for a videotape, Claire."
The caller hung up.
Claire sorted through her mail. She found a Federal Express
package with a videotape. In the privacy of her office, Claire
watched her brother, Tommy hand heroin to Cynthia Crawford.
She watched Cynthia inject herself and collapse. The entire
murder scene had been taped. A few minutes after the tape
ended, Claire's office phone rang. It was the man's voice again.
"Did you watch it?"
"What do you want?" asked Claire.
"I want you." The voice sounded threatening.
"Blackmail is not going to work," Claire stated with a false
certainty.
"Why not?"
"My brother, Tommy, has diminished mental capacity. No
court would ever convict him of murder."
"I knew you'd defend him."
"He's my brother. What did you expect?"
"You're a prosecutor, Claire. I expected prosecution."
"Sorry to disappoint."
This time, Claire hung up.
Claire locked the incriminating videotape in her desk. She
congratulated herself for not succumbing to a blackmailer.
She had no intention of ever showing this videotape of the
murder to anyone. The crime would just have to go unsolved.
Later that afternoon, the anonymous blackmailer called back.
"Did you share the videotape with your friend, Jack McCoy?"
The man's voice was calm and self-assured, speaking with a
familiarity that repelled Claire.
"No." answered Clair curtly to discourage the caller.
"That's good. Because you were right."
"What do you mean?"
"Tommy does have diminished capacity. He's not the real killer."
"He isn't?" asked Claire not knowing where this conversation
was going.
"No, Tommy just did what you told him."
"What do you mean? Claire said in shock.
"You're the killer."
A cold chill fell across Claire. The caller was crazy. There
was no way she was the killer. She had never been in Cynthia
Crawford's apartment. The accusation was insane.
"You're nuts!" Claire stated boldly, taking the offensive.
"I can prove it." responded the self-assured voice.
"How?" Claire's voice wavered.
"Send a sample of your hair and blood to the police forensics lab.
Ask them to test it against the evidence collected at the murder
scene."
The caller hung up.
Police Forensics Lab
New York Police Department
Tuesday July 19th
Doctor R. Timmons, at the police forensics lab called Claire
Kincaid's Office with the good news.
"Remember those hair and blood samples you gave me for
testing on the Crawford Case?"
"Yes," said Claire.
"We have a match."
"How good a match," asked Claire cautiously.
"As good as it gets without DNA testing. We have a 98%
certainty the two samples are identical. The person those
samples came from was at the murder scene. I can testify to
that in court. Looks like you caught your perp, Claire."
"Ah, that's great, Timmons," said Claire without enthusiasm,
and placed the phone back in its cradle.
Claire's stomach lurched. She felt ill. Doctor Timmons had
just offered to testify in court against her. It was Claire's own
blood and hair in that sample. How did she get into this mess?
Claire buried her head in her hands and broke down in heavy
sobs that quickly turned into a torrent of tears.
328 E. 47th Street New York City
The Fantasy Club
Wednesday July 20th
Claire agreed to meet her anonymous tormentor at the
Fantasy Club. It was 10:00 pm. She had been sitting in
the bar for the past 15 minutes trying to guess the identity of
her blackmailer. Several men had hit on her. She brushed
them off with a maddening hesitation. Uncertain, which man
she was meeting, Claire gave every man a shot at her. She
was not drinking, not laughing, and definitely not having fun.
She looked lost. Claire was a long way from the comfortable,
familiar surroundings of a courtroom. She tugged her skirt
sharply to keep it from riding up over her knees. Waiting for
the blackmailer to reveal himself, made Claire feel dirty like
a whore sitting on a barstool.
Luther Stone enjoyed watching Claire's distress. He delayed
approaching her. He wanted to see how well she handled
herself. She was obviously extremely ill at ease, but managed
to maintain her outward composure. Her pageboy haircut
gave her face a special innocence. Her brown hair caught the
glow from the bar lights, and her gold hoop ear rings sparkled.
Her face was flushed. Her mouth was open. Just like her
brother thought Stone. Dressed in a grey skirt with a cream
colored blouse, she looked dignified. The single string of white
pearls hanging around her neck gave her a touch of sophistication
that set her apart from the all of the other women in the bar. She
looked dignified. He intended to strip her of that dignity.
Claire had not spotted him. She had walked right by his
booth, and he had inhaled her perfume. He liked her scent.
She smelled good. He closed his eyes imagining how he would
take her. Under the table, Stone pushed down on his rising
hard-on, groaning.
Claire continued to search the bar, her face tense. Stone
calmly sipped his drink. He enjoyed watching her shame at
repeatedly rebuffing the attentions of horny men. He liked
seeing the way her breasts moved underneath her blouse.
The slight jiggle of Claire's breasts against her pearl necklace
was far more erotic then any stripper.
Claire's heart pounded so hard she could feel it through
her blouse. Where was he? She glanced at her watch.
Fifteen after ten. Maybe it was all a cruel hoax! Tears
burned her eyes, and she bit her lip to keep from breaking
down, forcing herself to be strong. Be strong, she urged
herself. You have to be strong. Do not let him get the
best of you.
She was moving toward the bartender to ask if anyone
had left a message for her when someone uttered her name.
"Claire."
She whipped her head around, peering through the darkness.
It was someone sitting at a booth table in the shadows. She
moved off the bar stool and toward the table. She could make
out the outline of a man. As she got closer, her eyes lit up with
recognition.
She looked at Stone, confused.
"Hi, Luther Stone."
"Hello, Claire."
Politely, Stone stood up and let Claire slide into the booth
toward the far wall, then he sat down blocking her only exit.
To her dismay, Stone layed his hand on top of hers and held
it lightly as if they were lovers.
"Didn't think you'd meet me here, did ya?"
"I thought you were still in Attica serving a five year drug
sentence."
Claire glanced around the bar afraid to try to withdraw her
hand from his. She avoided looking Stone directly in the eyes.
She needed time to catch her breath, and calm her breathing
before speaking. She needed to sound firm and in control.
When she finally looked at Stone, he was gazing at her breasts.
She glanced away embarrased.
"I got out for good behavior," said Stone giving her a lewd
wink.
Claire was not certain what to say. She looked down at
her lap, wondering if Stone was the blackmailer. She kept
telling herself to withdraw her hand, but her nerve failed her.
"Look at me, Claire. I've waited a long time for this."
Claire looked up. "What? What have you waited for?"
"To claim you. You're mine," said Stone possessively.
Anger flared on Claire's usually passive face. She was no
man's toy. She was no man's possession. She yanked her
hand out from under his. How dare he!
"They should have locked you up for life!" Claire said
bitterly.
Claire waited. She expected Stone to strike back, but he
remained calm. He seemed amused by Claire's outburst.
Stone slowly raised his drink and took a sip, setting the
glass back on the table before speaking. When he spoke,
between almost closed lips, it sounded to Claire like the
hiss of a snake.
"Don't make me angry, bitch. I own you."
The tip of his tongue flicked between his lips.
Stone smiled.
Claire glared back.
All doubt was gone.
He was the blackmailer.
"What do you want?" asked Claire wanting to end this
encounter.
Stone leaned closer. He looked like he was about to
whisper in her ear but he quickly grabbed Claire's head with
his hands. He pressed his lips to hers, forcefully kissing her.
He thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, and then suddenly
reversed the assault by possessively sucking her tongue into
his own mouth. Claire struggled to escape this forced embrace,
repulsed by his boldness, terrified by the lightening fast assault.
She finally broke away, retreating from Stone until her back
was against the wall.
"You bastard!" Claire gasped wiping her mouth with the
back of her hand to get his taste out of her. Frantic, she
looked around the bar expecting someone to come to her
assistance, but no one was paying any attention. The taste
of his drink filled her mouth. Claire was furious. But kissing
in a stripper bar was not unusual. No one noticed her
distress.
Claire's face felt hot. Blood rushing to her head made the
veins in her temple throb. She gripped the edge of the table
ready to run. But she was trapped. Claire was determined
not to let Stone force himself on her again. Stone lifted a
hand, and Claire flinched as if she expected to be slapped.
A bar maid responded to his wave. She took Stone's drink
and gave him another.
Claire watched him in fear. Stone studied Claire like a
snake, squinting his eyes into small slits, moving his head from
side to side as if were looking for a place to strike. Claire's
eyes grew wide with fear. She blinked rapidly, alert for an
attack. She hated Stone, but felt strangely attracted to him.
He had power over her. He had something she wanted. He
had a videotape of her brother, Tommy at the scene of a drug
related murder. She needed the tape, and she needed Stone's
silence. Stone was dangerous. He could strike out without
warning. Claire felt vulnerable. And she feared Stone's bite
could be deadly.
"If you cooperate, I'll give you the tape of your brother,
and I'll forget it ever happened," Stone said coldly. He
looked sincere. But could Claire trust him?
Claire regained her composure. "You want a little
'quid pro quo'?" she asked boldly.
"That's right, honey. Move closer to me."
Claire slid away from the wall toward Stone. The booth
table could easily sit three and there was still a considerable
gap between them.
"A little more," urged Stone.
She moved closer.
Stone made no move to touch her.
"More," said Stone.
Claire moved toward Stone until her leg almost touched his.
They were sitting side by side as close as a couple could sit
without touching.
"Relax," smiled Stone. "This is not going to hurt."
Claire needed help. She never should have agreed to meet
Stone. She never should have come into a stripper bar alone.
The craziness of her plight was maddening. She could not call
the police. Even if there were a policeman in the bar, what
could she tell him? She had been kissed without permission?
As a New York District Attorney, she knew the hopelessness
of such an accusation. Stone would talk his way out of it, and
she would end up looking like a fool. What if she told the truth?
If Claire told the police Stone had videotaped evidence of a
murder, Stone would say that he had already given the tape to
Claire. He was the just the good citizen trying to help out, but
she could get disbarred for non-disclosure of evidence. Then
there was the physical evidence to explain. Her blood. Her hair.
If she admitted being blackmailed, her brother risked a murder
conviction.
Claire peered into the darkness of the bar. Maybe, someone
in the bar could help her. But how? Even if she escaped Stone
this evening, nothing changed. He would simply call her for
another date. And she would come. The awful truth hit home.
She would come. Claire felt Stone's hand gently rubbing her
thigh out of sight, under the table. Claire knew there was no
way out. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
Ashamed to let Stone see her tears, Claire turned her head
away from him and urged herself to be strong. She breathed
deeply to regain her sense of balance. Stone mistook it for a
gasp of pleasure, and moved his hand higher between her legs.
Claire reminded herself that she was an intelligent District
Attorney, a lawyer trained to talk her way out of any situation.
She could reason with him. But with Stone's hand rubbing
between her legs, her brain on gone on vacation. Her brilliant
legal mind had turned to mush.
Stone yanked her skirt above her thigh's, all the way to her
panties, before withdrawing his hand. Looking Claire directly
in the eyes, he moved his hand over his drink and dipped his
fingers into the alcohol. Claire watched Stone wet his fingers,
and lower his hand under the table. She recoiled from the wet
fingers with revulsion. Suddenly, she seethed with anger. Claire
lost her temper. She shouted at Stone.
"Keep your fingers away, or I'll call the police!"
As soon as the words flew from her mouth, Claire was
embarrassed by how silly they sounded. People nearby
stopped talking. They looked at Claire expectantly. Stone
raised his drink, toasting the onlookers, and smiled affably.
Claire hunched down in the booth, embarrassed. She
wanted to disappear. Calling attention to herself with a
man like Stone in a stripper bar was the last thing Claire
needed. Her reputation would be ruined.
"Go ahead and call the cops," Stone challenged her.
He leaned toward Claire and grabbed her hand.
She tried to pull it away, but he held it firmly.
"You're a bad girl, Claire."
"You don't own me," insisted Claire. "I won't let you."
Clair spat the words out of her mouth like an prosecutor
demanding a maximum sentence.
Sensing her determination, Stone released Claire's hand.
His eyes wandered over her body, tracing the contours of
her curves. It made her feel violated, and dirty. But Stone
stopped touching her. He respected her resistance. He
nodded begrudingly, waiting while Claire pulled down her
skirt. It was a stand off.
"We can work something out," offered Claire.
"We can," agreed Stone amiably.
"You only get one bite of the apple," continued Claire.
"That a legal phrase?" asked Stone.
"Yes. It means this is a one time deal."
"OK. I'll set up an exchange."
Stone stood up. Claire was free to leave the booth. As
she brushed wrinkles out of her skirt, she warned Stone.
"Don't ever touch me again," Claire told him, pressing
her advantage, "or the deal is off and I'll just take my
consequences."
Central Precinct Police Department
Detectives Office
Thursday July 21st
Both Dectives Brisco and Logan were working the telephones
fishing for leads in the Crawford murder investigation. Detective
Brisco called the M.E., Dr. Timmons, for the autopsy results.
Death by misfortune. Death by drugs. Death by accident.
Death by rape. Detective Brisco had seen it all. He did not
expect any help from Dr. Timmons.
"Dr. Timmons, Detective Brisco here. I was hoping you
might have something new on the Crawford autopsy."
"Sorry, but what we have is a heroin overdose, plain and
simple. No other cause of death. From the needle marks,
it looked like Ms Crawford was a long time addict. She was
overdue. It was her time."
"Anything from the rape kit test?" asked Brisco hopefully.
"Sorry, again. All negative. No signs of vaginal trauma.
All sexual activity was consensual. Also, no DNA match with
any registered sex offenders."
"So, you've got nothing for us?" Brisco's voice betrayed his
disappointment.
"Just an I.D. on the perpetrator," said Dr. Timmons.
"Whaddya mean?" shouted Brisco slurring his words with
excitement.
"Didn't Claire tell you? She sent in blood and hair samples
that made a perfect match with those found at the scene."
"She did?"
"Yep! Check with Claire. I think she solved your case for
you."
"Us detectives are always the last to know," said Brisco
hanging up.
So Claire was holding out, thought Brisco. Why would she
do that? What was Claire hiding?
Logan got off the phone.
"I just tracked down the owner of the apartment building.
Guess who owns the Hargrove Lofts?"
"Who?"
"Luther Stone. Three years ago Claire Kincaid sent him
to Attica on a five to seven year drug conviction."
"It's a small world," said Brisco rubbing his chin.
"You get anything new from the forsenic lab?" asked Logan.
"Naw, same old stuff," lied Brisco.
"Maybe we ought to run Luther Stone's prints against the
ones found at the murder scene," suggested Logan.
"Good idea."
"We already have a DNA sample from Stone on file from
his last conviction. Let's check it for a match."
The investigation moved forward.
328 E. 47th Street New York City
The Fantasy Club
Friday July 22nd
At 10:00 am on Friday, the Fantasy Club was closed but
not empty. Footsteps and voices echoed in the church-like
silence. Stone led Claire Kincaid down a long hallway with
doors every few feet. The rooms were very small like
hundreds of confessional booths in a Catholic nightmare.
"These are fantasy booths," explained Stone.
"The customer sits on one side, a nude woman sits on the
other side. Between them is a one-way mirror. The man
can see the woman, but the woman can not see the man.
The man tells the woman what he wants through a speaker
phone."
Claire looked at Stone with relief. This was going to be
easier then she thought.
"And you want me to play your fantasy girl?"
"Bingo!" said Stone.
"What's the fantasy?"
"I'll let that be a surprise."
"Do I have to change into a costume?"
"No, but you may have to undress," Stone admitted.
"How long?" asked Claire Kincaid.
"No more then one hour. When were done, I'll give you
the tape."
Stone unlocked a door with an 'Employees Only' sign, and
guided Claire to a booth. Facing Claire was a mirror window.
I can do this, Claire told herself. He can not touch me. I will
not even have to look at him.
Stone closed the door leaving Claire alone in the fantasy
booth. Claire looked at her reflection in the mirror. She
was dressed casually in a pink blouse and grey skirt. Her
only make up was a light touch of blue eye shadow, and
some pink lipstick. She primped in the mirror, waiting for
Stone to get settled in on the other side.
Stone's voice took Claire by surprise.
"So you came to gloat?" he asked.
"No, that's not true," Claire said in automatic denial.
For a second Claire felt Stone had read her mind. She had
been gloating. Stone would not be touching her. She was
back in control. Words were Claire's life. Twisting words
in courtrooms was Claire's world. If Stone wanted words,
Claire was his woman. She could do this.
"Why else would you visit me here in prison?" asked Stone.
This question caught Claire off balance. This was not a
prison. This was a fantasy booth. Then it hit her. This
was Stone's fantasy. The attractive female district attorney
visiting a convicted felon in prison after his drug conviction.
Claire had prepared herself to talk dirty, and perform to
obscene commands. But Stone did not want blind obedience.
To fulfill Stone's fantasy, Claire would need to play herself.
"Answer my question, bitch!" hissed Stone impatiently.
:"You're a looser, Stone," Claire shouted back.
"So you did come to gloat?"
"Not, gloat. I came to show you what you'll be missing for
the next 5 years."
Claire let her finger trace a path down the middle of her
chest and circled around the curve of her breasts.
"You'd like to see them wouldn't you?"
"Yes, show them to me."
"Make me."
"I can't. You know I'm locked up."
"That's right. The beast is behind bars."
". . . and the beauty is free."
Claire was enjoying this. She really was in control. But she
knew, she would have to submit. If she did not give Stone
his fantasy, there would be no deal. She needed to keep up
her end of the bargain.
"Eat your heart out," Claire said to her reflection, standing
up. Grabbing the edges of her dress with both hands, Claire
watched herself lift it above her waist revealing her white
panties before letting her skirt fall back down. She flashed
a teasing smile at the mirror.
"Take them off."
"Take what off?" asked Claire innocently.
"Your panties."
"Oh, you nasty man," said Claire coquestishly.
But she obeyed. She put her hands under her skirt and
rolled the panties down her long legs. She held her panties
under her nose, and pretended to smell them.
"Hmm! They smell so good."
Claire pressed the panties against the mirror.
"Too bad, you can't smell them."
Claire heard a low moan. She must be doing it right. Why
not speed things up? If he climaxed, she could leave early.
She remembered what a prostitute, she had prosecuted, had
once told her. In the hands of a skilled woman, most men
lasted less then 7 minutes. Just a few squirts, and it was all
over.
"Look at me," Claire commanded watching herself in the mirror
as she unbuttoned her blouse. She cupped her hands beneath
her bra pushing her breasts together.
"Do you like my tits?"
She heard another moan.
Claire lifted both her breasts out their cups and let them hang
out over the top of her bra. She pushed her tits toward the
mirror, letting the nipples brush against the cold glass. Claire
could just imagine what Stone was thinking. She could feel
her nipples harden. She mashed her boobs against the glass
making them bulge, flattening them out. From the other side,
it must look gross thought Claire with satisfaction.
"Are you stroking your cock?" Claire asked into the mirror
so close that her breath left a small cloud of condensation.
"Maybe," answered Stone not giving anything away.
He was as slippery as a snake thought Claire She would
never pin him down. Determined to break Stone, Claire
abruptly slumped in her chair and thrust both feet toward
the mirror, her shoes making a loud snap as they hit the
glass. Her skirt stretched tightly between her open legs,
Claire opened herself up for viewing. She heard another
groan.
"Touch yourself," Stone begged.
Claire pushed her fingers between her legs, spreading
her lips open. With her legs spread wide under her skirt,
Claire was giving Stone a perfect view. Her cunt gaped
open and her puckered asshole was obscenely visible.
She inserted two fingers and fucked herself for Stone's
pleasure. Any minute and it will be over, Claire told
herself. She had no idea what a twisted path Stone's
fantasy would take.
"What if your father saw you like this Claire? Are you
daddy's little whore?" Stoned asked.
"Yes, I'm daddy's whore." Claire responded. She would
say anything to keep the fantasy going.
"What about your brother, Tommy? Would you fuck
him, too?"
"Yes, I want to fuck Tommy."
"I..." She stopped, unable to say the words. Claire
swallowed hard and started again. "I want to fuck my
brother, Tommy."
"Yes, you want his big hard cock," urged Stone.
"I want him to fuck me with his hard cock. I want to
be my brother's sex slave. Tommy can fuck my pussy, or
take me in the ass. I've wanted to fuck my brother for a
long, long time."
"Suck on your fingers, Claire."
Claire pushed the fingers from her left hand into her mouth.
"No. Your other hand. Suck on the fingers that were
in your pussy."
Claire shook her head in refusal.
"Do it Claire. Do it for your brother, Tommy."
Claire was puzzled. What was this incestuous fantasy about
Tommy? She brushed the fingertips of her right hand over
her lips, finally pushing them inside her mouth. She licked her
fingers, trailing her tongue all the way down to the fingernails,
as if she were licking a cock.
"Again."
Claire took her saliva coated fingers and penetrated herself
again. She fucked herself briefly before moving her fingers
into her open mouth and sucking loudly.
"Aah, that's good Claire. You're a good little girl."
Claire increased her efforts. She alternated her thrusting
fingers from mouth to pussy and back again until she was
dripping. A small pool of fluids was forming between her
legs.
"Beg for it, Claire," Stone hissed.
She didn't reply.
"Beg for Tommy's cock!"
"No."
"You're a dripping slut. Beg Tommy to fuck you."
Claire's resolve weakened. She needed to end this.
"I want it," Claire whispered.
"Say it, whore. What do you want?"
"I want Tommy to . . ." Claire could not finish.
"Fuck you?"
"Yes," Claire sobbed. She could no longer tell if she was
acting out a fantasy or living a nightmare. Her fingers froze.
"Say it louder," he insisted.
"I want Tommy to fuck me," Claire gasped.
"Keep fingering yourself."
Claire resumed fucking herself with her fingers.
"Say it again."
"Please, fuck me," Claire begged.
"Fuck you where?"
"In my pussy."
"What about your ass?"
"Yes, fuck my ass. Fuck me with your cock."
"Make me feel it, Claire."
"Please fuck me," she sobbed.
Claire heard a long low moan.
"Do it, Claire, masturbate. Make yourself come."
Claire paused. Nervously, she turned her eyes away from
him toward the door. No escape. She realized there was
no way out. Her hesitation thrilled him. Then in shame, she
obeyed his command. There was nothing else to do. Slipping
her fingers over her sopping mound, Claire rubbed herself.
Her body trembled.
Her horror at the thought of what would happen to her if
stopped stroking herself was stronger than her disgust of
Stone, and what he was forcing her to do. Claire's moans
conceded her state of arousal. She was his play toy. She
shuddered.
Claire screamed in a high-pitched wail, shaking her head from
side to side in a frantic effort to deny herself the pleasure of
the climax that was building inside her body, the pleasure she
desparately wanted to avoid. But her orgasm kept building.
The electric sensation flooded through her. A wave of pleasure
swept over her.
Claire could not stop climaxing. Her heart thundered in her
ears. She lost control. Her body trembled more powerfully
then ever, shaking from wave after wave of mind numbing
orgasm. And she started to cry. Tears streamed down her
face. It was the final humiliation. Stone had forced her to
masturbate herself to a climax.
Her dignity had been shattered. She was mortified. She had
shared her most intimate act with Stone, more intimate then
sex itself. He had watched her climax with her breasts hanging
out over the top of her bra, her skirt taut between her spread
legs, and her shoes planted firmly against the mirror window.
Claire could see her own image. She could see herself in the
mirror. She was ashamed. Her dignity had always been of
paramount importance to her. Tears streamed down her face.
Claire moaned in misery.
"I'm not done with you yet, Claire."
"Kiss me, Claire"
Claire puckered her lips and kissed the air.
"No, kiss the mirror."
Claire moved her lips to the mirror.
"Lower."
She moved lower.
"To your left."
Claire obeyed. She pressed her lips against the cold glass,
kissing, twisting her mouth in a gross parody of a kiss, leaving
a circle of smeared lipstick.
"Once more."
Claire kissed the glass again, closing her eyes. When Claire
opened her eyes, her lips were pressed hard against a spurting
cock on the other side of the window. The lamp in her booth
was off. The mirror was now just plain glass. Claire had
expected some sort of trick from Stone, but not this. Never
this. The face behind the glass was not Luther's. It was her
brother, Tommy. Claire watched has her brother's cock gave
one final spurt that dripped down the side of the glass.
Her heart sank.
Claire was devastated.
She was degraded beyond imagination.
In a blind rush, Claire bolted from the fantasy booth. Stone
met her in the hallway, pressing a videotape into her hand.
Claire had earned the tape, but she was too humiliated to
even ask for it. Clasping her unbuttoned blouse together with
one hand, and holding the video tape in the other hand, Claire
ran out of the Fantasy Club. All she wanted was to escape.
723 East Park Avenue
Apartment 327
New York City, N.Y.
Monday July 25th
For several days, Claire deliberately avoided her brother,
Tommy. She left for work early and came home late. She
was too humiliated to face him, but relieved that her ordeal
was over. Claire hoped that with time, Tommy would forget,
and forgive. Stone phoned her at home one evening when
Tommy was out.
"Hello, Ms Kincaid."
Claire recognized his voice immediately.
"We have nothing to discuss Mr. Stone. Just one bite of the
apple. Did you forget?"
Claire was ready to hang up, but Stone's words stopped her.
"Did you enjoy the videotape? It's Tommy's favorite."
Something was wrong. The hair on the back of Claire's neck
stood up. A feeling of dread crept over her. She found the
videotape Stone had pressed into her hand when she fled the
Fantasy Club. Claire inserted it in the VCR. It was the wrong
tape. My God! This was a tape of Clair in the fantasy booth.
My God, thought Claire, Stone had videotaped her through
the mirror.
"You bastard!" Claire yelled into the phone.
"Tommy, loves your video. He has seen it dozens of times.
No one else has seen it. I should sell it as a porno video so
millions of men could watch it and fuck you in their dreams.
Your reputation would be ruined."
"What do you want," Claire sobbed in defeat.
"I want you to have sex."
"I'd die before having sex with you," swore Claire.
"Not me, Claire. I want you to fuck Tommy."
Claire Kincaid's felt her life spinning out-of-control. The
room started to turn. She fainted.
When Claire revived, Tommy was standing over her. He
was rubbing his crotch.
"Tommy," Claire asked.
Tommy looked down at his sister.
"Yes?"
"Do you want to fuck me?"
"I sure do."
Tommy took his shirt off and unbuckled his belt.
"Is Stone forcing you to do this?"
Tommy kicked off his shoes.
"No."
"Then why are you taking off your clothes? It's wrong
to have sex with your own sister."
"It's wrong but I can't stop thinking about it. After watching
the videotape of you fucking yourself, and begging me to fuck
you, I can't get you out of my mind. I want you."
Tommy dropped his pants to the floor. He was already
fully errect. Stone had been exciting Tommy by showing
him the videotape of Claire's pornographic performance
in the fantasy booth. How many times had Tommy seen
the video? Claire had masturbated to save her brother
Tommy from a possible murder conviction. Now Tommy
was going to screw her. All of Claire's good intentions
were turning out wrong. Stone had twisted everything
around. Claire had given up trying to help Tommy. Now
she just wanted to save herself.
Seeing no way out of this forced incest, Claire took off
her clothes and layed down on the bed. Tommy climbed
on top of her. He was awkward. All elbows and knees.
His hot cock throbbed insistently against her thigh. There
were no condoms. Tommy would not be using a condom,
but there would also would be no baby. Claire was on the
pill.
Once he had a goal, Tommy pursued it with a simple
minded determination. His hands were clumsy and
fumbling. He was excited. He would not be stopped.
Claire felt her resolve hardening along with her brother's
errection. She could not do this. She could not fuck her
own brother. Claire kept stalling him. She told Tommy,
she had to get comfortable and moved the pillows. But
Tommy was insistent. Without warning, the telephone
rang. Claire answered the telephone, but it failed to slow
down Tommy's mindless lust.
"Hello, this is Dr. Cook's Office calling from the Metropolitan
Health Center," said a deep rumbling voice.
Claire could feel Tommy's hands pushing her legs apart.
"Hello," said Claire.
"Is Ms Kincaid home?"
"This is Ms Kincaid speaking."
Tommy had managed to get his hips between her legs. She
could not keep them closed. He had won. Nothing would
stop him now. Tommy ignored the fact that Claire was talking
on the telephone. He would fuck her as she talked.
"We're calling to notify you about the test results for Tommy."
Claire felt Tommy's fingers probing inside her. She was wet.
His cock pressed insistently against Claire's inner thigh.
"What results?" Claire asked.
"The HIV test taken last week came back positive."
Without a word, Claire dropped the phone. Stone was going
to kill her. He was using Tommy to kill her. In a panic, she
tried to push Tommy off. But he was too heavy. He pushed
her back onto the bed. Tommy had a weak mind, but strong
muscles. He would win this battle. Claire felt the tip of his
cock touch her outer lips getting ready to thrust himself inside
her. Claire knew. She was dead.
Frantic, Claire whipped her head from side to side looking
for a weapon. She was fighting for her life. Without thinking,
she grabbed a pair of sissors off the night table. She stabbed
Tommy several times in the back. He screamed in pain. His
screams, and the sounds of something falling were heard by
Stone on the other end of the dropped telephone. Claire ran
to her closet. She yanked a gun out of her underware drawer,
pulled a raincoat on over her naked body and fled. Claire
intended to kill herself. Suicide was the only option left.
Claire wandered aimlessly for hours before returning to
her apartment. She had rejected the idea of suicide. If she
killed herself, Stone won. He wanted her dead. She was
determined to live. She wanted to defeat Stone. Her
apartment was empty. A pool of blood had soaked into
her bed. Tommy was gone. A note was taped to the
headboard of the bed.
"Taking care of the body.
Sorry things went bad.
I will never tell anyone.
Love, Luther"
My God thought Claire. Tommy was dead. Stone had
disposed of the body. She had killed her own brother. In
a daze, Claire stripped the bed, soaked the sheets in cold
water, and made up the bed with fresh sheets. The routine
domestic actions helped numb her mind. It stopped her
from thinking. She was a killer. Claire did not sleep all night.
In the morning, the telephone rang.
"Claire, it's Stone."
She did not answer.
"Claire, everything is going to be OK."
"Nothing will ever be OK," Claire mumbled.
She dropped the phone, and started crying. Still wearing her
raincoat, Claire cried herself to the sleep.
When Claire woke up, Stone was holding her. His hands were
caring and gentle. It felt good to be held. But Claire's anger
ignited. Stone was touching her again. His arms were around
her. It would never end. He was reponsible for the death of
her brother, Tommy. Silently, she slipped the gun out of her
raincoat and shot him 3 times at point blank range.
Stone was dead.
Central Precinct Police Department
Detectives Office
Tuesday July 25th
Detectives Brisco & Logan promised to make a slam
dunk case of self-defense in testimony before the grand
jury. Stone was an ex-convict previously convicted by
Claire Kincaide who stalked her. He broke into her
apartment for revenge.
But there are a few loose ends. In Stone's pocket was
a key chain with a large white rabbit's foot. The key
opened the door to Claire's apartment. It belonged to
Claire's brother, Tommy. Tommy was missing. Claire
did not know where he was. In addition to breaking into
Claire Kincaid's apartment, Stone was suspected of foul
play in the disappearance of Tommy Kincaid.
La Guardia Airport
New York City , N.Y.
Saturday July 30th
Detective Logan was returning his daughter, Megan, to her
mother. She was departing on American Airlines fllight 818
from New York to Tampa, Florida at 10:00 am. He shared
joint custody with his ex-wife.
After his daughter, Megan, pre-boarded, Detective Logan
noticed a disturbance at an adjacent arriving flight from Florida.
Tommy Kincaid was sitting on the floor surrounded by 3
airport security guards. He was crying, and yelling that his
rabbit's foot was lost. Detective Logan intervened.
"Tommy Kincaid, I'm Detective Logan. I work with your
sister. Do you remember me?"
Tommy grabbed Detective Logan's leg in a hug.
"Can you help me find my rabbit's foot?"
"I already found it. It's in the police property room.
"Do you know where my sister is?"
"Yes, she went to Luther Stone's funeral."
"Stone is dead?"
"Yes, he did something bad." Detective Logan did not want
to mention his attack on Tommy's sister. Tommy was already
upset.
"Stone was good, not bad. He sent me to Disneyworld."
"Is that where you've been for the past week?"
"Yes. I had fun."
"Your sister, Claire, will be glad to hear you're OK."
"Let's go find your sister, Tommy."
"I don't know my way home," Tommy said.
"Come with me."
Tommy took Detective Logan's hand.
St. Luke's Memorial Cemetary
3582 Lake Drive
Saturday July 30th
Following the advice of her psychiatrist, Claire Kincaid
attended the burial ceremony for Luther Stone. It was
intended to provide closure. By attending the burial, she
might avoid developing post-traumatic stress.
Detective Lenny Brisco and Claire Kincaid stood apart
from Luther Stone's family watching the first shovel full of
dirt dumped on the casket. It was a small gathering. No
more then four not counting the minister, Claire, and Brisco.
"Life is a mystery," repeated Detective Brisco mimicking
the eulogy of the minister.
Claire remained silent.
"Death is a mystery, too," continued Brisco. He looked at
Claire as if he expected her to answer.
"But not everyone's death is mysterious," finished Brisco.
Claire looked at Detective Brisco.
"What are you trying to say?" Claire asked.
Detective Brisco did not answer. He watched Luther's family
and the minister walk away. They headed across the grass to
their cars. The funeral was over. Claire and Brisco were alone.
"There is no statute of limitations on murder, is there? Detective
Brisco asked Claire.
"It was self-defense," said Claire.
"I was talking about your brother, Tommy."
"Tommy?"
Claire could not look Detective Brisco in the eyes. He knows,
she thought. He knows what happened.
"I read the note written by Luther Stone about disposing of
Tommy's body. You conspired with Stone to cover up Tommy's
death, and then you killed Stone so he couldn't blackmail you."
Claire Kincaid offered a weak rebuttal.
"In the end, Luther Stone received justice. Not courtroom
justice, but justice none-the-less," she said.
"But what about you?" Det. Brisco looked at Claire.
He knows, thought Claire.
"Me?"
"Which do you want, justice or redemption?"
After a long period of silence, Claire hung her head and
whispered, "Justice should be tempered with mercy."
"Follow me to my car and I'll give you some hard mercy."
He cupped his groin.
Detective Brisco was confident. He knew people. Claire
was guilty. He turned his back on her, and walked toward
his car without looking back. Claire stood still for a long
time before making her first step.
Inside the police car, Claire unziped Detective Brisco's
pants. She sucked him into her mouth without a word.
Getting a blow job in a cemetary by an assistant district
attorney right after attending a burial was a new one for
Brisco. A sense of unreality enveloped him. He climaxed
almost immediately.
Someone shouted. A man was running up the cemetary
hill toward Brisco's car. He shoved Claire's head off his
lap. It was Tommy Kincaid. Claire heard Tommy yelling
her name. Tommy was alive. He was running up the hilll
with Detective Logan trailing behind.
Detective Brisco zipped up, confused. If Tommy was
alive, why did Claire Kincaid just give him a blow job?
"Life is a mystery," Claire repeated Brisco's own words
back to him. She flashed him a quick smile before opening
the car door to run toward Tommy.
Detective Logan joined his partner Lenny Brisco. They
watched as Claire and Tommy hugged.
"A strange case, huh?" commented Logan.
"Stranger then you'll ever know," agreed Brisco.
*********************************************
This story was based on the characters from the show
"Law and Order". The story was written in the bathtub
with one foot controlling the hot water fawcet. My big
toe reminded me of a rabbit's foot, and thus the story
was written. The author got wrinkled like a prune, but
the readers got "Redemption" by Dafney Dewitt.
*********************************************
Dafney Dewitt (DafneyDewit@Juno.com)
--
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>