 |
|||
|
|
A Locked Room Mystery
By Akkano
John Longbottom, an accountant and entrepreneur, has fallen into the clutches of Ms. Marina, a particularly cruel and sadistic dominatrix.
But who is this mysterious Ms. Marina? And how did she mange to piss into Longbottom’s whiskey, slip cyanide into it and murder him in front of eight witnesses, without anybody noticing anything? Join the world renowned detective, Ms. Cheryl Holmes, aided and abetted by her sidekick (and her spouse), Jane Holmes as she unravels the mystery and unearths the startling solution, which is plausible only within the femdom setting.
Prologue
Well John, you bastard, I have you now and you know it. How does it feel? You wronged me horribly, caused me a great deal of pain and misery. Well, you will pay, pay and pay again for it and I will take enormous pleasure in ensuring you never have neither the ego, strength nor pride to put another human being in such a position. You will pay John, and
pay for the rest of your miserable life. All your life you have given grief to others, Let us see how you like it, now that the shoe will be on the other foot. Your unending nightmare is about to begin. Welcome to the terror dome…
Flashback-One
John was apprehensive as he knocked softly on Ms. Marina's room. She had summoned him by the simple and age old method of blackmail; the documents she had scanned to him being convincing enough for him to know Marina could ruin him for life if she chose. According to her, there was but one course left to him.
Submission.
Inside the room, Marina looked at her watch. It was exactly 7.00 p.m. on the dot. Just as she had told him.
Her lips curved into a smile. A smile that was part contempt and part pleasure. She had been convinced from the start that he was trainable and now more than ever she was confident her darkest desires could be achieved. Not only would she remake him into a creature barely recognizable from the man preceding it but doing so would be easy.
She let him stand at her door for a full ten minutes, making enough noise to let him know she was there and he must wait before, in a tone she knew would madden him, saying:
"Come in, it is open."
As John entered her room she was seated at her desk and he looked here and there for a
nonexistent chair.
It took a few moments for him to realize the omission was deliberate and she intended for
him to remained standing in front of her.
The woman with his fate in her hands was looking (or pretending to look) at some papers and normally he would have laughed at such an obvious ploy to make him sweat. But this was not normal. On this occasion he was actually sweating.
After a few minutes she looked up, peered at him over her reading glasses and examined him critically, as if she would examine an object. "Take off your clothes."
Take off my clothes, really? He thought to himself. Be naked in front of this fully clothed
woman, give up the control to her completely? In his business dealings so far, he had
invariably come out on top (if sometimes after a bit of struggle). Should he capitulate to her completely then? He looked at her. She looked simply ravishing, gorgeous in her plain cotton business suit.
He thought of refusing. But then he thought of the incriminating documents she had sent him, which were still on his hard disk. Even if that may not send him to prison, it would almost certainly mean financial ruin, followed by a divorce.
He complied with a sigh and removed his shirt and trousers; the smirk of derision greeting their removal guaranteed to heighten his sense of shame and helplessness.
"Good boy.” she said patronizingly. “I see you are wearing your wife's dirty underwear and bra like I told you to. Boy, won't she be surprised if she could see you now."
She laughed.
It was laughter that seemed almost demented to him and, if he had not known better, he
would definitely have described her as insane.
“What do you think your sainted wife would say if she could see you now?” she asked.
He opened his mouth to speak, the prospect of the woman he loved seeing him in such a
condition before another triggering outrage, but she cut him off sharply:
“Silence! That was rhetorical. When I want you to speak I’ll give you permission.”
Wonderment replaced his outrage. Was she serious? Did she truly expect a man such as him to only speak when spoken to?
"Now take off that dirty, disgusting lingerie," the interruption to his thoughts made answer.
He hesitated, not wanting to be naked in front of her while she was fully clothed. Ms Marina sensed his hesitation and she was furious. "I will teach you to disobey me, you sniveling bastard."
She held the lingerie with both hands and tore it off his body, leaving him fully naked.
“Now, hold on a minute there,” he protested, gravity of his situation forgotten under the
outrage. “That was expensive stuff, I bought it myself. You can’t just throw your weight
about like this.”
“Expensive, really? What do I care about expense? Anyway, if we are talking about money, let us look at the consequences of you defying me.”
She opened up her laptop and brought a document on the screen. “See this letter here? You outline your misdeeds in here, in almost a gloating manner. Note your signature at the bottom.”
She brought up another document.
“This is where you swindled poor Tom out of a significant amount of money by insider
trading. This represents proof positive of insider trading. I am sure district attorney will be interested in this. But this is the corker.”
She pulled up yet more evidence incriminating him.
“After Tom declared bankruptcy, this is where you swindled his poor widowed mother of
whatever nest egg she had built up for herself. You persuaded her to give her nest egg to
Tom, so that he may dig himself out of the hole.”
John bit into his lip and forced himself to remain silent; hearing his exploits spoken of aloud somehow making his situation seem all the more dire.
“And what was the consequence? Not only did Tom go under, but the widow lost her nest
egg into the bargain.”
Her voice and tone grew colder.
“She had to go on welfare. A woman of her age. And all because you…”
She broke off, not needing to finish.
“No matter, it is all documented here. What is more, you did all this on your company’s time, using your employer’s resources. If this is all made public, you are very likely looking at conviction for a white collar crime.”
The prospect did nothing to belay John’s rising panic at the situation in which he had placed himself and of which she had control.
“At the very least you are looking at loss of your reputation, loss of your job and millions of dollars in judgment against you.”
That rising panic reached his mouth in the form of bile.
“In a sense,” she went on, obviously delighted at the barrel of which she was in the process of tying him over, “I almost wish you do defy me. There is nothing I would like better than to ruin you for life.”
He believed her.
“But, being the softhearted soul I am and feeling sorry for you, I am giving you another
chance.”
John believed this also, though he was not at all convinced it would go well for him.
“Now I don’t want any backtalk from you. Remember, your utter ruin is only a mouse click away.”
He wanted to reason with her, to talk himself out of the situation the way he had talked
himself out of so many situations threatening to him, but he remembered her order that he not speak until spoken to and remained silent.
For now.
"Get on the bed," she snapped, practically pushing him to the mattress to land with a thud. Skillfully, and in what seemed no more than a matter of seconds, she chained his hands and feet to the bed and left him on his back, fully exposed to her, before gagging him with his wife's dirty, expensive and torn lingerie.
Then she took out the leather belt she was wearing and proceeded to whip him systematically for a long time. Angry, red welts soon appeared on his body. Tears of pain started flowing from his eyes, down his cheeks. He started to whimper, his sound being muffled by the gag. After a while she started to sweat from the effort. She stripped down to bra and panties and kept up the beating.
When eventually – after what seemed an eternity to her agonized victim - she became tired, she stopped and dumped his body on to the floor, removing his gag and the fetters restraining him before seating herself in a chair and lighting a cigarette.
As soon as the gag was removed, John started bawling at the top of his voice, not caring that she, the instigator of his agony was sitting calmly in a chair, smoking as she witnessed his unmanly and self-pitying response to her beating of him.
He was hurting all over, the body now covered in angry red welts transmitting searing
messages of white-hot pain to his nervous system and, never having endured pain in his life, he found he could do no more than scream in the hope that venting in such a way would lessen the torment he was feeling and she was watching.
Already, he was mentally broken, all defiance beaten out of him.
If he had not realized it beforehand, he now knew Marina had not been kidding when she had promised him pain. All it had taken had been one simple, if vicious, beating for him to become mortally afraid of her. Through his agony, and shaming to him as it was, he told himself he would do anything to please her. Anything to avoid a repeat of the beating.
She paid him no attention, but smoked in silence as his screams reduced to sobs and then to whimpers; which was when, to the surprise of both of them, he did something that gave proof of just how effective and revelatory that “simple” beating had been.
Barely believing he was about to do it, recently raised wounds still screaming at him and
desiring no repeat of the beating responsible for their existence, he decided to pre-empt any such intentions on his blackmailer and tormentor’s part to repeat them.
Sliding with immense difficulty, movement stirring the angry red welts on his torso to fresh levels of discomfort, he shuffled across to her and lifted a foot to place its heel in the palm of his hand.
Amazed by a show of deference she had fully expected her victim to be making, if nowhere near as swiftly, she waited for his next move.
The breath left her body then, when, as if he were on some kind of auto-pilot, he placed his lips upon her big toe with reverence. Oxygen even harder to come by when he placed that toe in his mouth and begin to lick and suck.
Ms. Marina all but orgasmed at this show of deference and submission towards her and any doubts she may have entertained on the question of being capable of “training” him were suddenly a thing of the past.
If he behaved in so servile a manner after just one single taste of her belt – and a milder taste than she had at first intended – just how enslaved to her would he be after experiencing a full range of the sadism he inspired her to?
With even more confidence – certainty even – she leaned back to enjoy the sensation of
already having reduced this once proud and over-bearing man to a beaten thing at her feet.
Only after he had licked and kissed her from toe to foot and covered every inch of her slightly sweaty flesh with his servile tongue did he stop. Having thought it would have placated her, he was jolted from his contemplations when she was immediately onto him.
“Did I tell you to stop, you son of a bitch?” she hissed, face a mask of sadistic intent despite the fact he had not needed to be ordered to do it in the first place.
Feeling something inside him give way, the agony of his wounds keeping her recent
treatment of him fresh in the memory, John again broke down – this time more fully. Great heart-wrenching sobs convulsed his body and the woman intent upon owning him utilized his weakness. Pretending to be moved by his anguish she positioned herself on the carpet beside him.
“What’s the matter, darling?” she asked in a deceptively maternal voice as she maneuvered his head to her breast.
John allowed his face to bury itself in her ample, soft bosom and found himself reverting to childhood, crying his heart out as he returned to the security and safety of the breast, only minimally aware of the sweat he could smell drying on her body as he succumbed once again to the motherly authority he had thought was a thing of the past. Even if it was not intended to remain maternal. Sensing his capitulation, Marina started caressing his face with her fingers and made soothing noises:
"It's all right, sweetie. You obey mommy each time, without hesitation, and she won't have to punish you."
She produced an handkerchief and wiped his eyes with it.
“Blow", she said, to him, holding the handkerchief to his nostrils.
He blew into it and she wiped his nose.
"Now open your mouth. Your mistress has a treat for you."
When he did as she asked, she flicked the ash from her cigarette onto his tongue, the
motherly and the maternal vanished; smiling as she pressed her cigarette to his nipple and put it out. He cried out with pain.
Holding his chin in her fingers to keep his face steady, she bend down, brought her face close to his, and spat in his mouth.
He could smell her breath, could see the thick, foamy spit leave her mouth to enter his and descend onto his tongue in a thick column.
Left with no other choice, he mixed her saliva with the cigarette ash and swallowed, feeling revulsion at the whole process as he remembered her saying in one of her emails, that their meetings would be pleasurable.
The emails she had written at such length had neglected to add the meetings would be
pleasurable only for her.
Finally, as she looked down on his hapless, pathetic form, she took pity on him. Raising a cup of her bra, exposing one large breast, she held his face in her fingers and gently
guided her long, brown tit into his mouth. The expression he couldn’t see triumphant as,
automatically, he shut his eyes and started sucking contentedly, tasting the salty sweat on her breast as she let him nurse for a few minutes.
After a while, wounds still painful but soothed somewhat by his return to infancy, he began to doze off.
Only to be slapped awake viciously:
"That was your first lesson, bitch. A lesson in pain and power. My power! Now get out.'
Chapter-One
The Locked Room Mystery occurred more than 20 years ago.
That was when Mr. John Longbottom of Salt Lake City, Utah committed suicide.
At least that was the official verdict; there were rumours that it was actually murder.
My close friend and spouse Cheryl Holmes was involved in the case. She is a world
renowned detective, and respected all over the world. She has been unsuccessful in very few cases, of which Locked Room Mystery was one.
At least that is the commonly held wisdom until now; the consensus of opinion among the uninformed being, that she could not decide whether it was suicide or murder (the official verdict notwithstanding).
Well, let me put those doubts to rest here.
Incidentally, I am Jane Holmes, close friend and spouse of Cheryl Holmes. We have been in a long term relationship, lasting many years, a relationship that has blossomed since the final year of our high school. To both of us, it was love at first sight and there was magic between us right from the beginning. This has been my only relationship, while Cheryl had a short fling with another girl before we hooked up. We have been married for more than ten years now (both of us are Canadian citizens, and our marriage is perfectly legal all over Canada) and at the time of our betrothal I changed my name from Jane Watson to Jane Holmes.
Anyway, to come back to the Locked Room Mystery; I can state here categorically that it was not one of Cheryl's failures and she was able to solve the case. I will present the solution here, secure in the knowledge that - with the recent death of certain parties involved in the case - the truth may finally be revealed.
The facts are well known, mainly because the circumstances surrounding the case are so
strange and so mysterious and would have to have been to attract my easily bored Cheryl in the first place.
We were vacationing in Utah at that time when it first came to our attention. As ever we had our ever faithful servant, Reginald, with us and were enjoying The Great Salt Lake, Bryce Canyon, Timpanogos Caves, and the natural beauty that is Utah. We were, in fact, having a great time, with dear Reggie acting as our chauffeur for the rental car.
In Utah, we were often mistaken for sisters (Miss Cheryl Holmes and Miss Jane Holmes). In actual fact we were 'sisters', though in a different sense and we never corrected the wrong impression (not in Utah). We were acquainted with John and Heather Longbottom and she had invited us for an evening of duplicate bridge. Evidently she was going to participate in some tournament and this was supposed to be a practice session.
We had known the Longbottoms for several years by then. Heather was a devout Mormon, John not so. However, they were both very liberal in outlook and had no problem forming friendships with people who were unlike themselves (which explains their friendship with us, two lesbians). They were also somewhat familiar with the femdom scene in Utah (such as it was), Mistress Lilith, a prominent dominatrix in Utah being a childhood friend of Heather. Hence, when we told her that we were planning to visit Salt Lake City, she invited us for the duplicate bridge game.
Reggie dropped us off at Heather’s house and we all of us gathered at around 7.00 p.m. in the spacious card room. Duplicate bridge of course, needs eight players. There was myself, Cheryl, Heather and her mother (Mrs. Monica Barnes). There was also Mistress Lilith and her sub, together with a Mr. George Forester, and Miss Melody Finch, Heather's younger sister.
Heather introduced everybody around and just as we were about to begin, John Longbottom walked in. It was not difficult to see he was in something of a foul mood.
"Hard day at the office, dear?" Heather asked.
"No, hard evening at home." John grumbled. "Boss told me to do an account in a hurry, he wants it by tomorrow. Of course he couldn't tell me this before, he had to tell me just as I was about to leave. It seems some outfit wants the completed account of their audit by tomorrow.”
He appeared to notice his guests for the first time:
“Oh, hello Cheryl. Hello, George."
"Hello John,” Cheryl greeted him. “Which account is that?"
"Some infernal outfit called Internal System Devices,” he told her with a put-upon smile
before turning to Heather.
“Anyway, I will be busy the entire evening, darling" he said, kissing his wife then taking in the rest of the gathering. "You people enjoy yourselves and have fun.”
He turned to go but turned back as a thought occurred to him:
“Sorry, Heather, nearly forgot; I must leave for New York early in the morning, with the
completed account. Best if I sleep in my office tonight, if you don't mind."
And, so saying, he kissed her again before retreating to his office next to the card room and shutting the door behind him.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and our game began in earnest. The maidservant, Teresa was around to see if we needed anything, but we were pretty much absorbed in the game. John was in his office throughout and after about two hours, we broke for a drink. At that time, Longbottoms' maid entered John's office to see if he wanted a drink and, while we could not see our absent host, we could hear him.
"Eh, what? No, nothing for me Teresa, thank you. I have already made coffee with the coffeemaker in my office."
The maid left his office and closed the door behind her, obviously having been waved away. Just then Heather got up:
"Excuse me, folks, but I forgot about John's whiskey. Teresa, get me a bottle of Blue Label from the bar and open it. Have you washed the decanter yet?"
"Yes, Mrs. Longbottom, I washed it in the afternoon. It is there on the kitchen table."
There was a small kitchen next to the card room.
"Well, go get a bottle of Blue Label from the bar and pour it into the decanter. Leave the
decanter on the table."
Teresa was back in a few minutes.
"The decanter is full and on the table, Mrs. Longbottom."
"Thank you, Teresa. I will put it in Mr. Longbottom's room."
She smiled at the rest of us:
"Would anybody like a glass of whiskey? How about you and your sub, Lilith?”
Her inquiry was couched in the perfectly normal tones of a hostess to her guests and it struck me that Heather was perfectly comfortable with the unconventional relationship between Lilith and her submissive.
"During a duplicate game?” Lilith laughed. “Give me a break, duplicate is a serious business. None for me thanks. Nothing for my sub either."
The sub looked disappointed and gazed wistfully at the decanter and then at his mistress, but did not say anything.
"Anybody else? George?"
“Blue Label, you say? Well, Blue Label is always welcome."
"Sis?"
"Oh, why not. I don't take this duplicate business seriously anyway."
Heather gave her a dirty look but did not comment further, saying to the maid instead:
"Teresa, fetch two whisky glasses"
Theresa curtsied. “Yes, ma’am.”
Heather got up, went to the kitchen, brought the full decanter to the table and poured George a generous drink as Lilith’s sub looked on enviously. She repeated it for Melody, pouring her a much smaller drink, then replaced the stopper and immediately opened the door to John's office and went in.
"Here is your whiskey, dear. I will leave it right here in front of you, on the table."
We heard John grunt in response and Heather closed the door to his office behind her before visiting the bathroom and joining the card table again.
Soon the game was in full swing and requiring our full concentration. It was not until another hour or so had passed that Teresa the maid again entered John’s office to ask him if he needed anything (this at Heather’s urging) and was again shooed away.
The game progressed and pretty soon it was around 11.00 p.m. We could still see the light beneath the door leading to John's office.
"John is working really hard. Isn't it about time he hit the sack?" George wondered.
"Well, when he is busy like that, I don't like to disturb him," Heather said
"Well, I don't mind" Monica said firmly, taking full advantage of her mother-in-law status. Leaving the table she moved to the office and opened the door before saying to him in a no nonsense voice:
"John, it is getting late. Time for you to go to sleep. You have a long day ahead tomorrow. Whatever is left, you can finish on the plane tomorrow."
Through the open door I could see John look up.
"Oh, hello, Monica. Well I am finished anyway."
Preceded by his mother-in-law, whose word obviously held some sway with him, he came out of the office and greeted the crowd.
"Hello again, everybody. Sorry for being such a poor host, but I’m sure my lovely Heather has more than made up for it. I have to say good night, but I hope we can all get together when things are less...” it seemed to me that he hesitated, looking for the correct – or at least, apt – word “…hectic for me.”
His eyes flickered to the maid;
“I’ll have my usual drink of Blue Label and hit the sack.”
With that he turned his attention back to Heather:
“Goodnight, dear."
After kissing his wife he retreated to his room once again.
Just then I got an interesting hand. Bidding soon skyrocketed to game level and Cheryl bid Four Clubs - the Gerber Convention we had agreed upon. I dutifully replied Four Hearts, showing one ace. Cheryl startled me by bidding Six Hearts. Evidently she had forgotten about the Gerber Convention and thought it was a genuine suit bid.
As the dummy came down, the sorry state of affairs became all too clear; three loose clubs in each hand, two down for sure.
I took a deep breath, attempting to calm myself down, and in my sweetest voice I asked
Cheryl: "Dear, did you forget that we agreed to play the Gerber Convention?"
The expression on her face told me everything, but I knew it would not do for me to remain angry as it would be bad for the play. I also knew I must try to salvage the contract.
If I could.
Fortunately diamonds split three each between the two defenders and I was able to establish the thirteenth diamond for an extra trick. That still left the problem of one trick.
By trick eight I had placed every card and could see my way to a brilliant trump squeeze.
This was going to be great. No way will they reach this contract at the other table, and it
should mean a big score for us on this deal.
Just as I was about to play the key card to initiate the trump squeeze, there was a big crash from John's office and we all stood up, startled.
Rushing from the table, Heather tried to open John's office, but it was locked.
"Dear, are you all right?"
There was no answer and Heather became frantic:
"My God, something has happened to John."
"Hold on there, Heather," George said as Lilith’s sub joined him and the two men crashed
into the door with their shoulders.
Fortunately the door was not strong and it caved in quickly to reveal John's body lying on the floor, next to the bed. The glass of whisky had slipped from his hand and glass fragments and whisky were all over the floor. Heather was in first, everybody following her.
She fell prostrate on John's body.
"Are you all right, John? Speak to me."
Cheryl was at the back of the crowd (no doubt still thinking of the goof she made of the
Gerber Convention) and only gradually edged her way forward until she was at the stricken man’s side.
"Heather, don't touch anything,” she said almost immediately, her natural instincts of
detection and procedure kicking in and making her seem, unintentionally, less than
sympathetic.
“John is dead," she said, releasing his pulse.
I thought Heather would faint, but she somehow managed to keep herself together.
"Please all of you,” Cheryl continued, “do not handle anything. The police will expect
everything to be left undisturbed.” She allowed this to sink in then, to the maid:
“Teresa, call the local police now and tell them there has been a…” realizing the effect her words were having on the Heather, she caught herself. “Tell them there has been an accident and to come as swiftly as possible.”
I noticed the whiskey decanter was standing on the night table next to the bed and that it was still open with the stopper beside it. Unobtrusively, and without touching it, I leaned in to sniff the contents and detected a faint odour of almonds.
"Cyanide," I muttered before, forgetting the injunction not to touch anything, I opened the window.
And those are the facts as seen by Sergeant Robert Spencer when he arrived on the scene.
Robert saw Cheryl and immediately recognized her.
"Hello, Miss Holmes, glad to meet you. I am Sergeant Robert Spencer, but you can call me Bob."
She introduced me to the Sergeant.
"Listen Miss Holmes,” he said, taking her aside, “I’ve heard about you and any help you can give me in the matter would be most appreciated."
With her usual succinctness and always willing to be of service, Cheryl described to him the events of the evening.
"On the surface it appears to be suicide,” she told him. “I don't see how anybody could have introduced cyanide into the whisky - I assume it was in the whisky.
She looked to me and I nodded before she went on:
“From what I can see at first glance, he must have done it himself."
At that point, George stepped forward.
"Hello, Sergeant, I am George Forester, a friend of John's. There is no way I will believe this to be suicide. John did not have the demeanor of a man about to commit suicide and neither was he the type. He was working his butt off for the past several hours and talked of going to New York tomorrow.”
He looked at his wrist-watch.
“Well, today, seeing that it is past 12.00 a.m. I’m sure the others here would agree with me."
There were general murmurs of agreement as the Sergeant considered the situation..
"Well, the coroner should be here soon,” he said. “I’ll have the whisky from the glass and the decanter tested for cyanide."
"Bob, one suggestion, if I may.”
“By all means, Miss Holmes,” he agreed, the out of place honorific evidence that, along with most of Utah, he considered us sisters rather than two women joined together by matrimony.
“Mr. Forester also had a glass of the same whisky,” Cheryl pointed out. “The glass is still on the table. Perhaps you may consider having that tested as well.”
Another thought occurred to her:
“Actually, so did Melody"
The Sergeant nodded his agreement.
"I’ll have both tested together with the decanter and Mr. Longbottom’s glass. That should tell us if cyanide was introduced after the whisky entered the office. But since Mr. Forester and Miss. Finch are still very much with us, I suppose there isn't any doubt of that."
"What about the computers in his office? I remember seeing a laptop on his desk and a
desktop on a table near the wall."
"As I recall, the desktop displayed an error message,” I told him. “Presumably something is wrong with it."
"Well, after they are dusted for fingerprints, we’ll take them in for testing."
By this time a sobbing Heather had been escorted from the office and out of sight of her dead husband’s corpse.
"So what next, Sergeant?" Cheryl asked him.
"Well I suppose we must question the people in the card room."
"To what end? Are you going to ask them where they were when suicide/murder took place? They were all playing cards."
"Then what do you suggest, Miss. Holmes?"
"My suggestion would be to get the whisky tested first, see if the computers yield anything useful. Once we have more information, we may be better situated to question the people involved."
"All right then. When the coroner and the forensics have departed, we will call it quits.
Where may I reach you, Miss Holmes?"
Cheryl supplied him the information and we prepared to take our leave of the grieving widow and supply what consolation we could under the tragic circumstances.
As it turned out we did not get the chance.
"Cheryl, I would like you to look into this affair," Heather declared before we had a moment to speak, making an admirable attempt to stay in control of herself in the face of what had just taken place.
"Me? Why me? The police are handling the case."
"Yes, but I have more faith in you."
"Well, it will cost money, there may be expenses."
Heather wrote out a check.
"Will this cover them?"
"This will more than cover it, you have been generous. I shall see what I can do."
"Thank you, Cheryl. Upon successful conclusion of the case, there will be a handsome fee for you."
Of course, if the above sounds mercenary on Cheryl’s part, you must understand that the
expenses she referred to were very real and nearly always considerable. It was her livelihood after all and, though the Longbottoms were acquaintances, they were not of the close variety and to offer to take on the case for no fee would involve real financial sacrifice on the part of Cheryl – and by association – me.
Anyhow, with nothing to be done until we had a fuller grasp of events, we continued our
sightseeing in and around Salt Lake City. It was two days later when Bob called us.
The rest of the story may be found at www.femdomcave.com
|
|
|