C h a p t e r O n e

The lights inside the apartment were those bright halogen things. Mrs. Morgan had put them in at his request. She'd also sent the curtains out for cleaning, leaving him a perfect view with his 300 power Hoch and Mickler telescope.

He doubted Mr. Morgan would be too worried about the loss of curtains. The apartment was on the fortieth floor and nothing else was nearby. Of course, with the Hoch & Mickler Sean didn't have to be nearby to have a close view of things.

It was a nice looking apartment, luxuriously decorated. The floor to ceiling windows revealed every room to perfection except the bathrooms. So he hoped whatever happened didn't take place in there.

He sat back and rubbed his back, muttering under his breath. It was getting late and he was bored stiff. Surveillance work would put you to sleep faster than almost anything, he thought. Only an economics textbook he'd once had to study came close.

Next to the scope was a small field scope. It was only a foot long and sixty power, but it had great clarity and showed the line of windows along the wall that made up the Morgan’s' place.

A couple of floors below the Morgans was a brightly lit bedroom and inside it, as he blinked in anticipation, was a young looking brunette standing before her mirror.

She was wearing a dressing gown, but as he watched in delight she opened it and tossed it behind her.

"Whoaaahhh," he whispered, licking his lips.

He turned to the more powerful scope and laboriously shifted it down and sideways until it was fixed on her window, then growled softly.

Her age was hard to guess because the light was mostly behind her. Anywhere from seventeen to twenty five, he figured. She had a slender figure with high, proud breasts, a tiny waist, and slim hips. Her buttocks were trim and perfectly round, like a plump apple.

Her face was a little difficult, but it seemed quite pretty, as well, and her hair fell around her shoulders and halfway down her back.

As he watched she bent over, flipping her hair down, and began to brush it. Her breasts dangled below her, and he licked his lips, feeling his cock stir. He remembered himself suddenly and began snapping pictures with the camera attachment.

She straightened up, tossing her head back, her hair flying back behind her, and he snapped quickly to get her back just at the high point of its arch, those lovely breasts thrusting out perfectly.

Christ, she had a nice set, he thought. He'd seen bigger, but hers looked absolutely perfect for her size. Sleek, he thought, she was sleek - neat, trim and sleek.

He pulled his eye away briefly and checked the smaller scope, checking the Morgan's apartment. Morgan was still sitting in the living room alone watching TV.

Back to the girl.

He watched her brush out her hair, admired the play of muscle below her lovely skin, admired the way she moved, the confidence and freedom it showed.

She finished with her hair and pulled open a drawer, then pulled out a pair of panties. Disappointed, he resigned himself to the end of the performance, then hummed in appreciation as he realized it was a thong she was pulling up her legs, a nice black thong.

He snapped a few more shots of that wonderful round behind with its thong, watched as she danced slowly, seductively, sliding her hands up her body, her fingers through her hair, rolling her hips at her mirror. He snapped picture after picture.

She stopped suddenly, went to her closet, then returned.

She tried on a top, then discarded it, tried another, then another, some midriff baring, some not. He tried to choose with her.

Then came trousers, one after another. Each time she pulled on a pair she'd sway and grind her hips in front of the mirror, sometimes sliding her hands up her body and through her hair.

It was a great show for what he'd paid.

Sloane examined herself in the mirror, frowning, then bit her lower lip as she peeled the tank top up and off. It still wasn't the right image, not the look she was going for.

She sighed and examined herself in the mirror, putting a coy look on her face. She began to sway slowly, rolling her hips. She wondered what it would be like to be a stripper, and imagined a crowd of men watching, whistling, urging her on.

She cupped her high, firm breasts, letting her tongue slide along her lips, smiling at her unseen audience. She remembered the strip club she'd been in with Tommy last month, how sexy the girls on the stage looked, how she'd envied them.

She remembered the blonde, remembered watching her squatting at the edge of the stage, spreading her knees wide. It had been shocking, and arousing.

She hated the fact that she was a virgin. All her life she had been under her father's close supervision, going to strictly regimented, all-girl private schools, most of them heavily religious.

But she'd had a final fight with her father this spring when he'd proposed a very chic, very religious, all-girl university in Alabama. She hadn't been allowed to go to UCLA like she'd wanted, but at least Crawford University was Co-ed, and had a somewhat more open campus and philosophy.

She turned her back to the mirror, grinding her perfect buttocks towards it, then peeling her thong down to bare herself, just like she'd seen that stripper do.

She was so protected that going to the strip club was the most shocking, eye-opening sexual experience of her life. And if her father ever found out Tommy would be dead meat.

She remembered how he'd slipped his hand into her shirt and squeezed her breasts, how her nipples had burned and sizzled as his fingers found them, and how her loins had throbbed with desire as his hand squeezed her through her panties.

It had all been so... stunning, so high above anything she'd ever experienced before. She had almost given him her virginity then and there. The only thing that had stopped it had been his parents returning home early from a movie. She'd had to scramble out the back way carrying her blouse and bra and with her pants undone.

But she'd have her own room soon, and be around college men, men who knew what to do with a woman like her, how to make them sing in pleasure.

She dropped the thong to the floor and stepped out of it, moving in time to the music, turning to her mirror again as her small hands slipped down her body. She cupped her sex with both hands, moaning softly, rolling her head in pleasure.

She felt the hard little bump at the top of her sex and slipped her finger along it, rubbing slowly, moving her finger in a circular motion as her breathing came faster and hotter.

She stepped back further, turning and looking at the window with a grimace. It wasn't worth closing the curtains at this height, and it added a small thrill. Even though she was sure nobody could be watching there was the chance someone was.

She felt the foot of her bed against the backs of her legs and sat down, spreading her legs wide as she continued to rub at her clitoris. She felt her moisture seeping out, and ran her fingers up and down her cleft as she lay back.

She moaned and rolled in her bed, arching her back as her fingers moved faster and faster along her pink cleft, her mind filled with thoughts of men watching her, men getting hard and horny at how beautiful and sexy she was.

She eased the tip of one finger into her tight tunnel, pumping it in and out, sliding it deeper, until it pressed up against that small bit of skin which blocked deeper access - her cherry. She groaned, wanting to break through, yet wanting to save herself, to feel a cock breaking her hymen.

She twirled and stroked her fingertip, jabbing against her cherry dangerously, her excitement mounted as her other fingers whipped feverishly across her swollen clitoris. Her fingers moved faster, and she gasped and groaned as the sexual electricity charged her body.

She writhed, partly for whoever might be watching (though she knew no one was), wanting to give them a lewd sight, pretending she had an audience just like that stripper, an audience of men, some gorgeous, some nasty, some slovenly and drunk, all staring at her hot little pussy as she fingered and stroked herself.

She imagined a cock sliding into her, a big pink cock thrusting high into her pussy. Tonight, she thought. Tonight Tommy is going to do it to me.

Images filled her mind, sweeping by one after another, Tommy above her, Tommy behind her, under her, Tommy's cock thrusting into her again and again.

The electricity built up higher and harder, until her hair seemed to be standing on edge, until her insides were churning and twisting and her mind was consumed by lust and heat.

She had almost reached the peak, and felt the rising tide of pleasure that always slightly scared her. She knew that as she was now she had no control over herself, none at all. If a man walked in that door now she would beg him to use her, no matter how nasty or crude he was.

She would do anything with the pleasure gripping her in its tight fist. Nothing mattered but the pleasure. Nothing mattered but reaching her climax.

And then she did, crying out her pleasure, arching her back again and again as she jammed her fingers against her sex and whipped them across her burning clitoris. She felt her body spasming and shaking, felt the pleasure roaring in her skull, bathing her in its fiery ecstasy.

Sean was almost breathless as the girl finally went limp. He was sweating and his cock was so stiff and so hot he thought he'd come in his pants if he so much as moved. His fingers shook a bit as he pulled them away from the camera then unloaded the film and looked at it.

He shook his head, then slipped it into his pocket. Two complete rolls he'd shot of the girl, seventy-two pictures, some of them extreme close-ups with the kind of quality only the best quality optics could produce. He could hardly wait to get them back to the office and develop them.

He pulled his eye away and checked the Morgan place again, then cursed, his adrenalin rushing as he rapidly shifted the big scope up and sideways to focus in on him.

Sean regretted turning away from the brunette, but he figured she was probably about finished with the fashion show anyway. He was just glad he hadn't missed much with Morgan. He was just hanging up her coat. He'd seen her before, too. He just couldn't quite....ahhh, yes, the newest associate at the law firm Morgan owned.

She was buxom and beautiful, her face narrow, eyes glinting. Her blonde hair was short and stylishly done, and she wore a dress with a skirt far and away shorter than she'd ever have worn to the office.

He watched Morgan slip his arm around her waist, then let his hand drop to her behind, squeezing it through the skirt.

"Old pervert," Sean muttered, ignoring the fact that his prick was still rock-hard from the show that young brunette had put on.

This girl looked in her mid to late twenties. Morgan was almost sixty.

He led her over to the sofa which faced the window and she sat down as he continued on to the bar and got drinks. They sat together talking and Sean turned up the sound on the microphones he'd planted.

"...gone all night," Morgan said with a trace of smugness.

"You're sure? I mean, it would be pretty awkward if..."

"Trust me," he said. "I don't make mistakes like that."

"Wanna bet?" Sean muttered.

Morgan leaned forward and kissed her, pressing her back into the sofa. Sean's camera snapped again and again as Morgan's hand slipped along her thigh, and up under her skirt. He squeezed her sex hard enough to jerk her body back against the back of the sofa, and threw himself atop her, gasping and panting as his fingers pried apart her panties.

"You old smoothy," Sean whispered in amusement.

What happened next was not pretty. Well, the blonde certainly was, Sean thought, but Morgan's performance was something of an embarrassment to men as a gender. He slobbered over her while breathing like a freight train, and his hands were everywhere, like a kid at Christmas not sure what to unwrap first.

He tore her dress in his eagerness to get it off, tore her panties too, then he all but inhaled her big breasts, chewing and sucking like a starving babe as his fat fingers sunk into them.

He shrugged out of his clothes, exposing his pale, flabby body, then thrust himself into her with a groan. One thrust, then two and he collapsed. >From the sound of him Sean was wondering if Mrs. Morgan would be saved the bother of a divorce.

"Ooooh, you're so good, honey," the girl cooed.

Sean rolled his eyes.

"T-Tara,' he panted.”Get me a drink."

"Money. If you got money you can be seven kinds of asshole," Sean said aloud.

Morgan rolled off her and she stood up, giving Sean some great shots of her slender, athletic body as she crossed the floor. She made him a drink then came back, crouching next to the sofa as she handed it to him.

He chugged it down as she cooed at him, sliding her hand up and down his body, then gripping his cock and massaging it.

Sean changed the film quickly. When he looked again she was going down on him, or trying to. His view had the back of her head and her back. But then she bent over more, spreading her legs and he had a somewhat nicer view, for a time.

Nice ass, if a bit thin, he decided.

She worked on him for about ten minutes before she started to bob her head up and down. Sean figured that meant he was hard again and sure enough she soon stood up and straddled him, smiling as he reached up and pawed at her breasts.

She gripped his stiff cock and slipped down onto it, gasping dramatically as she took it into herself. Then she sat atop him, breathing slowly and deeply, closing her eyes and moaning. Sean smiled in admiration.

"Haaarryyy," she cooed in a musical voice. "I will be made a partner soon, won't Iiiiiiiii?"

"Yeah. Sure," he panted.

"Wheeeeennn?"

"Jesus," he groaned. "Keep moving. Don't stop."

"When harryyyyy?"

"I... as soon as I can...figure an excuse," he gulped. "I can't just bring you in when you're so new. Not unless you can buy a share in the partnership like the others."

"But you're the senior partner," she said in a pouty voice.

"I know. I know," he groaned. "But they'll know something is screwy. Every new partner means less for the rest, you know, unless they bring in some big contracts."

"I will," she said with a smile. "Mitchell Toothpaste is about to hire the firm on retainer."

"M-Mitchell? But they're with... "

"Not anymore," she said, sliding her hands up through her hair and arching her back.

She ground her hips in a slow, circular motion as she preened like a cat.

"How...shit..."

"Mr. Mitchell likes blondes too," she said.

"Christ."

She giggled and leaned forward, her hands against his chest, then began to rise and fall on his thick prong.

"Faster! Faster, baby!"

Instead she slowed, leaning forward to slide her tongue along the side of his face. "I'll get the south corner office, won't Iiiiii?"

"Uh...what...Jackson has that."

"You can move him."

She kissed him long and deeply, then began to slide herself up and down his cock again as his arms went up around her.

Sean could almost feel sorry for the guy. He knew what Mrs. Morgan had planned for this. Their anniversary was next week. She was going to put the pictures and sound on a big screen TV with all their friends, family and business relations gathered around.

Still, he was a lawyer, and a particularly nasty one at that. He'd let his fiancé put him through law school while she worked as a waitress, then dumped her. His first wife was rich, lithe and lovely and he used her for prestige while ignoring her. He'd really fucked her in the divorce, though, taking half her money. Then he'd taken a trophy bride, a young, gorgeous lawyer who was now, at thirty five, apparently too old and on her way out.

She was going to make a hell of an exit, though. The prenuptial agreement was airtight but he'd be fucked when that tape was shown.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!" the girl was gasping, bouncing atop him as he gurgled and shook.

Hell, Sean thought, if his wife didn't kill him this slut would.

"Oh, Harry! Fuck me, Harry! Fuck me with your big cock! Ooohh!"

Sean grinned and kept snapping. He ran out of film and quickly changed it, then snapped another roll. By then Harry had had it and all Tara's rocking and grinding and humping had to stop as she faked an orgasm - badly, then fell forward across his large fat chest and belly.

Sean sat back and lit a cigarette. What the hell. Someone ought to, he thought. Then he leaned forward again, turning to the small spy scope. He saw movement in the brunette's window and felt surprise. Was she STILL changing? God, women were weird.

He looked in on Romeo and Juliet, but he wasn't moving and she was just kind of laying there cooing. Sean figured he had more than enough to make Mrs. Morgan happy so he swivelled the telescope down and onto the brunette's window again.

She was wearing jeans and a tank top cut off just below her breasts. It was taut against her pert young chest, but that was at least partly due to the fact that her arms were up behind her.

They were up behind her because a man was there behind her with his arm around her throat, his other hand over her mouth. He swung her around, shoving her against the wall as she struggled fiercely.

"Jesus Christ!"

He stared in shock, then jerked his eye back. Two flights down and one apartment over.

"Two down and one over from Morgan," he whispered.

Then he fell backwards off the milk carton he'd been sitting on, running to the door. He flung it open, barely remembered the importance of slamming and locking it behind him, then raced down the hall to the elevator.

His instincts said take the stairs, but that was ridiculous. Running might make him feel better but it was forty two floors.

So instead he stood there, waiting. Every second felt like an hour until the elevator light went on and the bell sounded. The elevator took about two hours getting down to the basement, then he could move, running to his car, diving into it, starting up and racing out of the garage.

It was a half mile to the Morgans' apartment, but it was a straight road with little traffic, and the Chevy hit a hundred a few seconds out of the garage. It roared down the road, the tires squealing protest as he turned into the sweeping driveway leading to the exclusive building the Morgans lived.

They squealed again as he pulled to a halt in front of the main doors. He leapt out, ran past the doorman, past the security guy at the desk and into the elevator, ignoring their yells behind him as he jammed his thumb down on thirty-eight.

Too late, he was sure. Too late. He checked his watch and blinked in surprise. He'd written down the time at the last picture he'd taken of the Morgans. It had been eight-forty-nine. It was eight-fifty-five. Even the cops couldn't have made better time.

The elevator pinged and he leapt out onto the floor, racing down to where the Morgans apartment would have been two flights up, then continuing on past the next apartment to the one after that.

The door was locked. He slammed his foot into it next to the handle as he drew his gun. It trembled but held. He kicked it again, then a third time and it flew back, slamming into a table and sending something breakable to the floor.

He ran in, the gun moving in all directions as he hurried to the far bedroom. It was empty. The apartment seemed empty. He licked his lips and moved into the bedroom. It was the girl's all right. He recognized the furniture and the pictures on the wall, as well as the assortment of clothes on the floor and chairs.

An open door was to his right and he moved slowly towards it. Then instinctively jerked his left arm up as something came down hard. He deflected the blow but was thrown back across the bed as a man in a mask dodged past and ran out the door.

He cursed and jumped up, then hesitated, turning to check the other room. It was an adjoining bathroom, the water on in the bathtub. The girl was naked and laying face down in the tub.

He ran in and grabbed her arms, pulling her head out, lifting her out of the water and setting her on the floor. He ignored her nudity as he bent her head back and gave her mouth to mouth resuscitation.

After the fourth hard breath she began coughing. He turned her onto her side, thumping her back as the security guard from downstairs came in, looking around warily.

"Call an ambulance!" Sean ordered.

The man stared at him in shock, then at the girl with obvious interest.

"Now, asshole!"

He retreated and Sean pulled the girl's wet hair out of her face and stroked her shoulder as she gasped for breath.

By the time the ambulance - and the police got there he had the girl wrapped in a blanket. She was breathing okay, if a little shaky, but seemed terrified, and clung to him even though she hadn't any idea who he was.

"I-I just opened the door to go out and he was standing there," she gasped. "He had a mask on and he grabbed me and lifted me up, carrying me back here. I-I thought was going to...you know...especially when he started tearing my clothes off, but he had no interest...I mean...he just...shoved me into the tub and turned on the water."

She stared at him with wide brown eyes. "Why would anyone want to drown me!?"

"I don't know," he said.

The scene with the cops was awkward, to say the least. Naturally they insisted on going back to where he had been staked out so they could look through the scope themselves. They made a lot of snotty comments about peeping toms, and confiscated his pictures as possible evidence.

Luckily he'd put aside the rolls with the girl in them. He had wanted to make sure they weren't accidentally included with the rest.

They tried, but couldn't come up with any excuse to hold his tapes. After all, Mrs. Morgan had given him permission to plant the microphones and nothing could possibly be considered evidence in the assault on the girl.

Miller, her name was, Sloane Miller, age nineteen, college bound and cute as a button. How he'd love to get his hands on the creep that had tried to kill her.

But that was the cops' problem, not his. He was just a private detective, even if he did charge upscale prices.

He was finally allowed to leave and headed home to his own apartment. Once there he made sure the curtains were drawn, then hit the sack.

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