Page 13 of Savage in the Streets
But this is business, and she is most certainlynotmy type.
I grab a handful of undergarments and move to the next drawer, which holds an impressive display of black leather. Now, my cock isn’t just letting me know it’s alive and game, it’s fighting the elastic of my boxer briefs.
Fuck, fuck, fuck…
Maintaining a professional mindset with Bailey Savage is not nearly as easy as I thought it would be. The image of her donning a back corset, thigh-highs, and little else is going to be hard to shake from my head. Knowing that she will be sleeping in my guest room for the foreseeable future will most certainly be torturous.
I just have to wade through her things and get the hell out of here.
Her bed is made, which makes me feel almost guilty for tearing the covers off. I lift the mattress, looking for a USB drive or anything that could incriminate her, but I find nothing. Then I open her nightstand drawer to an impressive display of ‘muscle relaxers.’
Holy Jesus, what does it take to get this woman off?
And, of course, my cock is more than happy to accept the challenge…
A needle of guilt pokes me, but it doesn’t stop me from grabbing a few items and throwing them in a bag.
Now she has no reason to give me a shitty Yelp review, I chuckle to myself.
I look around the drawer for anything that could cause a problem in court, trying like hell not to imagine my vixen client enjoying her battery operated devices.
Handcuffs?
Might as well shove them in a bag in case they provoke questions from the authorities.
It’s not against the law to own handcuffs. You’re just hoping the pretty lady will use them on you.
That is a mistake I cannot afford, though I can’t deny that my mind is currently racing through the various ways said handcuffs could be used.
Do I want her to use them on me? Or do I want to use them on her?
Yes and yes are the answers.
I look again at more pictures, seeing a happy girl in place of the dour one I know in real life. There’s even a few from years ago, when her hair was natural and her face a bright ball of sunshine.
She is undeniably one tough chick, yet in these pictures, there’s this innocent to her. Once upon a time, Bailey was a young girl with big dreams. Now…she’s jaded. And what right do I have to judge her? My life is the very definition of privilege.
As I open the closet, the hairs on the back of my neck stir.
I’m being watched.
I begin to turn when a stabbing pain shoots through my neck.
“Fuck-me-you-holy-shit-mother-fucker!” I yell out, reaching wildly to my back and grabbing into plush softness.
Princess Petunia…
Prying her away is akin to taking off a face-hugger from an Alien movie, but I manage to separate her from my neck, the price being a chunk of my flesh.
The white puffball emits a primitive growl as I hold it at arm’s length, inspecting her for demon horns.
Princess Petunia is utterly savage. Why am I not surprised?
I throw her into a cardboard box and look up places to keep her boarded, but as her nails dig through the container, I wonder if any place would even take her.
Fuck…
I continue searching Bailey’s apartment, going so far as to check her freezer for hidden devices, only to come up with nothing. Her garbage is free of anything suspicious, and so is the water reservoir for the toilet, where many criminals hide things they don’t want people finding.
