The door was opened by a tall muscular young man with short blonde
hair and the regular, even features of a Hollywood Nazi. “Yes?” He
intoned. He stood a good six inches taller than Carter's even six feet,
and his weight was proportionate to his size.
“Mr. or Mrs. Pringle,” he said. “My name's Carter.”
“They are expecting you,” said the blonde giant. “Come in.”
He was shown to a small library just off the main hall. “Mrs. Pringle
will be with you momentarily,” said the giant. Carter thought he
detected an accent.
He made himself comfortable, lit a cigarette and looked around for an
ashtray. No such luck. He made do with a small, exquisite candy dish.
The door opened quite suddenly and Mrs. Pringle stepped forcefully
into the room. Carter gasped when he saw her. Gone was the sedate
housewife who had accompanied her husband to the offices of Henderson
Security. In her place was a black-leather witch with boots on her feet
and anger in her eyes.
She was wearing a skin tight outfit of black leather, the skirt
barely reaching below her ass. The boots were the most incredible that
Carter had ever seen. They hugged her fine legs all the way up to a
point midway between her knees and her buttocks, with the highest heels
he's ever seen on any sort of footwear.
The leather outfit was laced across her breasts but whoever did the
lacing hadn't done much of a job. Her tits threatened to spill out any
moment, and Carter was ready for it.
“You're late,” she snapped at him.
He checked his watch. “Not by my watch.”
“Then yours is wrong,” she said sullenly.
She was right. His good watch was in the pawn shop, and the one on
his wrist said ten past twelve —maybe two hours off.
Carter didn't like the way it was going. He didn't want to start off
on the wrong foot. “You're probably right,” he said. “I'll have it
“Good. Now come with me. We'll have to arrange for your clothing.”
Carter was confused. “My clothing?” He glanced down his jacket and
slacks. Had he spilled something on them? Was there a tear he had
“Yes,” Mrs. Pringle said. “Your clothing. I must tell you right off
the bat, Mr. Carter, I hate to repeat myself. I hate to say the same
thing twice. Is that clear?”
“Absolutely,” Carter said. She wants him to follow her, he'll follow
her. She wants to do something about his clothing, he'll let her do
something about his clothing.
After all, this is a job, he told himself. The customer is always
She led him upstairs and once again he suffered a painful erection as
he followed a delicious looking ass as it led the way. She had amazing
buttocks, fully rounded and tempting. When she walked they ground
together, and Carter had visions of himself on his knees with the
delectable Mrs. Pringle backing those mounds into his face.
At the top of the stairs she turned to the left and he followed.
She led him to a small room bare except for a full length mirror
hanging clumsily from the closet door. “Now, Mr. Carter,” Helen Pringle
said, “Take of all of your clothing.”
“I don't want to remind you of the fact that I hate to repeat
myself,” Mrs. Pringle said, hands on her hips, her foot tapping the