Author: William Alanse

About: Her Pain Was His Pleasure. The sexiest hard-boiled tale ever told!

Illustrated.

Excerpt:

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 repaired.”

“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 overlooked?

“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 right.

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—”

“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 floor.