"I'm going to fuck you until you say you're sorry for being a fucking brat," he snarled in my ear.
"Yes, Daddy" I moaned while his fingers moved in sync in pussy.
"Brava ragazza," he cooed.
[Good girl]
-------
Naina Patel- A 21 year old genius lawy...
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I sat at my desk tapping my pen against the hardwood, attempting to figure out the confusing file in front of me. My take out Chinese boxes that I devoured in a matter of minutes a few hours ago, were now beginning to smell. As I moved to throw it away I had an epiphany about the very case sitting on my desk. Micheal Sorrentino, a respected business member, was killed with a 9mm pistol, one shot through his right eye, he was killed in an alleyway near a sewage grate. Sewage grate, sewage grate, sew--wait.
"THE PISTOL IS IN THE SEWAGE!"I screamed to myself, a smile proudly sat on my face. Why didn't I think of this sooner. Damn that Harvard degree really is not paying off now. But then again normally I'm in the courtroom using evidence, not trying to find it.
I quickly threw away my boxes and grabbed my jacket and helmet, then as I was dashing out the office door I almost tripped over my feet but barely managed to keep my balance. I practically launched myself onto the back of my Suzuki GSX250rr, popped on my AirPods, and I put on my favorite playlist which consisted of 90's gangsta rap. 2pac's Hit Em Up blasted through my helmet that sat snuggly my head, I started to rap while I sped off. By the time I was finished I had arrived at the precinct.
The police station was a hive of activity, a whirlwind of people swarming around desks, each one clamoring for attention. Fists slammed down, voices rose above the rest, and the air was filled with tension and urgency. It was clear that this was no ordinary day at the precinct. Amidst the chaos, I knew waiting in line would be useless. There were questions burning in my mind, and I couldn't afford to waste any more time. I headed back outside to get back on my bike.
As I hopped back onto my bike, the uncertainty of my actions gnawed at the edges of my mind. Should I turn back, go home to my puppy Rocky, and watch Friends curled up on my couch eating ice cream?
"I've made it this far," I muttered to myself, the words a mantra of resolve in the face of uncertainty. "Might as well keep going."
With a twist of the throttle, I revved up the bike, the engine roaring to life beneath me. With each passing moment, the distance between me and the police station grew, replaced by the open road and the promise of answers waiting to be uncovered. As I sped into the moonlit night, the cool breeze whipped against my skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the moment. The city lights blurred past, a blur of neon and asphalt as I raced towards my destination.
At the corner of 56th and 3rd, I finally arrived at the crime scene. Despite the depressing nature of the situation, a thrill of excitement coursed through me.
I parked a few blocks away, mindful of the parking regulations but unable to suppress the surge of anticipation that pulsed through my veins. After all, when was walking in New York at night ever a bad idea?
As I made my way down the sidewalk, there was a sense of purpose in my steps, I couldn't help but overhear voices drifting from the direction of the crime scene. Curiosity piqued, I quickened my pace, eager to discover what secrets lay hidden in the shadows.
