At first glance, the doors and Sue were wired to the bomb in the corner. They hoped the dummy bomb would stall the bomb squad long enough to get the media to the mall.“Isn’t this MUCH better than letting her walk home a few miles naked? Now she’ll be on national news for a few hours - naked and covered in our shit. Maybe we should clean up her face so they know who she is? Yeah, let’s.”The FBI finally honed in on the true ‘studio’ location. It was in a condemned building, two doors from an internet café site. They simply paid cash for three hours of inet time and used some gizmo to scramble and rebroadcast their signal. Though the room was empty, the FBI gathered every tiny bit of forensic evidence. There wasn’t much since they’d confined everything to the bed sheet or carpet and took those with them before bleaching the floor. Very clever, ... except for the cell phone they left behind.Too late, Nixon realized he’d forgotten the phone. True, it was Sue’s phone so not traceable to. She instinctively turned to pick it up off of the floor. I froze out of panic. She somehow didn’t notice, and picked up the pencil. And then looked up at me. And saw everything. Her eyes widen a bit, but just as quickly, she sits up and continues writing.I was mortified. The adrenaline was rushing, my heart was pounding, and I could barely breathe. And I STILL hadn’t moved my hand. And that’s when a piece of paper from her desk landed on mine.What are you doing? it read. Hurriedly, I wrote back, Please please don’t say anything about this. I’ll do anything. She started writing a response, stopped, erased, and rewrote it. Anything? I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, so I wrote, What do you mean? She shrugged, and the next thing I know, her hand reaches across my lap and rests on my thigh!I couldn’t move a muscle. I watched with fascination as her slim fingers slowly crawled their way to the tent in my sweats, paused for a moment, and wrapped themselves delicately around my cock. I.
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