Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

April O'Neil - Evidence Gathering	By : Nickamano Category: +S through Z > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 448 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: April O'Neil, the Foot Clan and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and any related materials are not owned by me. This was created for entertainment purposes only, and I am not profiting financially from the creation of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
The minute she flicked the last of those door latches home, giving a big sigh of relief now that she was safe in her apartment, April recognised that she wasn’t alone.
She had automatically shrugged her trench-coat off and left it in a crumpled pile on the floor. And it was only then did she take note of an alien presence in there with her.

The lounge shared space with her little kitchenette; while her bathroom and bedroom took up space to the right of the entrance door. She had left the lamp switched on in the corner of her living room and there were no immediate signs of movement or interference in any of her things as far as she could tell. The telltale background hiss took its time to settle into her attention but when it did, she practically kicked herself. Her shower was running.
Not for the first time she wished she had bought herself a gun. A nice big scary shotgun. Even something that fired non-lethal rounds would be great right now. Especially if it turned out to be her ex, Dave. She wouldn’t put it past that arrogant bastard to let himself in.
Fighting down panic and grabbing whatever confidence her rising fear and anger conjured, she stormed over to the closed bathroom door and whipped it open. And stood there, shocked dumb.

Reggie Collins. Reggie-fucking-Collins! He was standing there in her tub under her steaming hot shower, naked and soaping himself up with her favourite body crème. He hadn’t even bother to throw the shower curtain across, and her pristine tiled floor was glistening with a thousand infuriating splashes.
“Collins? What the hell?!” April yelled.
Collins jumped, dropping the plastic crème container while he swung about. His initial shocked look turned all too quickly into a feral grin. He made no attempt to cover his nudity. April couldn’t help her eyes as they robotically roved his overweight, hairy nakedness.
There had been muscle present in his youth, at some point. But he had gone to seed, beer belly, wiry body hair, jowly, loose skin under his jaw, receding hair line. Even so, the cock between his plump thighs was surprisingly sizeable as was the scrotum nestled behind it amongst the thick nest of glistening black pubic hair.
She found herself picturing that stripper girl, Derby being on the end of that. Having it thrust down her throat and up her ass. Snatching her eyes away quickly, she reminded herself to feel angry and offended at being encroached upon.
“O’Neil!” He grinned. “That sewer’s a real bitch ain’t it! Your apartment was closer than mine and I really needed a fucking shower after that!”
“What the hell? How did you get in?! Wait… what do you mean sewer…? You know what? Never mind, just get the hell out, Collins!!”
“Calm down, calm down.” He actually rolled his eyes. “I just need to rinse off. Gimme a sec.”
“No!” She shrieked. “Get out now!”
“Just. One. Second!”
“Fuck! Whatever.”
With a huff, she stormed out, returned to the lounge. But she still felt overly hot, filthy and rank, almost as though she had been infected by the putrescence of being down in that sewer and at the hands and cocks of the ninja abusers. Strangely, the after-sensation of the mutant’s interaction didn’t seem to be affecting her quite as severely as the natural humans’ assaults had. Which made no sense to her.
She felt itchy, across her whole body, as though insects were crawling over her flesh. She couldn’t stand it and hurried back toward the bathroom, determined to force the creepy bastard out of her shower so she could get in herself. However, first she hurried into her bedroom, collected her main cell phone from the bedside table and then stormed back to her bathroom.
He was still in there, of course. Devoid of soapy suds yet using her defoliator beneath his scrotum. Picturing the stink-sweat from his genitals, showered or not, and all his stray pubic hairs caught in the mesh-like fabric netting, April snapped.
“That’s it, Collins!” She yelled. “Get out of my shower, right now, or I’m calling the cops!”
Still grinning, he climbed out. Casually snatching one of her neatly folded towels from the column of built-in cubby holes that were annoying as hell to dust. He stepped past her, heading for the open door. Though he didn’t unfold the towel at all, or try to hide his nakedness. Nor did he bother to hide his own eyes roving hornily over her body as he strolled casually past her.
April felt so disgustedly filthy, and smelly and wholly vile, that she didn’t even wait for him to leave the room before she stripped off her tank-top, though she did make sure she kept her back to him. The last thing she wanted to do was to imply any encouragement for his blatant lust.

Glancing back over her shoulder, arms covering her breasts just in case, she watched him pull the door closed. Then she stripped off her gym shorts and climbed under her shower. She practically threw herself under the spray. Relieved to find the water was fortunately still hot. She hurriedly snatched the curtain across its rail, though it only made it halfway, before friction killed its progression.
Of course, April was too engrossed in the joy and relief of feeling that gloriously hot water cascading over her naked flesh, taking all that filth and depravity with it straight down the drain, and she didn’t notice that Collins hadn’t fully closed the bathroom door after her, or that he had quietly pushed it open it again, just enough.

The edge of the door was a good six inches away from being secure it its frame and it gave the professional cameraman ample line of sight, especially with the shower curtain only half drawn across - better still it was the wrong half, allowing him a completely unencumbered view of the rear third of the bathtub. Gorging his lust-filled eyes on O’Neil, naked and shower-slick, her incredible body deliciously agleam under the bright bathroom lights.
In his eyes, April showering away sewer filth, was just like any number of those old glamour model beach-and-surf shoots he had enjoyed in his youth. Gorgeous, tanned and naked women - shapely and glowing like the goddesses themselves, showing off everything thing they had to offer to the horny cameraman who was snapping away roll after roll after roll, to perfectly capture the essence of their carefree and eminently lascivious frolicking.
Still grinning, and eminently carefree, he stood a couple of feet back from the door and watched through those six inches at a vision of heaven. He was sure that the distant lounge room lamp would be too little to highlight his presence to April, performing there within her well-lit bathroom. As long as he remained quiet and relatively still, he could enjoy the superhot bimbo reporter’s erotic shower routine to his heart’s content. And he did, unable to keep his hands from his already semi-hard cock for more than thirty seconds.
It began with Collins absently caressing his wet flesh with April’s fruitily aromatic towel. Of course, soon enough the towel was dropped, forgotten at his feet, while the rubbing continued. And now exclusively directed to his achingly erect cock, his other hand gently squeezing and caressing his cum full balls. She might be a dumb ginger bitch but that was completely irrelevant. That body made her every bit the fucking goddess.
Collins was rapidly garnering courage. Courage to go back into that bathroom and get a piece of that lust-goddess’s fucking incredible body. What would he do if she rejected him? Would he be able to control himself? Would he embrace the feeling of being lust-drunk, no longer under control and just take what just he wanted? Fuck the consequences?

He thought back to that little slut Derby up in Connecticut. He had made her earn her three hundred, and then some. He’d seen what she had been up to with the flirtation and had gone along with it, promising himself to make sure he got his money’s worth, not to let her call the shots. And he’d done exactly that. She was wise and experienced in how to utilise her body and her prettiness and youth for attention and freebies and the like, like most young girls these days. And he’d happily admit she had a bunch of well-developed skills too. She could absolutely suck and fuck just as well as anyone he’d had - in a bed, bent over a desk or in the backseat of a car before.
She’d done even better with a belly full of booze, the suck job that night had been fantastic, she’d really been able to take a lot of throat abuse. And when he’d stuck it up her ass, he’d gone so deep and rough that he’d destroyed the rubber in the first few seconds. But she had taken it like a champ, impressing him and impelling him to butt fuck her that much harder.
The following morning, she’d done her best but the hangover and the abuse he’d put her through the night before had left her tender and less capable. Of course, he hadn’t given a fuck and had put her through her paces all the same but she had suffered through it all the same. The blow job hadn’t been as good, but still better than most. And she had taken it in the ass again without… well, she had complained at first, but she hadn’t tried to stop him taking what he wanted - a rough and frenetic anal fuckery.

Afterward he’d dropped her back at the Bar and Grill where her boyfriend was supposedly going to pick her up. He’d given her the cash and enjoyed one last little fumble in the van’s cabin. They’d flirtatiously fantasied about her coming down to NYC with him for a vacation. He’d come and pick her up and she’d suck his cock for the whole trip south. Then he would show her all the sights of the Big Apple and she’d repay with him free access to her three holes whenever and however he liked. Finally, she had slid out and skipped girlishly over a tall, lanky twenty-something piece-of-shit. Cash in hand, waving it about.
“No pimp my ass, dumb slut”. Shaking his head, Collins had reversed course to pick up the auburn bimbo.
The few hours of the drive back had mostly been filled with enjoyable mental reminiscing - about Derby and her sweet more than handful tits and tight little asshole, while ogling O’Neil’s world class pair, and bringing to mind the view through his camera while the MC had hosed the ginger slut the fuck down.

He never came to a satisfactory answer about what he would do… the thought of climbing into the tub with her, getting his hands on her and that slick, bombastic, 50’s glamour-puss body was enough to have him shooting his load all over her bathroom door.
He had felt embarrassed afterwards, standing there jerking off like some voyeuristic tween pervert, instead of just climbing back into that tub and taking what he wanted. Like a real man.

Annoyed and self-humiliated, he left her alone to finish off, returning to her lounge to finish drying himself and dressing. He always carried a sports bag with a spare shirt, pants and underwear in the trunk of his car and he had collected them, along with his lock picks after escaping the sewer. Having parked outside her apartment a couple of times waiting for her to return home over the last couple of weeks, he had used a camcorder to zoom in on her as she punched in the foyer’s access code, so he could gain access easily enough, without being seen.
He had also sneaked a peak in Burne Thompson’s personnel records at the Studio to get the bimbo’s vitals - bra-size, home address and personal cell number. How many nights had he sat there, phone in hand, shivering with excitement as he had typed out all the filthiest, most horny messages he could think of. And then deleted each one… instead of just going for it. Fucking coward. Then and now. Nothing but a horny fucking coward.

April reappeared; a towel wrapped around her. Though the size of those divine tits were forcing its length up so high that it barely covered her waxed-smooth snatch. She barely spared him a glance, the sort of look reserved for spotting a cockroach in the kitchen, as she disappeared into her bedroom.

“Why are you still here?” She shouted through the noisily slammed bedroom door. “Do I really need to call the cops?”
“Obviously, I have something you’re going to want to see, don’t I!”
“I already saw it, Collins. Not impressive!”

Her snarkiness brought back his own attitude, knocking all that self-repulsion into the cheap seats.

“Don’t you get it, O’Neil?” He called back. “I followed you down into that sewer. Fucking ninja guys! O’Neil, what the hell did you stumble onto?”
The door swung open and she reappeared, at double time, bombastic body supremely and erotically animated, making him drool and get hard all over again. She was dressed only in a long T-shirt, white with pink edging. And a Chinese character stretched across the upper slopes of her glorious melons. Though overlong, a sleeping T-shirt, it had the same big-tit problem as her towel, hiked up by their immense jut that left the lower hem barely an inch lower than the towel had been.
He was stood there in only her ‘borrowed’ towel. She didn’t look at him in anything like the same way he looked at her.

“Wait, you saw it? All of it?”
“Sure.”

He grinned again, eyes glued to her awesome tits. The white cotton was so sheer that he could see the dark disks of her areolae.

“Most of it, through my camera lens. Quite the performance. What was that: ‘best reporters always use every skill they have to get the story’?”

April couldn’t tell if he was being horrible about her, being forced to fuck and suck those Foot clan guys, or if he was honestly saying that he was impressed by what he saw as her dedication to duty. Then the words ‘camera lens’ put themselves front and centre and she gaped.

“You got it on film?”
“Yeah, I haven’t had a look at it yet. But, yeah. And no one spotted me either. Though, I had to slip away while the fighting was going on. While everyone was distracted by each other, you know how it is. That’s how I got back here before you.”
  “Where’s your camera now?”
“Here,” He pointed with his chin toward her couch. “Behind your couch.”

It took them less than two minutes to plug the camcorder into April’s HD TV. She brewed the coffee while he got onto the wires and sockets and the channel selection and then selected the appropriate files.
Watching her moving around the kitchenette, even with one eye constantly glued to her freestanding TV, Collins was acutely aware that April still hadn’t bothered to re-dress and was still wearing just the nightshirt. She had become utterly obsessed by what footage he had recorded and was insistent they check it over immediately. It was an old garment and he bet himself that it wouldn’t take much effort for that worn and stretched out cotton to tear. He had finally pulled on his clothes again.
She brought over the two mugs of coffee, set them down on coasters on her low glass coffee table and then sat down beside him on her mock leather couch. The camera feed was showing up cleanly on the big television screen, but it was still showing Collins’ traversal into the alley, though he had it on 10x speed. He sipped his coffee. It was good, a sweet roast. And strong.

O’Neil remained intent on the screen, mug clutched in both hands, steam curling up around her face. Collins could barely keep his eyes off her, the ease that those huge, delicious tits shook and bounced beneath the thin veil of gossamer fabric covering them, the way that same slash of ivory hem rode high, really high, at the tops of her smooth, athletic thighs. He had never paid much attention, because of her divine melons, but she also had a great pair of legs on her. Long, supple and shapely. He felt like his heart was lodged up in his throat, making it hard to breathe, or swallow. She was leaning forward, elbows on her knees, the undercurves of her breasts practically touching the tops of her shapely thighs.

“Wait a minute, you hid in that thing?” She pointed at the screen.
“Braver than you thought?” He laughed.

April felt there was a reference there somewhere, by the way he put the rhetoric, but she didn’t get it. She cast the thought aside and watched the green tinged monochrome imagery of the night-vision footage.
She recognised the placement, just back from where the tunnel ended and the two-storey chamber opened up. He had lodged himself into the runoff pipe. Deep into the shadows and keeping the camera completely steady. It was impressive in fact, if she hadn’t known better, she would have assumed he had used some kind of tripod, or a steady-cam rig or something.
It got very real all of a sudden. And in the moment, April had a sudden flash of realisation, the little red eye she had seen in the blackness of the tunnel - just for a blurry unreal moment - had been Collins’ camera. With a renewed and distinctly personal interest, along with quickly rising apprehension, she turned her attention back onto the screen.

The angle was surprisingly narrow, the edges of the tunnel mouth lopping off the far edges of the two-storey chamber, the steps on the far right leading to the upper floor were off screen, as was the left wall in its entirety. By the time the camera had gained its concealed position and settled down, April was already upstairs and in amongst the gang of black clad criminals. Collins zoomed in on that upper floor, tight on April. Naked, she was practically glowing spearmint-pale against the murk of the shadowy ninjas and the background. His camera focus was predictable, pretty disturbing and yet not in the least surprising. The zoom being intense and sexually specific - her naked breasts in extreme close up, the image sweeping down along her flat stomach to her bare pubis, where the intimate details were cast in blessed shadow. But then, to her shame, the on-screen April was lifted up off her feet, her thighs hauled apart, pussy exposed to the light intensifying camera lens, her vulva flushed to a noticeably darker shade, neat little labia swelling out from between the dusky outer lips.
She watched herself being lowered, positioned and then penetrated. Saw her own anguish reflected in her on-screen version.
Even with the darkness surrounding her own body, April saw her real-self reflected in the screen, and she a second she was watching herself on her couch, shame faced, horrified. Her cheeks felt oven hot and her stomach churned uncomfortably, physically sickened by anxiety and humiliation.
She had to lower her head, though she was grateful at least that there was no audio track. She couldn’t bring herself to look over at Collins, who was close alongside her, thigh-to-thigh. But she had to say something about his decidedly horny and humiliating camerawork.
“You shouldn’t be looking at this.” She complained. “You shouldn’t get to see this, none of it. Then or now. Can’t you understand how humiliating it is for me?”
“I confess, I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it, a little bit. Rape or not.” He said, with a carefree snigger. “You’re body’s second-to-fucking-none, O’Neil.”

April’s head was in her hands, hiding from the screen. She wouldn’t look over at the man sitting beside her, but April could detect an ongoing air of mild amusement in his tobacco-raw voice. She tried to distract herself with her mug of coffee but she could hardly force her throat to work on the strong, savoury liquid.

“You really are a disgusting excuse for a human being.” She murmured.
“And you have to be, if you wanna make it in this business, hot stuff.”
“I need this footage. No one else can see this. Ever.”
“I get you, April. I see that, but you don’t have a say in what happens to it.”
“What?! How can you say that?”
“See, what you’re looking at belongs to me. It’s mine. My camera, my hard work, my risk. If those guys had spotted me, like they spotted you, I could well be dead now.”
“The footage is of me! Of assaults against me! I’m naked for Christ’s sake!”
“So? Just because you take a picture of someone doesn’t mean they own the picture. You had footage of your own of these guys. Does that mean they own it?”
“Of course not, but… C’mon.”
“You lost your footage, didn’t you?”
“Lost it? No! It was ripped off me, along with my clothes. As you plainly saw!”
“So what?” Collins protested. “You lost yours, so you think you can just confiscate mine? Doesn’t fucking work that way, babe.”
Whining with indignation, she pointed at the screen. It was continuing to show her forced and energetic gangrape. The camera was deliberately panning from illicit detail to illicit detail, trying for porn-style close ups as well as April’s own reactive facial expressions. It was truly disturbing to witness herself being brutally assaulted. And the visuals somehow made it look so much worse than what she actually remembered of her own suffering.
She let out a long sigh. Her head still lowered, eyes neither wanting to take in the TV horror-show or the vile, repugnant excuse for a human beside her. She took a deep haggard breath, forced it out and then forced herself to voice the question she knew he was waiting to be asked.

“What is it you want, Collins?”
“Say… Some of what they’re getting?”
“What?!” She gasped, staring across at him, incredulous and yet not surprised. “You want to beat and rape me? Is that what you’re saying? You want to inflict pain, and humiliation? You want to hurt me? Shame me?!”
“Despite what my ex-wives might tell you, I ain’t no rapist… but… sometimes… well…”

April didn’t have a reply. She kept her mouth shut and stared up at the TV screen, no longer seeing what was being done to her. Her eyes were unfocussed, she was seeing nothing of consequence, just shadows and shapes in a thousand shades of green and black. Even so, she felt a little nauseated, her chest was tight and her heart was hammering against her ribs.

Deciding it was time to put on the pressure and push his luck, Collins leaned in closer. He placed a hand on O’Neil’s upper thigh, half on the fabric of her T-shirt hem, half on bare flesh.
To April it felt like an experimental move, gauging her response before deciding whether or not to go further. She was done with men wanting her body. She wanted nothing more than to slap his hand from her leg and push him away. Maybe pick up the coffee table and smash it over his head. But she couldn’t do any of those things. She needed to take possession of this sewer footage so she knew there was no way she could anger or alienate this piece of shit.

The piece of shit was making it clear what he wanted, what he was demanding from her. The fact that she had been gangraped barely an hour or so ago, didn’t seem to concern him. Maybe it had even turned him on. And he didn’t seem in the least bit interested in the possibility that she might be suffering from the aftermath of that attack. At the very least he was showing a distinct lack of compassion or concern for her well-being. He might be maintaining that he was no rapist but this was straight forward coercion. And wasn’t that just another form of rape?

It didn’t take long for him to push his sexual attention onwards. The hand on her leg slid inward, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her inner thigh. But then it abruptly flipped and cupped the hefty underside of her right breast through her T-shirt. He squeezed, groaning at the soft heat over-filling his palm. She gasped but before she could pull away, he shuffled around, grabbed her by both upper arms and pulled her around to face him. Both hands snatched onto the thin cotton of her top right over her breasts. With gritted teeth and a grunt, he pulled at it with both fists, straining for a split second before the fabric shredded like tissue paper.

The sudden shock of having her favourite sleeping T-shirt violently ripped open, stunned April into immobility. For a moment she could neither move nor speak. And yet she hated that he could now see her naked breasts, the engorged nipples and areolae, and her flat toned stomach below. They were literally inches from his eyes and his hands. In that moment, she could not remember a time she had felt more exposed.
Collins didn’t even pause to stare, eyes bulging and mouth open, he launched himself at her or at least he launched his hands, seeking out her naked breasts. He grabbed the soft gelatinous orbs, one in each hand, cupping and squeezing those tanned tits firmly.
After barely thirty seconds of increasingly excited two-handed groping, he adjusted his sordid attack. All too predictably, his fingers and thumbs locking onto her nipples, pinching, tugging and rolling with a lusty fierceness.

Finally back in control of herself, April reached for his groping hands - wanting, halfway intending to pull him away. Even though part of her was acknowledging that she had to let him do what he wanted, if she was going to get her hands on his sewer footage.
He didn’t let her do anything. His right hand snatched up her left wrist before she could grab him and swung it across herself to press her palm down onto his tented crotch.
April bit down the sudden flash of loathing and nausea. She knew she had to do this. There was no point in protesting or trying to get out of it, better to just get on with it. She immediately noted the hardness and heat in the stiff bulge. She felt a wave of revulsion but forced herself not to snatch her hand away, however much she was desperate to. She left her hand on his bulge, cupping that warm prominence. He seemed satisfied, bringing both hands back onto her full breasts again. He held them cupping and fondling, as though judging their weight and eminent smoothness. Then his fingers pressed in more firmly, cruelly squeezing. His thumbs attacked her spongy nipples, the pads swishing back and forth, playacting a windshield wiper, of all things. He quickly worked them to full stiffness.

Letting out a mournful, exasperated sigh, April started to half-heartedly squeeze and rub at Collins’ bulge, feeling his erection continue to harden under her hand, stretching out the fabric of his pants even more. She continued to rub and squeeze his hard cock while he harshly mauled her breasts, half crushing the full orbs in his sadistic excitement. But then April glimpsed something on her TV screen that abruptly had her utterly distracted.

“Wait.” She gasped. “That’s it! That’s ‘him’… I can’t believe it...”

Attention snared by the camera footage, she snatched herself out of Collins’ grasp which proved painful, as he was loathe to release her bosom. But she cast aside the sudden hot ache across her chest as she leaned across the coffee table to retrieve the camcorder’s remote control.
She didn’t react to Collins’ indignant “What the fuck?!” - she paused the image and began spinning backwards then slowly advancing again. She stopped the image and then sat there staring at the screen. She was unaware that Collins’ eyes were still glued to the profile view of her tits, practically drooling and already reaching out for another excited grope. But something in his attention was caught by her inexplicable stare and he found himself glancing across at the screen too. Then frowning. And then staring.
“What the Hell is that? I don’t remember seeing that.” He muttered.
It wasn’t a good image, not only were they struggling due to the night-vision, it was dark on dark, and badly motion-blurred, even in high definition. And of course, much of the background was filled with April, naked and taking blatant ninja cock.
It looked like a silhouetted muscular human carrying a heavy backpack or something and had something over his face like a mask. Even knowing what she was looking at, April was able to recognise how anyone without her more detailed understanding would not comprehend what they were looking at. It could be anyone or anything.
And some fella in a costume was not particularly inspiring news. Skilled vigilante or not.

She stepped the image forward a pace and the blurry visual swept across the screen like oil paint smeared with a palette knife, giving them even less to make out. The next step forward showed nothing but the background. The sewer water floored two-storey chamber. And right there front and centre was April’s aggressive gangrape. There would be no possibility of editing or cropping that to show the Vigilante on the television, blurred or not, without showing in bright shades of night-vision green April naked and getting thoroughly assaulted by black-clad criminals.
She tried another freezeframe half a second later, just prior to the unforgivingly blurry shape disappearing off screen. It was less blurry but darker still, practically a smudge of grey-green silhouette. To the untrained eye, it would look like nothing more than a bodybuilder carrying one of those old, huge military backpacks. Again, by the next freeze frame it was gone, just a smudge on the very far right of the image.

   “So that’s your vigilante?” Collins scoffed. “A smudge?”

Distracted, April didn’t pick up on Collins’ awareness of her ‘vigilante’ story. He shouldn’t know about it. She didn’t know it had been a note written into her personnel file by Thompson. Something to look out for, that she had flights-of-fancy, and had to be kept on a tight leash. Collins had found the note interesting and it had stuck in his mind.

April set the image flowing forward again, this time at one-quarter speed, searching the screen for signs of the vigilante and determinedly keeping her eyes from the bright central focus of her own humiliation - her breasts violently bouncing and quivering, her mouth stretched wide by flesh, her throat bulging visibly around a ninja cock. She shook off the effect of her on-screen assault and turned her eye back to the surrounding environment. She was silently praying for a break; she needed that clear enough image of the Trench-coat Vigilante. And one that didn’t visually overlap her own gangrape. One that would prove useable.
She got half her wish.
There was a moment, in freeze frame, that showed what the vigilante was without the trench-coat and fedora disguise. It was still blurred or most of it was. The limbs were a streak of grey but the upper torso and head were, just for that single moment, crisp enough to make out a few vague details, certainly enough to note that the individual did not look entirely human. And that the so-called backpack for once looked more shell-like than any kind of canvas equipment carrier.

They were both silent for a moment, each studying the stilled image intently. The hugely pronounced musculature, the strange plate-like torso shaping. There was even enough stillness in the upper body movement to make out the three thick fingers of the left appendage, as well as its generally flipper-like approximation. It was certainly more former than latter but still, pressing the straightened fingers together certainly gave the forearm and hand a flipper-like shape. And then there was the head. Almost in profile, the beak-like shape of the upper lip over-biting the bottom lip, the all but none-existent chin, or brow for that matter. Though the features were muddied practically out of recognition, there was a paleness of reflected highlight where, April at least, knew the eyes would sit on the face.
Collins wasn’t scoffing anymore. He was staring, frowning, leaning forward toward the screen. He appeared confused, perhaps even a little green-around-the-gills.

“Jesus. It looks like some fucking sewer mutant, Alligator-Humanoids-From-The-Deep-Hills-Have-Eyes bullshit. Damn man.”
“Is that all you have to say? It’s proof of the Trench-coat Vigilante.”
“Minus the Tench-coat.” He mused. “It might be proof of a sewer monster mutant thing. Or a fucking extra-terrestrial. It got grey skin? Big black eyes?”
“More grey-green. But… there’s still me, filling up half the background.” April sighed. “We still can’t use it…”
“Guess not… Well… We could clean up the image a bit more, pixilate out you getting the nasty on… though it’d be a fucking crime.”
“No. If we do any manipulation at all, people will assume the whole thing is a mock up. A hoax. Like an April fool.”
“Ha! April fool! That’s funny!”
“I wasn’t joking!”
“Spin it on some more. See if there’s any more of it. Anything useable.”

She did so, and they sat there in silence again watching the quarter-speed footage of April getting gangbanged. Other than the flashbang going off, there was little else to see. Ninja guys parting and then vanishing, or getting cut to ribbons. The ninja criminals always seemed to be between Collins’ camera and the Vigilante, effectively blocking or obscuring their view. At least Collins had, for now, forgotten about the April sitting beside him and her topless body… For now.

Collins watched April more than the screen, she paused it on the flashbang as it arced through the air, the spherical shape reflecting what little light there was. She came around the side of the coffee table, stepping close to the screen to get a better look at the gadget. The collar, hem and sleeves of her T-shirt were all that was keeping the garment in touch with her skin, her breasts bobbed like Jello as she leaned forward.
Collins couldn’t hold back a moan but she just ignored him. Leaning forward hitched up the rear and she ended up flashing her naked buttocks fully to Collins.

“That’s a lightbulb wired to a bunch of batteries.” She commented. “You seeing this? It’s jury-rigged.” April said. “Just a lightbulb with a handful of batteries powering it. A little fishing wire thing that breaks and sets it off. Collins? You see it?”
“Yeah… I see it all.” He groaned.

April saw in the reflection of her lounge in her TV that the camera operator wasn’t looking at the screen at all. In fact, he was leaning over on the couch, his head directly behind her ass. Staring.

She almost backed up, deliberately intending to sit down on his head. That would teach him. But she quickly reconsidered, he would almost certainly enjoy it and wouldn’t even try to move. Probably even angle his face upwards to receive her.
Instead, she turned and grabbed his upper arm and dragged him upright, ignoring his lascivious grin. Her free arm covered her breasts, as she took her seat again. He immediately slid himself in close beside her, chuckling quietly. April really wanted to take off her useless torn shirt and put something else on. Maybe even get fully dressed again but her full attention was already back on the TV and the thought went out of her head.

Feeling more and more embarrassed by the minute, she continued to played the tape. Sickened, with ruddy shame-filled cheeks, with the careful focus Collins had taken on her body and what had been done to her, April continued to stare. Of course, her assault ended quickly enough once the ninja guys were aware of their inhuman attacker. However, being zip-tied naked to the top horizontal pipe of the guard rail, would surely offer its own sordid titillation, at least to Collins.

“Doesn’t go on too much longer.” Collins murmured. “I learned in Kosovo that being close to combat is the best time to pull out. They’re all too busy murdering each other to pay attention. Plus, the real nasty stuff you miss out on is never useable for mainstream news anyhow.”

April didn’t respond. She knew what was coming. All the action was off screen, but she could tell by the horrified fearful expression on her own face and which direction her head was turning, what was going on. The mutant armed with two ninja swords and the Chunin leader going at it, just to the right of the viewfinder’s range, beyond the edge of the camera lens. However, as if on cue the image grew jolty. It swept around to the left, swung down and then up and around, the two-storey chamber swung back into view, the autofocus working its magic. But it was obvious that Collins was now out of the overflow pipe and retreating along the tunnel.
Staring at the diminishing view of the upper story, April felt yet another hot flush racing down her neck, shame enveloping her anew. The autofocus was confused and kept switching its attention forward and back, so the total clarity of what she was doing to the Vigilante was only revealed with any clarity for less than a second. But it was more than enough for Collins.

“Wait… Wait… What the fuck, O’Neil!”

April hung her head. However, she could see the upside-down image of the TV screen in the glass of her coffee table. She saw that the image had gone blissfully dark just a blur of brickwork. But it was all too little too late.

“You sucked its cock? You sucked its fucking cock?! What are you O’Neil, a fucking nympho? You certifiable, or what?!”

He actually reached out, spun the footage backward, slapping April’s desperate attempt at interference aside with rising anger.

“I don’t fucking believe this!”
“Collins don’t!”

April’s plea was thick with despair and humiliation but Collins forthrightly ignored her. He paused it, and it was at the perfect moment. Dim and distant, though clear. A full length and accidentally Dutch-angled image of April in profile, on her knees in front of the towering alien mutant thing. Its sizeable, inhuman phallus balls deep in her wide stretched mouth.

“You sucked its cock.” He growled. “I can’t believe you sucked its fucking cock!”
“Please…”
“You’ll suck fucking-mutant-alien-freakazoid cock, but you won’t give me so much as a smile?! This is so much fucking bullshit, O’Neil!”

He was shouting by the time he got through. All April could offer in return was a moping, whimpered protest.

“You didn’t save me from a protracted gangrape and probable death sentence.”
“Wait… Did you swallow?”
“What?! What the fuck! You calling me a pervert? You sicko!”
“Did you - fucking - swallow?!”

It suddenly didn’t sound like indignation or jealousy. Something about the way he demanded her answer had April nodding a humiliated affirmation.

“Then, you still got all that alien shit in you, O’Neil… A gut full of disgusting mutant-alien baby batter!”

April tried to hide behind her voluminous wavy auburn bangs, the hot flush increasing tenfold. Collins let out an exasperated sigh. He started speaking slowly, as though to a kindergarten child.

“All you need, O’Neil, is a stomach pump. Then you got a sample of its fucking DNA. All you’d need to do is send it away for analysis.”

April felt thunderstruck. Still, everything started to slot into place in her mind. There was Daryl who worked over at Tisch. She should be able to convince him to get the DNA out of her belly and she was sure he would know someone who could have it analysed. She would have to call Daryl as quickly as possible and make arrangements. In fact, she thought he might be working the nightshift this month. She wasn’t sure how long the DNA in her stomach would remain viable. Of course, even that on its own probably wouldn’t be enough. But the DNA plus the images on screen - at least something not showing her naked - in conjunction might.
And then there was Collins to deal with, she would have to somehow get him on side. Which was going to either be really difficult or really rough and unpleasant for her. He seemed to be thinking along the same lines, but with a much more positive outlook for him.

“We could try for better quality imagery at the station. Digital enhancements, colour grading. All’a that.” He mused, glancing across at her. “It’s gonna cost you though. And more than a hand job or some second base bullshit.”
“I don’t see why. I can do all that stuff myself at the studio.”
“My footage, O’Neil, remember. It ain’t going nowhere without me. Now, am I getting to third base or not?”
“You are not.”
“Well, I’m open to negotiations…”
“Can I at least get a raincheck?” She pleaded. “Until after I get my stomach pumped?”

He sighed. He was staring blatantly at her bare breasts. It was a meaningful stare that wasn’t lost on April.

“I’ll be back here tomorrow night for the full payment. But I ain’t gonna be leaving with a full pair of balls either. And it’s gonna take more than one or two blown loads to empty ‘em. You get me O’Neil?”
<><><>

April was feeling sick. Nauseated. Her stomach tender. She hadn’t been able to eat very much in the last couple of days. Mainly the electrolyte drinks Daryl had recommended after the stomach pump procedure.
Work had been miserable. However, afraid for her job she had forced herself to go in. She had made the best with her coverage of the Wet-T-shirt gig in the editing suite. And had managed to reveal the watery-prank played on her without actually revealing anything explicit via some very careful editing, cropping and zooming. Still, she couldn’t feel enthusiastic about Thompson and the rest accepting her edited cut, and she had been made to cut back all ‘implied suggestions’ in her voiceover about the potential for organisers to take advantage of the talent. But she had done what she had been tasked to do and as far as she was concerned, she had made the best of what was, to all intents and purposes, a pretty shitty and meaningless story.
She was currently waiting for the final digital render to complete. Enjoying the relative dark of the editing room, she leaned back, gingerly pressing her warm palms to her tender stomach and resting her eyes.

It had been a long and arduous last couple of days. As fraught as they were exhausting. She had called Daryl and begged him to arrange for her to come in that very night to get her stomach pumped. He had agreed and Collins had dropped her off, though he got his tit fuck before. And April was very careful not to take any of his jizz into her mouth.
The stomach pump, performed by a nightshift nurse during a fortunately quiet night, was dreadful, a lubricated tube into her mouth and down into her stomach and then the slow draining of her stomach contents. It was fortunate that she had visited the toilet before her sewer adventure and had been too nervous to eat anything since lunch on that day. So, she had fortuitous a ten-hour period of fasting beforehand. She was also damned lucky that the none of the ninja gang had bothered to empty their balls down her throat. So, all she had inside her stomach for them to remove was a little mostly digested lunch and the mutant’s personal deposit. Which had turned out to be a sizeable amount.

A handsome and popular guy, Daryl had struck a future deal for a date with April, incidentally confessing that he’d had to agree to a date with the stomach pumping nurse in order to secure her services. April frowned. The nurse might be older, in her forties she guessed; and slightly overweight perhaps, an hourglass figure with a slightly prominent belly, but she wasn’t unattractive at all.
Daryl took possession of her stomach contents with the understanding they needed to be analysed and a full DNA assessment produced.
April promised him a ‘great’ date as soon as she got the results from the Hospital lab; a little incentive to use his influence and good relationships with the staff to put a rush on her sample.
She got a cab back home, trying to hold in the urge to vomit all the way home, then went straight to bed. However, with only a few hours until she had to be at the studio, she had intended to call in sick, though afraid for her job, she forced herself to go in after all. She remained tired, barely aware of people around her or when she was being spoken to. Her stomach and throat remained tender and it still hurt to swallow or speak.

When she woke up the following morning, there was a long text message from Daryl, giving a detailed account of his previous night’s date with the nurse. Apparently, he’d had a surprisingly good time. Possibly aware that, when it came to the eminently popular young medical technician, the nurse was aiming a little too high. And so, she hadn’t baulked about immediately getting physical with Daryl when he showed interest. He had picked her up and taken her to a little Italian bar and restaurant place he knew.
A little oddly, he had sent April a picture of his date, sitting in the restaurant crossed legged and smiling, a tumbler of some spirit poised at her lips while she posed for his phone’s camera. She hadn’t been overly well-dressed but she looked good, shapely legs shown off with strappy heels. A mid-thigh length pleated skirt in pastel blue that was already hiked up. And a sky-blue wrap-around figure hugging top that showed off her busty figure. A wide green and turquoise belt effectively concealed her extra inches, while hair and make-up also made the best of her from the neck up.
When he’d pulled up in a dark corner of the parking lot, smirking at her playfully, she had taken his hint and immediately went down on him. Apparently, she had been good too, taking his whole length, working him with a quick passion and finally swallowing his load without blinking an eye.

He had described her as smart and funny, and attentive throughout the meal and had reacted positively enough to his flirtations, so much so that he seemed to think he might have a bit of a easy lay on his hands, a slut even.
They had moved from the restaurant to the bar and he had bought her a few drinks. She liked strong shots. When she slipped out to have a smoke, he went along to keep her company. Finding a fortuitous window of about ten minutes with no one else around, he had snatched an extra bit of fun enjoying snorting a couple of lines of coke - that he had brought along - from the upper slopes of her big tits, then he felt her up to his hearts’ content, fingering her to a quick orgasm while gorging on her freed and pinched hard nipples.
Finally, back in the car, he actually took her over to the hospital parking lot and got to fuck her twice in the backseat of his Impala, once with her bouncing furiously on his cock while she fed him her tits, and then again doggie style. The second time, he confessed, he’d had a great laugh fucking her hard, repeatedly thumping her head against the rear door’s panel, so much so that she had to lodge her purse between her head and the door to keep her from getting concussed.
He dropped her off at home ending the night with a final hungry passionate kiss and a tentative though mutual desire to meet up again at some point.

He finished his texted barrage, mentioning an intention to make the nurse his regular back-up piece, at least for the time being. If he couldn’t get what he wanted from whatever girl he may be chasing, he would just give the nightshift nurse a call so he could at least get his cock seen to free and easy.
April had been rather surprised by his honesty, showing of such a cavalier attitude toward women to one of the very women he had been chasing after for so long. Well, he was good looking, popular and had a pretty good job, she supposed he could afford to. Even if April herself wouldn’t show him any more attention than she had to.

Speaking of dates, Burne Thompson had texted her to inform her that tonight was to be her first ‘date’ with the Japanese business representative. And that the enigmatic foreigner had left her a gift, delivered to the station that previous afternoon. It was currently sitting in the Editor-in-Chief’s office waiting for her.

<><><>

When April arrived at the station, she was informed that she was to head straight to Thompson’s office. She was in her buttercup yellow uniform, but she always wore a long coat over it, partially because in just the jumpsuit she got noticed, either for her celebrity status or just because. In summer she had to carry the thing in a suit bag and change into it at work.
In the reception area, she shrugged off her coat and hung it on the stand by the desk where Irma could usually be found. At the moment the short, slender Jewish PA was being shadowed by an equally small Chinese-American intern called Lili, or Lili Jane - April had heard both variations. Though she herself had had little to do with the nineteen-year-old who was here on school work experience or something. She looked up at April and flashed an enormous breathtaking smile. She was uncommonly pretty. April felt a little embarrassed by that smile, as though it offered a silent promise. She felt like the recipient of ‘Starstruck’ and it made her a little uncomfortable. She smiled back at the girl, said “Good morning.” in her friendliest of approaches.

“I hope you’re feeling better today, Miss O’Neil.”

As expected, the girl’s accent was all American. No hint of an accent at all. Though the Chinese had been part of American history for pretty much as long as any other cultural type. And perhaps, the ‘All American’ accent could be traced back to Lili’s grandparents, even her great-grandparents.
“I am, thank you for asking, Lili. Or… do you prefer Lili Jane?”
“Either is fine.”
Irma, the friendliest and most approachable of April’s long-term colleagues, flashed her an affectionate grin.
“Mr Thompson wants you in his office first thing April.”
“Yeah, thanks Irma, he texted me this morning. I’m headed there now.”
She flashed the woman a smile and then turned and headed for the corridor that led to the offices. Behind her she heard a low whistle from the reception desk, followed by a low muttered comment from the intern.
“Damn, that woman is hot.”
April didn’t look back but she couldn’t hold back a smile from stretching cheek to cheek. Irma’s responsive giggle was lost as April swept through the fire door; the heavy safety feature suctioning closed behind her as she headed for the elevator.

She knocked on Thompson’s door then walked into the familiar, tiny and untidy office. The Studio Head might well have been working out of a hoarder’s basement with all the stuff that littered every surface, other than the little narrow walkway leading from door to desk.
“O’Neil. Glad you’re all better.” Burne Thompson said, smiling across at her from behind his perpetually untidy desk. “Wouldn’t have been good for you to have called in today.”
“Yes, Mr Thompson. I got your text. You said something about the Japanese rep?”
“He’s left you a gift. Since I wasn’t a hundred percent about you showing your face today, I’ve taken it upon myself to show him around the Station so you won’t be getting him until tonight. But come seven or eight, or whatever time he says, you’re all his. And like I said. You know what’s at stake, so make him a happy man. ‘Whatever’ means whatever. You get me, April?”
“Yes, sir. Mr Thompson.” April said.
She wasn’t sure Thompson picked up on her sarcasm or not. He gave a shrug, then pointed absently at a box that was sitting on the other chair on the subordinate side of the desk. April picked it up, glanced at the Editor and then started to turn around, hoping she would be allowed to open it privately.
“Open it here, April.” He said without looking up. “I want to see what he got you.”
“Okay, Mr Thompson.”
It was a dress. Slinky, sequinned, shimmering and revealing all at once. It was exactly her size. April, momentarily engulfed in an anxiety inducing sense of déjà vu, wondered how these rich men always managed to guess her vital statistics so perfectly. Or was she being naïve?
For what it was, the dress was surprisingly small and made with little actual fabric. It was also surprisingly lightweight, seeing as there was a lot of highly polished gold wire on display. There was a strapless bodice with clingy elasticated fabric. Resembling a vertical rainbow of shades of gold, orange and yellow, it was essentially a tube top. The skirts plunged like waterfalls from the bottom of the tube top in two hoops, starting at her hips and scooping down around the outside of her thighs, as far south as the knees, meeting the tube top again at the rear. The two hoops created a middle split at the front and back. The gold wiring was mostly in two panels at the sides of the tube top, revealing bare flesh down the sides of her ribs. And also, two small triangular arrangements at the splits to imply a little more modesty at the front and rear crotch, though they were filigree and therefore revealing.

“Impressive, piece. I’d love to see you wearing that, O’Neil.” He said, grinning. “You’ll have to send me a pic or two tonight, once you’re all dressed and made-up.”
“Yes, Mr Thompson.”
“Make sure you don’t forget.”
“I won’t, Mr Thompson.”

<><><>

A young woman hand-delivered a letter to the station that afternoon. Apparently, the letter had to be delivered to April personally so she had to go down to reception and meet the deliveryman. It wasn’t a man and it wasn’t one of those usual delivery cyclist types. It was a young east Asian woman dressed in a fitted business suit. She had short hair, cut in a slightly long pageboy cut with crimson streaks against the black. It was impossible to determine her age, she could have been anywhere between fifteen and thirty-five. Though, as she was apparently an employee of Kirehashi International, and therefore more than likely into her twenties. She had this solemn, stoic aura going on. She approached April with cold dark chocolate eyes and a neat practiced bow, while she extended a cream-coloured envelope, gripped ceremoniously in both hands.

“From my master.” She said.

Her English was accented but concise. April took the envelope, it was heavy, thick card-like paper. She offered an awkward bow in response.

“Thank you.” April said, smiling politely.
“Please accept and read the letter. I must be on my way… duties, you understand.”

One final bow and the slender, short statured young woman departed. April couldn’t help but assess the woman as she walked away. She moved with the natural grace of a dancer and she was surprisingly broad shouldered, lean yet strongly proportioned. As the high-quality linen of the suit fabric clung to the backs of her limbs that clinginess revealed lean yet well-defined muscles.
April tried to figure out what that might mean. “Well, if that’s the kind of person ‘Mr Business Representative’ surrounds himself with, how impressive might the man himself be?”

She found the answer at seven thirty on the dot. That was what the letter had informed her in a beautiful, precise longhand scribed in violet ink on the thick cream paper. Along with the time was the name and address of the restaurant, and the name under which their table had been booked. There were also a few lines of Japanese, vertically down the right-hand side of the folded sheaf in the same ink. More than likely hand-written too. She didn’t know what it said.

The restaurant proved to be a surprise. She had expected it to be one of the high-end Japanese places, a taste of home and all that. Though, was that racist? It turned out to be a quiet little Nepalese place down a back alley. Though it was still felt high end to April, it was certainly no neighbourhood burger bar. From the entrance there was a stone façade with three small wide steps. To the left was a small bar, to the right a little podium where a young Nepalese man stood. April approached the podium.

“Hey, er, there’s a table booked under Aurow-kew-mah?”
“Ah, yes, Orokuma, the Japanese party. You are, miss O’Neil?”
“I am.”
“Mr Orokuma said you might be early. Your table is this way, miss.”
“Thank you.”
“May I take your coat, miss?”
“Oh, yes. Thanks.”

April had put on the dress of course, which she had been shocked to learn also contained undergarments in a little plastic bag at the bottom of the box. Well, underwear… just a tiny thong that matched the colour and styling of the dress, although the rear didn’t even constitute dental floss, it was closer to a cobweb.
However, when she slid into the garment, or more accurately filled it out, it was stunning and she absolutely felt beautiful in it, though it was perhaps the most daring thing she had worn outside a bedroom. She couldn’t help thinking back to the last time she had been out to a restaurant, and having to wear another daring dress, though she’d had to buy that one for herself. It had been with that guy… Carson James, boss of Channel 17. Dinner with a sleazy studio head, trying to foster a step up in her career. It went as well as expected, he got to do whatever he wanted to her and she basically got nothing out of it. Still, if you didn’t take the chances when they came up, you wouldn’t get anywhere, right?

Of course, the mere thought of getting a cab from her apartment to the restaurant in just her dress was outright dangerous. Ignoring the fact that she’d had a recent bad experience with a cab driver, she wouldn’t be surprised if very few men could resist at least trying it on with her, looking the way she did in that dress. Most men would try it on vocally, but there was always the risk of someone getting physical, even trying to force themselves on her. The problem was it was really hard to tell the difference between the horny-interested from the outright psychopath.
So, she pulled out her trusty long trench coat that covered her from throat to calf, which she’d paid to have dry cleaned after her sojourn into the sewers. Her shoes went into her purse, and a pair of comfortable sneakers went on her feet. She changed her footwear in the back of the cab as he pulled up outside the restaurant.

Now feeling as though she was under a spotlight, she unbuckled the belt of her trench coat, took a step to her left, half into the low-lit restaurant proper to give herself room, and then she unbuttoned the front of the coat, folding down the collar and then working through the buttons. Unveiling an initial burst of blue and gold, she drew the coat off her shoulders, as casually as she could manage and then passed it across to the greeter.
It suddenly felt like every eye in the place was on her, there were only about four of the other tables occupied but it felt to April as though she was starring in the halftime show at the Superbowl. Somewhere between embarrassed and gratified, she made a few little adjustments to the dress, working her shoulders and hips, smoothing the clinging fabric against her firm flesh. She knew she was blushing under the mass scrutiny but managed to keep a grip of herself, holding the shakes at bay and holding her smile while the greeter, professionally keeping his own desire to stare under control, led her over toward the pre-booked table.
The walls were a mixture of wooden panels and fake stone fasciae there were banners and drapes of paired colours, grey and purple, white and orange, green and gold along with patterns and stylised flowers. There were trinkets on shallow shelves, plates and bowls, wreaths of colourful flowers, musical instruments and, April guessed, tools and weapons. She took the seat the greeter pulled out for her.
A moment later, a server came to the table to take a drink order. April requested water.

By the time her drink had been brought over. A young Asian woman entered the restaurant. She was eye catching, though if not for the red streaked black pageboy cut, April would not have recognised her as the delivery girl from that afternoon. The newcomer’s slender though toned and strong looking figure, resembled a dancer’s or athletes and was much more on display than during the afternoon. She was wearing a full-length shimmering black outfit. Floaty and clingy. In fact, she looked like she had just been dipped in a tub of black emulsion, from throat to feet.
Her arms were bare, other than a length of sturdy polished steel chain around her left wrist. The loose scooped neckline of her top was a fat ring of gathered pleats of what looked like the same fabric, looping over her left shoulder, forming a short sleeve covering her right shoulder. There might have been flecks of silver or diamond or maybe just tiny sequins fixed to the shiny black fabric.
It made April think of some eighties B-movie sci-fi ‘star-goddess’ who wore a dress made of the cosmos. And then she grimaced, realising that had been that bastard ex Dave’s influence. The weird movies he would make her watch. Would his sordid, corrupting touch on her past ever relinquish its grip?
It took a moment for the rest of the young woman’s dress to reveal itself. The skirts weren’t part of the top, it was more like a split-skirt or sarong, a silver belt holding the thing in place, the left side was split all the way to the belt at her hip. Beneath she wore soft fabric flat-heeled ankle boots. Though short overall, her legs were noticeably long and as supple and well-muscled as the rest of her.
The young woman looked around the place with a keen, haughty eye, observing, taking in. Perhaps even assessing. Though young and beautiful, she projected a manner of cold calculation, someone not to get on the wrong side of, perhaps. She took a long look around the room but remained at the bar, one arm along the top, the entrance to her right, facing in toward the restaurant. Her eyes fell on April’s for a moment, but by the time April had smiled at her, she was already looking away again.

A second man entered the restaurant. He was also east Asian and also dressed in black, though his outfit was a classic western business suit, over a black silk-like shirt with a shine to the smooth fabric. No tie. He was also slender though stocky and only a touch taller than the woman. He appeared somewhat older than the young woman but again, April couldn’t guess his age either. He had a smooth potentially kind face, a suggestion of intelligence burned behind deep near black eyes. He stepped up to the podium, but a hand gesture made the greeter pause.

A third man entered. Again, East Asian. Again, not tall but stocky. Obviously fit beneath his expensive-looking fitted business suit. He appeared older, almost but not quite middle-aged. Though that was as much of a guess. He possessed an aura of strength, of confidence and self-assuredness. He wasn’t first-impression handsome, at least not in April’s eyes, and yet she immediately sensed a power in him that gave him an indefinable allure. The sense of this third man, of his indefinable power, brought a sudden warm flush to April’s cheeks.
It got worse when his eyes found hers, and held them. Even when he leaned across toward the Asian man who had entered the restaurant before him. While he spoke to his obvious subordinate, his eyes were focussed laser-like on April. Given the distance she couldn’t see exactly where his gaze was fixed, but she doubted it was remaining on her face.

The two men ignored the young woman and April found herself second guessing that they were even a trio. Was that just an assumption based on racial familiarity? The Asian woman neither looked at the two men or acknowledged their appearance. Still at the bar, now with a glass of some clear liquid, she remained close to the entrance. April wondered if she wasn’t cold being within the draft of that door.
She looked relaxed and casual, though something in her demeanour implied strongly that she wasn’t open to outside interest or interference. She was closed off and very much an island of introspection. Except for her eyes. Her eyes were everywhere. She had April thinking of a nightclub bouncer. Or a cop.

The two men ceased their short conversation with an exchange of bows. One almost conciliatory, a gesture to a superior, then a returned response, a short concise gesture. The two men parted. The younger actually leaving the restaurant while the elder once again focussed on April. The greeter took the opportunity to accomplish his duty, approaching the man and after a short polite exchange in hushed tones, led him across to April’s table.

“Miss O’Neil.” The stocky Japanese man said. “A pleasure.”

He offered a curt bow as April rose from her chair to return his greeting. However, before she could hazard an attempt at a bow herself his hand came out, bladed, palm offered to be shaken in the western style. Smiling, April took his hand and gave it a demure shake.
“Mr, erm… Orokuma? Is it?” She said, with a deepening blush. “I’m sorry, I’m not well versed on Japanese names or, if I’m honest, pronunciation.”
“Orokuma Sakiwarui.” He replied with a smile of his own. “I admit it is a bit of a mouthful.”
His skin was cool against the heat of hers and against hers felt hard and calloused, she would doubtless feel soft and moisturised. He didn’t squeeze, he didn’t need to, she could feel the strength there. She pictured herself shaking the hand of the Statue of David. April wondered if the rest of the man was equally hard and well-sculpted beneath that expensive and flattering suit.

“Please, be seated. This should be an informal and pleasant evening.”

He caught her expression.

“Informal, from a business… Japanese perspective, of course.”
“Ah, I see.” She said, uncertainly.
“You look lovely Miss O’Neil. The dress does you credit.”
“Thank you, Mr Orokuma. For the compliment, and for the gift. It’s a beautiful dress.”
“You wear it well, Miss O’Neil. Very well indeed.”

His thin mouth didn’t move but there was definitely the glint of a smile in his eyes. The eyes also hardly appeared to dip south of her face, which April found heartening, even impressive. And in her eyes that immediately set him apart from just about every other man she had ever met since the age of twelve. She felt as though there was something vaguely familiar about the gentleman, once he was seated across from her, then she realised there was a Japanese actor who’d been in some Hollywood movie she’d watched not too long ago. He had been called… Sanda… or Sanada… something... There was definitely a passing resemblance to that guy.
He looked at her often, and his eyes did dip to take in her cleavage more than once, proving to her that he wasn’t a robot. She felt oddly gratified by the downward glances.
He also took in her throat and collarbones, her hair, but returned to her lush molten chocolate eyes often enough to make her blush, without making her too self-conscious.

Using immaculate baritone English, he asked her a few elementary questions about the Studio and her own position, the kinds of stories she was put in charge of. She did her best to talk up the Studio and tried not to make her own job sound as vapid and boring as she felt it was. She mentioned his exemplary grasp of English, trying not to sound patronising. He revealed English private tutors and then four years at Oxford University, which rid him of his natural accent, before he took another three years at Babson College.
Wine arrived, and like a restaurant of old, the waiter poured a sample into the Japanese man’s glass. Orokuma took a sip and then with a glance and a nod, confirmed his approval. The waiter filled his glass and then April’s. She took a sip, it was sweet, fruity and strong. But it had a strange almost fizzing reaction when it reached the pit of her empty stomach.
It was worse when the French aperitives were brought, little finger-food savoury pastries. April, knowing the dangers of drinking on an empty stomach, gobbled three. As soon as they hit her stomach, she immediately felt queasy, a lead weight in her gut and a sickening churning sensation bringing up a sudden strong nausea.
She felt the warmth seep from her face, felt her skin turning clammy and an uncontrollable quivering setting in. Hyperaware of the businessman’s eye on her, April shakily reached for her glass of water.

“Are you unwell, Miss O’Neil?”
“A little queasy, I guess. I had an… upset stomach a few days ago, I guess I’m not quite over it yet.”
“In that case…”

He rose and spoke to the waiter, went over to the bar near the door and spoke to the female, April assumed, assistant. His wallet appeared and then he was back at the table reaching out for April’s hand.

“A change of plan. Will you walk with me?”

She tried to brush off her nausea. She tried to remain seated, apologising profusely, feeling as though she was spoiling their first evening. However, ever the gentleman, he insisted they leave. Informing her a walk in the fresh air should do her good. So, she guiltily conceded.

They took a cab over to Central Park. The two assistants (the young man had apparently been outside) followed them in a second cab. And the next thing April knew was they were walking along the pathway at the edge of the Great Lawn and Belvedere attractions.
Orokuma proved correct, the fresh air was like an elixir for April, her stomach settled almost immediately and the cool breeze was like a refreshing shower and a massage rolled into one. The two assistants had vanished into the ether after a quick whispered conversation in Japanese. The young man had strolled off ahead of them along the path, way out of listening range, while the young woman had melted into the shadows to the rear. April turned to glance back at the her after only a couple of seconds but found no one in sight, as though she had completely vanished.
April couldn’t hold back a little shiver. They had left so quickly and unexpectedly that she had forgotten her trench coat. Orokuma noticed, of course.

“Cold?”
“Maybe a little.”

She wrapped her arms around herself beneath her jutting breasts but of course, it only pushed the full orbs up and into stark attention. She felt too self-conscious to keep it up. Instead, she sidled in close to the Japanese man, in April’s stockinged feet they might be close to the same height, but in her heels, she was close to half a head taller than he was.
With Thompson’s assertions in her thoughts, April slid an arm around Orokuma’s waist and leaned into him, making sure the outer curve of her breast was noticeably pressing against him. They walked on a little, but April had the feeling he was slightly uncomfortable, even though he absolutely kept up the physical contact. He copied her, sliding an arm around her slender back and took a light hold of her waist too. She felt hard calloused skin of his palm and fingers against the soft smoothness of her bare hip, it brought another shiver down her spine.

She wasn’t sure how he would react, but Thompson’s instructions were stark in her attention, and she allowed her hand at his waist to slip downward and she grabbed his ass, cupping one flexing buttock. As with the handshake, it was like grasping sculpted marble. He gave a little grunt, that April couldn’t figure the meaning of, then he reached across her body with his free hand. April thought he was going to cop a feel of her boobs but he didn’t, he cupped the bare flesh of her upper arm instead. Abruptly baulking, probably at the feel of the coolness of her flesh, he half turned and called out in Japanese into the dark.

The assistant girl appeared from the murky shadow of the treeline. She was already unclipping the skirts whipping the rectangle of fabric around and working it into a neat four-part fold. Beneath it her long legs were left bare down to the ankle boots, she appeared to be wearing plain black hotpants beneath. Or was that just her underwear? Without a word, she tossed the folded skirt across the night air, skimming it like a skipping stone. By the time Orokuma had caught it out of the night, the skirt-less young woman had vanished again.
He wordlessly flicked the silken garment out and whipped it around April’s shoulders, like a cape. It was warm from the young woman’s body heat and carried the faint scent of her alluring perfume.

“This is nice, Mr Orokuma. Care to join me underneath?”
“Thank you, Miss O’Neil.”
“Your assistant won’t be too cold?”
“No, do not be concerned about Miss Tatsu. She knows how to keep warm in Japanese winters, this New York summer is nothing to her.”
“I’m glad. She seems nice. Has she been with you long?”
“She is an exemplary agent. Among my best. Which is why she is here now. She has been with me since birth.”
“She’s related you mean?”
“Her father is in the employ of my family, and she was raised to take his place. It is the way of my family and our business.”
“Ah… You can call me April. If you like.”
“I shall.” He said smiling. “Thank you.”

He was surprisingly demure with April’s suggestiveness. She had a feeling he would be dominant and want to take control of her seduction, so all she decided to do was make it clear to him that she was open to his advances as Thompson had instructed.
She got her hand back onto his butt through the seat of the soft fabric of his suit pants. And then while they were concealed by her makeshift cape, she gently took his free hand and slid it to her breasts, getting him to pull down the tube top neckline of her dress and onto the naked orb of her left boob. He seemed to enjoy it for a minute, cupping, hefting, squeezing gently. He even stroked his thumb up and down across her nipple, making it thicken and stiffen rapidly, making her gasp. However, within a minute he gently slipped his hand free, probing fingers trailing behind, as though reluctant to leave. But leave he did.

“I truly appreciate the advances, Miss O’Neil. And I am certainly interested in pursuing whatever you may have to offer. However, for the sake of professionalism and appearances, we should hold off until my business with your News Channel is concluded.”
“I understand, Mr Orokuma.”

To April, he sounded pained, even disappointed with his own decision, though she found it quietly reassuring. She wasn’t sure about leaving her hand on his ass or not. She eventually made a decision and slid her grasp back up and onto his waist.

They were approaching one of the landmark stone bridges. Their path leading underneath the wide low archway. There were silhouettes of humans under the bridge, it was hard to tell how many but more than half a dozen.
All of the old news stories of violent crimes in Central Park at night came into April’s thoughts - the famous ‘Jogger Killing’, the ‘Preppy Murder’, the gang-rape of two homeless women in the eighties, multiple sexual assaults in the Puerto Rican Day Parade at the turn of the millennium. All the drug and gang crime. And more recently there was the rise in crime, including theft, assault and murder unofficially attributed to the same ninja clan she had been victimised by.
It wasn’t long before the unsavoury group made their presence known. Although they intercepted someone else before April and the Japanese businessman got close enough to attract their attention.

April didn’t realise who it was for a while. A young slender silhouette, the flex of her shapely hips and thighs confirming the figure to be female. As the woman approached the bridge, she stepped from the shadows into a pool of light and was revealed to be wearing skimpy and skin tight black attire. Her hair was either pinned up or cropped short. Though she had her back to April, and nothing of her features were visible at the distance, she certainly had a beautiful body. She was toned and tight, though not sporting any curvature that might be considered bombastic. Certainly nothing to give April a run for her money. She seemed more like an athlete, a runner or swimmer, maybe a volleyballer.
The paleness of bare legs between black feet and black short shorts was like a lighthouse beacon in the dark. The top finalised the feeling of familiarity that had nagged at her. The loose gathered collar, the clingy fabric, the lack of sleeves. April turned with shock to her companion.

“Isn’t that your female assistant?” She asked.
“It is.” His reply was accompanied with a prideful smile. “Do not be concerned. Just watch.”

The young woman had found herself surrounded, though loosely, by the street thugs. Perhaps demanding some kind of tax for passing through their territory or something. She put her hands up to head height, as though one of them had ordered her to “Stick ‘em up”.
The leader, standing almost nose to nose, though he towered over her, put a hand on the woman’s cheek, a mock-playful caress, the fingers slid down and across over her full lips, parting them, sliding in and out again. He withdrew and then put the same hand around her long throat, appearing to grasp tightly. He reached up with his other hand, cupping one of her small perky breasts. Two more joined in to the rear of her, grabbing her taut buttocks through the skintight leather-type short shorts.
One of them actually slid the blade of his hand up high between the tops of her thighs, no doubt forcing direct contact with her vagina. Another of the thugs, to the young woman’s right also reached out to cup and squeeze her other breast.
She became a blur of violent motion. For April it equally shocking and familiar. She locked her thighs seizing the cunt groper’s hand and then twisted her hips. At the same time, her raised hands came down and she put the two gropers feeling up her boobs into some kind of grapple. But it was the sweep of her hips and then her torso that had them screaming as she somehow broke or dislocated limbs. The same move also slipped the hand clear from around her throat.
From there she became a whirlwind of violent action and it was impossible for April to understand what she was seeing; Just the result. Which were the six men on the ground, each had at least one limb twisted out of alignment or broken. Two were in pools of their own blood. One had his head turned back to front. And one had a mini-fountain of blood bubbling up from his open throat.

“Jesus…” April mouthed, barely even a whisper.
“Impressive, isn’t she.” Orokuma said.
“Maybe not the word I’d use, but yeah… She’s certainly skilled.”
“We should probably avoid the area though. No need to risk incriminating ourselves by leaving evidence of our presence.”
“I guess so.”

She felt like she was in mild shock, first numbed by the sexual threat against the young woman and then the intense violence of her response. She allowed the Japanese man to lead her away from the bridge, taking a forking path. Glancing behind her at the pile of bodies in the pool of lamplight, April noted there was no sign of the young woman at all, she appeared to have simply vanished.
She felt lost in her thoughts, the whole situation had seemed unreal to her, a dream or a movie, and she walked in silence next to the stocky Japanese man. However, they didn’t get more than a hundred yards before they were accosted by more street thugs, and there were even more of them this time.

“Yo, chink! We saw what happened!” The leader said, with an angry smirk. “And we want the chink bitch that did it. She done our guys and she’s gotta pay for it. Or we gonna take your lady and take it out of her hide instead.”

April didn’t take in the implication, how she was the one being singled out for punishment. Instead, she was taken with how little the gang members seemed put out by their people’s violent fate.

“Firstly, I am Japanese. The comparative derogatory term you are looking for is ‘Jap’ or ‘nip’.” Orokuma said surprisingly casual. “Secondly, you aren’t getting your hands on either woman.”
“Motherfucker, I beg to differ!”

The sneering leader, as well as two of his lieutenants of the eight-strong gang, dipped into their waistbands and drew two wicked-looking black pistols and a sawn-off shotgun.
April kicked herself, she should really know guns by look alone, surely a good journalist’s head should be filled with such facts and knowledge so that they can be accurate and quick when reporting. However, by the time the thought had formed in her mind, Mr Orokuma had moved between her and the gang.
Again, the action was too quick for her shocked mind to process. He was even more impressive than his female assistant had been, if that was even possible. Perhaps April’s half-forced attraction to him just made it seem so in her eyes. Though at the same time, he had two additional thugs to deal with and at least three of them were packing heat.
It was like watching Jackie Chan or Bruce Lee in action. He danced through and between them like he was performing ballet on a stage. Firstly, the guns were taken from them and tossed, either whole or inexplicably, in pieces. That was called a field strip, wasn’t it? Other men pulled weapons too, a knife, a machete, stun guns, a large hatchet.
Orokuma moved in much the same way the woman had, sweeping and circling motions with the arms, as he moved between and around each of the men, never allowing any of them to turn or raise either his weapon or even his attention toward April.

Though she couldn’t make head nor tail of exactly what he was doing, his hands opened and closed again and again, punching, chopping, stabbing with open and bladed fingers. Always in motion, always circling, impeding, disarming, interrupting and then terminating each thug by putting them onto the ground. Alive or dead, April couldn’t tell. There was no blood this time. And very little noise. Tinkling or weapons tossed aside or smashed, raining pieces of metal and plastic to the ground. And then its owner followed it. That was all.
April felt utterly shocked, being so close and so intimately and personally defended and protected with such raw power and skill and ease. She felt flushed, her heart racing, a film of sweat making her tanned skin gleam in the night’s illumination. And she could not take her eyes off the hunky, intriguing, surprising Japanese businessman. He was literally unlike anyone she had met before.
She thought over her ex-boyfriends, up to and including Dave, of Fenwick and Thompson at work, Collins the cameraman. Next to this individual they were all nothing more than laughable examples of masculinity.

Yet, she was also aware of a feeling of fear. Apprehension of that power, maybe. Such ability to conjure a level of violence. If she was ever down a dark alley with someone, this would be the man to accompany her. Yet to anger such a man… What would that mean? He was terrible and amazing at the same time. She had to remind herself that he had been a total gentleman toward her from their first introduction, no matter how dangerous he was, he had been good to her.
And then she gradually became aware of other responses to him, around her body, her underwear warmed between the tops of her thighs. Trickles of lubrication moving within her. She felt the erotic heat and thrum inside her, the build of that incessant tingle of desire.
That was it. She knew then that, at least physically, she wanted him. She felt desperate to drag him over into the shadows somewhere and fuck the shit out of him. It would be a well-deserved reward for his gallantry, his chivalry, his sheer mastery of protecting her against numerous armed and violent miscreants.
However, Orokuma appeared to misunderstand her physical reaction. The mild yet uncontrolled shivers, the flush to her cheeks.

“Miss O'Neil, are you alright?”
“I'm fine thanks to you, Mr Orokuma. That was amazing!”
“I could not allow them to touch you. The thought of it was... Offensive.”
“You deserve a reward...” She breathed the words, panting and tingling all over with a sudden powerful desire. “Take me somewhere dark and secluded so I can show my gratitude.”

The man, barely panting, and untouched by either sweat or blood, stared into her eyes for a long moment. Then he smiled, offered the tiniest of bows and then shook his head.

“Though, again, your suggestion is sorely tempting, I will politely refuse.”
“Why?”

April wasn’t used to having a sexual advance turned down. In fact, she couldn’t remember it ever having happened to her before. Ever.

“It is unnecessary. You have had quite the shock, Miss O’Neil, on top of your feeling under the weather at dinner. I think you would be better being taken home.”
“Are you sure?” She asked, unable to keep the surprise and mild hurt out of her voice.
“I am. I truly appreciate your desire to afford me such an exquisite gift, but until our business here is completed, I must maintain correct professional decorum. I trust you understand.”

The best she could manage was a mute nod, her big brown eyes staring with incredulity, and not a small degree of intimidation. He had just proved how physically capable and powerful he actually was, which was really rather frightening, at least potentially so. Still, he hadn’t shown any signs of dominance or misogyny, he had been a total gentleman throughout, even more than she had been ladylike. If there was such a thing in this day and age. It left her more in awe of him than anything else. “Who is this guy?” She thought. “At first, I had to like him for the sake of my job, but now… After that, maybe I really do like him.”

On the way across the width of the park, heading for a street where they could hail a cab, she could barely take her eyes off him. What an impressive specimen of masculinity. Thoughtful, attentive and polite, rich, successful, powerful. He had singlehandedly taken out eight armed thugs, three of them with guns, all because they threatened to hurt her. Would Collins have done that for her? No chance! Like Thompson, Fenwick and Dave, all of them would have simply handed her over to save their own necks. And she suspected that at least two on that list might well have hung around to get off on watching her getting gangraped by those street thugs.
Starting to feel uncomfortable about where her mind was taking her, April shook herself from the thought process.

It was prime time for cabs, a fast-flowing sea of yellow sedans. And April, front and centre in her dress and looking the way she did, it took mere seconds to attract a cabbie.
On the back seat, April was again feeling an increasing desire to try and seduce Orokuma, she was flushed, her flesh warm despite the coolness of the evening, and she felt intoxicated with a level of lusty desire she hadn’t expected. And then there was a continuing sense of intimidation toward him and that only increased her desire.
And yet, because of the way she was feeling and her prior experience with men, she was somehow hyperaware of Orokuma’s rule, she was desperate not to think of it as a rejection of her. He wanted her, he was just putting his foot down and insisting they keep their relationship professional. Which was admirable, he was strong willed and focussed, and kept to his own boundaries. April couldn’t help but feel supremely impressed by him and therefore even more strongly attracted.

The cab pulled up the sidewalk at the corner of her street only twenty yards from her apartment building. Orokuma requested the cabbie wait for him while he walked April to her building.
On the steps she turned to him, eyes aflame, beaming smile, cheeks flushed pink as though she had downed a bottle of sake. She deliberately descended a step so they were eye to eye and she leaned forward, sliding the silken wrap from her shoulders, baring her clingy dress encased figure in all its glory, gleaming in golden light from her building’s entrance lamps. Quartering the rectangle of silky fabric, then folding it over one forearm, April enjoyed the reaction of the Japanese man’s features - both his impressed eyes as he took in the scintillating glow of her physical beauty in the dress he had chosen for her, along with his failed attempt not to reveal his own obvious desire. It made April tingle with lust and pride. A shiver slithering down her spine.

“A goodnight kiss, Orokuma-san?” She suggested, half whisper, half moan. “To say thank you for a… memorable evening?”
“A kiss.” He conceded with a little nod, a smile arching his lips.

April couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth as she leaned in, initiating a chaste lip lock. Teasingly, she soon took it further than just a kiss, sliding one hand around to cup and squeeze his rock-solid ass again, while her other hand gently took one of his and pressed it to her breast. He cupped and squeezed gently while their lips mated and their tongues danced. His was a very hesitant caress, a light touch, almost reluctant. Though he did let out a little groan into her mouth, the weight and warmth of the soft fullness of his more than handful. The hard calloused skin of his hand felt alien to her, she was used to soft hands fuelled with passion that translated into cruelly harsh caresses, this was the opposite.
His fingertips slid across her hinted cleavage, crossing the tops of both breasts before he released her and then drew back from the kiss too.
April was panting, her eyes half-lidded, her cheeks flushed, her slack lips glistening with saliva. She slipped the tip of her tongue across the gap between her parted lips, tasting their mingled saliva.
She could hardly hold back the desire to kiss this man again, to slide a hand down the front of his trousers, give his doubtless hard cock a good rubbing. But he was stoic, a steel shutter slammed down bordering her lust from his. She could absolutely see it in him, it was in his eyes as they cascaded up and down her face and body - her hair, her eyes and lips, her chest and then downward, before reversing course until they were eye to eye again.

“Though it did not go quite as expected, I enjoyed this evening, Miss O’Neil. And I look forward to spending more time with you at your place of work. Thank you. I hope you sleep soundly tonight.”
“And you Orokuma-san. I look forward to spending more time with you… In whatever way you like.”

He leaned in and gave her a final little peck on the cheek and then, with a gentle hand on her upper arm he urged her up the steps to her building. She took his urging, though first she slid the borrowed rectangle of silken fabric and returned it to him, then turned and took the steps to the door.

Orokuma waited until she had entered the lobby and gave her a little bow as she turned and looked back at him. She seemed to find herself trying to bow and wave at the same time and lost her way partway through. Orokuma couldn’t help but smile. He returned her wave, standing there watching until she was no longer in sight.
His assistants, Orokuma Gedan and Tatsu Tomi stood just to the side of the concrete steps to the woman’s apartment, awaiting their revered master’s orders.

“The gaijin has excited me.” Orokuma announced. “And I will require satisfaction before I retire. Tomi, you will provide it. You will accompany me back to my hotel room and remain with me.”
“I will give my master my all.” The luscious young woman said, without emotion.
“I expect nothing less.” He said, then turned to Gedan. “Nephew, remain here, out of sight. Watch the gaijin O’Neil until she retires to her bed.”
“Yes, master. If she leaves her apartment?”
“Follow her, memorise her movements. Keep her safe if necessary. But do not make yourself known to her.”
“Yes master.” The young man said, offering a deferential bow.
“Go now.” Orokuma commanded, a low clear voice.

Orokuma Gedan slipped back into the shroud of the shadow-laden night with perfect, silent, liquid motion. Orokuma nodded with satisfaction as his nephew successfully concealed himself, giving no clue to his position nor any sign of him leaving the sidewalk to take up his chosen observational placement.
The Japanese patriarch turned to the young woman awaiting him. He passed the silken sarong back to her which she smoothly slipped back around her waist. She never took her eyes from her master’s, fully aware of the way he was taking in her taut athletic curves with a hard smouldering lust; the need a volcanic simmer beneath his unbending, mountainlike demeanour. Five minutes later they were in a cab heading back to the hotel, Orokuma Gedan left behind to watch and report on the gaijin woman.

Gedan fought his own distractions. He had placed himself in the shadows on a rooftop that overlooked the windows of O’Neil’s apartment. He could see her bed, a little of her bedroom beyond and the frosted glass of her bathroom. As he watched, the woman stripped off her dress and underwear at her bed, then dragged on fresh plain panties, a sports bra and then a t-shirt, jeans and cowboy boots.
Though he watched her closely, his mind remained in the company of Tatsu-san and Sakiwarui-sama. His uncle was surely deep inside that mouthwatering young woman by now. Many’s the time when as his personal bodyguard, Gedan had been stationed in the same room while his uncle got busy fucking. Often actually standing facing the bed, or couch or kitchen table, while his uncle screwed girls. It wasn’t always Tomi-san, she was his subordinate, not a lover, and yet he often made use of the girl’s talents and her incredible athletic physique and stamina whenever the desire struck him. Gedan didn’t hold it against their Shidosha. Tatsu Tomi was, in many ways the perfect woman, beautiful, youthful, tight and healthy figured with glorious and flawless creamy skin, firm and compact, highly skilled and talented, well trained.

He remembered the first time he had stood there witnessing Tatsu stripping off her clothing and then stepping into his uncle’s widely muscular embrace. He had picked up the girl, hands gripping iron hard buttocks, mouth crashing onto mouth, tongue thrusting in deep, before her grabbed her about her slender rib cage, turned and threw her onto the bed, hurriedly following her to the mattress.
The most vivid image, that had stuck in his head ever since, had been Tatsu taking up a position on her hands and knees, looking every bit the marble statue sculpted to perfection. While her master took up position behind her, thrusting into her and the resulting gasping and twisted - passion or pain - expression of the young woman, the result of being filled too thoroughly and deeply.
Gedan believed he would take that singularly perfect image of Tomi’s sexual gratification to his grave.
He had been scolded afterwards for losing focus during the performance of his sworn duty. His erection and facial expression had revealed precisely how his attention had been diverted.
And now again, he was unwavering in the certainty that such profound sexual gratification would be what his uncle and Miss Tomi would be busy pursuing right at this moment and, no doubt, for at least the next few hours. He turned his attention back to the view of the gaijin’s bedroom.

O’Neil actually stood at her window for a while, she had picked up her cell phone and was busy making a call. The call didn’t last long. From reading her gestures and her other kinesics, he deduced the call hadn’t been answered. Pocketing her cell phone, she grabbed her purse and her keys and then left her apartment again.
Gedan descended the building, using a fire escape, keeping the noise of his descent of the steel staircase almost completely silent. He paused halfway down, waiting in a perfectly placed shadow to see O’Neil emerge from her building’s lobby and skip down the concrete steps to the sidewalk. Once she had turned and started heading in a particular direction, he navigated the final few steps to the ground and emerged from the alley to fall into step behind her. Though he kept to the shadows and maintained a good hundred paces between them. He also knew she would be heading for a cab. No one walked in New York. He had to prepare himself for keeping her in sight when she took to four wheels.

April hurried on. At the corner of where her street intersected one of the main roads, she found herself a cab. It was a half hour to get over to Reggie Collins’ apartment, fortunately that Tibetan restaurant where she had left her trench-coat was on the way so she made a pause to pick it up.
When she arrived at the apartment, she found Collins’ door standing ajar, though barely. It was unnoticeable until she was standing right in front of it. She used a fingernail to push the door wider, craning her neck to look in through the foot-wide gap she had created.
The interior was trashed. A broken lamp, ripped furnishings with stuffing exposed like a gutted animal. A smear of blood marked the kitchen worktop to the left of the entrance. She pushed the door wider still and then stepped gingerly into the apartment.

“Collins?” The word came out as a whisper.

There was some low yet inexplicable and faintly familiar noise coming from the apartment’s lounge area and she followed it. However, it revealed itself to be just low volume, garbled noise coming from the large plasma screen television on the wall. The TV had a small video camera plugged into it. The camera’s USB port used as an interface, routing its recorded footage up to the TV’s screen. There were at least a dozen USB drives scattered around the little coffee table where the camera sat. The screen was currently showing footage of what April almost immediately recognised as the hotel room in Connecticut where she had stayed, or at least Collins’ identical room.
There he was on screen, rough-fucking the young redhead Wet Tee-shirt contestant that he had bribed into coming back with him. What had her name been? Derby…?
The scene’s lighting was natural and although the main ceiling light was on, there was more illumination coming from the window off to the right, behind the camera. There were towels tossed about on a chair and on the corner of the bed, on the door handle to the bathroom.
The slender, busty redhead was on her hands and knees on the bed. While the overweight, middle-aged cameraman squatted behind her, hands grasping the girl’s taut little ass, spreading her shapely cheeks while he forcefully sawed his erection, sheathed in a dayglow orange condom, in and out of - from the angle and their facial expressions - her anus.
The audio was caught perfectly. The rutting percussion of flesh slapping on flesh, accompanied by the matching slam of bedframe against partition wall. And their loud, impassioned moans and interspersed exultations.

“Oh, fuck this ass is tight! Jesus, baby, you only been getting ass fucked by mouse cock or what?!”
“Oh! Oh! Reggie! Ohhh! Damn it! Fuck Reggie! Ahhh! That hurts! Ahhhh! Keep it up you bastard! Fuck this little ass! Make me earn this cash!”
“Damn it girl! You feel so fucking great! Your ass is the best girl! You got the tightest little butt! Fuck man, this is great!”
“Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Jesus, Reggie! God damnit! Fuck! Ohh! Ohh! Ohh!”

The girl’s body was enhanced by the lighting and the state of sexual animation shunting her back and forth. She looked pretty amazing. The same couldn’t be said for Collins, he looked like he could suffer a coronary at any moment; flushed all over, his mottled flesh greasy with dripping sweat, damp receding hair stuck out in all directions.
Still, April felt a certain illicit warmth at the sight of the pretty young teenager with her lovely figure getting aggressively used by a man old enough to be her father and certainly nowhere near good enough for her. It brought April back to her own experiences of when she had been that young. Journalism college, struggling to pass and accepting help from her tutors and teaching assistants, all too often paid for with access to her body. She could honestly admit to herself that she had looked even better than this teenage ‘Celt’, when she had been at that age. Her hair might have been closer to auburn than red and shorter, even back then. And, like now, April had been a tad shapelier and shorter in height than the girl getting sodomised on screen. While her tits had easily been a good couple of cup sizes larger. She grinned, thinking back to then. And how even now she still looked just as good - a little wiser, a little more mature, but unlike most, her body was just as fine now as it had been in her late teens and early twenties.

She left the footage running, diverting her attention back to the whereabouts of Collins and the reason his apartment looked like it had been ransacked. She couldn’t see any signs of who might have been responsible. And other than the door, only the bedroom sash window was open. Or half open. It hadn’t even occurred to her that the perpetrators might still be in the apartment. And before the thought had blossomed, she had discovered the middle-aged cameraman, and continued to be distracted from that potential risk.
Collins lay on the floor at the side of his bed. Blood was still seeping from his scalp; one arm and one leg were obviously broken. One eye was actually ‘eight balled’, while the other was swollen shut.
She had got his blood on her fingertips while she checked his pulse. It was there, slow but steady. While she stood up and fumbled her pants pockets for her phone, she suddenly remembered that he had the footage of her own experience down in the sewers. It was the reason she had come.
She called for the ambulance and then spent the twenty minutes it took for the paramedics to arrive switching through the available USB sticks in search of the recording of her sewer gangbang.

She didn’t find it. It was not there. Of course it wasn’t. What chance did she have, for once in her life, of actually catching a break?
As she gave in with a huff, two police officers were entering the apartment and then there were a hundred questions to deal with. And that was before the detective arrived with the same hundred questions all over again.
They had taken her out of the crime scene at first into the corridor outside, where an officer had questioned her jutting chest pushing out from beneath her unbuttoned trench-coat. Then the detective took over, this time taking her downstairs and sitting her in the back of his nondescript copper-brown Buick Century. He sat in the front passenger seat; half turned to face her and asked her all the same questions.
He was polite and he recorded everything on a small digital recorder and only stared at her jutting chest for two thirds of that extended duration. He asked a few probing questions about April’s relationship with the victim, repeatedly, as though he didn’t believe her. She had the feeling he was seriously fighting the urge to ask about her sex life and other irrelevant and inappropriate things. But he managed to keep his questions to the point.
Of course, he took her address and phone number and passed her his business card in case she thought of anything she felt could be prudent. He offered to drive her home but when she politely refused, he tried his best to hide a telling scowl and told her he would be in touch.

A cab got April back to her apartment, and she had barely managed three hours of sleep before she was hurrying to get ready for work. She spent much of the morning in Thompson’s office, filling him in on the events of the evening, though perfunctorily, keeping details of the dinner date with Orokuma minimal and not mentioning the dual display of martial arts skills in Central Park. Then she filled him in on Collins’ assault. She glossed over his question about what she had been doing going around to his place that late at night and she certainly didn’t mention the missing footage of her gangrape in the sewers.
He finally released her when he was reminded by Irma that he had a ten-thirty meeting. April headed to the one of the audio booths to prerecord her twice-weekly session of introducing fluff pieces and making inane comments about them before ending her sequence with a lightly comical ‘passing of the reins’ to Natalia Marazita, their resident weather presenter. Vernon sneered her few comments at her, a little scoffing and eye rolling, but as always she ignored him - booth director or not, April knew her job, she knew how to present and she knew how to sell herself to their viewers.
After lunch she was heading over to the editing suite when she heard unusual noises coming from the make-up room. She knew Mrs Hartman, their brilliant make-up artist, should still be on her lunch break at this time, so no one should be in there. She quietly popped her head around the door and looked in.

Mr Orokuma was in the room, seated on one of the plush make-up chairs, turned side on so the bulb-framed mirror was to his left reflecting the unseen half of his face. Natalia Marazita was bent over with her hands gripping the arms of the chair and her head in the Japanese business man’s lap. Her pastel blue mini dress was hiked up around her hips showing off her ultra-long and shapely legs in those ridiculous high heels. The sultry south American weather girl was all-leg. They just went on forever especially with them locked straight and spread as they were. But April’s shocked gaze moved on all too quickly. Natalia’s pretty head was bobbing urgently up and down in the business man’s lap. He had her long dyed blonde hair clamped up into a pony tail with one hand, helping her get as much of his surprisingly proportioned erection past her lips at each full-length downstroke.
It was hard to tell if he was actually pushing her head down or if it was all under the Hispanic stunner’s own steam, though the wet gagging and choking noises she was constantly coming out with were loud and a little discomforting to April. The Japanese businessman was utterly silent, not even a throaty moan, though his free hand was reaching under her thrust down the low V neckline of her mini dress, fondling one of her c-cup tits. He wasn’t being particularly gentle with his man-handling of her boobs by the looks of it.

Watching in aghast silence, April found everything she was seeing and hearing uncomfortably familiar. That was absolutely how men were with her body whenever she found herself in their company. So, seeing the same rough, impassioned activity was far from surprising. But was that how she sounded whenever she was having to deep throat a big cock?
Of course, the shock of the sights and sounds were soon overtaken by the realisation that Orokuma was accepting sexual favours from Natalia, while simultaneously refusing them from April.
She quietly closed the door before she was spotted and walked away while her mind filled with questions. Obviously, Natalia was trying to secure her own future by sucking cock. But Orokuma was giving her the opportunity while refusing April’s own advances. Why would he do that? What did that mean? Was he accepting Natalia’s offer because he fully intended to keep her on? Or had he just been convinced to? Or was he taking advantage knowing he would fire her all the same? Did that mean April’s job was secure, or at an end? What did it all mean?
She found no answer, but remained emotionally shaken for the rest of the day.

After she had worked through her own editing duties, she sneaked over to the door and jammed the makeshift plastic doorstop underneath, essentially locking herself inside the suite. She edited best when she was undisturbed and in low light. She had a couple of pieces of Fenwick’s that Thompson had wanted her to take a pass at, to try and shift the editorial angle in a more acceptable direction. Female friendly, in Thompson’s words. That meant Fenwick had been taping footage with his misogynistic hat on and it was a little too far even for Thompson. It was actually nice for April to take a turn at her main competition’s work and to try and improve it. It gained her bragging rights and implied a certain degree of trust and respect from Thompson. Or was she reading too much into that?
She was just downloading her completed work to the internal server when there was a knock at the door. She flicked the lights back on, kicked the doorstop clear and opened the door to find herself eye to eye with the smiling intensity of the hunky, middle aged Japanese businessman.

“I want to try again for an evening dinner date, Miss O’Neil. Are you free tonight?”
“Oh, of course, Orokuma-san.” April gasped, once again feeling herself blush. “That would be delightful.”

She couldn’t get her mind off the heart-fluttering image of this man with his flies open, sizeable erection jutting upward, glistening under the intense lights of the make-up room, while it quickly appeared and disappeared within the wide Botox-pout of Ms Marazita’s full lips. April’s mouth watered at the memory and she could practically feel the solid heat of that rod, taste the silky sweat-tang aroma of erect cock.

“Good.” He said, his smile broadening. “I have another gift for you, though it is back at my hotel room. Would you accompany me there, so you can receive it?”
“Of course! You’re too kind and generous, Orokuma-san. I’m very grateful.”
“It is nothing. Another trifle. For my pleasure as much as yours.”
“I’m sure whatever it is, it’s beautiful.”

<><><>

Over-heatedness and exhaustion had given April the shakes. And she was bathed in sweat. Sitting up in her bed, sheets twisted around her, but also untucked and dragged about all over the mattress. They felt cold and sticky with mingled sweat and bodily fluids.
Two men were snoring on either side of her, practically making the apartment rattle, while taking up most of her bed. April just wanted to be alone, to relax and sleep but, obviously, it wasn’t to be.
She glanced over at her eighties retro digital alarm clock, it read 03:17. She got up and staggered into her kitchenette, grabbing a bottle of bourbon to knock off the shakes. The shakes dissipated pretty quickly, but her headache kicked up a notch or three in counterpoint. Belatedly noting that stinky cum was still coating the tops of her thighs, her boobs. But at least the bourbon had banished the aftertaste of the stuff from the back of her mouth.
She wandered into the bathroom, trying to mitigate the thunderous throbbing that felt like it was tossing her head this way and that. Sitting on the toilet, she used tissue paper to clean off her naked body. She considered the shower but didn’t feel like she had the energy. She gargled with mouth wash and brushed her teeth before walking back into the bedroom. The bedside lamp was still on, so was an amber glare from the window, its blinds not drawn.
The scientist who had analysed and delivered her stomach pumped DNA results, a stranger to her, along with her med tech friend Daryl, were still occupying most of the room in her bed, limbs akimbo, mouths gaping.

Less than an hour after returning home from her date with Mr Orokuma, she had received a text message saying her stomach pump results were ready for her and if she wanted to get them, she knew what she would have to do. She had, after all, promised Daryl a ‘great’ date. She just needed to confirm the when and where. Mr Orokuma had, again, left her tingling and horny after their meal earlier in the evening and so she just texted back - her address and “Tonight”.
She had decided, given the distance, that she would have at least an hour to relax before Daryl arrived. However, she had strongly suspected that, given the timing Daryl had already been in the area. She was still running her bath, preparing for a relaxing hour with hot water, scented bubbles and her favourite vibrator, when the door-bell rang. In fact, she was just rewarding herself with a five-minute dildo quicky while the water filled the tub, and they were already banging on her door.

Turning off the faucet with a frustrated sigh, she pulled on a silk robe - suffering a momentary fantasy hope that it was Mr Orokuma, bringing an impassioned confession to her door that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, that he wanted to spend more time with her and was fully intent on whisking her away to an exclusive Dominican Republic resort for a long weekend and had already squared it with her bosses at the Station.

She was wrong. It was Daryl and, unexpectedly, another man. The latter was short, shorter than her with a body that was somewhere between muscular and fat. He had arms and legs that were big and well-toned with muscle, but a belly that bulged forward. A round face and double chin revealed more of that fleshy softness. While receding steely hair, a week-old salt-and-pepper beard and old-looking out of style eyeglasses revealed that he was in fact older than she might have guessed. Old enough to be her father in fact. Though belying his age, he wore a maroon T-shirt, blue jeans and old worn sneakers.
Daryl, grinning inanely stood alongside him. At least he was young and handsome. Well presented, well dressed, he remained gym-toned and with, apparently, a good hygiene regimen. Of course, that was all counterbalanced by a near militaristic degree of confidence, bordering on arrogance that too often reminded her of her ex. He wore a casual suit, a light weight cotton jacket and pants in pastel blue with a spearmint V-neck long sleeve beneath. It had to be at least two sizes too small and showed off that gym-honed artistry. He also had a pair of leather loafers on his feet.
Both of the men’s eyes performed a slow up and down of April’s damp, robe-displayed body before addressing her. It was as familiar to April as it was uncomfortable, and she felt herself semiconsciously checking the front of her robe was adequately crossed-over. Unfortunately, she could simultaneously feel her still swollen nipples, due to her masturbatory fantasising about Orokuma, were plainly visible through the thin silk that was insistently clinging to her damp skin. And yes, both sets of the men’s eyes locked and remained locked on her chest and their predatory smiles told April everything she didn’t need to know.

She invited them in, made them drinks while they sat on her couch, staring at her, watching her move around her living space like a pair of sharks. The stranger slid a brown envelope from a leather satchel and tossed it onto her coffee table. It almost knocked off the delicate gift Mr Orokuma had given her. She realised she would have to find somewhere much more secure for it than her lounge room coffee table.
April excused herself and went into the bedroom to dress. The two men cockily followed her. The older man introducing himself as Doctor Alcaraz.

“Three guesses what everyone calls him?”

All April could think of was ‘Alcatraz’. However, the Doctor flashed Daryl a sidelong glance and then tossed a stern look at her. Daryl’s snide smile uglified his handsome features as far as April was concerned and still, his eyes never once made it as far north as her throat.

“Al.” The Doctor said, leaving no room for misinterpretation or teasing.

She was trying to think of a polite way to ask them to wait for her in the living room while she got dressed, but the men didn’t give her the chance. They didn’t give her any chance at all. Once in her bedroom she was immediately grabbed; firmly rather than aggressively. Still, she was pulled down and made to sit on the side of her bed, immediately sandwiched between the two obviously horny men. They didn’t even have anything further to say to her.
The one attempt April made to get up, thinking this once she might be able to pressure them into allowing her to dictate the proceedings, didn’t last long. It was just a - “Hang on boys, I really to check on those DNA results…” as she tried to get up. However, Daryl grabbed her forearm to stop her while Alcaraz reached up and pincered the nape of her neck. Daryl gave her a shake of the head and then leaned in close and kissed her, his hand moving from her upper arm to her breasts.

April shut down, giving in to the guys’ obvious desires. She owed them sex, even though she had anticipated a quickie in the back of Daryl’s car and hadn’t really pictured what would happen with the Doctor, maybe getting screwed up against a wall outside in some quiet corner of the hospital? She certainly hadn’t anticipated having to have a threesome with both of them in her own bedroom.
While she reluctantly feasted on Daryl’s tongue - he pressing her to accept his lips while driving his tongue deep into her submissive mouth - she felt hands hurriedly tugging her robe open and exposing her breasts. A moment later she heard zippers being jerked down, then her wrists were grabbed and she felt two hard shafts of male flesh pressed into her hands, fingers wrapped securely around them, her wrists squeezed meaningfully and then jerked up and down until she understood their asserted masturbatory pace.
One hand, Alcaraz’s she thought, cupped and squeezed one breast then his whole face pressed against her other orb, mouthing over the stiff nipple and puckered areola. He sucked her teat into his mouth and mauled it voraciously, bringing his teeth into play. April gasped into Daryl’s open mouth at the feel of those teeth nipping and clamping, pulling. With nothing else to do, she continuing to jerk off both men simultaneously.
It was very quickly obvious that neither man was interested in taking his time, and before April knew it, she was twisted over and bent down, her face pushed into Daryl’s crotch. She felt Alcaraz slide off the mattress onto the floor, her bare legs being slapped apart and then the stranger older man pressing his face between her the tops of thighs, while pulling her hips closer to the edge of the mattress.
Daryl’s cock was shoved into her mouth, both his hands grabbing her head and forcing her lips rapidly up and down his throbbing shaft.

She could feel the Doctor’s tongue flicking across her labia, the entrance of her tunnel and the protruding nub of her clitoris while his fingers caressed, spread and dipped into her tunnel; those residual tingles that had been induced by Orokuma and vibrator intensified dramatically by the Doctor’s flicking and strumming.
Daryl allowed her to take over sucking his cock, though he kept one hand on the top of her head, making sure the downward thrust of her lips went all the way to the root. He reached out, grabbed her left hand and shifted it to his heavy ball sack, making her cup and gently squeeze his testicles.
All three of them were moaning, April’s breathless pants and wet gagging, Daryl loud and pleasure filled, Alcaraz using his own horny moans to tease April’s pussy lips with both caressing exhales and vibrations.
Her orgasm burst unexpectedly, sudden and intense. Her whole body locked up in a muscle-shaking tenseness as those hot pulsing waves of sensual ecstasy enveloped her. She lost moments of time and sensory input, not noticing Daryl fast-slamming his cock balls-deep and bruising her throat in his aggressive lust, while her quivering pussy unloaded a full-on gusher over Alcaraz’s suckling mouth and lower face.
April remained lost throughout; her mind snatched back to much more pleasing memories from earlier the same evening, when Orokuma-san had taken her up to his hotel room to share with her his second gift.

<><><>

Orokuma’s suite on the top floor of Manhattan’s Whitby Hotel was breathtaking. Beyond anything April had seen outside of Hollywood movies. And as well as Orokuma the two Lieutenants were also present, the young man and the young woman.
His gift to her turned out to be a Japanese antique. Wrapped in a square of silken cloth, it was a crackle-glaze vase or urn, similar in shape to a sake jug. It fit into her cupped palms and felt a light as a feather. He informed her that it was a unique item. Originally origami, it had been glazed by a master artisan during the Muromachi period, fifty years after its initial creation.
April was floored by the gift. It felt so light and delicate that she was shaking as she handled it. It was a great relief to be able to put it down on a table in the suite’s lounge. Surprisingly, while Orokuma and his male assistant stepped into the bedroom for a moment, the young woman stepped silently to April’s side and put a ghostly, delicate hand on her upper arm.

“When you take the gift to your home, shine a light into it from behind or beneath. There is a surprise within.” She whispered.

Other than the expected couches and low tables, drapes and lamps, a mock fireplace, there were seven six-foot travelling trunks or chests in the room. Free standing and upright, they were spread out into a crescent like some kind of makeshift art display. Each, black coated mock-leather with chrome edging, locks and hinges, stood on end like upright coffins, revealing their contents which were fixed to each padded interior.
The contents of the trunks proved to be much more what April would have expected of a stereotypical Japanese businessman. Two full sets of pristine samurai armour, across three of the trunks. A chest of samurai swords, six of them, at two different sizes and three different styles. A two trunk of traditional Japanese clothes, kimonos or whatever the male equivalent were called. One chest contained a collection of antiques, porcelain, ceramics, ink paintings on silk, a tea set, other items she didn’t recognise. The final trunk showed other items that took April a second or two to recognise were more weapons. Items not associated with the Samurai, at least not that she had learned through her own hurried researches. Orokuma reappeared and stood beside her as she gazed over the contents of the last trunk.

“These are all heirlooms, gifts and memories of my ancestors.” He said softly. “Unlike what is shown in modern movies, those from my own country, as well as in Hollywood. There are many such pieces carried for self-defence that the warrior class would carry besides the Uchigatana.”
“Can you point out a few? I find these really interesting, Mr Orokuma.” April said.
“Very well.” He said, with a little smile. “But inform me when I grow tedious.”

April giggled and nodded. Orokuma turned to the chest and pointed to each in sequence, top right to bottom left, naming each piece. The items were a variety of shapes and sizes and mostly made of blackened metal or smooth age-darkened wood. There was a chain weighted at both ends, a sickle with a weighted chain attached, ninja stars and darts - those she recognised. There was a palm sized throwing dagger with a mental ring at the pommel. A dual-bladed dagger with a length of rope and a metal ring at the opposite end. Spiked rings, knuckle dusters. A couple of weapons that just looked like truncheons or clubs, little three-dimensional spikes that would always have one spike pointing upward no matter how it landed. Other shapes of metal and fabric that she simply couldn’t figure out. Orokuma pointed out and named each but it was literally a foreign language that went in one ear and out the other.

“Do you have a personal favourite, Orokuma-san?” She asked.

He reached out slowly and collected two of the items, handing them one at a time to April.

“Shuko and Ashikagi.” He replied easily.

Two oval shaped loops of steel or iron with fabric connecting them and four sturdy looking metal hooks jutting from one of those oval shaped loops. The other was larger and only had one loop with its clawlike hooks sticking out of it and the fabric parts were a little different too. Orokuma slipped one over a hand, one metal loop encircling his wrist, the other his hand, the hooks jutting from his palm.

“Shuko.” He said, demonstrating.

He slipped the climbing claw device off his hand and then replaced it with the other one, though this time he bent his hand back to give it the shape of an ankle and foot.

“Ashikagi.” He explained. “The same but for the feet.”
“Used for… climbing?”
“For trees and buildings,” He said, nodding. “But could also shred the flesh off guardsmen. They were perfect weapons for interrogation too. I might add.”
“Why do you collect these?”
“They are family heirlooms, that is all. Family and clan and history are very important.”
“I thought you would keep them somewhere safe back in your home.”
“Ordinarily I do, but they accompany me when I fly overseas. They are meant to bring good fortune.”
“Ahh.”
“Now, Miss O’Neil, I will quickly change for dinner. Then we can take you home if you wish to change too, though for me it is not necessary.”
“I would like to change, after a full day at the office, looking like a canary…”
“I understand.” He said, smiling. “Though do not think you must make too much of an effort for me.”
“I can do smart casual.” She said with a coy smile.
“If you’ll excuse me.”

He offered a quick bow and then disappeared into a bedroom, reappearing only a few minutes later in a fresh suit, that was stretched and perfectly fitted around his tight broad muscular frame.

The next thing April knew she was in her own apartment, hurrying to wash and change and run a brush through her hair and spritz some nice perfume behind her ears and her wrists and down her cleavage. She picked out her best pair of purple skinny jeans, and a canary yellow tube-top, for sex appeal and brand recognition. She mostly covered up with a cropped emerald jacket, that had just one button to hold it closed. Maintaining the casual idea she grabbed a pair of boat shoes, the cotton-uppers a shade of red that complemented the green of her jacket. A clutch bag and gold jewellery completed the look and then she was leaving her bedroom.
Her Japanese date was standing patiently in the lounge. And her glazed origami gift sat on her coffee table before the television.

<><><>

April came out of her day dream to find herself forcibly bouncing on Alcaraz’s hard on. She was side saddle on the edge of the mattress, one leg on the floor the other folded beneath her, her upper body was leaning over Daryl who had his cock buried in her cleavage, her boobs belligerently mashed together in both hands. He was actually growling as he thrust with his hips and used his grip on her breasts to pull her body down to meet his up thrusts.
The Doctor snapped at her to spread her cheeks. April had to shuffle her feet around to keep her balance while she obediently reached backwards and spread her taught, and surprisingly sore buttocks. His fingers dipped into the valley she was opening for him and he pushed two fingers into her alongside his cock, while another finger found and stroked across her clit. His other hand attacked her anus, first play-pressuring her sphincter ring before penetrating the orifice, first with one finger and then adding a fat stretching thumb. April groaned at the first set of fingers then squealed as he began to abuse her ass as well.

Daryl cursed suddenly, apparently April’s animated reaction bringing him to an abrupt climax. His hands contracted painfully on her full boobs while she felt hot gush after hot gush of his cum bursting over the inner curves, then her chest, throat and the underside of her chin.
Alcaraz abruptly decided to switch holes, yanking out his fingers and then his cock. Even as April was sensually reeling from the visceral explosion of Daryl’s jism, including the strong salty aroma of it, there was the sudden searing pain as the Doctor’s cock head started to assert its intent on her anal mouth. She forced her attention away from the moment, reluctantly-consenting-because-she-wasn’t-given-any-other-choice, and threw herself back into the romanticism of earlier in the evening.

<><><>

The restaurant the Japanese gentleman had chosen for their second date attempt was a small family run restaurant that served eastern European dishes, none of which April had ever heard of. However, she had never tasted anything so amazing, familiar flavours and ingredients but in combinations she would never have considered and often spiced for additional flavour kicks. The experience was truly and delightfully, surprising for her.
She did make the mistake of spending most of her time complaining to Mr Orokuma about work, how she was treated and the shitty jobs that all too often were thrown her way. However, he didn’t seem to mind. She caught herself after twenty minutes and, blushing, quickly changed the subject. She asked him about his past, more about his education, commented again about his skill with English and asked where he had acquired his business acumen.
He revealed an early education in Japan, his late teens in England and then his early twenties in America, completing a post doctorate. Then it was back to Japan to learn the ropes of his family’s business; starting at the bottom and working his way up to his current position, which lay just shy of the Board of Directors. She was surprised at the reveal of his high status. She had assumed him to be a mid-level negotiator or something. A man with masters to report to, who had their own masters, and so on.

While she tried to listen to Orokuma, April found herself repeatedly lost in little fantasies - of being the well-dressed wife of a billionaire Japanese businessman. Jetting around the world to exciting and interesting locales; vacationing in Hawaii, Okinawa, Florida, winter skiing in Greenland, maybe even Christmas in Lapland.
She realised her eyes had rested on the dart of Orokuma’s shirt collar, beneath his suit jacket. Devoid of necktie, it was taught against his skin and slightly sheer, revealing not only skin tone but also the musculature he possessed. He was definitely a gym goer. She wondered what he looked like beneath those clothes. She pictured a Chris Hemsworth or Chris Evans body type, rather than Bruce Lee or Donnie Yen. She felt delicious tingles between her thighs and in her lower belly, and was half grateful for the jacket covering her braless yellow tube top, because her nipples were achingly hard and probably jutting forward like bullets. Though, part of her would have loved to see his reaction to seeing them as erect as they were.
They both skipped dessert. Following the meal, the waiter arrived with coffee which somehow, the bitter sweet and smooth flavour of, proved to be the perfect complement to the meal.

“Would you like me to take you home, Miss O’Neil? Or perhaps it is too early to retire and you would prefer to go somewhere else?”
“How about I take you to an all-American bar? And, can you please call me April?”
“I may try it on for size.” He said grinning mischievously. “As for a bar, I would feel overdressed. But I might also enjoy the more casual setting.”
“Well, how about we stop off at your place, you can get changed into something more comfortable and then we can walk over to the nearest bar? I know of a place near your hotel.”
“A perfect plan.”

The trip back to the hotel suite was a blur. His two assistants appeared from nowhere, flanking the couple as they emerged from the cab and crossed the sidewalk to the foyer steps. A quick shared elevator trip put them at the entrance to the suite. Excusing himself, Orokuma disappeared into his bedroom, not quite pushing the door fully closed. The assistants remained in the lounge with April, on opposite sides of the room one by the window the other by the door, they were like statues but gave off the aura of CCTV cameras or nightclub bouncers, always watching, taking everything in. Ever ready.

Buzzing on wine and invigorated by the company, well by Orokuma’s at least, April felt flushed and suddenly uninhibited enough that - when she felt the sudden urge to glance through the gap into the man’s bedroom, she didn’t consider it as potentially inappropriate.
She wandered the suite’s lounge area idly until she could find a position where she could casually turn her head and get a look. And what a look it was. She found him in an incidental full-length pose, utterly naked at a three-quarter angle. The position, which lasted no more than a second but would remain in April’s mind for the foreseeable future, showed off distinctly muscular arms, a corded powerful back that swept inward to a slender waist then bulged to sculpted-rock buttocks. The rest of him followed, bulging thighs and calves, the slender curve of a side-on pectoral, even the pronounced trapezii of his neck muscles. He appeared formed of a series of solid bulges of muscle, all of varying sizes, interconnecting and coated with smooth and hairless flesh, all of it gleaming like liquid gold under the warming lamplight of his bedroom.
He had the body of an Eighties action star.
April felt her mouth go dry, her heart racing and her nipples achingly hard. It was an effort not to slip a hand under her jacket and give them a good pinch. She felt a trickle of movement at her delightfully throbbing loins and could almost feel her panties growing sodden. To avoid embarrassing herself in front of those two young assistants, April had to turn away and snatch a glass of water from the complementary carafe on one of the lounge’s low glass tables.

She pushed her enticing memory onward to the ‘Irish pub’ style bar, an intimate table for two in a secluded corner, mahogany framing and green stained glass on three sides of their booth, partially blocking the too loud music from the jukebox. The two assistants sat separately but in view. The girl getting constantly hit on by drunken white and black guys. All too soon April’s attention was snatched fully by her date. There were chasers of bourbon and glasses of beer, casual chat and laughter. April having the distinct impression that she was embarrassing herself and not caring in the slightest.
Holding Orokuma’s eyes, she slowly slipped out of her jacket, pseudo-casually and glowed as his ink-black eyes took a long hungry stare at her tube-top ensnared boobs. Her nipples the same achingly hard degree they had been all evening; hard as diamonds. While her better concealed clit throbbed in unison.

She became faintly aware of men around the bar catching sight of her, staring, pointing, commenting to their buddies. A few sent wolf-whistles and bawdy comments her way but she barely registered them. While the few that tried to belligerently come over and interrupt her date were squarely, and a couple of times fiercely fended off by the male assistant before they got within her orbit. Though unobtrusive as the assistant could be, April still paid attention to his method. He appeared to use armlocks and the like to keep the physical men at bay, most he escorted back to their tables, ignoring their drunken mouthing off, while their buddies turned the joke on their friend; a few even offered the assistant apologies for their friend’s behaviour.

And then it was all spoiled, after barely an hour. The girl assistant appeared at Orokuma’s side, head bowed, eyes averted, speaking in rapid Japanese to her employer. She slid a black cell phone from her fitted pantsuit and showed him the illuminated screen. Orokuma glared at the device, a frown, deepening then deepening further. And then, before April knew it, he was apologising and declaring the date must be ended there and then. His apologies, like his bows, were numerous, however hurried and April did feel that both were honest and expressing a deep regret, but still he was whisked away before her eyes.

His male assistant, was tasked with escorting April outside and waiting with her until a cab arrived to take her back to her apartment. He stood beside her without speaking, and April felt shell shocked and sorely disappointed at the sudden ending of her pleasure. He didn’t join her in the cab either just shut the door on her and handed the driver some bills in advance. April returned to her apartment in a bit of a half-drunk, half-depressed daze. The ongoing horniness remained, aggravating her, despite her change in mood and rising frustration.
She let herself into her apartment, telling herself it had obviously been important and couldn’t be helped. And that he had promised to make it up to her the next time. Then the ideas of her waterproof vibrator in conjunction with a long, hot bubble bath came to her, and lifted her mood almost at once.

<><><>

Orokuma Gedan had once against been tasked with watching over the O’Neil woman. Which admittedly - given her figure and her unconcern about stripping off her clothes without drawing blinds or drapes in her home - was not the worst of assignments.
However, again he could barely keep his mind out of the gutter. Everyone seemed to be getting some but him. He had no doubt that his master, once he was done with the business that had cut short his date, would be taking Tomi back to his apartment and spending many hours of the night dominantly pulverising her in every way and every position he could think of a proxy for the gaijin sex kitten.
And right now, she was busy with her own sexual pleasuring. He was unable to observe her through her bedroom window from his rooftop vantagepoint for very long, as she had almost immediately entered her bathroom. However, this time he had brought a pair of night-vision goggles, planting them in concealment prior to his fully anticipated assignment. She was running her bath but standing beside the tub, one leg propped up on the edge of the bath while she belligerently pounded her own pussy with a dildo. Given the quaking physical motions of her, night-visioned-green body, she appeared to be attempting to get herself off quickly, before she even climbed into the tub.

And yet before she could, even as she was lowering her foot into the steaming water, her attention was suddenly snatched by something beyond her. Dumping her dildo under a folded towel, she dragged on a kimono-like bathrobe from the back of the door and headed toward her apartment’s entrance.
He repositioned himself so he could at least have a small vantage point through her open bedroom door into the lounge area. He saw her invite two men inside. She led them into her lounge where he lost sight of them. He should really have bugged her apartment, though his master had not given Gedan such a command.
After a few minutes, O’Neil entered her bedroom, peeling off her robe, assumedly to dress. However, she was immediately followed by the two men. Who accosted her with their lust. They got down to the fucking pretty quickly. And to Gedan, it didn’t immediately appear particularly consensual. Still, the woman gave in to their advances quickly enough and before long she was getting thoroughly pumped from behind while the other male simultaneously began to fuck her face.
Gedan returned to his preferred vantage point on the rooftop so he could watch the action on O’Neil’s bed at a better angle. They moved her around her bed several times, swapping holes, one taking her face while the other fucked her cunt, both of them taking every opportunity to maul those big, rude heifer jugs of hers. At one point she started to fight them again but it was just because one of the men was pushing his dick up her ass.
They both held her tight until he was secure and then both of them were once again using her roughly. Still, they saved her the indignity of an ass-to-mouth switch around. Gedan wouldn’t have bothered saving her from that.
Between their multiple ejaculations the two men entertained themselves with mild sexual tortures. At one point, having O’Neil sandwiched between them, on her side. The man facing her had a hand clamped over her mouth and the other hand gripping the back of her neck, apparently keeping her reactions subdued, while the man behind her was firmly assaulting those big fun bags with his one available hand. The other hand slapping at her buttocks or penetrating between them with multiple fingers.
They rolled her this way and that, continuing their double penetrations with O’Neil both face up, and pinned between them, and then face down still sandwiched. Throughout, they continued to attack her breasts and ass cheeks, slapping and squeezing and pinching, also spanking her, pulling her hair and squeezing her throat in their continued violent lust.

Gedan suddenly felt a presence behind him and spun around on his heel, arms coming up combatively. Later, he would curse himself yet again for becoming distracted by the ongoing sex show. It was a lesson he was continually struggling with. Even as he turned his back on his overlooking view of O’Neil’s apartment, something struck his night-vision goggles, two harsh impacts slamming the device against his face. The electronic lenses flared momentarily and then went black momentarily blinding him. He immediately flicked them off his head, allowing them to fall to the ground of the flat rooftop while he blinked away the flares obscuring his vision.
He darted backward and to one side, putting a low air conditioning unit in front of him while he peered beyond it, gazing around into the shadows. He could still see nothing and silently cursed his ineffective natural night-vision. His uncle would no doubt chastise him for his failings. A risked glance down revealed the goggle’s lenses to have been smashed by what appeared to be two heavy duty masonry nails. His instinct was they were makeshift bo-shuriken, but he dismissed that idea as ridiculous. Paranoid. Gaijin did not know of such things, let alone how to use them. Instead, he refocussed his alertness around his person, bringing his attention to the shapes around him, continuing to search the shadows of the rooftop and those overlooking his own. But he could see nothing.
Yet, it wasn’t ‘nothing’ that had destroyed his night-vision goggles. Something had done that and he could no longer stand there watching the O’Neil woman rough riding a couple of random gaijin hard ons. He would have to report all these events back to his uncle, take his punishment and await further instructions.

<><><>

April felt utterly exhausted after Daryl and Alcaraz had Dp’d her for almost two sordid and miserable hours. After her quiet bathroom clean up -the guys still snoring away in the next room - she downed another two fingers of bourbon. The unused bathwater, now cold and scummy from the leftover bubble-bath residue, was still half-filling the tub so she had pushed the plunger to open up the drain and then tidied up the towels and hid her washed clean vibrator in a drawer.

Rather than walking around naked, she risked sneaking back into her bedroom but just long enough to grab an old ‘Pikachu’ onesie that she kept for lounging around on lonely weekends. It had been a gift from a nerdy-ex, initially a fan, who loved the colour match to her ‘work uniform’. She had kept it because it was comfortable and warm, great for snuggling up in.
She crept back into the living room with the yellow and black hooded bundle of fleece, before sliding into it and zipping it up snug. She noted that it could actually do with a wash, smelling a little bit musty but she still smelled of sex and a hint of men’s stale sweat, so it was no worse than she was.
Finally, April refilled her glass and took it over to her couch, reaching for the manilla envelope with those future-securing DNA results inside.

Her hands were shaking as she opened the flap - she might well hold the future of her journalistic career in her hands - and reached in for the sheaf of papers. At the front was a typed note from Doctor Alcaraz but April quickly flipped it over without bothering to read it. First came a listing of her stomach contents, following a short statistical breakdown of the hospital, date and time, basic patient details. She glanced down the contents. About a third of it was in plain English, ingredients of her half-digested lunch, residual nutrients and waste products in the stomach acid from other food stuffs, fully digested but not fully subsumed. The stated appearance of ‘seminal fluid’ was at the bottom of the list.
The third page contained the important stuff. A separation of DNA types found in the combined seminal fluid and food samples. There was a statement on that third page that the one sample of seminal fluid had somehow presented as ‘unreadable’, the results equating to a cross-contamination.
At the bottom were additional details, unspecified elements in contaminated DNA results attributed to cross-contamination with food stuffs of animal origin including poultry and seafood. It was the only hint - the mention of Testudine DNA of the Cryptodira type. April had to Google the term to confirm it. It referred to a type of turtle. The report appeared to put the turtle DNA into the residual food stuffs rather than originating in the seminal fluid, as though she had eaten some turtle soup, despite it being illegal.

She sagged. Fighting back tears of disappointment. It might be enough for her to put weight behind the theory that had been slowly building in her thoughts, that someone had managed to create some kind of hybrid human-turtle mutation, who - possibly to avoid governmental interference or simply to get rid of evidence of illegal, unlicenced experimentation - had flushed the samples down into the sewers. And like all those old urban legends of alligators living beneath New York, the hybrids had somehow survived and grown and flourished.
However, to anyone other than April, with no additional evidence to support her theory, physical or otherwise, she had nothing. Nothing to show, nothing to share, nothing to put her name to.
At that moment, her headache, exhaustion and the alcohol swimming around in her system was pretty much the only thing that kept her from falling apart. She was too tired, too sore, depressed and defeated to tumble into fits of sobbing. She just tossed the stomach pump report onto her coffee table in ‘what-a-waste-of-time’ disgust. She slumped heavily back on her sofa with an exasperated sigh and closed her eyes.

When she awoke, a couple of hours later, she was lying on her side, on her couch in a foetal curl, her empty tumbler copying her on the rug, a small bourbon stain making itself permanent. The Pikachu onesie had kept her warm despite the coldness of the air. It took a while of slowly rising awareness before she noticed that the papers of the stomach pump results, including the envelope, were missing, and that the apartment window behind her was open.
- 3
- 4
- 5
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

April O'Neil - Evidence Gathering