Precision Solutions

After showering, I dressed in a soft, fitted, short-sleeved gray sweater with no support under it, black denims and my Tony Llama boots, and then glanced out at the deck. The stunning dark lady was gone, but a sticky note on my glass door fluttered in the breeze.

The note read: 'Thank you for sharing your delicious, intimate, unrestrained moment beside our pool. Please stop by my apartment and office, 5^th floor suite 201. My number is 823-5690 if you wish to call. If I'm not there, please do return soon! Gratefully, Heather Longstreet.'

Office Work

That afternoon's work involved a call to Mark Campbell at PRISM Designs, a video conference with him and his wife, Parker, who was too beautiful and sensuous to be let loose on a watching world. The woman was only partially clothed, for heaven's sake, for a video conference. Actually, this was merely my introduction to the unrelentingly sensuous world of PRISM Designs.

Her top revealed much of her great and gorgeous chest making it very, very difficult for me to power through the business in manly fashion, and the skirt she wore...or almost didn't wear, was so short and revealing that it was criminally dangerous. And of course it was all deliberate. Women, whatever they have on or off, dress with deliberation; very few things are left unplanned.

We discussed an offer by Parker to accept a permanent and gratis membership in their on-line erotic website, and their offer to take part in an erotic photo set near their offices in Palm Beach.

I snapped up the website offer since I'd already heard of the amazing erotica on theBeautifulPRISM.com, and I promised to seriously consider the offer for a nude photo shoot in locations of their choosing. Actually, after Parker described what they had in mind for me, I pretty well agreed with it. It would be erotic beyond anything I'd ever done before.

Parker had been staring at me in a fashion that far exceeded professional concentration during the entire conference. My fitted sweater exposed my breasts and nipples to perfection, and as I shifted positions I felt my breasts bounce deliciously. Though I'd not set out to do so, I figured, 'Okay, sexy lady, turn-about is fair arousal. Must admit, though, I really look forward to meeting you in person.'

Since we were in-between jobs, I did a little research on something down south in Louisiana, then logged in to theBeautifulPRISM.com. I have no idea how they did it, but on my entry panel the welcome read, "What an erotic pleasure to have you, beautiful Jonathan! All parts of the site are permanently open to you. If you have any questions or need assistance, please contact me, Parker; it'll be a pleasure to assist you."

For the next two hours I scrolled and linked through the most exotic, sensuous and explicit pictures of all sorts. The site did caution that PRISM allowed no bondage, torture or other extreme photos of any sort. But that left, as I was soon to view, every other conceivable type of sensuous and arousing pictures and videos imaginable.

The PRISM staff's photos were an exercise in beautifully produced and sexually explicit pictures, most of which were done naturally in public venues. This is the complete reverse of most erotic picture sites where the scenes are posed singles and the "public" photos are actually the subject in some field, abandoned building, sidewalk, or the backyard of someone's home. These were made in the midst of groups, parties, business meetings and simple casual activities with others looking on and complete with their surprised or pleased expressions.

Even the nudity and explicit sexual actions were open for all to see. I then understood what the invention of my special, easily concealed camera had done for the world of sensuality.

Mark Campbell and a young man named Hayden were truly sexually attractive, and to my surprise I wasn't embarrassed to admit it. The CEO, Lauren Campbell, was a study in mature, beautiful and raw animal attractiveness. Only later did I discover they were all lovers of the first order.

Parker Campbell, Mark's wife, touched one of my rarely-shared fetishes...I am aroused by women with thick, dark body hair in delicious and strategic locations...underarms and upper thighs and so forth, and I am trapped completely by large breasts and prominent, fat nipples, preferably together. Not to mention micro-shorts to which Pandora introduced me in their extremes, and micro-skirts that displayed the delicious gifts of women front and behind.

While I'm on the subject, I'm attracted to lovely shemales, though I've known only one, Charlotte, and this girl only from pictures she entrusted to me before moving to Australia. PRISM's director of treasure and archaeological acquisitions stunned me. Ashwynde Richardson was nothing short of gorgeous, and her always completely stylish-yet-unrestrained manner of dress wherever she was moved me to some delicious, exquisitely messy and memorable interludes.

There was another of those personal inserts to the entrance of her erotica: "Dear Jonathan, how I anticipate meeting you. May I be so bold as to request an evening's date with you? With my gratitude, beautiful man, your Ashwynde."

There was even a small panel for my acceptance! I, being the shy, careful and hesitant man that I am instantly entered, "I accept, beautiful Ashwynde. May I discuss a convenient time with you when I arrive? With my appreciation, your Jonathan Stone."

Her reply was almost immediate: "Yes, Jonathan. Whatever time you choose is perfect for me. I must tell you that I am doing all in my power to make your visit as soon as possible." She had to have been monitoring her site for such a speedy reply!

She followed it immediately with a note saying, "The photos of you that Pandora sent in have created such a stir that we've entered you in our "Most Beautiful Amateur" contest. You'll get national recognition from this, and I'll let you know the results on our date. Bye. Ashe."

My alarm clock, actually my British Shorthair gray feline with the golden eyes who is ever perched beside me at my computer to ensure that I play by the rules of humans, let out his loud, gravelly yowl and brought me back to a far less sensuous world. His name is Thomas Jonathan Jackson, "Stonewall,' "Brickhead," "Rocky," or other good natured appellation depending on my mood. As with all cats, he completely understands me; I in turn cannot fathom him except to know that he's one of my best friends and I'd give my life for that 'big ole boy,' as we say down South.

Social Responsibilities

I performed the usual business before meeting an amazing-yet-strange woman, then went in to check what I wore. I swapped the gray fitted sweater for a tight white one that contrasted sharply with my long, heavy auburn hair. And I decided against any support. The soft quivering of my breasts was just too delicious to pass up. I kept the black denims and boots.

Slowly, I made my way down one floor by the stairs; yes, the jiggling of my breasts and my now rock-hard nipples caressed by my sweater was too exciting to pass up. By the time I arrived at the attractively decorated yet simple single door to Heather Longstreet's office and residential suite, I'd become as hot as a cheap handgun after some idiot put five rounds through it.

The embossing on the door read, "Heather Longstreet, Private Investigations."

'You douchebag, Jonathan,' I read myself the riot act. 'She's maybe a new friend, possibly a professional contact...and you're acting like a fifteen year old on his first date with the most popular girl in school. Grow up, you fathead! And walk in there with your big head leading your little head...can you manage that?'

After this mental flogging, I settled down and pressed a button that triggered a pleasing array of Winchester chimes within the office.

For another and very pleasant time this day I was unprepared for the woman who answered the chimes. Heather Longstreet was a stunning black woman in her late twenties or early thirties who had to be near the top of my rapidly growing most-beautiful women list.

She smiled warmly, extended her arms, and as if it were a natural greeting for a close friend or family member, kissed me softly but with an electric intimacy that set off those pleasant signals within a man. Her perfume was an understated, delicate mixture of orange blossoms, honeysuckle and something oriental. It was exactly what she would have worn...anyone would know that.

She held my hand and led me into an attractively designed apartment and business suite that was so well integrated I had no idea where one left off and the other began.

"You're Jonathan Stone," she spoke in a husky voice. "I'm Heather."

For the first time in my life, I raised her hand to my lips and kissed it. Where that originated inside me I'll never know, but it pleased her.

This extraordinary lady wore a lovely yellow ankle-length gown that was disturbingly divided just below her abdomen to reveal perfect legs and her black, crisp, expertly manicured pussy fluff. She was completely uninhibited as her intimates were exposed with each step we took.

Heather's dress reflected perfectly the image her scent, overall image and physical presence offered. It was a yellow one-shoulder affair of exquisite manufacture and erotic design. The off-shoulder side plunged deeply beneath her left arm to just above her waist, completely baring her full left breast with its small, dark areole and unusually long, hard nipple.

Heather Longstreet was an epitome of stunning beauty mixed with an incredible sensuality she bared with impunity.

She led me to a colorful fabric-covered couch where she sat but held on to my hand as she guided me around to her left side and indicated that I should sit beside her. She touched a hidden switch on the arm of the couch, resetting the recessed lighting to a comfortable yet dimmer glow. I noted that all the curtains on the side of the room across from us were open.

With no interval, she opened the conversation. "Jonathan, I've researched you and discovered that you have an impeccable record of business dealings, interaction with law enforcement and government agencies, and even found a few of your more erotic proclivities. I fully approve of that!" she laughed with a throaty enjoyment."

This had to be the most unusual first visit to or from anybody in my life. Here I was seated beside a lovely and half-naked woman to whom her sensuous appearance seemed perfectly natural; her bare breast she'd pressed lightly against me, her dress had parted above her bush and she displayed proudly its rich, black curls glistening in the dim light.

She fixed her gaze on me and waited to see what I would do. For once in my life the best course of action was to slide my gaze over her completely. Then I said, "Heather, you are simply a gorgeous woman. What do you want from me?"

"Two things," she replied quickly. First, I want and need your friendship. I have very few friends and you are the sort of man I need. Second, as you know, I'm a private investigator. I need your help."

"How do you know you can trust me as a friend?" I asked quietly.

"After you've seen me as I am dressed and you've not said one jackass thing or made the least move to get your hands on me, that signals to me that you are a rare breed...you are probably the most handsome and desirable man I've met, and you control your urges to subordinate them to your mind. I need that sort of man as a friend."

"How do you know that I can provide the help you need, Heather?"

"I've investigated you...and that's another item: you never flew up into the air with some stupid objection to my having checked up on you...my sources tell me that while your erotic appearance might hint otherwise, you are an extremely dangerous man in a stable sort of way. Part of your background is a complete blank; that tells me that you've either done clandestine work or there are black ops somewhere in there. I ran into a blank wall pursuing that part of your life."

"And?" I urged her on with a steady gaze.

"You're licensed in five different directions to carry a weapon of choice. You are trained in Israeli krav maga and Brazilizn jujitsu, though when you ever had time to do those beats me. You have been employed by some rather snooty types for work not described. The fact that the people down at Blackwater in Moyock, North Carolina, are well-acquainted with you and hired you as an instructor tells me that I need to have you in my life."

I shifted slightly in my seat next to her and my breasts jiggled quite pleasantly. She stared at me with a hungry expression and whispered bluntly, "You have a luscious body, Jonathan Stone. Your breasts are absolutely delicious and are nearly as large as mine, your hair is what most women would kill to get, and your restraint here with me is more erotic than you could possibly guess. As for that created perfection of beauty and form between your legs, I'll dream of it for a long, long time. Perhaps someday...."

"You seem to have accurately portrayed me with good grace, Heather. Thank you."

"You must promise me this, Jonathan: please join me again at the pool just as we were this afternoon."

"I promise to please you in that regard," I chuckled. "But I must ask this of you: promise me that in the future you'll repeat the manner of your dress this evening. You have no idea how much explosive energy I've had to subdue in the short time we've been together here."

Her laughter was sexy and genuine. "I promise, Jonathan."

The Job

"What is your retainer, Jonathan?"

I explained the aspects of our fee schedule; she seemed pleased.

"Let me explain what our company does, Heather. We are small...smaller targets don't bring on unwelcome attention. We do not specialize in simply getting even with people. Our clients' problems must involve undeserved and unwelcome mistreatment for which they have no recourse. Law enforcement agencies are helpless nowadays to act preemptively to protect someone from the predators of this world. All they can do is chase down some low life after a fine citizen has been brutalized."

She nodded her agreement.

"The courts are almost an exercise in laughable futility with lawyers jerking victims around, criminals being released for 'lack of evidence' or because of some idiot official's agenda, and the entire system acting as if the most righteous game in the world is simply playing out some farce in a quiet, richly paneled room. Our company operated on a different level. We dig down to discover a client's tormentor and meet with that person or persons to end the matter."

"What happens after that?" she asked softly.

"If the other side ceases their activity and repays our client for their losses, and they rarely do, it would stop with that. Typically, it doesn't work out that way. In such cases we ensure that the problem stops...period."

"What do I have to do?" she replied.

"You'll need to sign a private agreement that you will not in any fashion attempt to prescribe how we deal with a problem. You will agree to consider this as if it never happened, and you will not ask for any description of how we dealt with your problem. Are we clear about these things?"

Heather shifted in her seat, turning toward me and placing her curved right leg up on the couch between us. Her yellow gown slid off her thigh and fell away, completely baring her smooth milk chocolate-hued flesh and displaying her glossy pussy curls. In the midst of her rich growth glared the single eye of a large, obviously expensive diamond in a plain white gold setting and mounted on a simple three-inch chain attached to something within that rich thicket of grass.

She smiled her pleasure with my gaze, then whispered, "Yes, Jonathan. Your way is best."

"Now tell me, what is the threat you face?"

"Three years ago I started seeing a man from a very wealthy family. His name is Mason Carpenter. As savvy as I was, I was blinded by his charm, his money, and the things we did...all the wrong things, I know. Long story-short story, Jonathan, his brutality didn't take long at all to show itself. He beat me, in a very imaginative fashion he stole most of my money. So I left him.

"I should have known that it wouldn't be that simple. I signed a restraint order...that's merely paper crap!" she ground out bitterly. "I went back to the police and they told me that they could do nothing more until 'he made some move against me'.

"The intervening years were times of raw fear that at times became terror. I couldn't work; I was afraid to leave here; clients began to drift away. I tried to hire a body guard, but I got no takers. I found out that his family is so well-connected and so wealthy that they are virtually untouchable.

"Mason is thirty but his rotten family and their lawyers still hover over him like hellacious helicopters. And he has two friends, Kent Lawson and Gary Kleinfeld who do everything with him."

"Can you help me?" she asked, trying to mask a note of fear but not quite succeeding.

"Heather, this is what we do at Precision Solutions. I need some other info right now. And if you don't cover those gorgeous legs, I'm going to jump off your balcony."

"Oh! Please, please don't act rashly," she replied with a lascivious smile. At the same time she straightened her right leg on the sofa and brought up her left one. The yellow gown was now under her bottom with the rest of its length on the carpet. Those amazing, smooth legs and her fur with the diamond glaring from the midst of her thicket were bare; she was justifiably proud of it all.

After I discovered what else I needed, she led me by my hand out onto her balcony. The evening was warm and fresh. She stood beside me, silent, sometimes gazing at me, at times touching the waves in my hair that surround my face, and several times staring at my pointed breasts under the tight sweater.

"Dear, Lord, what an enigma...a beautiful, luscious, erotic puzzle...you are, Jonathan Stone. I need your friendship...thank you for respecting me tonight. In the future you may enjoy whatever you wish from me. But it is enough for now to know that you are my friend and that you are on my side."

"Heather, I hate to leave but now I have work to do. May I make a date with you for later this week? Dinner? A time to display you for public admiration? A moment in which to create mass jealousy because I have the most beautiful lady in the room?"

She laughed with delight and said, "Yes for tomorrow evening. What should I wear?"

"If you dress like that, we'll be digging ourselves out from under the jail. But could I request something a bit more restrained, something like a short white leather skirt and a yellow sweater with half-heel pumps? It's a fetish of mine. No stockings...your skin is too lovely to hide that way."

"Jonathan, would it add to your enjoyment if I wore nothing but those two items and the pumps, would that satisfy you while keeping us out of jail?" She stared at me with a wolfish expression on her lovely face.

"Do you mean...?" I asked hopefully.

"Yes, I do mean exactly that," she whispered knowingly.

I intended to leave quickly but Heather had other plans. As I turned to thank her and say goodbye, she placed my hand on her bare breast and rubbed her nipple with it. As she held my hand over her warm fullness, she lifted her face to kiss me. And it wasn't any kiddie sort of kiss. She gently toured the inside of my mouth with her serpent-like tongue, then whispered, "Good night, beautiful, strong man. And thank you. See you tomorrow."

The Pit

The thing itself is almost a living being. It is now a familiar sight among the locals whom it had successfully dispossessed of their homes and all investment in them; its international reputation billed it simply as "The Sinkhole That Eats Louisiana."