Getting Away With Murder By Muscle Fan, covert.1@hotmail.com Prologue: I'm relatively new to the Los Angeles area and I'm currently living in Orange County. I'm a dominatrix and actress specializing in roll playing, muscle worship and muscle flexing. My Orange County address allows me access to studios in Hollywood as well as my affluent clients of Beverly Hills, Hollywood Hills, Cota de Caza and Newport Coast. My clients are generally men and women of means, those who appreciate a diversion from their corporate or public lifestyle. You might say I fulfill a fantasy for these people. I'm tall, standing six-feet and very muscular. I work out and train every day. I enjoy what I do and I think I can say I've never had a client leave unsatisfied. I attribute my height and strength to good genetics, regular workouts, vitamins and other supplements, several of which are not readily available here in the States. But you will learn more about me and my life later. This is a story that happened several years ago. I have shared it with 'Muscle Fan', one of my slaves, who is a fantastic writer. If you enjoy it, please let me know at covert.1@hotmail.com "Hello," the dweeb behind the counter said as I walked in, "please sign in, ah, miss," and he swallowed hard. Normally I ignored him, but tonight I stopped and turned to him. I placed both hands on the counter, shoulder width apart. I looked the boy in the eyes, but he was having trouble making eye contact with me. Instead he was looking from one of my nineteen inch biceps to the other. I smiled to myself as I continued to watch his expression. Without taking my hands from the counter, I flexed my right bicep. The muscle constricted and the skinny kid watched as my muscle bulged. I chuckled and asked, "Do you like that, baby?" I knew his name was Tom, as that was what was embroidered over his left breast on his polo shirt that he wore. He ran his pale pink tongue across his equally pale lips. If he wasn't standing there behind the counter, he could have passed for a corpse. "Well, do you?" I asked, and tearing his eyes away from my arm, said weakly, "What?" 'This really is difficult', I thought, 'dealing with someone so easily distracted.' "I asked if you liked my muscles, wimp," I repeated, "I've seen you watching me while I'm working out. You probably stand back there and jack off while I'm lifting, don't you?" He swallowed again, "Ah, no, I, ah, I mean, I don't play ... " "Play with yourself," I said, "Don't deny it, sissy-boy, my muscles make you hard and you stand back there touching your little dick, isn't that right, Tommy?" His face reddened, but he didn't respond. "Let's see it," I told him. "What?" he said shocked. "Let's see that cock of yours," I said, "you can show me, or I can come back there and pull those sweat pants off your skinny little hips." I could almost hear the gears turning in his head as he weighed his options. Finally he pulled the elastic down his thin thighs. As he did, his erection sprang free and I had to stifle a laugh. His pubic hair, which I find disgusting, nearly concealed his penis. After a moment, I said, "OK, OK, pull up your pants." In a way, I felt sorry for the kid. He wasn't bad looking in a wimpy sort of way, but he didn't have the 'equipment' that I needed, besides, I had about eighty pounds of muscle on this kid. 'I must be getting soft', I thought, 'I should break this kids fingers so he can't play with himself, but what do I care, besides, he's not the first kid who's fantasized about me.' "You need to get rid of the thatch you have down there, Tom," I said, "any woman would be put off by all that hair. Besides, if you were better groomed your pencil-dick would look a little bigger." He blinked at me and nodded. I smiled. I turned and headed into the gym. Tommy, I knew, watched me as I walked. Probably touching himself as he watched my ass. I headed past the equipment and machines to the far wall where the free weights were. At this time of night I rarely saw anyone else in the gym except for the kid behind the counter. Selecting a set of dumbbells from the rack in front of the floor to ceiling mirror, I watched myself as I began by doing a set of standing dumbbell curls. I watched my form, being careful to stand still, not jerking or cheating by using my upper body to lift the dumbbells, allowing my arms to do all of the work. This first set was a warm up, ten repetitions using forty pound weights. I re-racked the weights and picked up the fifty pound dumbbells. 'Back straight,' I told myself, watching my posture in the mirror. My biceps swelled with each lift. 'That's it, baby,' I prompted my muscles, 'get big.' I sat the dumbbells back on the rack after another ten repetitions. Admiring my muscles in the mirror, I made a fist and flexed, bringing my arm up across my chest. With my free hand I felt my bicep. 'Hmm,' I thought, 'hard, very hard.' I repeated this with my other arm. I picked up the sixty pound dumbbells and began my third set of curls. Warming up now, I could feel beads of sweat forming on my chest. By the time I did my last curl of the set I was damp under my arms and my breasts, the dampness visible through the sheer fabric of my tank top. My fourth and final set, I would curl until I could do no more. I picked up the seventy-five pound dumbbells. Previously I had done twelve reps, but I wanted to do more tonight. The first nine reps came easy, but on the tenth, I slowed my biceps beginning to burn. 'Come on, baby, you can do it,' I thought, 'just a few more.' A movement off to my right caught my eye and at first I thought it was Tommy moving around the equipment, but I knew he rarely ventured onto the gym floor. I gritted my teeth as I lifted each dumbbell for the eleventh rep. I was focusing on the reflection of my biceps in the mirror when I saw the movement again, this time closer. It was a woman, an attractive woman, wearing leggings, a tank top over a sports bra and bright yellow cross-trainers. It was the shoes that had caught my eye. I grunted, exhaling loudly, as I lifted each of the dumbbells for the twelfth rep, and brought the weights down slowly. It's important to bring the weights downward slowly so as to savor the resistance. "May I help," she said softly from behind. I gave a quick nod and began lifting my last rep. The woman moved in front of me and as I stalled in my lift with my right arm, she applied a little lift under my elbow to get me the momentum I needed. As I started lifting with my left arm, she moved to my left so that she could assist. "Just a little," I hissed through clenched teeth. She nodded and placed her well-manicured hands under my left elbow and guided me ever so gently to curl the weight. She stepped aside as I replaced the weights on the rack. "Thanks," I said watching her in the mirror. She looked at me from toe to head and smiled, "Not a problem, glad I could help." I turned and stepped close to her. She didn't flinch or back away. My blonde hair was wet with sweat; rivulets ran down my cheeks, my tank top was soaked and clung to my breasts. Her gaze was focused on my chest, my nipples making small mounds under the wet cotton tank. I crossed my arms and pulled the tank top over my head, tossing it on the dumbbell rack without looking. She tentatively raised a hand, her index finger extended. "Go on," I whispered and she gently touched my erect nipple. Her touch was as light as a butterfly. "Hmm," I cooed softly, "pinch me." She took my nipple between her index finger and thumb and gently squeezed. "Harder," I mouthed as I watched her jaw tighten slightly, but her touch still felt soft. I smiled and she smiled back. "Suck me," I said. She released her grip and without hesitation took my nipple in her mouth, biting lightly as she pulled away. "Hmm," I said as I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, "that feels wonderful." I took the neckline of her tank top in both hands and ripped it from her as if it were made of tissue. She shrugged out of the ruined top. I took her sports bra by the straps intending to have it suffer the same fate as the tank top but she let go of my nipple and said, "Let me do that." She quickly peeled the sports bra over her head and tossed it in the direction in which I threw my top. Her flawless bronze skin was only broken by two triangles of white where a bikini top had blocked the sun. Her breasts were larger than mine, but firm, her light brown areola about an inch in diameter was capped by a firm nipple. As I took her nipple between my fingers, her breath caught. I saw Tommy's reflection in the mirror. He kept a safe distance but I knew he was there, watching, 'the little pervert,' I thought. I twisted lightly and she moaned softly, "Please, don't stop." I chuckled and replied, "I'm only getting started, baby, take off those legging's, let me see that pussy of yours." Her eyes opened, and I let go of her breast. She hesitated and I said, "Now, sweetie, peel them off." She tucked her fingers into the elastic waistband and worked the material down her legs. She was bronze from head to toe with the exception of the tan line on her breasts and a triangular patch that covered, but just barely, her pubis. I was pleased to see that she had taken the time to wax and I ran my fingers gently over her bare mons. "Hmm," she sighed, "I love for you to touch me." 'How had I not seen her at the gym before,' I thought, 'this girl is hot.' I cupped her pubis and toyed with her clit with the tip of my finger. Her eyes were closed, head back, when I kissed her neck. As I inserted my finger into her vagina, her breath caught. "Do you like that, baby," I whispered in her ear. "Hmm, you know I do," she replied. My own clit was becoming aroused. I could feel it pressing against my Spandex shorts. This woman's clit was small, about the size of a macadamia nut, I thought. I continued to finger her and she slowly moved her hips. "Tommy, take my shorts off," I said softly to the boy who was behind a curl bench watching, slowly stroking his penis. The woman looked in Tommy's direction and smiled and then laughed lightly. Tommy moved around the bench and knelt, peeling the shorts from my hips. Once he had them to my ankles, I stepped out of them. He didn't stand up so I looked down at him and found him staring at my clit. "Do you like that, Tommy?" I asked, "Have you ever seen a clit as big as mine?" "Ah, no, um ... " he mumbled. "Call me mistress or Mistress Monica," I told him. "Yes, mistress," he said. I could tell that the woman I was fingering was nearing an orgasm by her shallow breathing. "Suck me, Tommy, suck my clit," I told him. He greedily took me between his lips and pulled slightly, and then pulled me into his mouth. 'I may have misjudged this boy,' I thought, 'he may not have the biggest dick, but he has talent pleasing me with his mouth.' The woman's breathing became rapid as she reached her climax and then with a stifled cry, she sent a short stream of cum onto my hand, Tommy's shoulder and the floor. As I withdrew my fingers, she sighed loudly. Tommy put his hands on the back of my legs, nuzzling my pubis. If he noticed the woman's cum hitting his shoulder, he gave no indication. His stiff tongue darted in and out, toying with my labia. "Hmm," I said, "keep going, that feels wonderful, you know how to please a woman." "He should," the woman I had just pleasured said, catching her breath, "I taught him everything he knows. I'm Tammy, Tommy's sister." 'Holy crap,' I thought, 'who knew? They couldn't be more different. He's thin and pasty white, while she's well-built and tan.' Tammy who must have read my mind, said, "I know, we're different, but I taught him how to pleasure a woman for hours, didn't I, Tommy." Tommy, who was still toying with my clit and pussy, nodded. "I know he's not a hunk, but he can keep an erection for hours and if he does climax, he'll be ready again in minutes," Tammy said. "So you and Tommy have had sex together?" I asked. She looked at me for a full minute before saying, "Yeah, lot's, how else would he learn?" "How long," I asked. "Excuse me," she said. "How long can he keep an erection," I asked. "I don't know, but the longest he's lasted with me has been five hours," Tammy said. "He had an erection and was having sex with you for five hours without coming?" I asked. She nodded, smiling. I looked down at Tommy who was busily servicing my pussy. My large clit was being sucked, pulled and lapped. I put my hands behind my head as Tammy sucked my tits, alternating between my left and right. 'This definitely isn't my usual workout,' I thought. I put a hand under Tammy's chin and raised her face to mine and kissed her deeply exploring her mouth with my tongue. When I broke the kiss I put my still damp fingers in her mouth. "Lick your cum from my fingers," I said and she sucked each finger in turn. "Did you instruct your brother to swallow your cum?" I asked. She smiled, "Certainly, Tommy will suck you dry, won't you, Tommy?" she asked. Tommy nodded; I could feel him against my pussy. "Good," I said, "I'm going to climax and I want you, Tommy, to drink my juices and you, Tammy to clean up whatever drops are clinging to my 'she-cock' when he's done, do you understand?" Tammy nodded and I could feel Tommy acknowledging me against my pelvis. I allowed myself to explode and at first I thought Tommy was going to choke, but he swallowed quickly as I sent three waves of my semen into his waiting mouth. Tammy nudged Tommy's shoulder and he stood up as she took his place, lapping at my labia. There was a noise from the front of the gym. Tommy turned and looked towards the front desk. The rattle came again. "Is the front door locked," I asked. "Yes, mistress," Tommy said, "I locked it before coming back to watch you and my sister." "Good boy," I said, "What about the back door." Tommy quickly turned and looked at me, blinking as if to trying to remember something. Just then a man's voice said from the back corner of the gym, "Hey, I didn't think you were open, the front ... " and then he stopped talking. The man, over six-foot tall with a physique that showed he had spent hours in the gym, only stood and stared as I stood there with my fists resting on my hips by the dumbbell rack while Tammy lapped my clit. "George," Tommy said, "I didn't think you'd be coming in tonight." His eyes never left Tammy and me. "I got off a little early," he said, "So thought I'd get my workout in." "Uh-huh," Tommy said. I stepped away from Tammy and she ran the back of her hand over her moist lips. I walked toward George, smiling. "I'm Monica," I said, extending my hand. He tore his gaze away from my body to look at my outstretched hand. He took it and I squeezed, gently at first and then with a little more pressure. "You may call me Mistress Monica though," I told him. "Ahh, pleased to meet you Mistress Monica, I'm George," he said. I didn't let go of his hand and I could tell he was becoming uneasy with his hand caught in my grip. I gradually squeezed harder and he glanced from his hand to my chest and down to my clit. "Look, ahh, Mistress Monica," he said, "I can come back some other time, if I'm interrupting." "That won't be necessary, George," I said, "I was just training Tommy and Tammy here on the finer points of servicing their mistress." He tried to pull his hand free of my grasp. "Look, obviously I've interrupted something," he said, a note of concern or fear in his voice, "I'll just come back later." I held his hand and increased my grip. "Please, stay, George," I said, and then turning to Tommy, "Now might be a good time to lock the back door, Tommy." Tommy jogged off to do as I told him. George wore a pair of loose fitting shorts that fell just above the knees. His T-shirt was beneath a hooded sweatshirt with a zippered front. 'He's spent a few hours working out,' I thought as I looked at him from top to bottom. I let go of his hand and he quickly rubbed it with his other hand, massaging each finger and his palm. "What were you going to work out tonight," I asked. He blinked as if focusing his mind, "Ah, back and biceps today," he said. "Good," I said, "I've already done dumbbell curls; I'll let you catch up." Again, he looked at me from head to foot. "What?" I asked, "Haven't you ever seen a woman before?" "No," he said, and then said, "I mean yes, yes I have seen a naked woman before, it's just that, aren't you the least bit embarrassed?' I glanced over at Tammy and then back at George and said, "No, I'm not embarrassed, but you should take off your shorts and shirt." "Look, Monica," he began to protest, when I hit him in the stomach doubling him over. "It's Mistress Monica and you don't get to question me, now strip off those clothes." At first I thought he was going to not do as I had said, but slowly he unzipped his sweatshirt and shrugged out of it. 'He has a nice looking chest,' I thought. "Now the T-shirt, Georgie," I said. He stared at me and pulled the T-shirt over his head. His chest was covered with curly hair. "Well," I said, "Drop those shorts, Georgie-boy, come on, don't be bashful," and I looked from Tommy and Tammy to George. Slowly he pushed his shorts down. His taut abdominals were not as defined as mine, but showed signs of many hours of crunches and sit ups. A red mark where I had punched him was still visible. His flaccid penis was nearly buried under curly pubic hair. I found this particularly disgusting and wrinkled my nose. He noticed and said, "What? I've taken off my clothes like you asked." "You need to groom yourself, Georgie," I said, "Women don't want to go down on a mop of hair like that." He regarded himself in the mirror behind the weight rack, running a hand over his abs to his hairy pubis. He picked up the thirty pound dumbbells and proceeded to curl them. I had started with forty pound weights. I went to a nearby curl machine and set the pin at eighty pounds. Positioning my triceps on the padded armrest, I began doing my curls. Tammy stood behind me, her nipples brushing the tops of my shoulders. After my first set, I turned and whispered to Tammy. She nodded and approached George. He sat his dumbbells on the rack and was looking at his reflection in the mirror as Tammy pressed her chest against his back and snaked a hand around his waist, grasping his manhood. George watched as she grasped his penis with her right hand and slowly gave it a couple of strokes. "Hmm," George hummed as Tammy stroked him a little quicker. His penis was now semi-erect. I was pleased to see it had grown to nearly seven-inches. Tammy, with her left hand, cupped George's scrotum as she slowly continued to stroke his shaft. I watched his reflection in the mirror as I continued my curls having reset the pin in the stack of weights to one hundred pounds. My biceps were now feeling the burn. I got up from the machine and stepped behind Tammy. I pressed her against George's back as I reached around the man and took his shaft in my hand. 'He feels pretty big,' I thought, 'Thick and long. I wonder if he can prolong his orgasm like Tommy.' My question was answered several minutes later when he climaxed. His cum shot from the head of his penis; landing partially on the forty pound dumbbells and partially on the rack. I released his shaft and told him, "Clean that off the weights and rack, George, you need to learn some self-control as well as good grooming." He looked around for the paper towel dispenser which was mounted to the wall nearby. "Use your tongue," I said, "I want to watch you lick up your own cum." "No!" he said, "I'm getting a paper towel," and tried to walk by me to the towel dispenser. I put the palm of my hand on his chest and said, "You're going to lick your cum from that rack, I'm not telling you again." He looked to Tammy and then back at me and grabbed my wrist to remove my hand from his chest. I quickly grabbed his wrist and stepped into him while pulling on his arm, throwing him across my lower back. He landed on the rubberized mat at my feet. I put one of my cross trainers on his sternum and while still having a grip on his wrist, pulled upwards. George cried out. "I can dislocate your shoulder, pussy, is that what you want," I asked. "No, no," he said, "please, l, I'll lick it off." I chuckled and let go of his arm, but I didn't remove my foot from his chest. "Please, Monica, let me up," he begged. Removing my foot, I straddled his chest and then knelt, pinning his wrists to the floor with my hands, I moved forward and covered his mouth and nose with my pussy. "It's Mistress Monica to you, bitch, do you understand, Mistress Monica," I said, "now suck that clit of mine. I need to cum and if you don't behave, I'm going to give you Mistress Monica's version of waterboarding. Do you think you can handle that?" He shook his head. I chuckled again and said, "I don't think so either." I rocked back and forth slightly, grinding my clit into his mouth and nose. I stopped and rose up allowing him to catch a breath before resuming my facesitting. I was becoming aroused, my clit engorged. I repeated this grinding even though it was met with George's muffled protests. Twenty minutes later, I climaxed. I could feel my cum gush from me. "Drink you sissy, lap your mistresses' pussy." Finished, I stood up and looked down at George. He was alive, but just barely, his head lying in a puddle of my juices, his breathing shallow. "Should we call an ambulance, mistress," Tammy asked. "No," I said, "If you could handle my clit, he certainly should be able to," and I pulled her close to me and kissed her deeply on the lips. When I broke the kiss, I said, "Tommy, you better bring the mop and bucket, we'll save Georgie-girl from licking up his cum." Tommy came back a few minutes later with a mop and bucket. I put an arm under George's head and under his knees and lifted him onto a bench, out of the way, so Tommy could mop. "I'm going to shower," I said, "Tammy, please join me." "Yes, mistress," she said. Tammy was only too happy to scrub my back, legs and chest, taking extra time lathering and rinsing my genitals. We emerged from the locker room refreshed, dressed once more in our workout clothes. Tommy was finished mopping. George appeared to be no worse for ware, although his body bore the bruises where I had hit him. "How are you feeling, Georgie?" I inquired. "Fine, mistress," he replied, looking up at me from where he lay on the flat bench. I chuckled, "Good, because I'm ready to have sex!" I studied his face and his eyes widened and he swallowed heavily. "Yes, mistress," he said, sitting up on the bench. "I was just kidding, you did well, we'll make love some other time," I said, "right now I need to go home and get some sleep." I put a finger under George's chin tilting his face to me as I bent and kissed him lightly on the lips. I gave Tammy a deep kiss and as I passed the front counter, kissed Tommy. "Be sure to groom yourself, Tommy," I said before leaving. I drove home thinking about the evening. I was a mile from my house when I saw a young man spraying graffiti on the side of a convenience store. It was early morning with no foot traffic and very few vehicles on the road. I slowed my car to a stop and lowered the window. "Hey, stop that," I said, "We don't need that on the buildings here." The man looked up and down the street before saying, "Why don't you mind your own business, lady, I don't need any hassle from you." He turned to resume his painting. I pulled to the curb and opened the car door and stepped out. I swung the door shut, keeping an eye on the man as he continued to spray paint the side of the building. As I approached he didn't turn around but rather said over his shoulder, "Look, bitch, just get back in your car and get out of here. You don't want to mess with me." He continued his work. Now that I was standing directly behind him, I could tell he was shorter than I had originally thought, perhaps five-foot four-inches with a slight build. But what he lacked in stature, he more than made up for in self-confidence and surliness. He wore jean shorts that fell past his knees, socks that covered his legs and a 'wife-beater' T-shirt. His backpack with cans of paint rested against the wall. I put a hand on his shoulder and spun him around to face me. As he turned, he depressed the nozzle on the top of the can in hopes of spraying me in the face. Had I been his height, he would have gotten me in the eyes, however, being six-foot tall, he only managed to spray my tank top. "You bastard," I said, "You're going to pay for that." With my free hand, I quickly grabbed the wrist of his right hand, and squeezed it. He dropped the can of spray paint and cried out in pain. "Let go of me, 'puta'," he said, "You don't know who you're dealing with." I brought his arm up behind his back. "I know who I'm dealing with," I said, "A creep, someone who has no regard for property or people." He smirked and said, "This is Vato's turf, you don't belong here, Chica." "I don't know who these Vato's are that you're talking about, but it's not up to you to tell me where I belong," I said. "What are you, some kind of freak," he asked, looking over his shoulder at me and letting out a chuckle. "You think I'm a freak because I'm bigger and stronger than you," I said, "and maybe you're right, but let me show you what this freak is capable of." I quickly crushed his wrist with one hand. It took a second for him to realize what I had just done, and then he began to cry and sob when the pain registered. I pushed him into the wall that he had been painting and he slumped to the sidewalk clutching his broken wrist. "Did you like that Mr. Tough Guy?" I asked. He was sobbing and beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead, he didn't say anything as he sat there with his back to the wall cradling his broken wrist. "Get away from him, bitch," a deep voice behind me said. I turned to see a larger version of the tagger swaggering toward me, a knife in one hand, pointing a finger at me with his other. "She broke my wrist, bro," the man on the sidewalk said to his buddy, "She's strong, stay away from her." "That's sound advice," I said to the bigger man. He advanced slowly, knife held in front of him at the ready. I stood my ground and watched his advance, I knew what was coming. I didn't have to wait long. When he was about four-feet from me, he quickly lunged, knife held out in front of him. I managed to sidestep his thrust, chopping down on his outstretched arm with my fist. I knew it was as if he had been hit by a sledge hammer. His forearm shattered, he let out a howl of pain, dropping the knife. He stumbled but didn't fall, but his right arm hung limply at his side. He looked at me, hatred in his eyes. "You're going to pay for that, bitch," he said, and I noticed he actually managed to ball his right hand into a fist. "Looks to me like you're the bitch, big boy," I said, and laughed. I could tell by the rage on his face what was on my mind. "Come on pansy-ass, take your best shot," I taunted, pointing to my stomach. He slowly approached, his right forearm already turning a purplish-gray where I broke it. With a sneer on his face, he stood looking at me. "Well," I said, and he drove his left fist into my midsection. A strong jab, but not strong enough to double me over or even make me take a step back. "You hit like a little girl, wimp," I said, "My turn," and I doubled him over with a right jab to his stomach. At first, I didn't think he was going to take a breath. A full minute or more passed after he landed on the sidewalk before he took in any air. I stepped over to the tagger. "Get up, punk," I said, "it's your turn. Come on, let's see what you got." He began to whimper again. "Oh, shut up!" I said. "Stand up, come on you little pussy," I said, and I kicked him in one of his outstretched legs. After several seconds it was clear he wasn't going to get up. I bent down, and although he tried to pull away, I grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. I held him against the wall with my left hand on his chest, tears running from his eyes. 'Pathetic', I thought, 'a sorry little man.' I pulled back my right arm and drove it into his face. Teeth and bone were shattered and blood ran from what once was his mouth. Still holding him against the wall, I once more drove my fist into him, this time his abdominals. There was no resistance and for a split second I thought I might actually put my fist entirely through him. I took my hand away from his chest and he slid down the wall, dead. Looking at the second man, I saw he had regained his breathing. He looked up at me and then at his companion. "You don't know what you've done," he said, "the Vato's don't forget. We'll come after you, bitch." I smiled. "Do I look like I'm worried?" I asked. With my left hand clutching his neck and my right grabbing his crotch, I lifted the man up and over my head. He instinctively grabbed my forearms trying to loosen the hold I had on his neck. I held him over my head for a minute before dropping him to the sidewalk. With only one good arm, he had no chance of breaking his fall, instead, his body and head slammed into the concrete. Kneeling beside him, I put two fingers on his neck feeling for a pulse. Feeling none, I took one last look at the pair, turned and walked back to my car. I got in and drove off. 'Monica,' I thought, 'is there something wrong with you? You just killed two men as if they were cockroaches in your kitchen and you have no remorse.' I chuckled to myself, 'And maybe that's just what those two were, cockroaches'. Once I reached home, I went immediately to my spacious bedroom and took off my shorts, cross-trainers and T-shirt. Naked, I looked at myself in the mirror. Blood from one of the 'cockroaches' dotted my neck and cheek. My T-shirt was ruined where it had been sprayed with paint. I ran my hands under my breasts and down my torso and across my six-pack abs. Touching my solid, warm body was intoxicating. I closed my eyes and ran my hands around my hips to my butt, feeling the mound of my hard ass. Bending at the waist, I allowed my fingers to travel down the back of my legs, back of my knees to the twin muscles of my calves. 'Hmm,' I thought, 'you're magnificent, Monica'. For the next twenty minutes I allowed the hot water and lather of the scented body wash to play over my body. The twin shower heads pulsated as I ran my hands and fingers along my muscles and through my hair. I shampooed, savoring the scent of the lotion. I took my time drying and once done, selected an aloe moisturizer. In front of the mirror once more I applied the lotion, first in the palm of my hands, and then rubbing it in to my skin. I began at my feet and worked my way up, finishing by massaging my neck and chin. When done, my skin glowed. 'Admiring my body and muscles', I thought, 'isn't so much vanity as it is pride. Pride in what I had sculpted, honed, as an artist would admire his or her work.' I flexed my arms, trapezius, chest and waist. I turned and watched my hamstrings constrict and then my calves. Satisfied, I padded into the bedroom, the satin sheet beckoning me. The cool satin felt soft against my skin and soon I was asleep. A soft knocking brought me awake, and then the ring of the doorbell. 'Maybe if I lay here,' I thought, 'whoever it is will go away', but the knocking came again. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand and saw that it was 10:30. 'Too early,' I thought as I got out of bed and grabbed a green satin robe from a hook by the door. I padded to the front door and opened it. There on the porch was George. To say I was surprised would be an understatement and by the look on George's face, he was equally as surprised as well. Before I could say anything he stepped aside and I could see he wasn't alone. A woman with her brown hair tied in a bun and wearing a business suit stood behind George. She had a gold police badge around her neck. "Ah, Ms Randall," George said, holding up his badge, "I'm Detective Morgan and this is my partner, Detective Jenkins, we'd like to ask you a few questions, may we come in?" I stood looking between George and his partner, Detective Jenkins, for what may have been a minute or two before stepping aside, and saying, "Yes, please come in." I allowed them to enter and then shut the front door. I led them into the great room. "Please, have a seat," I said, indicating the couch. I took an arm chair across the coffee table from them. My short robe slid up my thighs and fell open as I crossed my legs, but I made no attempt to cover myself. "How may I help you, officers?" I asked. "Detective," Jenkins said, her eyes not leaving my legs, "it's detectives." "Right, sorry," I said, "how may I help you Detectives?" "We're investigating a homicide that occurred last night or early this morning," George explained, "Your car was seen traveling in the neighborhood. We were wondering if you saw anything?" "I'm sorry," I said, "where was this?" "Near Brightwood and Rose," Jenkins said. "No," I told the detectives, "I didn't see anything." "But you were near there, right?" Jenkins asked. "Yes," I replied. "And what were you doing in that neighborhood," she continued, "if you don't mind me asking." I cleared my throat and uncrossed my legs, watching the young detective. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of my crotch. I quickly glanced at George who seemed to be studying something on the coffee table. "I was on my way home from the gym," I told her, "just passing through." "Uh-huh," the detective said and then remained quiet. "Well, I think that will do it," George said, standing up, "Thank you for your help, Ms Randall." I smiled and said, "Please, it's Monica, detective." He leaned across the coffee table and I took his outstretched hand and squeezed, smiling as I watched him wince. Jenkins, still seated on the couch looked up and asked, "Could I ask what line of work you're in, Ms Randall?" "Yes," I said, "I'm a dominatrix and an actress." Again, the young detective's eyes widened and her mouth opened as if she was going to say something, but no words came out. I glanced at George who gave a faint smile. Detective Jenkins silently stood up. She was a half foot shorter than I, attractive and perhaps had a decent body buried under her business suit. "Did that shock you, detective," I asked. Jenkins looked to George, blinked several times and cleared her throat. "I'd be lying if I said it didn't," she said, "I thought that was just a fetish." I laughed lightly and said, "Oh, it's more than that. It's a lifestyle. There are three types of people in this world; those that dominate, those that are dominated and those that choose to look the other way. Which are you, detective Jenkins?" "I, uh, why I," she stammered, "I don't know Ms Randall," she finally managed. I smiled at her and said, "The majority of the people choose a lifestyle void of pleasure. Sure, they have meaningless sex occasionally, but for the most part it's void of pleasure. That probably sums up your lifestyle, right?" "Ah, well, I don't ... " she stammered again. "That's all right," I interrupted, "If you're happy like that, then that's fine." I looked at George, and said, "But Detective Morgan loves being dominated, isn't that right, detective?" He glanced at his partner and said quietly, "Yes." "Detective Morgan, is in control all day," I explained, "he makes decisions; sometimes life and death decisions, isn't that right detective?" Again, he said soft, "Yes." "So he likes," I continued, "and I may say loves to be dominated. It's a relief an escape. There's nothing wrong with wanting a strong woman to dominate you, to be in control of you." Jenkins looked at her partner who was studying the shine on his shoes. "George?" Jenkins asked. He nodded. "Let me show you," I said to Detective Jenkins, and then to George, "sit, George." He sat back on the couch. I stepped forward until I was directly in front of Jenkins and untied the sash to my robe. I allowed the green satin material to slip from my shoulders and fall to the floor. "Touch me, detective," I said. Her eyes went from my eyes to my breasts and back. "Go on, touch me, feel my hard muscles. Touch my nipples. You know you want to," I told her. She rested her hand on my chest, just above my left breast. "That's it," I said and I slipped her jacket off her shoulders. With her other hand, she placed it on my right breast. "Hmm," I said, "You have a nice touch. Take your jacket off." She removed her hands from my chest only long enough to shrug out of her jacket. I began to unbutton her cotton blouse as she ran her hands down my torso and then back up. I pulled the bottom of her shirt from her skirt and unbuttoned the final button. "Take your blouse off, baby," I told her. Reluctantly she shrugged out of it, tossing it to the couch next to George. She wore a white cotton bra. I could see that her breasts were small and firm. I reached forward and slid my fingers into the cups of the bra. Closing my fists around the material, I pulled the bra apart as if it were made of paper and her breath caught. It separated between the two cups. "You have beautiful breasts, detective," I said. "Thank you, but please, call me Marsha," she said. "Have you been intimate with George, Marsha," I asked. She shook her head. "Have you ever seen your partner naked?" I asked. Again she shook her head. I glanced at George and said quietly, "Take your clothes off, George." He slipped his shoes off and then stood up and removed his jacket, shirt and trousers and holster and gun. He was about to remove his boxer shorts when I stopped him. "Marsha," I said, "Take George's underwear off." She looked at me, then at George, and then back at me. "But, I don't ... " she began and I held up a hand. "I said to take his underwear off, never question your mistress." She looked at me, deciding whether to do as I said or what, run from my house? She stepped in front of him and was reaching for his waistband. "Get on your knees," I said. She glanced back at me but quickly sunk to her knees. I stepped behind her so that my legs were either side of her hips, the back of her head against my pussy. "Alright, go on," I told her. Marsha pulled George's shorts down. He was semi-erect, I saw and had taken a scissor or clipper to his pubic hair. Not as clean as I would have preferred, but an attempt at doing what I had asked at the gym. Marsha immediately took his penis in her right hand and began to stroke him, slowly. I whispered in George's ear, "Don't come, baby, not until Mistress Monica tells you to, understand?" "Uh-huh," he replied softly. "Hold back," I said, "or I'm going to have to punish you like I did at the gym," and I chuckled softly. I pulled the pins from Marsha's hair as she took George orally. She shook her head slightly to allow her hair to fall to her shoulders and George moaned. I was becoming aroused. I could feel my clit stiffening. I stepped back and turned her head to face me. She turned on her knees and I gently brought her marvelous mouth to my clit. "Pleasure your mistress," I told her, "Make me come, baby." I watched George watch us, his erection stiff as he fingered his shaft. 'Detectives Marsha Jenkins and George Morgan,' I thought, 'are excellent lovers and with some training will be excellent 'slaves'. George needs a little help on prolonging his erection, and not coming as quickly as he does, but we can work on that. Marsha needs to realize that she's a 'submissive' like Tommy and Tammy. She'll learn. These two detectives will give a new meaning to LA's police motto of 'To Protect and Serve'.' "Yea, baby, that's it," I said, as Marsha brought me to an orgasm and I exploded. She continued to lap my juices as George came sending his semen onto Marsha's hair. Marsha was breathing hard, her breath warm against my pussy, my juices dripping from her face, Georges cum in her beautiful hair. George was catching his breath, clearly spent. "OK, you two, you need to shower and get out of here," I said. Marsha looked up at me and I put a hand under her chin and directed her to stand up. I kissed her, tasting my cum on her lips. "Grab your things," I said, "and follow me." I led the pair to the guest bath, which featured a large shower. "Shower and I'll get fresh towels," I said. George started the water as Marsha removed her holster, gun and skirt. By the time I returned, they were both in each other's arms, under the spray from the shower head. I watched for a moment, but then retreated shutting the door behind me. I padded to my room and showered in my bathroom. By the time I emerged, both Marsha and George were gone, their business cards on the foyer's credenza. They had each taken time to jot a note. Marsha's said simply, 'Thank you, mistress.' George's read, 'Thanks', and was signed, 'your obedient servant.' I smiled as I ran my fingers over the embossed, 'To serve and protect' motto on the front of the card. Epilogue: The following morning a short piece appeared in the newspaper, buried back on page 18. In part it mentioned about two gang-bangers who were brutally murdered. Their deaths were being investigated but with few leads. It urged the public to come forward, etc., etc. 'If either George or Marsha suspected me', I thought, 'They were remaining quiet. It looks like I got away with murder.' Muscle Fan: If you enjoyed Monica's story please let me know and perhaps I can get her to tell me another. I love to sit and watch her flex or do what she commands while she tells me about one of her adventures and then later, put 'pen to paper' so to speak.