That wouldbe too crude for the God of Real Estate, as the Wall Street Journal haddubbed him. No, he had beaten her down mentally, his cold eyes mirror...ngthe contempt he felt for her.Now though, those eyes showed something else. I had a difficult timeidentifying what those eyes were conveying that night, but at last Iknew. Martin R. Brubaker, the God of Real Estate, was frightened.He had good reason to be frightened, I realized. He was a passenger in aprivate jet which was threatening to shake. " Her illustrations have inspired a number of mystories, thank you Daphne. Usual disclaimers apply and the story may bedownloaded for personal use only. Any other use of this material isstrictly prohibited without the author's approval. Comments may be sentto [email protected]'s LamentDavid sat on his bright pink satin quilted comforter dangling his feetacross the furry white throw rug. His feet were clad in black patentleather square toed T-bar shoes with metal taps at toe and. Again and again, she would come into the room where I was working or reading, sit on my lap with her arms about my neck and kiss me deeply. I would reciprocate the kisses, with great enjoyment, for, to me, the moisture, warmth and sensitivity of lips and tongue replicate the sensations of other, more secret and less accessible areas. I would slip my hand up her skirts, to the division of her pantalettes (which were nothing more than two tubes of frilled and embroidered linen, held up with a. With any luck, in New York and on the west coast I’ll be able to schedule some visits with some outfits I do business with. Any chance you can simply give me a lump sum payment based on the per diem allowance?”That took him by surprise. “That would be very unusual! What if your charges are less than that?”I barked out a short laugh. “Trust me, they won’t be.”“How can you be sure?” he asked.I shook my head and smiled. “Because charter flights cost more than the per diem you’ll be allowing, and I.