The erotic writer receives countless emails from fans--mostly women with rape and snuff fetishes. Their stories are almost always the same--they fanta...ize that some serial killer would rape and murder them. While most of them have been sufficiently sane to admit, after a few rounds of e-mails, that they don't really want to be murdered by a serial killer, most had dropped subtle hints that if the erotic writer should decide to track them down and rape them for real, it wouldn't be the end of. Cohler began to moan Leila’s name. He had never moaned a woman’s name before during a blow job. This was new to him. He could usually last for hours. However, now he was fighting it. She was that good. “Damn, Leila. You’re so good.” She could feel his cock going deep inside her throat. Leila’s mouth was stretched wide open. She slowly pulled his cock out of her mouth. She could feel his veins as it slid out of her lips. She laid back down on his desk. Mr. Cohler began to unbutton her white. She felt that if she even lightly ran her finger against her clit right now that she would cum instantly. But she didn't dare touch herself, as she was somehow very sure that that would displease him. The eleveator stopped and the doors opened. He walked out and left her kneeling there. She had a notion that she was being tested again. She thought she knew what expected of her. She stayed kneeling in the corner of the elevator. It seemed the doors were staying open, either because she was still. Pat is my sniper. I had worked with Pat before on my first tour in the sandbox when he was a Senior Airman. That man can knock the dick off a fly at a thousand yards and never even kick dust up. Man, can he shoot. Now don't get me wrong; all my men, as well as I, can shoot damn good, but Pat is in a different class of marksmen than we are. We might just piss the fly off by clipping a wing or take his head off at that distance, but Pat is way better than any of us. That's why he's on our.