The Palpable Prosecutor
Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Reluctant, First, Masturbation, Petting, Pregnancy, Slow, Violent,
Desc: Action/Adventure Sex Story: Prologue - Lacey got assigned to prosecute a case that could make her career. The problem was that she got the case because the previous prosecutor was dead. Now it looked like she might get that way too, unless she had some protection. The man she chose to do that was good at his job. But having him around changed things. Changed her. That change would lead to a wonderful destination, but it would be a hell of a bumpy ride before she got there. Assuming the guy she was prosecuting didn't kill her first.
In a dark warehouse office, lit by a single light bulb in a conical shade hanging from the ceiling, a group of ten men made the air hazy with cigarette smoke as they waited for the man who had called them together. Conversation was sparse, and all in Russian. A door slammed far away and the echo of footsteps on a gritty floor crunched across the dark floor of the empty building. The men weren’t worried about who this approaching person might be. A veritable army surrounded the warehouse, going out three blocks. If trouble was approaching, the radios in the room would crackle and warn them in plenty of time to take the appropriate action.
The men straightened up as the latest man to arrive opened the door and stepped into the cone of light cast by the light bulb. It was the boss. Or at least the man who they called boss until the real boss was released from the detention center he was locked up in.
That was, in fact, the purpose of this meeting, to decide how best to get Vladimir Illyich Boruskiev out of jail, where he was being held for trial. He had been charged with 200 counts of kidnapping, and other charges associated with their organization’s trafficking in young, white girls to mostly middle eastern clients who were willing to pay top dollar for a western slut. If she was from America, the price was even higher. At $200,000 per girl, shipping only ten was a two million dollar enterprise. And the organization planned to ship ten a week, if they could kidnap enough of the right kind of girls.
Or had, until the customs man they’d bribed had been arrested by the FBI. He was the one who had given them the documents and clearances to get the containers of girls out of the country. But the fool had spent his bribe money lavishly, instead of saving it for retirement. When caught by the hated FBI, the bastard had turned state’s evidence against them. He was in the witness protection program, and beyond their reach ... at present. But the government wouldn’t keep spending money on this man if there was no trial. And when he came back out into the light of day, he would be killed and then prosecution of Vladimir Illyich would be difficult, if not impossible.
The acting boss spoke, his voice low, but clearly heard.
“A new prosecutor has been assigned to the case,” he said. “The last one had no skeletons in his closet. This new one seems to be equally unblemished. I wish they’d appoint someone we could manipulate but, sadly, it appears that is still not the case. If only politicians would take this kind of job our work would be much easier.”
One of his lieutenants spoke up.
“Shall we arrange another accident?”
“Yes. It must be so,” said the acting boss. “But not like the last time. It must be done in a different manner so no pattern may be suspected. A mugging, perhaps, in a public place. The streets are full of criminals, no?”
There was laughter.
“Is there still no news of where the customs man is?”
“None,” came a voice.
“Then let us extend this trial again. Perhaps they will run out of honest lawyers. It is a source of amazement to me they have found two.”
Ten minutes later the warehouse was as abandoned as its status on the tax rolls proclaimed it to be.