Caution: This Mystery Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Fiction, Cheating, Humiliation, Interracial, White Male, White Female, Hispanic Female, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Fisting, .
Desc: Mystery Sex Story: Prologue - Franklin Stern is a down-and-out private eye with a passion for surveillance and a voyeuristic streak. His newest (and only) client is a beautiful blonde with a bad marriage and worse morals. Are they made for each other? This is a long story filled with unpredictable plot twists and wild, kinky sex.
The first rays of sunlight came streaming into the second-floor home office of William F. Link, the noted radio personality, right-wing pundit, and odds-on favorite to become the next governor of California. Despite the early hour, Link was fully dressed and groomed as he sat alone looking through the stack of mail left on his desk by his assistant.
In a few minutes he would go downstairs to have breakfast with his advisors, and then he would begin another long, grueling day of campaigning. Grueling for most men, that is; Link was one of those rare men who thrived on the speeches, the crowds, and the endless handshakes. He was looking forward to another day of spreading the word, of getting out the message about what needed to be done to get this Godforsaken state back on track.
Near the bottom of the pile was small package with no return address. Link looked at it cautiously before picking it up, and it crossed his mind that it might be a bomb. He chuckled to himself, imagining an investigating detective trying to draw up a list of suspects. During the past few months of campaigning, and indeed throughout his career, Link had repeatedly offended immigrants, minorities of all types, and gays. Especially gays. He was one of the most hated men in California, but he also had plenty of supporters, and he was planning to ride those decent, God-fearing supporters right into the White House some day.
The package seemed too light to be dangerous, and he ripped open the flap and shook out a videocassette. The hand-lettered label read "Personal: To be viewed by William F. Link only." Curious, but not particularly worried, he took the cassette over a built-in cabinet on the wall and slid it into a VCR.
A few minutes later he shut off the VCR and sat down in a leather armchair, looking pale and suddenly older than his fifty-six years. Then his private phone began to ring. His hand trembling with shock and anger, he picked it up.
"You! What the hell do you want?"
The voice was insolent, teasing, and Link could barely control his anger.
"Yes, I saw it. God is going to punish you for this, mark my words ... No, don't hang up, dammit."
He took a small note pad out of his breast pocket and started writing down the demands.