We were following Mr. Stansfield. I know it says in the Gumshoe Handbook, not to take along the wife of the man you’re staking out but she wanted to go with me and I wasn’t going to say no. Of course, it also says in the Gumshoe Handbook, not to screw your clients and I was breaking that rule, too. Stansfield was on the beach with his secretary, Georgia Hall. Ms. Hall was a brunette with nice cans and a posterior that didn’t look bad, either. Sabrina and I were looking through binoculars at the festivities on the beach, separate binocs. Presently, Stansfield was doing his best imitation of a man about to bury the hatchet, so to speak. Only his hatchet was on the short side. I’m not one to compare, but I can see why his wife preferred the axe in my pants to the hatchet in his. Stansfield had his hands on his secretary’s breasts and was doing a maneuver that I would have expected someone molding clay would use. I’m pretty sure he was confusing her yelps of pain for pleasure. She was. I squeezed a generous pool of shampoo into my hair and began spreading it into my long hair, lathering it into a frothy cap with quick, practiced motions. Turning, I was the soapy froth from my hair, gently running my fingers through the auburn strands to force the side out. I shivered as the warm water rushed over my body, tickling my sensitive nipples and I felt a rush of blood my clit sensed the enticing warmth. My hands continued over my shoulders and down my body. I tweaked my nipples, biting my lip at the rush of pleasure, before my left hand continued its passage south. Taking a deep breath, I glanced at the unlocked bathroom door again, weighing the risk of being caught against the intense desire to pleasure myself at that moment. Watching for any sign of life outside the door for almost a full minute, I fought my base desire for pleasure and reached for my conditioner instead. As I finished rinsing my hair for the second time, I quickly shaved my legs and took the time to.
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