“These houses are zoned residential. I haven’t filed an application with your office. I don’t need a beer license—”“If you want to serve beer—”The last of Trip’s cool finally deserted him. “But I don’t want to serve beer!” he shouted. His rage turned cold. “Listen very carefully, Inspector Petrewski. I don’t want a beer license. I don’t need a beer license. I didn’t apply for a beer license. I’m not going to shut down construction because you show up and wave a bogus application at me. This is a screw up, plain and simple.”“No screw up, Mr. Whitman,” Petrewski said. “It’s all right here in black and white.”The men of the construction crew had gathered to watch, and Junior finally lost it. He burst into snickers, and the rest of the men quickly followed suit. Trip and I turned and stared at them. We looked at Blackie and Mike, who managed to look sheepish.Petrewski merely grinned, albeit nervously. I had a sudden memory of paternity papers and a porcelain doll collection. Sure enough,. Her occasional wiggle helped him continue his slide into her.Melissa was thinking that Martin’s penis was fantastic, that it was not even in the same world as the white swinging fellows who she had fucked. With just a few inches of him into her, she already had sensations that she had never had with any man. It was easy to fantasize herself as a beautiful mare, being mounted by a huge stallion. That image was fantasy only in degree. For here, in this small locked storage area, a large black male was starting to go deeper inside a tiny white woman. As stallions go, the ratio of his penis was impressive, sort of like a Clydesdale attempting to breed with a pony. He looked at his little prize.Her long dark hair had fallen forward over her head, covering her face. Her hands, each placed above each knee, braced her. Nice trim muscular legs, a torso as tight as a corset, smooth rounded breasts with large pointed nipples, and butt muscles that responded to his every move. He loved watching.
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