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My cunt clenched. My ovaries grew tighter and tighter. President Pope watching only swelled my pleasures faster. I hurtled towards my orgasm. I squirmed as my dick ached more and more in Jamie's silky pussy. I leaned back into the limo seat, my head looking up at the ceiling as my pleasure built and built. I concentrated on it. I heard a whimper. It didn't come from Jamie. I smiled, my ovaries about to boil over. Jamie slammed down my dick. Then she rose up me, the silky friction caressing my shaft. The pleasure sent a hot rush down my cock and rippled through my ovaries.“Fuck!” I gasped as my ovaries unloaded my passion.Blast after blast of my fertile cum pumped into Jamie's pussy. I groaned, my futa-seed filling her, my little sperm swimming for her egg. She gasped and impaled her cunt down my shaft, engulfing me in every inch of her hot twat.She came.“She's breeding me, President Pope!” howled the secretary.Ecstasy crashed through my mind. Her pussy writhed about my cock, milking. I was only just starting to work out my feelings about what I knew had happened the day before. I looked for her vibrator, but I couldn't find it. It wasn't in her usual spot. It had been in the same place for months, but now it was gone. I couldn't be deterred. I looked everywhere. Eventually I found it in a shoe box in the corner of her closet. With the lotion I'd used.I did my usual business of coming basically all over her vibrator. But after all the energy I'd built up, I probably came 5 or 6 more times. Over myself, her bed, the vibrator. I just kept reliving the previous day. I didn't know if it was wrong, or OK, or awesome. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was doing something bad. That it was on me. It wasn't a vocal though, it was the language-less feeling that this was my fault. But because of some quirk of human psychology, that was less a deterrent and more a... a catalyst.She came home that day, I was still in her room, which probably reeked of cum. But she didn't say.
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The witness had entered the station about a minute before the decedent did. He stood almost behind the kimono woman, probably checking her out. Shimizu would have. Blocky surveillance video cannot show you how beautiful a woman is, but it shows how many heads she turns. Wakahisa-san moved her mouse and clicked, playing the video forward from the moment of impact. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘watch the kimono woman run away.’ She did run away, but not soon enough, not fast enough. First, she took three steps backward and collided with the witness. The kimono woman had not intended to kill. ‘Atrium camera,’ Shimizu said. Wakahisa-san loaded the atrium video again and advanced it until the kimono woman appeared on the escalator. ‘She doesn’t want to go through the exit. She must have a PASMO. She knows she’s guilty.’ The much younger detective hesitated for a moment, thinking, then said, ‘but her PASMO would have been read when she entered.’ ‘Yumiko Itsumoto.’ ‘Wait, what? You know who she is?’.

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