Laney Travers walked down the ill-lit corridor and paused outside the doorway to her virtue's doom. Apartment twenty-nine again. Heaven help this well-raised girl. Well, maybe not Heaven ...

Mike's voice sounded in her head: “News – real news – is what someone doesn’t want you to know, Laney sweetheart. The rest is fuckin’ propaganda. Keep searchin’ for truth among the bullshit. Rigour, determination, guts – that’s the only kinda newspaperman to be. Or newspaperwoman. Remember that.”

He’d knocked back his bourbon and rapped the glass onto the bar, to punctuate his point.

Laney held to the words as a lifeline. She gripped her shoulder bag as a more practical form of security, the pepper spray rattling against the other items installed there. “I like you, kid,” her mentor had told her another time, “hell, you’re like the daughter I never had. But you sure you’re ready for this job?”

It burned that he’d even ask. Mike Dennehy, the most respected newshound on the Chronicle, had taught her everything worth knowing. “I’m not some sweet little ingenue,” she protested, “even if I still look it. I know how to track down a story.”

“You've got the smarts,” he said, “and the tenacity, more than any cub reporter I ever knew, but I’m talkin’ like a father here. In this game you gotta go the extra mile. And that can take you down some sleazy alleyways. Sometimes you gotta get dirty.”

“Hey, I can get dirty,” she’d insisted.

In front of that door, her fingers curled to rap on the peeling surface, her words returned to haunt her. She fought the tide of memory from her abortive first attempt to interview Jake Milazzo. For three days now she’d lived with those images.

That time around his stoner roommate had let her in, greeting her inquiry as to Milazzo's whereabouts with hazy good-humour. "He's in there," the guy had said, lazily indicating one of the interior rooms. “Go on in, he’ll be glad to see you.” He'd even opened the door for her and she'd ventured inside in good faith. How gauche.

Nothing had prepared her for the sight which greeted her – the hulking form of Milazzo, naked on a bed and throwing his muscled bulk into the woman positioned hands and knees in front of him.

His companion was a big-breasted blond woman with heavy mascara and a snake tattoo uncoiling up one arm. She was taking her pounding fearlessly, hair draped down over her face. On becoming aware of Laney's presence she flung it away and aimed a stare of flinty defiance at the young woman.

The sweating ex-con noticed Laney a moment after, and slowed only fractionally in his shafting motion. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded with a scowl, gripping his partner’s waist and resuming his thrusts at their original force.

"I’m..." Laney made to retreat, mortified to have stumbled upon the scene’s harsh intimacy. "Sorry, I'll..."

"You're that reporter’s been callin' me," he said, seizing the blonde, shoulder and ass, and pile-driving her so that her breasts swung like udders. "Stay where the fuck you are, girl, and tell me what you want."

"I'll come back..."

"You'll say what you gotta say or you won't get another fuckin’ chance." His enjoyment of her embarrassed voyeurism was more than clear.

Laney forced herself to look away from his hard slamming of the blonde, trying to re-grasp the thread of what she was doing in his apartment. "You know why I'm here," she managed, face burning.

"Remind me." He said it through gritted teeth as he fucked. Laney's eyes kept being drawn inexorably back to his straining naked form. “And be careful what you fuckin’ say, girl. I don’t know how much English this one understands.”

"You talked to my associate at the paper, Mike Dennehy, about the whole… you know, business. He said you wanted to talk."

"Maybe I did. Where's he? Why's he sending a fuckin' teenager?"

"I'm twenty-four and his colleague. Mike... He's ill in hospital. I thought maybe you'd talk to me instead."

Milazzo paused in his sexual rampage, perspiration beading on his brow as he scrutinized Laney. He had close-cropped hair that accentuated his face’s hard contours and the blazing power of his stare. Everything about him intimidated. Retaining eye-contact with the young journalist, he grabbed his blond plaything by her hair and shoved her face side-on against the covers, humping furiously down into her as she moaned. "You thought wrong then, didn’t you? I talk to him or no one. Now I’m fuckin’ busy here, or are you too dumb to see that?"

Laney's pulse was rushing as she tried to communicate over the crazy scene. "He said there were things you wanted to say. I can..."

He pulled his flush-faced plaything from the covers and himself out of her, dragging the eagerly compliant women from the bed and putting her on her knees. Laney could not help but glance at his cock – impressively huge in its erect state and glistening from its endeavours inside the pussy it had been fucking.

"Now you listen to me, hot-shot," he said, grabbing his lover by the hair and pushing her face onto him so that his raging phallus was obscured from Laney’s vision. He continued speaking with the blonde's head bobbing furiously up and down at his groin. "I got plenty to say, but you think I'm gonna trust some little bitch fresh outa college, think again." He pumped his ardent fellatrix vigorously on himself, glaring at Laney all the while.

She stared at the sight – the woman's brassiere ripped from her breasts and loosely circling her stomach, the only other clothing on her body a combination of stockings and garter belt. Attractive in the sluttiest street-whore kind of way.

"The only thing I trust you to do is get on your knees and suck my fuckin' cock along with this slut," Milazzo said. "You wanna do that? You wanna get that pretty mouth around my cock right now?"

"No, I..."

"Then get the fuck outa my apartment. Misty here knows how to work my dick, and that's all the use I got for anyone today. Take it or fuckin’ leave it."

Laney retreated, stumbling into the door frame, as the stoner roommate laughed. She left the apartment in bafflement, the wet gobbling of Jake's companion replaced with fervent gasps. The fucking had recommenced.

What a rotten guy. What a despicable piece of human crap. Humiliated she had rushed from the apartment block to her car, vowing not to venture down Mike’s ‘sleazy alleyways’ again.

Yet here she was, lurking outside the same apartment door…

God, I can’t do this. It’s wrong. Her nerve deserted her and she turned away, clutching her bag to her chest. She’d taken a couple of steps when Mike’s face floated before her, mouth and nose obscured by the oxygen mask, tubes from a bank of life-support machines all that kept him hooked into the world.

“Hey, you’ll be out of here in a week,” she’d insisted, squeezing his forearm. “Fighter like you…”

He lifted the mask from his face to croak a few words. “Not done yet, kid,” he breathed. “Just sorry I didn’t nail that lead. Milazzo was ready to spill…”

“Relax, Mike,” she said, her investigative instinct firing up even as she calmed him. “He’ll speak to me.”

Her attempt to pacify her ailing senior colleague proved sadly misguided. He gripped her arm as tenaciously as he could in his weakened state. “The hell you will. Milazzo’s a thug, a fuckin’ piece a’ shit. You’re not goin’ near that low-life…” Shortage of breath overtook him and the nurse intervened, frowning at Laney. The young reporter held Mike’s hand until his breathing turned more regular.

“I’ll drop it,” she lied. “All that’s important is your getting better. You’re through the worst.” She hoped it was true. Bypass surgery had taken its toll on Mike – the least she could do was assure him she’d stay safe. But to let the story go…

The possibility of corruption lurking in the city’s mayoral office was an enticing one and if this Milazzo guy was truly the key, it demanded pursuing. “He did time,” Mike had told her weeks before, “for attempting to burgle the home of Gus Ferrante’s chief opponent in the mayoral race. Total coincidence that Milazzo’s cousin worked on Ferrante’s campaign? Bullshit. Milazzo was doing Ferrante’s dirty-work for him. When the cops picked him up, he took the fall and I've heard his hand was forced. If he was screwed over, then maybe he’s ready to talk to the right person.” If anyone was the ‘right person’ it’d be Mike. He'd built a career on winning potential sources’ trust.

Over weeks he provided Laney with further insights. “This guy has an axe to grind, but he’s saying nothing worth shit. Still feeling me out. Our beloved Mayor's time is running out and this Milazzo guy’s got the goods on him. I can smell it. Something's holding him back though. If one of those City jerks screws the pooch on this story before I get somethin’ concrete, I’ll be mightily pissed off.”

Laney returned his wry grin. The ‘City’ was Chronicle journos’ parlance for the City Post, their down-market rival, and the term was never used with anything less than contempt. “They do it every time,” Mike grumbled. “Print rumours, so the subject has time to cover his tracks. Well not on this story.”

Days later he murmured to her at her desk: “Milazzo called me, wants to talk. This bastard’s ready.” But she noticed the pallor of his face and the sweating, and five minutes later she was urging a colleague to call 911, cradling Mike while they waited for the ambulance to arrive. She wiped tears from her eyes and hugged her arms to her chest as the paramedics wheeled him into their vehicle. Didn't even get his story. It’s not damn well fair.

Then the steely part of this girl from rural upstate came to the fore and she made a vow. You hang in there, Mike. I’m gonna get it for you. Front-page headline. Water-tight. Even his warning in the hospital had not dissuaded her. That was before she met Milazzo.

Low-life... Mike hadn't been lying.

Now as she hovered at the guy's door all over again, images of his rutting form were etched in Laney's memory. That and the sweat trickling down his muscled body as he screwed his bitch in the reporter's squirming presence. As for that cock – she’d only caught a glimpse, but good God…

She'd wanted to forget the whole business, but Mike was still fighting to recover. She couldn't let him down. She couldn't let the City Post print some half-assed version which would see the Mayor covering his ass. Jake Milazzo might be a shameless bastard, but he was truly their one hope. And maybe the scheme – the crazy scheme – she had devised would convince him to share.

Steeling herself, she knocked... and waited.

"Who is it?" Milazzo's voice was uninviting.

"Laney Travers. Didn't you get my message?" She’d purloined his number from scraps of paper on Mike’s desk.

"You again? Didn't you get my fuckin’ message, last time?"

Laney breathed deep. "I've got a proposal – something I think you'll want to hear. Give me five minutes of your time, Mr Milazzo, and if you're not interested then I’m gone." She gripped her handbag close to her, fingers brushing the pepper spray reflexively. Her heartbeat was thumping in her throat.

Aeons seemed to pass before the chain on the inside was scraped back and the door was wrenched open. "Get in," Jake said. "Five minutes."

He had jeans on this time; his torso was sweat-soaked, but there was no indication of a reason similar to last time. She walked inside, peering about discretely. The apartment itself was in the state that she remembered – all empty pizza boxes, beer cans and stale discarded clothing – but there was no sign of either roommate or exotic female companion.

Jake slammed the door behind her and she had the instant sense of being trapped. He simply walked past her, however, resuming the activity which had rendered him so slippery. He'd been bench-pressing, it transpired, and Laney watched as he slid back onto the leather bench, settling himself beneath a heavily laden bar.

"Spot me," he said.

"Sorry?"

"Doncha speak fuckin' English? Get your ass over here and watch me do one more set. Make yourself useful."

Laney moved tentatively to the bench and observed as he curled his palms around the bar, heaving it and its huge discs from the cradle, lowering it to his chest. She stared at those shifting packs of muscle as he pumped his set, and at how perspiration glossed his body's rippling surface.

Time on the building sites since he had come out of prison had tanned his shoulders deep brown (Laney recalled Mike telling her that Milazzo worked construction), while reinforcing that iron brawn. The raw power with which he pushed up the bar and the control with which he dropped it had every sinew straining. His stubble-shadowed face, not unhandsome, was contorted with effort.

He counted twenty reps before pumping the bar upwards one final time and setting it back in its bracket.

"Done," he said. "Get me a glass of water."

“What? Yeah, sure…” Laney stared around confused for a moment, before locating the kitchen and a water glass by the faucet. She brought him the refreshment he had demanded and observed nervously as he drank it down, trying not to fixate on the tightness of his jeans around his crotch.

"So," he said, setting down the glass and casting an appraising glance over her formally attired body, "Lois fuckin' Lane… What you got for me that you didn't last time?”

Now that the moment came, Laney almost faltered. But she had prepared for this moment and was ready to see it through. Sometimes you gotta get dirty…

"I want to make a deal," she said, trying to mask the quake in her voice. "I think you want to tell your story and I get all the reasons why you're holding back. You don't know me and have no reason to believe I'd keep your name out of it if my editor was demanding that I confirm my source."

"’Bout the size of it," he said, eyes lingering on the straining buttons of her tight silk blouse. Deliberately tight.

"You want certain people to suffer, right?” she pursued. “I know you spent time in prison and kept other people out. You want to name names, but since Mike’s not here, you need to know that you can trust me instead."

He met her eyes and for the first time it was her mind he was appraising, rather than her body. "Yeah, and I don't see how I can do that."

"I think I do." Christ, was she really going through with this? Now or never, girl. Her hand delved into her bag past the pepper spray and found the crucial item. "I'm going to give you this." She withdrew the digital camera from the bag and handed it to him.

Jake stared at the object she had placed in his palm and then back at her. She’d surprised him. "Lemme get this straight..."

"You talk, I let you film." She swallowed back her trepidation. "Whatever you want to film. I keep your name out of the paper, you keep your home movie to yourself. Then neither of us can afford to fuck over the other." Her own use of the f-word shuddered her whole body.

Jake poked at the camera, staring at her through the view-finder and swiftly working out how to operate it. He held it in his lap and considered her again, God knew what lurid thoughts reeling through his mind. Laney figured she was about to find out.

“You get your story – I get whatever the fuck I like from you...”

“Uh-huh.” She realised with a shock that her nipples were straining against the fabric of her brassiere. “And you get your side of things out there. Gotta be a good deal, right?”

“Yeah, it’s a real good deal.” He clicked the camera and peered again through the viewfinder. The red light let her know it was on, capturing everything. “So let's not waste time. Show me what you got, all of it.”

Laney's mouth was dry. What a way to land a story...

"How about you go first?" she suggested, picking her tape recorder from her bag.

"No dice, girl." Jake's jaw was rigid. "Start undressing."

"What about your roommate? Shouldn't we…"

"He's out of town. Now strip, bitch."

Laney wasn't sure which shocked her most – the command or the mode of address. Bizarrely compelled by both, she set about unbuttoning her silk blouse, fiercely aware of his gaze as she exposed her upper body. The garment slithered from her shoulders to his grubby carpet, and his eyes feasted. Her breasts were ample, slightly out of proportion with her slender body and cradled neatly in satin lingerie. Everything had been chosen to maximize her appeal.

He said nothing, but his expression spoke a volume. Her pencil skirt went next. She unzipped it neatly and it dropped away so that she stood in a more tasteful version of what his companion had worn three days prior – garter-belt and stockings setting off her pretty blue-flowered panty.

"Tell me something now?" she ventured.

He massaged his denim-clad crotch. "Get it all off. I'm not a patient man."

Oh God... Modesty served no purpose now, so Laney did not even turn away as she unclipped her brassiere. It sprang free of her, her breasts shifting under the release, and she let it tumble.

His eyes glinted approval at the sight of her naked breasts. "Squeeze those peaches," he said. Her heart thumping its quickened rhythm, she took herself in both hands and massaged for him, trying not to let her inner girl show in her face.

He rubbed his bulging crotch more firmly, gaze fixed disconcertingly on her as she palmed her soft, pliable mounds. "Damn, I’ll bet you’ve been a little cock-tease in your time, right?”

“No,” she said, adding inwardly, Sometimes.

“Yeah, you have. But today you’re gonna make good on it. I’m gonna pay you back for every cock you ever teased." He aimed the camera at her, red light glinting as it soaked up all the action she was providing. "Lose the panties. You can keep those other bits on – I like 'em."

Laney froze for one instant in her exhibitionism, then she swallowed the knowledge that the lens was capturing everything. She’d initiated this deal. The point of no return was way behind. Forcing herself to hold his stare she hooked her thumbs into the band of her panties and peeled them off, stepping free and putting her trimmed self on show. A few items of hosiery acted as no shield.

"Damn," he said again, gripping the camera one-handed while massaging his denim-etched cock. "Eighteen months in prison, I dreamed of pussy like that. What I'm gonna fuckin' do to it... Bring it here."

Laney tried to disguise how much his brazen words startled her. She walked to him, slightly askew in high-heels, and he sat forward on the exercise bench, reaching with his non-camera hand. His fingers stretched unapologetically between her thighs and the middle one stroked a slick line along her lips. "Wet already," he observed. "Turn around."

She did, still gasping from his contact with her labia. His rough palm tested her butt cheeks with a firm squeeze to each. "Fuck yeah, that’s one fine ass. Turn around and straddle the bench."

"What?"

"Put your legs either side of it, standing."

She did, shocked and shamed by her own wetness. He lingered a moment at her pruned pubic tuft, his face mere inches away from it... Then he set aside the camera, seized her ass cheeks with both hand and pulled her to him, thrusting his tongue into her pussy.

Laney’s entire body tightened. She nearly dropped the tape recorder and clutched it frantically, as this stranger's tongue explored her. After the initial invasion he withdrew, and his thumbs parted her so that the flat blade of his tongue could slide back and forth against her splayed lips. His actions were beyond bold – they were damned outrageous... and they sent electric sensation throughout her body.

His fingers gripped and pulled her tight to him as he teased, his tongue gliding upwards to her now fully engorged clitoris and flickering on it. Oh God, what the hell was he doing to her? She jolted and squirmed, mortification and delight clashing within her, one intensifying the other.

"Gettin’ worked up?" He broke only momentarily to speak, before tickling her bud again and then lapping with great luxurious strokes of his tongue. It seemed impossible that he could raise so much excitement within her so quickly, yet every vital sign was quickening, the flutters in her lower belly building to near-unbearable intensity.

"How about I stick my fingers inside you?" The look on his face as he said it was taunting and evil. "Would you like that?"

Oh God... If she said yes, what the hell was she admitting about herself? She'd come here to get a story for Mike, to break the rules in a one-time act of solidarity. She wasn't doing this because she actually wanted to be with this scumbag, right? All she could force out in response was a fraught squeak.

"Was that 'yes'?" Milazzo tongued her clit again and thrust two slithering fingers right inside her, clutching her pubic bone with the heel of his hand. She sucked in breath and felt the start of a climax she couldn't believe was happening. Then before it could roll into an unstoppable wave, he withdrew and left her panting. Relief vied with disappointment.

"Not yet," he said, enjoying every flicker of her face and twitch of her body. "I like to make a slut wait. You ready to do your job?"

"What? Yes, yes..." She'd momentarily forgotten why she was there. "You want to talk... like, now?"

"Good a time as any. Sit." He gave her no choice, reaching up to grip her hips and pull her naked pussy squarely down onto his bulged crotch. Fuck... "Gimme some shoulder massage while I talk,” he said. “Switch on your recorder first." She did.

It was an interview like no other. Laney laid hands on Jake Milazzo's gym-tight shoulder muscles, squeezing them free of tension while he casually told his story, his eyes lingering on her naked tits and his hand reaching to tease her wet pussy. She fought to concentrate, while the bastard fucked with her.

He'd been doing Gus Ferrante's dirty work for years, before the guy ran for mayor. During the campaign Jake had used his skills as a house-breaker to get into the house of Ferrante's political rival with the intention of planting evidence there that would destroy the guy's reputation. But Jake’s luck had been short that day. Apprehended by the police, he stayed silent – less out of loyalty to his former employer and more because Ferrante had enough dirt on him to get him put away much longer.

"He could fuck me harder than I’m gonna fuck you," Milazzo spat, “and believe me, I’m gonna fuck you real hard.”

"I’ll… I’ll help you get your story out," Laney said, trying to brush aside his promise and think clearly through his persistent stroking of her labia. She kneaded his bulked-up trapezius muscles, his skin sweaty under her palms. “They won’t trace it back to you. Give me names of his associates, other leads I can chase down."

"Oh I'll give you the fuckin' story of your young life,” he said. “But not till I've given you something else." He shoved her off his crotch and unzipped his pants. "Names later. Right now, suck on this."’

It sprang out of his jeans, slick and hard like she'd remembered it. Her dreams hadn't made more of him than was truly there – he owned one formidable cock, length and girth all swollen huge with lust.

Oh Jesus...

"On your knees, bitch," he said, all pretence of comradeship banished in a few crude syllables. She clambered from her straddling position till she knelt before him, his bold erection right in her face.

It wasn't like she was new to cock, just to the force of aggressive desire that threatened to power this specimen, that and the camera lens newly aimed. Refocusing, she took him by the base and licked the tip clean of the pre-cum that had beaded there. Encouraged by her own bravery she swirled her tongue all around the head and sucked him into her mouth, undulating on him gently. She even flicked her eyelids upwards to look at him, courting approval with a teasing glance. Then she licked again, flickering her wet tongue all over his glans while her palm caressed his shaft and whispered its way over his close-shaved balls.

Maybe she could show this bad-boy a thing or two after all.

Milazzo considered her, his gaze inscrutable. "Nice," he said, the camera catching all. “It's kinda 'naughty girlfriend' head, right? Bet the guys you date love that."

"Uh-huh," she admitted, without breaking contact.

"You do it good." His free hand reached for her and rumpled her fair hair as she bobbed on him. "I'm not complaining..." He pressed down, making her mouth take more of him. She went with it until the dive threatened to go too far, then she came off him, scowling.

"Hey, lemme do what I'm doing. No need to get rough."

His face darkened and his hand tightened fast in her hair. She’d inadvertantly triggered something primal. "No need? You don't call the shots here. I'll show you what I fuckin' need." He shoved his cock back inside Laney's mouth and pushed her head down hard and far, so that his shaft plunged right to the back of her throat. Her eyes widened in shock as she was impaled, her gag-reflex tightening.

Milazzo pulled her back up and she came off him retching and gasping, tears welling from her eyes. His face was livid with angry enjoyment. "That's more like it. Again." Still filming it all, he pushed her down, further this time, straining to meet her descent with a thrust of his hips and filling her throat with all the thick inches he had. She sucked air through her nose as it was pressed to his groin, vocal tract stuffed with hard dick.

"Swallow my fuckin’ cock," he told her savagely. "That’s how I want it. Not like a girlfriend, like a fuckin’ whore."

He pulled her off him again and she slobbered and gasped, drool oozing syrup-like from her lips. Milazzo rose from the bench, grabbed her with one cruel hand and drove past her lips another time, face-fucking her with all he had. Laney heard the glutinous squelch as he crammed himself once more, fingers tight in her hair – pumping in and out this time, shafting her throat like it was her cunt.

Oh my fucking God...

"That's it, baby, now you're learning," he said, alive with his own nasty pleasure. He held her down once more as she gagged, lips stretched to the full around his thick base, palms pressing vainly to his groin. "Deal with it, you dirty slut. You want your story, you pay full fuckin’ price."

He dragged her off once more, a slow retraction which left a great glistening network of saliva-strands in its wake. Laney gulped for air, gobs of spit dangling between her open mouth and his soaked cock. She was just recovering when he slapped his drool-webbed hard-on to her face and wiped it all over her wincing features.

"There," he said, slinging his rigid pole to left and right so that it smacked into her face from both sides. "Learn your fuckin’ place.”

God, you pig!

He relented in his cock-whipping only to issue the next command. “Now get on that bench."

The grip of his hand in her hair compelled. He'd have dragged her there if she hadn't scurried on his command. Saliva still swinging from her lips, she crawled into the required position, kneeling on the work-out bench. Her crude lover climbed swiftly behind her.

"Put my cock in your pussy." If she was at all confused by the instruction, he clarified quickly, grabbing her hand and pulling it back so that it slapped to his great erection. "There," he said. "Get with the fuckin’ program. Put my cock in your damn pussy."

She didn't hesitate. Her wet cunt seemed to be thinking for her now, overriding her outrage. She kept hold of the cock he had proffered and guided it to her wet opening, pressing the bulging head inside herself. If she’d expected him to do the rest, he had different ideas.

"Fuck yourself on me." Really? The instant's pause resulted in a sharp smack to her flank. "Do it. Fuck yourself on my cock." She braced herself and shoved back, pushing herself onto his waiting shaft. Her pussy opened up to let his thick ridged column inside her. He was bigger than any boyfriend she'd had, but she pushed past the shock of it and took him.

Gliding forward and back she massaged his shaft with the walls of her cunt, hoping the repeated motion would suffice.

It didn't.

One mighty hand clapped to her shoulder to provide the split-second warning. Then Jake Milazzo thrust, ramming every inch of his huge goddamn cock inside Laney Travers, hot-shot reporter for the Chronicle. His ball-sac slammed hard into her upper thighs as he buried himself, expelling every last ounce of breath from her lungs.

Jesus Christ.....

"There," he said, voice full of exultation. He slid halfway out and steamed in again, shafting her full with himself, giving the biggest stretching of her twenty-four years. "Now we're fuckin' talking. Here, take this." Still stuffed deep, he set the live camera in front of her on the bench. She stared at it uncomprehendingly. "Talk into it. I’m gonna fuckin’ interview you.”

Milazzo's hands clapped to her waist, and he sawed back and forth, letting her feel the shift of his great dimensions inside her as he fucked her slow. "Now we're havin' fun," he snarled, rocking her body with the steady insistent plunging into her depths, pulling tight with one hand on her garter-belt. "Howdya like that, girl?"

Damn him... He wanted her to respond to camera? Bastard! "It's... Oh God..." was all she managed.

"What's your name, hot-shot? Full name."

"Laney," she panted. "Laney Travers."

"Who do you work for?"

"The Chronicle."

"And you're gettin' screwed for the Chronicle, right?"

"Yes... Yes I am."

"Speak into the camera, girl. Who's screwin’ you?"

She looked, right into the lens, as he pumped his great bone-hard length in and out of her cunt. "You are."

"My fuckin' name, bitch..."

"Jake. Jake Milazzo is fucking me."

"He's fucking your slutty cunt. Say it."

"Jake Milazzo is fucking my slutty cunt. He's fucking it hard."

Jake paused, and she could almost hear his teeth grinding. "I didn't say I was fucking it hard. Grip the weights bar. Do it now."

Laney knew she was for it. Her hands had been nearly welded to the leather of the bench, but she unclasped them and reached up for the bar, grabbing hold and gripping tight.

Jake was good to all the lust implied by his tone. Grappling her by shoulder and hip he drove hard, spearing her to her centre while she screamed. He pulled back and delivered a second shafting penetration, forcing a similar holler from her lungs. Every stroke from that point onward was furious, every pelvic motion driving the head of his cock to her gobbling wet depths.

She was his work-out now, and he gave the training-session all he had. The repeat-smack of groin on ass sounded in her ears, her own screams clashing with his guttural expulsions of breath. Her pussy was being churned up, pounded beyond all belief. Only in her darkest dreams had she been screwed this hard. The bastard slapped her ass and even twanged her stocking-straps so that they snapped hard against her upper thighs, never once slowing in his phallic attentions.

"Touch yourself," he told her breathlessly. "Get yourself off."

It was all the encouragement required. Modesty had been fucked out of her and she reached between her legs, one hand still clenched to the bar. She was sopping there and crazy with sensation. The touch of her fingers to her clitoris completed the circuit; mere moments of rubbing herself as Jake flung that crazy fuck into her, brought her rushing to crescendo.

"Come on, bitch, cum all over my fucking cock," he raged, and like he'd cued her, she did.

Her cunt clenched tight on his pole as wildfire roared through her body. The climax burst so hard that she let go the bar mid-wail. She thrashed about on Jake's cock as orgasm fried her, ending up in a shuddering mess on the bench.

Momentarily shattered she lay there, Milazzo's cock still punishing. "Good girl," he said. Then he slowed and withdrew as if suddenly it was over.

Was it? Was he nearly done with her? What a stupid fucking notion...

His fingers on her shoulder pulled her up from where she had sagged on the bench. "Don't you fall asleep on me, you little slut," he said, hauling her, with one hand on her tit and the other in her hair, from the bench. She was stumbling in a fucked delirium through his trashy apartment, his cock slapping against her thigh as he propelled her.

"That's it, bitch," he said, shoving her into his kitchen. "Just do what I say and go where I put you." Where he put her was, in this case, against the wall next to the fridge. "Damn camera... Wait here. Don’t you fuckin’ move." She panted against the hard surface, taking the opportunity to catch her breath as he fetched the device. He set it on the fridge-top, pointed once more at her, then he pushed her hard to the tiled surface and grinned.

"Let's get up close and personal, hot-shot."

He grabbed her thigh and raised it, hooking his arm under at the knee as her pussy was stretched wide again. This time he fitted his cock all by himself, holding off just a second to let her anticipate. Then he speared it all the way back inside her. She jammed up against the kitchen wall, trapped by his body and nailed by that huge erect man-length.

Jake held her in place and shafted upwards, Laney's body jolting on every hard connection. He was fast against her now, his ripped body slick with sweat, the surfaces of both their bodies sliding against each other as he drove himself deep. His scent was in her nostrils – perspiration and stale beer and yesterday's aftershave all mixed in a great pheremonal concoction. And his face was right in hers – all that arrogance, that snarling enjoyment of her body, that revelling in the spunky young reporter's debasement.

"Now you're gettin' fucked – right, sweetheart?" He had her in every fucking sense, and she could only groan her agreement. "Now you know what it's like to be someone's bitch. My bitch." He grabbed her breast with the hand that wasn't supporting her leg and twisted it in a tight handful, tugging hard at her nipple. "Fuck yeah, that's how those titties need to be used," he said, in approval of his own action. He transferred his grabbing hand to the other breast, squeezing and fondling hard, roughing up her tit as he head lolled and she moaned.

"God, you bastard..." It was good to give voice to the sentiment this time. He was plucking her nipples sore, molesting her fleshy mounds as his great fuck-stick persisted in its shafting. "You dirty fucking piece of shit."

He laughed, clearly glad to have drawn the epithets from her lips – to have made her his foul-mouthed whore. For minutes more he fucked her up close, using her flesh any damn way he wanted. "You love getting fucked by this bastard," he hissed. "You know why? Because you're a filthy fucking slut." She'd have protested against the sentiment, if her second orgasm hadn't rushed her from nowhere and consumed her whole being, so that she creamed all over his ravishing cock a second time. 

Hot juice was coating her thighs, mingling with the sweat, by the time he pulled himself free of her. He'd left her pussy void and her limbs trembling with the last of the orgasm. Her knees were buckling and but for his body hard against her she might have collapsed. Surely he was done – but no, that cock was still impressively hard and tall, brushing her belly.

"God, you're one hot slut," he said, voice full of dangerous desire. "You're just what I fuckin' need." His hand caught the crook of her arm and, before she had time to adjust, he was dragging her from the kitchen only he knew where. And this time he'd remembered the camera.

His palm smacked hard and true against her ass and he pushed her ahead of him, so he could direct her where he wanted in similar harsh fashion. "Bedroom," he told her, compelling her with a hard-spanking hand into the room where he'd fucked his blonde bitch days before. “Move that fuckin' ass.”

She squealed to have her buttocks chastised so firmly, the sensation of his callused palm on her tender flesh bringing her quickly back to her senses. "God," she cried, as he wobbled her cheeks with that ferociously whacking hand, "you bastard! You don't have to do that!"

He spun her around beside the unmade bed, so that her hair flailed. "No, but I fuckin' like doin' it. Same as I'll like doin' this..." His hand whipped across her breast, smacking it firmly. She cried out and his grin was wicked. “Damn, I like the way those tits move.” In the interests of symmetry he slapped the other one with the same hand, drawing another yelp from her. "Now get down on your knees."

She dropped as soon as he said it, knowing now that she was slave to his whims and recalling that she'd made herself so; her mouth was already open to take his cock inside it. Her knees had only touched the carpet, however, when he took a fistful of hair and tugged. "Stand up."

Baffled, she scrambled back to her feet, staring into his nastily handsome face for understanding. He slapped her tit again and she gasped at the stinging impact. "On your knees!"

What the fuck...?

She descended again, hurriedly in response to his voice's urgency. Once more her knees had only touched down when he yanked at her hair. "Up! Move it! Don't just fuckin' kneel there."

She jumped up, breasts bouncing, realising the nature of his game and powerless to do anything but play it. He slapped both her tits in sharp succession and sent her down with another curt command. And so it persisted. Soon she was scrambling up and down before him, hair flouncing and scattering, breasts oscillating for his pleasure. She was his naked fuck-puppet and the bastard couldn't resist rubbing in the fact by making her spring up and down before him. It was the most fucked-up gym class in which she'd ever taken part and her coach was one son-of-a-bitch. He was filming the lesson too, maybe so he could play her performance back to her later.

"That's it, sweetheart – I say jump, you fuckin' do it." Jake's voice was full of malicious glee as he worked her to near exhaustion. She was slowing down and stumbling in her sweaty efforts when he put her down on her knees for the final time. "That's it, girl, now stay down there and suck my cock."

She gripped his buttocks in relief as no longer having to jump for him, gobbling inches of his hard staff into her mouth. His fingers rumpled her hair and he stared down at her, a selfish grin all over his face. The camera was blinking, drinking in every indignity he made her perpetrate. "Good slut. Now, spit on my cock – get it nice and wet and then fuck it with your tits."

No command was too dirty to shock her any longer. Without missing a beat she spat saliva all over his hard length and enfolded them in her newly-sore breasts, providing a slippery up-and-down massage. Whatever it took she was going to get her story – that thought would have to sustain her through all her filthy trials.

She worked up more saliva and drooled it over him as she masturbated his rigid pole, astonished at what a sordid slut he had made her... and at the excitement which continued to forge her nipples so very hard.

"That's right," he said. "All nice and wet. I'll need to be plenty slippery when I fuck your ass."

She froze mid-stroke as the words sank in and stared up at him with her tits still squished around his shaft. Panic bubbled up from her lower belly. "You don't have to do that." She realised how futile the words were as she said them, and tried a different approach. "C'mon, Jake, I've been a sport. Cut me some slack, here."

"You want all those names," he said, "I get to fuck your ass."

There had to be a way out of this. "I'll suck you so good," she said, resorting to combinations of words she had never expected to find herself using. "I'll suck you dry, baby, give you the best blow-job of your life. You can shoot it all down my throat, you can cream this pretty face and make me lick you clean. Please, Jake."

He paused, still holding her hair, and actually seemed to consider. "Tell you what," he said. "Let's play a game."

He let her go, set down the camera and went rummaging around on his bedside table, leaving her to wait in trepidation on her knees. Moments later he returned with two items – an alarm-clock and a bottle clearly marked 'anal lubricant'.

"Here's the deal," he told her. "It's four thirty-one, see? I'm gonna give you till four thirty-five to get me off any way you can. You manage it, your ass is safe. If not..." He brandished the bottle in her face and tossed it onto the bed. "You got four minutes."

In reality she'd got three, for as he set the clock on the bed the digital read-out flicked to four thirty two. Laney knew the stakes. With no further hesitation she took his cock in her mouth and wolfed down more inches than she'd once have believed possible.

Time was precious and she sucked his shaft with ferocity, pumping her head down and up on it like a she-demon none of her ex-boyfriends would have recognised. She guzzled on that great length of steel, wondering if anything she did could render it soft before it pillaged her poor ass. Surely she had the technique. Surely if she teased the head with her tongue like this and then swallowed him down to the back of her throat like that... But still he kept his composure. The camera was back in his hand and he was capturing quality footage of her fellating efforts.

"Two minutes." Her gaze flicked to the clock and indeed it had clicked to four thirty-three. Holy fuck... What was she going to do?

In a new tactic she wrapped her fingers around his spit-soaked cock and commenced to pump it, her palm gliding up and down in a fury of manual indulgence. She wriggled between his legs, hand still jacking him hard, and sucked his great hanging balls into her mouth one at a time. They were heavy with cum and as she wrapped her mouth around him, she willed the filthy guy to shoot his load. He must be close. He must be so fucking close...

"That's it," he rasped, and she could hear the need in his voice. It fired her efforts and she pumped fervently, slavering her tongue all over his clean-shaved ball-sac, tickling behind them all the way to his asshole and back.

"Go, you little bitch, give it your all. One minute."

One minute? Panic flared again and she scrambled back onto her knees, sucking his swollen glans into her mouth and diving as far down the shaft as she dared. This time he gave her no help and she forced herself past her gag-reflex to hoover up further inches of cock. Desperate, she shunted herself back and forth on him, milking his shaft with her throat, like a performer in a deranged sex-circus. The miracle of her new-found success was not lost on Jake.

"God," he said, seething with lust. "Fuckin' little cock-hound. Look at you go." His crude commentary continued as she alternated throat and fist, pumping his cock furiously with both in fast succession as the spit flew everywhere and frothed all over his engorged length.

"Little bitch, you could get fuckin' paid for this. I got some construction buddies would give good money to have you suck their cocks like this. What say I arrange a little party? We could both take a cut, you and me. I'd love to pimp you out and fuckin' watch you suck them off. Goddamn, you dirty little fuck-slut..."

She heard the hoarse desperation in those final words. He was on the verge for sure. Encouraged she jerked that cock, sensing his body tighten. He was about to spew. Film this, you fucker! Jubilation rising within her, she pumped that shaft, tickling the head with her tongue and watching for the white fountain which was surely only seconds away from bursting free of...

"Time's up, bitch!"

He pushed her off his quivering cock. She watched it in dismay – livid and twitching, but resolutely failing to fire off that cum-load. "Close," he told her with gravelly glee, "but no fuckin' cigar."

Her heart might have been sinking, but he was pulling her upward onto her feet, spinning her one-eighty and shoving her stumbling in heels over to his mirrored dresser. "Bend over," he said, "and spread those cheeks. I wanna see the look on your face when I torpedo your sweet ass." He slammed the camera down next to her, lens aimed to film her reflected self.

Laney leaned against the cheap wood of the dresser and reached back to stretch her buttocks apart, exposing her most intimate secrets. She was fixed less on herself and more on Jake, as he grabbed the lube bottle from the bed and flipped the cap. He doused his angry length with it from root to tip so that it ran down and dripped from his balls. Then he advanced on her, container in one hand and cock in the other, lovingly oiling up his great ravishing pole.

“I promised myself in jail I'd pop some sweet thing's ass-cherry, once I got out,” he said. “It kept me goin'. You don't know how much I'm gonna enjoy this.”

I can guess, she thought wildly. Oh God, guess a girl's gotta do what she's gotta do...

She gulped back a squeal as he seized her, letting lubricant spill all down her ass-crack and smoothing it between her cheeks with his other hand. When he inserting one crude thrusting finger, her anal muscles clutched the digit and she gasped aloud.

"Fuck, that's one tight hole," he said. "I'm right it's not seen any cock-action till now?"

"No..." she admitted, rubber-stamping his nasty fantasy.

"If it's consolation," he said as he withdrew his finger and fitted his cock to her entrance, "you're so fuckin' tight I don't think I'm gonna last long.”

Laney released her cheeks and clapped her hands to the dresser right before he thrust, the head of his cock opening up her ass like no guy had done before. She cried out and then fought for breath as he held himself there inside her, bulging and huge. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck... He fed himself, inch by inch inside her – a long, deep-spearing insertion, the lube and blunt force facilitating his passage into hers.

Oiled up or not, the spearing of her rectum by his cock hurt like suffering fuck. She howled this time, giving vent to the fiery shock with a great emptying of her lungs. Holy Christ!

Jake took it relatively easy on the first few strokes inside her, and that was the best she could say for him. He slid halfway out and thrust in again, probing deeper with only a hint of restraint as the lube allowed him to explore. He was massive inside her, even bigger than he'd felt in her pussy, a colossal steely presence lodged where no one should truly go – and sliding back and forth, steadily faster.

Oh God, the bastard's really fucking my ass. The thought had only properly registered when Jake cut loose inside her. He clearly considered that she'd had an adequate warm-up. Seizing her rump with both hands, he pulled back and shafted deep, grunting like a caveman as he buried himself. Laney screamed her response and went on wailing – "Oh God, oh fuck!" – as he shafted himself recklessly to her ass's core.

"Fuck yeah!" he proclaimed, and having opened her wide her reamed her in a fury. Every inch of him was burying itself inside her now, stroke after stroke, his balls slamming into her cheeks on each deep-driving thrust. "Fuck that ass!" he raged, like he was his own goddamn cheerleader. "Fuck that sweet virgin ass!”

Laney's head was fucked along with her body. Jake had utter control of her and his mighty erection was shafting into her anal depths like she could not have conceived. Pain was giving way to an overpowering sense of size and force within her, that and the hazy awareness of juice slithering from her cunt down her thighs. She was reaching down to touch herself again without consciously deciding to do it. Well if the motherfucker hadn't the courtesy to give her a reach-around...

"Goddamn," Jake roared, as her fingers went to work on her clit once more, "you're lovin' this, you fuckin' slut!" The knowledge supercharged his lust and he achieved overdrive, his cock powering into her, groin impacting against ass on every furious thrust. Gripping her shoulder hard and smacking his palm to her buttock, the bastard fucking wrecked her ass.

"Take it, bitch!" Flecks of saliva from his filthy mouth were landing on her neck. He grabbed her hair and pulled her upper body into a tight curve, speaking directly into her ear as his cock anally ravaged her. "That's it. Right up inside you. Fuckin' feel my cock, bitch. God-fuckin'-damn..."

'God-fuckin'-damn' was right. Orgasm gripped Laney's body to an extreme she might have thought infeasible. The sheer force of his dick combined with that overbearing attitude and the purity of lust in his voice. It pushed her beyond her limit and she exploded in a climactic fury. Pain and humiliation ceased to matter as she came, gloriously, her rectum clenching tight on his rampaging shaft. The fucker didn't deserve the treat her clutching ass gave him, but he got it anyway.

Her tightness around him finally finished the bastard off. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna shoot it all right up your dirty ass..." Gripping her shoulder and clamping his hand to her tit he rammed one final thrust and offloaded, pumping her full with molten cum, spurt after ass-filling spurt. "Fuck! Goddamn!" His howls merged with hers as they came together – the filthy low-life ravisher and the reporter he had made his panting whore. He strained inside her, gripping her body hard, emptying himself.

“Fuck yeah. Now that's how to use a girl's ass.”

Jake kept his cock lodged as far as it would go, until Laney's clenching rectum had sucked up the last of his load. He pulled out with no ceremony, leaving her wilting against the wood surface with a sense of having been fucked wide open.

Oh God. Oh my sweet God.

“Hot damn,” was Jake's verdict. Then he announced, “I'm getting' cleaned up”, before walking off. As she peeled herself from the dresser, Laney could hear running water in the bathroom. The camera, she noted, had been removed. Her body was aching and her anal passage throbbed, as she cast about in the living-room for her clothes. Cum was oozing warm from inside her, slithering down between her cheeks.

Jake strolled out of the bathroom, his now flaccid cock having been splashed with water. He gripped the camera possessively. “Stay there,” he said, lifting his pants from beside the weights bench. “Don't move.” She waited in her near-naked state while he strode about the bedroom. He returned some five minutes later, wearing pants again, and shoved a torn envelope into her hand. It was covered with crudely scrawled names and notations. She looked at him inquiringly, the journalist resurfacing from beneath the whore, even with her tits and ass still on show.

“Who are all these people?”

“Friends of Gus Ferrante,” he told her, “ones he'd deny even knowing. It's guys like those put him where he is today.” He smacked a hand to the ass he'd just fucked and pulled Laney tight to him. “You take those names and you go do your research, and we'll see if you're as good a news-hound as you are a cock-sucking slut.”

“I'm damn good,” she said, trying to reassert some pride. “Journalist, I mean.”

“Then you'll make sure you take down Ferrante without me gettin' mentioned.”

“I thought I'd given you enough insurance not to need ask,” she snapped, itching to slap the fucker.

“Yeah, I guess you did, little whore.”

“My name's Laney,” she told him, “and I'd like to go clean up if you're gentleman enough to allow that.”

He laughed that mocking laugh and she bit down her anger. “Sure,” he said. “Why not? Go rinse my cum outa your asshole and remember how much fun I had pumpin' it in there. Then get the fuck outa here and do your job.”

He turned her around and sent her in the direction of the bathroom with a final hard slap to her ass.

Class act to the last, that was Jake Milazzo.

* * * *

“This,” Mike Dennehy said, holding up the new edition of the Chronicle, “makes an old newspaperman very proud.” Colour had returned to his face and, while he was still rigged to a heart monitor, most of the ugly tubing had been removed. Within a week or so, he'd be back in his apartment, on the proviso that Laney called in daily to check on him.

She looked again at the front-page headline: Feet of Clay? Its sub-headline read: Gus Ferrante Denies Mob Connections. The Mayor could deny all he liked. Rumours which had persisted for years were firming up by the day and Laney's investigative work had played no small role. Her pursuit of the leads supplied by Milazzo had led to some highly useful sources, including an ex-mob accountant with a limited life-expectancy, a grudge and no scruples about being named. Ferrante's days in office seemed numbered.

“I don't know how you did it, kid,” Mike said, slapping the paper back on the bed, “but I take back what I said. You've got everything it takes and more. You scooped the City Post while they sat with their thumb up their collective ass. Tell me how you did it.”

“I will once you're out of here,” she promised, squeezing his arm. Well, some of it. Mike was all pride in his protege and surrogate daughter. He might have a whole new cardiac episode if he knew she'd been fucked in every hole by Jake Milazzo, the whole thing committed to camera in exchange for his confidence. In one afternoon she had sold her ass along with every principle, professional and personal, that she ever had – whatever the justification. She shifted uncomfortably at the crude recollections, fighting their thrill, and moved the conversation back to the unfolding fate of Gus Ferrante.

Mike and she had been chatting warmly for some minutes when her cell buzzed. Her mouth dried and her pulse quickened when she recognised the caller. “Lemme get this,” she told her senior colleague, before stepping outside.

“Yes?” She summoned up her most professional tone.

“Nice work, hot-shot. You stitched up Ferrante good. It's nice to see that bastard squirm.”

“I'm glad you like my work,” she answered primly, trying to keep the shake out of her voice.

“I like all your fuckin' work, princess,” Jake said, a note of appreciation leavening his lust. “And you didn't let me down.”

“A good journalist always protects her sources,” Laney said, “whatever home movies they have.”

“Mine makes good viewing,” he said. “Bit shaky sometimes, but fuckin' hot. You should come round and watch. We can make a night of it.”

“Our business is done, Mr Milazzo.” Laney's breath was shallow as she asserted the fact.

Jake slapped her assertion right down. “No it's not, sweetheart. You and me, we got a whole lot to work out. I've got shit on the Mayor and his cronies you won't believe.”

“Oh really? Then... why didn't you tell me last time?”

“For a smart girl you ask some dumb questions. Think I'm gonna blow all my best secrets along with my wad? It works like this – I get another piece of your hot ass, you get more of what I know.”

Laney thought she might hyperventilate. Her heart-rate needed monitoring more than Mike's. In her gut she trusted the fucker's word, but still she resisted him. “You seriously think I'm going to come round and... and do that again on your say-so?”

“Yeah,” he said, “I do. You know why?”

“Why?” she asked weakly, her voice almost deserting her.

“'Cos you're fuckin' hot for it. It's in your damn voice. And you're wet too. You enjoyed it way too much.”

She made to respond, but the truth of his words tripped her up.

“Didn't you, Laney?”

“Yes.” The whispered syllable was a self-betrayal and a thrilling admission all at once.

“Then here's what you're gonna do. Get your ass round here, get stripped and do everything fucking thing I tell you to do. And when I'm deep inside you and you're cumming over me like the slut we both know you are, then you get your next big headline. Understood?”

A long, ragged-breathed pause. “Understood.” Oh Jesus Christ.

“When?”

“Cancel everything. Get here now. You're gonna be naked and bouncing on my cock before I can spit. Aren't you, slut? Say 'Yes Jake'.”

Laney breathed deep and gave herself up to an all-consuming sexual craving. “Yes, Jake. I'll be there soon. Real soon.”

She ended the call, calmed herself a moment and went in to Mike. “Something big's come up,” she told him. “Sorry, it can't wait. I've gotta go.”

Mike beamed at her like she'd just graduated. “Go, kid, do what you gotta. Milk that source for all you're worth.”

“I intend to,” she said, adrenalin coursing like rocket-fuel through her system. I'm going to milk that source dry if it takes all fucking night. And it probably will. “Rest up, Mike. See you soon.” She kissed his cheek and departed.

Intrepid reporter Laney Travers set out into the night, ready to do whatever it took to land her story.