Sylvia knew her eyes had widened, that her face had turned crimson, as she saw the mammoth penis leap out like a tiger released from a cage. Good Lord, it was so big! Her eyes were locked on the white throbbing instrument. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea, after all. He would split her with that; she didn’t know how any woman could take it. Then feeling sudden guilt and embarrassment, she forced her eyes up to his face and saw that he was watching her with amusement. That made her very angry. “Take your shower,” she commanded.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered in mock meekness.

Sylvia watched him walk across the room. His testicles dangled like huge twin pendulums on a clock, and his organ was stuck out and up in an angle that made it look like an elevated artillery gun being sighted before firing.

Now that he was out of the room, she tried to force her mind into some semblance of order. She felt that all of the photographs probably could be taken in about two or three minutes. They would be posed. The detective obviously would want to try to have real sexual intercourse with her but she would permit him to put his penis inside her only long enough for the photograph to be taken. She wouldn’t permit him to make any movements, nothing! Just the photograph. As for the other two or three things she was forcing herself to do, well… she’d do them and permit them to be done to her, but she knew she would be fighting regurgitation all the way. And she’d gargle and douche thoroughly afterwards!

Abruptly Sylvia realized the water had been turned off and she was now hearing the muted whine of an electric razor. Then it, too, fell silent. She sat, apprehensive, on the edge of the huge king-sized bed waiting for him to make an appearance. Her usually orderly mind was beginning to churn.