Sleep of the Guilty - Sex Stories

Sleep of the Guilty

... weight and reaching inside his pocket for the packet of chewing gum, the pretence of conspiratorial smugness lifting the corners of his mouth, knowing that when he gives Jimmy his PI report it would surely get him a well-deserved bonus. Their lustful passion and vocal persuasion quickly gathered speed, the increasing momentum of give and take tossing the vehicle from side to side, a sudden movement throwing him against the metal container, breaking him from his mental spending orgy. The unexpected collision forced a gasp and a deep intake of breath. He swallowed the gum. It was caught in his throat and blocking his windpipe. He couldn’t breathe. He was hyperventilating. He was going to choke to death. He panicked. “LET ME OUT OF HERE...! GET ME OUT!” he shouted, launching into a fit of choking coughs and breathless gasps, banging his clenched fist hard against the inside of the car boot. “What the hell’s going on?” Sandra barked, holding the boot open as he scrambled out and fell to the ground in a gasping heap. Kneeling on all fours with his arms outstretched in front of him, his face turning a deep shade of crimson, frantically sucking in air through his nose, a choking sensation in his throat threatening to stop him breathing, knowing that if he couldn’t get oxygen into his lungs he would pass out. A faceless man suddenly appeared from the shadows, the urgency to straddle over his limp body with his arms wrapped firmly around his stomach signalling his intention to ...

... undertake the Heimlich manoeuvre. Puffing and panting and pulling hard on his chest, the sustained pressure on his lungs forcing a reaching gasp, the blockage miraculously spilling from his mouth, the sticky substance dropping to the ground in a stream of choking saliva. The car door slammed shut, tyres spinning over tarmac, clouds of exhaust fumes spilling in his wake, a clear sign that the faceless man was in a desperate hurry to leave. He coughed and wheezed through a lingering trail of choking exhaust, removing strings of saliva from his chin, blinking his eyes in the smoke, mindful that a good private investigator would have taken his registration number, shaking his head in defeat, his future as a PI evaporating in the fumes. Sandra shot him a ‘now you’re in for it look,’ and pointed a finger. “Get in the fucking car,” she barked, her eyes narrowing with uncertainty, her face suddenly growing serious. “You’ve got some explaining to do.” He nervously chewed the inside of his mouth and followed her instructions. Over the next twenty minutes the story unfolded and he had no option but to give her a detailed account of the cunning plan devised between Jimmy and Frank. But when he told her that Jimmy would probably beat the shit out of them when he finds out, her mood unexpectedly changed. After muttering something under her breath that sounded like, ‘that fucking arsehole,’ she rolled the car window down and took a packet of cigarettes from her handbag. After removing two from the ...