DISCLAIMER
All characters are 18 or over. There's mature woman, younger guy sex. There's interracial sex. There's racial stereotyping. There's anal sex. There's a b-grade movie plot. If any of this isn't your cup of tea, please kindly move on and find other fare more suitable for your palate.
INTRODUCTION
This intro includes a basic summary of parts 1-3 below.
Jamal Parker was a young black man sentenced to prison for drug dealing at 18 years old by Debra Delaney, the prosecuting attorney. After serving 3 years in prison, he got a job as a painter, and was commissioned to repaint Debra's house. While repainting her house, he ended up moving in and sleeping with the much older woman who prosecuted him. Soon, Debra Delaney, the dark haired and statuesque beauty who was a tough, authoritative presence at work was reduced to a submissive sex slave at home. The dichotomy of her work vs home life was largely maintained until videos and pictures that Jamal posted of their escapades online were recognized. Even though her face was hidden, her distinctive jewelry was spotted by an office mate, a young investigator named Jimmy, who confronted her about it at the end of Part 3.
And now the saga continues...
*****
The lead personnel from the local police precinct and the district attorney's office were huddled in a conference room.
"We've got a statement from a witness that places Garcia at the crime scene with a gun," a detective said.
"You mean the homeless addict previously convicted for lying under oath," countered another voice.
"If we're going to nail this guy, we need solid evidence!" Debra, the district attorney, screamed, clearly frustrated.
"We've gone through everything. We canvassed the neighborhood. No one else will talk on the record. Everyone is scared," piped in an officer.
"We don't have a murder weapon or any solid evidence that places Garcia at the scene," said Debra, laying out the facts. "I can't take him to trial with what we have."
"What about security cameras?" the police captain asked.
"We checked. Nothing that places Garcia near the crime scene," another officer responded.
"Look. We know he did it," Debra spoke again. "Everyone knows he did it, but no one wants to double cross the biggest drug lord in town. But if we can get him off the streets, it's a game changer. We owe it to the family of Ricky Martinez. And to the families of the people Garcia's offed before. To the families who lost their sons and daughters to his crime syndicate. To the families who lost their sons and daughters to the drugs he sold them. We need to do better. Now how do we do that?"
"Well, we could offer immunity. Maybe witness protection," the lead detective proposed.
"We've offered that before. No takers," someone answered.
"This is their home. No one wants to leave behind their friends and family. Plus folks are scared they'll still be tracked down," Debra chimed in again. "What about phone records? Texts? Emails? Money trails? For the victim and the perp. Where's the murder weapon."
"We'll keep digging," the police captain conceded.
"If we need warrants, we'll get warrants. Do what you have to do. Get me answers!" Debra commanded.
The meeting was over, and everyone scattered. The District Attorney, Debra Delaney, left to go back to her office, her heel clicks echoing down the corridor. At almost 6' tall in heels, she cut an intimidating figure and ruled over the DA office with an iron fist. She was tough as nails and didn't take no for an answer.
She was a career driven woman, and she'd worked hard to become head DA. She could be cold and ruthless at times, but that's how you get results, she reasoned. Debra was a gorgeous woman, 5'8" in bare feet and a fit 135 pounds. She was 50 years old with her shoulder length brown hair tied back. She exuded power and beauty, although she never relied on her looks. Though her beauty belied her age, beauty fades, so she never wanted it to become a crutch.
After entering her office, Debra closed the door behind her and collapsed into the desk chair. She felt almost hungover, but she had not been drinking. Although she refused to show any outward signs of fatigue, it felt like the world was crumbling around her.
Professionally, the Garcia murder case was plastered over the local news, but personally, she was still reeling from the revelation last week when a junior investigator recognized her from an online sex video. She cursed herself for being so reckless. Several months ago, she had taken in a young black ex-con, Jamal, that she had sent to prison years earlier. Jamal was working to turn his life around after his release. Then, at some point, their relationship became sexual and she quickly became almost completely subservient to him. She always played the tough no-nonsense boss at work, but she relished the chance to switch roles from a dominant to submissive personality at home. She reasoned it was alright as long as her illicit relationship with Jamal was kept secret within the walls of her house. Her house rules, as she originally explained it to Jamal when setting the framework for their relationship. But now others outside her home knew her secret.
She didn't know if anyone else recognized her in the sex video. That was originally part of the thrill. Knowing that she exposed herself to the world. Except now she was forced to deal with the aftermath of that exposure. Was her professional career at stake? The videos and pictures had been deleted from online, yet, the internet could be like a pandora's box that could not be undone. Debra had worked too hard to have it all taken away because of some indiscretion, and the threat of losing it all weighed heavily on her.
"Ms. Delaney, can I bother you for a minute?" interrupted a voice.
Debra snapped back to reality, freezing for a second as she recognized the voice.
Jimmy. The one who recognized her online sex video. She'd been relieved not to run across him in the days since, but now she suspected he'd been avoiding her. Debra took a deep breath. Always confront problems head-first, she decided.
"Come in," she said, trying to sound confident, but her voice was tinged with apprehension.
Jimmy walked in, his head down, avoiding direct eye contact.
"Ms. Delaney, I have these warrant requests prepared. They need your signature before I take them over to the judge."
"That's fine, Jimmy. I'll sign them right away."
"Thank you, ma'am."
Debra signed the papers and then handed them back.
Jimmy started to leave, but Debra stopped him.
"Jimmy," she called. He was still looking down. "Sit down; we should talk."
Jimmy nervously took a seat.
"About that thing you mentioned the other night," Debra started.
Jimmy finally looked up, trepidation in his eyes.
"Who else knows?" she asked.
"I told you. I won't tell anyone else. Your secret's safe with me. But -- " his voice trailed off.
"But what?"
"I don't understand. I mean, you're a grown woman obviously. But posting a video like that. That video. Those pictures. Ms. Delaney, I'm not going to lie, it's awkward looking at you now after seeing the things I saw you do. After seeing -- seeing the things he did to you."
