I knew the sexy dame was big trouble as soon as she walked into my office, though it was less of a walk and more of a saunter or maybe a prowl, like a big cat hunting a fat deer in the middle of an icy winter after all of the other game is gone and it's on the verge of starving. She had sweet, gently-rounded curves like the Hindenburg before it caught fire and was still queen of the skies, but she had more curves than the Hindenburg, which only had one really big curve and she wasn't quite so cylindrical so she more resembled a trio of perfectly placed Hindenburgs flying in a very sexy formation. The way her dress clung to those curves made me think that she might catch fire in the same way as the famous dirigible and I hoped she didn't do it in my office since the only thing I had on hand was half a bottle of Jack Daniels that was guaranteed to make the flames burn even hotter, not that she could get any hotter than she already was. Her blonde hair was too bleached to be her natural color, but it looked good on her anyway and I decided not to give her fashion advice, since she had a rock the size of a silver dollar on her finger and the defining piece of my wardrobe was a trench coat that wasn't worth the mud that had splashed up the back of her fishnet stockings. The whole package was tied up with full, pouty lips that looked like they'd done 3 or 4 rounds with Joe Louis, but definitely not more than 5 rounds or they'd have been too big for her sultry face.