#Professional Consulting in Washington

[capitolcareerconsulting]

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[appstricetechnology]

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[list-business-usa]

Professional Services in Washington VA

If you are looking for professional and consulting business services in Washington VA USA. KuchKuch is the ultimate desi community portal for Indians that offer free and premium-based business listing services including accounting and tax, lawyers and lawyers, architects and designers, astrology, financial planning, legal services, and notary services. List your professional business services in Washington USA.

[veronicacfp]

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Once you have these boxes checked you can breathe easier, start to live a little, and move on to new horizons in your financial life.

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The information I provided might have given you an idea of what you are looking for. You can get more detailed information on Certified Financial Planner Professional if you still have questions.

[reidsdimples]

Boyfriend Boy Genius

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Gf!Reader

Just fluff 🧸

“Spence!” You giggle and lace your fingers behind his neck.

He lifts you up under your butt and swings you around.

“I missed you, angel,” he leans in and nuzzles your nose with an Eskimo kiss which just makes you giggle harder.

“I missed you more,” you smile when he places you down.

“How’d the consult go on the Washington case?” He asks you.

“Good, I heard Seattle got messy,” you frown as you lean against his desk.

“Yeah but we got him. Streets are 3.89% safer now,” he smiles.

“That can’t be accurate,” you roll your eyes.

“Actually it is, I based it on the population, the known crime trends for the past decade, as well as known active serial killers in the Pacific Northwest. The Uptown Stabber’s body count and time between kills earned him a significant percentage of the cities crime rate this year and…” he drops into his seat. “I’m rambling…”

“Go on,” you smirk and nudge his converse with the white tip of your own.

“I got you something,” he clutches his shoulder bag nervously.

You tug on it but he holds it in place, his chair sliding a little closer.

“Hands off,” Hotch says somewhere behind you. Both of you instinctively back up.

The team knew about you two, obviously. It just couldn’t be flaunted it work. It had to stay professional.

“What is ittttt?” You whine and pout your lip at your boyfriend.

He whips out a 8x10 print in a sleeve which you’re unsure of at first. Then he turns it to show you.

“No you didn’t!” You gasp.

He had gotten a signed mini poster from the last Twilight movie with all of the main casts signatures. It even had a certificate of authenticity.

“Made the special trip! The lady had it signed by the cast when she worked as an extra,” he beamed.

“I could kiss you right now! You know that?” You stamp your feet and hug the picture to your chest.

“I know you lost a bid on one and she put this up for auction at one of the little shops in Forks,” he pulls off his shoulder bag and finally gets comfortable in his chair.

“You’re the best baby,” you lean down to kiss him.

“Uh, ew,” Morgan mocks and stops you two before your lips meet. “Don’t make me get Hotch.”

“I dare you, what’s up?” You laugh.

“I need the file on Rayburn,” he informs.

“One sec,” you return to your desk.

“Twilight? Really?” Morgan tsks.

“Oh shut up!” You shove him his folder.

—

“Dinner,” you assert.

“Just dinner,” he echoes. He kisses you again and you lead him to your front door.

Spencer is nearly drunk on your presence, on your scent. He half stumbles as he walks too fast for your short strides. He trips over his two feet and accidentally kicks the back of your shoe.

“Maybe sleep too?” He asks.

“Yes baby, I know you had a long flight today. What are you in the mood for? Pizza? I’m not cooking.”

“Pizzas good,” he sits on your couch and picks up the book you’re reading.

“Uh!” You snatch it. “Not for you.”

“Angel?” He stands. “Are you reading smut to keep yourself occupied while I’m away?” He takes your face between his hands and kisses you sweetly.

“You wish,” you slap his chest and turn from him.

He gathers you by your hips and wrestles you under him onto the couch. You’re giggling so hard that tears well up in your eyes. His messy hair falls over his forehead and he’s giddy at the sound of your laughter.

When you stop he buries his face in your neck to kiss you before tickling you once you’re lured into a false sense of security.

“Spencer!” You shout and thrash beneath him.

“Say my name again,” he pauses tickling you.

“No,” you turn your head from him and pout.

“I love it though,” he tickles you again until you snort.

You’re snorts spurn on more laughter between the two of you and everything is perfect because he’s back.

“Fine fine! Spencer,” you laugh uncontrollably. He stops tickling you and kisses you. “Spencer,” you whisper.

He nuzzles into your neck and sighs.

“Spencer, Spencer, Spencer,” you whisper and rub his back gently. He hums against your neck, enjoying the sensation.

You could stay like this with him forever- entangled in each other, the sound of his breathing mixed with yours, your fingers in his soft hair and rubbing his back. It’s perfect.

“Hopefully Hotch lets us go on the next case together,” you muse longingly.

He adjusts his hips between your legs and kisses you softly with a moan that matches your own.

“Hopefully,” he smirks and kisses your nose as his hands grip your hips.

[carriesthewind]

"Although hired as a consultant by Washington County in this case, Baird had a long-standing independent agenda: helping foster parents across Colorado succeed in intervening and permanently claiming the children they care for. Often working hand in hand with Tim Eirich, she has been called as an expert in, by her count, hundreds of child-welfare cases, and she sometimes evaluates visits between birth families and children without having met them. Baird would not say how many foster-parent intervenor cases she has participated in, but she can recall only a single instance in which she concluded that the intervenors should not keep the child. Thinking that particular couple would be weak adoptive parents, she told me, she simply filed no report."

"With the supply of adoptable babies dropping, foster children were becoming a “hot commodity,” he said, and he and his colleagues (among them Tim Eirich’s law partner Seth Grob) realized that attachment experts could be called into court to argue that foster children needed to remain with their foster parents in order to avoid a severed bond."

"The judge ruled in favor of Eirich’s clients, a social worker and a real-estate agent. “Court found [Baird’s] testimony credible. She has significant experience,” the judge said, adding approvingly that Baird’s analysis had “focused on primacy of attachment over cultural considerations.”"

"Was Baird’s method for evaluating these foster and birth families empirically tested? No, Baird answered: Her method is unpublished and unstandardized, and has remained “pretty much unchanged” since the 1980s. It doesn’t have those “standard validity and reliability things,” she admitted. “It’s not a scientific instrument.”

...

Had she considered or was she even aware of the cultural background of the birth family and child whom she was recommending permanently separating? (The case involved a baby girl of multiracial heritage.) Baird answered that babies have “never possessed” a cultural identity, and therefore are “not losing anything,” at their age, by being adopted. Although when such children grow up, she acknowledged, they might say to their now-adoptive parents, “Oh, I didn’t know we were related to the, you know, Pima tribe in northern California, or whatever the circumstances are.”

The Pima tribe is located in the Phoenix metropolitan area."

"We found that — leaving aside the question of whether attachment theory should even be used as an argument in these cases — Baird’s assessments of foster children’s relationships aren’t just unscientific. They barely touch the surface of a child’s life.

“I don’t know these children,” she testified in one 2017 case, adding, “I have not met anybody.” Still, she said, she “strongly” recommended that those children’s birth parents’ rights be permanently terminated and that the kids be adopted."

"She also regularly uses terms like “mirror neurons,” “neurotoxins,” “synapses,” “hormones,” and “encoded trauma in the central nervous system” to justify her conclusions about children’s family relationships. (Baird is not a neuroscientist.)"

______________________

The New Yorker article focuses on possible legislative solutions, but I think these articles point to something more pernicious and more difficult to address. Judges - in all kinds of cases - routinely give credence to professionals and "experts" who are biased, bigoted, and testify far outside their expertise (if they have any expertise at all). These professionals have credentials (like being a police officer or social worker) that are validated by institutional hierarchies. Their frequent systematized interaction with the legal system is mistaken as experience that makes their subjective beliefs more credible, when in truth they lack any objective expertise. They are considered credible and unbiased because they conform to, and validate, systems of hierarchical oppression, while the people they hurt - often poor, marginalized, and most frequently, not white - are viewed with inherent distrust.

The ProPublica article focuses primarily on Baird. I'm more concerned with the judges who believed her, who used her to justify funneling children away from their (safe and loving, but poorer and frequently browner) birth families. She was only able to do so much harm because of the the power given to her by courts, and the judges inside them.

The ProPublic article ends with the line, "This past fall, with Baird’s help, the foster parents were granted full custody of the baby girl through her 18th birthday." It names Baird as a force that led to the theft of this child. The passive voice hides the judge who made the ultimate decision.

[disneytva]

Ariel To Make A Splash Debut Thursday, June 27, Streaming Next Day On Disney+

Disney Branded Television announced today the premiere date for the highly anticipated animated musical series “Ariel.” Inspired by “The Little Mermaid (2023)” the series will debut on THURSDAY, JUNE 27, on Disney Junior (9:00 a.m. EDT/PDT) and air on Disney Channel later that day, with an initial batch of eight episodes available on Disney+ the following day, FRIDAY, JUNE 28.

Disney Junior has also released the theme song who will be Disney TVA 's #98 series overall.

To help build excitement for “Ariel,” it was also announced that a new series of shorts titled “Ariel: Mermaid Tales” will be featured across Disney Junior, Youtube and Disney+ beginning Wednesday, June 5. Each two-minute short will highlight a different aspect of Ariel’s life in Atlantica.

Recurring Guest Cast on ARIEL include Yvette Nicole Brown ("Firebuds", "Pupstruction") as Aquatica, Melissa Villaseñor ("Primos", Cartoon Network Studios "OK K.O Let's Be Heroes") as Navi, Ron Funches (Pixar Animation Studios "Inside Out 2") as Delfino, Kevin Michael Richardson ("The Proud Family: Louder and Prouder", "La Familia Avenúñez") as Sebastian, Parvesh Cheena (Netflix Animation "Centaurworld") as Ravi, Danni Washington as Tantie Chantale, Alanna Ubach (Nickelodeon "El Tigre: The Adventures of Manny Rivera") as Cristina Cuttles, Dana Heath (Nickelodeon "Danger Force") and Jessica Mikayla (Disney Launchpad "Project CC") play Ariel’s twin sisters Ayanna and Alanna, respectively.

The acclaimed songwriting teams are comprised of Anthony M. Jones (Tone), Sofia Quinn, Olivia Waithe, Chantry Johnson, Michelle Zarlenga and Rosemarie Tan.  Christopher Willis ("The Wonderful World of Mickey Mouse" franchise) serves as composer. Sean Skeete, dean of the Professional Performance division at Berklee College of Music, is the Caribbean music consultant.

Walt Disney Records will release a digital soundtrack on Friday, June 28, and an array of dolls, playsets, role-play, costumes, apparel, books and more from Disney Consumer Products and Disney Publishing Worldwide will be available this summer.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Black Lives Matter is headed for INSOLVENCY after plunging $8.5M into the red - but founder Patrisse Cullors' brother was still paid $1.6M for 'security services' in 2022, while sister of board member earned $1.1M for 'consulting'

By: Harriet Alexander

Published: May 24, 2024

Black Lives Matter Global Network Foundation, a non-profit that grew out of the protest movement, is haemorrhaging cash, financial records show 

The group ran an $8.5 million deficit and saw the value of its investment accounts drop by nearly $10 million, with fundraising down 88% year-on-year

Despite the financial woes, the organization still paid relatives of the founder and of a board member hundreds of thousands of dollars for services 

Black Lives Matter's national organization is at risk of going bankrupt after its finances plunged $8.5 million into the red last year - while simultaneously handing multiple staff seven-figure salaries.  

Financial disclosures obtained by The Washington Free Beacon show the perilous state of BLM's Global Network Foundation, which officially emerged in November 2020, as a more formal way of structuring the civil rights movement.

Yet despite the financial controversy and scrutiny, BLM GNF continued to hire relatives of the founder, Patrisse Cullors, and several board members. 

Cullors' brother, Paul Cullors, set up two companies which were paid $1.6 million providing 'professional security services' for Black Lives Matter in 2022.

[ BLM co-founder Patrisse Cullors' (left) employed her brother, Paul Cullors (right) for security at BLM's properties ]

[ Paul Cullors was employed as the head of the security team at the $6 million Los Angeles mansion (pictured) bought with charity donations ]

Paul Cullors was also one of BLM's only two paid employees during the year, collecting a $126,000 salary as 'head of security' on top of his consulting fees. He is best known as a graffiti artist, with no background in security.

Patrisse Cullors defended hiring him, saying registered security firms which hired former police officers could not be trusted, given the movement's opposition to police brutality. 

For the previous year, 2021, tax filings revealed that BLM paid a company owned by Damon Turner, the father of Cullors' child, nearly $970,000 to help 'produce live events' and provide other 'creative services.' 

Cullors resigned in May 2021. 

'While Patrisse Cullors was forced to resign due to charges of using BLM's funds for her personal use, it looks like she's still keeping it all in the family,' said Paul Kamenar, an attorney for the National Legal and Policy Center watchdog group. 

Shalomyah Bowers, who took over from Cullors when she resigned, also benefitted handsomely from the group: in 2022, his consultancy firm was paid $1.7 million for management and consulting services, the Free Beacon reported.

And the sister of former Black Lives Matter board member Raymond Howard was also employed in a lucrative role as a consultant.

Danielle Edwards's firm, New Impact Partners, was paid $1.1 million for consulting services in 2022, the Free Beacon said.

BLM GNF also agreed to pay an additional $600,000 to an unidentified former board member's consulting firm 'in connection with a contract dispute'.

The non-profit group ran an $8.5 million deficit, and its investment accounts fell in value by nearly $10 million in the most recent tax year, financial disclosures show.

The group logged a $961,000 loss on a securities sale of $172,000, suggesting the group sustained an 85 percent loss on the transaction. Further details of that security have not been shared. 

And the cash flowing into BLM's coffers has dropped dramatically.

Donations plunged by 88 percent between 2021 and 2022, from $77 million to just $9.3 million for the most recent financial year.  

Patrisse Cullors, who had been at the helm of the Black Lives Matter Global Network Foundation for nearly six years, stepped down in May 2021, amid anger at the group's financial decisions and perceived lack of transparency.

A year later, in May 2022, it was revealed Black Lives Matter spent more than $12 million on luxury properties in Los Angeles and in Toronto - including a $6.3 million 10,000-square-foot property in Canada that was purchased as part of a $8M 'out of country grant.'

The Toronto property was bought with grant money that was meant for 'activities to educate and support black communities, and to purchase and renovate property for charitable use.' 

The group had said it was planning to use the property as main headquarters in Canada, and it has now been named the Wilseed Center for Arts and Activism. 

It emerged that Cullors transferred millions from the organization to a charity run by her wife, Janaya Khan, to purchase the property. 

Cullors admitted to AP that her group was ill-equipped to handle the finances of a charity which received $90 million the year after George Floyd was killed - but denied any wrongdoing.

Cullors issued a statement denying she used the $6 million LA property for personal purposes, but then had to backtrack and admit she had used the compound for purposes that were not strictly business. 

The activist also amassed a $3 million property portfolio of her own, including homes in LA and Georgia, although there is no suggestion of any financial impropriety.

It is not known if the group paid out lucrative contracting fees to Cullors' friends and family past June 2022, when a new board of directors was brought in.

The board is now led by nonprofit adviser Cicley Gay, who has filed for Chapter 7 bankruptcy three times since 2005.

Gay was ordered by a court to attend financial management lessons, and at the time of her appointment in April 2022 had more than $120,000 in unpaid debt. 

She was one of three people appointed to the board, the organization said in a tweet. She subsequently was described as being chair of the board.

She told The New York Times she had been appointed to straighten out the organization's finances, after BLMGFN faced intense scrutiny over its spending of donor cash.

'No one expected the foundation to grow at this pace and to this scale,' said Gay.

'Now, we are taking time to build efficient infrastructure to run the largest Black, abolitionist, philanthropic organization to ever exist in the United States.'

It later emerged that Gay has been declared bankrupt three times, according to federal reports obtained by The New York Post. 

Gay, a mother of three, filed for bankruptcy in 2005, 2013 and 2016. 

BLMGFN has faced intense questions about its handling of donations, which surged in particular during the George Floyd protests in the summer of 2020.

The organization in February 2021 said it had taken in more than $90 million in 2020 and still had $60 million on hand.

Last year, it was down to $42 million, while the Free Beacon reports BLM has now spent two thirds of the $90 million cash it had to hand. 

Cullors, the co-founder of the organization, resigned in May 2021 as director of BLMGNF, amid scrutiny of her own property empire. She has written best-selling books, and has a contract with Warner Brothers to produce content.

Then in April 2022 it emerged that BLMGFN had bought a mansion in Los Angeles for $5.8 million, which they said was to be used as a 'safe space' for activists and for events.

The organization responded to the reports in a lengthy Twitter feed, with the group noting that more 'transparency' was required going forward.

[ Black Lives Matter has apologized following an expose that detailed how the organization had used donations to purchase a $6 million home in Los Angeles ]

[ In a lengthy Twitter thread on Monday morning, the group vowed to be more transparent in the future ]

'There have been a lot of questions surrounding recent reports about the purchase of Creator's House in California. Despite past efforts, BLMGNF recognizes that there is more work to do to increase transparency and ensure transitions in leadership are clear,' it stated.

BLM then proceeded to blame the media for the furore and the 'inflammatory and speculative' reports that saw journalists probing the group's financials saying that it 'caused harm' 

The reports 'do not reflect the totality of the movement,' the organization claimed.

'We know narratives like this cause harm to organizers doing brilliant work across the country and these reports do not reflect the totality of the movement,' one of the tweets reads. 'We apologize for the distress this has caused to our supporters and those who work in service of Black liberation daily.' 

'We are redoubling our efforts to provide clarity about BLMGNF's work,' noting an 'internal audit' was underway together with 'tightening compliance operations and creating a new board to help steer to the organization to its next evolution.'  

[ The organization also criticized the original New Yorker article, pictured above, describing it as 'inflammatory and speculative' ]

[ BLM co-founder Patrisse Cullors (above) came under fire last year for a slew of high-profile property purchases. She resigned in May 2021 and has called reports investigation the $6 million mansion 'despicable' and claimed that criticisms against her are 'sexist and racist' ]

[ The home features six bedrooms and a pool in the back. BLM claimed the home was bought to provide a safe house for 'black creativity' but had allegedly tried to hide the home's existence  ]

[ The mansion comes complete with a sound stage (pictured) and mini filming studio which the group had used in one of its video campaigns ]

BLM attempted to justify the purchase of the mansion by saying it was made to encourage 'Black creativity' with the property 'a space for Black folks to share their gifts with the world and hone their crafts as we see it.' 

The organization also went on to defend how the funds the group raised were spent including the $3 million used for 'COVID relief' and a further $25 million dollars to black-led organizations.

'We are embracing this moment as an opportunity for accountability, healing, truth-telling, and transparency. We understand the necessity of working intentionally to rebuild trust so we can continue forging a new path that sustains Black people for generations,' the group wrote. 

The barrage of tweets, which notably had their comments turned off, ended with the group announcing they were 'embracing this moment as an opportunity for accountability, healing, truth-telling, and transparency' and 'working intentionally to rebuild trust.' 

[ Internal memos from BLM revealed the group wanted to keep the purchase secret, despite filming a video on the home's patio in May ]

[ The Studio City home - which sits on a three-quarter-acre lot - boasts more than half-dozen bedrooms and bathrooms, a 'butler's pantry' in the kitchen (pictured) ]

Concerns over the groups finances have swirled for years with BLM coming under intense scrutiny in the past. 

In February 2022 the group stopped online fundraising following a demand by the California attorney general tho show where millions of dollars in donations received in 2020 went. 

The group said the 'shutdown' was simply short term while any 'issues related to state fundraising compliance' were addressed.

--

Everybody figured out that it was a scam and always has been.

criticisms against her are 'sexist and racist'

"How dare you notice the things that I'm doing?" is the manipulative language of an abuser.

to rebuild trust

Grifters gotta grift. Defund BLM.

[senorabond]

Rumor Has It Complete Flashback Scene

Pairings: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Summary: This is the entirety of the evidence room flashback with Marcus!

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: no use of y/n, previous relationship (Marcus x f!Reader), flashback, semi-public/workplace sex (evidence locker after hours), unprotected p-in-v (stay safe, folks), hand on throat for control, probably talking about cum way too much?, Dom/sub dynamic, soft Dom!Marcus, praise kink, you are such a good girl, cockwarming, aftercare, denying all the feels, ohh the yearning

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem!afab; No mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color. Marcus is strong enough to lift Reader up onto the edge of a table (no mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color), Reader has hair long enough for Marcus to brush away from face, Marcus is super thoughtful and thorough when planning for sexy times.

Words: 8.5k

Author’s Note: This was spread out in several installments in my series Rumor Has It, but I think it can work well as a standalone! Beta'd by the wonderful @kilamonster - mwah!

Washington, D.C.

6 months earlier

“You don’t have to do this.” Marcus stands next to your desk as you finish packing your few personal belongings into an empty cardboard box. “I’ll talk to my guys, you don’t need –”

You still him with a hand. “Marcus, please. I’m choosing to do this; it’s a really good opportunity.” You hope he believes that. 

Marcus sighs and rubs a hand over his face. After looking around to check that you and he were alone in the emptying building, Marcus leans into your space. “You’re telling me this has nothing to do with us?” His voice is deep, intimate.

He’s close enough for you to feel the warmth emanating from his body, and you catch a whiff of the aftershave that always leaves you feeling a bit heady. How is it still so strong even after a full day’s work? The frisson you experience whenever your bodies are in close proximity hasn’t diminished in the slightest, even after months of fucking on the sly. 

You’d both maintained your professionalism at the office; you respect each others’ boundaries and careers too much to get sloppy in the workplace. The only thing that changed around the office since you started sleeping with Marcus was the other agents. Their eyes followed you around the office, conversations sputtered to a halt when you entered the breakroom, and snatches of whispered conversation filled your cubicle when they didn’t know you were there.  

Clearing your throat, you force your eyes to meet his intense gaze. “Yes, Marcus, that’s what I’m saying.” 

Marcus is a great agent, and an even greater guy. You know he’d want to stick up for you – as a fellow agent, and as a friend – but it’d only make things harder for you. Already your caseload had begun to dwindle and you were being consulted less and less often on issues squarely in your area of expertise. After several fruitless conversations with your supervisor, you weren’t about to sit around and wait for your career to die – no matter how mindblowing the sex was. 

The box is packed with your personal belongings and an assortment of stolen office supplies as your last petty ‘fuck you’ to the endemic sexism and double standards that plague federal law enforcement. 

“Hey,” Marcus takes your hand in both of his and strokes his thumb over your pulse point as he perches a hip on the corner of your bare desk. “I can tell there’s something more to the story, and you obviously don’t want to tell me what it is so I’m not going to push…” 

You roll your eyes at him teasingly and he huffs out a laugh, then pulls you closer so your hand is in his lap. Still, he strokes that sensitive part of your wrist and something in you thrums to life. “But?” You look at your joined hands. “I know there’s a but in there.”

“But – you know you can always talk to me. About whatever.” He shrugs a noncommittal shoulder and you step even closer, bracketing one of his legs between your own. His breath falters a bit as you turn one of his large hands over and graze your fingertips across his palm with a featherlight touch. 

“If you ever need anything, please…” His voice drops into the register you only ever hear him use in private. 

Fuck it – you’d been so careful and were still dealing with the consequences. Might as well have a little fun on your last day. You place a firm hand on Marcus’ thigh and glide it upward to his hip. 

“There is one thing I need right now.” You feel a bit giddy at your recklessness, but any nerves you might have are quelled when Marcus runs the tip of his nose up your jawline to your ear. 

“And what’s that? Hm?” He inhales your scent and hums with pleasure. Before you can stop yourself, you shift the hand at Marcus’ hip to his crotch. When you feel how hard he already is you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

Marcus inhales sharply through his nose at your touch, then lets out a groan in your ear at your gentle squeeze. “Tell me what you need.” His five o’clock shadow rasps against your sensitive skin as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth. 

“I need you to show me that evidence locker you haven’t shut up about since we met.” 

~~~

Pike stands behind you in the elevator in case you happen upon anybody else working late at the office. The odds are low, except for the contracted private security officers, but you didn’t think they’d want to see Pike’s hardon either. He’s so close, he’s almost pressed against your back while caressing a palm over your ass. You try to keep a straight face, but are practically panting through parted lips.

“You’ve been wanting this for a long time, haven’t you?” Marcus asks, his voice low in your ear as he leans over to push the button for the correct floor. His tone is almost conversational, but you can feel the thread of excitement pulling taut between your bodies. He’d been teasing you with the idea of fucking you in the art squad’s evidence locker for months now, going into great detail about what he was going to do to you – you only had to ask. 

You nod silently in response as the elevator doors close, and Pike grips your waist, grinding his erection into your lower back. “Yes,” your breath huffs out. He likes you to use your words, and strokes your arm with an approving hum. 

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” Your nipples harden at his words and your breath comes out shakily. 

Marcus was the first person you’d ever been with to call you a good girl. You never thought you’d be into the kind of gentle dominance and steady stream of praise Marcus employed with you, but it made all the right synapses fire in your brain and took the experience to an entirely different level. 

You nod again, playing the game, knowing what he wants to hear.

Marcus’ hand splays across your lower belly, the other sweeping gently across your throat and brushing your hair away from your face. He’s pressing into you, the energy coming off him in waves, leaving you feeling heady. 

“Say it for me.” It’s spoken softly, coaxing, but still an unmistakable command. 

“I’ll be a good girl for you.” Your voice has the slightest waver, but ends strong.

Marcus’ hand on your belly inches lower and heat radiates between your thighs. “I know you will.”

The doors of the elevator open with a ding that makes you jump, and Marcus moves back with a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder. Gently, he guides you with a hand between your shoulder blades. You’re on one of the underground levels, where the low ceilings and fluorescent lights are stark reminders that you’re both still in a government building and cameras are watching your every move. 

A security guard rounds a corner and Marcus clears his throat, then moves to button his suit jacket, presumably to hide his erection. How he manages to walk with that thing when it’s hard, you’ll never know. 

The guard waves amiably. “Good evening, Agent Pike. What’re you still doing here so late?” Of course Pike knows the guard; probably knows his kids’ names too. 

“Just had something to finish off first.” Biting your tongue to keep from laughing, the two of you pass the guard. “Oh yeah, tell Rosie good luck at her big match this weekend.” You nearly snort. The men share a brief handshake and you and Marcus round the corner, the door to the evidence lockup just ahead.

The two of you share a heated look and Marcus smirks. He swipes his badge and the door unlocks with a small snick. You’re guided inside a dark room that could be the size of a storage closet for all you can see. Marcus flips one of the light switches, and sturdy floor-to-ceiling shelving units are illuminated on either side, hedging you in like a maze. So far, it looks like any other evidence room, except with mood lighting.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” you mutter, and Marcus chuckles. As he leads you along the shelves towards some unknown destination, long shadows from the meager overhead light throw the long rows and corners into darkness.

He takes your hand and explains, “The lighting, temperature, and humidity are all controlled by a central system. Same kind as in the National Gallery.” You nod, genuinely impressed. 

“You don’t keep all your evidence here, right?” The room was large, but most of the shelving space was taken up by various sized crates and archival boxes. Marcus shakes his head.

“Just the very valuable pieces that need to be kept under special conditions. Any other evidence is kept in a regular lockup.” 

Marcus stops and you come up short, nearly colliding with his broad back. “Oh,” you breathe, peering around him and knowing this is what he wanted to show you.

The maze of shelving units opens up onto what looks like a miniature museum exhibit. Paintings are hung on the walls or staged on easels and covered with drop cloths. Sculptures are on pedestals in glass cases along one wall, and to your right are a few chairs next to an expansive table. 

Marcus approaches the paintings and proceeds to carefully remove the drop cloths from each work of art. They vary in style, color, expression, and movement. Some of them are encased in elaborate frames, while others are plain, or bare. Now this is what you’d hoped for after all these months hearing Marcus speak of this place in near reverent tones. This evidence lockup could rival most well-funded galleries and museums. 

“Are these all forgeries?” You take a step closer to the nearest painting and inspect it – for what, you’re not sure. “Stolen?” 

“A bit of both.” Marcus sidles up behind you. Your voices remain hushed, private, intimate. 

Hands casually in his pockets, he takes you on a tour of the evidence on display, telling you a bit about each piece – what made the art valuable enough to forge or steal, and a few particulars about each case. He is in his element here, the picture of quiet confidence. Passion laces his every word and brings a spark to his eyes that you’d only seen a few times before when you were about to crack a case.

You have never felt more attracted to him.

Coming up to the last painting, you cock your head to the side and give it a quizzical stare. It’s abstract, composed of a muted yet warm palette. The paint is blended with no discernable lines or shapes.

“What is it?” you ask, looking up in time to see Marcus’ dimple appear next to his gentle smile. 

“What do you see?” Marcus steps behind you again, and runs the tips of his fingers up and down your arms. 

“I… I’m not sure. What am I supposed to see?” The texture of the paint is layered in some spaces, and there’s almost an ethereal glow emanating from its contrast of light and dark. You feel a bit embarrassed and uncultured. Maybe if you squint or let your vision blur, like it’s one of those magic eye puzzles that give you headaches.

“What I love about abstract art is that there’s no right or wrong answer. I hated it until we studied it in school. I always thought I was missing something, and got frustrated that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.” 

You let out a soft hmm of agreement, but are distracted by Marcus’ voice, hot on your ear, lips close enough to graze the sensitive shell. “It was this quote by an artist, Arshile Gorky, that helped me appreciate it more. To paraphrase, abstraction frees the mind and allows it to explore the unknown. Whatever you see is what you’re meant to see.”

You let your mind rest on his words, buzzing from the energy between you. With a smirk, you say, “I bet you got laid a lot in school.” 

Marcus gives a surprised chuckle. “I did alright,” he admits, and you hear the grin in his voice.

Turning to face him, you run your hands up his chest and under the lapels of his jacket to his shoulders. Marcus sighs, placing his hands on your waist and pulling you closer. That spark in his eye is trained on you now, his pupils blown while they skate over your face under hooded lids. 

“What’s next on the tour?” Your voice comes out a bit hoarse, his gaze almost overwhelming in its intensity. 

Marcus smiles, somewhat mischievously. “Just one more thing. C’mon,” he takes your hand and starts leading you to the large table and chairs. “I think you’re going to like this part.” 

Leaving you at the edge of the table, Marcus goes to one of the nearby shelves and pulls out a large cardboard envelope from a box, nearly the size of one of the paintings. With the flip of a switch, the entire surface of the table illuminates, humming gently from the internal fan. He pulls out what looks to be a sheet of dark plastic film and lays it on top of the table, revealing an x-ray image. 

Marcus’ face is like a kid’s on Christmas morning. “This is an x-ray of that painting over here,” he points to the abstract work you’d been standing at a moment before. The x-ray on the table is a ghostly, black-and-white rendering of the muted swaths of paint. “And here,” he lays a second image down on the table, “is another x-ray taken of the same painting at different settings.” 

You nearly gasp. It’s virtually a different image entirely. The abstract painting has been reduced to a haze, overlaying a distinct pastoral landscape. Leaning over the table for a closer look, you feel a pleasantly warm glow on your face from the lit surface. “What the…” Your eyes snap back to Marcus’ face, which is lit up with what you can only describe as glee. 

“So you like it?” His eyes are sparkling and that dimple you love so much has reappeared. 

“‘Like it?’” You scoff. “I love it, Marcus, this is incredible. But…” you gesture at the images, “What exactly does that mean in terms of evidence?” Marcus comes around to your side of the table. 

“The first one is a radiographic image of that painting we looked at, which could have told us if there were any traces of minerals or other elements within the paint used. Modern paint pigments are synthetic,” Marcus pulls the first image closer and gestures to the different shades of gray. “But–” he slides the second image next to the first, with its outlines of rolling hills and fluffy clouds, “Historically, heavy metals were frequently used, like lead and cobalt.” 

Nodding along with the lesson, you put two and two together. “So the heavy metals in old paint would show through on an x-ray, even if somebody has painted over it.” Marcus is beaming at you, clearly happy that you made the connection. 

“Exactly. And then the synthetic paint could be removed later.” Turning to face you, he rests a hip on the edge of the table. The surface light casts dramatic shadows across the contours of his jaw and nose. You mirror his body language and reach out to poke him playfully in the chest. 

“No fair; the FBI gets all the fun toys.” The cool satin of his tie slips deftly between your fingers, and you give it a gentle tug. His gaze is alert and hungry as he takes a step closer, and you can feel your body responding to his proximity once again. Marcus trails a finger across your clavicle that sends a chill down your spine and tingles straight to your nipples. 

“Yeah, but if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll share.” Threading his fingers into the hair at the base of your skull, he pulls gently but purposefully until your head tilts back and you’re forced to meet his eyes. A shuddering breath escapes your parted lips. Marcus leans in and grazes his lips against yours, barely a whisper of a kiss. His tongue traces the sensitive inner edge of your top lip and you nearly let out a whimper.

“Go on, then. Ask me.” He nips at your bottom lip. “Nicely.” 

“Please,” you breathe. Marcus’ arm encircles your waist, while the hand in your hair grips a bit tighter. He uses a tight hold on your ass to grind you against the firm thigh he places between your own. Your hands grasp desperately onto his shoulders as your knees feel like they’re about to buckle from the delicious pressure. 

“‘Please’ what?” Marcus prompts gently. You’re pressing back against his thigh now, too lost in the sensation to respond. He withdraws it suddenly and you’re left clenching, all too aware of how badly you need that pressure back. 

“‘Please’ what?” He repeats, more firmly this time. 

“Please, Sir.” You correct yourself quickly, and are rewarded with Marcus’ lips against yours and the blessed return of his thigh. He’s a man possessed, and you whimper into his mouth as his tongue licks inside. The next thing you know, he’s got you sandwiched between the table and his thigh now, your skirt hiked up, juices leaking through your panties as you ride the firm muscles of his leg. 

“Look at you, just beautiful. You’re so hot like this, I love seeing you lose yourself. Does that feel good? Hm?” Marcus presses his hard cock into your hip and groans. “Jesus, I can feel how fucking wet you are through my pants. Are you going to leave your pussy juices on me, so anybody we walk past can see what a good girl you are for me?” 

Your eyes are squeezed shut tight, arms gripping to Marcus for dear life as you continue rutting against him, breath becoming ragged. The friction and pressure are almost too much, you’ll practically give yourself rug burn at this rate. But the onslaught of Marcus’ filthy praise in your ear, his hot, steamy breath against your neck, his tongue on your pulse point – you’re already careening out of control and he knows it.

“Are you going to cum for me, baby?” Nodding, wordless, you scramble to hold onto him as Marcus scoops up one of your thighs and hooks it over his hip with a grunt. “Then you better ask first.” 

“P-please,” you gasp out, “Please, Sir. Please can I cum?” You’re on the precipice, Marcus’ cock almost painfully hard in your hip. 

You gasp when he pulls his thigh away, eyes flying open in shock. “Not yet, sweet girl, hold on for me just a little bit longer. You’re going to cum on my tongue first.” Before you have a chance to protest, Marcus hoists you up fully onto the edge of the light table and pulls up a chair to feast on you. 

You’re immediately aware of the warmth the lit surface of the table infuses into every part of your body it’s touching. The table itself feels sturdy and solid beneath you, but you can’t fight an initial moment of panic. “Um, Marcus…I don’t know if–” It’s a struggle to concentrate as Marcus noses at your clothed pussy. A gentle double tap to the crown of his head is all the signal he needs to check in.

“You okay? Do you want to stop?” Marcus’ face is flushed, but his eyes are clear and laser focused on you. 

“Is this, uh…safe?” You rap gently on the table with a forced air of nonchalance. 

Marcus smiles and strokes the outside of your hip and thigh with his hand. “Totally safe. I triple-checked the specs and tested it out already.” 

You lift an amused eyebrow at that. “Tested it out?” 

Marcus’ eyes go round at the implication, his dominant persona dropped. “Not like that! I mean I stacked a shitload of evidence boxes on it and did a– well, ah– a simulation, I guess you could call it.” His self-effacing chuckle is endearing.  He always knows how to make you feel safe and secure during your more adventurous times together. You smile and stroke his hair as he rubs his cheek against your inner thigh, the rasp of his five o’clock shadow sending shockwaves to your pussy.

“I’m very interested in finding out more about this simulation…Sir.” His honorific on your lips is your signal that you’re ready to continue and his grin turns wolfish. With a playful, smacking kiss to the tender flesh of your inner thigh, Marcus slips his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Bracing your calves on his broad shoulders, you lift your ass a little to help Marcus slide the panties the rest of the way off. 

“Open up for me, sweetheart.” Gently, he applies pressure to your knees until you’re completely spread out before him. You might be a little embarrassed being on display if you didn’t know how much he loved you like this: open, vulnerable, and completely at his mercy. The expression on Marcus’ face is practically one of reverence. 

“This is exactly why I wanted to bring you here,” Marcus places open-mouthed kisses up your thighs, sucking and nibbling his way to your center. It’s difficult not to squirm, he’s got you feeling antsy and impatient. “I wanted to see you lit up and on exhibit for me, like the work of art you are.” 

You must be quite a sight to behold with the bright light of the table shining from beneath you. To drive his point home, Marcus dips his tongue to your core and collects your gathering slick on his tongue, spreading it and his saliva up to your clit in a broad swipe. Riding his thigh earlier has left you swollen and sensitive; your back arches off the table and you gasp at the sudden contact. 

Marcus holds you open with one hand so his tongue can more freely explore the full length of your slit, while the other alternates between massaging your breasts and rolling a peaked nipple through your blouse. Desperate for more, you unbutton your top enough to pull the cups of your bra down and leave yourself exposed to Marcus’ roaming fingers. 

Your whimpers and shuddering breaths combine with the sounds of Marcus lapping at your seeping cunt. His nose bumps against your engorged clit and you gasp, hips spasming. The hand on your breast disappears, and a finger gently nudges your entrance. 

“I’m going to get you ready for my cock, baby. Are you ready?” You nod wordlessly, and Marcus eases a digit inside you, watching your expression. “Oh, pretty girl, you’re so good, so wet. So tight, fuck.” 

Marcus laves his tongue over your clit and you clench around his finger. “Mmm, you’re going to take me so good, aren’t you?” Soon, he adds a second, working it rhythmically in and out, sucking and flicking his tongue against your clit until you’re panting. 

The wet noises made by Marcus’ fingers inside you are practically obscene. When he crooks them at just the right spot, you lose all sense and writhe against him. You can hear a question in his inflection, but the twist and pull of his fingers are distracting, to say the least. He’s leaning over you now, the heel of his palm applying pressure over your clit to replace his mouth. 

“You’re doing so well, I know you can do it. You just need to ask me first.” His fingers inside you are relentless, and you can feel the pressure building inside, pulling taut like a rubber band about to snap. Marcus can tell how close you are and stops with his two fingers buried deep inside and applies his other hand to each side of your neck with just enough pressure to get your attention.

“C’mon, sweetheart, focus for me, otherwise I’ll have to stop.” His fingers are barely moving inside of you, just enough to keep you right on the edge. “You know what to do.”

A sob practically escapes your throat. “Please, Sir. I need to cum. Please can I? I want to be good for you.” It’s impossible to keep the pleading from your tone, you’re so close. Your hips are gyrating of their own accord, feebly fucking yourself on his fingers.

Marcus moves his hand off your throat to cup the side of your face and tangle his fingers in your hair. “Mm, do it. Be my good girl and cum.” Marcus leans down for a final taste where you’re stretched around his curling fingers, then settles his lips around your clit. With a cry, you break and see stars behind your eyelids as your orgasm crashes over you. 

“Fuck yes, that’s my good girl. So beautiful like this, so perfect. I can feel you dripping into my hand, baby, you’re so wet. Did that feel good? Is that what you needed?” Marcus praises you through it all, stroking your neck, your breasts, peppering kisses over your mound and belly. His fingers retreat, leaving you fluttering in aftershocks, and you watch him lick your cum from his palm and fingers.

“Thank you for being such a good girl for me, sweetheart. I had to taste you at least one more time before you leave...” Reality falls over the room like a weighted blanket, and you let your engaged muscles go slack against the lit surface of the table, suddenly harsh and blinding. You feel exposed instead of exhibited and you squeeze your thighs together as the final flutters of your orgasm subside. 

“Hey, come back to me,” you hear Marcus murmur, and feel him turn your face to meet his. He kisses you slowly and deeply, and you taste your tang on his plump bottom lip. He presses his forehead against yours and you share a couple of breaths. 

“I’m not done with you yet.” 

You focus on the feeling of your exhaled breaths mingling in the space between yours and Marcus’ mouths. He nuzzles your neck and trails wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbone and chest. His every move is slow, languid, intentional; every touch sets your nerve endings alight. Your hands are buried in his hair, caressing the back of his neck, holding him to your breast as he sucks a taut nipple into his mouth.

“You’re so soft, so beautiful,” Marcus mutters against your skin, lost in his senses. He’s unbuttoning your shirt the rest of the way, kissing and nuzzling down with each inch exposed. 

Suddenly, Marcus is pulling you up, a hand behind your neck, another behind your back, until you’re sitting up fully on the edge of the table. He’s thrown in a slight shadow as your body blocks the lit surface behind you. You love the change in the angle, the difference in your height making him tilt his head up to meet your gaze, his own eyes full of adoration and awe. 

Removing your shirt entirely, Marcus quickly unhooks your bra and tosses it onto the table with your shirt. He rolls up his sleeves, his tie draped forgotten over the back of a nearby chair with his jacket. Desperate to feel more of him, you busy yourself with undoing more buttons of his shirt and running your hands across his chest and shoulders and back, wherever you can reach. Marcus reaches for you and helps you off the table, your skirt staying bunched at your hips and waist. 

“Turn around for me,” Marcus commands in his gentle, coaxing tone. You obey, and close your eyes a moment while they adjust to the white light of the table surface. Strong hands explore the curves of your ass, caressing, squeezing. 

“Feet apart, sweet girl.” His words are right behind your ear, a low rumble of satisfaction elicited as you follow his order immediately. You place both hands on the edge of the table, readying yourself for him. 

“Mmm, good girl.” You feel him moving behind you and shudder a bit – he’s undoing his pants, pulling his length out. Then he’s there, body pressed against yours, kissing the back of your neck, hard cock leaking on your ass. Your pussy is already pulsing in anticipation.

Marcus drags the tip of his nose up the line of your neck and nips at your earlobe. “Are you ready to take my cock, sweetheart?” He brushes your hair back from your face and you can only nod vigorously. A firm hand tilts your chin up.  

“I need to hear it, baby. Say it.” The suspense is torture, you need him inside you, stretching, filling you, in the way only he can. 

“Yes, Sir. Please. I need it.” The intensity of your need weaves a tremor into your voice. 

“What do you need?” Marcus grinds himself into your ass with a grunt, his hands gliding over your back and breasts. 

“I need your cock, Sir.” 

“Then you better take it.” Blood rushes in your ears, your breathing gets more labored. 

Marcus removes one of your hands from the table, guides it back towards him and you reach between your bodies. He places a hand over yours, wrapping your fingers around his shaft. The heft of him, the heat, the grip of his hand on yours as you give him a tentative stroke – “Good girl,” his breath hitches.

Marcus’ hand on your shoulder lowers your upper body closer to the table. You tilt your hips up at a better angle, offering yourself to him, then line his cock up at your entrance and try to push back. Marcus stills your hips, holds them firmly in place with both of his strong hands. 

With anyone else, you’d be embarrassed at the pitiful whine you let out, but it’s different with Marcus. It’s always been different, and right now you’re too far gone to care about anything else. You just need him inside you one last time. 

“Shh, it’s okay, sweet girl, I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.” Marcus speaks softly, soothingly. “I’ll give you what you need.” He drags the head of his cock through your folds, getting it slick and ready.

Marcus inhales deeply through his nose, then enters you in one slow, smooth movement, pulling a moan from deep in your throat, and a stuttered exhale from him. You both take a moment to catch your breath and relish the sensation of being joined again. The stretch, the fullness – it makes your head swim.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Marcus mutters. “You’re so good, so perfect…” His hands caress your back and hips, then he’s moving – slowly, mindfully working you open with each press of his cock. He slides one hand up between your shoulder blades to the back of your neck, digs the fingers of his other into the flesh of your hip. You can tell he’s trying to hold back, give you time to adjust. But soon, he pulls out almost all the way, only to slide home again with more force, your forward momentum stopped by the table.

His pace quickens slightly, each thrust elongated and ending buried deep inside like it belongs there. The hand on the back of your neck moves to grip your shoulder, pulling you back onto his cock, forcing a breathy moan from your lungs on each snap of his hips. The edge of the table digs into your belly, but the feeling of being trapped and utterly at the mercy of Marcus’ increasing heat and ardor only fuels the flames kindling in your lower belly. 

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good. You always take my cock so well. My perfect girl.” Marcus’ unceasing string of praise elevates the stimulation to new heights and you feel the first flutters of another orgasm starting. Marcus feels it too and groans, slowing his rhythm to a torturous pace so you feel every drag of the head of his cock inside you.

Whimpering, you fight the urge to beg. Marcus knows what you can take, knows how far he can push you. He knows when you’re working hard for him, lavishes you with praise and adoration, and always rewards you with the best sensual, pleasurable experiences you’ve ever had.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m going to let you cum for me again,” Marcus lets out a breathy chuckle. “But we’re not there just yet, okay?”

“Yes, Sir,” you respond automatically and Marcus hums in delight. He strokes the back of your neck with his thumb and gently presses down on your shoulder until your breasts are pressed flat against the warm light of the table.

“Look at you, so beautiful. You should always be in the light, always be seen and appreciated.” Folding your arms to cradle your face, you close your eyes against the light of the table and bask in the warmth of Marcus’ words. His hips never stop their fluid motion, almost lazy if not for the strength and intention behind each thrust. 

This is another of his lessons in patience. Patience has never been a strength of yours; Marcus has taught you the value of slowing down, waiting, living in the moment – especially a sensuous moment such as this. If you can focus on the here and now instead of the finish line, the end will be so much sweeter. 

“Mm, that’s right, just relax and take it,” He pulls back and spreads the globes of your cheeks to see where his cock is splitting you open. His breath hitches at the sight, “Ohh, that’s pretty. I wish you could see how beautiful you look like this, sucking me in over and over. It’s like your pussy was made for my cock, sweetheart.” 

This makes you moan even louder, your breath catching, ass pushing back involuntarily, cunt clenching around his cock. Marcus curses under his breath and shoves himself in harder, thrusts becoming shorter again, hitting even deeper. 

“Oh god, Sir. Yes, please fuck me.” the words spill out unbidden, punctuated on each slap of Marcus’ hips into your ass and thighs. 

“Does that make you hot? Knowing your pussy was made just for me? Meant for my cock.” Marcus’ words come out more strained as he fucks you harder. “It had to be, you take it so well. You fit so perfectly wrapped around me. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight, baby.”

He’s got you pinned against the edge of the table now, driving into you, breath coming out in pants. Sweat is forming at your temples and the back of your neck, you’re craning your neck to try and see his face, but the light of the table is blurring your vision. Marcus, always so attuned to you, must see you struggling. He stops, remaining buried in you and says, “Come here, sweetheart. Let me help you up.” 

His arms slide around you, one across your stomach, the other wrapping across your breasts to your shoulder. You push up off your folded arms, and Marcus pulls you back against him, burying his face in your neck and hair. Marcus resumes, his thrusts short and staccato. The angle has changed, the head of his cock presses more firmly against that fleshy spot inside you over and over and your vision blurs a bit at the edges. 

“How’s that feel, sweet girl? Hm?” A whine loosens from your throat. “I can feel your legs shaking, I know you’re getting closer.” Panting, you grip onto his arm across your middle, wrap the other one behind you to card your fingers into his hair that you love to muss. You’re struggling to hold the angle, arching your back almost painfully. “I’ve got you, beautiful, relax. You don’t need to strain, just hold onto me.” 

Slowly, you start to let your weight sink into Marcus’ strong arms around you. “That’s it,” he whispers encouragingly against your ear. “That’s my good girl – letting me help, giving in. I know that’s not easy, you’re doing so well.” 

He’s hunching over you, holding you against him tightly, supporting most of your weight now. “I know your body, I know how to take care of you.” Marcus grunts as his cock twitches inside you – he’s getting closer as well. The need for him to fill you is overwhelming, suddenly.

“Please, Sir. I w-want–” Your plea is choked off as the fingers of his hand on your lower stomach start to travel down. 

“Talk to me, baby. Tell me what you want.” He nuzzles against your neck, nips at your jaw as you turn to look at him over your shoulder.

“I want your cum, Sir.” His rhythm falters for a moment and he lets out a deep groan. 

“I’m going to give you my cum, I promise, sweetheart.” Those fingers make a beeline for your cunt. You cry out as they deftly circle your clit. “But I’m going to need you to give me one more first. Can you do that?” You’re keening, teetering right on the edge. Marcus is relentless, plunging his cock into you, applying just the right amount of pressure to your clit, and tonguing across the fluttering pulsepoint on your neck. 

“I know you can do it, baby. C’mon.” You’ve reached your breaking point as his voice goes deeper, his cock twitching inside you as he fights to keep from following you. All it takes is for him to practically growl his next command, “Cum for me. Now.” 

As he feels the pulsing of your cunt around him, Marcus crashes his mouth down on yours to swallow your cries, muffling your moans with his tongue. He grunts against your mouth and stills his hips, breathing deeply in and out through his nose as he comes back from the edge. You sag against him, legs shaking, as you ride out your high.

“Good girl,” he rasps. “My good fucking girl.” He kisses your forehead and temple, then presses his lips in a trail down to the crook in your neck where he rests and catches his breath. 

“Thank you, Sir,” you whisper breathlessly. 

“I should be the one thanking you,” Marcus says softly into your hair. “You did so well for me.” As you begin to regain the strength in your legs, he runs a hand across your cheek and cups it, kissing you gently. His other hand trails featherlight touches across your breasts, then tweaks a nipple making you gasp. 

“Do you still want my cum?” This makes you clench around him with a moan, and he smiles. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Slowly, he pulls out of you with a small groan, making sure you’re steady enough on your feet before letting go of your waist. 

He removes his shirt entirely and reaches for the chair nearby where his coat and tie are draped across the back. Laying his shirt on the seat, he sits and opens his arms, beckoning you. Walking forward, you step between his parted knees, looking hungrily at his shiny, slick-coated cock. 

You want him in your mouth. You want to clean your cum from his cock and feel his hardness slide against your tongue until it hits the back of your throat. Saliva is already pooling in your mouth at the thought. But you know you have to ask permission first. 

“Sir, can I please suck your cock?” Marcus lets out a hungry groan and you lick your lips when his cock twitches in response. You start to go down on your knees when Marcus stops you. 

“Sweetheart, I would love to feel your mouth, especially now. But I can’t let you kneel on this hard floor. My good girl doesn’t deserve that.” He takes your face in his hands and kisses you sweetly.

“Besides,” he cradles your cheeks until you meet his eyes, “I want you riding my cock so I can watch your face when I finally fill you with my cum.” Smiling, you straddle his lap obediently, eager to have him back inside you, however you can have him. 

Marcus holds his cock to line it up at your entrance once again. Audible sighs pass both your lips as you begin to lower yourself down onto him. Marcus hisses between his teeth from the heightened sensitivity of being so hard, still so close to his own finish. 

“God, yes,” Marcus whispers when he’s fully sheathed inside you. “This isn’t going to take long, baby.” 

An electric sort of thrill fills you at how close Marcus is, his orgasm now in your hands. Rocking your hips experimentally, you search to find the best way to move together on the chair. Hands on his shoulders to steady your movements, you begin moving up and down on his cock, your arousal making the glide easy. 

“That’s it. That’s my good girl.” Marcus urges you on with unceasing praise, kisses your breasts and clavicle and moans against your neck. Leaning back, he looks up at you. “Fuck, sweetheart, you look incredible riding me. You’ve got this, keep going. Good girl.” 

Emboldened, you find your rhythm, and delight in the words and noises coming from Marcus’ mouth. Tilting your hips one way on the upstroke, and rolling them on the way back down, Marcus’ breath comes out in pants and grunts each time you bottom out on his dick. 

You watch Marcus watching you, head tilted back to look up at your face, eyes bright and shining. “Beautiful,” he whispers, as though to himself. “So beautiful, so good… So fucking perfect.” 

He grabs your ass, a cheek in each hand, to support your rise and fall. Furrowing his brow, he thrusts his hips up to meet yours. He’s getting close, trying to reach that peak. On the next downstroke you press yourself to him, grinding your hips into his pelvis and he lets out a guttural noise. 

Marcus pulls you down into a passionate kiss and you moan into each other’s mouths as he ruts up again. The chair begins to creak beneath your combined weight and vigor, but you’re both too far gone to take any notice. This combination of depth and pressure is getting you perilously close to your own climax, but you desperately want him to finish with you this time.

“Please. Sir,” you gasp. “Please, I need it.”

“I’m gonna give you my cum, baby. So close. Don’t stop.” Marcus has an arm wrapped around your waist to hold you in place as he fucks up into you, his grip nearly bruising on your hip. Running his other hand up to cup the side of your face, fingers twining into your hair. “Look at me, sweetheart. I want to see that pretty face. Fuck–” he grunts, so close. “Eyes on me… Good girl.”

Gazes locked, mouths agape, you and Marcus inch closer to that razor’s edge together. The building pressure is almost too much and you struggle to keep your eyes open against its blinding power. You need him to fill your already soaked cunt. 

“Marcus, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum – Marcus-” 

A strangled cry that sounds like your name tumbles from Marcus’ mouth as he erupts, the swell and jerk of his cock being the final push you need. He’s holding you so tightly, crushing his mouth against yours as you ride out your pleasure together. Each spasm pulls your bodies together, like waves crashing over rocks, drowned out only by your blended moans. 

Panting to catch your breath, Marcus sprinkles feather-light kisses along your brow, beaded with sweat from exertion. As you slowly come down, you begin to shiver a bit – probably from both the adrenaline and the cool, dry air of the room. Marcus rubs his hands against your arms and back and pulls you close for warmth. 

“Good girl, I’ve got you.” He reaches behind him to pull his suit jacket off the back of the chair and drapes it over your shoulders. Perhaps it’s the intensity of the physical sensations, the comedown from such a high, or something else, but tears start to prick at the backs of your eyes. 

You’ve never experienced this amount of passion and sensuality with any other person in your life. Marcus is more than just a sex partner, he’s your lover. He’s also a friend, and a rare one at that. 

Aftercare is so important to Marcus, he never lets you rush or skip it. He sits there patiently as you recover and ride out the aftershocks, huddled against him with his cock still inside you. Marcus strokes your back and kisses your temple, whispering things too quietly to hear over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. Breathing in tandem, you feel both your heart rates begin to coregulate and beat together. 

Eventually, and only when you feel ready, you begin to get up off his lap. 

“Good girl, nice and easy.” Marcus a sight to behold, sitting there. His lap is soaked, his chest and neck damp with sweat, hair delightfully mussed. 

Marcus hands you your panties and you slip them on before his cum, infused with your own, can leak too much and make a bigger mess. 

Slowly, naturally, the electricity in the air begins to diffuse and a comfortable quiet takes its place. The two of you redress and straighten the evidence room, finding plenty of opportunities to smile, touch, and help each other. You even share a couple of laughs at the wet spot on Marcus’ shirt. 

“At least it’ll be under your jacket,” you offer, trying to smooth out the deep wrinkles in your skirt a bit more.

“Yeah, I’ll just have to figure out a way to explain it to my dry cleaner.” Marcus grins, revealing his dimple.

Marcus insists on walking you to your car and carrying the box of stuff you’d packed. He laughs at the sheer amount of office supplies you’d thrown in before leaving for the parking garage.

“I’m loving the silent protest, but do you really need three staplers?” 

“The patriarchy has a lot of paperwork,” you shrug innocently and press the unlock button on your key fob. 

Marcus secures your loot in the backseat and turns to face you before you get in and drive away. His shoulders have noticeably slumped and there’s a sad half-smile on his face. You step into his open arms and he envelopes you in a warm embrace, kissing the top of your head. The prickles have come back to your eyes and you burrow into his shoulder and neck even deeper, trying to memorize his scent.

He mumbles something, but you can’t hear him, just feel the rumble in his chest. You pull back without unlocking your arms from his torso, “What did you say?”

“I said ‘I’m going to miss you,’” Marcus repeats, tucking an errant lock of hair behind your ear. His face goes blurry and you quickly blink back the tears threatening to form. 

“I’m going to miss you too, Marcus.” 

He leans down to kiss you, but you shy away and look around nervously out of habit. Marcus grabs your face and plants his lips on yours, kissing you with determination. You sink into him with a sigh, and he deepens the kiss, caressing your tongue with his own. The kiss builds until you both have to break away for breath. 

You get a naughty idea and bite your lip, glancing around. “Hang on, I want to give you something. Keep an eye out.” Hidden from view by your open car door and Marcus’ tall form, you discreetly pull your panties off from under your skirt and tuck them into the pocket of his suit jacket. 

“A memento,” you say with a wink and he kisses you again.

“It’ll keep me warm on cold nights,” he teases, with a cheeky lift of his brow. 

 The somber mood returns, and the two of you stand there quietly again, neither of you ready to say goodbye just yet. 

Finally, Marcus takes a big breath and speaks. “I…” he falters, and has to clear his throat. “I don’t know if I’m going to get another chance to say this, and I’m going to regret it forever if I let you leave without saying anything.” 

His words come out quickly, but his voice is thick with emotion. 

“You shouldn’t go. I mean, I don’t want you to go. You won’t talk about why you’re leaving, but I get it – I do, even if you think I don’t.” You have to look away, and swipe harshly at the tears beginning to spill over. 

Marcus gently cups your face and thumbs away one tear, kisses another off your cheek. Your throat constricts, and you can’t find the words you’d say to stop him if you could. He keeps speaking, every word breaking your heart a little bit more. 

“I really think that there's something special here, with us, and I–” His voice breaks, and you see emotion swimming in his eyes. You cover his hand with yours, and turn your face into his palm, placing a kiss there. 

Tears are falling freely from your eyes now, and there’s a deep, aching part of you that needs to hear what he has to say, even if it kills you. 

“I care about you. Very much.” He meets your eyes as he says this. “I don’t expect you to feel the same–” 

Rising up on your toes, you quickly seal his lips with a bruising kiss. You and Marcus cling to each other in a crushing embrace. 

“Please,” you say against his lips, kissing him again. “Please, don’t–,” another kiss. A sob breaks loose from your throat. “I can’t–”

“I know,” Marcus whispers, ghosting his lips across your cheek, temple, forehead.

“I have to go.”

“I know,” he presses his forehead to yours. “I know.”

Pulling back, you can’t tell if the wetness shining on Marcus’ cheeks is from your tears, or his own. His arms remain locked around you, holding you to him.

“I have to go,” you repeat in a hushed tone. Marcus nods and presses his lips to your forehead one last time. 

“Goodbye, Marcus.” Without looking at his face again, you turn away, breaking free of his warmth.

You manage to get in your car and drive a full block before you finally break down.

Check out my Rumor Has It Series Masterlist for the whole series!

[larsnicklas]

hockey writing appreciation club part ii (part i here) hi team. let's support good sportswriting, whether with clicks or subscriptions! here are some more of my favorite articles i've read in the past little bit! i'll keep sharing articles every few weeks or so, and i always welcome recommendations if you have them as well!!

A mysterious illness halted his promising NHL career. Eight years later, hope and a comeback 🔒 Hodgson didn’t think about the mysterious illness that caused him to walk away from the game. Or the tests for lung cancer, brain cancer and liver cancer that he’d endured in a fruitless quest to figure out what was making him sick. He wasn’t thinking about the months of on-ice work and yoga and a grueling weight-loss regimen that led him to this point. He wasn’t even feeling the blunt soreness of the broken rib he had sustained in his first professional game after his long layoff. All he was thinking about was the gimme pass he’d just received. “If I hadn’t scored on that one,” Hodgson joked, “I might’ve had to shut it down.”

How the NHL rookie class has handled life on and off the ice Confidence becomes more than just a buzzword: It's a mantra. The rookies, after all, have to believe they belong -- even among the future Hall of Famers. "It's not like the guys you're playing against are not human, you know what I mean?" Carlsson said. "You realize you can be a good player here too, and you don't have to be worried that you're not going to make it. If you have confidence out there, you're going to be fine."

For players on the roster fringe, every day in the NHL is a treasure — and a challenge 🔒 Confidence is a funny thing. Even superstars routinely lose theirs during a stretch of what qualifies as mediocrity by their impossible standards. Hang around the game long enough and you’ll lose track of how many times you hear a player talk about just needing to “see the puck in the back of the net” to get himself going again. Never mind that he’s been the best player on the ice at every level. Never mind that he’s scored hundreds of goals in the NHL. Never mind that he’s been so good for so long that he’s paid massive sums of money and showered with love and affection every night. Even the toughest players can spiral mentally. Hockey’s hard, and the pressure’s high.

Nils Hoglander on growing up in a tiny village, why he stays on the ice after practice and his 'hidden talent' Is it harder to shoot a moose or stay in the NHL? A hint is a never-satisfied 5-foot-9, 185 pounds of bowling ball persistence and last player off the practice ice on Tuesday. “I guess I have to say hockey is the hardest,” said Hoglander. “But if you’ve never been out in the forest or anything, it’s kind of hard to know what to do. If you bring Petey (Elias Pettersson) he would have no idea what to do, he’s a city boy.”

'Open people's eyes': How the NHL's evolved in the decade of data The chemist's cell phone rings. He finds a quiet area of the lab to take the call. Hockey Hall of Fame forward Ron Francis is on the line. It's the 2014-15 season, Francis' first as general manager of the small-market Carolina Hurricanes. Francis asks the chemist - who's assumed a part-time consultant role with the NHL team - about a few players. How would you rank them? The call is short. The chemist slides his phone into his pocket, slips his gloves on, and walks to his work station. Back to the day job for Eric Tulsky.

After 1,400 games and counting, Alex Ovechkin still doesn’t break 🔒 When Alex Ovechkin was a rookie, his teammates were concerned he might have a heart attack. The Washington Capitals forward, who was 20 when he played his first NHL game in 2005, has always done things his own way. Back then, that meant a pregame routine of three Red Bulls. When the rest of his teammates were drinking Gatorade or water between periods, Ovechkin was downing soda.

Why a first-round pick walked away from the NHL — and found peace doing odd jobs 🔒 Over the course of his 10-year career, Koekkoek admits he paid far too much attention to external noise. He read negative articles about his play. He paid attention to critics on social media. And he put too much stock into various coaches who didn’t believe in him. “I lost that self-value that someone believed in me to take me in the first round,” he said. “I wish I could have kept my swagger.”

[capitolcareerconsulting]

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[robfinancialtip]

Join Paul Tally in a captivating conversation with Luz Castro, a passionate policy advocate based in Bell Gardens, California, dedicated to championing the rights of undocumented and newly arrived immigrants. Luz's journey is deeply inspired by her mother, an undocumented domestic helper who tirelessly supported her family.

Luz takes us through her educational path, from high school to college, where her interests in labor organizing and environmental justice blossomed. She delves into the disparities in resource access across different socioeconomic groups, with a particular focus on education and employment.

Furthermore, Luz shares her experiences working in Washington, D.C., where she tirelessly represents the voices of immigrants in federal policymaking. The interviewer underscores the vital role she plays in bridging resource gaps and highlighting the concerns of immigrant communities. Luz highlights a critical issue: the unequal access to instructors and resources for test preparation, a factor that can significantly impact success in various trades and careers. The conversation shifts to Luz's role as a field deputy for a member of Congress. She discusses her responsibilities, including staying abreast of local politics and events and representing the Congresswoman at meetings when needed. Community outreach efforts are also part of her mandate.

Next, the discussion centers on Luz's policy efforts, particularly in immigration. She elaborates on her involvement in crafting legislation to provide a pathway to citizenship for undocumented immigrants in the United States. Luz underscores the importance of research, collaboration, and consultation with those directly affected by immigration regulations. She emphasizes the urgent need for updated immigration policies, citing the lack of meaningful reform since 1986.

Luz addresses the challenges undocumented immigrants face in the U.S. and advocates for comprehensive immigration reform, especially for those who have lived there for many years without a clear path to citizenship.

Expressing concern about the large number of unauthorized immigrants and asylum seekers, Luz points out the outdated nature of the immigration system, making it cumbersome to navigate. She recommends leveraging existing rules, such as the immigration registry, to provide relief to long-term immigrants.

Luz also highlights the legality of street vending in Los Angeles County, where there are no specific prohibited vending zones. She discusses the potential conflicts between street vendors and brick-and-mortar businesses, emphasizing the importance of understanding the legal rights and complexities involved in balancing their interests.

In this engaging conversation, Luz emphasizes the value of internships for aspiring advocates, lawyers, and public servants. She encourages students to seek internships aligned with their passions, as these experiences offer valuable insights into professionals' daily work in their fields. Moreover, she notes the positive trend of paid internships, which can be invaluable when transitioning into full-time employment after college.

Luz advises students to tap into the resources provided by their college's career centers, cultural centers, and relevant departments. Seeking guidance from mentors is equally important, as they can offer support and insights into the interview process and professional growth. In summary, this conversation is a powerful reminder to actively pursue opportunities, seek assistance when needed, and gain real-world experience through internships and mentorship to prepare for a fulfilling career in advocacy and related disciplines.

DISCLAIMER: The following program contains material, situations, and/or themes that may disturb some viewers. Viewer discretion is advised.

A National CORE Production supporting the Hope Through Housing Foundation. Join us to uncover the art of turning dreams into reality.

[darkesttimelinestuff]

"I may not get another chance to say this."

Fictober Prompt #27 - "I may not get another chance to say this."

Rounding the corner to Skinner’s office, Diana came face-to-face with something she didn’t like very much. Mulder and Scully walked out of the A.D.’s office entirely too close for professionalism, his hand on the small of her back. Such an intimate gesture for work colleagues. 

Diana felt her face flush, but she forced a smile as she approached them. “Fox,” she said. “Agent Scully.”

Scully only gave her a tight smile, but Mulder said, “Hello, Diana. Into the lion’s den?”

She was relieved to see he’d stopped to talk to her. Lately she felt she’d been losing him. He was no longer interested in consulting on X-Files cases, no longer interested in meeting her after hours. He seemed distant. Distracted.

“I see you made it out alive,” she joked and pulled the door open. “Fox, can I call you later to discuss something?”

“Sure,” he replied. And with that he followed his partner to their desks in the bullpen. 

************************************************************************

The restaurant she chose lacked the ambiance she was accustomed to. There were no exclusive menus or overpriced meals. This place was poorly lit and sad. It fit her mood perfectly. 

“Thanks for meeting me,” Diana said and Mulder only nodded, so she continued. “I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I am about you losing the X-Files.”

“Thanks, Diana. I’m getting by.”

“That doesn’t negate the pain,” she said, sliding her slender fingers over his hands. 

“No, it doesn’t,” he said, and didn’t pull away. “So, is that why you called me here, Diana? This doesn’t seem like your usual hangout.”

“I wanted something more anonymous,” she admitted. Their corner of the restaurant was especially dark, away from the main street, their booth nearly cast in shadow. 

“Something away from all the Washington elites?” he asked with a wry smile. 

“In a way. And, as for why I’ve called you here… well, Fox,” she smiled, leaned in a little closer, and blinked her long lashes at him, “I’ve missed you.”

That’s when Mulder pulled away, leaning back in the vinyl booth. He ran a hand through his hair. “I… uh… I’m not sure what to say.”

“Say you’ve missed me,” she relied.

“Diana, I… I’ve certainly missed some of the good times we used to have.”

“Oh, Fox,” she said, moving closer to him so that their hips were touching, “I’ve missed you so much. The way we work together. The way we,” she leaned and whispered in his ear, “play together.” A great sense of satisfaction swept through her as he visibly shuddered.

“Hey, now hold on a second,” Mulder said, sliding down the booth to put space between him and Diana. “I didn’t know that’s what you had in mind.”

“Oh, it is,” she said. "Now, listen, because I may not get another chance to say this. I may be sent off to another part of the country. Maybe even Asia this time. Mulder, I’d… I’d like you to come with me. It would be a good move for both of us. It could be like old times again.”

Mulder stared at Diana, unable to speak. 

“I can see I’ve taken your breath away,” she said. “I hope that’s a good thing. It could be very strategic for us. We’d be… Well, we’d be protected.”

Without a thought, Mulder said, “No.”

“No?” Diana asked.

“No,” Mulder said simply and moved all the way down the booth to leave. 

“What do you mean?” She hated the surprise in her voice, the desperation squeezing her heart. “We’ve reconnected since I’ve been back”

“That was a mistake,” Mulder said. “I’ve realized since then that my life is with Scully. In whatever way she’ll have me. But I won’t betray her. And I can’t leave.”

And now it was Diana who was left speechless. Mulder turned and walked out into the night.

[lboogie1906]

Attorney King Virgil Cheek Jr. (May 26, 1937) is a lifelong educator, lawyer, and author.

He was born in Weldon, North Carolina to Lee Ella Williams Cheek and King V. Cheek Sr. The family moved to Greensboro, where he graduated from James B. Dudley High School.

He attended Bates College, majoring in economics, and received a BA. He went to the University of Chicago, receiving his MA and his JD from the University of Chicago Law School. He passed the Illinois State Bar and the North Carolina State Bar. He became active in the civil rights movement and participated in the March on Washington.

He served as professor, dean, and vice president before being appointed as president of Shaw at the age of thirty-two. He followed his older brother, James Edward Cheek, who had served as president of Shaw University. He became the eighth president of Morgan State University. He received an honorary Doctor of Laws degree from Delaware State College.

He married Annette Walker (1968) and the couple had four children. He is a member of Sigma Pi Phi Fraternity.

He became a professor of social sciences and dean of graduate studies at the New York Institute of Technology. He served as vice president and president of the Union for Experimenting Colleges and Universities, and he co-founded the Center for Leadership and Career Development in DC. He resumed his position as dean of graduate studies at the New York Institute of Technology. He was chancellor of the New York College of Health Professionals. He has written several articles, pamphlets, and books, including I See A New America: It Ain’t Like The One I Used To Know and The Quadrangle.

He served as the economic development consultant to the chief minister of Turks and Caicos Islands, director of the Senior Executive Development Program, Government of Bermuda, member of the board of directors of the Baltimore Museum of Art and the Baltimore Urban League, and member of the board of the North Carolina Association of Colleges and the Association of Eastern North Carolina Colleges. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #sigmaphiphi

[cassiopeiacorvus]

Washington State Surrogacy Laws

So... The Billionaire's Baby is, uh, it's not good. Yeah, that about sums it up. I've decided to get pedantic about it just for fun. I need something to distract me from the sad excuse of a romance plot that this book is currently selling. In the United States, each state has its own surrogacy laws (because to paraphrase another Tumblr post we are fifty countries in a trench coat pretending to be one) and I was curious to see how closely TBB followed the laws of Washington state. The answer is not really.

The list of surrogacy requirements for Washington state (RCW 26.26A.705):

Have attained twenty-one years of age;

🟡 Unclear. We don't know how old she is yet, but she could very easily be 21 or older.

Previously have given birth to at least one child but not enter into more than two surrogacy agreements that result in the birth of children;

🔴 MC hasn't had a child, but she hasn't entered into a surrogacy agreement before either.

Complete a medical evaluation related to the surrogacy arrangement by a licensed medical doctor;

🟢 That's been mentioned.

Complete a mental health consultation by a licensed mental health professional;

🔴 Not been mentioned.

Have independent legal representation of her choice throughout the surrogacy arrangement regarding the terms of the surrogacy agreement and the potential legal consequences of the agreement.

🔴 No one's mentioned the law or legal representation at all.

The expectations for the intended parent(s):

Have attained twenty-one years of age;

🟢 Very likely that Callie/Cole and Daphne are over 21.

Complete a medical evaluation related to the surrogacy arrangement by a licensed medical doctor;

🟡If Callie is your love interest, they have a medical issue preventing them from carrying a child and if Cole is your love interest, it's Daphne who has the medical issue. We don't know if the evaluation where they learned that information was related to the surrogacy agreement.

Complete a mental health consultation by a licensed mental health professional;

🔴 A mental health evaluation hasn't currently been mentioned.

Have independent legal representation of the intended parent's choice throughout the surrogacy arrangement regarding the terms of the surrogacy agreement and the potential legal consequences of the agreement.

🔴 Again, legal representation hasn't been brought up at all, which considering how detailed Daphne has been about the situation, is unusual.

The requirements of the surrogacy agreement. (26.26A.710):

At least one party must be a resident of this state or, if no party is a resident of this state, at least one medical evaluation or procedure or mental health consultation under the agreement must occur in this state.

🟢 The MC, Callie/Cole, and Daphne all live in Seattle.

A woman acting as a surrogate and each intended parent must meet the requirements of RCW 26.26A.705.

🔴 Ha ha ha. No. They don't.

Each intended parent, the woman acting as a surrogate, and the spouse of the woman acting as a surrogate, if any, must be parties to the agreement.

🔴 We've not heard anything about the agreement.

The agreement must be in a record signed by each party listed in subsection (3) of this section.

🔴 Second verse, same as the first.

The woman acting as a surrogate and each intended parent must acknowledge in a record receipt of a copy of the agreement.

🔴 Third verse, same as the first.

The signature of each party to the agreement must be attested by a notarial officer or witnessed.

🔴 You get it by now.

The woman acting as a surrogate and the intended parent or parents must have independent legal representation throughout the surrogacy arrangement regarding the terms of the surrogacy agreement and the potential legal consequences of the agreement, and each counsel must be identified in the surrogacy agreement.

🔴 No one's mentioned their lawyers as of yet.

The intended parent or parents must pay for independent legal representation for the woman acting as a surrogate.

🔴 Again, no legal representation has been mentioned, but Callie/Cole is a billionaire and Daphne is a supermodel. They're already giving the MC room and board and a stipend, so this will not be a problem for them.

The agreement must be executed before a medical procedure occurs related to the surrogacy agreement, other than the medical evaluation and mental health consultation required by RCW 26.26A.705.

🔴 The MC's already been implanted by chapter two so that's a no go.

This is where we currently stand. If anything changes in the upcoming chapters, I'll update this post.

[lifewithchronicpain]

Do pain patients on long-term opioid therapy make irrational decisions? Is their mental capacity so diminished by opioids that they shouldn’t be involved in treatment decisions with their doctors? The answer to both questions is often yes, according to a controversial new op/ed published in JAMA Internal Medicine. At issue is a recent update to the CDC’s opioid prescribing guideline, which calls for shared decision-making (SDM) when a prescriber considers tapering a patient or abruptly discontinuing their opioid treatment. The guideline was revised last year after reports of “serious harm” to patients caused by forced tapering.

“In situations where benefits and risks of continuing opioids are considered to be close, shared decision-making with patients is particularly important,” the 2022 guideline states. But that advice about consulting with patients goes too far, according to the lead author of the JAMA op/ed, Mark Sullivan, MD, a professor of psychiatry at the University of Washington and a longtime board member of Physicians for Responsible Opioid Prescribing

“The value of SDM has been recognized for many years but also has its limitations, including where patients make irrational or short-sighted decisions,” Sullivan wrote. “Long-term opioid therapy induces a state of opioid dependence that compromises patients’ decisional capacity, specifically altering their perception of the value and necessity of the therapy; and although patients with chronic pain are not usually at imminent risk of death, they often can see no possibility of a satisfying life without a significant and immediate reduction in their pain.”

Sullivan and his two co-authors, Jeffrey Linder, MD, and Jason Doctor, PhD, have long been critical of opioid prescribing practices in the U.S. In their conflict of interest statements, Sullivan and Doctor disclose that they have worked for law firms involved in opioid litigation, a lucrative sideline for several PROP members...

...“In the case of opioid prescribing, and especially opioid tapering, working to persuade the patient is almost always the best clinical strategy. But there are circumstances (opioid use disorder, diversion, serious medical risks) where tapering should occur even if the patient objects,” Sullivan wrote. Opioid diversion by patients is actually rare. The DEA estimates that less than one percent of oxycodone (0.3%) and hydrocodone (0.42%) will be used by someone they were not intended for.

As for patients on opioids behaving “irrational,” Sullivan and his co-authors cite an op/ed published 33 years ago in The New England Journal of Medicine (NEJM). But that article doesn’t even discuss opioids or tapering, it’s about whether patients and doctors should collaborate in making decisions about end-of-life medical care. It also makes an important disclaimer that “even the irrational choices of a competent patient must be respected if the patient cannot be persuaded to change them." Sullivan rejects that approach to opioid treatment...

...In a rebuttal to Sullivan’s op/ed also published in JAMA Internal Medicine, Mitchell Katz, MD, and Deborah Grady, MD, disputed the notion that a patient’s choices shouldn’t be respected. “Primary care professionals generally highly value the inclusion of the patient’s perspective in decision-making, consistent with the principles of patient autonomy and self-determination, and are loathe to go against a patient’s wishes,” they wrote. “As primary care professionals, we have found it helpful to tell patients that it is not recommended to take more than a specific threshold of opioids and that we do not want to prescribe something that is not recommended. However, that does not mean sticking to rigid cut points for dose and duration of opioid use, abandoning patients, or having them undergo too rapid a taper.”

Others questioned JAMA’s decision to publish Sullivan’s op/ed. “While I recognize the editors’ legitimate intellectual interest in providing a forum for open discussion on the opioid policy space, I question their decision to publish an editorial that represents an ongoing call for broad, ill-defined reductions in opioid prescribing,” said Chad Kollas, MD, a palliative care specialist who rejects the idea that patients shouldn’t be involved in their healthcare choices. “Errantly embracing a lower evidentiary standard for medical decision-making capacity creates an unacceptable risk for harm to patients with pain by violating their rights of medical autonomy and self-determination.” (Full article at link)

So essentially a man with a bias against opioids and who makes money litigating against uses a 33 year old op ed to assert pain patients shouldn't have a say in their medical care because we irrational. Proof of that irrationality is that if we have to deal with severe chronic pain with no relief, we may contemplate suicide. So fucking irrational, right? 🤬

This man is fucking cruel and inhumane. He works for an organization (PROP) that has had direct influence on the 2016 CDC Opioid Guidelines which lead to many pain patients committing suicide or dying from complications due to forced tapering and withdrawals. And this man has been given a platform to assert that our desire to not exist in severe daily pain is irrational. Fuck him!