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Subject: CHiPs (MF, parody) (1/2)
by Zifferman ([email protected]

This is my story. It is a first draft of the first chapter, and I would
appreciate any feedback or suggestions, for both his chapter and the next.
Ponch's Angel (M/F, police)

This story is based on an episode of ChiPs from the late 70s or early 80s,
wherein Ponch and John have to train the first two female CHP motor officers.
The actress who plays Melanie was Trisha Townsend. I don't know what else she
was in, but she was a definite cutie.

Officer Francis Poncherillo let his powerful Kawasaki 1000 cc Police Special
coast to a stop beside his long-time partner and friend, John Baker. Baker was
watching the passing traffic on the I-5 from his favorite perch on a seldom
used overpass.
"Well," John said, without turning his gaze from the traffic, "what do you
think?"
Poncherillo, called "Ponch" by everyone but his mother, casually pulled on his
snug-fitting black calves leather gloves and said, "The Patrol has had female
officers for years."
"Yeah, but not MOTOR OFFICERS," growled John, shaking his head ruefully.
"Aw, c'mon, John. You gotta change with the times. We're both liberal,
open-minded guys. We can handle the change. I just pity the guys who get
stuck training them! Shit, won't they be screwed!"
John chuckled and turned to his friend. "Or the will get screwed! You know
how the women in the Patrol are!"
Ponch laughed and gave John a ‘high-five' slap of agreement.
"I just hope they aren't dogs," Ponch said, kicking his bike to life.
The radio crackled, "Fifteen Mary four, return to station."
Ponch felt a sudden heaviness in his stomach. What had he done now? Usually,
when he was called to the station before the end of shift it was for an
ass-chewing from that bastard, Sergeant Contraire.
Ponch pulled his motor into the sprawling Central Station and swung his leg
off his bike. He readjusted his cock and balls in his tightly tailored uniform
pants to a comfortable position. The skimpy shorts he wore were not built for
comfort but they didn't leave any ‘pantie lines' in his uniform, which was
important to the vain officer. Ponch took great pride in his appearance. Ten
hours a week in a private health club had sculpted his body into something akin
to that of a Greek statue. He thrived on the admiring looks he got from every
heterosexual female he met. Even the females he cited couldn't help but lick
their lips when he brought his full basket to their eye level. As he sauntered
into the hallway of the station he paused before the full-length mirror and
admired himself, running his fingers through his thick mane of jet black hair.
"If you are done eye-fucking yourself would you get your Puerto Rican ass in
here?" shouted Sgt. Contraire from the door of his office.
"Right away, sarge," Ponch responded contritely.
Ponch sat attentively on the edge of the chair opposite Contraire's desk. He
liked to play the admiring, somewhat awed junior officer when he dealt with
Contraire, an act that seemed to work to mollify any complaint the sarge had
received about Ponch's performance.
Contraire silently read some reports, ignoring Ponch purposely. After a few
minutes he looked up, a wave of disgust shadowing his lined face.
"I suppose you've heard that we are getting a couple of female motor officers,
Officer Poncherillo."
"Yes. I guess everyone knows. I think it is a wonderful step for the CHP to
make. . ."
"Cut the shit," Contraire said, making a symbolic judo chop on his desk. "You
know as well as I do that a load of public relations crap this is. Every time
they send us one of these split tails she either winds up pregnant, and wanting
to take three years maternity leave, or she winds up getting hurt and taking
some cushy medical retirement."
Ponch raised his eyebrows and took on a look of empathy.
Contraire picked up a brown personnel file and tossed it suddenly towards
Ponch. Ponch caught it and opened it. It was the personnel file of officer
Melanie Mitchell. stapled to the corner of the first page was a small Polaroid
photograph of the officer. She looked like a high school cheerleader, with a
huge, toothy smile and large, bright, blue eyes. She had big, blond hair and a
delicate, aristocratic neck. The file said she had been with the CHP for three
years, was twenty four years old, and had just completed the CHP motor school
in Sacramento.
"She's your's, Ponch. You're her new Motor Training Officer," Contraire said,
turning back to the stack of paperwork on his cluttered desk.
"Aw, c'mon, sarge! I don't want to be her MTO!"
"Are you still here? Of course you are her MTO. You whined like a bitch in
heat to attend the school in the first place. Now, you got your work cut out
for you. But let me warn you: Everyone in the brass is going to be watching
us. The brass and the politicians want this pilot program to work. Hell, they
want a female helicopter pilot next! The won't be happy until we have a kotex
dispensers in the truck of every cruiser. So, I expect you to do everything by
the book on this one. And you'd better keep your prick in your pants this
time, too. Officer Mitchell is married to a captain over in the Valencia
station. Unless you want your balls handed to you on your shield I'd give this
pussy a pass, if you get my meaning."
"Uh, sure thing, sarge," Ponch said, feeling drained and defeated.
* * * * * * * *
"Here is your locker," Officer Bonnie Tyler said.
"Thanks. The lockers are larger than at my last station," Melanie Mitchell
quipped.
The slim blond regarded herself in a large mirror on the wall of the locker
room. "I wish the tailor hadn't done such a good job with these breeches. I
can hardly move!" Melanie squatted slightly and moved her hips around in a
circular fashion, trying to make the skin-tight uniform pants adjust to her
hips and crotch. She had to reach down and pull the crotch seam from her
vulvar groove and she felt her cheeks go red.
"I see what you mean! You must of had to shave to get those on. You'll
certainly impress your MTO!" Bonnie laughed.
"Who is my MTO" Melanie asked, running her palms over the smooth cheeks of her
ass.
"Francis Poncherillo, or Ponch as we call him."
"What's he like?" Melanie shot bonnie a serious glance.
"Ponch? Oh, he's a pretty good officer. He doesn't have much regard for
convention and rules. He does things his own way. He'll be a good training
officer."
"What's he like. . .personally?"
Bonnie giggled. "He'll try to get into your tight pants the first day! And
you could do a lot worse, in that regard. I dated him a few times and he's
hung like a stallion!"
Melanie felt her labia twitching at the mention of Ponch's endowment. She had
always had a particular soft spot for large cocks. Her nipples tightened to
visible points in her uniform shirt.
"That's not what I meant, Bonnie! Besides, I'm married," Melanie said,
blushing again.
"You may be married, but you aren't dead! I'll tell you right off: If you
want to stay faithful to your husband you'd better request another MTO today.
Ponch doesn't crash and burn when he's chasing a new girl."
"Well, I've dealt with guys like that. I think I can hold my own," Melanie
said, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself than convince
Bonnie.
"Whatever. It's your loss. The guy is fantastic in the sack. He gives great
tongue and he lasts for hours. . ."
Melanie felt her vagina lubing. The color was spreading from her cheeks down
her neck. She shifted her hips to ease her discomfort and found that the
crotch of her pants was massaging her erect clitoris. Her heart felt as though
it was swelling his her slim chest and her breasts burned.
The thought of a good time in the sack made Melanie's mind spin. She had
married Captain Lou Mitchell shortly after her graduation from the CHP academy
and her assignment to the Valencia station. She had been in awe of the older,
dignified officer. She realized, later, that his superior rank had made a
difference in her decision to begin dating Lou. They had married six months
after meeting. Within a year she knew that they had made a mistake. While Lou
was a good, gentle man, he was forty six. He was not as physical or emotional
as Melanie. Their lovemaking, which had been sporadic even at the best of
times, had slowed down to once or twice a week now.
In bed, Lou had been uninventive, unimaginative. His idea of a hot session
was him lying atop her in the traditional missionary position for five minutes,
slowly and silently humping, then signaling his orgasm with a solitary grunt.
He would roll of her and quickly fall asleep, leaving her frustrated and
unfulfilled.
Melanie had experienced sex with different partners while in college. She
already knew there was something more to the physical act. Her cravings for
something more left her feeling guilty and slutty. She had determined to make
her marriage to Lou survive. She had sworn, ‘to death do us part' and she had
meant it.
Bonnie showed Melanie around the station and introduced her to the various
employees. As they were walking across the parking lot to the motor shed to
meet the eccentric mechanic, Harlan, Bonnie said, "Oh! There's your training
officer now."
Melanie turned and saw Ponch. She unconsciously sucked in her breath between
pursed lips. He looked fine! Obviously a bodybuilder and wearing a tight,
tight uniform. His swarthy, third world looks made her belly twist.
Ponch saw Bonnie and the new girl and he strolled over to the two. Melanie
let her gaze drop to her new training officer's crotch. Bonnie was right.
Judging from the bulge in his breeches Ponch was indeed regally gifted. Again
she felt her nipples hardening and she crossed her arms over her chest.
"Hi. I'm Ponch. You must be Melanie," Ponch said, extending his hand and
grinning brightly.
"Charmed," Melanie said. He took his offered hand and shook it weakly. She
saw Ponch looking at her erect nipple bumps, then back into her eyes. His
smile widened. Melanie absently brought her left hand to her cheek, her
wedding ring glinting in the sun. The wedding ring had a similar effect on
Ponch as did a crucifix on a vampire. His smile suddenly fell and he coughed
uncomfortably.
"Let's get you on a bike," Ponch said in his best professional training
officer voice.
Harlan greeted Melanie warmly. The diminutive homosexual mechanic clasped his
hands together and squealed, "My my! It's about time the CHP hired a fashion
model! You look like you just stepped on a recruiting poster, dear!" Melanie
smiled and hung her head, twisting on one heel nervously.
"Thank you, Mister Harlan," she said shyly.
"Just Harlan, dearie, just Harlan. Now, I guess that you are about. . .hmm. .
.one hundred seven pounds?"
"That's amazing!" Melanie gushed.
"Harlan is good at guessing weight and . . .size," Ponch grinned.
"Oh, quite right. When are you going to let me test my estimate of you, stud
muffin?"
"In another life, maybe," Ponch sighed, tiring of the little flit.
"I've adjusted this bike's height and suspension for you, dear. I think
you'll find it a comfortable ride," Harlan said, jingling a set of keys before
Melanie.
Melanie took a position on the left side of the bike and began swinging her
right leg over the seat. Her tight pants restrained her and she had to make a
second attempt. Finally her boot cleared the seat and she sat down. Both
Harlan and Ponch were staring wide-eyed at her crotch. She followed her gaze
and saw that her pants and molded to her mons, delineating her vulvar cleft
clearly. She quickly leaned forward, rolling her pussy under her. But the
movement had trust her chest out. Melanie wasn't overly endowed, but her
breasts were firm and high and prominent on her narrow chest. Both mens' gaze
lifted to her straining boobs.
"I think I'll take this for a spin," Melanie sputtered, pressing the starter
button. The machine roared to life and she pulled out of the garage.
The wind flared her golden hair and the breeze felt refreshing on her skin.
The vibrations felt warm on her excited female flesh. She ground her pelvis
down into the leather of her seat and felt the vibrations massage her inflamed
labia. It was a feel she remembered from motor school, that of a eight-hundred
pound vibrator between her legs. It was her biggest secret. She had
experienced subtle and frequent orgasms while in the school. Her classmates or
an instructor might notice her shudder, her face go flush, her breathing become
heavy and erratic. She explained it away as a touch of flu. Even now, in the
parking lot of the Central CHP station, Melanie was close to cumming.
She pulled the bike to a stop in front of Ponch and Harlan. She removed her
helmet and shook free her locks.
"Great work, Mister. . .I mean, Harlan. This bike is a charm!" she said with
heavy breaths.
"Are you alright?" Ponch asked cautiously.
"Never better, sir!" came Melanie's spunky reply.
***********
The rest of the day was filled with personnel paperwork, forms, and
familiarization with local policies. Melanie Mitchell met Ponch's partner,
John, who wasted little time in asking her out to dinner.
"Notice that rock on her finger, John? This one is already taken," Ponch said
smugly.
"That's right, John, but thanks for the offer," Melanie smiled.
"Not only is she married, but she is married to one of the brass. You know
Captain Mitchell in that station up north? Yep, that's her ol' man," Ponch
said with thinly disguised arrogance.
"Whoa, better watch what we say around her, then!" John laughed.
"Hey, what I hear at the station stays at the station. You don't have to
worry about me," Melanie's annoyance was palpable.
She was both surprised and disgusted when she was introduced to Officer
Grossman, a human tub of lard. His belly spilled over his gun belt on all
sides. She couldn't believe that someone of his condition would be allowed to
remain in the Patrol.
Later, in the mens' locker room, John and Ponch were stripping off their
uniforms and pulling their civilian clothes out of their lockers.
"That Mitchell is a tasty-looking thing, isn't she," John offered.
"Yeah. She wants it. I can tell," Ponch said with a grin.
"No way. She's married to an ass-hole captain. Even you can't be so hard up
that you'd chance bringing down the brass on your ass."
Ponch cupped his ‘cock sock' underwear in his palm and hefted his package.
"This guy doesn't care who's she married to. He wants that fine pussy," he
said, pointing to his crotch.
"Well, twenty says you won't make it with her, Ponch."
"A hundred speaks louder, my friend."
"Okay. I got a hundred says you don't score with that chick."
"You're on, sucker!"
* * * * * * * * *
Melanie reported a full hour early for work the next day. She wanted to bone
up on the policy manual and check the hot sheets for stolen vehicles. She was
seated in the nearly empty briefing room when she heard Ponch's voice beside.
She turned her head towards him and found herself staring Ponch's prodigious
bulge eye to eye. She silently sucked her breath in and was riveted to the
sight. Obviously, Ponch hadn't worn any sort of underwear today, and his fat,
meaty cock hung down the inside of one pants leg. The flared, circumcised head
was clearly evident, and his huge testicles bloated his crotch. Melanie ground
her knees together to quite her aching pussy. She tore her eyes from the
wondrous sight and looked Ponch in the face. He was smiling obscenely, his
back bowed, his hips thrust forward, his thumbs hooked in his gun belt.
"Hi, Officer Poncherillo," she choked.
"Hi, but call me Ponch, please! Are you ready to hit the bricks?"
Melanie was distracted as she walked to her bike. She was afraid that he damp
pussy would leave a shadow on the crotch of her tight tan uniform breeches that
would show when she slung an athletic leg over the seat of the motorcycle. She
waited until Ponch was adjusting his sun glasses to mount her bike. The
sun-warmed seat felt heavenly on her worried twat and she subconsciously ground
her pelvis into the black leather.
"A new seat takes some getting used to, huh?" Ponch said with his signature
pirate grin. Melanie could only offer a weak, guilty smile. Ponch pulled his
bike beside her's and licked his lips, taking in her thin, feminine form.
Melanie, too, was inspecting her partner from behind her opaque, mirrored
sunglasses. If anything, Ponch's bulging crotch was even more regal, pressed
up at it was by his motorcycle seat. It looked almost painful and she wondered
how he could wear such a tightly-tailored uniform with such obvious endowments.

"Now, you stay on my right. Always on my right. Got that, Mitchell?" he
demanded in his most aloof, professional tone.
"Yes, sir," Melanie stuttered, grateful for the distraction from his harshly
masculine body.
The pulled out of the parking lot almost as one. The wind and the roar of the
engines made them both feel free and loose. Ponch shouted over the engines,
"Now, try making a traffic stop. Just look for any violation, it isn't
important what. I just want to evaluate your style with a stop."
"Yes, sir," Melanie said mechanically, her eyes surveying traffic around them.
She saw an expired registration tab but let it go. She was afraid that her
training officer would chide her for making a stop for such a minor violation.
She couldn't find a decent reason to stop anyone for the first half of the
shift.
Around twelve o'clock noon Ponch and his trainee met with John Baker for lunch
at a hot dog stand. John got Ponch aside.
"That new officer is pretty tasty! I wouldn't mind trying her our for size!
John quipped, extravagantly cupping his jewels through his uniform pants when
Melanie wasn't looking. Ponch only chuckled. Both he and John had once pulled
a train on a pretty waitress they had stopped for drunk driving. She had
begged them not to arrest her, told them she had two priors already and a third
might land her in prison. They had escorted her to a state equipment yard that
Ponch unlocked, and they fucked her in the office-trailer. It was the first
time they had ever done anything like that, at least as a pair, and Ponch had
been astounded at how small John's prick was. The thought that he could please
Melanie amused the smiling Hispanic officer emmensly.
John had to leave to handle a call of a traffic accident. Ponch sat on the
table near where Melanie was eating a hot dog.
"You sure know how to handle a dog!" he laughed.
Melanie shot her training officer a stern, warning look. Such comments could
land Ponch before a rights board and, now days, could end his career. He
ignored the look and continued, "So. You are married to a captain? That was a
good career move!"
"I didn't marry him as a ‘career move', Officer Poncherillo, she said in a low
tone. She saw Ponch shift on the edge of the pic nic table top and couldn't
help but watch his package strain at the tight material that constrained it.
"Oh, I'm sure. But he's quite a bit older than you, isn't he? I mean, a girl
like you must need someone who can keep up with her, both emotionally and
physically."
"He does just fine, and I think this conversation is getting on dangerous
ground, sir. Can we stick to training?" Melanie said nervously, setting her
unfinished hotdog down on it's plate. Ponch reached over and cupped her chin
in one hand and wiped a traced of mustard from the corner of her mouth with his
thumb. His touch was electrifying and Melanie felt as if she would have
swooned if she had not already been sitting. He wide-eyed, open pupil look
told Ponch that he was having a desired effect on his young ward. He had seen
the look many times before– lips slightly open, jaw partially agape, skin
flushed, eyebrows raised, head bent forward a bit. It was the look of a woman
who was interested and, he hoped, ready.
*************
It was almost an hour after lunch that Melanie made her first traffic stop.
She had paced the driver at 67 mph in a posted 55 mph zone. Without asking
Ponch for permission she had activated her motor's emergency lights and the
violator yielded to the right shoulder after only a short while. Ponch brought
his motor to a stop beside Melanie's and gave a silent nod of approval.
Melanie ceremoniously stripped her tan leather gloves off and laid them across
the gas tank of her bike. She removed the heavy white and gold helmet and hung
it on one of the grips of her handlebars. She shook her hair out and teased it
slightly with her fingers. Ponch rolled his eyes heavenward.
"Drivers license and registration, please," she told the driver in her best
motor-officer voice, and octave or more lower than her real voice.
"Well, sure, babe. Anything for you," the driver said, sucking in his breath
nosily.
Melanie was acutely aware that the driver was drinking in her body, her narrow
waist, her slim model hips, the way her tight uniform molded to her lithe body
like a cellophane wrapper. She looked back to Ponch for some sort of support,
but her training officer was leaning against his bike, his hip out rakishly, a
huge smile showing his perfect teeth.
"Here ya go, honey," the man's voice caught her by surprise. He handed her
the requested documents. "Say, why don't we meet and discuss my fine over,
say, drinks? What time do you get off?"
"Remain in your vehicle, sir. I will be right back," she said sternly, and
she turned and walked back to her bike.
Ponch was still smiling. "You're going to have to get used to that, guys
hitting on you. You are very pretty and you represent unusual power for a
woman."
"What do you mean?" she asked, fishing her ticket book out of the side rack of
her bike.
"Well, most guys have a hard on for cops. They never forget the time they
were sixteen or seventeen and they got their first ticket. The harbor this
grudge the rest of their lives and they secretly, or subconsciously, want to
get even. Flirting with a female cop, and the prospect that they might
actually make it with her, is a great temptation. If they can fuck her, it's
like they are fucking the whole institution of law enforcement."
Melanie startled a the use of the word "fuck" from Ponch. She regarded him
for a moment suspiciously, then was satisfied that he wasn't using the word
just to offend her. As she filled out the ticket she asked him, "And this
isn't true with male cops? I mean, male cops don't have a hard on for female
cops?"
"Not in the same way. If I have a hard on for you, lets say, it is strictly
friendly."
"You look like you've had a hard on all day," Melanie said, then immediately
regretted it. It was an admission that she had been looking at his
well-stuffed crotch. "What I meant to say is that you've had a hard on for me
all day. I mean, that you've had a chip on your shoulder for me..."
Ponch just chuckled as Melanie turned bright red.
When the speeder had signed his ticket and pulled away Melanie carefully swung
her leg over her motor's seat. She was about to pull back onto the road when
her rear wheel hit a spot of oil and the heavy machine spun to the pavement,
nearly throwing it's rider over it.
Ponch sat patiently on his bike, watching Melanie to make sure she was not
injured. "You did the right thing. You let the bike take the fall, not you."
"Thanks," she said sheepishly, smoothing her uniform with the palms of her
hands. "Can you help me get this back up?"
"You won't always have help, Mitchell. You learned how to upright you bike at
the academy."
Melanie cursed just under her breath and grabbed the handlebars of her motor
and began rocking it. Finally, with maximum effort, she shoved the bike onto
it's wheels. She heard a loud rip and felt cool air on the inside of her ass
cheeks. She immediately spun her rear away from Ponch and leaned against her
bike.
"Don't tell me," Ponch groaned.
"I'm sorry. I guess I had these pants tailored a little too tight," she said
with a little shrug of her narrow shoulders.
"We'll have to pull into the station for repairs. Do you have a spare pair in
your locker?"
"Uh...no. But I have another pair at a tailors shop near here. Maybe you can
pick them up?"
"Tell me where it is..." he spat.

After exploring the rip in the seam of the seat of her pants with her fingers
Melanie found that the opening started at mid cheek and led down to the
juncture of the rear seam and the inside leg seams. She could sit on her motor
and little of the opening would show.
Ponch went into the tailor shop and came out with her slacks. He tossed them
to the still seated Melanie.
"There is a closed-down highway equipment yard near here. I have a key. You
can change in the office there."
The yard was off the main highway some yards and was indeed closed-down and
seemingly abandoned. Ponch unlocked the main gate and they drove to the
modular office building. It was dusty inside and still had nudie pin ups on
the walls. Melanie was uneasy that Ponch led her into the office. She
followed him and took pains to keep her backside away from him.
"I can change in here. If you'll just wait outside. . ." she suggested.
But Ponch was immobile. She stood in the center of the office, his muscular
arms folder across his wide chest, his legs slightly spread. Was it her
imagination of was his package ever bigger than before. No, he definitely had
an erection!
"Poncherillo, please just step outside. This will only take a minute," she
said, fear suddenly tightening her throat. Ponch did not speak, he only smiled
beneath his mirror glasses that showed Melanie her worried face.
"Ponch. . . you're scaring me. . ."
"You want it, Melanie. You have wanted it since we met. I've seen you
checking out my cock and balls all day. What's the problem, hubby got a little
one? Well, this," he said, roughly gripping his bulge, "ain't little!"
Melanie backed against an old, threadbare couch and held her new slacks to her
chest defensively.
"You don't mean this, Ponch. Please, let's just leave." Tears were welling
up in her pretty blue eyes.
She watched, spellbound, hypnotized, as he slowly lowered his zipper. The
sound of the zipper roared in her ears. Ponch spread the fly of his pants and
pulled out this semi-hard cock. Melanie gasped unashamedly. It was the
largest organ she had ever seen on a human. Before her eyes the took
lengthened and filled, aided by some rough stroking by it's owner. She
unconsciously lowered her arms from her chest and let her slacks fall to the
dirty floor.
"Like what you see, huh? I thought you would," Ponch said in a throaty rasp.
She remained silent, watching mesmerized as his cock hardened, the large
plum-like head flared. Ponch fished in his pants and pulled his balls outside
his fly. They were shaved, hairless, and the size of two goose eggs.
Finally his cock was fully erect. Melanie chewed nervously on her lower lip
admiring the sight. His prick was about nine inches long, as thick as her
wrist. It was studded with rope-like veins and had an upward, right-leaning
bend to it. It was the ugliest thing she had ever seen. It was the most
beautiful thing she had ever seen.
"How on earth do you ever ride a motor with THAT between you legs," she
mumbled quietly.
Ponch smiled triumphantly. "It isn't that hard, when it isn't that hard, if
you know what I mean!"
"Now, Ponch: I am a married woman. Let's just stop now and forget this ever
happened. . ." she breathed, secretly hoping that he couldn't hear her
protests. Ponch neared her and gently put his hands on the gun belt at her
waist. He pulled her to him and hungrily kissed her hard on the mouth.
Melanie felt her body going limp and Ponch supported her. Her breath was
ragged, sporadic. She was kissing him back with passion she hadn't felt in
years. She explored his tongue with her own as she felt the damp tip of his
unbelievably hard rod digging into her belly. His wide, strong hands kneaded
the softness of her ass, his fingers teasingly brushing across her clenched
butt hole.
Melanie reached between them and took the hot glans of his cock into her hand.
She was shocked at the power it radiated as it pulsed in her small hand. She
massaged the thick precum with the palm of her hand, spreading it around the
mushroomed head of his tool.
Her heart was beating so forcefully in her chest she thought it would burst.
She could hear the blood rushing in her ears. She wiggled against Ponch,
drinking in his male scent.
Finally, she tore herself from him.
"This is all wrong, Ponch. I know you want me but it's wrong," she choked.

    

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