Lady From LUST: Lay Me Odds (The Lady from L.U.S.T. 2)

"Tell me the name of your contact, honey," I wheedled, "the one who gave the microfilm to you."

The Satyr eyed me from my toes to my blonde head. He smiled wryly and said, ''Ducks, you're a knockout."
I giggled, shimmying my shoulders so that my white girl-treasures swayed from side to side. Then I squatted down and let my knees go wide in the position Shiek Nefwazi calls the mokorfeuss, much in the manner of a frog at rest. I smiled up at the Satyr. I hooked my hands under my knees and rolled over onto my back, into the el modefeda posture. 

He dropped toward me, intent only on his clamoring carnality. He was fast, but my right leg was a lot faster. I got a foot in his belly, I got a grip on his shirt with both hands and heaved with arms and leg. He was in the perfect position for the stomach throw, the tomoe nage. He yelled as he went backward high above my head. I let go of him and he went on without any help, to come crashing down on his back. I swung up and over and squatted on his chest. 

"Sweetie," I said, "don't be difficult. I know all the holds, erotic and otherwise. Now, who's got the microfilm.