The sexy 18 year old Randi has a crush on her twenty-something neighbor, Mike Rushton, while the hot-looking private pilot has his eye on her. Too bad shes got a naughty streak a mile wide. When Mike catches the house-sitting Randi having sex with her boyfriend over his dining room table, he spanks the misbehaving slut and the sparks between them fly. Their love-hate relationship heats up even more when Mike stops the underage Randi from joining a wet t-shirt contest at a local bar. Months later, flat broke and desperate for cash, Randi takes a job shooting soft-core porn - at least she thinks its just soft-core. Turns out, the scene is far more than she bargained for, when porn star Joey, starts slapping her around as the taping begins. Though she recoils in fear, something about the rough treatment turns her on and she comes back for more. Crawling like a slave, blistering spankings, brutal torment and anal sex follow. But then disaster strikes at a third session, when an urgent phone call sends Joey and his crew packing. Randis left bound and helpless in the deserted warehouse where she must inch her way along the floor to find her cell phone. When she raises Mike on speed dial, her trusted neighbor comes flying - along with the police. Word of Randis nasty porn flicks is quickly picked up by the press and shes hounded by reporters. To escape the uproar, Mike flies her to the Florida villa of his friend Hector. Its no mistake that Mike delivers Randi to a man who understands her lust for submission. Mikes seen a sample of her videos and he knows exactly what this mixed-up female needs. Taking over where Mike left off, Hector forces Randi to confront her savage sexual fantasies. She fights the man at first, but is soon submitting to the submissive sex she craves. Maybe she has found paradise with Hector. But an especially nasty punishment sends an angry Randi fleeing, and all too soon, Joeys sleazy underworld snatches her back. Is she now beyond Mikes reach? Can the shrewd Hector find her? Or will this naughty girl next door remain a victim of her base desires and men who cant wait to sell her for cold hard cash.
Hone your analytic talents and become part of the next big thing Getting a Big Data Job For Dummies is the ultimate guide to landing a position in one of the fastest-growing fields in the modern economy. Learn exactly what big data means, why its so important across all industries, and how you can obtain one of the most sought-after skill sets of the decade. This book walks you through the process of identifying your ideal big data job, shaping the perfect resume, and nailing the interview, all in one easy-to-read guide. Companies from all industries, including finance, technology, medicine, and defense, are harnessing massive amounts of data to reap a competitive advantage. The demand for big data professionals is growing every year, and experts forecast an estimated 1.9 million additional U.S. jobs in big data by 2015. Whether your niche is developing the technology, handling the data, or analyzing the results, turning your attention to a career in big data can lead to a more secure, more lucrative career path. Getting a Big Data Job For Dummies provides an overview of the big data career arc, and then shows you how to get your foot in the door with topics like: The education you need to succeed The range of big data career path options An overview of major big data employers A plan to develop your job-landing strategy Your analytic inclinations may be your ticket to long-lasting success. In a highly competitive job market, developing your data skills can create a situation where you pick your employer rather than the other way around. If youre ready to get in on the ground floor of the next big thing, Getting a Big Data Job For Dummies will teach you everything you need to know to get started today.
Research Paper from the year 2015 in the subject American Studies - Linguistics, grade: A, San Francisco State University, course: ENG 425, language: English, abstract: This paper will address the issue of uh and um. The idea for this paper came around while listening to a Teachers Assistant give a lecture; she had used uh twenty-six times and used um nineteen times (needless to say I do not recall what the lecture was about, nor which class it was for). Then the following questions popped into mind: why do we use uh and um? And why are they so marked? After some research and surveying, I found that uh and um are useful to the speaker as well as the audience. Uh and um are used to let an audience know that there will either be a brief (uh) or a long (um) pause, a hesitation, or a pause for recall which I will show in my data presentation and interpretation. In many studies of uh and um, the conclusions were similar to my findings. Clark and Fox Tree (2002) stated that speakers use uh and um to announce that they are initiating what they expect to be a minor (uh), or major (um), delay in speaking. Speakers can use these announcements in turn to implicate, for example, that they are searching for a word, are deciding what to say next, want to keep the floor, or want to cede the floor. Which I found to be consistent with my findings; a subject tended to continue with their speech almost immediately after using an uh and delayed a few seconds after they had used an um. Clark and Fox Tree found that uh and um had use and are in fact words, By words, we mean linguistic units that have conventional phonological shapes and meanings and are governed by the rules of syntax and prosody. The use of uh and um can be used to alert the audience (1) that they wouldnt normally expect a delay at this moment; (2) that they anticipated the delay; and (3) that they were aware, at some level, of the reason for their delay. Clark and Fox Tree were able to prove uh and um have meaning and therefore are indeed words.
The only Revit tutorial guide based on a real project workflow Autodesk Revit Architecture No Experience Required is the ultimate real-world guide for mastering this increasingly prevalent BIM software package. Using a continuous, step-by-step tutorial, this book walks you through all project phases as you learn the basics of Revit by designing, documenting, and presenting a four-story office building. Youll begin by learning your way around the interface and conventions, then jump right into design by placing walls, doors, and windows. Next youll work with grids, beams, foundations, dimensions, and text as you build floors layer by layer, join walls, create ceilings and roofs, and place stairs, ramps, and railings. The instruction covers construction documentation, advanced detailing, and families, as well as site considerations including grading and top surface features to provide a well-rounded, real-world Revit skill set. The companion website features downloadable before and after tutorial files that allow you to jump in at any point and compare your work to the pros. The shift from 2D drafting to 3D building information modeling has made Revit a must-have skill for an increasing number of design, engineering, and construction professionals. This book is designed to teach you the basics quickly, using a real-world workflow, process, and pacing. Get acquainted with the Revit interface, then immediately start building Learn to place structural components, text, dimensions, and more Understand views, grids, editing, importing, exporting, and work sharing Generate construction documentation including schedules and material takeoffs This simple yet engaging tutorial brings together all of the major skills a Revit user needs to know to complete real workplace projects. Whether read from beginning to end as a comprehensive lesson, or used as dip-in reference for unfamiliar tasks, Autodesk Revit Architecture No Experience Required provides invaluable practical BIM instruction for every phase of a project.
In the finale to this twisted tale of lust, Joe promises to give Courtney her money if shell do one last thing: Be his date to a company party and let him use her for a night-in every hole! Courtney agrees, but only because she knows Joe is the only man who can satisfy her own burning desire to be dominated. The fact that hes her sisters man only makes this bad girl hotter! ----- Excerpt ----- I did not expect the slap. It came so quickly, one minute I was leering at her, the next I was staring at the floor. I shook myself, and cocked my head back. Courtney still looked mad, but satisfied. Fair enough, I said. You can do that again, if you want. You... she started. Take them off. She remained planted to the ground, a buxom statue, a sweaty, organic embodiment of all my sexual demons. I wanted to peel off her clothes and taste every wet crevice she hid underneath them. What tickled me, though, insofar as I could be tickled, was the glimpses of superiority that I caught from her time and again. She knew I wanted her; there could be no mistaking that; but did she recognize how much I wanted her, how strenuously I needed to sink myself inside her, how badly I wanted to hold her, and squeeze her, and hear her curse me and groan? She thought I wanted her body. That was true enough. But did she know I wanted, inside her body, her ignorant, evil little heart? I didnt want to love her or be loved by her. I wanted the satisfaction of her loathing. I reached into my pocket. The hundreds appeared, slightly damp from the sweat of my body, but neatly folded in a metal clip. Courtneys eyes registered the cash, but her mouth betrayed her. It was surprise that I saw. I smiled and tucked the cash away again. You said that was just five hundred. No, thats all of it. I just didnt know how else to get you inside. And believe me, when I lose my clothes, youre free to take it all. Ill keep my word about that at least, I said. And youll get it. But the nights not over. No, she said. Take them off, Courtney. Without taking her eyes off me, she fiddled with her heel beneath her. I didnt break the stare. I watched her descend, heard the clop of her heel hit the ground, then the other. Her toes slid the shoes from her feet, and slid them behind her. The heels must have been several inches, because now her nose was about level with my chin. We stood there in silence for a moment, her seething, me enjoying the power. I could do anything with her, I thought. Malevolent thoughts swirled in my brain, but if I had to be honest, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. You know what youre here for? I said. Her lips hardened to a tight line. My eyes led down her chin to the stiff, proud neck, to her deep cleavage, and the sparkling black dress. I wanted to throw her down and make her say my name. She never would, I thought, with a nervous, thrilling flutter in my stomach. You going to say anything? I said. Lets get this over with, she said.
Jory has been a thorn in Elles side ever since he arrived to spend the entire summer with his twin brother. He has no scruples about using his raw male beauty to charm...and exploit. If only her pulse didnt race with breathless excitement every time he turns those gorgeous chocolate-brown eyes in her direction! But Jory is about to realize hes just met his match in sweet, soft-spoken Elle Sutherland. Will the angry sparks flying between them bond them together, or drive them apart forever? ------- Excerpt ------- Elles mind suddenly went blank when Jory closed the distance between them again, and curled his arms around her waist. Knock it off, Im trying to work here, she yelped-but even she could hear how feeble her protest sounded. Damn it, Jory, I mean it! He retreated...but very reluctantly. Hastily she put one of the massage couches between them. Youre as skittish as a newborn colt, he teased, lightly running one finger over her trembling bottom lip. Are you that way around all men? Or only me? Elles heart was pounding so loudly that she could barely even hear his mocking question-but there was no mistaking his intent as he leaned so close that she could feel the heat of his muscular body. I choose my own partners, she gasped, and wished that her whisper-soft voice wasnt so shaky. So if you want to help me finish decorating in here, thats fine. But if you have anything else in mind, you can kiss it goodbye. Id rather kiss you. His teeth flashed in another dazzling grin...then he startled her by cupping both hands around her face. His long fingers sizzled against her bare skin, and she gasped in surprise. Was this what Astra had felt when shed let Jared make love to her? Damn it, why did it have to be Jory? She didnt even like him! Every nerve in her body shattered as his mouth closed over hers in a hot, heady kiss. She never even heard the frantic whimper that tore from her throat as her fingers gripped his shirt like a lifeline, and her long body arched against his in wondering shock. Then his nimble hand rose to possessively cup her lush breast...and the next instant, he was writhing on the floor, moaning in helpless agony. Elle stumbled back in appalled shock. Oh God, what had she done? Reflex. Selena had taught them all how to defend themselves against attack. A necessary skill, shed insisted, for nine single, superbly stacked sorority sisters. The alliteration had made Elle laugh while shed been obediently practicing her kicks and blocks on the mat. But she wasnt laughing now. Jorys twisted features were a sickly green, and his helpless moan was an agonized rasp. Jesus, Elle! Fierce shudders racked his hunched frame as he rocked back and forth, desperately clutching himself. What the hell! I said I wasnt going to hurt you! And that makes it all right? Outrage rose in a choking wave, and her normally-soft voice rose with it. I told you no! You didnt listen! You never listen! What gives you the right to grab me against my will? Tears of sheer rage began to shimmer in her crystal-blue eyes as she backed away, clenching her small hands into fists. You think that since youre drop-dead gorgeous and sexy as hell, you can just take whatever woman you want, whether shes interested or not? You can go straight to hell, Jory Montrose!
With a body in his office and a pocketful of secrets, Drum heads to Moscow Eugenie is seventeen, with long legs, blond hair, and an appetite for misery. Daughter of a corrupt millionaire, she has bounced around Europe's finest boarding schools, and Chester Drum knows she's trouble the moment he sees her tearing her blouse to implicate Ilya Alluliev, a Russian diplomat, in rape. The man came to give her a message, an envelope that quickly finds its way to Drum's safe. Inside is an unsigned note claiming that a Russian Nobel Prize - winning poet is in grave danger. As soon as he reads it, Drum joins the poet on the Kremlin's hit list. The next day, Drum goes to his office and finds Alluliev on the floor, shot dead. The police cannot help him; Drum will find answers only behind the Iron Curtain. At the height of the Cold War, Drum will risk his life for the sake of a fire-eyed teen with a heart made of ice. Review quote: Tight ... wild ... an eventful and effective thriller. - The New York Times Book Review - A cult author for lovers of noir fiction. - Mónica Calvo-Pascual, author of Chaos and Madness - A great pulpster ... always one of my favorites. - Ed Gorman, author of The Poker Club - Langton's sparkling prose and inimitable wit offer a delectable feast for the discriminating reader. - Publishers Weekly - Like Jane Austen and Barbara Pym, Langton is blessed with the comic spirit- a rare gift of genius to be cherished. - St. Louis Post-Dispatch - Biographical note: Stephen Marlowe (1928-2008) was the author of more than fifty novels, including nearly two dozen featuring globe-trotting private eye Chester Drum. Born Milton Lesser, Marlowe was raised in Brooklyn and attended the College of William and Mary. After several years writing science fiction under his given name, he legally adopted his pen name, and began focusing on Chester Drum, the Washington-based detective who first appeared in The Second Longest Night (1955). Although a private detective akin to Raymond Chandler's characters, Drum was distinguished by his jet-setting lifestyle, which carried him to various exotic locales from Mecca to South America. These espionage-tinged stories won Marlowe acclaim, and he produced more than one a year before ending the series in 1968. After spending the 1970s writing suspense novels like The Summit (1970) and The Cawthorn Journals (1975), Marlowe turned to scholarly historical fiction. He lived much of his life abroad, in Switzerland, Spain, and France, and died in Virginia in 2008.
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Chapter Five, The DementorThere was a soft, crackling noise and a shivering light filled the compartment. Professor Lupin appeared to be holding a handful of flames. They illuminated his tired grey face, but his eyes looked alert and wary.Stay where you are, he said, in the same hoarse voice, and he got slowly to his feet with his handful of fire held out in front of him.But the door slid slowly open before Lupin could reach it.Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Lupins hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Harrys eyes darted downwards, and what he saw made his stomach contract. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, greyish, slimy-looking and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water ...It was visible only for a split second. As though the creature beneath the cloak sensed Harrys gaze, the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of the black material.And then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it was trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.An intense cold swept over them all. Harry felt his own breath catch in his chest. The cold went deeper than his skin. It was inside his chest, it was inside his very heart ...Harrys eyes rolled up into his head. He couldnt see. He was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in his ears as though of water. He was being dragged downwards, the roaring growing louder ...And then, from far away, he heard screaming, terrible, terrified, pleading screams. He wanted to help whoever it was, he tried to move his arms, but couldnt ... a thick white fog was swirling around him, inside him -Harry! Harry! Are you all right?Someone was slapping his face.W-what?Harry opened his eyes. There were lanterns above him, and the floor was shaking - the Hogwarts Express was moving again and the lights had come back on. He seemed to have slid out of his seat onto the floor. Ron and Hermione were kneeling next to him, and above them he could see Neville and Professor Lupin watching. Harry felt very sick, when he put up his hand to push his glasses back on, he felt cold sweat on his face.Ron and Hermione heaved him back onto his seat.Are you OK? Ron asked nervously.Yeah, said Harry, looking quickly towards the door. The hooded creature had vanished. What happened? Wheres that - that thing? Who screamed?No one screamed, said Ron, more nervously still. Harry looked around the bright compartment. Ginny and Neville looked back at him, both very pale.But I heard screaming -A loud snap made them all jump. Professor Lupin was breaking an enormous slab of chocolate into pieces.Here, he said to Harry, handing him a particularly large piece. Eat it. Itll help. Harry took the chocolate but didnt eat it.What was that thing? he asked Lupin.A Dementor, said Lupin, who was now giving chocolate to everyone else. One of the Dementors of Azkaban.Everyone stared at him. Professor Lupin crumpled up the empty chocolate wrapper and put it in his pocket. Eat, he repeated. Itll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me ...He strolled past Harry and disappeared into the corridor.Are you sure youre OK, Harry? said Hermione, watching Harry anxiously.I dont get it ... what happened? said Harry, wiping more sweat off his face.
Stalked by a nighttime killer, a woman does whatever it takes to survive. He calls himself Tarot. His first victim was a mother, killed while her daughter slept in the next room. His second was a truck-stop waitress, murdered - like the first woman - while she slept. After each one, he sent letters to the newspapers, boasting of his crimes and promising more to come. The third victim will die soon, he tells them. But first, she must be warned. Joanna is drinking her morning coffee when she finds the switchblade on the floor, dropped through her newspaper slot in the middle of the night. Was it left there by a neighborhood prankster with a dark sense of humor? Or is this the warning of Tarot? Her husband has left her, making Joanna the sole caretaker for their son. Until Tarot is caught, neither of them can count on a good night?s sleep
The Man Who Died I returned from the City about three oclock on that May afternoon pretty well disgusted with life. I had been three months in the Old Country, and was fed up with it. If anyone had told me a year ago that I would have been feeling like that I should have laughed at him; but there was the fact. The weather made me liverish, the talk of the ordinary Englishman made me sick. I couldnt get enough exercise, and the amusements of London seemed as flat as soda-water that has been standing in the sun. Richard Hannay, I kept telling myself, you have got into the wrong ditch, my friend, and you had better climb out. It made me bite my lips to think of the plans I had been building up those last years in Bulawayo. I had got my pile-not one of the big ones, but good enough for me; and I had figured out all kinds of ways of enjoying myself. My father had brought me out from Scotland at the age of six, and I had never been home since; so England was a sort of Arabian Nights to me, and I counted on stopping there for the rest of my days. But from the first I was disappointed with it. In about a week I was tired of seeing sights, and in less than a month I had had enough of restaurants and theatres and race-meetings. I had no real pal to go about with, which probably explains things. Plenty of people invited me to their houses, but they didnt seem much interested in me. They would fling me a question or two about South Africa, and then get on their own affairs. A lot of Imperialist ladies asked me to tea to meet schoolmasters from New Zealand and editors from Vancouver, and that was the dismalest business of all. Here was I, thirty-seven years old, sound in wind and limb, with enough money to have a good time, yawning my head off all day. I had just about settled to clear out and get back to the veld, for I was the best bored man in the United Kingdom. That afternoon I had been worrying my brokers about investments to give my mind something to work on, and on my way home I turned into my club-rather a pot-house, which took in Colonial members. I had a long drink, and read the evening papers. They were full of the row in the Near East, and there was an article about Karolides, the Greek Premier. I rather fancied the chap. From all accounts he seemed the one big man in the show; and he played a straight game too, which was more than could be said for most of them. I gathered that they hated him pretty blackly in Berlin and Vienna, but that we were going to stick by him, and one paper said that he was the only barrier between Europe and Armageddon. I remember wondering if I could get a job in those parts. It struck me that Albania was the sort of place that might keep a man from yawning. About six oclock I went home, dressed, dined at the Cafe Royal, and turned into a music-hall. It was a silly show, all capering women and monkey-faced men, and I did not stay long. The night was fine and clear as I walked back to the flat I had hired near Portland Place. The crowd surged past me on the pavements, busy and chattering, and I envied the people for having something to do. These shop-girls and clerks and dandies and policemen had some interest in life that kept them going. I gave half-a-crown to a beggar because I saw him yawn; he was a fellow-sufferer. At Oxford Circus I looked up into the spring sky and I made a vow. I would give the Old Country another day to fit me into something; if nothing happened, I would take the next boat for the Cape. My flat was the first floor in a new block behind Langham Place. There was a common staircase, with a porter and a liftman at the entrance, but there was no restaurant or anything of that sort, and each flat was quite shut off from the others. I hate servants on the premises, so I had a fellow to look after me who came in by the day. He arrived before eight oclock every morning and used to depart at seven, for I never dined at home. I was just fitting my key into the door when I noticed a man at my elbow. I had not seen him approach, and the sudden appearance made me start. He was a slim man, with a short brown beard and small, gimlety blue eyes. I recognized him as the occupant of a flat on the top floor, with whom I had passed the time of day on the stairs. Can I speak to you? he said. May I come in for a minute? He was steadying his voice with an effort, and his hand was pawing my arm. I got my door open and motioned him in. No sooner was he over the threshold than he made a dash