3 comments/ 6905 views/ 3 favorites Cindy Masters, Dyke Detective Ch. 01 By: Trapper_Jock_Mcintyre Masters is the name. Cindy Masters. I'm a detective. I get $50 a day and expenses, $75 if I can get it. I was sitting in my office trying to figure out how to get lipstick stains out of a silk tie, or preferably onto one, when I heard the clickity-clack of high heels coming down the hallway toward my door. I looked up to see a silhouette through the frosted glass that resembled two letter B's that hadn't learned that in the missionary position you where supposed to face toward each other. The door creaked opened and having thoughts about what I'd be facing, I reached slowly for the rod I was packing. She entered my office and walked up to me with her hips swaying in a samba that made Xavier Cugat sound like Spike Jones. "Miss Masters, I suppose." She asked. I let go of my rod and tapped a cigarette out the pack. As I lit it, I replied, "You suppose right, dollface." I took a drag from my Lucky Strike and held out the pack for her, "Care for a fag" I offered. As she nodded okay, her dangling earring clanged like wind chimes. As I lit her smoke, she leaned forward and began to tell me her troubles, as if dames like her should have any cares in the world apart from what dress to wear. As she spoke her the sight of her blood red lips led to a throbbing in my jockey y-fronts, with my clit beating out a rhythm like the Morse code for 'LICK ME". I leaned back in my chair and placed my feet on the desk, my freshly shined wing-tip shoes glistening like licorice jellybeans. As I listened to her voice, my eyes did a mental strip search and I made a mental note to stop at the Piggly-Wiggly to buy cantaloupes on the way home "I assume you've heard of the Dextrous Dildo of Denmark," she asked. "Heard of it? I've had dreams of wearing it and using it" I replied. My nipples hardened and tingled against the ace bandage I used to flatten down my breasts as images of the dildo darted in and out of my mind's eye. Her voice took on the tone of school teacher. "The dildo has been in our family for years, but last night it disappeared from the safe in our library. Our oriental houseboy has also disappeared and we think he may have stolen it for war profiteers in Japan to hold for ransom" "Write it up and sell it to Paramount. So what does this have to do with me? I take no sides in these petty little post-war disputes," I spat. "We need to get that dildo back, and our family is willing to pay for it. It leaves a hole in our legacy that must not remain empty, " she remarked in a voice that purred like 47 Packard sedan. "Listen sister, I know a lot of holes that need filled. Why didn't you report it to cops?" I shot back. A dark pallor washed over her face. "The cops mustn't know." I felt a tightening in my y-fronts at those words. I may be a flatfoot and work just this side of the law, but I don't like to be played a sucker, that is unless the suckee is wearing a jockstrap. "Look here, sweet cheeks. I'm going to give it to you straight and hard. Either you spill the load, or you get yourself another boi." With that her eyes got all misty and those pretty little red lips all pouty. She pulled a hanky out of her purse and dabbed at her eyes. "We, we, we got a ransom note. They said if we called the cops, they'd kill daddy" Now it became as clear as glass filled with mineral oil ready to be used for a rubdown. Daddy, as she was called, ran a chain a lady's clubs in Castro, where the girls could stuff dollar bills into the empty jockstrap pouches of the go-go tomboys who perambulated along the stage and for a half a saw buck more traded in the backroom would give a lap-dance to anything in a skirt, or in my case, a three piece suit. Feeling my resistance drop to below sea level, I offered a deal. "Yeah, alright all ready, stop your blubbering. It'll be a 100 clams to start." She got up and walked over to my side of the desk. Reaching between her breasts, she pulled out a roll of twenties; counted out 5 Jacksons then stashed the rest back in their nest. Bending down to kiss me, her hand made its way down to my trousers, where she unzipped them and then stashed the currency in the fly of my y-fronts, as she ran one of her long red nails along the lips of my vagina. My vision cleared and my head stopped spinning like the beacon top of lighthouse leaving me with a clitoral erection I could pound nails with. "Here's my card. You can call me at Mayfair 2176" she purred. With that she mamboed back to the door as I stared into space. Recovering my composure, I planned my next move. If anyone knew the oriental black-market, it would be my acquaintance Won Huong-Lo, He ran a gay Chinese restaurant, gym and rub joint just outside of Chinatown. He had a finger in everything behind the scenes and was so cheap that if there was a quarter in San Francisco bay he'd drop his mother in it and tell her to hold her nose and if she came up covered in seaweed he'd dump back in to get fish for sushi while he went to get rice. Pausing only long enough to stuff a dufflebag with a jockstrap, trunks and a t-shirt so I could make some contacts in the gym, I headed out and hailed a cab. ----tune in soon for the next chapter in the The Case File of Cindy Masters, Dyke Detective Cindy Masters, Dyke Detective Ch. 02 This Episode: A Chance Encounter - Part Two Masters is the name. Cindy Masters. I'm a detective. I get $50 a day and expenses, $75 if I can get it. I got to Won Huong-Lo's and ordered a bowl of chop suey. Won was a chubby looking guy with a basket between his legs that resembled a hamster munching on carrot, a sight that made me give thanks for the fact that at least I can pick and choose the contents of my Fruit of the Looms. As I sat there chasing some rice around the plate with my chopsticks, Won came out of the kitchen. A trail of the steamy smell of overcooked chicken followed him. "Ah, Masters, so nice to have you back in my establishment again," he said with a mouth full of teeth that looked as if they had never learned how to line up in formation. "Cut the crap, Won, I'm here on business. Your boy over there said that you wouldn't see anyone unless they order a meal. Is this part of your new plan to poison all of San Francisco," I spat. Won looked at me with disapproval "Pity your attitude there my boi, I always though that you were a person of higher quality" The chop suey began to congeal in front of me. "Look, fat boy, I need some answers. What do you know about certain articles of antiquity being sold on the black-market?" "Ah, masters, your turn to cut the crap, for surely you mean the Dexterous Dildo of Denmark," he observed. The thought of the fake phallus and its appeal yielded an almost Pavlovian response of slickness in my y-fronts. "Alright, so that's what I'm looking for, so what do you know?" "Masters, my boi, have you forgotten that I don't ever know anything without a gratuity," Won replied with a smirk on his face. "You are one cheap SOB," I shot back as I tossed a twenty at him. As he held it up to the light, I snorted at his mistrust. "Don't worry, its real!" "I hope so. Some of the ones I've been getting lately have been about as genuine as those rubber cocks you stuff in your jockstrap or in certain other mysterious places when you play hide the meatless sausage," he stated with a smirk. I reached over and grabbed him by the neck and his eyes began to pop out like the nipples on a drag queen's false tits. "My cocks and their hiding places are none of your business buster" Won began choking "Alright, enough. Seems that I just overheard some discussion back in the weight room trying to sell it off to the highest bidder" "What about a ransom for it?" I queried as I let him back "Oh it's gone way past that. This dildo is far too hard to hold onto. The culprits want to get rid of it as soon as possible," he pointed out as he gathered his composure. The air was getting heavy. I lit a Lucky Strike and I loosened my tie. After taking a long suck on it I tried to stroke him for more information. "And what else?" "What do mean what else?" he answered. "I've told you all that I know!" "For that I paid 20 bucks. You ougtha be strung up" as I raised the back of my hand to him to slap him. Won drew back. "Wait!" he exclaimed as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "There's a man in the weight room. He's making a deal." I lowered my hand and pushed away the chop suey. "That's more like it" I leaned forward. "Who's the man?" "Harry, the Banana, Bowles" Upon hearing the name, the vaginal wetness I had felt earlier from talk of the dildo dried up like a swimsuit left to hang on a cactus in Death Valley. The hairs on my vagina stood on end in my y-fronts. For the first time in this case I concluded that maybe I should have gone to Fire Island for the winter. The Banana liked his men, and he liked them big. This was one time that I was glad that I had a selection of packie-penises for all seasons in my duffel bag. I pushed back my chair, grabbed my sack, and turned to head to the gym in the back of the eatery. "Masters, one thing" Won yelled. "What" I barked "You'll need this for protection," he said as he tossed me a packet containing a rubber. "I squinted at him, what make you think I don't carry my own" I asked. "Its on the house." He laughed. "Oh and Masters, that'll be $1.25 for the chop suey." As I walked through the door to gym area, I could smell the musky scent of masculinity. It made me wish I could bottle it and splash it on myself every morning. A cute twinky boy walked along the lockers and the sight of him reminded me of a tomboy-girl I had once bought a strap-on for back in Havana. Approaching a locker I stripped down to my undershirt and y-fronts. Making sure that no one was around, I whipped off my y-fronts. I reached in to my duffle bag and pulled out my jockstrap. Fishing in the pocket on the side of the gym bag, I selected the good old Super Chief Streamliner. Eight inches of ersatz phallic delight all made possible by advances with rubber during the war. As I set my cock on the shelf of my locker, I thanked my self for having saved scraps and planted a victory garden during the conflict. I quickly pulled the jockstrap up my legs and nestled my not-so-little rubber friend in the pouch, positioning the balls at the bases of my labia, and dressing my new cock to the right. After adjusting the straps of my Bike #10 jockstrap around my ass cheeks, I pulled on my trunks and a t-shirt, followed by my gym shoes. The latch on the locker door wouldn't catch so I closed it and hoped for the best. As I walked into the weight room, I conspicuously adjusted my willy making sure that The Banana noticed. The atmosphere reminded me of how it must feel to be a hotdog vendor at the ballpark on opening day. I sat down on a weight bench and spread my legs. ----tune in soon for the next chapter in the The Case File of Cindy Masters, Dyke Detective Cindy Masters, Dyke Detective Ch. 03 This Episode: A Chance Encounter - Part Three Masters is the name. Cindy Masters. I'm a detective. I get $50 a day and expenses, $75 if I can get it. I lay back on the weight bench and placed my feet behind the leg brace for a few chest flies. My eyes darted about the room like a fly looking for a warm beer. Glancing down between my legs, the mound made by the Super Chief Streamliner dildo I was packing in my jockstrap reminded me of a similar offer another dyke up in Berkeley had made to me last Saturday night. I scribbled a mental note to call her up and reciprocate with my packaged goods this weekend. The Banana took notice and he turned to his bodyguard and nodded before giving him the am-scray sign. As the bodyguard exited, the twinky boy I saw in the locker-room earlier entered and began gathering up the sweat soaked towels tossed around the room. Figuring he was only there like a patron on free dish night at the Bijou, I turned my attention back to the Banana. As I worked the dumbbells, the Banana approached me, and I felt my nipples harden and strain against the Ace bandage I had used to flatten down my breasts. As he got closer, I remembered that I needed to reply to the invitation I had to judge the exhibits at the Sausalito Snake Farm. My vagina began to tingle at the point where the straps of my jock met the pouch and I closed my eyes and growled. My juices began to flow and he grabbed my simulated cock through my trunks, its obscene profile resembling an antenna that I wished was telegraphing "here pussy pussy" to a furry lost kitten. Standing between my spread legs, the Banana leaned forward. He licked his lips and I felt the balls of sweat dripping from his forehead bounce off my chest. "Hey boy, you looking for some action" he asked, his voice toned with the smoothness of a fine Russian vodka. I moved my knee between his legs and began rubbing with my upper leg. The friction softened his hard profile but had the opposite effect on the contents of his trunks as he pulled me up to kiss me. Kissing men is not something I relish, but detective work is a dirty business, and this wasn't even dirty in a good way. His breath smelled of stale Old Gold cigarettes and as his tongue thrust into my mouth I felt like I had switched from my Lucky Strikes to the cheaper brand. I knew the only way out of this was to thrust back in some other way, so I inched my fingers up his left thigh and inside the leg opening of his trunks and began to stroke. As I did, he moaned in tones that told me that his resistance was low. "I heard you can tell me where a certain person could get their hands around a certain dildo" He reached down and placed his hand over where my hand was massaging his jockstrap-covered treasure. "What would a guy like you want with one of those when you can have a meal like this?" I gave his testicles a little squeeze. "Let's just say my interest is purely educational. As far as that feast goes, I have as much interest in the eggs as well as the ham" As I stroked him, his breathing took on the rhythm of the gusty breezes on Catalina Island, but given the aroma, only if it had moved to Secaucus New Jersey. I felt the skin of his scrotum being to tighten like a sack of Sun-Maid Prunes. "Perhaps you'd like to attend a little educational social gathering at my hideaway this weekend. I can guarantee you an all you can eat buffet of eggs and ham" I knew was about to spill the soup so I leaned forward and changed from being in Helen Keller mode to let my lips do the talking rather than my fingers. "Where might this high class affair be found?" I inquired. The Banana's eyes rolled back and he softy spoke "Its at Four Forty Two Glen..." he began, the street address suddenly cut off as his body guard burst back into the room. "Boss!" he cried out. "That dick is a dyke!" A gunshot rang out and the Banana cried out in a combination of ecstasy and pain. My first thought was "Damn, I'm good", but then I realized that the Banana was now sporting a hole between his eyes. I turned to look behind me and caught a glimpse of the twinky towel boy. That glance was the last thing I saw as I felt my head make contact with the butt end of a pistol that came crashing toward it. I fell sideways into a wet sticky puddle of blood before slipping into darkness. This was definitely not the type of dark, wet, and sticky I had in mind. When I came to, the Banana lay on the floor covered in a left over from Macy's white sale. The tent made by the peak at the mid-section either meant he was just as horny in death as he was in life, or that I hadn't fully done my job. Closing my eyes, I rolled over. As I squinted, my nose came in contact with a scuffed pair of Roblee oxfords. A gruff voice penetrated my ears like a sandpaper Q-Tip. "You really did it big this time Masters" It took a second for it to filter through the pounding drum in my head. It was Sgt Walters of the 32-nd precinct. "Oh Goody, Walters of homicide. Shouldn't you be out investigating the man who murdered fashion by selling you that $24.95 suit? Do you get two pair of pants with it or one?" "Funny Masters. Very Funny. You oughta get a job on Milton Berle's TV show. I heard he goes for dress up acts. What happened here? You and lover boy have a spat over where the best place was to hide sausages. I thought that wasn't your style." "Look buster, you work your side of the street and I'll work mine. He was about to dump the goods about a case when someone sent him down the tracks on a lead encased Southern Pacific freight train to coffin-ville before helping me cure my insomnia." I stood up, my legs as rubbery as the faux contents of my jockstrap, contents that survived the mini D-day that had just taken place. Real quality that Super Chief Streamliner dildo. I began to focus enough to shunt Walter's droning on to the back of my mind. I noticed that both the twinky towel boy and the Banana's bodyguard where missing as if the scriptwriters had forgotten to include them. Re-tuning my set, I look at Walters. "That's real good Walters, youl find whoever did this dastardly deed. Maybe you'll make General or whatever is next up the ladder and can afford a real suit. In the meantime, I have a dildo to hunt down." "Just like you people, always thinking about sex" Walters replied. I turned to him as I opened the door to the locker-room "Maybe if you thought about it a little more, you wouldn't shake hands with unemployed every time you pee'd" It was time to pay a little visit to the Golden Slipper, a drag bar near the pier. As I got dressed I figured I'd head back to my office for a shower and a clean pair of Y-Fronts. Mother always warned me to wear clean underwear in case I was in an accident. I don't think she meant men's underwear, though. An itching in my crotch told me I might get lucky with one of the girly-boys, an event that they might see as an accident. My head had been split enough for one day, so I made a note to stop at the drugstore for a bottle of Anacin. The cool night air slapped me back to full senses like a splash of Bay Rum on your cheeks after you stroked them with a Gillette Blue Blade. A 1948 Hudson Commodore Sedan crept along the curb before stopping along side of me. It was my client, Miss Cantaloupes. "Get in" she purred ----tune in soon for the next chapter in the The Case File of Cindy Masters, Dyke Detective