0 comments/ 23495 views/ 7 favorites Clue Ch. 1 By: T.R. Murphy The first thing I noticed was his cock. It was huge. Nice, plump, and long. Just like I like 'em. Still firm, too. Still hungrily pointing skyward. I like 'em like that, too. The second thing I noticed was that he was dead. I'm not proud it took me a second to figure it out. It's my job to be observant, so I'm a little ashamed my eyes were naturally drawn to his schlong first. Even the best of us get distracted. My name's Marilyn McCoy. I'm a private dick. Don't ask me how I got invited to the party. I'll be damned if I know. I didn't even know the guy, but when I received the invitation I decided it couldn't hurt to liven up my social life a little. Being a private investigator doesn't leave a lot of time for romance. You have to put in long hours, mostly in your office, waiting for someone to walk in the front door with fistfuls of money and a case for you to crack. I log twelve office hours a day. But the only fistful I've had the past few months is my own, holding a big black dildo that I spend an obscene amount of time slipping into my crotch while waiting patiently behind my desk for the door to open. That's what I was doing when the postman slid the engraved invitation under my office door. I'd like for him to slide me something else, but I guess I'll have to wait until I have certified mail or a package…something I have to sign for. Then I can answer the door in my detective uniform, the one I wear around the office…trench coat, yellow fedora, crumpled white shirt and tie…and nothing on below the waist. Aside from the occasional strap-on vibrator. "Mr. Boddy requests the pleasure of your company on Saturday the third of October," the invitation read. "Please wear your finest. We will be celebrating the upcoming Broadway premiere of the young ingenue Ms. Scarlet, and you may be assured it will be an evening to remember." So, slightly ashamed that I wasn't able to dry clean my trench coat, I ironed my white shirt and showed up on the front door of the Boddy Mansion, trying to get used to wearing pants and hoping for an evening to remember. Mr. Boddy definitely didn't disappoint. The power had gone out well before I had a chance to muscle my way into any party conversations, and when the lights came back on, our host had rather rudely died on us. Butt naked at the foot of the stairs. "Damn shame," I sighed, bending over the body and looking at that fabulous cock. Mrs. Peacock had found the body, and her screams had brought the rest of us from the lounge. Colonel Mustard had taken up the challenge of trying to comfort her. She was wailing hysterically. "There, there," he said. "Chin up, my dear." "Oh my God, Oh my God, he's dead, he's dead," she squealed, dabbing at her eyes with a blue handkerchief. She was the kind of woman that liked to look older than she was. I guessed she dyed her hair gray to look more mature. Hiding underneath her garish outfits, wrapped in scarves, frilly hats and veils, I couldn't imagine she was more than thirty. But from what I'd overheard, she'd already been through four husbands. Part of me was suspicious. The other part of me understood that constant, unrestrained exposure to tits like hers could kill any man. Colonel Mustard was a hearty slice of beef, big, barrel-chested, and manly. I'd heard he'd spent a lot of time in Africa. Maybe wrestling lions, maybe porking native girls, I never got the details. Before the evening went south, I was thinking about reaching into those yellow khakis of his and taming his wild beast. I certainly would have liked to feel that bushy mustache of his tickling the inside of my thighs. "Is he dead?" Professor Plum asked, adjusting the glasses on his nose and peering over Mr. Green's shoulder. A nerdy guy, dressed in purple. My first thought was that he was a queer, until I saw him eyeing Mrs. White's cleavage while she served drinks. Then I noticed he had big hands and big feet. It's always promising if a nerd is well hung. They always work harder in bed. "I think so," I said, still unable to take my eyes off Mr. Boddy's thick prick. I was thinking about grabbing it, just to get the feel of it before it collapsed forever, but that would be in very poor taste. I am a professional, after all. "Where are his clothes?" Mr. Green asked, straightening his tie. Not everyone can wear lime, but Mr. Green managed to pull it off. He looked like he was wearing an emerald Armani. And silk, no matter what color, always turns me on. "That is a mystery, isn't it?" I said, tearing my eyes away from the organ occupying my imagination and trying to get my brain in gear. "He's hung like a bull," Mrs. White said breathily. "An excited one," she added. Mrs. White was the new maid at the Boddy mansion. She had taken over the job from her mother. She was nineteen years old and her French maid uniform took advantage of every smooth curve and sleek muscle she had. I wished I was nineteen years old again. I never needed a dildo when I was nineteen. I nodded in agreement. Her observation was making it hard for me to get down to the business at hand. "Where's Ms. Scarlet?" Professor Plum asked. We looked around. She was nowhere in sight. "Oh, that fiend!" Mrs. Peacock cried. "That flagrant little hussy is a murderer!" Colonel Mustard nodded decisively. "We must find her at once!" "I think I saw her going upstairs earlier," Mrs. White said, her eyes still riveted hungrily to Mr. Boddy's soon-to-be-defunct cock. "With Mr. Boddy," she added. "We'd better look," I said, standing with a regretful sigh. I took one last look at Mr. Boddy's heavenly hose. "It would be a shame to let a crime like this go unpunished." "Upstairs, then," Colonel Mustard shouted valiantly, marching over the corpse and up the oak staircase. The rest of us followed. At the top of the stairs, a long hallway of ornate wooden doors leading to countless spare bedrooms stretched before us. "Check each room," I said. "She could be anywhere." I turned to Mrs. White. My eyes fell to her cleavage and I forgot what I was going to ask her. I wanted to bury my face in those tits, but I fought the urge. I am a professional, after all. "Yes?" Mrs. White asked innocently. I snapped out of it. "Which one is the master bedroom?" I asked. "At the end of the hall," she said, nodding to the impressive double doors. As the others twisted knobs and peered into darkened rooms, I strode past them and flung open the master bedroom doors. On a huge four poster bed in front of me, Ms. Scarlet was securely trussed and gagged with a rubber ball, lying on her belly with her wrists tied to her ankles. She was still wearing her crimson thigh highs. Being a naturally observant detective, however, my eyes were instantly drawn to the candlestick poking provocatively out of her ass. Mrs. Peacock spotted the bound girl, too, and screamed. The others came running. "Good lord," Colonel Mustard gasped. I stepped forward, looking down on Ms. Scarlet's back and bottom. The tiny muscles of her back were adorably sexy, sexy enough to get me a little moist. I noticed a little thick white cream oozing out of her butt around the candlestick, and, in spite of the fact that I am a professional, I dabbed it with my finger and tasted it. KY and cum. Mmm. I noticed the rest of the guests staring at me. "I'm an investigator," I explained defensively. "This is what I do." They bought it. I popped the bright red ball out of Ms. Scarlet's mouth. It was slick with warm spit. I was tempted to yank down my pants and roll the wet ball over my clit, but I'm a professional, remember, and I fought the urge. If the others weren't around, though, the less principled side of me might well have taken advantage of the striking redhead's position. I'd make damn sure she put those ruby red lips to good use. "Exactly what the fuck is going on?" Ms. Scarlet spat, not sounding at all happy to be rescued. "Have you been…" Professor Plum looked flush with excitement, "raped?" he finally squeezed out. I suspected his trousers were getting tight. "No, I haven't been raped, you pig-headed, purple-wearing penis." I untied her hands. She reached back and unceremoniously plucked the candlestick out of her butt. I heard a soft pop. "But I am kind of anxious to finish what I started. Where's Boddy?" "You and Boddy were…" I nodded at the candlestick she was holding. "Yes," she said angrily. "We were." She looked at the greased candlestick. A look of relief passed over her face. "Good thing he didn't light this thing before he left," she said thankfully. Mr. Green stepped forward and sat next to her on the bed. "Ms. Scarlet," he said regretfully, putting an arm around her shoulder. "I'm afraid I have some terrible news. Mr. Boddy is..." He paused, casting his eyes downward. He looked like he was trying to work up the courage to say it, but I knew better. He was checking out Ms. Scarlet's firm, melon sized tits. The slick ones always know when to snatch a look. "Mr. Boddy is dead," he said finally. "Oh no," Ms. Scarlet said softly. Tears welled up in her eyes. "Oh no," she said again. She started to sob. Mr. Green pulled her close, and patted her smooth, tanned thigh comfortingly. I eyed Ms. Scarlet's delectably trimmed snatch, and noticed she had no tan lines. I always wanted to go down on a starlet. "We have to get the police," Colonel Mustard announced. "No one can leave," Mrs. White hesitantly stated. "What do you mean, girl?" Colonel Mustard asked, outraged. "A man's been murdered. We have to leave." "But the front gates are always locked after seven," Mrs. White said softly, trembling a little. She looked demure and small as Colonel Mustard glared at her. "Where's the key?" I asked. "Mr. Boddy usually keeps it," Mrs. White said. "Keeps it where?" Ms. Scarlet asked, wiping her eyes and catching her breath. "In the front pocket of his pants," Mrs. White admitted, lowering her head. "I'm beginning to see the problem," Professor Plum mumbled, tapping his lower lip. "What about phones?" I asked. "Mr. Boddy didn't believe in phones," Mrs. White told me. "They would always ring at…inopportune times." "Then there's only one thing to do," I said. "What's that?" Colonel Mustard said. "Solve the case," I announced. "And I'm going to do it. From this point on, I'm in charge of this investigation and of this household. Nobody goes anywhere or does anything without checking with me first. By the time help arrives, we'll know who did it. And we'll have them roped up as tight as Ms. Scarlet was a few minutes ago." There was silent agreement in the room. I realized it really was going to be an evening to remember. Clue Ch. 2 Now that I'd declared myself in charge of the investigation, it was time to get down to business. I pretended to be completely uninterested in Ms. Scarlet's impressive tits and my own moistening crotch. "We need to determine where everybody was when the power went out," I said. "Colonel Mustard and I were in the conservatory," Mrs. Peacock said. "I left to see if I could find anyone else, the Colonel went to see if he could find the fuse box, and when the lights came on…" She shuddered at the memory of finding Mr. Boddy's corpse at the foot of the stairs. I shuddered at the memory of the gargantuan prick that was now officially out of service. "I was in the kitchen," Mrs. White said, her voice trembling a little. "I was perusing some volumes in the library," Professor Plum chimed in nervously. "I was shooting some pool in the billiard room," Mr. Green said. Ms. Scarlet didn't need to tell us where she was. We'd found her in the bedroom, tied up tighter than traffic to the Hamptons on a summer weekend, face down, tits smashed underneath her, and a candlestick poking out of her ass. I allowed myself another shudder. "How long were you tied up?" I asked her, keeping my eyes locked on hers. It wasn't easy. Her trimmed snatch was screaming for a good look. "Not too long," she admitted. "Mr. Boddy usually finishes before I do, so he uses the occasional foreign object to help me cum. The candlestick's about the right size to put me over the top. I like the feel of it. It's ribbed for my pleasure." The room contemplated Ms. Scarlet's pleasure for a few happy moments. "Plus, it's almost as big as he is." She proudly batted her eyelashes at me. "He's a little…large, you know." I nodded. I knew. I couldn't stop thinking about it. "So he put the candlestick in and went off to look for something the right size and shape for my pussy. Next thing I know, the power goes out and…" Now it was her turn to shudder. Her breasts jiggled. And that was enough to make me shudder. I realized I'd have to make a concerted effort to stop this shuddering business. "But he fucked your ass first, right?" I asked. These were the kind of hard hitting investigative questions I like most, but almost never get to ask. "Oh yeah," she nodded frantically, as if the idea of anything else was preposterous. "He loves to fuck my ass. And I love it, too. There's nothing like feeling that rocket of his explode in my butt. Sometimes that alone is enough to make me lose it." Mr. Green was still sitting next to Ms. Scarlet, comforting her. I noticed her candid conversation was returning the favor, in a big way. Mr. Green's pants reminded me of a circus tent. "But how was Mr. Boddy killed?" Professor Plum asked me. "What do you mean?" I asked. "What were the circumstances of his death?" he asked. "What murder weapon was used? Was the body moved? Were there any clues as to who may have perpetrated the crime?" "Well," I said, trying to remember something. Anything. "For God's sake woman," Colonel Mustard stated loudly. "You did examine the body, didn't you?" "Oh yes," I said. "I examined the body." I could still see that beautiful cock, straining skyward, practically moaning for someone to wrap their fingers around it. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember much else. "But," I said, "We should probably examine it again. I'd hate to jump to conclusions." Then, almost on cue, the power went out again. Mrs. Peacock let out a piercing scream. I could hear a lot of commotion as people scrambled for safety in the dark, all of them knowing they were trapped in a pitch black room with a murderer and none of them certain they weren't next. "Ms. McCoy," I heard a voice whisper. A warm hand took mine. "Come with me." I allowed myself to be blindly led through the inky blackness. I heard the soft whoosh of a panel sliding open and I breathed in some musty, dank air. My guide pulled me through twisting passageways, down stairs, and through another panel, but I couldn't see a thing. There was a sputter and a flash of flame, and I saw Mrs. White's heavenly nineteen year old face hovering in the darkness. She was lighting a candle with a match. When some brightness finally illuminated the room, I noticed we were in the kitchen. "How'd we get here?" I asked. "There are secret passageways," Mrs. White explained. "All through the house." "Why did you bring me here?" "I didn't think you were safe," she said. "One of those people could be a murderer. If they think you might catch them, there's no telling what they can do to you in the dark." "Right," I said, studying Mrs. White in her French maid uniform. I could think of a few things I wanted her to do to me in the dark. "Do you want me to get you something to eat?" she asked. "I've got some vanilla cake. It's freshly made." "Sure," I said. "Anything to drink?" she asked. "Got whiskey?" "No," she answered regretfully. I looked around. "What about cooking sherry?" I asked. "I'm not picky." "Yes," she said, unconsciously nodding to a cabinet. "Good," I said, grabbing a wine glass off the bar rack and heading to the cabinet. "I'll get it for you, though," Mrs. White shouted quickly, but too late. I opened the cabinet and my eyes immediately fell on the stacks and stacks of photo albums. "What are these?" I asked, picking one up. "Nothing," Mrs. White said, behind me and sounding a little desperate. I opened one up. My nipples hardened. There was a Polaroid of the late Mr. Boddy, who, in the photograph, was very much alive. He was sitting on the toilet in the master bath, beating his ample meat, apparently unaware he was in pictures. "Nice pic," I said. I turned the page. Another Polaroid, Mr. Boddy toweling off after a shower. Another, Mr. Boddy getting dressed, taken before underwear covered up the good parts. Another good jack off pic, Mr. Boddy on the bed, shooting an impressive stream of cum into the air. My mouth was dry as I reached for another book. A little hardcore action. The female participant's face was cut out of the photos, but I could tell by the crimson stockings and ample attributes it was Ms. Scarlet. "When we found the body," I said, flipping through the pages, "you led me to believe you'd never seen Mr. Boddy naked before. You sounded surprised at how big he was." "I'm always a little surprised," Mrs. White said quietly. "But his cock is the only one I've seen, so I'm not sure." "What do you mean?" I asked with shock, finally turning away from the pics to look at her. She was standing by the sink. I noticed, with dread, that she was holding a knife in her hand. She had a faraway look in her eye that I might have liked if I'd been watching her get fucked. But she wasn't getting fucked. Naturally, I was a little nervous. "I'm a virgin," Mrs. White said softly. "You never-" I pointed to the albums. She shook her head. "He never touched me. He promised my mother, when she retired, that I'd be safe here. That my virtue would remain intact. And he always kept his word." I gulped. I couldn't tell if she was angry or sad. It made it hard for me to decide what to do. She continued. "You have no idea what it's like, growing up in this house, so close to that cock." I thought I saw some tears welling up in her eyes. "No other friends, no boys around. I've been watching him through the peepholes in the secret passageway since I was sixteen. More than three years of fantasizing. When my mother retired, I figured I finally had a chance." I nodded, urging her on. I figured the more she talked the safer I was. "I started by showing up all over the house naked. I'd pretend to be surprised and ashamed, but it was such a thrill. So exciting. I expected he'd grab me and throw me down, I thought he'd force himself down my throat or my ass, like he did with Ms. Scarlet. But it never happened. So I arranged for him to catch me masturbating, so he'd know how horny I was. But if he found me in the Study, with my legs up on the desk and my fingers in my crotch, or in the Conservatory, with a homegrown cucumber, he'd just excuse himself and leave. Finally, one night I handcuffed myself to his bed. He just unlocked me and told me that he'd promised my mother he'd never touch me." "That's gotta hurt," I said sympathetically. Mrs. White nodded regretfully. "Did you kill him?" I asked. "God no," she said. "What would I do that for?" I nodded at the weapon in her hand. "What have you got the knife for?" She looked at me with surprise. "I was going to cut you a piece of cake. I thought you said you wanted some." "Oh," I said. "Yeah." I breathed a sigh of relief and let out a little laugh as I grabbed the bottle of sherry. "Do you mind if I look through these?" I asked, holding up the albums. "I'm an investigator. It's what I do." "Sure, go ahead," she said with a shrug as she deftly pressed the knife through the spongy cake. "I'm always in the mood to look at them." So, by candlelight, Mrs. White and I drank sherry and went through her impressive photo collection. "He sure did whack off a lot," I commented, studying a nice photo of Mr. Boddy in the shower, massaging his soaped up penis. "He was very sexual. Almost any time I wanted to catch him I could." "Really?" I asked. "Oh yes," she said with an emphatic nod. "I'd get naked, he'd catch me and ignore me, but he'd almost always be in his room a half hour later, feeling himself up. I guess I just didn't interest him as much as his right hand did." "I think you're looking at it the wrong way," I said, turning the page. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Maybe he was yanking on himself all the time because you turned him on," I explained. "You think so?" she asked. I sensed a little happiness. "Definitely." "That's a nice way to look at it," she said. A sweet blush crept across her face. I turned the page. "Holy shit," I said with surprise. "Look at all that cum." Mr. Boddy had produced a stunning amount all over the bathroom countertop. He looked quite relieved, thick swollen prick in hand, long, hefty strands of cum dripping from his fist. "Oh yeah," Mrs. White said. "That was just yesterday. He caught me shaving myself in the Lounge." "Looks like he liked it," I said. "Maybe," she mused, enjoying her new perspective. "Later on, I went into the bathroom…to clean. I locked the door and rubbed his cum all over me. I licked the rest off the counter." She smiled fondly. "That was a good time." "Your pussy's shaved?" I asked, changing the subject slightly. Mrs. White looked at me with surprise. "Yeah," she said. "I figured I'd tried everything else." "Let me see," I said. Her face turned bright red. "You want to see my pussy?" she asked. "Yes," I said, moving the albums. "Sit right here on the table in front of me." Being the primary in an investigation has its privileges. "Okay," she said uncertainly. She stood, sheepishly lifting her tiny skirt, and placed her naked ass on the wooden kitchen table. Her cunt was shaved so close it almost looked like it'd been polished. "Very smooth," I said, feeling it. "I like things to be neat and clean," Mrs. White said softly. I dipped my fingers in some of the frosting of a nearby slice of cake, and massaged it around her pussy lips. "Oh my God," she whispered. "Nobody's ever touched it but me." "Don't worry," I said. "You're in good hands." "I don't know what to do," she said. "You don't have to do anything," I said, leaning forward. "Yet," I added. Then I buried my face between her smooth, nineteen year old thighs. No one can give head to a woman like another woman. We know when to lick, when to suck, and when to use our tongues like a spit covered dick. The virginal Mrs. White was extremely receptive. She shuddered, she gasped, she wriggled, she twisted her tits with her hands, her ass cheeks made a sound on the table as her body squirmed. I loved looking up every now and then to see her face contorted with ecstasy. Not that it gave me a swelled head, because she didn't have anything to compare her first oral experience to, so I could have done anything and it would have felt good to her. However, even though my head remained unswelled, my crotch became unbelievably wet. Listening to orgasm after orgasm race through her body, releasing three years of sexual frustration, was enough to make the most frigid bitch send waterfalls of lubricant into her boots. And I'm about as far from a frigid bitch as you can get. I'd finally had enough, and I stood. She looked at me with disappointment. "Is that all?" she asked. "That's all for you," I said, unbuckling my pants. "Do you think you know what to do?" My slacks hit the floor. She nodded, sliding off the table, anxious to return the favor. I took my place on the table and she kneeled in front of her, licking her lips. I stopped her just before she moved in to start. "Wait," I said. "If you're a virgin, why do they call you Mrs. White and not Miss?" "Mr. Boddy hated change," she said, her big blue eyes peering up at me, her lovely lips inches from my pussy. "For years he had a housekeeper he called Mrs. White. He didn't want to have to start calling out a different name." "Oh," I said, satisfied. "Okay. You can lick me now." But it was not to be. Just as I lay happily back, ready to enjoy Mrs. White's first lesbian lick job, the kitchen doors rudely burst open. I leapt to my feet. "Good Lord," Colonel Mustard cried out. "What in heaven's name is going on in here?" I wrestled my pants back on. "Do you mind?" I snapped, flustered. "I'm interrogating a witness." Professor Plum hovered behind Colonel Mustard. His eyes devoured Mrs. White on her hands and knees, her skirt still hiked up around her waist and her ass glistening from the juices she'd produced while sitting on the table. "It's Mr. Boddy's body," he said, shoving his hands quickly in his pockets to adjust himself. "What about it?" I asked, angrily buckling my belt. "It's gone," he said, looking at me. To Be Continued... Clue Ch. 3 We gathered at the foot of the stairs. I was more than pissed off. I had just been cheated out of a thorough licking by a nineteen year-old virgin. Opportunities like that don't come along every day. I hated my job. "So what do you think, Ms. McCoy?" Professor Plum asked me. "What do you think happened to the body?" "I think somebody moved it," I said grumpily. "It didn't get up and walk away." "Why would somebody move it?" Mrs. Peacock asked. "I don't know," I snapped. "What do I look like to you? Sherlock Holmes?" "You actually look a little like Philip Marlowe," Ms. Scarlet said, putting me in my place. "Only with nice tits." "Whatever," I grumbled, secretly flattered. The interlude with Mrs. White had put me in a decidedly lesbian frame of mind, and Ms. Scarlet was looking good. She had squeezed herself into a bright red, lacy bra and crimson panties, which covered up her naughty bits, but not by much. I could still make out her firm, gumdrop-sized nipples, still hard just behind the silk, and I was dying to pop them in my mouth. "How much progress have you made so far?" Mr. Green asked. He had one arm around Ms. Scarlet's shoulder and was holding her close, comforting her. Every time she looked away from him, he would study her cleavage. It was apparent from the lump in his trousers that she had been looking away from him quite often. "I've only just started my investigation," I said unhappily. "And it would be a lot easier to make progress if people would stop interrupting me." "You don't consider a missing body important?" Colonel Mustard asked, realizing I had been singling him out. "Not as important as questioning possible witnesses," I fired back. "How could your witness answer questions when her tongue is busy lapping at your crotch?" Colonel Mustard shouted, stepping forward. "I happen to be a professionally licensed investigator, Colonel," I announced loudly. "I have closed over two hundred cases. I have received numerous commendations from a number of state and federal law enforcement agencies. I have also personally met with the President of the United States. If you feel you are more qualified to conduct this investigation, I'm anxious to hear your thoughts." He fell silent, looking suitably chastised. "Very well," I said, grabbing Mrs. White by the wrist. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a witness to question. The rest of you should search the house for the body." I pulled Mrs. White into the kitchen with me. I shut the door and anxiously began unbuckling my belt. "Now," I said, "Where were we?" "Um, Ms. McCoy?" she asked, hesitantly watching my pants drop. "What?" I asked. "I thought you were going to ask me questions," she asked uncertainly. "Of course not," I said. "You're going down on me, remember?" "That was before," she said. "Before Mr. Boddy went missing. I really think we should find him." "God Dammit," I said, letting out a sigh of frustration. "I never should have done you first." "It's just not respectful that his body could be hidden in the house somewhere," she said. "Aren't you curious? Aren't you anxious to solve the crime? With all the credentials you listed…" "Credentials?" I asked. "What credentials?" "The licensed investigator, the commendations, the president…" "Oh," I said, dismissing my credentials with a wave of my hand. "I made all that shit up. Except the President part." My lips tingled with the memory. "Still…" Mrs. White said. "All right, all right," I said, bending down and pulling up my pants again. "We need a plan." "I'll help any way I can," Mrs. White said. "Really?" I asked, pausing at my belt buckle. "With the investigation," she added. "Right," I said, pulling my belt tight. "There's at least one way you can help." "How?" "I need to find out who has a motive," I said. "No one's going to tell me anything. But you…with your sweet face and smooth legs and cute ass and juicy cunt and—" "What can I do?" Mrs. White interrupted. I snapped out of it. "The guests might be more willing to open up to you. You could ask the questions and I could watch from the secret passageway. From the same place you took those pictures of Mr. Boddy." "Okay," Mrs. White agreed. "Where do we start?" "Show me how the passageway works," I said. She took me on a brief tour, showing me which way to walk, where the peepholes were, and where to get a clear view of each room. To practice, we watched Professor Plum pour himself his umpteenth cocktail of the evening while perusing volumes in the library. "He doesn't look too interested in finding the body," I noticed. "Maybe he already knows where it is." "Maybe," Mrs. White agreed. She was very close to me in the tiny passageway. I could smell her perfume, and feel her breath on my neck while she peered over my shoulder. "He's been drinking and he's alone," I continued. "Definitely the best person to start your investigative career with." I turned to Mrs. White. "Sure you don't want to go down on me?" I asked. "Um," she mumbled, searching for a polite way to say no. "Maybe later?" "Okay," I agreed, deciding that would have to do. "Go and talk to the Professor. Find out what his secrets are." "Okay," Mrs. White agreed. She hurried toward the passageway exit, leaving me alone with a clear view into the room. I watched the purple-clad professor continue downing his drinks. "Hello, Professor," Mrs. White said, stepping into the library a few minutes later. "Do you mind some company?" "Ah," Plum said, looking up from his book happily. His speech was a little slurred. "The enchanting Mrs. White." He raised his glass to her. "Do come in." "Thank you," she said, entering the room. She hugged her arms close to her body. "Chilly in here," she commented. "I like to keep things cool, I get a little flushed when I've been drinking," Plum confessed. "Perhaps you could use a cocktail, as well? To warm you up?" "Sure," Mrs. White said, sitting on the sofa. "Wonderful," the professor said, getting up out of his chair. "I'll fix you one." He went over to the bar and concocted something, using several different bottles with no labels. When he turned around he was holding a rocks glass filled with lavender liquid, which he brought proudly to Mrs. White. "What's this?" she asked. "I call it the Professor's Predilection," Plum said, swollen with pride. "I think you'll like it." "Thank you," Mrs. White said, taking the glass. She took a sip as the Professor moved back to his chair. "It's been a terrible evening," she said. "That it has," the professor agreed. "I can't imagine who would want to hurt Mr. Boddy," she continued. "He was such a nice man." "He certainly was," the professor nodded. "Very generous." "How do you mean?" "Finish your drink and I'll tell you," the professor said, motioning for her to drink up. She slowly drained her glass. "Done?" he asked her. She nodded. "What did you think?" "It was very good," she said. She looked warmer to me. "How do you mean, generous?" she pressed, like a good little detective. "He used to send me videotapes," the professor told her. "Being deeply involved with scientific study, as I am, I have little time for a personal life. I simply do not have much free time to spare for romance." "I understand," Mrs. White said. She started fanning her face, as if the temperature in the room had gone up considerably. "Ironically," Plum smiled, "my field of expertise happens to be in the arena of passion, and the chemical inducement thereof, so I am often in need of research material. Material I am usually too busy to compile myself. " "What?" Mrs. White asked with confusion, apparently not catching most of the big words. Professor Plum went on. "So my good friend Mr. Boddy would send me videotapes, for my amusement and edification. They were quite informative." "So he would help you with your research?" Mrs. White asked, wiping some sweat from her brow. She looked like she was losing interest. Almost as if she was about to fall asleep. "What sort of videotapes did he send you?" "Videotapes taken around the mansion," Plum said. "Of Ms. Scarlet. And you. I certainly will miss getting those tapes." He sighed mournfully. "I hope they catch whoever did this." "My God it is fucking hot in here," Mrs. White said sleepily. "Make yourself comfortable, my dear," the professor said. I thought I sensed a crafty look creep into his eyes. "Take off your uniform," he suggested. "Yes," Mrs. White said, getting unsteadily to her feet. "I think I will." In one smooth motion, she pulled her French maid uniform over her head and dropped it to the floor. "Good Heavens," whispered Plum at the sight of Mrs. White's suddenly naked body. I agreed. She was a nineteen year-old work of art, every inch firm and fuckable. I'd only seen her shaved snatch before, but her whole was much greater than the sum of her sensitive parts. She collapsed back into the sofa, her breasts jiggling. "You were saying?" Mrs. White mumbled dreamily. "Um, yes, I was saying," the professor stammered, trying to regain his line of thought. "About the videotapes, yes…they featured you and Ms. Scarlet, in various stages of undress." His eyes ran all over Mrs. White's body like a track runner on amphetamines. "Delightful footage of Mrs. Scarlet, sucking, fucking, objects inserted into her orifices…" he cleared his throat. "But I must confess, I was especially charmed by the prodigious amount of material that featured you masturbating." "Masturbating?" Mrs. White asked quietly, eyes half closed. "Yes," Plum continued. "Very pure and sensual. Most arousing." "I like to masturbate," Mrs. White confessed. Eyes closed, she smiled, recalling some fond memories. Then she decided to make new ones. Her thighs, wrapped in ivory stockings, slowly slid open and her hand lazily drifted toward her cunt. From the peephole, I realized she'd been drugged, and I knew I should go down there and rescue her. It was near the top on my list of things to do…right after I got my own rocks off. I anxiously yanked down my trousers and shoved a hand into my panties, hugging the wall for a good view through the peephole. "That's it," Professor Plum grinned happily, pulling at his zipper. "Make yourself comfortable, my dear." He took his stiff prick in his hand and began beating at himself. "You disgusting pig," I whispered at him, fingering my clit furiously. Mrs. White moaned softly as she humped her palm. Her free hand was kneading at one of her breasts. It was clear she either didn't care that she had an audience or didn't even know. Professor Plum stood and I got a better look at his dimensions. As I'd suspected earlier, he had a prick that any geek would be proud of. Not as impressive as Mr. Boddy's, but big enough for me to want to mount for a quick, meaningless poke. He approached Mrs. White, still whacking his meat. He leered appreciatively at the writhing body in front of him. "Very good," he said. "This is exactly the sort of experience I require for my research. Don't you agree, young lady?" "I like to masturbate," Mrs. White whispered in response. She sounded a little breathy, like she was getting close to cumming. "I like things, too," Professor Plum said. I watched him climb onto the sofa, putting his feet on either side of the masturbating girl. He jerked on his cock, the head just inches from her face. "I don't get them very often, but I do like them. Now open wide for the doctor…" I pulled up my pants with a quick curse. I couldn't let this happen, I realized. I couldn't let a half drugged girl be forced to swallow some pervert's prick, especially when I was just a few feet away and more than happy to swallow it myself. I hopped through the passageway, trying not to trip as I got dressed. I pressed the button that swung open the secret panel to the kitchen and I raced through the house to the library. I flung the library doors open. The professor was humping Mrs. White's face, his pants around his knees and his butt clenching and unclenching as he fed his cock in and out of her mouth. He looked like a horny dog fucking someone's leg. Mrs. White was far away, focusing on the activities she was orchestrating between her legs. I was about to shout out something, to put an end to it, but I could tell by the look on Professor Plum's bright red face that it was too late. "Oh God Yes," he moaned, holding Mrs. White's head still as he drove the length of his shaft down her throat. He held her there for a moment or two, her nose buried deep in his pubic hair, as he shuddered. I could see Mrs. White's throat contract as she swallowed his load. "Excuse me," I said loudly. Professor Plum looked at me with surprise, letting go of Mrs. White's head and stumbling off the sofa. "Ms. McCoy," he gasped, pulling up his pants. "How long have you been there?" "Long enough," I said, moving to the sofa to check on Mrs. White. She looked as if she might be coming to. "God," she said dreamily, holding her head. "Where am I?" A little cum dripped out of the corner of her mouth as her eyes slowly opened. "Why am I so cold?" She looked down and saw that she was almost completely naked. "Jesus!" she shouted, suddenly fully awake. She threw her arms around her body to cover up. "How did that happen?" "I'm not sure?" I said, looking at Professor Plum. "How did it happen?" "Haven't the slightest," he said, not looking very convincing. His clothes were rumpled and his penis hung out of his open fly. "Really?" I asked doubtfully. "Ms. McCoy," he huffed, insulted. "I wouldn't lie to an investigator. I am willing to do anything I can to assist you in solving this terrible, terrible crime." "Really?" I asked doubtfully again. "Really," he insisted. "What can I do?" he asked, to prove it. "Name it. Anything." I looked at his penis, now softening, almost useless, dripping some final drops of semen on his pants. "There's nothing you can do to help me," I sighed. "Not anymore." Clue Ch. 4 Later, in the secret passageway, I had to bring Mrs. White up to date on what had happened to her during her interrogation of Professor Plum. "I had his cock in my mouth?" Mrs. White asked, surprised and delighted. "Yes," I said testily. "The whole damn thing." "That's great," she said. "I always dream about sucking cock." "Me too," I mumbled. "I just wish I could remember it." "Well," I said grumpily, "I'll remember it for you." "Thanks," she said. "You don't think Professor Plum is responsible for the murder?" "No," I said. "If Mr. Boddy was sending him videotapes of you masturbating and Ms. Scarlet getting pronged up the ass, he wouldn't do anything that would stop the flow of free pornography." She looked unconvinced. "Trust me," I told her. "Pornography is very expensive these days." "So what's next?" Mrs. White asked. "I want you to continue interviewing suspects," I told her. "And here's a tip…asking questions is easier when your mouth is free of obstructions." "I'll try to keep that in mind," she assured me testily. "Lead the way," I told her. I followed as she led me up some creaky stairs. I could hear faint voices ahead of us. "That sounds like Colonel Mustard," I whispered, recognizing the deep, husky voice. "We're approaching the conservatory," Mrs. White whispered back. She knelt down by a narrow, waist-high shaft that branched off the main passageway. "If we crawl down here, we'll be able to see him from an air duct that overlooks the greenhouse." I examined the crawlspace. "Can we both fit in there?" I asked. "It'll be a tight fit," she admitted, "but we can do it." I shrugged, and we both wriggled our way in. We finally came to a grate with a view of Mr. Boddy's impressive indoor garden. Colonel Mustard and Mrs. Peacock were still actively looking for Mr. Boddy's missing corpse. I tried not to let the smell of Ms. White's perfume go to my head while I strained to hear what they were saying. "I don't have much faith in that detective," Colonel Mustard told Mrs. Peacock. "Neither do I," she agreed, lifting the foliage of a big leafy plant to see if there was a body under it. "Apparently all you need are big boobs to get a detective license these days." Mrs. White looked at me with sympathy. I dismissed her pity with a wave of my hand. "I hear it all the time," I whispered. "Now this is interesting," Colonel Mustard said, pausing at a plant that caught his eye. "What's that?" Mrs. Peacock asked, abandoning her search with a sigh. "This is a variety of bush the peasant girls in New Guinea use to concoct a love potion," Colonel Mustard said. "They grind the leaves into a paste and add it to a potential husband's drink." "Really?" Mrs. Peacock asked, studying the plant. "Does it work?" "I don't know," Colonel Mustard said. "Never tried it, myself." "I've had four husbands, and I haven't had to use a plant to snag any of them," Mrs. Peacock said. "No?" Colonel Mustard marveled. It looked like the concept of marriage was so foreign to him he couldn't imagine it coming about without some sort of hallucinogenic drug being involved. "I use my own personal bush," Mrs. Peacock smiled, and then blushed suddenly. "Oh," she said, putting a hand sheepishly over her mouth. "I'm sorry. That was quite fresh of me, wasn't it?" "Not at all," Colonel Mustard said, as if he heard that sort of thing all the time. "But it's true," Mrs. Peacock continued, encouraged by his carefree attitude. "My pussy is actually quite tight and moist." "Really?" Colonel Mustard asked. "Even after four husbands?" "I have special exercises I perform," she told him matter of factly. "To tell you the truth, I had been hoping to seduce Mr. Boddy this evening." She looked longingly at the huge conservatory. "I think he would have made an excellent husband number five," she sighed wistfully. "He would have been quite lucky to have you," Colonel Mustard told her. "I actually groomed myself especially for the occasion," she said. "Would you like to see?" "Absolutely," Colonel Mustard agreed cordially. Mrs. Peacock gathered up the hem of her dress and lifted it. Her back was to us, and all we saw was her tight, firm ass, but I could tell by the look on Colonel Mustard's face that her grooming talents must have been exceptional. "You've trimmed it into the shape of a heart," he noted, impressed. "It takes a sizable amount of care," she said. "And since I've been a widow for some time, it's very hard to go through the whole process without taking long masturbation breaks." "It's come out quite well," Colonel Mustard said. "I'm sure the old boy would have appreciated it." "I guess we'll never know," Mrs. Peacock sighed. "It seems such a shame to have all that effort go to waste. Perhaps you could fuck me." "I'd be delighted," Colonel Mustard said, gladly reaching to undo his belt. I was having a difficult time breathing. Mrs. White and I were pressed shoulder to shoulder in the small crawlspace, and my pussy was tingling. I watched Colonel Mustard pull his long cock out of his shorts while Mrs. Peacock lay obligingly down on a soft mound of moss, spreading her legs. "Listen," I whispered to Mrs. White, "I can't move my arms underneath me. There's not enough space. If you reach over my ass and jack me off, I'll do the same for you." "Okay," she agreed quickly. I slid my hand over Mrs. White's warm ass and fingered aside her panties. She was moist and ready to go. I shivered while her fingers found their way to the right spot. Mrs. Peacock shuddered while Colonel Mustard fit the length of his cock into her heart-shaped box. After a few tentative practice thrusts, he was rocking back and forth so hard I could hear the moss squishing underneath her over my own heavy breathing. "Jesus Christ," I whispered, wishing I had the space to twist my tits in my hands. Colonel Mustard was like a rutting animal, grunting and growling, pumping faster and faster. Mrs. Peacock looked surprised and delighted that she may have found someone that could wear her out. "Come on me," she demanded softly, in between high pitched gasps. Colonel Mustard groaned in reply. Mrs. White shuddered next to me, rattling the thin tin of the duct we were in. The noise broke my concentration for a moment, and I was worried we were going to be found out, but the two fucking on the floor were oblivious. Instead of giving us a suspicious look, Colonel Mustard roared like a lion. Then he yanked out his prick and sent a thick white geyser of semen shooting over Mrs. Peacock's exposed belly and hiked up dress. Mrs. Peacock panted with delight, running her fingers through his hot load, smiling with deep satisfaction. The sight of it was almost enough to make me cum, but the sound of a bloodcurdling scream coming from somewhere else inside the house stopped Mrs. White's fingers cold. "What was that?" she asked, her face pale. I looked at her with disbelief, feeling my mounting orgasm subside with the sudden lack of activity between my legs. "I don't care," I hissed angrily. "We'd better go check it out," she said, and before I could say anything to stop her, she was wriggling her way back to the passageway. It sucks being a detective, I thought, as I grudgingly followed. To Be Continued... Clue Ch. 5 I followed Ms. White as closely as I could. She was moving pretty quickly, and I was having trouble pulling my panties back into place. The scream had come from the other side of the house, and it had stopped as quickly as it had started. I wasn't sure what to expect when Ms. White flung open the doors to the billiard room. Ms. Scarlet was bound on the pool table, a cue sticking out of her ass and the eight ball in her mouth. Her eyes were closed and it looked like she was anxiously anticipating Mr. Green sinking his cock into her last free pocket. He was standing behind her, shocked at our sudden intrusion, his short fat prick inches away from performing some English on Ms. Scarlet's g-spot. I wasn't sure whether to be outraged or turned on. "Freeze!" I shouted. "Freeze?" Mr. Green asked, confused at the interruption. "You don't have a gun." "Pretend I do," I snapped. "Get off that table. Get that pool cue out of her ass." Pissed, Mr. Green hopped off the felt, his hard on wiggling wildly as he did so. He removed the cue with a sour look on his face. I held my hand in front of Ms. Scarlet's mouth. "You can spit it out, now," I said reassuringly. She did. The eight ball landed in my hand, damp with spit. "Christ," she hissed, rolling over into an Indian crouch. "Every time I'm about to get fucked somebody either gets killed or arrested." "You mean you wanted the pool cue in your ass?" I asked. "Of course I did," she said angrily. "Didn't you see how small his cock was?" Mr. Green blushed. I held up the eight ball. "How the hell did you fit this in your mouth?" I asked with amazement. "Practice," she shrugged nonchalantly. "You're sick," I said with disgust. I eyed her full, naked breasts and felt myself getting warm all over. "I like that about you," I admitted. "Well, Ms. McCoy," a voice laughed behind me. "It appears you've made quite a mess of things." I turned and found myself face to face with Mr. Boddy, very much alive, and, unfortunately, very clothed. "You're not dead," I said with surprise, stating the obvious. "No, not yet," Mr. Boddy grinned. "But because of your meddling, I may be a lot poorer. Mr. Green and I had a deal, and your investigation may have cost me thousands of dollars." "Deal?" I asked. "What deal?" "I get to fuck Ms. Scarlet," Mr. Green chimed in, "and Boddy gets to consider that payment in full for a business loan I granted a few years back." Colonel Mustard and Mrs. Peacock had arrived, staring in wonder at the newly risen murder victim. Professor Plum was close behind, adjusting his glasses on his nose to be sure Mr. Boddy wasn't a trick of the light. "Why'd you have to fake your death?" I asked Boddy, trying to keep my eyes on his face and not his zipper, which is where I wanted to look. "I had to allow Mr. Green some time to comfort Ms. Scarlet in her time of mourning," Mr. Boddy said. "Which he was doing quite well before you barged in." "With Ms. Scarlet's permission," Mr. Green said, "We could continue as if nothing happened." Ms. Scarlet shrugged. "What the hell," she said, assuming her previous position. "I started the evening as a slut, I might as well end it as a high-priced whore." "That's the spirit!" Mr. Boddy said cheerfully. Mr. Green clambered back on the pool table, and slid his modest cock into Ms. Scarlet. The look on his face changed from anticipation to sheer joy, and he began to pump his hips back and forth with bunny rabbit enthusiasm. Ms. White rushed across the room to Mr. Boddy, who was watching with undisguised interest as his girlfriend was being porked by another man. "Oh, Mr. Boddy," Ms. White said, wrapping her arms around him. "I was so worried about you." Boddy couldn't tear his eyes off Ms. Scarlet's ass cheeks, which jiggled with every thrust. "Nothing to be worried about, dear. I'm just fine." "But I thought you were dead," Ms. White said, looking up at his face. She spotted the faraway look in his eyes and followed his gaze. I watched her as she formulated a plan. One of her hands slowly crept from behind Mr. Boddy's back to his chest, and then down his stomach, and then to his crotch. Sneakily, she began massaging his cock through the front of his pants, and he didn't stop her. "Good lord!" Colonel Mustard shouted, his eyes darting from Mr. Boddy to me. "You said he was dead! I thought you examined his body!" "I did examine his body," I shrugged. "I guess I just didn't examine the right parts." I wasn't interested in having a conversation with Mustard. Watching the magic Ms. White's fingers were working between Mr. Boddy's legs was far more appealing. "This evening has been completely ruined by your incompetence!" Colonel Mustard shouted. "It doesn't look like I've ruined the evening for everyone," I said, nodding at the pool table. Ms. Scarlet was making up for Mr. Green's shortcomings with her fingers. It seemed to be working well for both of them. He was grunting furiously, sweating like a pig and slamming into her so hard the table was rocking. She was trying to hold herself on the table with one hand while using three or four fingers of her other hand to fill whatever available space she had left in her cunt. Green's eyes were fixed on his prick, pounding into her, while Scarlet's index and ring finger massaged his shaft with each thrust. And while Mr. Boddy, eyes glazed, watched his girlfriend and business associate rut like wild animals, Ms. White had slid to her knees and was cautiously coaxing his hardening prick out of his pants. "God, that's lovely," I sighed, at the sight of Boddy's hardening meat, and Ms. White's hungry eyes studying it as it stiffened with her every stroke. "This is revolting," Colonel Mustard sneered. "Shh," I said, nodding at Ms. White about to go to work. "The lucky girl's finally going to get suck it." Ms. White darted her tongue out quickly, lapping at Boddy's cock head. She glanced up at him, slightly fearful he might stop her, but he seemed content to continue watching Scarlet get her ass pounded. So Ms. White opened wide and slid Boddy's pole between her lips. My knees knocked at the sight of it. "Absolutely disgusting," Colonel Mustard shuddered. "Care to fuck me up the ass?" Mrs. Peacock offered him cheerfully, leaning over the back of a chair and hiking up her skirt. "Certainly," Colonel Mustard agreed quickly, unbuckling his pants. Breathlessly anticipating a show, Professor Plum undid his own belt, and moved to a secluded corner for some privacy and a good vantage point. Not wanting to be left out, I stripped naked and went to help Ms. White with Mr. Boddy. It was a little chilly in the billiard room, but only my nipples were noticing. Ms. White was slurping and letting out muffled moans while she coated Boddy's cock with a slick layer of spit. I stripped her down as best I could without distracting her from her task, watching her cheeks bulge as his rod slipped in and out of her mouth. She couldn't take too much of him in at once, and she had to use both hands to jerk off the long section of cock she couldn't handle. I felt a tiny orgasm tingle through me just watching her. He had finally noticed what she was doing, and he ran a reassuring hand through her silky blonde hair. She felt his touch and looked up at him longingly, letting the head of his prick pop out of her mouth while she massaged the slippery length of his shaft. "Fuck me," she whispered, and letting her lower lip brush the tip of his penis while she spoke. "Please fuck me." He smiled warmly and nodded. I helped her up and led her to the pool table. She reluctantly let go of Boddy's cock, and I lay her down on her back next to Green and Scarlet's vibrating bodies. Boddy clambered out of his pants and we both watched as his immense organ approached. "Oh God," Ms. White whispered anxiously at the sight of it. I bent down and took a nipple in my mouth, hungrily sucking at it, watching as Boddy positioned himself for entry. She gave a delighted squeal as his head slid between her cunt lips, followed quickly by his massive length. He grabbed her by the thighs and pulled her toward him, her pussy swallowing him to the hilt. With a grunt, he started to hump her rapidly, making it hard for me to keep her tit in my mouth. I climbed onto her, giving Boddy a view of my ass and cunt, hoping he might decide to dive into one or the other at some point. I hugged White tightly, pressing our breasts together, watching her face register each thrust. Her eyelids fluttered open and she saw me. She smiled blissfully. I could smell her sweet breath, the faint scent of mint toothpaste. "I want to watch you cum," I whispered hungrily. "Soon," she murmured. I kissed her, hard, forcing my tongue against hers. She exhaled into my mouth and I sucked in her breath. Then I pulled away to watch her face. Ms. White's intense look of ecstasy was enough to capture Ms. Scarlet's interest. "She's going to have a good one," Ms. Scarlet grunted, as Green continued to slam into her. Her left breast kept slapping against my bare arm. "Yes, she is," I agreed, still hugging White close to me. Every now and then I could feel Boddy's taut abdomen press against my damp pussy. Even though I wasn't getting any, I felt like I could cum any minute. Ms. Scarlet slid one of her fingers into Ms. White's mouth, who absently started to suck on it. The shrill sound of Mrs. Peacock cumming drew my attention for a minute. Her eyes were glassy as she watched the activity on the pool table, her hand a moving blur between her legs as she rubbed angrily at her crotch. She let out a few loud screeches, and I watched Colonel Mustard's fingers dig even deeper into her ass cheeks. His face contorted and I could tell by his shuddering that he was firing a wad deep into her asshole. Professor Plum was beating off furiously in a corner, a thin sparkle of sweat glistening on his upper lip as his eyes darted from one screwing couple to the next. I looked back at Ms. White, who had stopped sucking on Scarlet's finger. Her mouth went slack and a low moan started in the back of her throat and quickly turned into a howl. Her body bucked underneath me, and the sound of years of pent up frustration burst out of her mouth. Her orgasm was so intense I could feel the electricity surge off her flesh. I let her stop shaking and I waited for a contented smile to cross her face. Boddy continued his steady thrusting, still doggedly pursuing his own orgasm. "Was it good?" I asked. Ms. White nodded happily. "I'm going to make you eat me now," I told her. "Okay," she whispered. I slid up her body and planted my pussy on her mouth. She slid her hands around my thighs and went right to work. I looked down at her, and the sight of her cute little button nose buried in my sparse pubic hair made my nipples tingle. I started to hump her face. Mr. Green started to groan. "Cum on her face, you dumb bastard," Ms. Scarlet ordered, nodding at Ms. White. "I want to see some jizz." Mr. Green grunted, pulling out and awkwardly trying to find his way through the mass of humping bodies to Ms. White's head. He yanked at his modest cock until a very immodest amount of sperm jetted out of the head, onto my thigh and across the girl's face. His second and third blast didn't have the same enthusiasm, and splattered across my butt and Ms. White's belly. "I said to cum on her face, you retard," Ms. Scarlet snarled. "I've got more," Mr. Boddy grunted, pulling out of Ms. White and quickly rounding the pool table, cock in hand. "Me too," Professor Plum chirped, waddling forward. His pants were around his ankles and I wasn't sure he'd make it all the way to the pool table without falling flat on his face. He was determined, though, and managed to make it without incident. The sight of the two male hands wrapped around their cocks and whacking off over Ms. White's face sent a charge through me. Professor Plum spurted some thin, stringy goo onto her forehead, but Mr. Boddy had him beat. He sent thick white geysers gushing onto my belly and Ms. White's cheeks, making her blink furiously, afraid to get it in her eyes but even more afraid to miss the show. I had to hand it to Ms. Scarlet…it was a great idea. The pools of rich cum laying across that beautiful face sent shock waves through me. I grabbed her by the hair, pushed her face deep into my crotch, and rode her home. "Praise be to Jesus," I whispered, as I got my long awaited orgasm. It rolled through me like high tide during a hurricane. All eyes were on me as every inch of my body shuddered with relief. "Well," I sighed, after the storm clouds had cleared. I released my hold on Ms. White's head and elegantly unwrapped my legs from her face. "I won't bother anyone with my usual fee, or any of the expenses I've incurred," I said. "A job well done is reward enough." "A job well done?" Colonel Mustard muttered angrily. He was sitting on the floor, his limp cock laying domant on his thigh, looking sticky and thoroughly satisfied. "What job did you do?" he asked. "I solved Mr. Boddy's murder," I explained, running a finger through some of the cum on my belly and sticking it on my mouth, sucking on it thoughtfully while I bent down to get my clothes. "But he's not dead," Professor Plum reminded me. "Well, we thought he was when the evening started," I said, "and now he's standing here in front of us, looking pretty darn good for a dead guy. How many other detectives do you know can bring their victims back from the dead?" No one said anything, and I started mopping myself dry with my panties, wondering how to word the events of the evening on my resume. "If only every case ended up this way," I sighed, and sucked a little jism out of my damp silk underwear.