0 comments/ 22232 views/ 0 favorites Private Dick By: darkbeast Jack Cassidy slipped the depot agent a fin. "I'm sure you can get me in a sleeper on the rattler to New York." The agent quietly took the money and checked the massive ledger in front of him. Adjusting his spectacles, he tapped an entry in the book. "Well, Mr. Cassidy, we have one berth available on the train, but Mr. Gutman asked for privacy on this trip." Jack stared hard at the agent. Normally it wouldn't have been such a big deal to wait for the next train to New York, but he was paid to do a job and that job required him to be in New York as soon as possible. Jack pulled out his wallet and slapped down three big ones on the agent's book. "I cannot stress how important it is I'm on this train." With a practiced deftness, the agent palmed the bills and made a mark in the ledger. "I'm sure Mr. Gutman wouldn't mind having a bit of company on the trip." The agent made out the ticket and handed it to Jack Cassidy. Jack nodded and turned away from the counter. Taking a few steps, he stopped when he noticed a beautiful woman. She was dressed in a white jacket, which flared at her supple hips and framed her ample bosom. Her hat rested at a precarious angle was neatly pinned to her piled chestnut brown hair. Her mid-length white skirt fit tightly to her long shapely legs. She held an unlit cigarette and her handbag in one hand as she rummaged with the other looking for a light. Jack flicked his zippo and offered the flame to the damsel. She looked from the flame to his face and smiled before lighting her cigarette. She took a deep drag and blew out a white stream of smoke. "Thank you very much," she said. Jack clicked the zippo closed and tipped his hat to her. "It was my pleasure," he responded. Without another word her walked down the long corridor to the trains, swinging his small case in his hand and whistling a little ditty. On the train, the porter directed Jack to the sleeping car. Jack dropped a few bits into the porters outstretched hand. He sized up the empty compartment. Two bunks currently lifted and locked against the compartment wall, a moderately comfortable bench and a window, overlooking the milling crowd on the station platform. Jack hung up his hat and coat. Reaching into his jacket he removed his heat and slid it into his case and pulling out the Tribune. He stowed the case, sat back on the bench and flipped to check out the box scores. The door of the compartment crashed open to reveal a nebbish little man clutching a satchel to his chest. His suit was rumpled as if it had been slept in, several nights in a row. The man looked stunned as his eyes fixed on Jack. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice revealing just how high-strung he really was. Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out his deck of Lucky's. Freeing a cigarette he offered one to the man. "Gasper?" The man merely shook his head standing in the door. Jack could sense this was a man on the run from something or someone. "You might want to close the door, that's if you aren't interested in attracting attention to yourself. I'm Jack Cassidy, your bunkmate." The man stepped into the compartment, wary of Jack, but not wanting to have his back out in the open. He closed the door. "That can't be, I paid extra to be alone." "They overbooked, had no choice but to put me up with you. I'd get a refund if I were you." Jack lit his cigarette. "I take it you are Mr. Gutman?" "Sherman." "Come in, have a seat. Looks like you could use a rest." Sherman plopped himself down on the cushioned bench next to Jack and slouched. "How far are you going?" "All the way to Dodger Stadium. You?" "To the end of the line," Sherman said his voice flat. The train whistle blew three times and the train began to slowly move. Jack stood. "Looks as if you need some time to get yourself together. I'm heading to the lounge car. If you come out, I'll buy you a drink." Jack Cassidy walked through the narrow corridor once more until he reached the lounge car near the rear. The lounge car was already filled with travelers weary of the journey that had just started. Behind the bar a portly man with a handlebar mustache poured fingers of whiskey and told a few ribald jokes. Jack noticed a woman sitting at the bar. She wore the dress of a working girl, a railway can-can. Her golden tresses hung loose and her face was painted like a canvas of a Dutch Master. She rested her chin on her hand and her elbow on the bar. Her other hand absently stirred a cosmopolitan. Jack couldn't resist a pretty face, and even if she was wearing a price tag, it never hurt to window shop. "Is this seat taken?" Jack asked, setting his hand on the stool next to her. "Hello, handsome, seat yourself right down. What brings you to leave Chicago?" Jack sat on the stool and ordered a bourbon from the bartender, "and whatever the lady wants." He looked into her alert, bright blue eyes and saw the fresh faced youth from some country town, beaten by the city, but not broken, yet. "I have business in New York." Her eyes sized Jack up quickly. "Family business or dick business?" The bartender brought him his drink. He lifted it in a silent toast to her and sipped. "There ain't nothing wrong with your peepers. I've got the gumshoes on; I'm a private dick. I didn't think I would ever be considered for a mafia type." "I wouldn't have thought so either, but I know Raymond the Tooth is on the train." Jack set his drink down and thought a moment. Raymond the Tooth wasn't exactly near the top of the family, but he had a street reputation. Not only was he gifted with the ladies but also he had a cast iron heart. The man could watch his own mother dance on a rope and not feel any sorrow. When Jack didn't say anything she continued. "You aren't wrapped up in that, are you? I've spent enough time in Chicago to know to stay clear of 'the Tooth' and his Bruno. Say, bo, what's your handle?" "Jack, Jack Cassidy. And what does a dame like yourself go by?" "Carmen Mars." "You work this line a lot, Carmen?" "For a year, now. Chicago to New York can be a lonely 42 hours for many men. Will it be a lonely trip for you, Jack?" Jack smiled and finished his bourbon. He noticed Carmen hadn't had but a sip of her drink since he had sat down. "You aren't much of a drinker, are you?" "It pays to keep your wits about you, or else you may find yourself planted in the railroad bed. Its good advice for anyone on this rattler." Jack looked up just as the woman in white stepped into the lounge. He heard Carmen softly declare the presence of trouble, but he wasn't paying that much attention. The woman in white had him enthralled. "Pardon me, Carmen," Jack said as he stood from the stool to approach the woman. "I'll be here," Carmen said with a high degree of confidence. Jack sidled his way over to the woman in white. "May I buy you a drink, Miss?" "Well, if it isn't my hero of the moment. I'd be delighted if you would buy me a drink. I could certainly go for a champagne cocktail." She took a seat in a booth and waited for Jack to return. "Will you join me, Mister… oh dear, I can't believe I've accepted a drink from a man I don't know. Please remedy this awkward moment for me and save me yet again." "Jack, Jack Cassidy," he said as he sat in the booth. She offered her dainty white hand to him, "Iva Vargas." Jack took her hand, not knowing exactly what she expected him to do with it and shook her fingers lightly. She chuckled. Jack looked into her brown eyes and smiled from their warmth. "Where are you off to, Iva?" "I have a cousin in Baltimore I'm going to visit. And what of yourself, Jack?" "I've got a little business to attend to in New York." "Well, then, it looks like we have some time to get to know each other. Would you like to move to someplace quieter? Your compartment maybe?" "I would love to, but I'm sharing it with a real nervous bloke, well, speak of the Nick himself." Jack looked up to see Sherman, still clutching the satchel enter the lounge car. "That's him? How fortunate. Let me go freshen up." Iva stood and walked past Sherman to the door leaving the lounge car. Sherman spotted Jack and took Iva's seat. "About that drink . . ." "I've got you covered, Sherman. Glad to see you leave." "I had to use the restroom," Sherman said. Jack signaled the bartender for a bottle and then turned to Sherman. "What you need, son, is to relax. Whatever has you this tense can't be dealt with if you have the jitters. I think I know what will help. Stay here." Jack got up and walked over to Carmen how was explaining the nature of her presence to a rube who still wasn't clear on the idea. With typical Chicago manners, Jack cut in front of the straw-chewer and set a bill in front of Carmen. "See my friend, there, he needs to relax. Go ahead and take this bottle to him, and make him feel relaxed." Jack looked at the c-note on the bar and dropped another on top of it. "Real relaxed." Carmen smiled, but only slightly. "You got it." She took the bottle he had gotten from the bartender and sauntered over to Sherman. Jack watched her fine curves. Her heart-shaped ass swaying with each step made every man gape like wolves at a chicken ranch. She settled in next to Sherman and began whispering to him, pawing him, and doing everything in her power to make him feel like he was the center of the universe. It worked, as it would work on most men. A woman who focuses her charm and intelligence against a man's ego will always win. Soon they got up and left, heading to Carmen's compartment where she would be able to keep control of the situation. Seconds later Iva Vargas returned. Jack met her near the door. "Where did the little fellow go?" "I made sure he had something to do for a few hours. Shall we?" Jack opened the door for Iva. She looked about the bar for a brief moment but then followed Jack's lead. The two walked through the narrow corridor; being compressed once as a large 6'7" black man, dressed in a tuxedo passed them the other direction. Jack looked at him for a second and then after he had passed recognized who it was. It was Quentin "Knuckles" Parker, the championship boxer accused of throwing a fight. The fact was immediately lost as he refocused on the luscious brunette walking in front of him. When they arrived at the compartment, Jack opened the door for her and she entered. "Quite a cozy little nest you have here," Iva said as she unpinned her hat from her hair. Jack took her by the arm and stepped close to her. She was a few inches shorter than he was; so she had to look up at his granite jawed mug. "I'm sure you have a cozy little nest of your own." He pressed his lips against her full moist lips and kissed her. Their kissed turned into a torrid embrace. Iva started pushing Jack's jacket off his shoulders. Clothes began dropping to the floor left and right. With a bit of fumbling, Jack was able to lower the bottom berth. He fell back onto the bunk as Iva performed a subtle striptease. She let the rest of her outer garments drop until she was standing in front of Jack in her white bra, garter, panties, stockings, and dangerous stiletto heels. Jack responded with a generic, "You are amazing." Iva draped herself onto the bunk. Jack eagerly cupped one of her breasts as he kissed her. Her nipples hardened at the slightest caress and she gasped as his thumb and forefinger rolled the fleshy nub underneath her bra. Soon, he had freed her breast and set upon it with his mouth. Within minutes he had Iva writhing. His fingers delicately stroking her clit in her panties and his mouth sucking on her large tit. A skilled hand unclipped Iva's garter from her stockings and rolled her panties down her leg. Jack kissed her breast and began kissing her delicate flesh down across her navel to her heated, wet crotch. No words were spoken as his fingers began to explore her moist crevice and his tongue found the hardened mark. She smelled of earthy gardenias, a sweet very carnal but pleasant smell. With an animalistic growl, he set upon her thick bush, lapping at her feminine ambrosia. His fingers forcefully thrust into her womanhood compelling a lustful moan from her. Jack licked from her moist hollow to her throbbing clit, several times before wrapping his thin lips around her slit and giving it a gentle suck and lick. He kept his fingers in constant motion, which translated in a constant action from her hips and waist. "Mmm, Jack, that is wonderful. Oh, god, harder, I need you, I need your cock," Iva said in a near constant stream between gasps and moans of pleasure. Jack was already iron hard. His cock needed some stimulation of any kind. With little effort, he shucked his trousers to the floor along with his underwear. Her raised himself above Iva's prone form and guided himself into her hot, moist channel. As he eased himself inside her, Iva raised her knees, clutching Jack tightly. "Fuck me, fuck me like I'm your first!" Iva demanded. Jack complied. He was enraptured by this woman - this woman that embodied all the elements of desire for him, whom he met a mere three hours before. The clickety-clack of the train against the track and occasional blast of the whistle were the only sounds heard over the grunting, moaning, and sounds of pleasure coming from Jack and Iva. The train ran through a small town, blasting its whistle all the way just as Jack brought Iva to her first orgasm. She shrieked with pleasure, her body seizing and relaxing several times. Jack was still fully aroused. He took this opportunity to set his thick penis between Iva's sizable breasts. Nary a word passed and Iva had laced her fingers over her tits letting Jack fuck her fleshy mounds. Jack Cassidy was close to cumming and Iva sensed it. She pushed him back a bit, sat up, grabbed his member and began pumping it over her mouth. The laconic detective bit down and from clenched teeth muttered, "Oh, sweet Jesus, here I come." His seminal load blew into Iva's mouth and onto her chin, a second contraction dribbled cum onto her chest. Without hesitation, Iva scooped the fluid into her mouth and gently grabbed Jack's tiring cock to lick off the excess from the tip. Sherman and Carmen entered Carmen's room. It was dark and Carmen left the lights off. Carmen led Sherman to the bench in her compartment and encouraged him to sit. Within seconds she was on her knees in front of Sherman, her hand stroking his flaccid member beneath the thin fabric of his trousers. Some life was being worked into the limp cock, but Sherman seemed focused on something else. "Do you have a girlfriend?" Carmen finally asked. "I do. Her name is Shelly, Shelly Bush." "Love her?" "More than anything." "More than getting a blow job from me?" Sherman hesitated and dropped his head. "Yes. She means the world to me. I don't know what I would ever do without her." Carmen stood and sat next to Sherman, taking his hand in hers. "Tell me about her." "She's wonderful. Optimistic, though a bit naïve," Sherman waxed romantic. Carmen listened to him tell her about the darling young girl he had met in the office who saw passed his less than charming exterior. She fell in love with the man she knew Sherman could be and that was when he knew he had to make some very dangerous decisions. "See, the man I work for, Raymond Brugella, is not a good man at all. He has been dodging his taxes for five years. I have the proof and I knew in order to be worthy of Shelly, I needed to do the right thing." "Raymond Brugella? Raymond the Tooth?" Carmen asked, alarmed. "Yeah, that is what his associates call him." "I know of him. You know he is on the train, right?" Sherman shot up from the bench. "What! That can't be! How could he have known? The whole plan is ruined!" He paced in the short compartment, fretting about his situation. Seeing him become more frazzled and how she was paid to relax him caused Carmen to slip into ultra seductress mode. Without a word she dropped back to her knees, undid Sherman's belt, dropped his trousers and took his soft penis into her mouth. Within seconds, Sherman was hard and enjoying the feel of Carmen's mouth along his long shaft. Carmen kept pumping her mouth up and down his cock, her hand gently caressing his balls, her golden hair brushing against his legs. Even in his state of distraction, Sherman couldn't hold back his orgasm. Carmen drank down his cum in a few quick gulps, not losing a drop. A few more pumps with her hand and a kiss temporarily released Sherman from his stress. The train slowed in the night to pull into a lonely station. Waiting at the station was a young woman, dressed in a beige outfit complete with a matching hat and gloves, holding a small case by the handle with both her hands. The porter helped her aboard and another took her ticket. The pretty young lady in her early twenties, reddish blonde hair, perfect hourglass figure, looked nervously about the train. She spotted another porter and asked the kind man, "If I were looking for someone, where would I begin looking for 'em?" "Well, Miss, if I were you, I'd start in the lounge. Everyone eventually finds themselves in the lounge car, it is in the back of the train this'n way." "Oh thank you very much," the lady replied. She walked to the back of the train and entered the smoky lounge car. She couldn't see whom she was looking for so walked up to the bartender. She still carried her valise with her. "Excuse me. Excuse me, sir." It took a moment to get the bartender's attention. "What can I get for you?" He asked, twirling the tip of his mustache in admiration of the virginal beauty in front of him. "Oh, nothing, I'm wondering if you could help me." "I'd love to, but I don't get off work for another two hours." "Pardon? No, I mean, well, I'm looking for a man by the name of Sherman Gutman. Has he been in here?" The bartender looked at her with a straight face even though he wanted to laugh. "Listen, Miss, I get many guys in here a night and they all look the same to me. None of them are real eager to give me their names." The woman looked crestfallen. What she didn't notice was a handsome man sitting near the bar with a large black man in a tuxedo overheard her. He stood and walked up to the woman. "I believe I can help you, Miss? Pardon me, what is your name?" "Shelly Bush." "Ah, yes, Shelly. Sherman has spoken dearly of you. I happen to know where he is. Was he expecting you?" "Oh, no, not at all. He said he might be in trouble. I was visiting my Mom and I knew what train he was booked on. I wanted to stop him before he did something foolish." Shelly looked up at the man with an amazing amount of hope in her eyes. The man waved to the large black man he was sitting with. The massive muscled man dressed in a dapper tuxedo approached. The first man spoke, "This is Shelly Bush, she came aboard hoping to find Sherman Gutman. Would you escort her to my compartment." The man turned to Shelly, "I'm Raymond Brugella, an associate of Sherman's." Shelly's eyes widened in disbelief as the hulking ex-boxer forcefully grabbed her and dragged her through the train. Few people paid any attention. Raymond followed close behind. "This is my lucky day, Shelly. You've given me the perfect bargaining chip with Sherman, and a bit more," he added with a lascivious smile. Jack Cassidy lay in bed on his back smoking a cigarette. Iva Vargas rested her head on his barrel chest listening to the thrumming of his heart. "You are quite a man, Jack Cassidy." "And you are quite a woman." Iva brushed her fingers across Jack's firm torso. "When do you think Sherman will be back?" Jack crushed his cigarette into the little metal ashtray on the wall and grabbed Iva by her lustrous brown hair, lifting her head up. "I don't recall giving you his name?" Private Dick He figured it was the same old gig. A guy comes into his office and wants a private eye to follow his wife/mistress/ girl friend. Get proof that she is cheating on him. He'd been in the PI business for 10 years, and most of all his cases were like this. There were worse ways to make a living. He has set himself up in an abandoned building across the alley from her apartment. The building is due to be demolished in a few weeks when all the permits are cleared, but that should give him enough time for what he needs to do. There are 3 windows that face her apartment, he has a digital video camera in each one all trained on her apartment. God he loves surveillance on these newer buildings! They have such large windows you can see most of the apartment without ever having to move. A voyeurs' paradise. A small smile plays on his lips. Doesn't hurt a PI either. Out of the corner of his eye he sees movement on and turns to watch as she moves across the room. Watching her walk makes a man think about sex. The sway of her hips and the swing of those long legs. It made him think about a predatory jungle cat. There is some serious pussy he thinks to himself. Her windows are open slightly to catch the slight breeze. He can hear the throbbing beat of the music she turns on. Turning towards the doorway, she begins a slow and sexy strip tease. Maybe he'll have something for his client sooner than expected. The cameras record automatically as he sits there entranced by the view before him. She is naked from the waste up and her dance evolves. She begins to fondle her breasts, to stoke her neck and stomach. A quick turn and he sees the pale expanse of her back. She slides her fingers under the elastic of her panties. Her hips and legs gyrate slowly from side to side as she guides the panties down those legs. When she is down to the floor, she straightens her legs so that she is bent over from the waist. Glancing quickly at the camera, he notices that it caught the glistening liquid between her pouty nether lips. She straightens up the rest of the way, kicking the panties into the corner. She twirls around and stands with her legs spread open. Once again she starts to sway and move to the music. Reaching down, she strokes the insides of both thighs dragging her fingers up until the touch her mound. With one hand she spreads the lips and with the other she strokes herself. She begins to twist and writhe from the stroking. Pulling her hands away she turns to the bed. She pulls some pillows down to the end and kneels on the bed with her ass facing the window he is recording from. She spreads her legs wide using the pillows to support her head and torso. Both hands reach between her legs from underneath and begin to manipulate her genitals. With the excellent quality of his equipment he can zoom in and see how her hands begin to glisten with her fluids. She shoves one finger, then two into her pussy while the other hand rubs at her clit. Taking one wet hand she reaches behind her back and inserts a finger, then two, into her butt hole. He can just hear her cries of pleasure. The tempo of her movements increases until he sees her body go rigid. Zooming in a little further he can see the cum leak out of her as she removes her fingers. He zooms back out so that he can catch more of the room. She rests for a moment before turning to look towards the door. She smiles and moves off the bed to a side table. There she opens a drawer and pulls something out. She has her back to the window for a few minutes – he can only hope that one of the other cameras is getting a better view of what she is doing. He watches as she stands and walks across the room to the oversize chair in the corner. She sits in the chair and puts both feet up near the edge. Her legs open so that her knees are way out over the arms of the chair. It is then that the object in her hand becomes clear. It is a dildo, but not an ordinary dildo. Not only in this one veined to look and feel more like the real thing, it has 2 prongs. As he watches she guides the bigger cock to her pussy and the smaller one to her ass. She keeps her eyes trained on the doorway as she pushes the monstrous dildo inside herself. She doesn't keep a regular pace in the beginning, wanting to drag it out as long as possible. It doesn't take long however, and he can see how the double penetration works her into a frenzy. She is rocking her hips and she plunges the dildo in, again, and again, and again. This time her release comes with a scream. He is rock hard. How could anyone witness that and not be? He wonders about the person there with her – the person who must be in the doorway where she directs all her exhibitions. He was baffled how anyone could witness that and not rush to ravage her. After taking a moment to recover from her last orgasm, she walks back towards the door. She tosses the dildo on the bed, next to the bottle of lube she left there. That must have been what she was doing before, he thinks to himself. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't help himself. The cameras are turned on the apartment and they will catch everything that happens. He has to relieve the pressure in his groin. Moving some steps away so that he doesn't upset any of the sensitive equipment, he releases his cock from it's prison and shoves his pants down to his knees. The shaft is completely engorged and the head is almost purple. The eye of his penis is leaking a steady stream of pre-cum and he is sure he has a stain on his pants. Spitting into his hands, one hand grabs the shaft while the other reaches below to the balls. As soon as he takes hold, the shaft begins to throb. This isn't going to take long. He rubs the palm across the tip and his hand is streaked with his body's oil. He uses his own lubricant to aide his cause. Up and down, gripping it hard. He releasing it in order to circle around the head, over the oh-so-sensitive tip. The hand on his balls can feel them lift as they ready to expel their load so he moves his hand back to the shaft and begins to pump in earnest. Within a couple of strokes he explodes with a yell. Ropes of semen spurt out landing some feet away. He tucks himself away and goes back to the equipment to make sure that the data has been downloaded onto the laptop. As he glances out the window he sees her in her window across the alley. She smiles at him, blowing him a kiss. Looking over his shoulder he realizes that he had been standing in front of a window – she had a perfect view of him while he jacked off. Face flushed he looked back to her window, but she was gone. He grinned to himself – well it was only fair after all. Private Dick She hired me to find out if her husband was cheating on her. That was easy to prove. He wasn't very discreet. Now flat on my back watching her beautiful, tight, silken cunt slide up and down on my engorged cock, made it seem pretty pointless. But I knew it wasn't about fidelity or morality. It was all about money. He had lots of it. He cheated on her. And now I had the opportunity to help take some of it away, while getting the best damn fuck of a life time. Two near perfect, melon sized breasts filled my hands. The hard little nipples dug into my palms.Between her chaotic groans, whimpers and grunts, she threw her head back and howled, screaming some variation of, "Fuck...shit...dam...ya baby...you fuck me so good...oh God, oh God." She lifted her hips off me until only her pussy lips held on to the head of my cock. Those sweet lips actually sucked on the swollen, purple head, causing me to groan, whimper and grunt myself. After teasing me for a few minutes, she slowly lowered her hips back down, and I watched my cock disappear into her warm, wet sanctum of love. "Holy crap," she whispered (the same words flashed through my head) as she fell onto my chest, crushing her huge breasts against me. "I think I've died and gone to heaven." She whispered. She held her lips against my ear. "You feel so good inside me." She began to bounce her hips rhythmically with short, little strokes. Damn! It was time to take this little bitch by the hand. I wrapped my arms around her and raised my knees forcing her legs further apart. I slammed my hips up into her driving my cock to hilt. In one, swift move, we rolled and I sprang up on top, raised up on my hands and shifted my weight to my knees. I grabbed behind her knees and pushed them to her chest, tilting her hips up and bringing her jewel into maximum exposure. My cock was completely lost inside her. "Now we're going to fuck," I said smiling down at her. She had a look of mild shock on her face. I didn't move or speak for several seconds. Then she smiled. "Well, Okay. Gallop that mule home cowboy." She let out a Yeehaw! and arched her back. I laugh as I began a slow but steady fuck, sliding my cock out, then driving it back in. I shifted her legs to rest on my shoulders and as I increased the speed of my drilling operation, one hand fondled her clit and the other hand fingered her ass hole. It was hard to believe a man would cheat on this, but lucky for me, he had done just that. "Oh shit! I'm gonna cummm," she screamed. Her face contorted with animal lust. I long stroked her as fast as I could. Our bellies smacked together, and my balls slapped against her sweet little ass. I pushed her ankles off my shoulders and she wrapped her legs around my waist, humping and bucking. A groan emerged from her throat that quickly morphed into a scream. Her vaginal juices slurped and gurgled with each out-stroke, running down around my balls and into the crack of her ass. My own lusting pressures began to build, sucking all the energy from my feet and the top of my head into a swirling vortex into my groin. I collapsed against her magnificent chest and she locked her arms around, driving her torso up and my cock in. As her teeth sank into my shoulder, my stone hard nuts shrank up into my crotch, my cock swelled in her love channel, and as my orgasm erupted inside her, I threw my head and harmonized with her scream. "I'm cummin' with you, baby," I managed to squawk out as my throbbing cock shot load after load of sperm into already soaked pussy. As I came, it sparked a second orgasm for her, and she began to bucked uncontrollably, slamming into me, crying, whimpering, cursing, and begging me not to stop. I kept driving my cock into her long after I had shot my last load just to keep pace with her orgasm. And gradually, we both slowed to a stop and melted into each other. My shrinking cock slipped out of her, and the love potion of both our juices seeped out of her cunt, dripped down passed her ass hole and soaked my office couch. We lay that way for ten or fifteen minutes, and finally she whispered, "You're a pretty good fucker." And just as I said, "You've got one sweet pussy," a key rattled in the office door lock, and Marge, my long suffering, portly, middle-aged secretary walked in, stopped cold, and stared at doll face and I on the couch. My pants were still around my ankles. Doll face's heels were locked behind my knees, and her makeup was smeared across both our faces. Marge stood there for a few moments. No one spoke, until finally she said, "Hi, guys. Don't get up." She waved her hand as she walked past the couch as if we were sitting there sipping tea. She entered my private office, and closed the door behind her. I'm going to have to fuck her some day. She's so cool, I thought as I rolled off doll face and stood up pulling my pants up with me. "Okay, sweetheart, here's the deal," I said as I put my shirt on. "Go home, act like nothin' has happened, you don't know a thing and everything is cool." I reached down and helped her from the cum soaked couch. I looked down at her sweet downy pussy and watched my sperm ooze out and run down the inside of her thighs. I couldn't believe I was getting hard again, but I thought of Marge in the other room, and junior wilted like day old spaggetti. "Here's my cell number. Call me the next time he leaves the house." She hadn't said a word since Marge interrupted our like fuckfest. Blown away was putting it mild. She turned around and bent over to step into her panties and I couldn't resist...I reached out and caressed her ass and gave it a squeeze. She turned and looked up at me, bent over with those unbelievable breasts hanging below her, and a smile finally broke across her lips. "You know Sam," she straightened up and slipped into her bra, "That was the best..." I stopped her by putting a finger against her lips. "Save it, doll face. I haven't even began to show you what I can do." I grabbed her shoulders and turned her hooking the clasp on her bra. "My tongue has received awards." I leaned in and licked her ear. She reached between us and gently grabbed my crotch. "Mine too," she whispered. To Be Continued Private Dick A rap on the glass of my outer office door woke me from a great dream. The Radio City Rockettes had finally answered my letters asking for a date. They had all showed up at once. Imagine my disappointment when our nightcap was disturbed by some clown banging on my door at 10:30 in the morning. I rolled off my couch and staggered through the doorway of my private office. I'd been sleeping there recently because my secretary and I had gone a few laps but she quit when I didn't offer her a shiny rock for her pretty little finger. Lately, she'd been hanging around my apartment building with some gorilla she claimed was her brother. I don't know maybe she said "Oh, brother." It didn't matter, I needed to stay low for a couple of weeks and find another secretary. This time I would hire one who wasn't so pretty, but could type. Most people don't bother with the formalities of a regular business once they read the sign "Hank Armstrong Private Detective." The knock came louder this time and it echoed in my head like a cannon shot down Wall Street. I wasn't in the mood for entertaining this particular morning. The city's a noisy place at night and my fourth-floor window barely kept out the rain much less the hustle and bustle of "The City That Never Sleeps," so to get some shuteye I spent the night with a friend--Jim Beam. The knock came again. "Alright, keep your short arm in your holster" I shouted. I looked at the glass door and saw a female outline on the other side. I peeked through the mail slot to make sure it wasn't my love struck secretary. The pleated wool skirt on the other side of the door was spendy. Gals sporting that kind of wardrobe weren't usually referred to as secretaries: they were called "personal assistants." I tucked in my shirt and ran my hand over my hair. When the door swung open a shapely woman stepped through and looked me right in the eye. "Are you Henry Arthur Armstrong?" When someone calls you by your full name--and it's not your mother--it's best to run. Unfortunately, I had no place to go. "Sure, serve your subpoena and close the door when you leave," I said as I turned and shuffled back into my private office. "I need your assistance, Mister Armstrong." "Hank," I corrected. Over my shoulder I waved her into my private office. "I'm in desperate trouble and I don't have any money right now... but I can get some." She tossed her hat in the middle of my desk, a sure sign she wouldn't take no for an answer, unless the question was, "have you had enough?" I fell into my chair and leaned back. Just my luck: desperate trouble and no money. Those words followed me like stink follows a hobo. I lit a smoke and looked her up and down. Even bundled up against the cold, to say this blond was "a woman" was like saying lightening "struck." My shoe black got his brains scrambled by lightening and he described it as something more convincing. Her oval face had just a hint of makeup. Any more would have been like putting lipstick on that Statue of Liberty gal. "No money, huh? 'at's my life story. So what've ya got?" She unbuttoned her coat quickly and pawed at the buttons on her silk blouse. At first I thought she had on one of those special bras that "lift and separate," except this one must've been designed to make 'em stand at attention and salute like the Soviet Premier at the May Day Parade. She undid the clasp in the front: I've always admired technology when it makes life easier. When those sisters rolled into view and didn't drop more than an inch in elevation I let loose with a long low whistle. "S'matter? You hailin' a cab?" she asked with a smirk. All those obvious charms and a sense of humor. "Nah. I thought maybe you got the wrong office. The type o' guy a gal like you looks for usually starts on the twenty-fifth floor and works his way up from there." "I know who you are. That's why I came. Consider this a down payment," she answered as she stepped out of her skirt and slip. "Okay, but you know I get a daily fee, too." With the soft rustle of silk hitting the hardwood floor she was new-born naked standing in front of my desk. "We can discuss that." She had the long slow curves of the cross-town subway, built for comfort at high speeds. The smooth expanse of her stomach and the lazy lines of her ribcage were stopped dead by her two greatest assets. They stole the show. Hell, they stole the show and the tent that it came in. This woman was so hot, raindrops would evaporate before they hit her bare skin. Directly in the middle of her shapely hips a small patch of light-colored hair showed she was honest about one thing, at least. I stood up and moved around the desk still drinking in all her charms. "Well? What're you starin' at?" I cocked my head. "It looked like you might be cold." I stopped directly in front of her. "I thought some o' me might keep ya warm." She melted into my arms. Her dainty little chin pointed at mine when she asked, "Is it a special occasion?" "Hm?" Her hands dropped to the fly of my trousers. "Well, the flag seems to be flyin' at half mast." With my zipper open she fished around in my pants like a professional pickpocket until she found what she was searching for. "Oh, my mistake. Everything seems to be in order here." I touched her cheek with the back of my fingers and looked deep into her green eyes. "Maybe you better take a closer look. You got an Inspector's License?" As she sank to her knees she cooed, "Not on me. But I wouldn't try to fool a professional." I leaned back against the desk. She didn't need the license, she could've issued the damn things. As it turned out, her old man owned some big factory in Jersey that made widgets for the war effort. Seems the old coot was making a fortune until VE Day. Now the company wasn't solvent... or something like that. Whatever she called it, it meant they were broke. To be honest, she spoke a few words while I collected my deposit but in between her moans and hissing like a cat in a street fight not much came out that made any sense. I lit a couple of smokes and offered one up to this gal who called herself Cynthia: not Cindy, but Cynthia. She was a class act, despite her enthusiasm for settling accounts up front. "Hank, last year my father married a girl a couple years younger than me and now he's gone and the company's going broke. It's more than coincidence." I nodded in agreement. It had been my experience that coincidence was a word that meant "we haven't figured out how they did it." I took the case. I figured I knew enough about my client that I'd take a chance. What the hell, I could run up the bill for a while, at least. We spent the rest of the day working out a payment plan. Come sunrise the following day I figured I'd either have to solve this case or die of a heart attack, trying. We took the streetcar over to Jersey to take a look at the plant that Cynthia's old man owned. On the way I wanted to get the facts in a straight line. "So what happened to your old man? You said he died or something?" "Damn, these seats are hard," Cynthia mumbled as she wiggled her cute little bottom. I tried not to smile. "No, he isn't dead, he's gone. Went to South America, He said 'to tie up some loose ends.' The minute he left my 'new mother,' Trixy, stepped in with some mouthpiece, took over and now the company's goin' broke." "What's your old man got in South America?" She made a face and replied, "Nothing, that I know of." I stared at Cynthia for moment. "What?" she quizzed. "Nothing. Just, you look great even when you make that face." She slapped at me playfully and squeaked a little as she shifted in the hard wooden seat again. This time I couldn't help but grin. ********** Once we arrived at the loading dock I eyed the dock apes for a minute, snapped down the brim of my fedora and whispered over my shoulder, "Follow my lead." She was already gone. I spun my head towards a chorus of loud whistles from the loading dock and there was Cynthia strutting along with more moving parts than a Swiss watch. I took in the sights for a minute myself and then put my head back to business. I got into the upstairs offices easily while that crazy beautiful blond collected catcalls like the Yankees collect home-run hitters. Offices on the corner of the building that catch the most sun are usually the best place to start any search and then I looked for the prettiest secretary to determine who was in the know and who was just a bean counter. I stuffed my hat into my hand and tried to blend in with the skinny geeks who made up the "laugh in the face of death" world of accounting. Lumbering down the hall near the back entrance I noticed a bruiser bigger than me keeping pace behind an obvious numbers wimp. I let them pass by. The pair looked out of place so I tried to fall in step behind them. Not so close as to attract attention but close enough to keep a tail on them. I overheard that a "delivery" was "scheduled." Now all I needed was a place and time. The pair headed to the elevator and I hurried to catch up. The gorilla growled, "Dah, wha' floor?" in a voice tinged with a boxer's slur. "That one," I pointed towards his feet as the door smoothly clamped shut. When he looked down I landed a shot right on his chin and the huge man collapsed in a crumpled heap. The skinny guy looked at me in terror. Pulling back my coat I let him see my .45 Colt Model 1911, leaned close to him and then I smiled. "I just wanna talk." The man's body shook like martini mixer but he was able to nod without falling down or soiling himself. I pulled the "emergency stop" button and stared directly into the man's pale eyes. "Do you know who I am?" The man shook his head. "Good." I glared at the man as I released the "stop" and stabbed the button for the loading dock. We were on our way. When the door slid open several rough necks stood in front of us. A poke into the guy's rib with my finger convinced him I would shoot him if he tried anything funny. "He's drunk," I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder at the goon lying in the corner of the elevator. "Send him home and dock him a half day's wages." The skinny guy turned slowly towards me, his eyes wide in amazement. I nodded at the dock apes and they scrambled towards the elevator to haul out the goon. "Make it a full day," I added as they flowed around us. We took a couple of more steps and were gone. Cynthia had a cab waiting around the corner. "Got what we came for?" she asked with a smile eying the scrawny man in my grip. I nodded and the car shot away from curb. ****** The skinny accountant was tougher than I expected. My hand was getting sore from smacking his kisser. The accountant had nothing important to anchor him to the world except this job so he was reluctant (I learned that word from Cynthia) to tell me why he had fifty thousand dollars in a briefcase and a first class airline ticket to Mexico City for nine PM in his coat. After a half hour Cynthia wandered into my private office and sat on my desk, crossing her pretty legs for effect. "Is it Ken or Kenneth?" The accountant didn't answer. So far, the only thing I had was his name and I got that from his wallet. "At's okay. I'll ask your wife at the inquest." His eyes widened at that. "I'll tell her you never told me about your heart condition." She slid off the desk and took several steps closer to the man. Her finger trailed a line through the dust on the edge of my desk while she put together her next sentence. "A working girl needs to know a thing like that." Her face was inches from his as she finished. The accountant was almost panting. "Hank, I don't know if he's telling us everything he knows." Her eyes stayed level with his. "Dead in the arms of a B-girl would be an ignominious end for an egg-head accountant, hm?" I swiveled my head towards her slowly. I'd have to ask her what "ignominious" meant later. "I don't know nothing," he sobbed. "I make a delivery and fly back. That's it, I swear." Cynthia pushed out her bottom lip to look at the accountant with a pout before she cooed, "Kenny, you disappoint me." Her gaze fell to mine. I doubled my fist and connected with his jaw, even though my hand hurt already. I learned everything I knew from the Waffen SS during my brief stay in a German POW camp. When they no longer had anything to teach me I snapped the necks of two interrogators and went over the fence, without a moment's remorse. "I'm afraid my friend here," she flipped her head towards me, "is probably getting tired of this. I know I am. When that happens, I'm no longer..." she searched for the correct word. "Um, no longer... amorous." I bit my lip to keep from laughing--I knew what that word meant. "And if that happens..." she dipped her head, "...then my friend, isn't happy. She shook her head slightly. With a sigh she began to pace and continued with her side of the "interrogation." "We had some carnal calisthenics this morning... and then at lunch. But he's the... active type, and if I'm not interested after dinner he might take it out on you." Cynthia stepped closer to me and touched my zipper briefly with her index finger. "Do you want this man angry with you and sexually frustrated?" She turned to face the accountant while I continued to glare at him. In all my years as a private dick the most difficult thing I ever had to do was try not to laugh while this crazy woman played the "question game" with the accountant. Cynthia was smarter and better than any woman I had ever met. Hell, she was smarter and better than most men I knew and every time she proved it I found myself growing more attached to her. For a man in my business that was trouble. But I'd been in trouble before. Once the accountant started talking we couldn't shut him up. The company was dumping fifty big ones every week into a Mexican bank that transferred forty-five to an Argentinean account with the five grand as a transfer fee. These were not front-office dealings. Cynthia convinced the accountant to deliver that week's deposit and vanish for a week or so. "Take in the sites of Mexico City," she advised with a wink. She had class with a hint of mischief, that's for sure. "Wherever you end up tell 'em Cynthia, the pretty blond from Manhattan, sent you." ********** After a look at the business license's downtown I learned that the company Cynthia's old man owned had a main office closer to Central Park than my "Five Corners" address. I needed to visit some of the important people without the boss' daughter on my arm. Especially a boss' daughter who attracted attention like a picnic attracts ants. So I asked Cynthia to find her old man's bride, while I chatted with the money players, uptown. I hung around the building's parking garage watching a shiny black Lincoln Continental sporting pristine hubcap-to-pavement white walls. That machine shouted, "pure executive." At 6:30 only one car was left: Mister White walls. I tipped the elevator operator half a saw-buck and was delivered in front of an office with a view. The door was unlocked so I wandered in. A pinstriped suit was holding up a medium-sized man with a halo of gray hair seated behind a huge desk. I ran my finger along the edge of the dark wood as I eased into his inner office. "Nice. Mahogany?" Glasses that looked liked the bottom ends of two coke bottles pointed, first, at my finger then towards my face. The man nodded. "Yes, it's Philippine. Can I help you?" There was suspicion in his voice. "Hank Armstrong, Private Detective. I represent someone who has an interest in keeping this company solvent." I tested out my new vocabulary. It must have been the right word. "All right. How much do you want?" "My client seems to think you're stealing from her," I continued. Slowly rising the man leaned forward onto his desk. "The old man's daughter needs to understand: once the shooting stopped nobody wants war products." He paused. "But moving big money is a business we can all profit from... Mister Armstrong." He pulled off his glasses to reveal beady eyes behind that thick glass: dull eyes, too greedy to reflect light. "You don't understand, Armstrong. This dough is Nazi money. They took it from the Jews and we're takin' it from them. Nobody can claim this money and there's enough for you and me and the old man's daughter." "I get an hourly rate from the old man's daughter and, frankly, I don't think you can match it." He narrowed his dark eyes before he slowly let a knowing smile crease his thin lips. "She is an extraordinary woman isn't she?" I noticed his hand drifting towards his top drawer an inch at a time. Did I want to wait for him to make a move so I could finish this here and now--save the justice department a couple of bucks--or take him down so he could become some convict's new girl friend? "If you got a piece in that drawer, use it now or keep your hands on that desk top, mister," I growled reaching to my shoulder holster to flash my .45 caliber assistant. There was a moment's hesitation in the man before he yanked the drawer open. I bounded over the desk, plowing through paperwork and lamps. My fist, filled with nickel plated Colt-made steel, connected with his chin sending him sprawling backwards over his chair and into the shutters. Inside his drawer was a two-shot .32 caliber Derringer. By the time I pulled the little piece out and turned to show him how funny that tiny pearl-handled toy looked compared to my piece, he was perched on the ledge of the open window, ready for the "big leap." "Easy, mister." I held my hands up, in hopes he might come back inside. I needed him to tell the cops the details of his operation. "I ain't goin' back to prison, Armstrong." There was a little lean backwards and he was gone. He fell forty-three floors without a sound. Several cars slammed on their brakes when he landed partially blocking the slow lane. One even honked... welcome to Manhattan, Mister White walls. ******** An old friend--if I could call any of "New York's finest" a friend--told me the dead guy in the street was a two-time convict who got to the top office by blackmailing some big shots in the State Department. Seems the only two people in the entire borough who didn't know the details of this operation were Cynthia and me. "The feds'll ask you a few questions, Hank. But I don't think anybody's gonna make a fuss about this guy being dead. They won't even have an inquest." I stared down at this dead man who profited handsomely from human suffering most people could never even imagine and lit a smoke. I jerked my head towards the legs that came away from his body at odd angles across the white lines between parking spots. "Give him a ticket fer illegal parking,too." The cop shook his head and laughed. "Go home, Hank." ********* Now I had to find the old man's wife and Cynthia. I walked through the doorway at my building and stopped in front of the elevator. In the shadows I caught the red glow of a cigarette and I spun towards it quickly ready for a fight. Cynthia stepped into the light smoothly and dropped her butt onto the marble floor. "Hey, Armstrong. What took you so long?" I relaxed when I saw her pretty face. "An old friend of yours dropped by." Riding in the cab she explained how she tailed her step-mother to her old man's apartment and I told her about Mister White walls. "Nazi dough, huh? My father must've been funneling money to the Fourth Reich in Argentina." I nodded. "I want no part of them, Armstrong. I just want my father's company." Cynthia was sharp. Even ex-Nazis play hard ball. Her father's digs were pretty classy. I was able to walk past the doorman only because I was carrying a classy looking lady on my arm. The way he looked at me: I'm sure he'd have given me the bum's rush any other day. Private Dick The hall looked empty as we approached the door of the old man's apartment and I quietly twisted the knob. Then, I saw a blue flash in my eyes and I staggered backwards. Then my head felt like an elephant had danced on my skull wearing high heels. Next thing I remember was crawling on my hands and knees. I could hear Cynthia talking like she was a hundred miles away. "Hey, chump. Wha'd you go an' do that for? I just got him trained. You try'n' to mess up a whole week's work?" A deep voice tinged with a boxer's slur boomed out, "Come on, wassa nice dame like you want widda monkey like dis?" It was the accountant's overpaid bodyguard. Through a haze I could see him walking towards Cynthia holding a ugly looking metal bar in his picnic ham-sized hand. I fell towards him and kicked at the back of his knee causing him to tumble backwards. Cynthia stepped forward and swung her dainty little foot right between his legs. When her foot stopped between the inseams of his trousers, the goon rolled over and groaned loudly. I snatched the bar from his mitt and thumped him in the head one time just to even the score before I staggered to my feet. "Where'd you learn that move?" I managed to ask as I shook the cobwebs from my head. Cynthia stood looking down her pretty little nose at the goon's crumpled body. "Coney Island... under the boardwalk." This beautiful lady continued to amaze me. She was one cool drink of water. I had a pretty good idea who was on the other side of that door: the old man's young bedroom garnish and the last member of this conspiracy. The door was locked but my size-eleven-Florsheim passkey worked on most kinds of locks. I stepped through a pile of wood splinters to see the member of the gang with the dirtiest job clutching a robe to her naked body. "You could've knocked." "I wanted to catch the show." I could see why the old man fell for this little tart, even though he had enough money to buy the whole bakery. She was sleek as a sailboat in a bottle. The robe landed at her feet to reveal her impressive rigging. "Is this what you came for?" There was a smile on her lips that meant only one thing: she was ready to set sail. "No thanks, doll. After you got used to that old geezer goin' fifteen rounds with me... you'd have me up on charges: aggravated assault." "I'm not afraid of championship caliber," she cooed "Well, you'll never know, sister." "Hey, I ain't no nun," she snapped. "At's good. 'cause a habit like yours'd be easy to break." I shot back. Cynthia stepped through the doorway, where she had been waiting to confront her step-mother. "So my old man ain't enough for ya, huh? You trying to bag this one, too?" "You think I couldn't," the younger girl squared a shoulders to Cynthia and dropped her hand to her naked hip. I could see this was going to get ugly, but part of me wanted to watch these two scrap: the dirty part of me. "Relax and I'll get you to the coppers before breakfast." I gathered up the robe from the floor and took Trixy's elbow in my hand. "I hear it's the best meal of the day." She didn't like being pushed, I guess, and she yanked her arm away from my grasp. Cynthia took two steps forward and smacked her step-mother square on the nose. Blood began to flow from Trixy's face like the waterfalls at Niagara. "Hey, honey. The man said 'relax.'" With all that I adored about this woman, sometimes she plain scared me. While Trixy knelt on the floor trying to stop the bleeding from her swelling nose, Cynthia nodded coolly and said, "She won't give you any more trouble." That crazy beautiful blond didn't even look at me: she was eying this kid who married her old man for money and "vanished" him. If she were a man she would've been the toughest guy I knew. ******* With the company sold, Cynthia took her share of the company--a share that could provide her with a "5th Avenue" address for the rest of her life--and turned over the money headed for Argentina to some farm in Israel. I told her she was crazy but she insisted she didn't want blood money on her hands. Then she tugged at my shirt and asked me if that's what I fought for in Europe. I told her I was fighting because somebody was trying to kill me. That was reason enough. She sent the money anyway. Then it came time for Cynthia and me to settle our final accounts. I wasn't necessarily looking forward to parting company but the job was over. She stood in front of my desk, dressed to kill, just staring at me for a minute. Finally, she pointed her pretty little chin at me and smiled slowly. "Armstrong, I gotta business proposition for ya." I loved it when she talked dirty. ******** Cynthia pulled me into the office by my tie. I was trying to get used to the hundred-dollar "monkey suit" I was wearing. This one suit cost more than my wardrobe. "Quit squirmin'." I shrugged off her order. "Hey, what's the door gonna have on it, now?" I eyed an old man painting on the glass with a brush as she led me through the door. "I thought 'C & H Armstrong' had a nice sound." She stopped, turned and let a smile spread across her pretty face with that. I cocked my head. "Why do you get top billing?" Cynthia's hand dropped to my zipper and she did that "special thing" she does. "You gotta question, you take it up with management, Mister Armstrong." I sighed in resignation and shook my head. "Nah. 'C and H' sounds good, Misses Armstrong." "I'm glad you approve." With one hand on my zipper and the other still using my tie as a leash she pulled my face close to hers, "... 'cause it's you an' me from now on, partner." I could think of worse things. Private Dick A phone was ringing; he couldn't hear it, he only felt the vibrations through the desk; all he could hear was his blood in his ears and the faint moaning of the dame who's luscious thighs were currently clamped to his head as his tongue massaged her clit. She relaxed a little, releasing his head, her climax subsiding, the phone now audible but he didn't care about that now; his tongue re-entered her glistening pussy and he went back to work on her. Normally, he didn't take payment-in-kind, but this girl was special. She'd come to him three weeks ago for help; her husband was cheating on her and she wanted to know why, and who with. She'd fluttered her eyelashes at him, tears brimming in her beautiful puppy dog eyes and his heart melted. He desperately needed the cash and he'd given her a fair price for the job at the start, but she'd been left penniless and wanted to repay him for the work he'd done. She stood, her long leg visible through the thigh high slit in her dress. He was trying not to stare, but failed miserably. She moved, causing the dress to shift and her creamy white thigh came into view. His eyes travelled the length of her leg and his mind filled in the blanks at the top. He found his imagination sorely lacking when, ten minutes later she was sat on the edge of his desk, her panties discarded and her dress bunched around her waist as his tongue slowly travelled the length of her smooth, waxed slit. Now, as she writhed on the desk, her manicured nails scratching into the wood as his tongue performed wonders that her late husband never could, he knew he'd been right not taking cash. Her hand grasped at his hair as her thighs gripped his head, another orgasm sweeping through her as his tongue delved deeper, lapping up her juices as her body went rigid, then relaxed again. He continued his onslaught as she reclined on the desk. He inserted a finger into her tight pussy and she groaned, his tongue still working her clit as he slid in another finger, beckoning her towards another screaming orgasm. He raised his head and massaged her clit with his thumb; she reached down, grabbed hold of his hand and forced him deeper. Breathless guttural moans urging him faster, harder, more, don't stop, no, no, no, yes! She lay on the table, panting; then she sat up and shuffled daintily to the edge of the desk. She pushed him backwards into the office chair as she dismounted and stood, her gorgeous, smooth thighs either side of his hairy ones. She'd performed fellatio on him earlier, draining him and swallowing what he had to offer, and he'd considered the debt paid then, but she'd been neglected for too long and needed satisfying. He'd lifted her onto the desk, removed her panties, and given her three mind blowing orgasms. Now, she stood astride him, holding her dress around her waist. His cock was painfully hard as she lowered herself onto him; his head parting her labia and her tight pussy gripping him as she slowly impaled herself on his cock. She shuddered as he stretched her, filling her like no other before as he revelled in her tightness. He thought he could feel her pulse through the walls of her vagina as she ground herself into his lap. Her husband had been rich, but it wasn't his money she was interested in. He was undoubtedly handsome, charming, witty and debonair, and that was what had attracted her. There had obviously been a prenup; hers hadn't trusted her and she hadn't really cared for them either. After two years of marriage he'd grown distant from her and wanted his old partying lifestyle back; it was then she'd discovered he was cheating on her, and, as it turned out, with one of the bridesmaids from their wedding. They'd been at it on the wedding day, and almost every day since returning from the honeymoon. Her husband had died in a car wreck; he'd lost control, racing to his lover's aide after finding out she'd been questioned by a detective, the same detective who was now taking alternative payment from his widow. She threw her head back, breathing heavily as her breasts were caressed and her nipples sucked; the chair creaking rhythmically as she bounced on the rigid tool within her. He reached around, grasping her buttocks as she rode him, her arms around his neck. She hugged him tightly as she felt warmth spreading upwards from her quivering pussy, through her body, releasing itself in a scream as her climax took hold. He picked her up, his hands cupping her firm arse cheeks as she wrapped her legs around him, her arms still tight around his neck. Her back to the wall, he thrust himself inside her, she pleaded for him to fuck her harder as her nails dug into his back. Still clinging to his neck, she dropped her legs from his waist and turned towards the window. Bending over, she gripped the sill as he entered her from behind. She wanted to feel every inch of him, and he obliged. He fucked he at an excruciatingly slow pace, she thought it was never going to end until she felt his hair on her anus, then he withdrew and entered her again. He could feel her tightening; preparing herself for another shuddering orgasm as he quickened his pace and felt his own climax building. She cried out as he slammed into her; she felt his semen pumping into her and she raised her head, urging him to fill her. There was a tinkle of breaking glass, the window in front of him cracked and she slumped forwards. Her head was on the window sill, a pool of blood spread slowly as he looked up and spied the woman he'd interrogated the night before, in a building across the street. He saw a puff of smoke from the barrel of the rifle she was holding, the window shattered, then nothing. Having lost her lover and the fortune she'd been promised, she felt there was nothing left to lose. She wanted revenge for what she saw as her lover's murder; the detective who'd found her, and the bitch who'd sent him, were going to pay; and pay dearly. As she dismantled the rifle and packed it away, she felt at peace. Sirens rose in the distance as she closed the door and slipped, unnoticed, into the street below.