The Case of the Spectacled Band – Part 2
A Dan Diamond mystery by j.
There was this time at band camp –
No, I’m kidding. Unlike that little chick in the movie, I never went to band camp. The closest I came was in junior high, when my mom convinced my dad that I needed to learn to play a musical instrument. They decided on the trombone, and I had to put up with eight lousy months of lessons.
By the time my teacher finally broke the news to my folks that I was not cut out to become a slide virtuoso, I had succeeded in producing something that sounded a little like “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” if you had a real good imagination. That was it for my career as a trombonist.
But now I was getting a real musical education. I was tied naked over the top of a case holding a bass drum. A pair of panties that should have gone to the laundry had been stuffed into my mouth. My bottom was raised into the air, and some kind soul had inserted the end of a drum stick into my anus, so that it wagged around up there like a stiff tail.
The other stick in the pair was being used by this butch blond chick to tap my balls in time to some private tune running through her head. She wasn’t hitting hard, but even a gentle rap on the balls can be a painful experience, and every now and then, she smacked her stick sharply against the one protruding from my butt cheeks.
More trombone lessons would have been better than this.
* * * * * * * * *
I suppose that my latest fling in the world of music began when Abbott and the Costellos walked into my office. Things didn’t begin to go sour, though, until I looked up from the table at The Castle where I’d been hogtied by Destiny and saw Nicky Balls standing next to me.
You remember Nicky? Kid brother of the late and unlamented Joey Balls? His real name was Nick Balsemo, but he was stuck with his nickname thanks to his big brother. Occasionally, some fool would refer to him as Little Balls, but no one did it twice if Nicky found out.
“You’re lookin’ good, Dan,” he said.
He was probably being sarcastic, since Destiny still had my bare ass pulled up into the air and the vibrating cock ring that she had put on my dick was buzzing away. The globs of cum that I’d unloaded moments before were sliding slowly down my face and chest, my dick and my balls were sprinkled with bright-red candle wax, and my butt was burning from the eight strokes that Destiny had given me with her nasty little cane.
“Hi, Nicky,” I said. “Long time no see.”
I didn’t know how big of a jam I was in. I wasn’t sure that Dundeen had really squared things for us with Nicky by tipping him off that his girlfriend, Trudy Nguyen, came equipped with a penis.
It may seem odd that Nicky didn’t already know that, but the explanation was — as Dundeen the Great informed me afterward — that Nicky liked boys and Trudy was just his cover, his beard. He was a little pissed off when he was told about the risk he’d been running by keeping company with a broad who had a dick. Having folks find out you’re gay doesn’t seem like much these days, but it might not have set well with Nicky’s business associates, most of whom were large gentlemen of Sicilian extraction who liked Verdi and Puccini and automatic weapons.
“So, Dan, I understand that you’ve been checking me out for Freddy Abbott,” Nicky said.
“That’s right,” I said, “but I didn’t have a clue that Ray Man would turn out to be you. I didn’t know you were in the music business, Nicky.”
“It’s something new for me,” he said. “I’m branching out a little from the skin flicks. Prime Pussy Productions has turned out to be a good racket, so I thought I’d try something else that’s legit.”
I didn’t point out to Nicky that some folks might think that steering would-be actresses into S&M porno films didn’t exactly qualify as legit. I wasn’t in the best position to argue with him.
“This thing I’m doing for Abbott and the Costellos is pretty routine,” I told him. “It’s not the first time I’ve checked out an employer for someone. It’s usually the other way around, but not always.”
“No problem, Dan,” he said. “I know it’s all part of the music business. I wouldn’t have even come over here, but I wanted to talk with you about something else.”
“Which is?” I asked.
“I’ve been trying to locate your buddy Dundeen,” he said. “The guy has done a vanishing act that’s a hell of a lot better than any of the crap in that magic show of his.”
“I thought you and Dundeen were all square now,” I said..
“We are, we are,” Nicky said. “But I’ve been wondering how Dundeen found out some of the things he knew, and I’d like to have a little talk with him. Just a friendly conversation.”
I figured that Nicky had got to thinking about how Dundeen knew Trudy had a prick in her panties and — even more important — how he knew that Nicky himself was a little light in his loafers. I didn’t mention that, though. Even a two-bit private dick like yours truly is not that much of a dim bulb.
“When Dundeen and I came back from Vegas, he got a room at the Figueroa,” I explained. “I called him there a couple of days later, and they said he’d checked out without leaving any forwarding address. I haven’t heard from him since.”
“No shit?” Nicky said.
“No shit,” I answered.
He stood looking at me for a while, probably trying to figure out whether I was lying or not. I wasn’t, but it’s hard to look innocent when your face is streaked with cum and there’s a vibrator buzzing on your cock.
“Well, fuck!” Nicky said finally. “I guess I’ll just have to keep looking. You can do me another favor, though, Dan. How would you like to do a little job for me?”
“How little?” I asked.
“I’d like you to keep an eye on Freddy Abbott,” Nicky said. “I hear the kid may have a habit that makes him kind of a risky investment. A nose problem, if you know what I mean. He says he’s off the stuff now, but I’d like to have someone keeping an eye on him.”
“Normally, Nicky, I’d be happy to take a job like that,” I said. “But Freddy is a client of mine. I’m supposed to be checking you out for him. I can’t go around spying on him. That’s what they call a conflict of interest.”
“You wouldn’t be spying on him,” he said. “Tell him up front what’s going on. You’d be doing the kid a favor. I got the contacts that could get some big gigs for that band of his. This could be his big break, and you can help make sure he doesn’t blow it.”
I thought about it for a while, trying to ignore the vibrator. I was afraid that it was bringing back my erection, and Nicky must have had the same thought. He picked up the control box off the table and switched off the power. The asshole was in control in more ways than one, and it occurred to me that maybe Nicky was making me an offer I couldn’t refuse.
“Okay,” I said. “I guess I’ll do it. But I’ve got to be straight with Freddy. First off, I tell him who Ray Man really is. Then I tell him what you’re hiring me to do. If he’s okay with that, we’re in business.”
“Good,” Nicky said. “I’d shake on it, but I don’t think I’ve got time to hang around while Destiny gets you down from there.”
He left the room, and Destiny came back in. She was grinning.
“You should have heard what Ray said about you,” she laughed.
“I don’t think I want to know,” I said.
“He said he thought he could find a role for you in one of his movies,” she said.
“I can’t wait,” I said.
“He gave me a big tip, too,” she went on, “just for giving him a call. I’m really happy you came by this afternoon, Mr. Diamond.”
“Always glad to be of service,” I said.
“I think I ought to do something special for you,” she said. “One of the other ladies told me that you get real turned on when you get a spanking with a bunch of chicks watching. Is that right, Mr. Diamond.?”
I was surprised by her question, and I couldn’t come up with a snappy answer. She didn’t give me time to think of one. She grabbed the control box of the vibrator, clicked it on again and walked out.
“Be right back,” she said over her shoulder as she left the room.
My reviving erection had subsided when Nicky switched off the cock ring, but now my penis began to swell and harden as the battery-powered plastic band sent those tingling vibrations down toward the tightening sac of my balls.
The hard-on got a lot of help from what Destiny had just said. She’d been right about my liking a crowd. On one of my earliest visits to Miss D., she had Carolyn and another broad come in to watch as she finished me off. One of them had a finger in my ass and the other was pinching my nipples when Miss D. brought me to a climax. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.
I lay there — hung there, actually — wondering whether Destiny planned on returning with some of her buddies. The more I thought about it, the harder I got. The cock ring kept on vibrating. If Destiny didn’t get back pretty soon, it was going to be too late. I could feel an orgasm building up steam somewhere between my balls and my anus. It felt great, but I hoped that it would take its time, that it would wait until the ladies arrived.
It didn’t. My dick pulsed, and a wad of cum came shooting out in an arc that landed the stuff right on the tip of my nose, a couple of feet below my raised genitals. The erection jerked again, and the next glob lit on my chin just as the door opened and Destiny and two other chicks came into the room. I must have looked pretty ridiculous, because they all started laughing. I felt just like I did when I was fifteen years old and thought I was about to get my first piece of ass but came in Judy Jackson’s fingers before I could get my dick into her.
* * * * * * * * *
Freddy Abbott didn’t seem too upset when I told him that the fellow he knew as Ray Man was really a made guy with a nickname that ended in Balls. He didn’t even appear to be worried that Nicky had hired me to keep an eye on him.
“No problem, Mr. Diamond,” he said. “I haven’t done any cola for more than six months now. No booze either. I might drink a beer now and then, but I even watch that, especially when we’re on a gig.”
Nicky Balls had already lined up a weekend job for Abbott and the Costellos at a club in Long Beach called the Blues Joint. He got them rooms in a motel there for the three-night gig, and I was supposed to go along and play baby-sitter. I wasn’t really looking forward to it, but I figured that if Freddy really was clean these days, it should be an easy way to make a few bucks.
Easy, my ass. As it turned out, I was getting better at famous last words than George Armstrong Custer was when he wanted to know where all the fucking Indians came from.
* * * * * * * * *
The first night of the Costellos’ gig, I went over to the Blues Joint about 9 o’clock and grabbed a seat at the bar as the opening act was getting rolling. It was a girl punk band with the charming name of Cunt. The three-piece group was obviously patterned on Hole, complete with a bleach-blonde front lady who was every bit as trashy-looking as the Widow Cobain herself. She was the drummer, and the drum kit was set up at center stage, so that she was sort of a cross between Ms. Love and Fred LeBlanc of Cowboy Mouth, just as loud and obnoxious but with none of the charisma or talent.
I like punk as much as the next guy, but what Cunt was inflicting on the half-full house at the Blues Joint sounded to me like a big mess. I don’t think even the biggest D.I.Y. fan would have put a buck on that nag.
I was considering looking for someplace down the street to have a tequila sour while I was waiting for Abbott and the Costellos to take over when this tall blond babe got up from a nearby table and came over to me. She had on a tiny skirt that was worn so low it looked as if it were about to drop off her hips. Even then, it barely covered her panties. The thing couldn’t have been more than six or seven inches wide. Her halter top was just as skimpy, and her bouncing boobs looked as if they were trying to break out on all sides at the same time. I was so busy looking at her body that I didn’t realize I knew her.
“Hi, Mr. Diamond,” she said. “Remember me from Santa Barbara? I met you at Mrs. Stern’s house.”
I realized that she was Mandy Andrews, one of a pair of rich-chick twins who frequently turned up on the society pages and in magazines like Vanity Fair. The Andrews sisters had got involved with some of Nicky Balls’ pals a couple of months back. They were being blackmailed into a scheme to sell drugs to their society friends until the best-looking DEA agent I ever met got them out of the mess, with a little help from me.
“Do you still have your cute little maid’s dress?” Mandy asked with a giggle.
Isn’t that the way it always is? I’d helped yank Mandy and her sister Candy out of some king-size shit, and all she could ask about was the outfit I’d worn when I was undercover as one of Mrs. Stern’s submissive maids. It didn’t look like there would be any thank-yous from Mandy. I guess I should have expected that. Rich folks seem to think they’re entitled to any help someone gives them. To Mandy, I was just another of the silver spoons that kept popping up in her mouth.
She sat down on the stool next to mine and began asking me about my role at the Stern mansion. I’ve run into more than one broad who didn’t know much about B&D but was fascinated by the whole idea. Mandy was dying to know why some guy would let people do such outrageous things to him. She wasn’t at all bashful about asking embarrassing questions, and I had to tell her to lower her voice a little when the bartender and the people at neighboring stools started giving us funny looks.
But it was also kind of a turn-on to have this dynamite-looking chick lean those big bazooms in my direction and ask a bunch of extremely intimate questions. An erection was hardening in my Dockers when Mandy suddenly changed the subject.
“Isn’t Cunt great?” she asked. “Don’t you just love it?”
At first, I didn’t realize she was talking about the band. I thought she was using the term in the generic sense, and I was about to admit that, yes, I did love it. Then it dawned on me that she was talking about that atrocity on the stage, and I mumbled something about Cunt being very “interesting.”
“Actually, I know those guys really well,” Mandy said, “and just last night I was telling them all about Mrs. Stern’s mansion and about how you came to get me at that motel all dressed up in that, like, really sexy maid’s thing. I know they would just, like, die to meet you!”
I mumbled something else. Something stupid, probably. Right then, I should have told Mandy to forget it.
“You don’t suppose you could, like, do your thing with them, do you?” Mandy asked. “I know they would go really crazy if you would. It would be a whole bunch of fun! I would just love you forever and ever!”
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’ve not always used the best judgment in similar situations in the past. But you’re thinking that there’s no way I’m going to take this dizzy broad up on her suggestion. You’re thinking that even Dan Diamond is not that stupid.
Think again.
“Maybe we could do some kind of little scene,” I said. “Nothing big. Just enough so they get an idea of what’s involved in B&D. Then if they want to get into more, I can give them some names.”
“That’s super!” Mandy squealed, and she gave me this big wet kiss, pressing her tits hard into my chest. If I had any reservations about my decision, they evaporated at the speed of light. So when Cunt finished its set, Mandy went up to the stage and began talking with the drummer, who looked over to check me out while Mandy was filling her ear. After a few minutes, they headed in my direction.
The drummer chick was wearing a pair of black jeans cut off into shorts that were even tinier than Mandy’s skirt. She was stocky and kind of pear-shaped, so the belly above the beltline of the jeans and the butt hanging out of the cutoffs’ southern exposure were pushing it a little. Not that bad, though. Up top, she had on a hacked-off tee that was so tight you could see that she had a nipple ring on each of her smallish boobs. She had another ring in her nose and two or three in one of her ear lobes. When she opened her mouth to say hello, I saw that she had a pierced tongue, too, with a little silver stud in it. Did you ever see one of those without wondering how it would feel if the chick decided to start licking your privates?
She introduced herself as Kathy Klit. “Spelled with a ‘K,’ she said.
“I always did like Kathy with the ‘K’ spelling,” I told her.
“So you’re a smart-ass, too, huh?” she said.
“Kathy Klit isn’t her real name,” Mandy added brightly.
“It is now,” the drummer said.
I could tell that Ms. Klit was a classy dame from her scuffed Doc Martens and her chopped-off, uncombed, dirty-blond hair – not to mention her tattoos. She had a skull wearing a top-hat on each of her biceps, and there was a rattlesnake on her belly, with its head disappearing under the bottom of the tee as though it was going up to bite a tit. The ones on her thighs were the most subtle. Just a couple of red-and-black arrows pointing up at her crotch.
“Mandy says you might want to get it on with us,” she said. “Is that right?”
“She said you wanted to find out what B&D is like,” I answered. “If you’re serious about it, I wouldn’t mind showing you.”
“But you don’t do nothin’ to us, right?” she asked. “You just let us do stuff to you?”
“I can be the submissive if you want to try being a domme,” I said. “I can tell you, though, that most ladies who are into B&D enjoy being a sub at least part of the time – except for the pros, of course.”
“I don’t think I’d dig being any kind of submissive,” she said. “Not any time, in bed or out.”
“Suit yourself,” I replied.
I told them that I wanted to catch the Costellos’ first set, mostly to make sure that Freddy looked as if he was in good shape. We agreed to meet later on at Mandy’s hotel room. She wasn’t staying in Long Beach, naturally. She was in one of the better hotels up by LAX, but it wasn’t a long drive. There wouldn’t be as much traffic on the 405 at that time of night.
When Abbott and the Costellos wrapped up the opening set and took a pause for the cause, I went back to the over-sized storage closet that passed for a dressing room and checked in wih Freddy. He seemed okay, and I told him that I’d see him back at the motel. When I mentioned that I was going to meet the girls from Cunt, he gave me an odd look.
“I didn’t know those ladies liked men,” he said.
“Nothing like that’s going down,” I assured him. “Just a social visit. A few drinks, a few laughs. That’s all. I know one of their groupies.”
He told me exactly what I’d told Kathy Klit. “Suit yourself,” he said.
*** *** ***
On the way up to LAX, I got to thinking about what we’d do with no bondage equipment. If they wanted to spank my bottom, they’d have to use their bare hands. That was okay with me. It had already been a long evening, and I wasn’t up for any kind of heavy session. But it didn’t work out that way. When I got up into the room at the hotel, the girls had a pile of stuff waiting for me. Somewhere they’d dug up a bunch of rope and a piece of chain and a couple of broad leather belts. I didn’t care for the look of those belts, and I made a mental note to warn the chicks to keep the buckles covered if they swung them.
Of course, Mandy didn’t have just a room. She had a suite. It was on the top floor, so I figured it was probably called the penthouse, though it wasn’t that fancy. The ladies were sprawled on the couches in the main room, passing around a joint and grinning wickedly at me when I came in. The tall, broad-shouldered babe who had been playing bass guitar had taken off her clothes and had a towel draped carelessly around her lanky body. She was so careless about it as she leaned back on the couch, legs spread wide, that I could tell for sure she wasn’t a natural blonde. She stuck out her tongue at me when she caught me looking. I wondered why she’d stripped, but I quickly found out.
“We didn’t think you’d have your sexy little maid’s thing,” Mandy said, “so we decided you could wear Nancy’s stuff when you dress up for us. She’s almost all tall as you are.”
So they wanted me in drag, huh? The whole nine yards. That was okay, too. Being paraded around like that in front of a bunch of dames was a mix of humiliation and turn-on, another one of those paradoxes that made B&D so much fun. I took the clothing that Mandy held out to me and went into the bathroom to change.
The main items were a short leather skirt and a polka-dot blouse with a low-cut neckline. The lingerie consisted of some red bikini panties and a matching garter belt to hold up a pair of fishnet hose with gaping rips in them. I’d have to be careful putting the stockings on or they’d fall apart. There was also a pair of high heels, but I didn’t figure I’d be able to get my Size 10s into those.
I had a pretty fair erection by now, just at the thought of what I was doing, but I was able to pull the panties on over my stiffening penis. I’d already put on the garter belt and hose, so that if they wanted me to take off the underwear, I wouldn’t have to unsnap the garter clips to do it. The blouse was big and loose, and it was no problem, but I had to do a little of wiggling to get into the skirt. Nancy must be a skinny-hipped thing, I thought. The bottom of the skirt reached a little short of mid-thigh, so that there was a lot of bare white flesh showing above the tops of the stockings.
To my surprise, I was able to squeeze my feet into the high heels. That kid really was a big girl. I strapped on the heels, got up off the toilet seat and looked at myself in the mirror behind the bathroom door. Not too bad. Even with a wig, I’d never pass for a chick in anything but a total blackout, but I gave myself at least a few points – maybe a low 2 on a scale of 1 to 200. I looked pretty stupid – probably just as stupid as I felt. I wobbled out of the bathroom and down the hall, doing my best not to fall on my ass in the high heels, and then I took a deep breath and walked out into the living room.
I thought the girls would laugh when I came in, or maybe give me a round of sarcastic applause, but they only leaned back on the couches and stared at me. Maybe they were already stoned from the pot they’d been smoking. Maybe they had agreed to play it real cool. I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but their silence was giving me the willies. I stood there, tugging down on the skirt and wondering what to do next.
“I think we’re going to call you Danielle,” Kathy Klit said finally. “Why don’t you go get us some drinks, Danielle? Mandy’s got all kinds of shit in that bar over there.”
I turned and tried to walk over to the bar without my butt wagging around too much as I struggled to manage the heels. I didn’t have to worry about mixing drinks, because all the girls from Cunt ordered straight scotch. Mandy wanted something called a Screaming Orgasm, but I had no idea how to make that, and she couldn’t remember what went into it. She ended up asking for scotch, too, but with soda and a lemon twist – although she’d neglected to stock any lemons.
The girls were still giving me the silent, stone-faced treatment while I was bringing the drinks to them, getting better at walking in the heels each time I crossed the room. But when I turned around from the bar once, I caught Nancy the bass player exchanging shit-eating grins with the chick who played guitar, so I guess they were enjoying my embarrassment. When they’d all been served, I stood in front of them and waited to see what Ms. Klit would think of next.
“I don’t like that blouse and skirt, Danielle,” she said. “Take ’em off.”
I pulled the blouse off over my head and yanked down on the tight skirt until it was loose enough to drop to the carpet, so I could step out of it without losing my balance in the heels. When I was naked except for the panties, garter belt and hose, Kathy got up from the couch, picked up one of the leather belts and walked around behind me. The panties were cut so high in back that both globes of my butt were bare. She doubled up the belt and smacked me sharply across the bottom. I could almost feel the broad band of skin turning a rosy red.
My swollen penis was pushing out the front of the panties, pressing against the thin silk until you could probably see every vein, but Ms. Klit wanted an even better view. She grabbed the top of the red panties and jerked them down to my knees. My dick flopped out and hardened into a stiff rod. Kathy grabbed my balls and squeezed. I let out a little squeal that sounded sort of like a rat who’s just discovered that he’s on a sinking ship and has missed his departure time.
“Give me one of those ropes, Mandy,” she said.
Once upon a time, Ms. Klit must have been a Girl Scout. She knew how to tie a slipknot anyway. She put one on the end of the rope, slipped the loop around my balls and pulled it tight. In fact, she pulled it a lot tighter than seemed necessary, and I made one of those panicking rat noises again.
“I just want to make sure you behave yourself, shithead,” she said. “You be a good little boy, and I won’t rip off your family jewels.”
The panties had slipped down around my ankles, and I stepped out of them. The garter belt, the mesh hose and the high heels were all I was wearing now, and they somehow made my cock and balls seem even more exposed and vulnerable. I felt more naked than if I’d been stripped completely.
I might have hid my genitals with my hands, but Mandy and the guitar player got up, yanked my arms behind me and tied my wrists together tightly with another piece of rope. It was hard to keep my balance as Kathy led me in a big circle around the room, tugging impatiently on the rope tied to my balls when I couldn’t keep up because of the high-heeled shoes. We went twice around the room before she got tired of the game.
“Bring the big drum case over here,” she said.
The band’s instruments had been set down in one corner of the room, and Mandy and the guitar chick brought over the leather case and placed it in the middle of the floor, resting upright. I thought they used nylon bags for drum kits these days, but Ms. Klit must have picked up this antique in a second-hand store. She pulled me over to it, grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me down across it until the top half of my body was bent over the far side and my butt was pointing at the ceiling.
“Get over here and hold his head, Nancy,” she ordered.
I turned my head sideways and saw the bass player get up off the couch and let the towel she was wearing fall to the floor. She was naked as she walked over to us and straddled my hanging head, trapping it between her thighs. After that, I couldn’t see anything or even hear very well, but I had no trouble feeling what was going down.
Something hard pressed against the ring of my anus, pushing painfully against the opening for a moment until it slipped inside. It felt like someone was trying to take my temperature with something a lot larger than a rectal thermometer. A pencil maybe? No, something bigger than that. It was shoved farther inside me.
“I never saw anyone use a drum stick like that,” someone giggled. It sounded like Mandy.
“How about this?” Kathy Klit said, and something tapped on my balls, which were pulled tight by my erection and the pinching circle of rope. “See if you can name this tune, asshole.”
Tap, tap. Tap. Tap, tap. Tap. She was striking my balls in some kind of rhythm, but I didn’t dig the beat. All I knew was that it hurt. The broad may have thought she was taking it easy, but someone who doesn’t have any balls herself probably doesn’t realize how tender the things are. She kept tapping and then – whack! – she struck the stick poking out of my bottom with a sharp slap. It wrenched sideways and felt like someone was digging around in there.
The kid was in a groove now. Tap, tap. Tap. Tap, tap. Tap. Tap, tap. Whack! I tried to raise up, but the bass player’s thighs had my head in a vise of bare flesh, her hairy sex pressing against the back of my neck. I yelled at them to stop, but they probably couldn’t hear me because they were laughing so much. I could feel that chick Nancy shaking with laughter, and then a gush of warm liquid hit my neck. The dame had laughed so hard she peed on me!
“Oh, gross!” Mandy squealed.
“What the fuck, Nance!” Kathy Klit yelled.
The drumming on my balls stopped. The thighs released my head. I stood up. The drum stick in my ass fell out. Nancy was still laughing. If my hands hadn’t been tied behind me, I might have forgotten the Code of the West and decked the broad. A golden shower may be some guys’ idea of a good time, but I’ll take a pass when it comes to water sports. Kathy yanked on the rope around my abused testicles.
“Come on, asshole,” she said. “Get your butt in the bathroom!”
She sounded as if she was mad at me! I wanted to complain that it wasn’t my fault, but I kept my mouth shut and followed along meekly as she led me to the john. It’s not a good idea to argue with a broad who has a rope tied to your balls.
When we got into the bathroom, she ordered me into the tub and looped the rope over the shower head, pulled it tight and tied it to the towel bar next to the tub. I was practically up on my toes, trying to keep my balls from being yanked off. She turned on the shower. It was colder than shit, but I ducked my head under it to wash off Nancy’s pee. The water got warmer. Soon it was hot as hell and my naked body was turning as red as the soaked garter belt around my waist. One of the fishnet stockings came loose from the garter clips and slid down my leg.
Kathy Klit switched off the shower. The other girls were crowding into the bathroom now, eager to see what was going to happen next. I stood dripping in the tub, looking back at them and feeling foolish again. My balls were pulled up by the rope, but the erection above them was hard as ever.
Kathy picked up a towel and twirled it between her hands, twisting it into a tight rope. Then she snapped me on my wet butt with it, like guys horsing around in the shower room. I jumped in surprise, and the rope pulled painfully on my testicles. She snapped me again, leaving a red spot on my thigh above the stocking that was still attached to its garters. The next one was aimed at my stiff dick, and I yelled when the tip of the towel flicked the tip of my penis.
“Oh, give the poor guy a break!” Nancy said, and she climbed into the tub with me and pressed her long, naked body against my wet backside. “I’m sorry I peed on you, baby,” she said, and she reached around me with one hand, grasped my penis and began to pump it. Her buddies watched me getting jacked off. Mandy seemed fascinated, though the sight couldn’t have been much of a novelty for her. The guitar player, whose name I never did hear, was grinning. Kathy Klit looked bored or disgusted or maybe both.
I didn’t know whether Nancy would be able to get me off with my balls tied up like that, but it was no problem-o, baby. As she squeezed my dick tightly, one finger came up and massaged that sensitive spot just below the head. I could feel the orgasm begin to build. She pumped me hard and fast, and the cum came spurting out, arcing up because of the angle at which she was holding my dick. As the spasms faded, the final thin thread of cum came slowly out and slid down my penis onto my bound balls.
Nancy climbed out of the tub, picked up the towel and began drying herself. Kathy Klit was really looking bored now, and she turned and walked out. The other girls followed her. I was left standing in the tub, dripping water, my dick drooping down now on one side of the rope that was looped over the shower head. Hey, come on, I thought, don’t leave me hanging here, girls.
I could hear them talking in the living room, and then I heard the front door open and close, and I was afraid that they actually were going to leave me. But Nancy came running back into the bathroom and began untying my hands. She had put back on the blouse and skirt. They looked a lot better on her than they had on me.
“I’ve got to hurry,” she said. “We’re going back down to the Blues Joint, and we want to get there before the Costellos leave. Kathy talked Mandy into buying some coke from Freddy.”
That was bad news. Freddy must have been lying to me. While I was up here letting Kathy Klit play a tune on my testicles, he was down in Long Beach doing lines. I hoped that Nicky Balls didn’t find out I was screwing up on the job.
Nancy finished untying me. As she was leaving, she turned and looked back at me. She grinned.
“I really am sorry for peeing on you,” she said. “You can keep the garter belt and hose if you want to. You look real sweet in them.”
Then she was gone. My hands were free, but the other rope was still fastened to my balls and looped over the shower head. I tried to untie the loop around my balls, but the knot was wet and wouldn’t give. I couldn’t reach the knot on the towel bar. Finally, I got a foot up onto the side of the tub, pulled myself up and was able to lift the rope off the shower head. Then I was able to untie the other end from the towel bar. I went into the living room, lay down on one of the couches and worked on the slipknot binding my balls until I was able to get it loose.
I felt a lot better immediately, but I was worried as hell as I hurriedly began dressing. I wanted to get down to the club in Long Beach right away. As I drove back down the 405, I thought about my session with the girls from Cunt. It had been pretty intense, but it hadn’t lasted long. I’d expected more. Maybe I was too old for them. Maybe Freddy was right, and they weren’t that interested in boys. Whatever. I had more important things on my mind now.
By the time I got to the Blues Joint, it was closed, but I pounded on the side door until someone came and opened it. The guy recognized me and said that Freddy was back in the dressing room. I found him there, sitting on a folding chair and not looking very happy. He was wearing that stupid monk costume. There was no sign of any of the other Costellos or of the Cunt bunch.
“Hi, Mr. Diamond,” he said when I came in. “I thought you went home.”
“I think you’ve been lying to me, Freddy,” I said. “I think you’re still on the stuff.”
“No, Mr. Diamond, I’m not,” he said. “It’s worse. I’m selling it.”
He dropped his head and stared at the floor. I didn’t know what to say. He looked back up at me.
“After Nicky Balls found out I was having you check out Prime Pussy Productions, he called me up and told me who he was,” he said. “That was before you even got a chance to tell me that Ray Man was really this mob guy.
“Anyway, Nicky said that he could make the band take off. He said he knew all kinds of people in places like New York and Vegas and could get us some great gigs. He said all he wanted me to do was to carry some of his cola around. He told me he just wanted to get the word around about his great product.”
He stopped and hung his head again. After a moment, he went on.
“I was really stupid,” he said. “Even if the band breaks big, I’m never going to get away from Nicky. He owns us now. All he has to do is get out the word that I’ve been dealing and I’m dead in the water. Abbott and the Costellos would be history.”
He looked up into my eyes.
“I’m in trouble, Mr. Diamond,” he said. “I’m in real big trouble.”
* * * * * * * * *
NEXT: The biter bit.
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