The Case of the Minnesota Twins – Part 3
A Dan Diamond Mystery by j.
I’d never had a DEA agent lick my dick before.
Her tongue slid slowly up the underside of my penis, leaving a wet trail that stretched from my balls to the sensitive skin on the bottom of the head. It lingered there, making little circles on that magic spot. Son of a bitch, I thought, what are they teaching in the DEA training schools these days?
I figured this had to be a new high in inter-departmental relations. Not that I worked for any kind of official government agency, but even a private detective qualifies as some kind of law-enforcement officer, doesn’t he? We were working on the same case, trying to figure out what the Van Meters were up to and how they were tied to the disappearance of Mandy Andrews. And I was ready to co-operate with an agent like Rebecca Thatcher (a.k.a. Dot) any time.
Dot was so short that when she got on her knees in front of me, she had to pull my cock down to get it in her mouth. Her tongue made a larger circle around the head of my dick and probed gently into the little hole in the end. She took the head and a couple of inches more into her warm mouth. I forgot about the Van Meters watching us. All I could think of were those lips sliding up my dick and the greedy tongue caressing it. I looked down at the top of her blond head, but my eyes were going out of focus as the overwhelming sensation began to build.
“Pull it out when he starts to cum,” Mrs. Van Meter ordered her. “I want to see him cum so we can make sure we drain every last drop out of him.”
I guess Dot didn’t want to make a mistake and piss the old broad off, because she pulled her mouth away too soon. My dick was throbbing, and a few drops were flying off the end, but the orgasm was still on the way. Mrs. Van Meter grabbed the wet penis in her hand and began pumping it hard. That was all it needed. Cum spurted out onto Dot’s upturned face. The second burst, not as strong, made a trail across the top of the large, perfect rounds of her boobs.
I knew what Mrs. Van Meter had in mind. She and her husband were about to beat the hell out of me, and they didn’t want me enjoying it. I don’t know about you, but when I’m playing B&D games, I don’t mind a whipping when my dick is hard and pulsing. The pain is mixed with pleasure, and like the former Johnny Cougar once said, it hurts so good. But once I’ve cum, I’m ready to hang it up for a while. After that, it’s just pain, and I hate pain as much as anyone else.
I’m sure you already know how that works, and so did the Van Meters. When they got back to their room and found us waiting obediently in the hall, the first thing they did after they got us inside was tell us to take off our maid uniforms. When we were stripped, they ordered Dot to give me a blowjob. She had told me just a few minutes before that she was working undercover for the DEA, and I had wondered how far she would go in carrying out her masquerade as a submissive customer at Mrs. Stern’s bondage palace. Pretty far, it turned out.
Just as I figured, after my orgasm the Van Meters told me to lie on my belly on the bed and tied me to the posts with ropes looped around my wrists and ankles, so that I was stretched out in the traditional X that’s been big on the torturers’ hit list for centuries. Then they took turns whipping me with a riding crop until I was a criss-crossed with red, burning welts from the top of my back to my calves. My butt got the worst of it. It felt as if it had been run through a meat grinder. This wasn’t punishment like let’s play some B&D games. This was punishment like we’re teaching you a lesson, asshole.
“Take this as a little warning, Diamond,” Van Meter said when they had finally tired themselves out. “Tomorrow, you need to go back to L.A. and get back to tracking down cheating husbands. You’re out of your depth here.”
“But we’re not quite done with him, are we, dear?” his wife asked.
“Perhaps not,” he said. “We have to leave the two of you for a while, but we’ll be back, and perhaps there’ll still be time for a little further diversion.”
Before they left, they tied Dot facedown on top of me, stretched out in the same way. Her full boobs were pressed into the middle of my back, and because she was very short, her bush was against my hot bottom. I thought I could feel moisture from her cunt. When the Van Meters were gone, we lay silently there for a while. Ordinarily, I would enjoy a naked babe sprawled on my back, her tits squashed against me, but I was hurting.
“Dan?” she said at last.
“Yep,” I said.
“When we get out of this, you know?” she said.
“Yep,” I said.
“You’re not going to say anything to anybody about what, you know, happened, are you?” she said.
“I wouldn’t think of it,” I said. “My daddy told me never to kiss and tell.”
She thought about that for a while.
“It wasn’t exactly kissing,” she said.
“No, not exactly,” I agreed.
There was another long silence.
“Thank you, Dan,” she said in a tiny voice. “I really don’t want anyone else to know.”
“Don’t mention it,” I said. “It was my pleasure.”
“Hey!” she said. “Is that a wisecrack?”
“Probably,” I said. “I couldn’t resist.”
I think she was laughing a little. I could feel her tits jiggling. We lay there a while longer, and then I figured it was time to find out what was going on. I asked her why the cutest little DEA agent I’d ever seen was doing time as a pony girl at Mrs. Stern’s.
“This is still part of that drug case you stumbled into when you got involved with those nudist witches,” she said. “We rounded up a big part of Joey Balls’ distribution network then, but we didn’t get them all. We had a pretty good idea that the Van Meters were tied into the network, but we couldn’t find out how. Then we got a tip that the Andrews twins were mixed up in it. When we found out that the twins were coming here, my boss decided I should show up as a client, too.”
“Pretty risky for you,” I said. “Pretty scary, too, if you’re not used to this sort of thing.”
“I’ll say,” she said. “I couldn’t believe those pony races!”
“You were great!” I said. “I would never have thought that a little bit of a thing like you could fly around the course like that.”
“I was scared to death,” she said. “And I got really pissed at my boss every time I felt that plug poking around inside me, but I guess it’ll be worth it if we can put Nicky Balls in the can.”
“Say that again,” I said.
“Say what?” she said.
“Who did you say you wanted to put in the can?” I asked.
“Nicky Balls,” she said. “Nick Balsemo, Joey’s little brother. Sometimes they call him Little Balls, but not to his face.”
“Jesus,” I said, “I didn’t know Joey had a brother!”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Not as big, but just as mean. And a lot smarter, too.”
“Does he like to dress up in diapers and poop in them, too?” I asked.
“You’re kidding?” she said. “Joey did that?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “I’ve talked to several ladies who used to change his diapers and powder his fat ass for him.”
“That is so weird!” she said.
“Hang around the bondage business, kid,” I told her, “and you’ll run into a lot of stuff weirder than that.”
* * * * * * * * *
I guess I should have been worried about the “further diversion” that Van Meter had promised me when he and his wife returned, but after the story that Dot told me, the thing that was really bugging me was the news that Joey’s brother might be involved. I don’t want to put myself or my nice little detective racket down, but messing with the mob really was out of my class.
Like most one-man operations, Daniel X. Diamond Investigations pretty much trucks along at the bottom of the detecting food chain. As Van Meter said, I do a lot of snooping for suspicious wives who are afraid that their hubbies are giving their dicks some extracurricular exercise. I also do a fair amount of the same thing for men who think their wives are spreading it around. Occasionally, I investigate the backgrounds of job applicants for firms who have to be extra careful about their hiring. And I go looking for missing people when someone thinks the cops aren’t too interested — or when someone doesn’t want to tell the cops in the first place. I get the occasional missing animal, too. I even tried to locate a lost cobra once. Didn’t find it. Didn’t try too hard.
But I’m usually not involved with big-time crime. My problems with Joey Balls began when I tried to recover Spanky’s list of bondage clients and Joey’s name happened to be on that list, along with a few details about his unusual sexual habits. My second encounter with Mr. Balls came when I was hired to track down a missing wife. That turned out to be no accident, but I had no idea of that when I took the job. I’d have turned it down in a New York minute if I’d known. Of course, I’d never have met Glinda then, so maybe it wasn’t such a bad risk.
The only way I got rid of Joey either time was to call in the cavalry. The first time, it came galloping along in the form of Tommy Donnell and his buddies from the Rampart Division, who not only threw Joey in the slammer but made sure he didn’t walk too well for a while. The second time, I got unexpected help from Dundeen, who handled things in a more permanent way. So where was Dundeen now that I really needed him?
My life had got so wacky ever since I started working for folks in the B&D trade that I wouldn’t have been too surprised if Dundeen had been with the Van Meters when they got back, maybe pulling a deck of cards out of his pocket to show us one of his slick tricks. Well, there was someone with them when they returned, but it was a slender guy in a dark gray business suit with a discreet little red pinstripe, his dark hair slicked straight back over a narrow face that just missed being movie-star handsome. He looked as if he were headed for a board meeting — out of place alongside the Van Meters, whose clothes were obviously expensive but definitely country casual, just what the better sort were wearing these days when enjoying a little weekend of merriment and mayhem.
I could feel Dot’s body jerk and heard her give a little gasp when she saw the new guy. I couldn’t figure that out at first, and then I got a sick feeling in my gut. I hoped that this dude wasn’t who I thought he might be.
He walked to the bed and looked down at us, and then he began untying Dot. Van Meter came over to help him. In a few minutes, we were loose and sitting on the edge of the bed, and I was feeling a little more awkward than usual at being naked when most of the other folks in the room were fully dressed. I suppose Dot was, too. I guess the guy in the suit figured that, because he stepped into the bathroom and came back with two towels, which he tossed to us. Dot hid that great little body inside a large bath towel, but I just got a hand towel, so I draped it over my lap and felt a little less exposed.
“Hi, Dan,” the guy said. “I’m Nick Balsemo. I think you knew my brother Joey.”
Bingo! That’s who I was afraid this character was. I couldn’t think of anyone who I would less rather see at that point, but Nicky Balls surprised me.
“I wouldn’t say that I knew Joey well,” I told him. “I met him a couple of times.”
“That’s what I understand,” he said. “But I want you to know that there are no hard feelings. I know you weren’t responsible for what happened to him. I miss Joey a hell of a lot, but he was in a tough business, and it was a business he chose for himself. He knew what he was doing, so what happened happened. You know what I mean?”
“Sure,” I said, not really believing what I was hearing.
“Anyway, I hope my friends here didn’t leave the impression that you were being threatened,” he said. “Stick around if you like, but I doubt if there’s much here to interest you. Maybe when you get back home, there’s a little business I can send your way. Maybe you can make a buck or two. You know what I mean?”
“Sure,” I said, still not believing his line.
This guy was not what I expected. His brother Joey was a big, scowling, low-browed type who looked as if he’d just swung down from one of the lower limbs on the evolutionary tree. Nick Balsemo didn’t seem like a thug. He was more like a slick crook. Maybe a guy who worked for a used-car business specializing in Ferraris and Lamborghinis previously driven only by little old ladies on their trips to the bank to deposit dividend checks. And he was obviously a lot smarter than Joey, who had been given to grunted conversations and some glaring gaps in his reasoning.
Nicky Balls stuck out his hand. I shook it. He gave a courteous little nod to Dot, turned and walked out of the room. The Van Meters followed him, looking out of sorts, as though they were disappointed about not being allowed to have another crack at my ass. Mrs. Van Meter slammed the door shut behind them.
“What the hell was that all about?” I said to Dot.
“I don’t know,” she said, “but I think we were awful lucky. I was afraid Nicky had found out that I was with the DEA. I guess he didn’t.”
“He probably thinks that he can’t afford to deep-six me right now,” I said. “He figures he can’t risk getting on the wrong side of Mrs. Stern until he and the Van Meters pull off whatever job they’ve got going.”
“Do you think it involves the Andrews sisters?” Dot asked.
“It has to,” I said. “Otherwise, it would be too big a coincidence for all of them to show up here right now.”
“So what do we do now?” she said. “I think maybe I ought to get some people from the Agency in here.”
“Why don’t you hold off on that?” I said. “Let’s play the good little subbies for a while longer and see what develops.”
“I don’t know if I can take any more of that,” she said.
“Sure you can,” I said. “You’re a tough little broad. And you might even get to like it a little.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s what worries me.”
* * * * * * * * *
There wasn’t much shaking at Mrs. Stern’s the next morning, and Darrell, Delia and I sat around our room shooting the shit until we got in an argument over whether Delia could take Darrell’s dick all the way when it was good and hard. She said she could, I said she couldn’t, and Darrell just lay back on his bed and smiled. Delia gets real agitated over any kind of competition, especially when someone questions her performance, so she jumped up, grabbed a bottle of lotion and began rubbing it on Darrell’s penis until he had a king-size erection. Then she climbed on top and lowered herself down on the boner.
It looked for a while as if she was going to be stuck up there, with maybe four or five inches of prick still uncovered by her wet sex. But she wiggled around a little and slid down a little more and a little more and a little more until she had it all inside her. She had been all concentration until then, but when she finally got there, she looked up to give me a triumphant grin. That lasted for about two seconds, and then she got this funny look on her face, her mouth opened in a wide “O,” her eyes glazed over, and she hung there on the edge of an orgasm. Naturally, Ms. Davis chose this moment to burst into the room.
“Mrs. Stern wants to see you in her office,” she said to me. She glared at my cock, which had hardened while I watched Delia’s squirming. “And get on your uniform and cover that thing up,” she ordered.
Ms. D. must have had other things on her mind, because she just glanced at Delia and shook her head, though she slammed the door hard as she went out, just like Mrs. Van Meter had done the night before when she and her husband and Nicky Balls walked out on Dot and me. I would have been willing to bet a bundle in both cases that the lady would have liked to stick around and take out her frustrations on someone’s butt.
I got into my little skirt and garter belt and hose in a hurry, pulling my tiny thong panties up over my diminishing hard-on . When I ready to leave, Delia was still sitting on Darrell, staring up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. Darrell was lying there waiting for her to recover, and he gave me a grin and a thumbs-up sign as I was going out.
As I walked quickly down the long hall to the front of the mansion and Mrs. Stern’s office, I wondered whether she’d call me “Dan” or “Mr. Diamond” this time. But she crossed me up.
“Come in, Dorothy,” she said when I knocked on the frame of the open door.
I came into the room and stood in front of her desk. She got up and came around the desk to stand next to me, picking up a long leather paddle off the nearly bare surface of the desk.
“I’m afraid that the Van Meters were disappointed in your performance, Dorothy,” she said. “They asked that I make sure you are punished properly for your deplorable conduct.”
At first, I didn’t have any idea what she was talking about, but then I got the gag. She’d pretend to punish me in case anyone was listening, while we discussed in whispers what I’d been finding out. We’d worked that scam a couple of times before, and it always left me with a nice glow on my bottom, because Mrs. Stern made sure that her swats sounded authentic. I leaned closer to her and lowered my voice.
“I don’t think we have to put on a show,” I said softly. “I didn’t see anyone around in this part of the mansion.”
“Did I ask you to speak?” she said.
“No,” I said, surprised by her tone.
“No what?” she said.
“No, mistress,” I said.
“That’s right,” she said. “Now take off your panties.”
I always had a hard time getting off underwear while I was standing on one foot and then the other in the high heels that went with the maid’s uniform. I was flustered now, and I had a harder time than usual, almost losing my balance. I finally got the panties off and held out the skimpy little things to Mrs. Stern.
“Stuff them in your mouth,” she said. I obeyed her. “Now put your head down on my desk.” I obeyed her again.
I was bent over with only my head and shoulders on the desk. The rest of me stuck out into the open space in front of it. She smacked me on my protruding butt with a hard stroke that came up under the short skirt and across the downward curve of my buttocks.
“Spread your legs, Dorothy,” Mrs. Stern said. “When you assume that position, your legs should always be spread. I told you that yesterday, but apparently your memory needs improving. I don’t want to have to tell you again.”
I spread my legs obediently, and Mrs. Stern lifted the little skirt and pulled it up over my back, leaving my bottom completely exposed. I was very conscious of the tight garter straps that extended down my legs, framing my bare, reddened buttocks and upper thighs between the black garter belt and the tops of the long black stockings. When I was dressed that way, I somehow felt more exposed and vulnerable than when I was completely naked. I suppose it was because I was a man dressed in women’s clothing. Who knows? I do know that garter belts and long silky hose are fetishes that turn on a lot of guys, sometimes when they’re being worn by some broad, sometimes when they’re wearing the stuff themselves. Sometimes, if you get lucky, it’s both at the same time.
Mrs. Stern ran a hand over my buttocks, her fingers tracing the two or three welts that remained from the whipping I’d take from the Van Meters the evening before. She cupped my left buttock for a moment before reaching between my legs and taking my balls into her hand. She didn’t squeeze. She held them gently but firmly, lifting them slightly as though she were weighing them. She gripped them like that for what seemed like a long time but was probably less than a minute, and when she released them, she moved around to my right side, reached under me and took my penis into her fingers.
I thought I’d died and gone to heaven, but I was scared, too — scared that I was going to cum in her hand. Scared stiff? That’s a pretty good description, I guess, because my dick was as hard and rigid as a frozen carrot. Mrs. Stern held it firmly while her forefinger went up over the tip and made little circles that pressed into the tiny, sensitive hole. That drove me crazy. It probably drives most guys crazy, and I’m sure Mrs. Stern knew that. When I was so close to unloading that a few drops of milky fluid were oozing out to form a thin, sticky string, she let go of the erection and stepped back.
“Your bottom is very red, Dorothy,” she said. “It appears that the Van Meters took care of a good deal of your punishment last night, so I’m inclined to be somewhat less severe today. However, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to let you off entirely.”
There was a pause, and then the leather paddle smacked down hard across my rear, its long flat blade catching both buttocks in a single stroke. She hit me twice more, stinging swats with considerable force behind them. She paused again, and her hand caressed my bottom as though she were testing its heat. Her fingers went away.
“Masturbate yourself, Dorothy,” she ordered.
I removed one arm from the tabletop, grasped my penis and began to stroke it. I didn’t pump hard. I used long, slow strokes. I didn’t want to cum right away. I didn’t want this to be over yet. I was having a hard time believing that it was actually happening, but a hard slap with the paddle made a believer out of me. She hit me a half dozen more times while I tugged on myself. Finally, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her lay the paddle on the desk.
“Cum for me now, Dorothy,” she said, and she took my balls in her hand again, squeezing them slightly as she rolled them in her fingers. I was on the edge already, and her grasp sent me rocketing past it. Cum jetted out against the front of the desk and onto the carpet beneath me. She let me stand there, bent over and spent, for a minute or so.
“Please clean that up,” she said at last. “Take your panties out of your mouth and use your tongue.”
I knelt in front of the desk and licked off the fluid that was sliding slowly down its wooden surface. I lowered my head toward the carpet, but Mrs. Stern stopped me.
“You can wipe up the rest with your panties,” she said. “When you’re through, get up and close the door.”
I swiped at the carpet with the tiny scrap of underwear, getting up the cum as best I could. Then I got to my feet and closed the door to the room, which had been standing open the whole time. I turned back to Mrs. Stern and waited sheepishly, staring at the floor. I was too embarrassed to look her in the face.
“Now I’d like you to bring me up to date on your investigation, Mr. Diamond, if you don’t mind,” she said.
I didn’t mind, but I was startled by the sudden change in our relationship. It took me a minute to collect my thoughts, and then I told her about Nicky Balls showing up along with the Van Meters. She knew that. Then I told her about Dot, about the fact that a DEA agent was masquerading as one of her customers. She knew that, too.
“I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to share that information with you, Mr. Diamond,” she said, “but I had promised not to divulge Miss Thatcher’s identity.”
“Why did they send her here in the first place?” I said.
“I asked them to,” she explained. “The Andrews girls had been introduced to us by the Van Meters, and I knew that could mean some kind of drug involvement, especially if the Van Meters themselves turned up here. I had no intention of endangering my business by getting it tangled up with drugs, so I decided to head off any problems. A person in my position finds it rewarding to co-operate with the authorities whenever possible.”
As usual, Mrs. Stern was about ten steps ahead of me, but I was able in contribute the information that Dot and I had decided to wait a while longer to see what developed before Dot called in the troops. She agreed with that idea, so I told her I’d check with her later and started to go back to my room. But when I was about to go out the door, I turned back.
“One thing I don’t understand, Mrs. S.,” I said. “When I first came into the room, there was no one around for us to put on a show for. What was that little episode all about?”
She looked at me and smiled slightly.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said. “I enjoyed it a lot.”
“So did I,” she said.
* * * * * * * * *
From the corridor outside Mrs.Stern’s office, you could see into the entrance hall of the mansion, and I glanced that way before heading in the other direction to return to my room. A woman was crossing the open space, hurrying toward the front door and carrying a small suitcase. I looked more closely and realized that the woman was Marilyn, the Andrews twins’ maid and whipping girl. She went out the door, and on the spur of the moment, I quickly followed her.
When I got outside, Marilyn was headed toward a car in the parking area on one side of the large circle drive in front of the mansion. I ducked behind some bushes, and it was a good thing that I did, because after unlocking the car and opening the trunk, she turned abruptly and walked back toward the front door. I stooped lower in the bushes so that she couldn’t see me. When she had gone back inside, I stood up and looked at the car. The suitcase she’d been carrying was sitting next to the open trunk. I figured she’d forgotten something and would be right back, so I decided to take a chance. I walked quickly over to the car, opened the door and got into the back seat, hiding on the floor as best I could.
If I’d stopped to think about it, I might have decided that the revealing little maid’s outfit wasn’t the best thing to wear on an afternoon drive through Montecito, but I didn’t have time to think. I heard Marilyn’s footsteps coming back down the drive, and a minute later, she lifted the suitcase into the trunk and slammed down the lid. If she’d glanced into the back seat when she got into the car, she’d probably have seen me, but she didn’t. She drove away as if she were in a big hurry.
The car wound through the streets of the hilly community, and then it went up a little rise and picked up speed dramatically, so I knew that she’d had gotten onto the 101. She didn’t stay on the highway for long. We went down another ramp and turned sharply on another road, probably the access road running next to the 101. We didn’t go much further until she turned off the street, went up a drive of some kind, circled a building and stopped. I waited a few minutes after Marilyn got the suitcase out of the trunk, and then I peeked over the edge of the front seat just in time to see her go into a ground-floor room in a nondescript two-story motel. It looked like a Motel 6 to me.
I got out of the car. I was pretty nervous standing there in broad daylight in a skirt so short that you could see where my hose were attached to the garter straps, but we seemed to be parked in the back lot, and I didn’t see anyone around. I was still holding those thong panties in one hand. I slipped them on. My rear was bare, with just a thin strip of cloth between my buttocks, but having my dick and balls tucked away a bit made me feel better. The panties were sticky with my cum, but I could live with that.
I took a deep breath and began to walk across the lot toward the door of the room I’d seen Marilyn enter. I almost made it. I was about to knock when another door opened two or three rooms down the line, and a couple of real maids came out, young Latino women dressed in reddish purple uniforms that covered a whole lot more than my costume. They stopped in their tracks and stared at me. I rapped on the door, looking straight ahead and pretending to ignore them. I could hear one of them trying not to giggle and not succeeding very well.
The door opened. Marilyn stood there, just as startled to see me as the motel’s maids had been. I didn’t give her a chance to react. I pushed past her into the room and swung the door shut behind me. There were two beds in the room. Mandy Andrews was sitting on one of them. I wasn’t surprised. I’d suspected something like this for a while now, and when I saw Marilyn leaving the mansion, I was pretty sure where she was going.
“Hi, Mandy,” I said.
“Oh, my God!” she said. “What in the world are you doing here? Aren’t you, like, some kind of pervert person who works for that Stern woman?”
“Well, I’m working for Mrs. Stern, and I’m not going to argue about the pervert part,” I said, “but I’m also a private detective, and right now I’m trying to find out why some little rich girl is pretending she’s been kidnapped.”
“It wasn’t my idea!” Mandy said quickly.
“I can buy that,” I said. “Let me tell you how I figure it, and then you and Marilyn can tell me if I’m wrong.”
They stared at me but didn’t say anything, so I went ahead.
“I’m betting that your pals the Van Meters have been putting the screws on you somehow, and when you heard they were coming to Mrs. Stern’s, you panicked and split. Then your sister — and maybe Marilyn here — cooked up the kidnapping story to cover up for you. Right so far?”
Mandy’s answer was to bury her face in her hands and start bawling. I waited for her to get herself under control. She calmed down a little after a while, but she couldn’t stop crying completely.
“Those awful people were going to tell Daddy that Candy and I were buying, like, toot and stuff from them,” she choked out between sobs. “He would be really, really mad if he found that out. So they said they wouldn’t tell him if we would help them, like, sell to people we knew.” She started crying harder again.
“They were trying to break into the high-society market?” I asked.
“That’s right,” Marilyn chimed in. “And Mandy was really scared about it, so when she heard the Van Meters were coming here, she just ran away. And Candy and I thought up the kidnapping story, just like you said.”
“Okay,” I said. “Here’s the deal. You girls are going to tell the cops all about this, and I suspect they’ll agree to forget about your little kidnapping stunt. Your dad may throw a shit fit, Mandy, but he’d get a lot madder if the cops threw you in jail.”
Mandy was sobbing too hard to answer, but she nodded her head yes. So did Marilyn. I walked over to the phone, called the mansion and asked to speak with Mrs. Stern. When she got on the line, I told her that I’d found the missing twin and that it was time for Dot to call in the heavy artillery. I told the two girls to stay put at the motel until the cops came for them, and I got the car keys from Marilyn. I wanted to get back to the mansion before things started coming down.
I walked across the parking lot and was starting to get into the car, when a couple of police cars pulled up behind it. That was quick, I thought, and then I realized that they couldn’t have been tipped off yet. I got a nervous feeling in my stomach.
“Hold it right there, buddy!” one of the cops yelled, jumping out of his car.
In a second, there were four cops around me, slamming me up against Marilyn’s car. They pinned my arms behind me and cuffed my wrists together. The handcuffs were way too tight, but I don’t think they were worrying about that. I tried to explain, but they weren’t listening. All I got was that familiar old refrain: “You can tell them all about it down at the station.” They shoved me into the back of one of the squad cars. As we pulled out of the lot, I could see the two motel maids standing next to the building and watching us drive away. They’d blown the whistle on me, but I couldn’t blame them for that. I just wished they weren’t laughing so much about it.
On the way to the station, one of the cops in the front seat turned and looked back at me.
“What kind of a pervert are you, asshole?” he said.
I tried to tell him, but he hadn’t really been asking.
“Shut the fuck up!” he said.
This whole bit was getting a little old. I’d been arrested in similar circumstances a couple of cases ago, though the treatment that I got then wasn’t too surprising because I’d been nabbed by a couple of good-ol’-boy county mounties in rural Louisiana. I’d expected a bit more politeness on California’s Gold Coast. Thank God, I wasn’t caught again with a vibrating cock ring on my dick and a vibrating butt plug up my ass. The Louisiana police photographer got some shots of me tied up like that, but I don’t think she ever mailed me any 8-by-10 glossies. This wasn’t as bad, but it was still no picnic when they got me out of the car at the cop house.
When the cops pick up some poor guy in drag, they sometimes like to have a little fun with him, so naturally they didn’t park in back of the station and take me in the rear entrance. They pulled up right in front and made me stand there on the sidewalk for a while as they pretended to look for things in the car. Four or five teen-agers came walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street, and they stopped to gawk. Someone driving by honked. My face was probably as red as my well-paddled butt.
Fortunately, the station house itself was almost deserted. Maybe everyone was out at Mrs. Stern’s place helping round up the Van Meters and Ricky Balls. There were a couple of women officers working at the front desk, and the sight of me set off some very unprofessional giggling. The cops who arrested me turned me over to a detective for questioning. The detective was a she, a hard-looking broad pushing forty who shook her head when she saw me. She took me back to her desk, uncuffed my wrists and pointed me to a steel chair sitting next to the desk. In the air-conditioned room, the seat of the chair was cold on my bare bottom.
I told her my story. She kept shaking her head the whole time. I asked her to check with Dot — with DEA agent Rebecca Thatcher, I should say. She said that was no problem because agent Thatcher was on her way to the station with a couple of perps. We sat and waited. She smoked a cigarette, but she didn’t offer me one. I don’t smoke anyway. I can only manage one set of bad habits at a time.
After about five minutes, a group of four or five officers came in through the rear entrance. Dot was with them. So were the Van Meters, handcuffed and hanging their heads. They didn’t look very happy. The cops hustled the Van Meters through a door at the back of the squad room. Dot stayed behind and walked over to where I was sitting. I stood up.
“This clown says you know him,” the woman detective said.
Dot looked me up and down. I felt oddly embarrassed. We’d been naked together the evening before, but everything was different when she was fully dressed and I was half-nude in heels and hose and a skirt so short you could see my the bottom of my buttocks.
“I never saw this guy before,” Dot said, and she spun around and walked away.
My stomach dropped down to somewhere around my knees. I tried to say something, to protest, but nothing came out. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard.
Dot walked about halfway across the room, and then she turned again. She had a big smile on her face. She started laughing as she walked back to us.
“Yeah, this guy is Dan Diamond, and he gets most of the credit for the bust we just made,” she told the detective.
“Hey, don’t do that to me!” I said. “I think my heart stopped ticking for a minute there!”
“Sorry, Dan,” she said. “I couldn’t resist.”
“I see you rounded up the Van Meters,” I said. “What about Nicky Balls?”
“He was nowhere to be seen,” she said. “The Andrews sister couldn’t implicate him anyway. They’d never even heard of him. All their dealings had been with the Van Meters.”
“Damn,” I said. “I don’t like the idea of Nicky being on the loose.”
“Look,” she said, “I’ve got to get back there before they start interrogating the Van Meters. I’ll come by Mrs. Stern’s later.”
“Great,” I said. “I’m counting on it.”
She went away, and I looked back to the detective, who’d been sitting at her desk listening to every word.
“Okay, Diamond,” she said. “I guess you’re free to go.”
“You don’t have anything I could put on, do you?” I asked.
“Not really,” she said.
“I don’t much want to go out on the street like this,” I said.
“That’s the way you came in,” she said, smirking meanly. “I guess you can leave the same way.”
“Well, how about calling me a cab?” I said.
“You can use the phone at the front desk,” she said.
I walked over to the front desk. The two women sitting there didn’t take their eyes off me while I made the call. I was careful not to turn my backside toward them. When I finished, I walked to the front door with as much dignity as I could manage. When I unthinkingly reached back to tug down my skirt, one of them laughed.
I waited by the door, and when the taxi came, I hurried outside and down the steps. When the driver saw me coming, he did a double-take, gunned his engine and drove away, leaving me standing in the middle of the sidewalk. The teen-agers were still across the street, waiting to see if they could get another look at me. Traffic had picked up, and drivers were slowing down when they saw me. There were a couple of near rear-enders, but the rear end I was worried about was the one peeping out from under my skirt.
It was going to be a long afternoon.
Come to Wasteland.Com, the Darker Side of Desire. HD Bondage and Fetish Movies,
Photos and a massive library of BDSM guides, how-to info, articles and many other features.
Since 1994, the premier destination on the web for real BDSM movies and photos.
