The Case of the Alabaster Ass – Part 1
A Dan Diamond mystery by j.
I should have known better than to get involved with a broad who had a dick.
Like they say, though, we get older but we don’t get any smarter.
I was at my desk in my office on the edge of Chinatown, trying to decide whether to run over to the Plum Tree for an early dinner or sit there a while longer and enjoy the hard-on that had grown while I was day-dreaming about the afternoon a couple of weeks earlier when I was stranded on a busy Santa Barbara street in one of those skimpy little maid’s costumes from Mrs. Stern’s.
I was about to call for Stella to come and help me deal with my erection when she poked her head through the door from the waiting room.
“Playing with yourself again, boss?” she asked.
“What makes you think that?” I replied, sitting up straight and sliding closer to the desk so that my open fly wasn’t in view.
“Well, you didn’t answer me when I buzzed you,” she said. “Miss D. is out in the waiting room with this big, tall blond babe.”
“Ask them to come in,” I said.
I quickly zipped up my fly and picked up some papers off the top of the desk so that I’d look as if I’d been busy. But Miss D. must have heard what Stella said, because she was grinning at me when she came into my office.
“Is that what you do on slow afternoons, Dan?” she asked.
“Where’s your friend?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“I told Daisy to wait until I filled you in,” she said. “If you decide that you want her for a client, she can tell you the rest of the story herself.”
“So sit down and fill me in,” I said.
“Daisy needs some help in getting back something valuable,” Miss D. began.
“No problem,” I said. “Finding lost things is a specialty of Daniel X. Diamond Investigations.”
“The thing is,” she said, “Daisy is a client of mine, too.”
As far as I was concerned, that was no problem either. I was a pretty regular customer at Miss D.’s midtown bondage parlor and enema emporium myself (though not for the enemas, unless one of those naughty girls slipped one to me after I was helpless). But I was a little surprised, because I thought that most of Miss D.’s clientele was male.
“I didn’t know you catered to ladies,” I said.
“Oh, we get more than you’d imagine,” she replied. “But that’s sort of what I wanted to warn you about. You see, Daisy is not exactly a lady, and I’m not talking about her manners.”
“In other words, you don’t actually mean ‘her’?” I asked.
“Well, it’s hard to know what to say,” she said. “You’ll see when you meet her. Or him. Or whatever.”
Miss D. was right. Daisy was one of the most spectacular broads I’d ever seen, and I’ve had more than a few female clients who lived in the Hollywood Hills. She was tall, but she didn’t have the brawny shoulders that ruin the illusion for a lot of male cross-dressers. Daisy sure seemed like a dame, with long blond hair, big blue eyes and a pouty mouth that made her look a little bit like the old photos of Clara Bow, the silent-movie star. She had on a woman’s business suit, gray and subdued, but with a skirt so short that you could see lots and lots of her long legs. The legs were pretty great, and somehow she had acquired a pair of tits that looked pretty great, too, even under the coat of her suit.
“Miss D. has been telling me about you,” I said after I had her settled down in the other chair in front of my desk.
“Oh, my! Nothing bad I hope!” Daisy said in a soft, near-whisper that sounded like no man’s voice I’d ever heard.
“Not at all,” I told her. “I’m looking forward to hearing what I can do for you.”
“I need you to help me find my ass,” she said.
I must have looked startled, because Daisy and Miss D. both laughed.
“Maybe I’d better start again,” Daisy said. “I’m talking about an animal, not a part of my anatomy. You know. Like a donkey, right?”
Now I got it. She was like the girl from Madras in the limerick. Her ass was not “round and pink, as perhaps you might think.” This ass was “gray, had four legs and ate grass.”
“Actually, I’m not talking about a real animal,” Daisy continued. “I’m talking about a statue. It’s supposed to represent the Golden Ass of Apuleius. Do you know about that?”
“Believe it or not, I do,” I answered. “I ran into it in a classical lit class back in college. Or now that I think about it, maybe it was in one of those old Grove Press collections of highbrow porn.”
“This sculpture is from Greece, but it isn’t ancient — not even extremely valuable,” she went on. “It’s alabaster and it’s very nice work, but its value for me is mostly sentimental. It’s one of my very favorite things.”
“So what’s happened to it?” I asked.
“Well, that’s where it gets a little embarrassing,” she said. “You see, Mr. Diamond, despite the way I look, I still enjoy women. In a sexual way, I mean. Especially when it comes to the kind of services that Miss D. offers. You do understand, don’t you?”
“I do indeed,” I told her. “I understand very well.”
“Yes, Miss D. indicated that we have similar tastes in some matters,” she said, “and that’s one reason I decided to come to you. It’s not the main reason, though.”
“What would the main reason be?” I asked.
“Well, the statue was apparently stolen from me by a young woman who makes her living as a dominatrix,” Daisy explained. “It was missing after we had a long session at my apartment. And Miss D. tells me that you are acquainted with this person.”
“Who is she?” I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer in case it turned out to be one of my favorite playmates.
“Her name is Joyce,” she said. “Joyce Brothers, though she certainly is not the famous Joyce Brothers. Far from it. And she doesn’t use her real name with clients. She calls herself Spanky.”
I was almost as surprised as if she’d said it had been the other Joyce Brothers, the famous one.
“Yeah, I know Spanky,” I said. “She was my first client from the bondage business, and that’s how I wound up getting involved in B&D myself. I suppose I ought to be grateful, but I’m not real fond of the kid. She landed me in some deep trouble with a lowlife named Joey Balls — now the late Joey Balls, I’m happy to say. But I didn’t know that Spanky was still around L.A.”
“She came back to town about six months ago, Dan,” Miss D. said. “If I’d known that Daisy was seeing her, I’d have warned her about the little bitch.”
“I was too embarrassed to tell Miss D. that I was patronizing someone else,” Daisy explained. “But one does like a little change of pace from time to time, don’t you think?”
I couldn’t have agreed more, but I didn’t say so. There was no sense in pissing off Miss D. when there was a good chance that she’d have me bent over a spanking bench sometime soon, getting ready to work over my bare bottom with one of those nasty little canes of hers.
“Have you checked around town to see if Spanky tried to fence the statue?” I asked.
“I don’t believe she would try to sell it,” Daisy answered. “As I said, it’s not really an extremely valuable item. I think Joyce wanted it for her own. She was always remarking on it when she visited me. She even asked me to give it to her once. She offered to give me a free session every week for two months. I mean, really, she must have known that the cost of the sessions was no problem for me!”
“So I suppose you want me to find out whether Spanky has the statue and, if she does, try to get it back for you,” I said. “That’s not going to be real easy. I guess Miss D. told you that Spanky and I didn’t part on the best of terms. The last time I saw her, I left her tied up and facing a hot time from a couple of very angry ladies.”
“Just tell her you want a session,” Miss D. suggested. “You wave a fistful of cash in front of Spanky and she’ll forget all about what happened between you the last time around. Offer that girl enough money and she’d get it on with the Hillside Strangler.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “If I call her up now, after what went down before, she’s going to be real suspicious.”
“Why don’t you arrange to run into her somewhere?” Miss D. suggested. “You can chat her up and see where it goes. You got a great line of bullshit, Dan. You should be able to wing it from there.”
“I know that she’s always at this club on West Adams,” Daisy added. “It’s really not that far from Miss D.’s place, but over on the other side of the 10.”
“Not the Fais Do-Do?” I asked.
“Why that’s right!” Daisy said. “Do you know it?”
“I’ve been there a few times,” I said. “There’s a band called Flogging Molly that I like a lot, and I went to hear them when they played there. It’s not really the kind of place where I’d expect to see Spanky, though.”
“She lives somewhere around there now,” Miss D. said. “She gave up that apartment on Los Feliz when she was out of town. I guess the Fais Do-Do is her neighborhood bar. And that’s a great name for a band, by the way.”
“A great band, too,” I said. “Sort of an L.A. version of the Pogues.”
“So will you try to look her up?” Daisy asked. “I’d really appreciate it.”
“Sure,” I said. “It can’t hurt.”
Like I pointed out before, we get older, but we don’t get smarter.
* * * * * * * * *
I decided to drop by the Fais Do-Do that evening for dinner, figuring I’d pass on the spiced cabbage at the Plum Tree in favor of some jambalaya and a beer. I wondered whether there was any chance that the Fais Do-Do had Abita. It turned out that they did. On tap, yet. It’s not that Abita is my favorite beer, since I’m pretty much faithful to the King. But it seemed like an appropriate beverage for a New Orleans-style joint, even one on the Left Coast.
I had the beer — Amber Ale, they call it — but I hadn’t even ordered the jambalaya yet when Spanky walked into the place. I was so surprised that I almost dropped my glass. The surprise went away pretty quickly, replaced by a sneaking suspicion that there was something a little fishy here besides the blackened catfish. Spanky showing up so soon seemed too good to be true.
But Daisy had seemed pretty straight to me. As in shooting straight, I mean. Not straight as in — well, you know what I mean. Besides, Miss D. was vouching for her. This thing had to be on the level, didn’t it? I decided that it did. Dumb and dumber.
Spanky sat down by herself at a table across the room. I took my Abita and walked over to her. When I was about halfway there, she saw me coming. She looked surprised enough, but the broad had always been a good actor. She fed me that phony yarn about her missing dildo when we first met, and I swallowed the whole thing. No, not the dildo, smart ass. The yarn.
“Hey, Joyce,” I said when I got to the table. “I haven’t seen you around in a while. How’s it going?”
“Well, it was going great until you showed up, Diamond,” she said. “So why don’t you take a hike? Don’t you have some lost pussycats to find or something?”
“Still mad, Joyce?” I asked.
“You could say that,” she replied. “I’ve still got scars on my butt from the whipping those bitches gave me. Whenever I see the marks in the mirror, I think about what an asshole you are.”
“Hey, kid,” I said. “I’m the one who ought to be mad. You made me the patsy with Joey, and I could have ended up very dead if he hadn’t finally gotten it through his thick skull that I wasn’t the one trying to blackmail him.”
“Naw, he wouldn’t have gone that far,” she said.
“Maybe he’d just have broken a leg or two, huh?” I said. “Just minor stuff.”
She stared up at me. Finally, she grinned.
“Oh, hell, sit down and take a load off,” she said. “Why don’t you buy me one of those drafts?”
“I’ll even buy you some jambalaya,” I said. “I was just going to order some for myself.”
“I think I’ll go with the Cajun shrimp,” she said.
“Fair enough,” I said. “I’ll try that, too.”
I didn’t see the waitress, so I went over to the bartender and placed our order. I came back to the table, sat down and gave Spanky a shit-eating grin while I tried to think of what to say first. She saved me the trouble.
“So, Danny boy,” she said. “I hear through the grapevine that you’ve turned into a big-time bondage fan yourself.”
“Where’d you hear that?” I asked.
“A little bird told me,” she answered. “A little bird that works out at The Castle. I don’t think you know her, but she said that she saw you there a couple of times a month. You got a taste for it now, huh?”
“Could be,” I said. “You’re not working at The Castle yourself?”
“I work at a couple of places on and off,” she said, “but I still keep a dungeon room in my apartment for my regular clients. They like the privacy, you know? You ought to give it a try yourself, Dan. I’ve got some real interesting equipment.”
“I’d like to see it,” I said.
“How about tonight?” she said. “I don’t have any appointments until 10 o’clock or so. We can go over there when we get through eating.”
I told her that sounded fine to me. I was thinking about the chance to see whether I could spot Daisy’s missing statue. Actually, I was thinking even more about the erection that blossomed in my jockeys when Spanky mentioned her “interesting” equipment.
* * * * * * * * *
Spanky’s apartment was only a couple of minutes away, but it wasn’t really an apartment. The building was one of those vintage Craftsman cottages that are scattered across central L.A., a lot of them in neighborhoods that are only so-so these days. There are some great old houses in the West Adams area, especially as it gets closer to USC and Exposition Park. Spanky’s cottage wasn’t in that class, and it had apparently been divided into a duplex, but it was not the kind of place I’d expected to find her living. It was pretty nice inside, too. Most dommes’ apartments seem to run to Vegas Moderne, with lots of bad paintings and statues of naked ladies, some of them holding up lamp shades. Spanky had Mission-style furniture — all reproductions, I’m sure, but the stuff looked fine to me.
“Great place,” I said when we got inside.
“Not bad,” she said, “but the real reason I like this dump is that it’s got something a lot of L.A. houses don’t have.
“Which is?” I asked.
“A basement,” she said.
“No kidding,” I said.
“It’s more like a cellar, just under one side of the house,” she said, “but the good part is that it’s under my side.”
“And I guess that where you entertain your clients?” I said.
“You got it,” she answered.
She took me back a short hall that led to the kitchen. There was a door to the back yard there and another door that opened onto a flight of stairs leading down into darkness. Spanky flipped on a light at the top of the stairs, and I followed her down. The little concrete-walled room at the bottom had a very low ceiling, not far above my head. If Shaq had happened to be an S&M fan, he wouldn’t have been able to patronize Spanky’s dungeon without bending way over.
The room was a little scary — not because it was filled with bondage equipment, but because it wasn’t. There was a mattress on the floor in one corner, not a fancy fouton but just a bedraggled single-bed version with no sheet or blanket. Four large iron rings had been set into one wall, two near the ceiling and two more near the floor. A pair of handcuffs was lying on the mattress, and a tin foot locker was placed alongside. That was it. It didn’t look like the typical “dungeon” set up for bondage games. It looked like a place where you could salt someone away and forget about them.
“Where’s that equipment you were talking about?” I asked.
“It’s put away,” she said. “But if you’d like me to use it on you, I can always get it out. No charge for a little sample for an old friend. Especially an old friend who might decide to become a paying customer. Think you’d like that, Dan?”
“Well, it’s an interesting thought,” I said.
“So why don’t you get naked?” she said. “I think you’d look real good tied to those rings.”
Okay, so I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I have got to be a bona-fide idiot to even consider peeling off my clothes and letting Spanky hang me up on her wall. But you’re also thinking that I’m probably going to go ahead and do it. You’re thinking that when it comes to situations like this, the penis is going to outvote the brain every single time.
You know what? You’re right.
I began taking off my clothing. When a client is getting naked, a domme usually stands and watches with a little half-smile of contempt, commenting now and then on the customer’s physical shortcomings and making sure he handles his clothes correctly. If he tosses them down carelessly, he’s sharply ordered to make a neat pile. If he’s neat about it, he’s told to hurry up and not bother folding them. But Spanky turned her back on me completely, lifted the lid of the foot locker and began rummaging around in it. When she turned back around, I was naked and trying to be nonchalant about the rigid erection that was pointing straight at her.
“Well, hello!” she said. “Who’s your little friend, Dan?”
I mumbled something, but Spanky wasn’t expecting an answer. She motioned me over to the iron rings set into the well and began tying me to them with a bunch of slender leather cords that she had taken from the trunk. When she was through, I was spread-eagled against the wall in the shape of an X. I’d expected her to tie me with my face to the wall, so that she could whip or spank my backside, but she wanted me facing her, with my bare back and buttocks pressing against the cold concrete wall.
She’d saved one of the leather cords for a little CBT. That’s cock and balls torture in case you’re not up on B&D terms. The first few loops went around the base of both my penis and my testicles, which had the effect of making them stand out even more from my body. The next two or three loops went just around the stem of my balls, so that they were squeezed out in a tight, reddening bundle.
Spanky began to wrap the rest of the cord around my hard-on, which is the point where I usually begin to worry that the touch of the domme’s fingers on my erect and pulsing organ is going to bring on a premature climax. I didn’t have to worry long this time, because Spanky gave my dick a playful little tug and got a handful of cum as an unexpected reward. It happened so quickly I barely had time to enjoy it. A second spurt came jetting out just as the telephone rang upstairs.
“Right on cue!” she said. “You hang there and drip dry for a while, Dan, and I’ll go see who’s on the phone.”
She ran upstairs, and I did exactly what she said. I hung there feeling very foolish while a string of cum from my drooping penis slid down my thigh. I heard her answer the phone, and when the caller identified himself or herself, Spanky said, “I’m glad you called right now.” I wondered why she said that, but I couldn’t make out anything else. She must have been talking on a wireless phone, because I could hear her footsteps going out of the kitchen in the direction of the living room. She was still talking, but I had no idea about what.
By the time she got back, maybe ten minutes later, my penis wasn’t drooping anymore. There’s something about being tied up naked and waiting for a great-looking dame to come have her way with you that tends to rejuvenate me, even after an orgasm that had unloaded a very big wet spot on the floor of Spanky’s dungeon room.
“Hey, your little buddy is ready for me again!” she said when she spotted the boner. “You think he’s got anything left in him?”
“I’m not really sure,” I said.
“Let’s see!” Spanky said.
I’d expected some B&D games, a few swats with one of her paddles maybe, before she had another go at my dick, but she reached out and grabbed it by the head with one hand while the other cupped my balls. She squeezed gently in both places, and then she began pulling on my penis while the other hand massaged my sac. She stretched out my dick, released the tension, stretched, released, stretched, released. Her searching fingers ran lightly over the sensitive spot just below the head of my penis as the ball of her thumb pressed into the little hole in its tip. She’d obviously done this sort of thing once or twice before.
I didn’t expect that I’d cum right away the second time around, but in Spanky’s expert hands, my penis was beginning to pulse and I could feel the orgasm building in my groin. She must have sensed what was happening because she moved around to one side of my hanging body, grasped my erection firmly in one hand and began stroking it rapidly. My hips were bucking and I was making some noises that surprised even me when another load of cum came shooting out in a long arc. Spanky grabbed my balls and squeezed as though she were trying to coax out every drop. Another burst of the sticky fluid appeared. It didn’t spurt like the first one, but there was a lot there in the wad that fell to the floor between my legs. I didn’t think I had it in me.
Spanky picked up my jockey shorts from the pile of my clothing and wiped off her hands. Now she did stand there and look at me with an amused expression while my breathing got back to normal and I was thinking a little more coherently again.
“Well, that was very nice,” I said. “I was expecting some other fun and games before you got down to business, but I’m not going to complain.”
“Oh, Dan, Dan!” Spanky said. “We’ve still got lots of time for fun and games!”
“I’m not exactly in the mood now,” I said. “You know how it goes. Once you get off, the fun and games are not so much fun.”
“Oh, but they’ll be fun for me!” she said, and before I could protest, she shoved my underwear into my mouth. I could taste the cum she had wiped off her hands.
“I’ve got to go upstairs for something, Dan,” she said. “But you wait right there, okay?”
She went back up the stairs. I wondered what she was going to get. The idea worried me a little. For all I knew, she could be rummaging through her kitchen drawers for a carving knife. I imagined I felt the family jewels shrivel a little at that thought, but when I looked down, I saw that things were on the rise again! I couldn’t imagine how or why my hard-on was sticking around, but there it was. Go figure.
Spanky wasn’t gone long and all she had with her when she returned was a large pillow that she’d gotten off the couch in the living room. She dropped it on the floor in front of me, knelt on it, lifted my penis with one hand and took a long, leisurely lick down its underside. The touch of her tongue stiffened the erection until it was as hard as ever — hard as a carrot, as Delia used to say when she was describing one of those memorable Darrell boners back at Mrs. Stern’s place.
Spanky took a half dozen more licks up my penis, bathing it from the balls all the way up to the tip, before running her tongue around the head several times. She glanced up at me with a little grin, and then she dropped her head and all I could see looking down was a mass of curls as she took my penis in her mouth. She held it there for a few minutes before her tongue started to explore the underside again — and she was just as talented with that tongue as she was with her fingers. She grabbed my balls again, massaging them with both hands as she began to suck on my dick, gently at first and then harder, as though she was trying to suck another orgasm out of my genitals.
And she did.
I couldn’t see what spurted out into her mouth, but I guess there must have been enough left in the sperm bank for another withdrawal, because there were trails of cum sliding out of her mouth when she stood up. She picked up my shirt to wipe it off this time. She grinned at me hanging there, and I probably did look a little frazzled. She’d been doing all the work, but I was exhausted.
They say that your balls ache after a long session of necking that doesn’t end with sex. That’s never happened to me. No, I don’t mean that I’ve never had a long session of love-making that didn’t end in sex. That’s happened to me lots of times, just like for any other guy. But I never really had sore balls as a result. I am here to tell you, though, that you can get tender balls from a quick three times in a row. Spanky had been grabbing my nuts pretty hard there at the end, so that was probably a big part of it, but I think my balls were also trying to tell me that enough was enough. My dick was ready to call it a night, too.
Spanky wasn’t.
She went over to the foot locker again and what she brought back this time was one of my favorite sex toys — a plastic cock ring with a little vibrator attached. I was usually overjoyed when some play-for-pay babe brought out one of those, but the sight of it didn’t make me real happy this time around. My penis was dangling now, the hard-on subsiding, but it hadn’t shrunken. It was still long and thick, swollen and red from the engorging blood of the erection, so that the ring stayed in place when Spanky slipped it on, pushing it down to just below the head.
I didn’t know what the crazy broad thought she was doing, but I wished she’d give it a rest. I’d had sessions with multiple orgasms, including one memorable night back in college when a Southern-fried blonde from North Carolina coaxed seven of them out of me, but those were spread out over several hours, not bang, bang, bang right on top of one another. There was no way that I was going to have another one now.
Spanky had other ideas. She switched on the little plastic toy, and I discovered that this was no ordinary vibrating cock ring. The sensation was like little pins sticking into my tender penis, combined with the more typical shivering circle of pleasure that wrapped around the organ. The feeling wasn’t confined to the narrow band of skin actually under the plastic ring. It spread down the length of the penis and seemed to thrust into the center of my body.
Spanky let the vibrator hang there and do its work while she turned her attention to my nipples. She tugged on them until they were erect, and then she began pinching and pulling on them painfully, trying to hurt me. But like the cock ring’s combination of needle-like stinging and tingling vibration, Spanky’s yanks and pinches on my nipples were painful and arousing at the same time.
I supposed I was overwhelmed by the waves of sensation, because I lost track of how my dick was reacting to all this. It wasn’t until Spanky leaned her head down to suck on one of my tortured nipples that I realized I was cumming again. I don’t know if much of anything came out this time. I was so far out of it that — like they say — everything went black. It didn’t really, of course, but I did sort of lose track of what was going on. When things got back in focus, I felt wiped out, ridden hard and put up wet, and Spanky still had that shit-eating grin on her face as she watched me try to collect myself.
“Okay, Dan,” she said. “That’s the prep. Now I’m going to turn you over to another old buddy of yours.”
I was still trying to make sense of that in my befuddled brain, when I realized that someone had come into the house and was walking down the hall above us. Actually, it sounded as though there were several someones, and when they came down into the basement, there turned out to be three of them.
One of them was a small, Oriental-looking dame, Vietnamese or maybe Thai. I’d never seen her before, and I didn’t give her a lot of thought when I realized who her companions were. The first was a slender, good-looking guy in a very nice suit that must have set him back a bundle. I’d met him once before, and that had been once too often. It was Nick Balsemo, better known as Nicky Balls and also called Little Balls, though never to his face. He had the last nickname not because of the size of his cojones, but because he was the little brother of the late Joey Balls, which gave him at least one very good reason for not being a buddy of mine.
But as startling and unpleasant a surprise as Nicky’s appearance was, it was nothing compared to the astonishment I felt when I saw the third person come down the stairs behind the others. I been around the guy a lot during an unplanned and unwelcome visit to Las Vegas, but I’d never expected to see him again, especially in the company of Joey Balls’ brother. It was the guy who separated Joey and his head in the guillotine illusion of his Vegas magic show. It was Dundeen the Great!
* * * * * * * * *
NEXT: Why must the show go on?
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