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A Dan Diamond mystery by j.

I used to think that any restaurant north of Hammond or west of Lake Charles that advertised “New Orleans Style Cooking” was making a promise that ranked right up there with “the check is in the mail” and “I won’t cum in your mouth.” It’s still a culinary claim to take with a huge grain of salt, but things have been looking up out here on the edge of the U.S. and A. that could disappear into the Pacific just about any day. Why, even Pismo has a little Creole and Cajun place that’s not bad.

My favorite in LA LA Land is the tiny counter restaurant in the Farmers Market, where the gumbo is great and the beignets are pretty fine, even if they’re mostly air. I like them more than the ones at the French Market that you’ve heard so much about. The French Market beignets are required eating when you’re in New Orleans, but they are inclined to lie a little heavy in the stomach after a dozen or so.

I was having a bowl of that Farmers Market gumbo while I waited for a client. She was late, and I thought about having another serving, but recently my job had begun to require a lot of nudity on my part, and I decided that I’d better consider my girlish figure. Well, there had really been just one job that turned me into a naked P.I., but since the client I was about to meet made her living as a dominatrix, I figured that there might be some point in this new case where I would have to get into the altogether.

Not that this would be any big problem. That business with the missing dildo — which wasn’t missing at all, as it turned out — opened my eyes to the whole B&D scene. In the weeks since I met Denise and Cheri and that crew, I’d visited them a couple of times at Miss D.’s and the Suncoast Health Club, and now I was the client instead of the other way around. I wasn’t thinking about giving up conventional sex, but a little variety from time to time keeps you feeling young — or keeps your dick feeling young, which is pretty much the same thing.

This new case actually turned up after a session with Denise at Miss D.’s, when she asked me if I would look into some problems that this big-time dominatrix friend of hers had been having. At first, I thought she was talking about Miss D., whom I’d pegged as a lady who could take care of all of her own problems, thank you very much. Nope, said Denise, this was someone I’d never met, but she was desperate to meet me now. Okay by me, I said.

For some reason, she didn’t want to come to my office. Maybe she didn’t like Chinatown. But if she wanted privacy, the crowded area of tables surrounded by the little Farmers Market counter restaurants was probably not the right place. Never mind. If a client wanted to meet me in the middle of the 405 during rush hour, it was fine by me. The clients are the folks who pay my bills, and they’re always right. Well, not always, maybe, if you consider Spanky of dildo fame.

Anyway, I sat there at the table, still thinking about the possibility of another bowl of gumbo, until I saw this terrific babe on the far side of the tables, peering over her sunglasses as though she were looking for someone. She was tall and dark-haired, with more curves than the PCH, and they all were somehow crammed into this little black dress that probably cost her a couple of hundred bucks per inch. She didn’t look like Farmers Market material, and I decided she must have wandered over from The Grove — or, more likely, someplace farther afield, like Rodeo Drive. I got up and went over to her.

“Are you Suzanne?” I asked.

“Yes, I am,” she said. “And you must be Dan.”

I admitted that she was right and led the way back to my table. I was even moved to pull out her chair for her when she sat down. This was one classy broad.

“Is Suzanne your professional name,” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “My real name is Cruella.”

I did a double take.

“My mom loved Disney movies,” she explained. “I’m just lucky that she didn’t name me Dalmatia.”

“I’d think that Cruella would be a great name in your line of work,” I said.

“I’ve got a pretty sophisticated clientele,” she said. “If I used my real name, I’d be laughed right out of the business.”

“I can see that,” I said.

We sat there for a while, not speaking. I could have spent the afternoon looking at her, but I figured I’d better get down to business.

“This would have been more private at my office,” I began.

“I didn’t want anyone to know that I’m seeing a private investigator,” she said. “That’s the same reason I didn’t go to the cops. It could make some of my best clients a little nervous. They’re not people who want publicity.”
“I can see that, too,” I said. “So why did you want to meet me?”

“Someone has threatened to kill me,” she said.

That was a bombshell. It was quite a stretch from my usual cases, which most often involved tracking down a philandering husband or checking up on the extra-curricular activities of some bored trophy wife.

“Who’s making the threats?” I asked.

“About six months ago, I did some bondage sessions that were filmed for the internet,” she explained. “It was kind of penny-ante stuff, not what I usually do, but it was a favor for a friend. Anyway, now I’ve been getting letters that say that the writer is going to kill me because I humiliated them on film. That has to be someone who was a submissive in one of those bondage film clips.”

“Have you made any other movies in the last year or two?” I asked.

“Those were the only bondage ones I’ve ever made,” she said. “The only other film work that I’ve done was a porno flick about five or six years ago when I was new in the business, but that wasn’t a bondage film. Do you remember the Suzanne Sachs movie called ‘Hard Rock’? We did a takeoff on that called ‘Hard Cock,’ with me billed as Suzanne Sucks. Maybe you saw it?”

“I missed that,” I told her, “but I hope that ‘Hard Cock’ was better than ‘Hard Rock.’ I think that ‘Hard Rock’ went straight to cable.”

“You might have enjoyed our version,” she said. “You could have seen me in action with three guys with truly memorable equipment. All three of them turned out to be gay, too. They were really great guys, but God only knows where those cocks had been.”

I wasn’t sure what to say about that, so I got back to the death threats.

“Do you have any idea which of the people in those internet shoots might be holding a grudge?”

“Absolutely not,” she said. “It was all strictly professional, and I only knew one of the people before the filming — and I don’t know her very well. There were two girls and two guys. I know their names, but I have no idea where any of them are now, except for Destiny. She works out at The Castle, and she’s in a lot of their shows. Did you ever see one of those?”

“Actually,” I admitted, “I was the featured attraction in one a couple of weeks ago.”

“No kidding!” she replied, with a big grin spreading across her face. “I had no idea, Dan!”

“Well, I didn’t exactly know what I was getting into,” I said. “I was pretty upset about it at the time, but since then I’ve decided that maybe it wasn’t so bad.”

“Did you meet Destiny?” she asked.

“No, they wheeled me in on this spanking bench on wheels and abused me for a while, and then they wheeled me out,” I explained. “There was this girl fastened to a whipping rack who was getting walloped when they brought me in, but I only saw her for a moment.”

“Red hair?” Suzanne asked.

“I think so,” I said, “but what I noticed most was her red butt.”

“Sounds like her,” she said. “Destiny marks real easy, so she’s good for the shows.”

“So I guess Destiny is the place to begin,” I said. “I’ll go out to The Castle tonight and look her up.”

That sounded good to Suzanne. She gave me the names of the other three people who had been in the films in case Destiny turned out to be a dead end, and then she stood up and shook hands. I watched her walk away in that little black dress. It was an awesome sight.

I drove back downtown to my office and gave the other three names to my secretary Stella so that she could make some calls and see if she could track them down. I was careful to make a copy for myself, because Stella seems to be losing everything these days. Since I gave her those spankings, she keeps making “mistakes” and telling me she’s been a bad girl and deserves to be taken over my knee for a little bare-bottom paddling. I’m not complaining, you understand, but I wish she’d quit misplacing the Accounts Receivable file.

The company that made those bondage flicks was called Au Naturel Productions, and from the address, its office appeared to be in one of those little Van Nuys bungalows where so many of the porn industry’s films are cranked out. I told Stella to start by calling there and seeing what she could find out about the other people on Suzanne’s list. I told her to tell the Au Naturel folks that we were looking for some talent for a shoot of our own. Then I sat down at the aging office computer and called up the website for The Castle, which listed the shifts for all of the girls who worked there. Destiny was working that day, but she had an afternoon shift, and I’d have to get out there in a hurry. Stella was in the mood for a spanking, but I just swatted her once on the bottom and told her that I’d have to catch her later.

By day, the neighborhood of single-story warehouses and light industry where The Castle was located looked even seedier than it had at night. I parked down the street and walked quickly to the entrance. It had been close to midnight when I was there before, but now the other businesses were in operation, and I felt embarrassed, sure that people were looking out the windows and thinking that another pervert had arrived.

The same guy was working the front desk, but he showed no sign of recognizing me. He asked me whether I wanted a dom or a submissive, and I told him that I was hoping for a session with Destiny.

“She’s a switch,” he said, “so which way do you want her to go?”

I told him that submissive would be fine, figuring that if she was the one tied up with butt bared, it would be easier for me to get some information out of her. He told me that submissive was more expensive, and I said that was okay by me. Suzanne was picking up my expenses, and she could afford it, if that big-bucks outfit she wore to our meeting was any indication.

The guy pushed a button on his intercom and asked for Destiny. In a few minutes, she came down the hall from the rear of the building. She was indeed the redhead that I’d seen getting whipped on that X-shaped bondage rack, and she had such milky white skin that the red hair had to be natural. I could see why she’d get a nice rosy glow after a little paddling. She was a little on the skinny side, but her boobs were pointers, my favorite kind, with the nipples peering up to count the cracks in the ceiling.

She led me back to a bondage room. It was just about what I’d expected from my earlier visits to B&D joints, but at The Castle, as I had noticed on my first trip there, the rooms seemed to be larger and hold a lot more equipment. Destiny asked me again whether I wanted her as a dom or a sub, and after I told her that sub was what I had in mind, we talked about how long a session I wanted and how much it would cost me. When I paid her, she split for a minute, but she didn’t tell me to have my clothes off when she got back. I assumed that those instructions were only for guys who were going to be on the receiving end. She did ask me if I wanted a Coke or a Pepsi. No thanks, I said. Then how about a Sprite? No thanks again.

When she got back, Destiny closed the door, gave me a big smile and stood there waiting expectantly. I wasn’t sure what to do next. She was obviously waiting for my orders, but I didn’t know what they should be. To tell the truth, I felt pretty stupid. Then I decided just to do to Destiny what Denise had done to me in our sessions over the last couple of weeks. Of course, Denise usually tied up my cock and balls for starters, and that wouldn’t fly with Destiny, but the other stuff would work. I told her to strip. Those perky little tits looked even better without the bra, and when she took off her panties, I could see that she was completely shaved between her legs. Well, I thought, I’m pretty sure that she’s a natural redhead, but I guess I won’t be able to tell for certain.

I told her to get her favorite paddle from the dozen or so hanging on one wall. She picked one of those leather-covered Ping Pong jobs, which was one of my favorites, too. I liked the loud smack when it hit your bottom. She gave it to me, and I told her to take the wrist and ankle cuffs off the rack and put them on herself. I stood close to her while she was buckling on the cuffs, and when she bent over to fasten the ones on her ankles, I swatted her hard on the butt. She gave a little cry. My dick had already gotten hard, but that ouch made it almost leap out of my pants.

When she had on the cuffs, I told her to climb on the long vinyl-covered table in the middle of the room, kneel there and stick her hands back between her legs. I clipped the left wrist cuff to the left ankle cuff and the right wrist cuff to the right ankle cuff, leaving her kneeling there with legs spread and her head and shoulders against the table, so that her butt was high in the air in perfect paddling position. Her tight little anus seemed to be puckering in anticipation of the blows to come, and it looked to me as if the lips of her pussy were wet. That made sense, I thought. When Denise had me in that position, there was often a little string of pre-cum dripping out of my erection. Destiny’s butt was a lot cuter than mine, though.

At this point, I decided to take off my own clothes. My dick needed badly to be touched, and when I was naked, I came up close behind her and placed my erection into one of her hands. She was almost at the edge of the table, so I was able to lean against her bare buttocks while she fingered my penis. It felt great, but when I felt that an orgasm might sneak up on me if I wasn’t careful, I stepped back.

“Here’s the deal,” I said. “I hear somebody’s been sending some pretty unpleasant letters, and I’d like to find out if you know anything about them.”

She seemed to think about that for a minute. “Maybe,” she said, “but I’m not telling you.”

I smacked her hard with the paddle on her raised bottom, and a pink blush immediately spread across her left cheek. I swatted the other side. It turned pink, too. They looked great that way to me, so I kept paddling her, alternating sides to keep a nice balance. The pink deepened to red. Her butt seemed to glow, and when I ran my hand over it, the skin was very warm.

“Okay,” I said. “Do you feel like talking about those letters now?”

“I won’t tell you a thing,” she said.

I decided to switch paddles, and I chose one of the little round wooden ones. I hated being spanked with those. Maybe Destiny would hate it just as much. I began swatting her. The circular end of the paddle was only about three inches wide, so it took more strokes to cover a whole cheek, but I knew each smack hurt a lot more than the leather-covered paddle. Though Destiny was giving gasps of pain each time a blow landed, she wasn’t really yelling like I usually did. The kid could take a paddling, but the whole thing was getting too intense for me.

“Have you changed your mind about those letters?” I asked.

“I’m not talking,” she said.

Well, I thought, I’m going to have get tough. I went over the the rack and took down a long, willowy cane. I swished it in the air a couple of times — a very scary sound if you know the next stroke might be on your butt. It was enough to work on Destiny.

“Okay, okay,” she said. “I’ll tell you. I mailed the secret plans to the Russians.”

“The Russians?” I said, and I must have sounded just as dumbfounded as I felt.

“No, not the Russians,” she said. “I know they’re out of it now. I meant that Al What’s-It’s-Name. You know, the Arabs who are assholes. The terrorists.”

It dawned on me then. What we had here was, in the immortal words of Strother Martin, a failure to communicate.

“Uh, look, Destiny,” I said, “did you think I was just playing around here?”

“Yes, I did,” she said, and although I was looking at her bottom instead of her face, I could tell from the tone of her voice that she was getting annoyed. “Guys like to make up, like, little stories sometimes to explain why they’re beating your ass,” she explained. “Wasn’t that what you were doing?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “Look, kid, Suzanne Smythe has been getting letters with death threats from some sub who was in a film session with her, and I’m trying to find out who’s writing them. There are only four candidates, and you’re one of them.”

“What!” Destiny screamed, and now I was sure she was annoyed. “Are you out of your fucking mind? That was a great gig, and I made a lot of money. I’d take all of those I can get. Besides, I had fun. Suzanne’s real good at her work. She’s a bitch, though, if she says I’m sending her those letters! And what business is it of yours anyway?”

“I’m a private investigator,” I said.

“You ignorant asshole!” she began.

I shut her up by grabbing her discarded panties and stuffing them in her mouth. She was still making a lot of noise, and I told her to quiet down or I’d smack her with the cane. Her muffled complaints fell by a few decibels. I didn’t blame Destiny for being angry, but I needed some time to decide what to do next. Her reaction had me pretty well convinced that she didn’t know anything about those letters, but I had a very pissed-off lady on my hands, and in a few minutes, I was going to have to untie her.

Then a brilliant thought surfaced. If she was hacked off at me, I’d give her a chance to get even, and I could enjoy a little dom treatment from her at the same time. Yes, yes, I know what you’re going to say. But it seemed like a brilliant idea then.

“Okay, babe,” I told her, “it looks like I was wrong. Suzanne didn’t say that she thought you were the bad guy, but I had to begin somewhere, and you were the only one of the four that I could track down right away. If it makes you feel any better, we’ve got a lot of time left in my hour session, so you can take a turn at whipping my ass now. The guy at the desk said you were a switch.”

I began unfastening the wrist cuffs from the ankle cuffs. I didn’t pull the gag out because I wanted her to have a little time to think about what I’d just said before she started chewing me out. But when she climbed off the table and removed the panties from her mouth, she didn’t say anything at first. She just stood there glowering at me.

“You really are an asshole,” she said finally, “but if you want a whipping in the time you’ve got left, that’s what you’ll get. I work here, dickhead, and I need to keep my job.”

“Please,” I said, “make it Mr. Dickhead — or just call me Dan. And I am sorry. Really.”

She sat on the edge of the table as she removed the cuffs from her ankles. Then she threw them on the floor.

“Get your ass down there and put those on,” she said.

I sat down on the cold floor and began putting on the ankle cuffs. She took off the wrist cuffs and thew those at me, too. While I was buckling them on, she went over to the rack of paddles and whips. I winced when I saw her take down a riding crop. I hated those things.

“Weren’t you in a show out here last month?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said, “but I didn’t know what I was getting into.”

“Well, you know now, Danny,” she said. “Get on your hands and knees, and let’s see how fast you can move around this table.”

I started crawling as fast as I could, and she chased me with the crop, slashing me across the buttocks as I tried to get away from her and circle the table at the same time. She was hitting me hard, and I was in such a panic that I slipped and sprawled on my belly on the hard floor. She cut three burning stripes across my butt before I could get back onto my hands and knees. I don’t know how many times she hit me in the time it took me to get around that table, but my butt was burning before I got back to where I started and she told me to stand up.

“What’s that?” she said, swatting at my erection with the riding crop.

“That’s my dick,” I said.

“That’s my dick, what?” she asked, hitting it again — not too hard but hard enough to sting.

“That’s my dick, mistress,” I said. I knew the drill by now.

“What’s it doing like that?”

“I can’t help it, mistress.”

“Did I give you permission to get a hard-on?”

“No, mistress.”

“Do you want me to whip it until it goes down?”

“No!”

“No, what?” she said, smacking my erection again.

“No, mistress!”

“Well, we’ve got a private dick with a stiff dick,” she said. “We’re going to have to take a little starch out of both of you.”

She grabbed my erection and pulled me over to where two chains were hanging from the ceiling. She lifted each arm and hooked its wrist cuff to a chain, so that my arms were spread above me in a broad V shape. She got a three-foot steel rod from where it was leaning in the corner and fastened one of my ankle cuffs to the ring in each end of the rod — that’s called a stretcher bar, if you’re keeping score at home. With my legs spread, my feet barely touched the floor.

Now I was hung up, naked and helpless, just about the way that I’d been in my very first bondage session with Denise. I was afraid that Destiny might decide to try another of Denise’s favorite tricks, and sure enough she did. She got a huge handful of plastic clothespins from a bucket that was sitting under the paddle rack and came over to stand in front of me, deciding where to fasten the pins.

“Please, mistress,” I begged, “don’t use the plastic ones.”

She turned away, and I thought she was going to cut me a break, but she walked over to where she’d thrown her panties, picked them up and stuffed them into my mouth.

“Shut up and chew on those for a while,” she said. “That’s the closest you’re coming to my pussy.”

She rolled my nipples between her fingers until they were hard, and then she clipped a clothespin on each. One blue pin, one red pin. They hurt like hell in technicolor. It got even more colorful as she began clipping clothespins to the underside of my erection. Green, yellow, another red one. She was running out of colors but not out of clothespins. She put five or six on my balls. Like I found out the first time I got pinned, the ones on your cock and balls don’t hurt nearly as much as the ones on the nipples — unless you get one right on the end of your dick. Destiny didn’t put one there, but she ran a row down the inside of each thigh. Now we were back in real pain country. But although I was hurting, my erection showed no signs of disappearing. That’s par for the course, boys and girls, as you may already know.

“Hold that pose,” she told me, and she went over and opened the door. “Hey, Brenda,” she called down the hall, “come in here and give me a hand.”

Brenda turned out to be a semi-chubby little chick with an impressive pair of titties rolling around under her short nightie like a couple of little pigs bumping booties. She smiled when she saw me hanging there.

“You’re in kind of a fix, aren’t you, honey?” she said. I don’t think she expected an answer.

“This jerk came in here saying he was a regular customer,” Destiny explained, “and he turns out to be some private detective trying to get me in trouble.”

“What a bad boy you are!” Brenda told me. She looked at Destiny. “You want me to help you teach him a lesson?”

“I just want you to stand behind him and paddle his ass, while I work on the front side,” Destiny replied.

“Sounds like fun,” Brenda said.

She picked up the broad leather paddle and walked around me, unable to resist a little pinch on the end of my dick as she went by. She didn’t waste any time. There was a loud smack as he swung the paddle up against the underside of my buttocks. The swats on my bottom continued to land as Destiny started hitting the clothespins on my nipples with her riding crop. Each time she hit one, it jerked sharply and pain shot across my chest. Then she began striking the crop down the rows of pins on my thighs. I couldn’t decide where it hurt worse, nipples or thighs, but neither one was any fun. I barely noticed my burning butt.

That went on for longer than I liked, but Destiny finally stopped.

“Now we’re going to play a little game, Dan,” she said. “Brenda and I are going to take turns and see who can knock off the most clothespins.”

Brenda traded in her paddle for another riding crop, and the two women stood in front of me.

“I’ll go first,” Destiny told her friend, “so you can see what you’re supposed to do.”

She swung the paddle hard, and it popped the clothespin off my left nipple. It felt like a hungry piranha had just taken a nibble. Brenda took a swing at the one on my right nipple, but she caught part of my chest, too, and the clothespin stayed put. It was Destiny’s turn again, and she popped it right off. Then they started on the ones dangling from the underside of my dick. They both had the hang of it now, and each of them sent a pin flying across the room. It felt as if some of the tender skin had gone along for the ride.

Now it was Destiny’s turn, and there was one red pin left hanging from my erection. She pulled back her arm, swung with all her force and landed a blow solidly on my dick. Even with the panties stuffed into my mouth, the guy at the front desk must have heard my shout and wondered what some poor pervert was getting done to himself in the back room.

“Oh, darn,” Destiny said, “I missed.”

And then she took three quick swings, popping the red pin off my dick first and then clearing the rows of pins off my thighs with a single stroke on each side. She jerked the panties out of my mouth.

“I guess we’ll forget about the ones on your balls,” she said. “I think your hour is about up.”

“Don’t I get to get off?” I asked.

“You’re kidding?” she said.

“I paid to get off, didn’t I?” I said.
“Dan, I’ve got to give you credit,” she said. “You’ve got real balls, even if they are covered with clothespins.”

She stood to one side of me and began jacking me off, as Brenda looked on with interest. She was jerking hard, and the clothespins on my balls clattered against one another. Brenda picked up the leather paddle and started spanking me. It hurt, but it felt good. Everything felt really good now, especially the hand sliding up and down my penis. I groaned as the cum came squirting out in a series of spasms that I wouldn’t forget about for a long time.

Destiny and Brenda unfastened the ankle cuffs and then the wrist cuffs. I was still standing there with cum dripping from my dick, beginning to feel the burn on my bottom, when Destiny snatched her underwear off the floor and walked away, followed by her buddy. Destiny turned around when she got to the door.

“You can get the clothespins off your balls yourself, Mr. Detective,” she said. “Then get dressed and get your sorry ass out of here.”

When they were gone, I gingerly took the clothespins off my testicles, wincing as the blood flowed back into the spots that had gone numb. I got back into my clothes and left, and the guy at the front desk didn’t even look up as I went by. I walked down the street to my car and was starting to get it when I heard someone shouting at me. I looked up and saw Destiny running toward me. She had on a very, very short robe, and it wasn’t closed completely in front, so that enough of her was showing that you could tell she was naked underneath. It was broad daylight on a fairly busy street, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“Hey, Dan, don’t leave yet,” she said when she got to the car. “I just called Suzanne to bitch at her, and she said that she was to blame for sending you out here. She said she was sorry, but she was just so freaked out over the whole thing that she wasn’t thinking.”

“Me either,” I said.

We stood there and looked at each other.

“Well, so anyway, I hope that whipping wasn’t too bad,” she said.

“Destiny,” I told her, “I was scared shitless the whole time, and my butt is probably going to hurt for a week, but I wouldn’t have missed a minute of it.”

“Great!” she said, and she leaned forward and kissed me on the lips before running back to The Castle.

I got into my car, lowering myself carefully onto the seat to spare my sore bottom, and drove back out to the 405. The evening rush hour was at its height, and even though I was traveling in the right direction to avoid the main congestion, it was slow going as I headed downtown. I had a lot of time to think before I got to the office, and I needed all of it. Every time I had gone out to interview someone in that missing dildo case, I had ended up getting my butt paddled at the B&D emporium where they worked. Now this case was starting out the same way.

Was that bad? Was it good? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t mind admitting to myself that I was getting hooked by this bondage thing. What better way to a good life than a few bad habits? But I wasn’t sure that my butt would hold up in this kind of undercover work. There were three more suspects to investigate, and two of them were men. How was that going to play out?

I had turned off the 405 onto the 101 and was headed into Hollywood when I decided to stop off at Musso & Frank’s for a few martinis and the pot roast. To hell with worrying about it. I was going to go with the flow, and my ass would have to watch out for itself.

End of The Case of the Desperate Dom – Part 1

NEXT: Guys and Doll.

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