Reading Time: 16minutes I should have known the dame was trouble from the minute she ran into my office.
Sure, she had a terrific ass and a pair of won't-quit tits that bounced around under her tank top like a couple of softballs on speed. But she also had a hard glint in her baby-blues, and her lips were thin and mean-looking. They reminded me of Sister Mary Agnes back in the fifth grade, which was not a pleasant memory.
I should have known the dame was trouble from the minute she ran into my office.
Sure, she had a terrific ass and a pair of won’t-quit tits that bounced around under her tank top like a couple of softballs on speed. But she also had a hard glint in her baby-blues, and her lips were thin and mean-looking. They reminded me of Sister Mary Agnes back in the fifth grade, which was not a pleasant memory.
It had been a slow morning, like most mornings that month, and I was thinking about running down the street to McDonald’s to get an Egg McMuffin before they stopped serving breakfast. In the meantime, I was sitting at my desk checking out the underwear ads in last month’s copy of Vanity Fair and jacking off. I was just about at the point where I needed to start looking for the box of Kleenex in my desk drawer when this great pair of boobs came bursting through the door, bringing along the big blonde I’ve been talking about.
Right behind her was Stella Road, the babe that I pay to sit at a desk in my waiting room and run off the bill collectors. I don’t pay her much, but I let her turn a trick or two on the waiting-room couch after I’ve gone home in the evenings. She still lives with her mom, so she can’t take her johns back to her apartment.
“Sorry, boss,” said Stella, “but she ran right past me!”
“No problem,” I said, and I motioned for the woman to sit down in the chair in front of my desk. I couldn’t stand up to say hello, because my trousers and my jockeys were pulled down around my knees. Stella, who knew how I liked to pass the time on slow days, just gave me a wink and went back to her desk, closing the door behind her.
“Talk,” I said to the blonde after she sat down.
“Are you Daniel Diamond, the private investigator?” she asked.
“That’s what it says on the door,” I answered.
It actually says, “Daniel X. Diamond,” but I don’t talk about that “X” much, except when I tell some horny chick that it stands for X-rated. Anyway, my answer seemed to baffle the blonde, and she had to think about it for a minute. I guess her brains weren’t as big as her boobs, but she finally caught on.
“Oh,” she said.
I decided that was an okay start, and I waited to see where she’d go from there.
“I’ve got something for you to investigate,” she said. “My dildo is missing.”
I started to tell her that if she was looking for a stand-in, she’d come to the right place, but I thought better of it. I’d never gone looking for a dildo before, but if there was a dollar to be made, I wasn’t going to turn away the customer.
“Where did you see it last?” I asked.
“I can’t remember,” she said, “but I’ve looked everywhere in my apartment, and it’s just not there.”
“Look,” I said, “I can see how you might get a sentimental attachment to that sort of appliance, but you can always buy another one. There’s a sex-video store down the street that carries all kinds of toys like that.”
“You don’t understand,” she said. “I had something hidden in that one.”
“Inside?”
“Yeah, it had batteries, so it could, like, vibrate. I took out the batteries and put something else in there.”
“What was that?” I asked.
She fidgeted around on the chair like a priest with piles and a bad conscience. Finally, she decided to answer me.
“It was a piece of paper,” she said. “A list.”
“What kind of list?”
“Customers,” she said reluctantly.
Now I got it. The broad was some kind of hooker, probably a high-priced one, and she’d lost the list of johns and phone numbers that she needed to keep her business running smoothly. I decided to kid her along for a while, so I played dumb. That wasn’t hard.
“What kind of customers?”
“Okay, I’m gonna level with you,” she said after thinking about it for a minute or two. “I beat the shit out of guys for a living. I tie ’em up, paddle their butts, walk on their dicks with high heels, that kinda thing. Sometimes they wanta do me, but mostly it’s me whippin’ them. I make a lot of bucks, and I don’t mind the work. It’s fun sometimes.
“The thing is, there’s guys on that list that wouldn’t want the word to get around that they like to get their asses paddled. Like, some of them are in a line of work where that kind of rep would really hurt them. So, that list cannot wind up with the wrong people. See?”
I saw. And now I knew why she reminded me of Sister Mary Agnes.
“I understand your problem,” I told her. “If you’re sure the dildo is nowhere in your place, what we’ve got to do is figure out who was there who could have taken it. Then we’ve got to get it back. By the way, kid, you never told me your name.”
“It’s Joyce,” she said. “Joyce Brothers.”
“You gotta be kidding,” I said.
“That’s what everyone says,” the blonde replied. “But it’s my real name. I don’t use it in my work, though.”
“I can see why.”
“When I see guys at my apartment, they call me Mistress Dorothy, like the Wizard of Oz chick,” she said, “but I also work at a place down in Long Beach, and down there they call me Spanky.”
“What about that Long Beach joint?” I asked. “Could you have left the dildo down there?”
“Maybe,” Joyce said. “Or some of the girls from there might have been hanging around my place and carried it off with them. Except for my clients, they’re the only ones who are in the apartment.”
“So I need to check out the place in Long Beach, I guess.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, “but you can’t just go down here and tell ’em that you’re a private dick. I might get in lot of trouble. You’ll have to pretend that you’re, like, a customer.”
“Hold on a minute,” I said. “This is a place where you go to get spanked, right? And you want me to go as a customer?”
“It’s not goin’ to kill you,” she said. “You might have a sore bottom for a couple of days, but you’ll get over it. Who knows, you might like it.”
I thought that over for a while.
“Okay,” I said, “but this is going to cost you double my usual fee. It’ll be two hundred dollars an hour. Expenses, too. If I have to pay some broad to beat my ass, the money isn’t coming out of my pocket.”
“Sure, that’s fine,” she said. “If you go on down there now, you can save some money, too. If you go in before 2 o’clock in the afternoon, you can get half off.”
“Terrific,” I said, “I’ll run right down.”
Forty-five minutes later, I was standing in front of Helga’s House of Pain. No, I’m joking. That wasn’t its name. The little sign next to the door said, “Suncoast Health Club, Therapeutic Massage & Fantasy Fulfillment,” and the steps inside led up to the second floor. On the ground floor was a Korean import business, but it looked deserted, and there was a “CLOSED” sign in the window.
The upstairs was open all right. I could hear music playing — some kind of soft rock — and when I climbed the stairs, I wound up in a largish, dimly lit room with a desk and two or three couches. I liked the decorations — not the garish paintings of naked ladies on the walls, but the real live naked ladies on the couches. They weren’t completely naked, but they were missing enough clothing for me to tell that I might like this job after all. The redhead behind the desk was wearing something that looked like a nurse’s uniform, but I’d never seen one before cut so low that the nurse’s jugs were hanging out.
“Can we help you?” she asked.
“Somebody said that you were running an early-afternoon special,” I told her.
“Yes, we are,” she said. “That’s half off on a colonic irrigation. Is that what you have in mind?”
Damn, you had to figure that Joyce would get things screwed up.
“Not exactly,” I said. “I gotta tell the truth. I’m new to this kind of thing, and I’m not sure exactly what to ask for.”
“That isn’t a problem,” the redhead said. “Denise is working today, and she’s wonderful with beginners. That’s Denise with an ‘s’ in the middle.”
I didn’t really care about how Denise spelled her name, but the “nurse” pressed a button on the phone on her desk, and I could hear a faint ring from a back room. In a minute, this tall dark-haired broad in some kind of combination corset and garter belt came through the curtain that hid the entrance of the back hallway. She had a good body, with long legs in high hose that fastened to the garters and tits that jutted out over the corset like they were staring at something on the ceiling, but there was a sour expression on her face. She looked as mean as a rattlesnake with a toothache.
“Here’s a nice man who needs to learn what this is all about,” the redhead said.
Denise didn’t say anything. She just beckoned to me with one finger and went back through the curtain. I followed her. She walked all the way to the end of the long hall, drawing me after her with a bare butt that wasn’t covered at all by her thong underwear. It was a sight to write home about, as long as your mother didn’t see the letter. She entered a room at the end of the hall. I followed her there, too. I get older, but I don’t get any smarter.
It wasn’t a big room, but it had lots of stuff. There was a long, black-vinyl-covered table in the center of the room, like a doctor’s examination table but with chains attached to rings on the sides. Paddles and whips were hanging from nails driven into one wall, and there were more chains dangling from the ceiling, with leather cuffs on their ends. Against the wall on the right was a chest of drawers. Among the things lying on top of it were several dildoes — one giant one in the shape of a penis and a couple of others that were just short round rods with one end tapered to a smooth point. One of those looked as if it might be battery-operated.
“You got a name?” Denise asked.
“Dan,” I said.
“Okay, Danny,” she replied. “What have you got in mind?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “The usual I guess.”
“The usual,” she repeated, smiling a wicked smile. “A little bondage. A little discipline. That sound okay?”
“Sure,” I said, but I don’t think I was very convincing.
Denise said that the usual would be a hundred dollars for thirty minutes or two hundred dollars for an hour. I thought about going for an hour, since Joyce was paying the bill, but I wasn’t sure what I was getting into, so I opted for a half hour. Denise collected the money and stuffed it into the top of her corset.
“Take off all your clothes, Danny,” she said, “and I’ll be right back.”
“Everything?” I asked.
“You got it, buddy,” she said as she left the room.
I got undressed quickly, tossing my clothing onto a chair next to the door. I wanted time to take a look at that dildo before Denise got back. When I picked it up, it felt light, as if there were no batteries inside, but before I could unscrew it to see, Denise walked back in.
“You like the looks of that dildo, Danny?” she asked. “Maybe we’ll give you a chance to make a closer acquaintance with it.”
That didn’t sound like such a good idea, but I didn’t say anything. I figured I could tell her to forget about it when we reached that point. That was another mistake.
Naturally, I’ve been naked with lots of dames, but they usually had their clothes off, too. I felt funny standing there in front of Denise, who was pretty covered up by that corset thing. She looked me up and down for what seemed like a long time, long enough for my dick to start getting hard.
“I think we’re going to have to put a halter on that little fellow,” she said.
She got a long cord of leather — like the lace out of a boot — from the dresser, tied it around the base of my cock and balls and began wrapping it around and around, so that my privates were pulled away from my body and jutting out. Then she wrapped the cord just around the base of the balls, so that they were in a tight little package.
She hoisted her butt onto the table, scooted back a little and sat there with her long, silk-covered legs danging over the side. “Get up here on your belly,” she said, patting her lap, and I awkwardly slid sideways across her thighs with my arms resting on the table next to her. My right leg was on the table, but I was still holding myself in place with a left leg braced on the floor.
Denise scooted back a little more, so that I could get that leg onto the table, too, and then I was face down on her lap with my bare butt arced into the air. I kept my ass elevated because I was afraid that if my dick rubbed on those creamy white thighs, I might cum all over this chick’s legs, which could pretty much piss her off. I didn’t know why my prick had gotten into that condition so early in the game, but it felt as if it were as primed to explode as Junior Seau on Monday Night Football.
Now that Denise had me over her knee — knees, actually — she started spanking me hard with her bare hand. The loud smacks stung a lot, but the pain wasn’t all that bad, and I figured that I could handle this shit. No problem. She kept on whacking, though, and my backside began to get hot, real hot. I couldn’t help reaching back with one hand, and Denise smacked it away. I reached back again, and she flipped me right off her lap and onto the floor, where I lit on my burning butt.
“That’s not going to cut it, Danny,” she said. “I can see that you’re going to have to be tied up before we get down to serious business.”
She hadn’t been serious up to now? You couldn’t prove that by my hot ass, I thought, but when she lifted one of my arms up to cuff it to a hanging chain, I didn’t try to stop her. She hooked the other wrist to the cuff on a second chain, and now my arms were pulled up over my head in a wide V. I wasn’t really hanging there, but I had to stretch pretty good to stay in that position.
Denise walked over to the paddles and whips hanging on the wall and studied them for a while before making four or five selections. I figured that it had been another big mistake to struggle when I was on her lap. She’d been satisfied with using her bare hand until then, but now she was going to bring in the heavy equipment.
“You’re probably not experienced enough to know what kind of whipping you like best,” she said. “So I’m going to try out some different things until we find out your favorite.”
For some crazy reason, that made me think of Jimi Hendrix and “Are You Experienced?” Jimi was a wild guy, and he might have gotten into this kind of stuff, but I felt that I’d already had about as much experience with it as I needed. Denise obviously didn’t agree, because she smacked me hard on the butt with this little wooden paddle with a round, flat end that was maybe three or four inches wide. Man, it hurt! It felt as if The Unit had just caught me on the ass with a high, hard one.
“God damn!” I half-screamed. “Forget that!”
Denise giggled.
“That one does sting,” she said. “Maybe you’ll like this one better.”
She held up something that looked like a Ping Pong paddle that had been covered with black leather, and when she swatted me with it, the pain wasn’t so bad. It made a loud smack when the blow landed and it burned for sure, but the broader blade of this paddle seemed to distribute the impact. The leather covering probably helped, too.
“Better,” I said.
“Very good,” Denise said. “How about this one?”
She was holding up another wooden paddle, one with a long blade with holes drilled in it, like the one that Sister Mary Agnes kept under her desk in that fifth-grade classoom.
“No thanks,” I said. “I know all about that kind of paddle.”
“You gotta have one stroke anyway,” said Denise, and she swung the paddle back with both hands and brought it sweeping into my butt with her full force.
The blow snapped me forward and almost off my feet. It felt as if someone had painted a broad band of fire across my ass. I yelled again, louder this time. At least, Sister Mary Agnes had never hit me on my bare bottom, though I bet that mean old broad would have enjoyed having a whack at my naked butt if she’d thought she could get away with it.
“Okay, pipe down,” said Denise. “I won’t use that one again.”
Now she had a small leather paddle with a narrow double blade, one blade on top of the other. I found out later that it was called a flapper, and it made a loud sound when she swatted me with it. Like the broader leather paddle, it stung pretty bad, but the pain didn’t come close to the wooden jobs.
“I like that one best so far,” I told her, and then I thought about what I was saying. How could I have got into a comparison test for the best way of whipping my ass?
“I’ve got one more,” Denise said.
She showed it to me, and my stomach dropped somewhere in the vicinity of my ankles. It was a slender cane, like the ones that headmasters used to cut up the bums of recalcitrant English schoolboys. I’m sure old Tom Brown thought it was a jolly good show, but I wasn’t interested in finding out how it felt.
Denise didn’t hit me right away. She brought the cane gently up under my dick and bounced my erection up and down a few times. I hadn’t been paying much attention to my front side, and I was a little surprised to see that my penis was still hard after the punishment inflicted on my rear. Denise moved around behind me and ran one end of the cane up and down the crack of my ass. She probed a couple of times for my anus, and then she hauled back the cane and slashed me hard with a side-handed swipe right across my cheeks.
The red stripe she laid down made me cry out again, and she hit with me two more on the back of my thighs before I could catch my breath. I could practically felt the welts rising. I danced from foot to foot, my butt twisting as if I were trying to shake off the pain. People paid to get this done to them? That was hard to believe.
“So I guess we’ll rule out the cane?” Denise asked.
I told her what I thought about that question. I guess I told her what I thought about her, too, because she shoved this rubber ball on a cord in my mouth and tied it in place. About all I could do then was mumble and drool.
“We’ll use the flapper,” she told me.
She began spanking me with the small leather paddle, raining loud smacks on my red bottom. That was my paddle of choice, but my butt was already burning when she began, and after a dozen or so swats with the flapper, it was on fire. Then I was saved by the bell — by a knock on the door, actually..
“Come on in,” Denise called, and to my surprise, Joyce poked her head in.
“You busy?” she asked.
“Sort of,” Denise said, “but don’t let that bother you. Danny here will be glad to take a little break. This is Spanky, Dan.”
“Oh, I know Danny,” Joyce/Spanky said. “I’ve seen him around in some clubs, at the Fais Do Do, I think. I didn’t know you liked bondage, Dan.”
I hoped she didn’t expect an answer from someone with a rubber ball shoved in his mouth, but Denise answered for me anyway.
“I don’t think he’s made up his mind whether he likes it or not,” she said.
“Sure he has,” Joyce answered. “Look at the size of his boner.”
She was right. I was sporting a king-size erection, hard as the heart of a Watts landlord. Joyce reached down, took my dick in her hand and squeezed it. This was a new kind of client relationship for me.
“You want me to get him off for you?” she asked.
“Be my guest,” Denise said. “I think Danny has had about as much spanking as he can take for one day.”
Joyce slid around behind me and pressed her body tight against mine. She must have slipped her tank top down, because I could feel her bare boobies on my back. They felt as good as they looked. She reached around me with both hands. One of the hands grabbed my dick and began jerking me off. The other fondled my balls. That went on for a while, and I was having a great time, but then somebody had to spoil it.
“Hey, Spanky,” said the girl from the front desk as she opened the door. “Somebody wants to talk to you on the phone, and it sounds like Joey Balls.”
“Gotta go,” Joyce said. “Catch you later.”
She ran out the door, leaving me right on the edge of the Big Kahuna. I could have shot that broad in the nurse’s outfit, but she just stood there and checked out my dick. “Not bad for a white boy,” she said, and then she left, too.
“Well, it’s just you and me now, Danny,” said Denise. “Let me put some baby lotion on that thing of yours so it’ll feel real nice and smooth when I finish you off.”
She went over to the dresser, looking for the bottle of lotion, but she spotted something else that gave her a new idea.
“Hey, here’s that dildo you were looking at,” she said. “Didn’t I promise you that you could get to know it, like, up close and personal?”
I guess it was a rhetorical question, because there was no way I could answer her with that ball gag in my mouth. She found the baby lotion, too, and she came back carrying both the lotion and the plastic dildo. She stood right in front of me, so I could watch as she poured lotion into one hand and coated the dildo with it. She wiped the rest of the lotion off on my dick before walking around in back of me.
“Spread your legs,” she ordered.
I didn’t want to argue with a broad who swung a paddle like she did, so I moved my feet wide apart. With the chains spreading my arms, I was stretched into a naked X. She spread my cheeks as well as she could with one hand, and I felt the end of the dildo pressed against the ring of my anus. For a minute, I didn’t think she’d get it in, but then the well-oiled toy slipped through the sphinctor, and Denise rammed it home. It felt as if somebody had driven an MTA bus up my rear and left it there in the no-parking zone.
She was pushing so hard that I was practically lifted off my feet, but when she reached around and grabbed my penis, she drew the dildo back a little. She thrust it back in instantly, but not as far, and drew it out and pushed it in and drew it out, and in and out, and — well, you get the idea. At the same time, she began stroking my dick. I’d never felt anything quite like that combination, and I forgot all about my whipped butt and about what might be inside that dildo — until Denise reminded me.
“This thing is supposed to vibrate,” she said, “but nothing happens when I switch it on. The batteries must be dead.”
Bingo! That had to be Joyce’s missing dildo, and I planned to look inside it as soon as I could. First things first, though, and No. 1 on my list was Denise’s hand on my dick, followed closely by what was happening in my butt. It was feeling pretty good, really, and Denise must have known it, because she speeded up with both hands, and before I even knew it was on the way, I was shooting an arc of cum halfway across the room.
“Good boy,” she said, and she dropped the dildo on the carpeted floor and began to unfasten my hands. When they were free, I stood there halfway embarrassed, expecting some kind of wisecrack, but she just patted me politely on the bottom and said that there was a towel on the dresser and she’d leave me alone for a minute to get cleaned up.
I picked up the towel, but when she left the room, I dropped it and grabbed the dildo off the floor and unscrewed the end. Sure enough, there was a folded piece of paper in the space where the batteries should have been, and I poked in a finger trying to get it out. Apparently, I was so intent on that task that I didn’t hear someone come into the room behind me.
Then I did hear a noise, and I started to turn around, and somebody swung something against my head, and all the lights went out.
I guess I was only unconscious for a minute or two. When things started coming into focus again, I was on my hands and knees on the carpet, shaking my head to clear it. I looked around for the dildo.
It may have been safely up my ass not a few minutes before, but it was gone now.
End of The Case of the Disappearing Dildo Story – Part 1
Coleen is a writer, photographer and film maker at Wasteland and Sssh.com.
Here at BDSMCafe.com, she is editor and curator of this comprehensive library of BDSM fiction, informational articles and other educational features that date back to the early days of the internet in 1996 when the site was first launched.
