A Dan Diamond mystery by j.
After my session at the enema palace, I was pooped out in more ways than one, so I headed for my apartment to make it an early night. I live a couple of blocks off an unfashionable stretch of Wilshire in a three-story, pre-war apartment house built precariously over a basement parking garage, the kind of building where you can kiss your ass good-bye when the Big One hits.
My neighborhood was long ago engulfed by the ever-expanding ameoba of Korea Town. That suits me fine, though I wish I could read the signs in all those tiny strip malls. The ones that aren’t in Korean are in Spanish or Chinese or Thai or something I can’t recognize, and about the best that I can manage is a little bit of turista Spanish.
On the other hand, I can easily tell the Korean barbecue joints from the Chinese carry-outs, and I’ve learned which of the hole-in-the-wall Thai places have the best peanut sauce for their satay. And if I get tired of Oriental-American chow, I can always drive over to Langer’s for a pastrami takeout and eat it while I watch the wildlife in MacArthur Park.
When I opened the door to my apartment, the phone was ringing. I picked it up and said howdy. Denise was on the other end of the line.
“Hey there, Dan,” she said. “I just wanted you to know that Joey Balls showed up just a few minutes after you left. He was really keen of finding out what I knew about Spanky’s list.”
“I hope he didn’t treat you too rough,” I said.
“Well, I’m calling from the emergency room at Cedars, if that gives you any clue,” she said. “The fucker broke my nose.”
“Son of a bitch!” I said. “That asshole can’t get away with that!”
“Well, you’re going to have a chance to take it up with him personally,” she said. “I’m calling because as he was leaving, he said that someone gave him your address and he was on his way to your place.”
“Thanks for letting me know,” I said. “You stick in there, kid, and I’ll catch you later.”
After I hung up, I lifted the phone off the cradle again and called a detective friend of mine who works in the Rampart Division. After we’d concluded our short conversation, I went over to my living-room window and stood there looking down at the street in front of the apartment house. It wasn’t long before a big gray Lincoln pulled up, and Joey Balls and another fine upstanding citizen got out. He was a little guy, so I didn’t figure him for more muscle. He must have been the brains of the pair, and Joey could use all the help he could get in that department.
Anyway, the two had barely hit the pavement when three squad cars came wheeling around the corner with their gumballs flashing, and about a million cops jumped out and surrounded the bad guys. It couldn’t have taken them more than fifteen or twenty seconds to get Joey and his pal down in the street belly up while they searched them for weapons. It looked like they found two or three, and then they had the thugs on their feet again and into the squad cars, and they were out of there. Those Rampart guys don’t fuck around.
I figured that Joey’s shyster would get him out of the slammer by tomorrow, but his parole officer wasn’t going to be too happy about another concealed-weapons charge, and so Mr. Balls would have something to think about besides me and that list. As I found out from my detective friend the next morning, it worked out even better than I hoped, because Joey wasn’t a nice boy in the squad car, and when the cops were helping him out at the station house, he accidentally fell and broke both his knee caps. That would slow him up a little, and now he’d have a resisting-arrest rap to go along with the concealed-weapon thing. Like I said, those Rampart guys don’t fuck around.
After Joey Balls and his buddy were hauled off, I went to bed and slept like a baby — a baby who’d had his bowels washed clean and his dick drained by some fingers who really knew how to do the walking. About 10 o’clock the next morning, a ringing telephone woke me up from a very strange but very entertaining dream about Miss D.’s place and a session with Denise and her boss lady. I jumped out of bed cursing because I wasn’t going to know how that dream wound up, and I must have sounded irritated when I answered the phone.
“Guess who got up on the wrong side of the bed,” Stella said.
“Sorry,” I told her, “but I was about to find out what water sports meant.”
“What?”
“Never mind,” I said. “What’s up?”
“That Joyce dame is waiting in your office with her tit in a wringer,” Stella said. “She says she needs to talk to you pronto.”
“Tell her to meet me at the Pantry in about forty-five minutes,” I said. “We can have some breakfast while we talk.”
I’d forgotten it was Saturday morning, and when I got to the Pantry, the line was stretching around the corner from Figueroa and a third of the way up the block. Joyce was standing on the corner looking mad, so I just pulled up to the curb and motioned for her to get into the car. I figured we could ride around while she told me what was on her mind.
“So where’s my dildo?” she said before she was even settled in the seat.
“Good morning to you, too,” I answered. “And I don’t know where your fucking dildo is. You’ll just have to do yourself with a couple of fingers for a while.
“No need to get upset,” she said.
“This hasn’t been the kind of case I usually get,” I said, “and you haven’t made it any better with these goofy leads of yours. Denise doesn’t have any idea where the dildo and that list are.”
“Well, if Denise didn’t take it, it must have been Cheri.”
“Who’s Cheri?”
“She’s this chick who helps me out at my place sometimes when a guy wants two girls to work him over,” Joyce said. “She was there the night before the dildo disappeared the first time, and I saw her at the Suncoast on the afternoon when you got clocked by somebody. I bet she left it in the room by mistake and had to knock you out to get it back.”
“So where do I find Cheri?”
“She moves around,” Joyce said, “but she’s always in those bondage shows out at The Dungeon. They have two of them a month, and there’s one tonight.”
I’d heard of The Dungeon. It’s out in the Valley, and it’s probably the best-known B&D joint in town. It’s got one of the few sex ads in the Weekly that stresses all the years of great service provided to a discriminating clientele. When better butts are beaten, The Dungeon will beat them.
I dropped Joyce off at her car and drove across downtown to my office. I wondered why Stella had been there to let Joyce in, because she usually didn’t come in on Saturdays. It turned out that she was cleaning up the place after a hot date the night before. Like I said, she uses it in the evenings sometimes because she lives with dear old mom, who apparently thinks that her 32-year-old baby girl is still a virgin.
Stella was there when I arrived, and she wanted to check out my butt to see if it was all better after that paddling down at the Suncoast. Well, it had some new welts from the walloping that Denise gave me at Miss D.’s, and that got Stella all hot and bothered again. Once thing led to another, and we ended up spending the afternoon playing Hide the Kielbasa and other fun games. Stella even got another spanking herself, which she enjoyed so much that she very generously provided one of the best blowjobs that it’s ever been my good fortune to experience.
I went home afterward and took a long nap, but when the alarm clock woke me at 9 that evening so I could get out to The Dungeon for the midnight show, I didn’t feel like crawling out of bed. It had been a busy couple of days. But I wanted to wind up the dildo caper and get back to the everyday stuff like tracing bail jumpers and shadowing some suspicious wife’s wandering hubby. It’s a two-bit job, but it pays the bills, or most of them anyway.
I got dressed in my Sunday-go-to-orgy best and drove out the 101 to the 405 and then north to Sherman Way, where I headed into the Heart of Darkness — the heart of the Valley, that is. I went slowly down Sherman Way until I found the right side street and turned into a gloomy neighborhood of one-story buildings that housed light industry and auto-parts warehouses and all those other things that help working stiffs make a semi-honest living. You could tell that The Dungeon was out of that category because its low façade was brightly lit and had flags flying in front!
I told the guy who answered the door that I was there for the show, and he collected fifty dollars and led me into a large room with several rows of folding chairs along one side. Otherwise, the décor was a lot like the bondage rooms at the Suncoast and Miss D.’s. The paraphernalia was the same, but there was more of it, plus a large X-shaped wooden cross attached to one wall. A dozen or so people were already sitting there. To my surprise, about half of them were women. Some of the spectators looked just as uncomfortable as I felt, but others were chatting it up as if it were a cocktail party. Before he left, the guy handed me a ticket stub.
“For the drawing,” he said.
I didn’t know what that meant, but I stuck the stub in my jacket pocket and found a chair. I must have arrived just in time, because these two great-looking chicks in bikini underwear came through a side door, and one of them told us that the show was about to begin. The other was carrying a small cardboard box, which she was shaking so that the paper inside rustled around.
“Now we’re going to have the drawing to see who gets a free session,” she said.
She shook the box some more, and then the first girl reached inside and pulled out a slip of paper. She looked at it, moved her lips while she said the number to herself so that she didn’t forget it in the next 10 seconds and finally announced that 1113 was the lucky winner. I pulled the stub out of my pocket and checked the number. It was 1113.
I said “Yo!” and waved the ticket stub, and the girl who’d drawn the slip came over to make sure that I wasn’t fibbing. She studied the stub with a frown on her face, but after she’d made her way past all four digits, she smiled and said that I was indeed the lucky guy. Actually, that made me feel pretty good, because I hadn’t won anything since I had the winning ticket on a devil’s food cake at a church social when I was a kid. I always come back from Vegas with a hangover and empty pockets.
“I’m Cheri,” she said, “Follow me.”
I obediently got up and trailed her through that side door. As she led me down a long hall, I could hear the other girl saying something and the audience applauding. Apparently, I was going to miss some of the show, but it looked as if I found Cheri and I thought I’d better stay on her tail. Not that this was any big chore, since her tail looked fine hanging out of the bikini underwear. You could tell from her butt that she was beginning to put on a little weight, but she was a tall blond chick, and on her the extra inches looked pretty good. When she turned around to show me into a rear room, I got a closer look at her boobs and decided to revise my opinion to very good.
“Come on in and get undressed,” she said.
Now it appeared that I was going to miss all of the show. I didn’t mind much, because a private hands-on session would probably be a lot more fun and would give me a better chance to talk with Cheri. Anyway, I was beginning to get into this S&M thing.
Cheri didn’t leave while I was stripping; she just stood there and smiled at me politely. She didn’t strike me as the kind of girl who’d think of blackmailing Joey Balls, but there a guy involved, too — the one who left that message on Joey’s answering machine that Joey thought was from me. He probably talked poor Cheri into the ripoff scheme, I thought, deciding to give her the benefit of the doubt on the strength of that great pair of tits.
When I was naked, Cheri tied up my hardening cock and my balls with a leather cord, just like Denise had done back at the good old Suncoast Health Club. Leather cuffs padded with some kind of soft fleece went onto my wrists and ankles, just like Denise had done at Miss D.’s. Great detective that I am, I could see a pattern emerging. As this chick named Belle once pointed out to me, even the most unusual sex has a lot of the same old, same old.
Then Cheri threw me a curve. She took this leather mask off a hook on the wall and fitted it over my head. It covered the whole head, with holes for the eyes and mouth and a couple of small holes at the nose to breathe through. There were two large strips of leather dangling from the mask that could be strapped in place as a blindfold and a gag. I didn’t like the looks of the large lump of rubber in the middle of the bottom strap. It went into your mouth when you were gagged.
When Cheri had me all gussied up, she led me over to this low bench. The top was thick and covered with black vinyl, but the legs were just steel pipes that ended in little wheels, probably so you could move it out of the way easily when you weren’t using it. The top wasn’t very long, and when Cheri had me lie facedown on it, my head hung out over one end and my butt over the other, with my trussed-up dick and balls dangling down at the end of the bench. She pulled my legs forward, knees bent, and buckled the ankle cuffs to the back legs of the bench. Then she buckled the wrist cuffs to the front legs.
“So what’s your name?” Cheri asked.
“Dan.”
“Is that your real name or the name you want to use for the show?”
“The show?” I said. “I thought we were going to miss the show.”
“Come on, Dan,” she said. “You ARE the show.”
Now I got it, and my anus puckered up like an Eskimo’s balls on bath day. Maybe I’d been starting to like this B&D stuff, but being trotted out in front of an audience was a lot more than I’d bargained for. The butterflies got going big time in my belly, as if they knew my asshole was now so tight that their escape route was cut off.
“Nobody said anything about being in the show,” I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice and not succeeding very well.
“That’s why most people come,” Cheri said. “It turns them on to get shown off naked and punished in front of a crowd, so they come hoping that they’ll get lucky and win the drawing. If you didn’t want to do that, you shouldn’t have taken the ticket stub.”
“Well, I didn’t know,” I said, “and that’s not what I want, so please unfasten me.”
“Too late now,” Cheri said, and she shoved the knob on the gag into my mouth and buckled it into place, turning my protests into incoherent grunts and mumbles.
She wheeled me out the door and down the hall. Now I knew why the bench had wheels. It was like getting a ride down the Last Mile instead of walking. When we got closer to the room where the show was going on, I realized that at least I wasn’t the only attraction. I could hear the sound of a leather paddle landing on bare flesh. When Cheri opened the door, I lifted my head to look into the room and could see a naked girl strapped to that X-shaped cross with her butt sticking into the room, already bright red from the spanking it was getting from this babe in a black leather jumpsuit.
That was the last thing I saw for a while, because another chick came out of the room and threw a blanket over me and the bench before they wheeled me in. I guess they didn’t want to distract the audience until it was my turn in the barrel, so to speak. Anyway, I lay there in the dark, listening to the show and trying to guess what was happening. There was a lot more of the sound of objects smacking naked bodies and a lot of moans and groans on the part of the smackees. I could also hear some moans that seemed happier, as though somebody was being brought off for the entertainment of one and all. Once, there was a sound like a vibrator, and I thought of Joyce’s missing dildo, but I was beyond worrying about that at this point.
Then one part of the show appeared to be over, because the crowd applauded somewhat sedately, as though they were watching a pickup cricket match at the vicar’s garden party. The next voice I heard was Cheri’s.
“Now we come to the part of the show where you get to meet the lucky winner of the drawing,” she said. “Ladies and gentlemen, here’s Dan!”
The blanket was pulled off. The bench had been turned so that I was facing the rows of folding chairs, looking straight into the eyes of the dozen or so people, who were watching me expectantly. Most of them looked bored. Maybe they were really bored or maybe they were just trying to seem cool, as though this was all old stuff to them. A couple of them were grinning broadly, though, and one young chick in the front row looked like she was so excited by the whole scene that she was about to pee her pants.
Someone swatted me hard on the bottom with some kind of paddle. From the feel, I guessed that it was a narrow leather one. This was only my third B&D session, but my butt was getting educated, able to recognize the tool that was being wielded. Whoever was spanking me continued that education, and the loud smacks made the spectators perk up a little. Suddenly, the bench was spun around, and my rear was facing the crowd, which had a great view of the brown ring of my anus and my dick and balls dangling down. Smile, folks, you’re on Candid Asshole.
At first, I’d thought the mask was pretty silly, because everyone in the audience had already seen my face when the winning number was called, so the hood didn’t do a bit of good in keeping me anonymous. But now, with my most intimate parts completely exposed, out there for everyone to take a long look at, I was happy that at least one end of me was covered.
The spanking resumed. When I was being spun around, I’d seen Cheri’s legs, so I knew she was doing the paddling. She was pretty enthusiastic about it, and the swats were raining on my buttocks and thighs so fast that I couldn’t keep track of how many. She swung between my legs a couple of times to hit my hanging penis, and even tapped my tightly bound balls a couple of times. They were very light taps. After all, this wasn’t really torture. It was show biz.
Cheri asked if anyone in the audience would like to take a turn. Someone squealed yes. I was facing the wrong way, so I couldn’t see who it was, but the voice was a girl’s and from the excitement in it, I figured it was the young babe in the first row. Was I ever surprised when the legs that I saw alongside the bench were wearing men’s trousers!
A big hard bare hand smacked me on the butt and kept smacking until my behind was burning. That wasn’t as bad, though, as what came next. The hand began to move over my buttocks, cupping the hot flesh as if it were testing the warmth. Then it centered on the Great Divide, and I felt a finger probing where no man’s finger had gone before, if you don’t count my proctologist. I couldn’t believe that some guy was playing with my ass! I really couldn’t believe it when the fingers dropped down to my balls and squeezed them gently before sliding farther down to tug on my penis. There was laughter and applause from the audience.
I was so flooded with embarrassment that I didn’t realize at first that someone else was spanking me. The legs that walked around me this time were bare below a short skirt, so I knew that the excitable girl had taken over. I was so relieved that I almost didn’t mind when she began pulling on my privates, too, but I was worried that I was about to cum. I didn’t know how that would fly, because no one had shown me a script for this role. All I knew was that, despite everything that had happened, my dick was rock hard and feeling way too fine.
I didn’t find out whether the chick would have gotten me off, because Cheri stepped in and announced that the show would have to move on to the next scene. I thought maybe I’d been given a reprieve and could slink away into the night without further humiliation, but it turned out that I was starring in the next scene, too. The bench was turned sideways to the audience, and another girl handed Cheri a kind of harness that she began to strap around her crotch. I couldn’t believe what was sticking out of that harness. It was a dildo, but it wasn’t a modest plastic job like that one of Carolyn’s. It was a replica of a penis — a king-sized penis! They must have cast the thing on Johnny Wadd.
Cheri was still strapping on that spectacular tool when the other girl began to rub some kind of lubricating jelly around the rim of my anus. Her slick fingers probed inside. I suppose that I should have been grateful that she was doing her bit to make the entrance of that giant implement a little easier, but it’s a little embarrassing to get your asshole greased for the paying customers. I turned my head as far as I could to the left to check them out. No one looked very bored now.
Cheri walked around behind me. The tip of the plastic penis pressed hard against my sphinctor. When Denise stuck Carolyn’s dildo up my butt at the Suncoast, it felt huge. This one looked twice as big. I couldn’t imagine how it would feel. Then the tip slipped through the tight ring of muscle, and I found out. It felt twice as huge. Cheri pushed it deeper. It felt as if she’d borrowed a pole from Pacific Bell.
She began to move slowly in and out. It hurt at first, and then the lubricant worked deeper into me and coated the dildo. The penetration went more smoothly, and Cheri began to move faster. She was grunting with each thrust, and so was I. This odd feeling began to spread through my groin. Down at the Suncoast, Denise had jacked me off while she was using the dildo on me, but Cheri wasn’t touching my penis. She was just fucking me. But before I really know what was happening, the orgasm was there, and my cum was squirting out onto the floor under the bench.
I got a big hand from the crowd — or maybe Cheri got the hand, I’m not sure. She pulled out with a loud sucking sound, and while the last feeble spurts were still coming, I was wheeled out of the room and down the hall with a string of cum trailing behind me.
As Cheri and the other girl were unfastening me from the bench, I lay there in a sort of state of shock. I was exhausted. I didn’t feel particularly bad about what had happened. I wasn’t really sure what I felt in my head, but I felt pretty damn good in my dick and balls. I’d have to think about it later, when Cheri wasn’t cleaning my dick and my anus with a damp washcloth and towel.
“You did great, Dan,” she said. “You were a really big hit. Did you like it at all?”
“Ask me tomorrow,” I said, “when I see whether or not my asshole gets back to its regular size.”
I remembered then that I’d come out to The Castle to quiz Cheri about Joyce’s list. I figured that we had gotten pretty intimately acquainted with each other by now, so I just leveled with her. I told her about the list and about Joey Balls and how Joyce had suggested that she might know what happened to that dildo. Cheri just shook her head.
“Spanky has got a screw loose,” she said. “This is the first that I’ve heard about any list, and I’ve never even talked with Joey Balls. I meet enough screwy people in this job without getting involved with mob guys. Spanky is going to have to come up with somebody else to blame for this one.”
Cheri sounded convincing. I believed her. I knew that Spanky or Joyce or whatever you wanted to call her was a first-class airhead, and I figured that Denise and Cheri were just the first names that occurred to her in what passed for her mind. As it turned out, I was wrong, but never mind about that for now.
I said good-bye to Cheri, and she let me out a side door so that I wouldn’t have to face any of the audience that might have hung around. I drove home not thinking about much of anything but the remnants of the lubricating jelly that were draining out of my ass and into my underwear. The first thing I wanted to do when I got back to my apartment was take a shower.
I had a dream that night about my experience at The Castle, the first wet dream that I’d had since high school. I didn’t know what to make of that, but I put it in the back of my mind, because I was more eager than ever now to get this dildo behind me. (Hold it. Strike that last phrase. No pun intended.)
It was Sunday, but I knew that my detective friend at Rampart might have a weekend shift, so I tried his department cell phone. He answered right away, and I asked him if he knew what hospital Joey Balls had gone to after that accident with his knees. He knew, but he wondered why I wanted to talk with such a scumbag. Just clearing up a case, I told him.
I wanted to ask Joey about those blackmailing phone messages he received. I guess I could have gone over to the hospital and brought him something nice, flowers maybe, or candy, or a box of extra large Pampers, but I opted for a phone call. He sounded as mean as ever when he answered, but he warmed up a little when I asked how he was feeling and told him that I wanted to find and destroy that list just as much as he did.
“So you didn’t recognize the guy’s voice in those messages?” I asked.
“What voice?”
“On the answering machine.”
“Naw, my machine has got a fax built into it,” he said.
“And?”
“And the guy sent faxes.”
“So you didn’t really hear his voice?” I asked.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” he said.
“So how did you know it was a guy and not a woman?”
“Hey,” he said, “there’s no dame that’s got balls enough to mess with me!”
A great light broke in the east. I’d figured that Joey Balls was pretty stupid, but who could have known that he was that dumb? Maybe there wasn’t a man involved in the blackmailing at all.
I told Joey that I’d get back to him if I found out anything, and then I made a few more calls. One of them was to Joyce herself. I told her that I’d like to come out to her place to talk with her. She said she had a client who always came on Sunday mornings dressed as a priest (or maybe he was a priest), but she’d be free by about 1 o’clock. I said I’d see her then.
She lived in one of those fancy apartment houses on Los Feliz Boulevard, south of Griffith Park, and I took the scenic route, heading out Sunset through Echo Park and Silver Lake. That’s one of my favorite neighborhoods. Thirty years or more ago, when the hills were covered with cheap apartment houses and a haze of pot smoke, a few of the folkies and rockers who created the California Sound lived there, and they threw some great parties. Later, some of the neighborhood got bad and then some of it got gentrified, and I’m not really sure which was worse.
Sunset curved west and I turned north onto Vermont, figuring that I’d get a burger and a malt at Fred 62 before I met Joyce. I found a parking place and an empty table and told my waitress to hold the avacado on my burger. She looked as if she’d just dropped in from one of the touristy head shops down the street. She had spiked green hair, a leather miniskirt that measured about eight inches from top to bottom and a pair of net hose with big holes torn in them. When she brought me my check, she hoped I’d have a nice day. I hoped so, too.
As I got to Joyce’s apartment, the priest was just leaving. He glanced at me nervously and hurried away down the sidewalk. Joyce answered the door in her underwear, having apparently decided that she needn’t bother getting dressed after the session. The décor in the apartment was surprisingly tasteful, but when she gave me the grand tour, the back bedroom turned out to be tricked out as a miniature version of the dungeon rooms at the bondage parlors I’d been visiting in the last few days.
I walked around the room checking out the equipment, and Joyce was pleased to show it off. She stuck out her bottom and smacked it playfully with a paddle. She pulled out some elaborate leather restraints and a pair of handcuffs that she said were real police issue. I asked her whether they worked, and I pulled her hands behind her and snapped on the cuffs.
“See,” she said, “they work great. The key is on the dresser.”
I picked up the key, but I dropped it in my pocket. I pushed Joyce down to sit on the spanking bench in the middle of the room and told her to listen up for a minute.
“I found out from Joey Balls this morning that he didn’t really know whether a guy was involved in this deal or not,” I told her. “So I got to thinking about what you told me. You said that Denise probably took the dildo. She didn’t. Then you said that Cheri might have taken it. She didn’t. As far as I know, nobody took it. What I think, kid, is that you made up the whole story. You wanted to blackmail Joey Balls, but you wanted to make him think it was somebody else, and you got me involved as the patsy. I was your beard, along with Denise and Cheri, and you didn’t much care what happened to us.”
She sat there and thought about what I said. She didn’t look too concerned.
“So what do you think you can do about it?” she asked finally.
“Oh, I don’t plan to do anything about it,” I told her. “I’m going to count on somebody else for that. I called them about an hour ago, and they ought to be here anytime now.”
As if on cue, the doorbell rang, and Joyce began to look a little frightend.
“Come on in,” I shouted.
“Hold on a minute!” Joyce yelped. “You can’t let Joey Balls loose on me. There’s no telling what he’ll do!”
“Joey’s in the hospital, kid,” I said, “and even if he wasn’t, I wouldn’t let him in on this. I may be mad, but I’m not crazy.”
“Then who?”
She got her answer when Denise walked into the room. The bandage over her broken nose hid most of her face, but it didn’t conceal the fire in her eye or the grim set of her mouth. Cheri was right behind her.
“Hi, Spanky,” Cheri said. Denise didn’t say anything. Joyce started to say something, but I popped a ball gag into her mouth.
“You girls have fun,” I said, and I walked out.
End Of The Case of the Disappearing Dildo Story
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