Reading Time: 18minutes I got caught in the beginning of rush hour on the way back to my office, and it was almost 5 o'clock by the time I got there. I've got a couple of rooms in an old building on the fringe of Chinatown, with a view of the Ocean Seafood sign out of my one dirty window.
I got caught in the beginning of rush hour on the way back to my office, and it was almost 5 o’clock by the time I got there. I’ve got a couple of rooms in an old building on the fringe of Chinatown, with a view of the Ocean Seafood sign out of my one dirty window. If my office had been on the other side of the building, I could have seen the steel-and-glass towers that the Jap money built on Bunker Hill, but I don’t spend that much time looking out the window anyway.
I had planned to check in with Stella and tell her I was headed home, but there was someone waiting for me. Stella didn’t look too happy when she gave me the high sign that I had a visitor in the inner office, and when I went in there, I could see why. Sitting behind my desk like he owned the place was this large individual with a shaved head and a face that looked as if someone had been pounding on it with a meat tenderizer. He was looking at the copy of Vanity Fair. He didn’t look like the type who read the articles, but I figured he was an underwear-ad guy, just like me.
The thing is, I knew who he was, though I’d never met him before. He had a rep around town as a made man with big-time mob connections and a rap sheet as long as a porn star’s pecker. His name was Joseph Balsemo, but everyone called him Joey Balls.
“Your name Diamond?” he asked before I had a chance to say anything.
“That’s what my mama always told me,” I replied.
“You know me?”
“Joey Balls, right?”
“Right,” he said, “and if you know that, you know that no one fucks with me.” As he said that, he began standing and he kept at it for quite a while. He was even bigger than he’d looked sitting down. “So, I think you’re fucking with me now, and you ought to know better.”
I assured him that I had no intention of fucking with him, now or any other time, but he wasn’t convinced.
“You know Spanky, don’t you?” he said. “She calls herself Dorothy sometimes, but her real name is Joyce Smothers or something. Someone’s been leaving calls on my answering machine about this list of customers that Spanky’s got and saying my name’s on it. And a little bird told me that this someone is you.”
“You got it wrong, Joey,” I said. “Joyce is missing that list, and she hired me to find it for her. That’s my only interest. I’m just a private investigator, and blackmail is not one of my things.”
I was afraid that Joey wasn’t buying my story. He came across the room and stood towering over me. He glowered down at me for two or three minutes as though he was considering whether to squash me like he would one of the cockroaches that had set up a franchise in the john down the hall.
“Okay,” he said finally, “you’re off the hook for now. But I gotta tell you that you better find that list pronto or your ass is grass.”
Having given me that terrific news, he shouldered past me and stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind him. Stella peered through the door into the inner office, shook her head sadly and went back to her own desk. Working for me, she had gotten used to an unusual clientele, but she kept hoping for an ungrade. Joey Balls didn’t fit that bill.
I sat down at my desk, but I quickly jumped up again. My butt was still burning from the spanking that Denise had given me at the Suncoast Health Club. If I had to do any more investigating like that, I’d have to invest in a couple of pillows for my chair. I pulled down my pants and underwear and tried to check out my backside by looking over my shoulder. Stella came in and caught me at it.
“Holy cow, boss,” she said, “what happened to your ass?”
“That so-called health club that I was checking on is really a bondage parlor,” I explained. “The red glow on my backside is the result of a little undercover work.”
“No shit!” she said, moving around my desk for a closer look. “Can I touch it?”
She didn’t wait for permission. She cupped her hand on one of my buttocks and then traced a finger along the long welt that the cane had left there. “Awesome!” she said. “You know, boss, this is kind of a turn-on.”
“Everything is a turn-on for you,” I told her. “You got excited last week when I came in wearing that Mickey Mouse T-shirt.”
“Well, the first time I got laid, back in the seventh grade, the guy was wearing a Mickey shirt,” she said. “It made a big impression on me.” Her fingers continued to explore my backside. “Do you want me to put something on this? I’ve got some skin lotion in my desk.”
“That would be great,” I said.
When she came back with the lotion, I bent over my desk, and she poured some of the creamy liquid over my sore bottom. It was cool and felt good. It felt even better when Stella began gently rubbing it into my welted skin. Stella and I aren’t an item, but we get it on sometimes. Helps break up the office routine. So I wasn’t surprised when her slippery hand slid around my hip and grabbed my dick.
I let her play with it for a few minutes before I stood up and turned around. She already had her hands under her lifted skirt, pulling off her panties. She got them off and tossed them in the direction of the coat rack next to the door without looking. They lit on a hook and hung there — a little trick of hers that she liked to show off whenever she got the chance. She took my place leaning on the desk, hiking up her skirt over her bare bottom, and I entered her with no preliminaries, since she was already wet, as usual. This was one of our favorite positions, and we fucked away happily for a while. But Stella had something else on her mind.
“Do you wanna do something for me, boss?”
“Sure thing,” I answered.
“Do you think you could spank me like you got spanked?”
“Are you serious?”
“I think so,” she said. “I’ve always, like, fantasized about getting spanked, and your red butt kinda set me off.”
I didn’t mind. The idea didn’t especially ring my chimes, but I was always happy to oblige a half-naked lady. I sat down in my chair and pulled Stella onto my lap bottom up, with her hands braced on the floor and her toes not quite touching on the other side. I pulled her skirt up to her waist. Her bare bottom did look great, its tight white curves tensed as she waited for the first blow. I ran my hand over those lovely mounds, cupping each of them for a moment, and than I smacked her hard on the left cheek.
“Oooooh!” she said.
I didn’t know for sure whether that meant she hated it or she liked it, but if I’d been an odds maker, I would have made it 20 to 1 on like. I smacked her again on the left side, right on top of the rosy blush that the first swat had raised. That got the same reaction from Stella, so I began spanking her in earnest, alternating sides and waiting only a few seconds between blows. She was squealing and kicking her feet and wiggling around on my lap so much that I had to hold her down with my other hand.
My pants and jockey shorts were still down around my ankles, so my dick was squeezed against Stella’s bare belly, and all her squirming around was bringing me dangerously close to shooting my wad. Besides, I was finding out that it was kind of fun watching her bottom redden as I spanked her, seeing her firm cheeks quiver under the blows, listening to her little cries of mixed pain and pleasure. Maybe I’d given Sister Mary Agnes a bad rap.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I lifted Stella onto her feet and pushed her back onto the desk top, red buttocks lifted into the air. When I buried my erection in her dripping quim, I could feel the heat of her spanked bottom against my groin. We were both way, way along on the way to getting off, and it didn’t take long before we arrived there at the same time. There was a whole lot of shaking going on for a long minute or two, and then we both sort of collapsed. That’s when the office door opened.
“Am I interrupting something?” Joyce Brothers said.
“Just dictating a letter,” I said, pulling up my pants and sitting down in my chair again.
Stella stood up, smoothed down her skirt and stalked out of the room, snatching her panties off the coat rack on the way. She didn’t look happy, but she’d get over it.
“Do you always give dictation with your pants down?” Joyce asked.
“You can cut the wisecracks,” I told her, “and tell me why you took a powder after I got cold-cocked down at that bondage joint.”
“Denise told me about that,” she said, “but I was already gone before it happened. I got an important phone call and had to split in a hurry.”
“A call from Joey Balls, right?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “You heard Betty say that when she called me to the phone. You know Joey?”
“That gentleman paid me a visit right here about forty-five minutes ago,” I said. “He seemed to think that I was the someone who was trying to shake him down over that list of yours.”
“Oh, no!” Joyce said, but she didn’t sound as if she’d lose any sleep over it.
“What I don’t understand is why Joey is so uptight about his name showing up on the list. What’s that tell anybody?”
“It’s not just names,” she explained. “I make little notes by the names to remind me what each one of my johns likes. If you’ve got a lot of customers, it’s hard to remember.”
Especially if you’re not too bright in the first place, I thought, but I didn’t say it.
“So you had down there that Joey Balls likes to get his butt paddled?” I asked.
“Well, not exactly,” she said. “Joey is into something else. I dress him all up in a diaper and stuff, see, like a baby. And then he drinks a bottle and I pat him a little and then he poops in the diaper and I clean him up. Sometimes, I give him a little spanking for being a bad boy and going in his pants, but mostly I just clean him up and wash his dick and he gets off while I’m doing that.”
“I can see how he wouldn’t want the word on that getting around,” I said, trying to imagine Joey Balls filling his diaper. It wasn’t a pretty picture.
“Anyway,” Joyce said, “Denise told me that you were asking about the dildo that she screwed you with. She said you couldn’t find it. That must have been my dildo with the list in it, and I came down here to tell you that I think I know where it is now.”
“So tell.”
“Well, you know Denise?”
“Oh, I know Denise,” I said. “I don’t think my butt will ever forget her.”
“See, Denise knew that I had that list, and she knew I kept it in the dildo.”
“How did she know that?”
“I told her.”
“You hid it in the dildo so no one could find it, and then you told Denise where it was?”
“Yeah,” Joyce said, sounding exasperated, as if I were a little slow in understanding her story.
“Okay, fair enough,” I said. “So you want me to go back down to Long Beach and give Denise the third degree?”
“No, you can’t do that.”
“Why?”
“Denise doesn’t work there anymore,” she explained. “She took a job at this place that’s a couple of blocks off the 10, near where it crosses Venice.”
“Okay, so I’ll go over there. But I don’t think my ass can take another whipping so soon.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” she said.
“Why?” I asked, thinking that this conversation was beginning to sound like Abbott and Costello’s old Who’s on First routine.
“The place specializes in enemas,” she said.
Whoa, Nellie, I thought. Getting your butt spanked was one thing, but having somebody pump something up that same butt was another thing entirely. The look on my face must have been pretty obvious, because even Joyce noticed it.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s not so bad. It’s fun. Remember, I told you beforehand that you might like that spanking you got down in Long Beach. From the way your dick was when I saw you, it looked like you were enjoying it a whole lot.”
There was a little truth in that, and I hoped she was right about the enema, too. But the butterflies were still playing tag in my belly when I rang the bell by the front door of a low, dingy white building in a rundown section of the West Side. I waited there for a long time until the door opened slightly and this short blonde chick peered out. She was wearing what could pass for a nurse’s smock, but it didn’t come close to covering a pair of the largest jugs I’d ever seen.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked.
“No, I don’t,” I admitted. “Sorry about that. I just heard that Denise was working here now, and I thought I’d come down and check in on her.”
The door opened wider, and she let me come in. “You’re right on time,” she said. “She just started her shift, and I don’t think she’s got anyone scheduled.”
The front door opened into a waiting room like one in a doctor’s office, with chairs around the walls and tables with magazines. She told me to sit down while she got Denise, and in a minute, Denise herself came in from the back. She was wearing one of those psuedo nurse’s uniforms, too, with a skirt so short that it barely covered her crotch.
“Danny boy,” she said. “You back so soon?”
“Couldn’t stay away,” I told her. “I came down to check out the enema scene.”
Just then, another woman came into the waiting room from a door on the side that appeared to lead to an office. She was very pretty, with dark hair cut short. Instead of a nurse’s uniform she was wearing a little black dress that clung to a slender body that a lot of starlets would have killed for, and on her long legs were silk hose held up by garters. Between her short skirt and those hose, there was a dazzling view of chocolate thigh. She was carrying a little leather paddle, and my first thought was that if I ever got my butt spanked again, here was the lady I wanted to do it.
“Miss D.,” said Denise, “this is Dan, an old friend of mine. Danny, meet Miss D. This is her place.”
Denise’s boss gave me a big smile and said hello, and I thought for a moment about forgetting all about quizzing Denise about that dildo so that I could somehow get into a back room with Miss D. But I couldn’t figure out a polite way to tell Denise that I’d changed my mind, so I just shook hands with Miss D. and left it at that.
“Come on back, Danny, and let’s get you going,” Denise said.
She led me into a long hall that led to the rear of the building. There were doors on both sides all the way to the back, and as we walked along, I glanced into the ones with open doors. Most of them looked like examination rooms in a medical clinic, and on the wall of one of them I noticed this rack covered with butt plugs and enema bottles and yards of rubber tubing, all in every shade of the rainbow. The room that Denise took me to was almost at the end of the hall, and it looked nothing like the others I’d seen. In fact, it looked just like the room at the Suncoast Health Club where Denise had paddled me before.
We talked about price, and the rates were the same as they’d been in Long Beach, so I went for the half hour again. Denise told me to undress and split, probably going to put my hundred bucks in the money box. I stripped and began looking around the room. There were some mean whips and paddles hanging on the wall, but I didn’t see any enema gear. Maybe Denise would bring that with her when she came back. She didn’t, but she said that Carolyn — that was the little blond chick, I guess — was getting it ready.
The first thing Denise did was buckle leather cuffs to my wrists and ankles. This seemed a little odd, but I decided to go with the program. She got me up on the vinyl-covered table in the middle of the room and told me to stretch out on my back so she could fasten my wrist cuffs to chains on either side of the table. Then she lowered this long steel bar that was hanging over the table and fastened the ankle cuffs to either end. When she hoisted the bar back into the air, my widely spread legs were lifted off the table and my butt went along for the ride. I felt like a broad in her gynecologist’s office, feet in the stirrups and ready for the doc to take a look.
“Somehow I thought you’d bend me over for the enema instead of hanging me up,” I told Denise.
“Not for a punishment enema,” she said.
“A punishment enema?”
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well, the last time that I saw you, you got your ass whipped, so I figured that punishment was what turned you on.”
“So what’s a punishment enema?”
“Usually we use really cold water, or warm water that’s extra soapy,” she explained. “The soap makes it kinda burn. Really odd feeling. And we use lots of water, two quarts maybe, so you’re good and full. When all that’s inside you, and you feel like you’ve got to shit or explode, I’ll give you a good whipping. It’ll make a man out of you, Danny.”
“Look, Denise,” I said hurriedly, “I gotta be straight with you. I don’t want a punishment enema. I really don’t want any enema at all. I just wanted to check you out because Carolyn — or Spanky or whatever you want to call her — thought you might know something about her missing dildo with the list inside.”
“That bitch thinks I stole her fucking dildo?” Denise said, and I could tell she wasn’t happy with the way the conversation was going.
“That’s right,” I said. “She thought maybe you wanted to get that list so you could put the screws on Joey Balls for a buck or two.”
“The nerve of that cunt,” said Denise, who was really steaming now. “And you! What kind of jerk are you? You believed her? And you were comin’ around because you thought you could blame the list thing on me? What kind of asshole are you, Dan?”
Well, I was a very tied-up and very worried asshole at the moment, and I began trying to apologize. Denise wasn’t having any of that. She picked up my jockeys off the chair where I’d tossed them and stuffed them into my mouth.
“I don’t want to hear your shit,” she said. “You came in here for an enema, buddy, and an enema is what you’re going to get. In fact, you’re going to get an enema you’ll never forget.”
Right on cue, Carolyn came into the room carrying a big, bright-red enema bag.
“Did you go for cold or warm and soapy,” Denise asked.
“Soapy,” Carolyn said, apparently surprised to see me struggling to pull my hands out of the cuffs and making loud but unintelligible noises through the underwear gag. “He doesn’t look very happy.”
“Oh, that’s Danny,” said Denise. “He always likes to put on a big show. It’s part of the turn-on for him.”
“I’ve known guys like that,” Carolyn agreed as she handed the bag to Denise and walked out.
Denise hung the bag on a hook in the middle of the bar that was spreading my legs and let the long tubing drop to the table. She went over to the dresser by the door and came back with a jar of something — probably some kind of lubricant — and two or three wooden clothespins. I didn’t know why she needed the clothespins, but they turned out to be for my nipples. She pinched the nipples until they were hard and then clipped a clothespin on each one. They hurt like hell, especially when she slapped them back and forth. But they didn’t satisfy Denise.
She went back and rummaged in the dresser again. She returned with a handful of big, thick plastic clothespins whose bright colors didn’t conceal how mean they looked. She unfastened the wooden pins from my nipples and replaced them with plastic ones. They hurt twice as bad. It felt as if someone had decided to take a hard bite of each nipple. Then Denise began fastening clothespins to my dick.
At first, they didn’t hurt as much as the ones on the nipples. She put three or four in a row down the bottom, and a couple more on the sides, and they weren’t so bad. But when she put one right on the end of my dick, it was like someone had clamped down hard with a pair of pliers. It caught my attention so completely that I didn’t even realize for a minute or two that Denise was greasing up the ring of my anus with the stuff from that little jar.
Then I felt the hard plastic nozzle of the enema tube being pushed into me until it was firmly in place in my rectum. The warm water began to flow into me. Denise was right about the soapy mixture; it seemed to burn a little, though maybe that was mostly my imagination. What got to me, though, was the volume. I’d never had an enema before, not even in the hospital, and the feeling of my insides filling up was very strange. It felt as if someone was inflating a balloon in my belly.
I was lying there with my feet in the air, my nipples and the tip of my dick on fire from those damn clothespins and my insides gripped by the feeling that I really, really needed to take a big dump just as soon as possible — and then Denise starts whipping me with this long leather paddle. She worked me over good, cutting under my buttocks as they hung just off the table top and then switching to the tender insides of my thighs. She even whacked me for a while on my swollen belly and slapped at the clothespins so that they jerked painfully on my nipples and the skin of my penis. After what seemed like a very long time, but probably wasn’t, she stopped and looked down at me.
“How you doing, Danny?” she asked. “I think I’m gonna have to give you a pass for the rest of the session. Some guys like me to just go on and on, but I don’t think you’re one of those guys. Besides, I’m not mad at you any more. I guess you were just doing what Spanky hired you to do. But I got one thing to point out, kiddo. You must like this just a little, because you got a hard-on that won’t quit.”
She was right again. My dick was rigid, and it didn’t go down when she was releasing my feet from the bar and my wrists from the side chains. I wasn’t paying much attention, though, because my main desire was to get to a bathroom as soon as possible.
“The toilet is the next door down the hall,” Denise told me. “You better carry the enema bag with you and keep the nozzle in your ass until you’re ready to sit down on the stool. That way, you don’t have an accident.”
When I left the room, two girls that I hadn’t seen before were standing in the doorway of the room across the hall, just shooting the shit, I guess. They turned and looked at me with interest when I came into the hall. I waddled naked down to the next door and tried to open it. It was locked.
“It’s in use,” one of the girls said.
I stood there in the hall, dancing from foot to foot in my urgent need to relieve myself. The enema tube dangled from my butt, and the clothespins were still fastened to my nipples and dick. The hard-on showed no signs of going away, so that the clothespin on the end of my penis was sticking out in front of me as if it were trying to point me in the right direction. The girls were trying not to laugh, but not trying too hard. Finally, one of them took pity.
“There’s another toilet in the back of this room,”she said.
They stood aside so I could go between them, but one of them couldn’t resist a little pat on my bottom as I went past. The room looked as if it had been planned for clients who couldn’t make up their minds. There were whips and paddles and chains, like the room I just left, but there was also a kind of medical look, with a lot of enema gear. It could have been the exam room of a very unusual doctor, probably played by Vincent Price in the ’50s movie version. There were two doors in the left wall. The first one was a closet. The second one was a tiny bathroom, just in time.
I tried to sit down on the john, but my hard dick and all its clothespins wouldn’t fit inside, so I just let it stick out while I poised my butt over the stool and pulled out the nozzle of the enema hose. The soapy water came pouring out with a roar like the Kern River in flood. Someone driving by out on the street could probably have heard it. With the biggest emergency behind me, I started plucking off the clothespins, and I found out that they hurt even more coming off than they did going on, especially the ones on my nipples — I guess it was the feeling coming back in places that had gone numb. Then I settled down on the stool to wait while the rest of the enema drained. I felt like I’d been ridden hard and put up wet, as an old Zoner girlfriend of mine used to say.
When I came out of the bathroom, feeling pretty embarrassed, I was glad to see that the two girls had wandered away. But Denise was waiting for me in the room across the hall, and she had another enema bag waiting, too. No way, I thought. She must have figured I’d feel that way.
“We need to rinse you out, Dan,” she explained. “Get rid of any soap suds that are left. This one is nice and warm, and it won’t be nearly as much, just enough for the rinse. You’ll like it okay.”
She was right once again. She had me lie on my back with my legs spread, and she plugged in the nozzle, and the water flowed in, and there wasn’t so much that I thought I’d explode, and it felt faintly pleasant. It felt a whole lot better when Denise poured some baby oil onto my dick and started jacking me off. I just lay back and let it happen. When it came, the orgasm wasn’t a mind-blower, but it was great anyway, sort of like getting off after you’ve smoked a whole lot of weed.
Denise sent me off to the toilet again to get rid of the second enema. That took a while, but when I got back, she was still waiting.
“No hard feelings, Dan?” she asked.
“None,” I said as I began to put my clothes back on. “I don’t blame you for being pissed off. I should have figured that Carolyn dame for an airhead. I’d forget about her list if Joey Balls didn’t have his drawers in a twist about it.”
“Yeah, Spanky can be a real cunt,” Denise agreed. “But if she gets on the wrong side of Joey, he’ll stuff one of those diapers she puts on him down her throat. She’s gotta be scared shitless.”
“Could be,” I said, “but she always seems pretty cool to me when she’s figuring out which wild goose chase to set me off on.”
“You got a real wild goose this time, didn’t you?” she said with a grin.
“It was very educational,” I said. “Nothing like finding out how the other half gets its kicks.”
“Come back and see me some time just for the fun of it,” she said.
I told her that I might do that. When I was leaving, Miss D. was straightening up the magazines in the waiting room under the supervision of one of those tiny dogs that looks like a miniature Doberman but is something else entirely. She introduced me to the little guy, who sniffed me once but was having trouble making up his mind about me. He probably met a lot of suspicious characters in his line of work.
“Did you have a good time?” Miss D. asked as she opened the front door for me.
“You know,” I told her, “I think I did.”
End of The Case of the Disappearing Dildo Story – Part 2
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.
