Clue Ch. 1

The first thing I noticed was his cock.

It was huge. Nice, plump, and long. Just like I like 'em. Still firm, too. Still hungrily pointing skyward. I like 'em like that, too.

The second thing I noticed was that he was dead. I'm not proud it took me a second to figure it out. It's my job to be observant, so I'm a little ashamed my eyes were naturally drawn to his schlong first. Even the best of us get distracted.

My name's Marilyn McCoy. I'm a private dick.

Don't ask me how I got invited to the party. I'll be damned if I know. I didn't even know the guy, but when I received the invitation I decided it couldn't hurt to liven up my social life a little. Being a private investigator doesn't leave a lot of time for romance. You have to put in long hours, mostly in your office, waiting for someone to walk in the front door with fistfuls of money and a case for you to crack. I log twelve office hours a day. But the only fistful I've had the past few months is my own, holding a big black dildo that I spend an obscene amount of time slipping into my crotch while waiting patiently behind my desk for the door to open. That's what I was doing when the postman slid the engraved invitation under my office door. I'd like for him to slide me something else, but I guess I'll have to wait until I have certified mail or a package…something I have to sign for. Then I can answer the door in my detective uniform, the one I wear around the office…trench coat, yellow fedora, crumpled white shirt and tie…and nothing on below the waist. Aside from the occasional strap-on vibrator.

"Mr. Boddy requests the pleasure of your company on Saturday the third of October," the invitation read. "Please wear your finest. We will be celebrating the upcoming Broadway premiere of the young ingenue Ms. Scarlet, and you may be assured it will be an evening to remember."

So, slightly ashamed that I wasn't able to dry clean my trench coat, I ironed my white shirt and showed up on the front door of the Boddy Mansion, trying to get used to wearing pants and hoping for an evening to remember.

Mr. Boddy definitely didn't disappoint. The power had gone out well before I had a chance to muscle my way into any party conversations, and when the lights came back on, our host had rather rudely died on us. Butt naked at the foot of the stairs.

"Damn shame," I sighed, bending over the body and looking at that fabulous cock. Mrs. Peacock had found the body, and her screams had brought the rest of us from the lounge. Colonel Mustard had taken up the challenge of trying to comfort her. She was wailing hysterically.

"There, there," he said. "Chin up, my dear."

"Oh my God, Oh my God, he's dead, he's dead," she squealed, dabbing at her eyes with a blue handkerchief. She was the kind of woman that liked to look older than she was. I guessed she dyed her hair gray to look more mature. Hiding underneath her garish outfits, wrapped in scarves, frilly hats and veils, I couldn't imagine she was more than thirty. But from what I'd overheard, she'd already been through four husbands. Part of me was suspicious. The other part of me understood that constant, unrestrained exposure to tits like hers could kill any man.

Colonel Mustard was a hearty slice of beef, big, barrel-chested, and manly. I'd heard he'd spent a lot of time in Africa. Maybe wrestling lions, maybe porking native girls, I never got the details. Before the evening went south, I was thinking about reaching into those yellow khakis of his and taming his wild beast. I certainly would have liked to feel that bushy mustache of his tickling the inside of my thighs.

"Is he dead?" Professor Plum asked, adjusting the glasses on his nose and peering over Mr. Green's shoulder. A nerdy guy, dressed in purple. My first thought was that he was a queer, until I saw him eyeing Mrs. White's cleavage while she served drinks. Then I noticed he had big hands and big feet. It's always promising if a nerd is well hung. They always work harder in bed.

"I think so," I said, still unable to take my eyes off Mr. Boddy's thick prick. I was thinking about grabbing it, just to get the feel of it before it collapsed forever, but that would be in very poor taste. I am a professional, after all.

"Where are his clothes?" Mr. Green asked, straightening his tie. Not everyone can wear lime, but Mr. Green managed to pull it off. He looked like he was wearing an emerald Armani. And silk, no matter what color, always turns me on.

"That is a mystery, isn't it?" I said, tearing my eyes away from the organ occupying my imagination and trying to get my brain in gear.

"He's hung like a bull," Mrs. White said breathily. "An excited one," she added. Mrs. White was the new maid at the Boddy mansion. She had taken over the job from her mother. She was nineteen years old and her French maid uniform took advantage of every smooth curve and sleek muscle she had. I wished I was nineteen years old again. I never needed a dildo when I was nineteen.

I nodded in agreement. Her observation was making it hard for me to get down to the business at hand.

"Where's Ms. Scarlet?" Professor Plum asked.

We looked around. She was nowhere in sight.

"Oh, that fiend!" Mrs. Peacock cried. "That flagrant little hussy is a murderer!"

Colonel Mustard nodded decisively. "We must find her at once!"

"I think I saw her going upstairs earlier," Mrs. White said, her eyes still riveted hungrily to Mr. Boddy's soon-to-be-defunct cock. "With Mr. Boddy," she added.

"We'd better look," I said, standing with a regretful sigh. I took one last look at Mr. Boddy's heavenly hose. "It would be a shame to let a crime like this go unpunished."

"Upstairs, then," Colonel Mustard shouted valiantly, marching over the corpse and up the oak staircase. The rest of us followed.

At the top of the stairs, a long hallway of ornate wooden doors leading to countless spare bedrooms stretched before us.

"Check each room," I said. "She could be anywhere." I turned to Mrs. White. My eyes fell to her cleavage and I forgot what I was going to ask her. I wanted to bury my face in those tits, but I fought the urge. I am a professional, after all.

"Yes?" Mrs. White asked innocently.

I snapped out of it. "Which one is the master bedroom?" I asked.

"At the end of the hall," she said, nodding to the impressive double doors. As the others twisted knobs and peered into darkened rooms, I strode past them and flung open the master bedroom doors.

On a huge four poster bed in front of me, Ms. Scarlet was securely trussed and gagged with a rubber ball, lying on her belly with her wrists tied to her ankles. She was still wearing her crimson thigh highs. Being a naturally observant detective, however, my eyes were instantly drawn to the candlestick poking provocatively out of her ass.

Mrs. Peacock spotted the bound girl, too, and screamed. The others came running.

"Good lord," Colonel Mustard gasped.

I stepped forward, looking down on Ms. Scarlet's back and bottom. The tiny muscles of her back were adorably sexy, sexy enough to get me a little moist. I noticed a little thick white cream oozing out of her butt around the candlestick, and, in spite of the fact that I am a professional, I dabbed it with my finger and tasted it. KY and cum. Mmm.

I noticed the rest of the guests staring at me. "I'm an investigator," I explained defensively. "This is what I do." They bought it.

I popped the bright red ball out of Ms. Scarlet's mouth. It was slick with warm spit. I was tempted to yank down my pants and roll the wet ball over my clit, but I'm a professional, remember, and I fought the urge. If the others weren't around, though, the less principled side of me might well have taken advantage of the striking redhead's position. I'd make damn sure she put those ruby red lips to good use.

"Exactly what the fuck is going on?" Ms. Scarlet spat, not sounding at all happy to be rescued.

"Have you been…" Professor Plum looked flush with excitement, "raped?" he finally squeezed out. I suspected his trousers were getting tight.

"No, I haven't been raped, you pig-headed, purple-wearing penis." I untied her hands. She reached back and unceremoniously plucked the candlestick out of her butt. I heard a soft pop. "But I am kind of anxious to finish what I started. Where's Boddy?"

"You and Boddy were…" I nodded at the candlestick she was holding.

"Yes," she said angrily. "We were." She looked at the greased candlestick. A look of relief passed over her face. "Good thing he didn't light this thing before he left," she said thankfully.

Mr. Green stepped forward and sat next to her on the bed. "Ms. Scarlet," he said regretfully, putting an arm around her shoulder. "I'm afraid I have some terrible news. Mr. Boddy is..." He paused, casting his eyes downward. He looked like he was trying to work up the courage to say it, but I knew better. He was checking out Ms. Scarlet's firm, melon sized tits. The slick ones always know when to snatch a look. "Mr. Boddy is dead," he said finally.

"Oh no," Ms. Scarlet said softly. Tears welled up in her eyes. "Oh no," she said again. She started to sob. Mr. Green pulled her close, and patted her smooth, tanned thigh comfortingly. I eyed Ms. Scarlet's delectably trimmed snatch, and noticed she had no tan lines. I always wanted to go down on a starlet.

"We have to get the police," Colonel Mustard announced.

"No one can leave," Mrs. White hesitantly stated.

"What do you mean, girl?" Colonel Mustard asked, outraged. "A man's been murdered. We have to leave."

"But the front gates are always locked after seven," Mrs. White said softly, trembling a little. She looked demure and small as Colonel Mustard glared at her.

"Where's the key?" I asked.

"Mr. Boddy usually keeps it," Mrs. White said.

"Keeps it where?" Ms. Scarlet asked, wiping her eyes and catching her breath.

"In the front pocket of his pants," Mrs. White admitted, lowering her head.

"I'm beginning to see the problem," Professor Plum mumbled, tapping his lower lip.

"What about phones?" I asked.

"Mr. Boddy didn't believe in phones," Mrs. White told me. "They would always ring at…inopportune times."

"Then there's only one thing to do," I said.

"What's that?" Colonel Mustard said.

"Solve the case," I announced. "And I'm going to do it. From this point on, I'm in charge of this investigation and of this household. Nobody goes anywhere or does anything without checking with me first. By the time help arrives, we'll know who did it. And we'll have them roped up as tight as Ms. Scarlet was a few minutes ago."

There was silent agreement in the room. I realized it really was going to be an evening to remember.