Get Busy

I hung up and looked at Priss. "You've got about an hour to earn my forgiveness," I said, rising and unzipping my fly.

In less time than it takes to tell it, Priss was skinned out of her clothes by my client's daughter, and sitting on my desk with her legs open to receive her penance.

***

ARRIVING AT THE CHANDLER MANSION, I parked my car in the center of the circular drive and climbed the stairs to the door. A wizened butler parked me in a sitting room and said that Madame would be with me shortly.

As I cooled my heels in a leather wing chair, my groin stirred with the recent memory of laying Priss on my desktop. It'd been better than I could've imagined, feeling those bountiful boobs flattened against my chest as I pounded my purple-helmed warrior into her damp, muscular cunt. The damn thing was so tight that I couldn't hold back, and had flooded her spasming pussy in a couple of minutes.

I got dressed, retrieved the string of pearls from Cherisse Chandler and set out alone, with the sight of my client's lovely daughter sucking the hot jizz out of my secretary's gash still fresh in my mind.

Lost in reverie in that ornate sitting room, I didn't notice at first that Mrs. Chandler had come in. She was staring at me, a curious smile on her face. I rose to my feet and approached her. Mrs. Chandler was wearing some kind of filmy wrap over a skimpy bikini that did little to hide her assets. It was a far cry from the business suit of the previous day.

"I was out by the pool, getting a little sun," she said. "Such a lovely day, isn't it?" She indicated that I should sit again, and I took the same chair as before. She sat across from me in an identical one and crossed her fine legs, dangling a high-heeled sandal on her toe.

The old guy came in and she ordered a tray of drinks. She waited until he shuffled off to say anything more. "So. You have information on my daughter? My pearls?" Her hands self-consciously plucked at the sheer fabric of her wrap, closing it over her generous bosom, but not really hiding anything.

"Better than that," I replied. "Your daughter is at my office. Your pearls are in my pocket. But I have a tale to tell first."

The geezer came back with the tray, handed me a Scotch, limped out. Mrs. Chandler leaned forward to listen, and her wrap fell open again, this time forgotten by her hands. Her feline eyes bored into me, waiting for my story.

I repeated what her daughter had told me back at the office, including the part about the Greek boyfriend's plot to switch the real pearls for paste, and how she – Cherisse – had hoped that her seeming thievery would cause Mrs. Chandler to listen and believe the whys and wherefores.

I left out the fact that I had engaged in an intensely pleasurable three-way with Cherisse and my secretary. After all, the illusion of ethics is almost as good as the real thing, I always say.

"Oh, but I know about Cosmo's plan to steal from me," she said, surprising me. "I've already thrown him out of the house, bag and baggage. He was gone before I came to see you yesterday."

I gulped my Scotch. It burned all the way down to my stomach. I said with a croak, my eyes watering, "But why didn't you believe your daughter when she told you last month?"

Mrs. Chandler sat back, her tits now fully on display in the bikini top, and waved a dismissive hand. "Mr. Walken, I was under the spell of a charming, utterly handsome, extremely well-endowed foreigner. I didn't want to listen, didn't want to believe her. And when she stole – or pretended to steal, it turns out – my beloved pearls, I believed that she might have been acting in concert with Cosmo, which is why I came to you.

"But I believe what you say, that Cherisse was acting in my best interest." She rose from the chair and approached me. "May I have them?" she asked, holding out a slim, manicured hand.

I pulled the strand from my coat pocket and handed it up to her. She stretched it out to its full length with a dazzling smile and turned from me, walking to the window. The sun, glinting off her tanned skin, her blonde hair and the pearls, conspired to make me squint as I admired her shape from my chair.

Reaching into another pocket, I retrieved the retainer check she'd given me the previous day and unfolded it. Speaking from my chair, I suggested to the lady that I return it, since I hadn't really done much on my own to earn that much money.

"No, Mr. Walken, a promise is a promise," she replied, turning away from the window. "I assured you that your efforts would be greatly rewarded." She took a few steps across the room and stood before me. "And not just with money," she added.

Mrs. Chandler pulled a knot on the string of her bikini bottoms with one hand and they fell to the floor. With the other hand, she pulled down my zipper and pulled out my rising cock. Fondling my boner with her cool fingers, she dangled the string of pearls at eye level.

"It's time you knew the reason these pearls are so important to me," she whispered huskily. "They bring me pleasure in quite a number of ways," she continued, wrapping the strand tightly around my burgeoning rick. "I'll show you."

Mrs. Chandler turned away from me, bent at the waist and placed her hands on the arms of the leather wingback. Looking at me over her shoulder, she commanded, "Take that huge cock of yours and fuck me in the ass!"

As I approached her puckering poop-chute with my pearl-wrapped pecker, I thanked God for the day I had become a private dick, and mused that in a few minutes I'd be giving the lady a pearl necklace of my own to wear around those lovely white globes.

THE END