This is a contest entry, so please, please give me a high vote. I'll do anything you want.
It was 2:30 on a Thursday afternoon, as I contemplated the green armchair across from my desk in my office on Sunset. As can be the case in Los Angeles, it was a hot October day. And it being a Thursday, my receptionist, Destiny, was at her Pilates class, leaving me to fend for myself. Normally, this is not a problem. This Thursday was not normal.
I was surveying the sun-burnt upholstery on that chair, and thinking idly about the flask in the upper right hand drawer of my desk, when I heard the door to the external office open and shut, out where it says "Andre Baxter, Private Investigations." The click of the door was followed by the sound of footsteps headed my way. They were a man's footsteps, heavy but tentative, and after a moment's pause they entered the second door, accompanied by a man in a suit. It was an expensive suit, not from a warehouse store, but worn carelessly by a man with a bit of a paunch and a guilty conscience that wrinkled his brow. I'd seen brows like that before.
He was about 50 years old, 5 foot ten and balding, and his eyes lingered on my carpet for a moment before traveling up to meet mine. "Mr. Baxter?" he inquired.
"That's me," I said. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, a friend recommended you to me." I thought I would listen to more of his story before I asked which friend. "He told me you were a man that can handle a problem with a degree of... discretion."
"Well, I might," I replied, "depending on the kind of problem."
"My name is S************. I'm a producer in Hollywood." I'd heard of him. Most people in this town had. "My problem involves a romantic situation." Surprise, surprise. He paused to see whether I was shocked.
"Go on," I suggested.
"I'm a married man," he said. "But I work with a lot of attractive young women, and occasionally, things get out of control." I nodded sympathetically. "A few weeks back, I was at the Bonaventure, meeting with a young lady from a picture I'm making, and we wound up in her room. We were on her bed, you know, getting busy" -- here he seemed almost embarrassed -- "when I realized that there was someone else in the the room with us. I have no idea how she got there. She was sitting on a chair... watching us. And she was naked, and," he said with some delicacy, "touching herself."
I continued to look sympathetic. I was waiting for him to get to the problem. From the look on his face, we were almost there.
"She looked familiar. In fact, I'm sure I recognized her. It was Maribel Rojas."
My eyebrows went up a notch. Ms. Rojas was a successful weather girl on a local network station, who was also dead. She had died in a well-publicized incident at some Hollywood soiree back in August, under conditions which were ambiguous in the news accounts but sounded to me like dope. "That's not possible," I said.
"I know," he admitted. "But if it wasn't her, it was her twin."
"And?" I said helpfully.
"Well, the young lady I was with... she and I were both a bit shocked to see her there, Maribel Rojas, I mean, sitting in a chair about four feet away from us, and, well, she just continued to.. touch, until she reached her, you know, climax. And then she disappeared."
His story was getting progressively less plausible. "Disappeared?" I inquired.
"Yes, exactly. Disappeared. And then last night I saw her again." I was trying not to look skeptical. "There are two young ladies on my staff," Mr. S************ continued, "that like to get together now and then with... a gentleman, for sex. I was at an apartment with them last night, and one thing led to another, and we were all naked on the bed, and we heard a sound from someone else in the room. And it was her, Maribel Rojas, or her double. She had a chair right up next to the bed, I don't know how she got it there without us noticing, and she was naked, and her legs were up over the arms of the chair, and her hands were all over herself. Now, the girls I was with, they were sort of excited by this, and they tried to talk to her, they invited her to join us on the bed. And she smiled at them, but she just kept touching herself until she had a very loud orgasm, and then she disappeared again. The chair was gone, too."
"So," I said, "it sounds like you are being stalked by a woman that looks like Maribel Rojas, and she shows up and interrupts your moments of intimacy?"
"That's pretty much it. But I tell you, Mr. Baxter, it gives me the creeps, because I'm not leaving doors unlocked or anything like that. I can't figure out how she gets into the room. And I definitely can't figure out how she disappears."
"Well, I can look into for you. It's certainly a bit unusual. I'll need a retainer."
"Of course." Mr. S************ rose to his feet, reached into his pocket, and pulled out six $100 bills. "Is that enough to get started?" I nodded. "I hope you don't mind cash. I don't want to leave a paper trail."
"Not a problem," I said. Mr. S************ found the exit without my help.
About ten minutes later, Destiny returned from her Pilates, and I told her I was going out. I broke one of Mr. S************'s bills down the street at the Armenian chicken joint, had a late lunch, and then drove over to Burbank where I knew a guy at KNBC.
Eddie invited me into his office and closed the door. "What's happening, Andre? Care for a margarita?" I told him that I did. He made two of them and we sat down on either side of his desk.
"Eddie, I've got a client that thinks he's being stalked by Maribel Rojas. What can you tell me about her?"
"Well, if I had to be stalked by somebody, I'd sure pick her. You know she's dead, right?"
"Well, she was definitely a looker. From Honduras, I believe, and all original equipment."
"You mean, no cosmetic surgery."
"Absolutely. The only weather girl in L.A. that could make that claim. And," he added confidentially, "she had a reputation for being a bit of freak. The word is, she liked to watch, and be watched. There were rumors of some video in circulation. It never came around to me, though."
"Could she have a sister or some relative that looks like her?"
"Not that I know of. I think she came up here as a student and decided to stick around."
We finished our drinks as Eddie told me things about other weather girls, things I didn't need to know. I thanked him and took off.
The next morning I went down to Parker Center to see Danny Lee, a police lieutenant I know. I had to wait outside his office for 20 minutes, which I spent productively reading the Calendar section of the Times. Then Danny called me in.
"Morning, Danny," I said. "I was hoping you could enlighten me about some details that affect a case I'm working on."
Danny grinned cautiously. "Depends," he said.
"Weren't you the guy that worked the Maribel Rojas case?"
"Yes, I was. They don't want us to go public with much about that one."
"I'm not the public."
"I know, Andre. I just want to make sure we understand each other."
"All right. We ruled out homicide. It was some combination of coke and, shall we say, too much excitement."
"How much is too much?"
"Well, that's not my call. The medical examiner could explain it, but he probably won't."
"I guess she had a bit of a reputation."
"More than a bit." Danny reached into a drawer and pulled out an unlabeled DVD, pushing it across the desk to me. "Here's a souvenir." I put it into my briefcase for further study. "Mind if I ask what your interest is?"
"I have a client," I replied, "who thinks he's seen her, twice, in the past few weeks."
"Not too likely," said Danny. "Maybe somebody looks like her. I know a lot of babes would like to."
I thanked Danny and drove back to Hollywood. I asked Destiny if there were any messages. S************ had called to see if there were any updates, and in my estimation there weren't, so I let it go. I walked into my office and locked the door, since I didn't want Destiny to walk in and get the wrong idea. I put the DVD from Danny into my laptop, plugged in the ear buds, and hit the start button.
There was Maribel, dressed like a weather girl in a tight sweater and a short skirt, in somebody's well-lit living room. She was speaking Spanish to some people off-camera. There were no subtitles. She kept looking into the camera and flashing her TV-personality smile. I don't know much Spanish but I think the subject matter was getting salacious, and before you knew it her hands were wandering around her breasts. There was clearly no brassiere involved here -- her nipples were making themselves known from under the cashmere. Her voice was getting lower and more intimate, but I had the impression she was speaking to a group. Then she was pulling the sweater up slowly, letting one tit and then the other emerge. They were magnificent.
Maribel had some fun with her nipples for a few minutes. You could hear some voices off-camera giving her encouragement. Then the camera panned back a bit, so you could see that her skirt had crept up her thighs. There were some tiny white lace panties, with black pubic hair spilling out above the waistband and below around her thighs. The camera zoomed in and you could see that the panties had a big wet spot, just where you would hope it would be.
Now her lovely fingers were visiting the outside of the panties, caressing them, tugging them a little so that more of that abundant black hair escaped. The video was beginning to make me uncomfortable, in the sense that my slacks seems a lot tighter than they ought to be. It was at that moment that the intercom buzzed, and Destiny informed me that there was a Mrs. S************ here to see me.
"I'll come to the door," I said. I got up, closed the laptop, and tried as best I could to rearrange my slacks so as to minimize the visibility of my erection. Then I walked to the door, unlocked it, and opened it.
Mrs.S************ strode rather aggressively into the room, flashing me a hundred watt smile and offering me her hand. My first reaction was that Mr. S************ ought to have his head examined, chasing after his employees when this dazzling woman was waiting for him at home. She wore a 1940s-style hat upon her flame-red hair, which was curly and shoulder-length. She was about 40, voluptuous, almost plump but not quite. Her eyes were a brilliant blue. She wore a suit from one of those Rodeo Drive labels. She took a moment to look me over, while I waited for her to speak. She looked satisfied with what she saw. "Call me Catherine," she said. Destiny closed the door behind her.
I was trying to assess to what degree the confidentiality of my business relationship to her husband had already been compromised. Catherine was very helpful in that regard. "First of all, let me assure you that my husband Sol can see as many tarts as he likes. He's a very likable guy, but the sex between us became mundane a while back, and neither of us can tolerate mundane sex." Here she paused to flash the smile again. "I have him followed just for fun, not because I'm jealous. Since I know he came to see you yesterday, I thought I'd drop by and offer to assist your investigation in any way I can."
I offered her the green armchair, and took my seat behind my desk. I was relieved to be able to hide my erection, which had not diminished in the least since the appearance of the vivacious Catherine. "Catherine," I said, "you must know that even though you are Sol's wife, I am bound to respect the confidentiality of the work I am doing."
Catherine adjusted her hat with both hands, causing her bosom to thrust forward into even greater prominence. "Well now, Mr. Baxter..."
"Andre," I corrected. Fair is fair.
"Andre." Once again the hundred watt smile. "I didn't say I wanted to know what Sol was up to. I just said I wanted to offer my assistance." With that she gracefully lifted one leg up over the arm of the green armchair, exposing her red satin panties. One of her hands fell carelessly into the neighborhood, resting on her creamy thigh. Her voice became more sultry. "Do you see anything you would care to investigate?"
My professional ethics, which are not normally my strong suit anyway, fell by the wayside at that moment. I had been trying not to stare at Catherine, but my erection was throbbing under the desk and may have affected my judgment. I stood up again, and this time made no effort to hide it. Catherine beamed with appreciation.
"You are really not one for formalities, are you, Catherine?" I observed.
"Life is short, Andre," she replied, lazily sending her fingers along her thigh until one of them disappeared under her pantie.
I took off my suit jacket, hung it carefully on the back of my chair, and then walked around to the front of the desk. As I approached Catherine, I dropped slowly to my knees, as she lifted her other leg over the other arm of the chair and pushed herself forward.
I gave her a careful inspection from up close. It looked like her vulva was very plump, and her panties bulged out considerably, showing the outline of her pussy lips. I rubbed my face against her there. She smelled just right. I nibbled her through the fabric, finding the contours of her clit with my lips. This made her squirm a little, and she scooted herself further toward me in the chair. Then her fingers pulled the crotch of her panties to the side, exposing her cunt in all its glory.
Her pussy lips were very thick and dark in color, with a big, fat clit. I opened my mouth wide and slowly devoured her, as she murmured her appreciation. My tongue went deep inside her, and then I sucked slowly and sensually upon her clit. She began to rock her hips back and forth, and then she said, "Andre?"
"Stand up, please."
I obliged her, and she slowly undid my belt and trousers, sliding them, along with my underwear, down to my knees. She took a moment to admire my cock, which was standing straight out and throbbing urgently, before she leaned forward and took every inch of it into her throat.
"Catherine, that's good," I said. She began to slowly and lovingly fuck me with her mouth.
After about 30 seconds I pulled away. She looked up at me and affected a disappointed pout, but then waited as I stepped out of my trousers and underwear. Then I dropped once more to my knees, seized her ass with my hands, and brought her cunt to my face. I felt her ass muscles clench and unclench as she rubbed herself against my face. She was getting wetter and wetter as I probed her with my tongue and hungrily sucked her clit, and I thought she might be about to cum, when I heard her say "Andre!"
I looked up at her and understood from her face what she was demanding, so I stood once more and let her engulf my cock with her mouth. She was taking me all the way in, and increasing her pace. I knew I could come easily if I wanted to, but I what I wanted was to prolong our game.
I dropped once more to my knees and and buried my face in her pussy. She was beginning to moan rhythmically now, thrusting her cunt against my mouth. But then I became aware of someone else moaning.
I lifted my face from feasting on Catherine's cunt, and there next to us was another, identical green armchair, and in it was Maribel Rojas. There was no mistaking her after seeing the video. But I had only seen the beginning of the video. The Maribel that was right before my eyes was completely nude except for an anklet. Her pussy was gorgeously framed in thick black hair, and glistening with her juices. She looked me in the eye and moaned.
Don't ask me how, but at that moment I realized I had a professional obligation to my client. "Miss Rojas?" I asked. She nodded, while energetically working her cunt with both hands. "Excuse me, but I was told you were dead."
"I am," she said breathlessly, and with a voice that sounded curiously distant, as if it had too much reverb. I looked at her expectantly, and she seemed annoyed. She paused from her masturbation and said, "Look, if I explain it to you, will you go back to what you were doing, and there will be no more silly interruptions?" I nodded.
"OK," she said, "I died, all right? And I'm supposed to go to the other side. But look... I'm a voyeur. Being a... a ghost means I can go wherever I want, and watch whoever I want. And living people can't see me unless I want them to. And guess what? Sometimes I want them to."
"Well, Miss Rojas," I replied, "I'm working for Mr. S************..."
"It looks more to me like you're working his wife," said Maribel with a smirk.
"I'm asking you to overlook that for a moment. The point is that Mr. S************ is upset that you keep showing up when he's in flagrante."
"Well, tell him not to worry. I'm bored with him now. I have to go to the other side pretty soon anyway. I just want to enjoy this while I can."
I believed her. She looked me in the eye as she slowly resumed massaging her clit. "Are you finished with the questions?" she asked. I nodded. She took one hand away from her pussy and gestured toward Catherine, who sat there looking at us, quite pale. On her face was a mixture of alarm, and unsatisfied lust. Mainly the lust, in my estimation.
"Miss Rojas?" said Catherine.
Miss Rojas looked annoyed again.
"May we... touch you?" Catherine asked.
"No.. it will just make me disappear. Touch each other, for god's sake."
I took that as my cue. I seized Catherine's ass and plunged my face into her cunt, swirling my tongue all around her clit. She growled in pleasure, grasping my ears in her hands and pressing me closer. I was aware of Maribel moaning nearby.
I broke free again, and helped Catherine to her feet so that I could undress her. I took off her jacket and skirt, while she unbuttoned my shirt. Then came her blouse and brassiere. Her tits were truly a sight to behold. I held each of them in turn in my hands and sucked them passionately, and she had a small orgasm. Last came the red satin panties, which were drenched in pussy juice. I rubbed them all over my face, at which point I heard Maribel cry out in climax. Catherine and I both looked over toward her, and we saw her squirt. It was spectacular, but it left no stain on my carpet.
I turned toward her, and said deferentially, "Miss Rojas, I just want you to know that you have a beautiful pussy." She smiled wryly, running her fingers through her abundant pussy hair, now all matted with her cum. Looking provocatively at me, she squeezed her pussy lips together, making her clit protrude. Then she closed her eyes and began to masturbate once more in earnest.
I turned and seated myself in the armchair, guiding Catherine to straddle my lap. She gradually, elegantly impaled herself upon my cock, and I pulled her close to me. We began to fuck slowly and deliberately, with my hands on her ass, helping to lift her up and down, and feeling her buttocks clench and unclench as she milked my cock with her cunt. Her tits were jutting in front of my face, and I attacked her nipples with my lips and teeth, as she spoke to me in guttural tones about how it all felt. Nearby, I heard Maribel speaking agitated Spanish and then shouting as she came once more.
Catherine and I were picking up our pace, as she thrust her hips to meet mine, each time my cock plunged into her innermost recesses. "Andre, I want you to cum," she murmured urgently in my ear.
I reluctantly took my lips off her nipple to say, "Can you cum too?"
She gasped now, "Yes, any second!" and began tightening her wonderful cunt around my cock. I abandoned myself to the sensation and began fucking her with relentless passion. Within 30 seconds we were both erupting and shouting. When the spasms subsided, Maribel was gone.