Dirk Saber P.I.: Jane Russell Ch. 07

Becky laughed, put her hand on my cheek, and said, "You're a math ninja." She ran her fingers down my arm while staring at my flowery shirt. I shivered, while feeling like I stood in the sun. I wanted to grab her and kiss her. Instead I went to the men's room and splashed cold water on my face.

The first show ended and the late show crowded arrived. They were very different. The men were younger, drunker, and more aggressive. I stood next to the counter, trying to look menacing. Becky took the ogling in stride, even bending over repeatedly to pick up different candy requests from the glass case, which caused more cleavage to come into view and lots of adolescent snickering. The young women were less sympathetic towards their dates' friskiness. Eyes rolled. Arms tugged. Frowns formed.

A couple of times I had to ask single guys to keep their disgusting mouths shut and move along, but no physical encouragement was necessary.

I received no female attention. The women were too young to recognize Magnum PI from TV, and they were too intent on getting back their date's attention. Single women didn't come to this late showing. 'The Outlaw' was apparently not a chick flick.

Also, Bela Lugosi was a no-show.

As the last customers left, Jeff finally emerged from his projection cave. Ignoring me, he walked up to Becky acting all contrite, and said, "Sorry about... earlier. I really appreciate you helping me out."

I became angry, thinking he was manipulating her and how he tried to manipulate me with his phone call. Before Becky could respond with what I expected to be an acceptance of his apology, I said, "She's done working here. Pay her for tonight, so we can leave."

Jeff turned on me. His phony repentance evaporated. "She can't leave yet. She has to clean the theater."

"What?" said Becky, glaring at Jeff. "I didn't sign up to do your housekeeping."

'No, she signed up to do mine.' Aloud, I said, "Pay her."

"I can't, tonight. I'll pay her next week."

Pointing at the movie poster of Jane Russell lying in a bed of hay with a six shooter in hand, I said, "Then we'll take that as payment."

"No way! That's worth a lot more than a few hours at minimum wage."

I walked over to the display, and said, "Unlock it, or I'll break the glass."

"I'll call the police."

"Go ahead. She'll file a sexual harassment complaint. I'm a witness."

Jeff remained silent, until I raised my elbow to strike.

"Okay! Okay! I'll open it."

I carefully removed the poster and rolled it up -- a crease drastically reduces the value. C'mon Becky, let's go."

She hesitated for only a few seconds before following me out.

The drive home began with silence. I don't know what she was thinking, but I was pondering what to do now. I'd taken her away from a bad situation with no plan. Then it occurred to me that this was an opportunity to fulfill one of my heart's desires.

Out of the blue, I said, "You could be a breeder."

"What?"

"You and I, we could be breeders together. I've wanted to do that, but never had the chance. But with you living with me, we'd have the time." I let that settle in, and it stayed quiet while she thought it over. Then I began regretting my hasty proposal. Rash decisions never worked out in my favor.

Finally, she said, "Thanks. But I'm old fashioned. No kids before marriage."

"What? No!" I looked over, but couldn't read her expression in the dashboard light. "Not you and me. Dick and a mate. I'd get another dog -- a female. Saint Bernard puppies, not babies. The puppies are worth at least a thousand a piece."

I looked over again to see her hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh. "You're messing with me."

Becky nodded. "I couldn't help myself. You set me up so perfectly." Then she grew serious, and said, "Let me think about it. There's no hurry, right?"

And here I thought I was the rational one. "You're right. No hurry."

"How much do you think the poster is worth?"

To me, it's priceless, to answer her, I said, "I don't know, it's rare. I'll have it appraised. But I'll pay you for it. I want to have it framed to hang in my office. Something to remind me of tonight."

The van stayed quiet for miles, until she said, "Thank you for looking out for me tonight."

"My pleasure. It was a nice change of pace to prevent trouble from happening, rather than investigating after the fact."

After another mile of quiet, Becky asked, "Am I headed for trouble by staying with you?"

My heart sank a little. Instead of blurting out my first reaction, I took a deep breath, and said, "I confess. I like you... a lot. But you don't have to worry about me. I'm self-sufficient. Easy come, easy go."

"I like you, too... a lot. Just worried we're rushing into things."

You started it! Sex is rushing it! Aloud, I said, "I know what you mean. We've crossed some relationship boundaries pretty fast. We should slow things down." In my head, I thought, if you'd stop coming to my bed naked that would help.

The van remained quiet, until I pulled into the driveway and turn off the engine.

Becky said, "I'm going to freshen up. Do me a favor. Don't take off the mustache." Then she left me sitting there, contemplating the meaning of that request.

Dick had to go outside. I let him into the fenced yard and enjoyed a thoughtful moment in the warm night air. Minutes later, I entered the kitchen and poured two glasses of 'Sticks' wine. Then I sat at the kitchen table with only the glow of the waxing moon through the window for light.

A while later, a door opened. Carpeted footsteps in the hall made hushed pats. "Magnum?"

"In the kitchen."

Becky's silhouette appeared in the doorway.

Holding up a goblet, I said, "I poured us some wine."

As she stepped out of the shadows her beauty floated ghostly into focus, barefoot and wrapped in green silk. "Thank you," she said, taking the glass and sitting on my lap. Slowing things down didn't seem an option for her.

I wrapped my arm around her waist, and said, "You're welcome. Make yourself comfortable."

She laughed and sipped, her eyes leaving mine and moving down to the fake mustache.

Taking the hint, I said, "Kiss me."

Grinning, she answered, "Love to."

As we kissed I lost interest in drinking wine. Becky became my intoxicant of choice. My lips traveled to her neck.

She giggled. "Magnum, that tickles."

She was continuing the roleplay. Then so would I, although my Jane fantasy included a hayloft. But I'm willing to compromise when it comes to reality sex. "Should I stop, Jane?"

"No. Please, don't."

I nuzzled the silk off her shoulder, dragging my Magnum tickler over her skin. She shivered in my arms and moaned encouragement. My kisses traveled from her shoulder, along the collar bone to the base of her throat, and then moved south, opening her robe along the way. When her breasts became muffs for my ears, my lips explored east -- up the soft slope, stopping at the peak to suck and nibble. Becky's hands tangled in my hair, and guided my travels. After both nipples were wet and hard, she pressed my head downward.

Unable to go lower than the solar plexus, I stood with her in my arms and set her down on the table. Kissing her lips, I pulled open her robe and looked down. No panties. Shaved pussy. She'd prepared for the Magnum tickler. This was not a slow-things-down message on her part.

Pushing her legs apart, I stood between. My lips resumed their slow southerly route. Arriving at her stomach, I said, "I'm thirsty," and picked up my wine. I smiled, tipped the goblet, and drizzled some 'Sticks' into her bellybutton.

"Ooo, that's cold." She flexed, causing some to spill.

I sucked up the wine and licked the drips from her trembling flesh.

"Oh... that's hot," She said, falling flat on her back.

"Yes, you are." Taking a seat and draping her knees over my shoulders, I said, "I think I like a little wine with my meal." I began with soft kisses on her stomach, pausing to say, "Let me warn you, I'm a slow eater."

"Oh, god."

Gently, I kissed up the inside of her left thigh, and then the right, stopping short of her vulva. She smelled clean and aroused. I drank a little more wine, and retrace my thigh trails.

She whispered, "Your lips feel cool. I like the mustache."

At the trail head once again, I blew a stream of air between her labia, and they responded by blossoming open, pink and shiny. Her legs reflexively pressed down on my shoulders, arching her back.

"Jane, you're beautiful all over."

She responded by pressing her heels into my back.

"Are you spurring me? I'm not a horse."

"I know, but I want to ride your face."

"Ah... you want a mustache ride."

"Yes, I want a fucking mustache ride!"

"Watch your language, Jane," I said, and then firmly planted my hairy lips on her pussy and rubbed it around.

"Fuck!"

My fantasy Jane Russell never swore like that. But, I liked it better this way. I didn't have to wonder what turned her on. As I lapped, nibbled, and tongued, my fingers worked their way inside her warm sheath. Her legs on my back crossed at the ankles, trapping me, periodically flexing and loosening.

As my fingers and thumb continued to plunder, I lifted my head to find her pinching both nipples. Her eyes were closed. Perspiration made her skin glow in the moonlight.

I'll drink to that! Picking up my goblet, and sticking my tongue inside her, I poured some wine down the Valley of Labia. Mmm, Stick's wine went well with fish and rare meat. I sucked hard on the grizzle of her clit.

Becky yelped, and bucked. She arched and squeezed my head in a thigh vise. Sounds were muffled, but I think she swore again and again. Finally her legs fell open. She pushed my head away. My Magnum tickler stuck to her. "No more bucking mustache ride. You broke him," I said, holding up the damp fakery.

She sighed, and said, "That's okay. Anymore and I'd pass out."

We rested. Well, she rested. I lifted her legs from my shoulders, stood up between them, and removed my Magnum costume. "Jane, you have enough strength left for one more ride. I'll hold you in the saddle so you don't fall off."

"What are you talking about?" She opened her eyes and lifted her head. "Oh my! Hello, Mr. Magnum," she said, sitting up and grabbing my cock.

I moved closer, and she guided me in to docking position. Still wet, the slow ingress was smooth as wet silk. Placing Becky's arms around my neck, I said, "Hold on," and lifted.

She wrapped her legs around my hips for support, as I sat down in the chair, once again. "Time to ride the peg."

Grinning with heavy lidded eyes, she whispered, "You're misrepresenting. Peg sounds so insignificant."

She leaned in for a kiss, but I put a finger across her lips, and said, "You don't want to do that."

With knitted brow, she said, "I'm sure I do."

Instead of telling her why, I kissed her neck. When I pulled away, her skin remained stuck to my upper lip for a brief moment. "The mustache glue doesn't taste very good."

"Oh." Undaunted by the setback, Becky pulled me tight against her chest and lifted with her legs.

With an ass cheek in each hand, I helped her reach the peg pinnacle and stop. We repeated the slow ride a few more times, until Becky caught her second wind and changed the ride from a walk to a trot. Soon it turned into a gallop. With my left arm seat belted around her waist, I used the right hand to fondle those magnificent, bouncing breasts. Strangely, that's when it occurred to me that my sticky upper lip might be put to good use.

Becky began cussing. I picked up on the clue; it was her orgasm-is-imminent indicator. Her movements became erratic, she stopped bouncing, hugged me tight, and just trembled around my cock.

Somehow, I held myself in check.

A minute passed, before the quivering stopped, and I said, "Time for bed."

I felt her nod agreement against my shoulder.

Holding her close, I stood, and she wrapped her legs around my waist. I said, "You're going to sleep naked in my bed. You know what that means?"

As I walked with her in my arms, she turned her head and whispered in my ear, "Another riding lesson?"

After thoughtful consideration, I answered, "No. This will be more like a driving lesson... with me behind the wheel."

Kisses on my ear and neck indicated she wasn't opposed to it. Clues like that are easy to follow.

Sitting her on the bed, still unmade from our nap, I lowered her onto her back with me still inside. The erection had softened, but not totally.

As we squirmed our way into the center, she held my ass tight in both hands, saying, "Don't leave me, peg o' my heart."

Brushing the hair from her face, I wondered at the use of that endearment. First, she said 'my heart', which didn't bode well for going slow. Second, I said, "Did you know that was an old song?"

A wounded look clouded her face, when she said, "Of course I do. I'm Jane Russell. It was the title of one of my favorite movies."

Strangely, her knowledge of early 20th century movies made me hard. She noticed and squeezed me with her Kegels. "Drive me to paradise, John."

John. She used my real name. My mustache was gone, so there was no hint of resemblance to Magnum PI anymore. The fact she still wanted me made the fantasy unnecessary. Plus the fact she continued my Jane Russell fantasy made my heart, and other parts, swell. So I showed her my appreciation.

My drive began slowly, until the road became smooth again. I pressed the accelerator, while my mouth feasted on her breasts. The sticky upper lip pulled her skin when I lifted away, and she liked the feeling. In fact, she began to guide my mouth where she wanted the glue to stick.

Soon, I was pedal to the metal, driving as fast I could. The finish line loomed quickly.

"Fuck!"

I said, "Me too!"

I think we ended in a tie. I collapsed into her arms after the checkered flag. It felt like a dead-heat. No loser.

When my breathing became normal, and before I fell into unconsciousness, I got up, let Dick back inside, and washed the glue off my face. Becky was asleep when I returned to bed. That didn't stop me from pulling her close and kissing the back of her neck. I was in the wet spot again, but it was much smaller this time.

The sun was up before me. Groggily I searched the bed and discovered I was alone. Abruptly, I got up and put on my robe. For the second time, I followed the smell of bacon and female humming to the kitchen. This time, what I discovered was totally unexpected. The person cooking breakfast was Becky, but what she was wearing was straight out of the Arabian Nights.

I cleared my throat, and said, "Good morning."

Smiling brightly, Becky turned, put her palms together, bowed, and said, "Good morning, Master. I hope you slept well. Do you have a wish today?"

Grinning back, I said, "Let me think about it."

So ended the relationship with my Jane Russell fantasy, and how my reality began with Rebecca Renaldi.

The End