Hot Wives Investment Club Ch. 01

"Instead, it was a sex party." Teresa said, as I brought up the file on my desk computer. "But the women are interesting... for criminal observation purposes that is."

I opened the file, which was password-protected. The photos were taken from both inside and outside. Some showed a large, muscular, athletic black man in his late 20s or early 30s, having sexual intercourse with Trish Donolan, wife of BigPharmaCorp CEO Donovan Donolan. Trish and her husband were swingers with the Hedonists, and also had formed their own smaller swinging group.

"If Law Enforcement doesn't work out for you, Teresa," I said, "you have a career in porn photography." The pictures Teresa taken were extremely clear and graphic, showing the huge black snake penetrating Trish's white snatch.

"No doubt." Teresa said with a straight face as I continued to peruse the pictures. The second woman was Gloria Cagle, the white girlfriend of a black man named 'T-Mac', who was the lieutenant of the rapper 'T-Square'. T-Square controlled most of the black crime in the southern part of Town. I could see in several pics that Grubby Paul was sitting in a chair getting his seven inch root wet, as Gloria was riding his cock hard. Grubby was a lucky man, I thought, as some of the photos showed him sucking Gloria's magnificent breasts. I truly had rarely seen better breasts than Gloria's: all natural, big teardrop shape, large brown nipples that begged to be sucked...

"Poor Grubby." I said. "Undercover work is so tough on him."

"It will be if he gets caught up." Teresa said. "Which I am concerned about."

The third woman was older, with a head full of curly, almost frazzled, black hair with some gray mixed in. She looked to be in her 50s, but was very attractive, and her body was in shape and very hot. She was wearing sheer black stockings and a garter belt, and what appeared to be high heel suede black pumps. Her legs were long and shapely, and as she lay on the second bed in the bedroom, getting pumped by powerful black man, who was younger and slimmer than the first, those long shapely legs looked really good pulled back and spread wide to accommodate her stud's powerful fucking.

The pictures were explicit, and hot. The black men were fucking the white mature beauties with their extremely large cocks. My sex-professor wife had told me that the myth of black penis size was just that, a myth... but just as there were some white men blessed with huge penises, like my nephew Todd, there were likewise black men who were exceptionally well-hung. These two men were hung, and they were fucking the hell out of these lovely white women with their big black snakes. Teresa had been right: the photos were arousing me, but it was not my wife I was thinking about; I was lusting for some sweet ebony pussy.

"Okay, Teresa," I said, putting my lewd thoughts aside as I tried to control the hardening of my cock in my pants, "I agree with you about Grubby Paul... he was 'made' by the local black gangsters. Why is he on this mission?"

"Because these are out-of-towners." Teresa said. "They came in from the City, and we don't think they know who Grubby is. Also, sir, Grubby wanted to do it. We wanted to find out if they were making contact with local drug pushers. Last but not least, Grubby thought that if anyone who knew who he was came in, they'd lose trust in those City guys, maybe not do business with them. And I had Davis and Kirkpatrick close by, just in case Grubby got into any trouble, warrants be damned."

"We do need to be more careful about Grubby exposing himself like that." I said. "So who are these guys from the City?"

"The first guy, the one fucking Trish Donolan," said Teresa, "is known as 'Black Magic'. He was rumored to have been a semi-pro football player, but other than a tryout with an NFL team, from which he was cut, we can't find a record for that. He's got money, which has attracted Drug Enforcement at every level of law enforcement, but we've found nothing on him so far- until last night, possibly. The second guy, we're not sure about yet. I'm inquiring with Detective Ventura in the City to see if he is on their radar screens.

"Well, as I'm sure you know," I said, "Gloria Cagle is T-Mac's main squeeze, so she is either stepping out on him or she is the go-between contact."

"That was one of the two things I wanted to get your input on, Commander." Teresa said. "Is Cagle a contact, or is just part of a sex party? We're not sure we didn't stumble onto some decadent but relatively innocent fun. And then there's Trish Donolan... is she involved with the black drug trade, or is she just into black men sexually? Remember, she was one of the bitches that led Margo Bailey straight to the drug pushers, in that particular case your nephew Ned was involved with. So I really wonder what her presence is about."

"Trish is a swinger, that much we know." I said. "She may just get off on interracial sex. I've heard Janet Riordan is also addicted to black men. Must be something in the water." Teresa laughed, such as a laugh from 'Teresa Cunt' was.

"So, who's the other woman?" I asked. "The older one with the great pair of legs."

"You would notice that." Teresa said. "But that's the second thing I need to ask you about: her name is Susan Wexler. She's a Captain in the City Police Force's Drug Squad. Supposedly one of their very best, and has been for years. I'm afraid we might have stumbled onto her doing an undercover mission."

"She's undercover... or under covers, all right." I said. "No wonder she gets the results she does. So what's the issue?"

"If she's undercover, I don't want to 'out' her and expose her to the criminals." said Teresa. "But it also occurred to me that she might not be undercover, she might be dirty. If we contact her unit and they don't know about her mission, a mole might expose her -or- a snitch might tip her off. If we go to their I.A., we might be doing her an injustice, and again- a mole might tip her off, or tip the bad guys off. I can tell you that when I was working with Midtown I.A., the guys there did not trust the City's I.A."

I was very proud of Teresa Croyle: she had really thought about the possibilities and made no assumptions either way. "That's excellent thinking, Lieutenant Croyle. Excellent." I complimented her. "So the question is how to discreetly determine if she's on a mission; and if not, if she's dirty or just having some good sexual fun."

"Yes, sir." Teresa said, her eyes showing no emotion at all; no gleam of amusement nor sexual interest, nor hardly any professional police interest. In some ways, that was good. But we still had not gotten her completely away from being 'Teresa Cunt'.

"Hmmmm," I said, thinking. "We can't use Robin Ventura or 'Sapper' Warren, or even let them know. They'd be in deep kim-chi if they were investigating a superior officer and she's not guilty of anything. And like you said, I'm not fully trusting of their I.A. Department, either. Tell you what, I'll think about it, and we'll resolve it soon.

I glanced at Teresa, seeing the obvious signs of fatigue. I said "Meanwhile, Lieutenant, you and Detective Paul are to go home and get some sleep. If I see you in this Headquarters before noon, I'll fire your asses... or better yet, I'll let Lieutenant Ross fire you." I was kidding about firing them, but not about them getting some sleep.

"Oh sir, not Lieutenant Ross, anything but tha-at!" Teresa said, pretending to beg, teasing me back for the 'Ross' reference. She'd definitely come a long way from the way she was night Margo Bailey had died. And of course she and Cindy would take bullets for each other...

-

"You bitch."

Trish Donolan woke up out of a deep sleep. It was her husband, dressed fully in his $5000 suit for the Board meeting, standing next to the bed. In his hand was a manila envelope with photographs that had been inside.

"Huh, wha?" she asked sleepily.

"What the fuck are these?" Donovan said, his voice low and menacing.

As Trish fully woke up, Donovan threw the photos into his wife's face and upper chest. "Tell me what the fuck these are, bitch!" Trish sat up, looking accusingly at her husband, as she picked up the photos. A shock ran through her as she saw that they were of her being deeply fucked by that black stud 'Black Magic' the night before.

"I told you I was going to a party. What's the fucking problem?" Trish said.

"You didn't tell me you were going to be fucking niggers at that party." Donovan said. "I trusted you, and you betray me and our marriage by fucking a nigger? And you let him shoot his filthy nigger seed inside you?"

"What's your problem with that?" Trish said. "We've been swinging for years. And I've been taking black pipe for longer than I've known you! You know what they say: 'Once you go black, you never go back.'."

"God damn it, bitch!" Donovan said, furious anger on his face. "If I'd known you were a nigger-lover like this, I never would've married you. I'd have let you stay on the streets, you God-damned whore. And this is why we didn't make it into the Libertines... because you're a fucking slut for nigger cock! Going around and hanging out with those drug pushers-"

"Get the fuck over it, asshole!" Trish yelled back, whipped to anger herself. "You needed me and my daddy's money, or you'd be mopping the floors at BigPharmaCorp instead of running the place! And if you don't like it that I fuck big black cocks and like them better than your little tool, then tough shit! You were the Libertines' problem, not me! And I'll hang around who I damn well please!"

"Like Margo Bailey?" Donovan shot back. "Yeah, you had her hang around, and look what happened to her. You and that Cat Clausen bitch took her to visit your nigger lovers, and she ended up dead. You better watch out the same thing doesn't happen to you!"

"I'll take my chances." Trish said. "And those black studs sure fuck me better than you do, you puny little shit eater!"

"Why you-" Donolan said, then caught himself. He exhaled. "I... I don't have time to deal with this now, not today of all days. I'll deal with your cheating, nigger-loving ass when I get back home."

"Yeah, right." said Trish, menace in her voice. "Go play like you're a big-shot, which we both know you aren't. Be the coward you are and run away."

His face red and his vision near blinded with furious anger, Donolan stopped himself from doing what he ached to do. Instead, he turned on his heel and left the room.

Having heard the shouting within the house, neighbors were watching as the wealthy industrialist got into his expensive Mercedes car, slammed the door shut with the tight finality of sealed metal, and scratched off, the loud noise getting the attention of anyone who wasn't already watching...

Part 3 - The Hot Wives Investment Club

(Author's disclaimer: the following is fictional and does not represent nor should be construed as stock market trading or investing advice. Investing in the stock market carries risk, and investors should not trade based upon the fictionalized information below. The author assumes no responsibility for the trading success or failure of others.)

"The meeting will come to order." intoned Myrtle L. James at precisely 7:30pm on October 30th. The meeting of the County Ladies Investment Club was being held in the so-called 'boardroom' meeting room of the River Valley Country Club, the same room that Anthony Warner had convened some of the DynaCorp Board on the night he was murdered in the parking lot. All of the sixteen women in attendance at the meeting had their cars parked in the covered parking lot, denoting their wealth and status.

It was obvious from looking at most of the beautiful trophy wives why it was nicknamed the 'Hot Wives Investment Club'. Their ages ranged from the 30s to the 70s (maybe more, no one was sure how old Myrtle L. James was), and the majority of them were married to some of the County's wealthiest men. A few were independently wealthy.

After the attendance report and last meeting minutes were read by the secretary, Dr. Carolyn Muncey, and the financial report was read by the Treasurer, Ms. Barbara Langram, University Trustee Myrtle L. James led the meeting through the Club's existing stock equity holdings. Covered calls were to be sold upon their Microsoft (MSFT), Union Pacific (UNP), and Chevron (CVX) holdings. Stop loss prices were determined for several other stocks that the Club membership feared might drop. Then came the call to discuss what new equities to purchase, as there was cash for only one major acquisition at the time.

And that's when the fight began.

After several members made suggestions for other stocks, it became apparent that there were only two stocks in real consideration: Apple (AAPL) and Netflix (NFLX). The members were evenly divided between the two. Over the next hour, the discussion became a little bit heated and was on the verge of getting ugly.

"Why don't we buy some of both." suggested Helena French, a lovely woman in her early 40s, who was also a member of the Libertines Swing Club with her husband.

"Oh no, there is no way we should buy AAPL." said Trish Donolan, leading the fight for the NFLX side. The debate went on for several minutes, and appeared to be a standoff.

At precisely 8:30, Myrtle L. James suggested that the group take a break and have some of the dessert that was available on the side table. The women talked in small groups, some going out the side door where the kitchenette and restrooms were, some in back of the main meeting room, some at the speaker's table talking to Myrtle L. James.

At precisely 8:45, the meeting was called back into order. But not everyone was back.

"Where's Trish?" asked Joan Knightley, a magnificent hot blonde in her 30s who was married to the very wealthy CEO of Crown Chemicals, and was also Dr. Bonnie Karpathian's assistant in the University Psychology Department.

"I don't know." said Catherine 'Cat' Clausen, who was Trish's best friend. Her name 'Cat' partially came from the fact that she and Trish were two of the cattiest, meanest women in the County. "I think she just went to the bathroom. I'll go check."

Catherine was relatively short, cute and voluptuous, with a mane of black, heavily curly hair like Dr. Bonnie Karpathian's; in fact, the two women could be confused for each other at a distance. She got up and went to and through the kitchenette door, which opened into the main room, prohibiting the members from being able to see inside the kitchenette. It was also a self-closing door, and all eyes were on it as it shut behind Catherine.

"YAAAAGGHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The piercing scream was Cat's voice, and had come from the kitchenette, and all of the women rushed to the door... then screamed themselves when they saw the sight behind the door: the bathroom doors opened outward into the kitchenette, and when Caroline had opened the one on the right...

... the body of Trish Donolan, which had been leaning against it, fell out into the kitchenette. Myrtle L. James rushed up and felt for a pulse, but it was too late.

Trish Donolan was dead.

To be continued.