The name's Piper. Peter Piper. But I don't pick pecks of pickled peppers. I solve cases. I'm a private dick. That's a detective for those of you who don't know the lingo. A private eye.
It was a miserable Friday afternoon. Cold, damp, foggy. The weather was foul. And so was my mood. My bank account was dwindling at an alarming pace. I hadn't had a case in weeks. I was sitting behind my battered desk in my shabby office on the second floor of the Burke building, downtown. Way downtown. I was sitting there and I was worrying. If something didn't happen soon, I was in deep shit. I had bills to pay. The rent on the office was coming due, and I didn't have it. I also didn't have the rent for my crummy one-room apartment with the rickety bed and the wobbly night table. That was downtown too. Further downtown.
I opened my top desk drawer and took out a deck of grimy torn playing cards. They were lying right next to the gun with the jammed hammer. I started dealing myself out a hand of solitaire as I brooded. I think it was when I was putting the queen of hearts on top of the king of clubs that I saw an ominous shadow darken the dirty opaque glass in my office door. I had yet to learn how ominous.
The door opened and there was this classy dame standing there framed in the doorway. Even from there I could smell her Pastiche perfume. It was overpowering. It was intoxicating. It was sexy, and I was getting a hard-on.
"Mr. Piper?" she asked in a low sultry voice.
"That's me," I confirmed. "Come in." I motioned for her to take a seat in the ripped fabric chair with the stuffing and springs popping out across from my desk. She shuddered very slightly as she perched on the very edge of it. She didn't want too much of her bottom exposed to whatever germs were crawling around on that chair.
She was classy all right. Besides smelling of Pastiche perfume, she smelled of money. She had on a tight black dress with a low cut V-neck, which emphasized her enormous boobs. They looked lickable. On her feet she wore very high-heeled black shoes. And over her shoulders she wore a sable stole. Her jet black hair was tied back in a neat bun, and she wore a wide-brimmed hat like they used to wear back in the 1940's.
I folded up the cards and quickly shoved them back into the drawer. Then I got up and helped lift the stole off her shoulders. I hung it carelessly on the top hook of the coat rack. She winced.
I sat down behind my desk again and faced her. "How can I help you?" I asked.
"My name is Millicent Arbagast, and I'm having a problem. Fifi Applewhite told me that you could help me. She said you were very good."
Ah, yes. Fifi Applewhite. The Stolen Baby Cup Case. I had helped Fifi Applewhite a lot. Someone had lifted the little sterling silver cup her grandmother had bought for her when she was born. It had the name 'Fifi' engraved on it. It had great sentimental value. I had helped her by finding the cup, (in her maid's suitcase,) and I had helped her even more by plowing her with my big hard cock. When I first arrived at her house, she couldn't keep her hands off my dick. She kept grabbing it, and licking it, and sucking it. I just had to get it out of her hands, and the best way seemed to be to hide it in her cunt. She went totally crazy. She grabbed my ass as I was fucking her and pulled so hard I thought she was gonna tear it off. I had black and blue marks on my buttcheeks for months.
"What can I do for you, Mrs. Arbagast?" I asked. "I assume it's Mrs."
"Yes, it is. Unfortunately."
She took out a cigarette from a gold case in her black pocketbook. She tapped the cigarette on the top of the desk, before putting it between her sluttish red lips. She lit it with a diamond-studded gold lighter. I hadn't seen one like that in years. No cheap plastic disposable for her.
She puffed in deeply and blew out a plume of blue smoke. Then she continued. "My husband, Marvin, and I are separated. He wants my son, Harold. I don't want him to have my son, Harold."
"Isn't Harold his son too?"
"Yes, of course." She took another puff. She was annoyed with me. "I don't want him anywhere near Harold. I want him kept away."
"Who has custody?" I asked.
"No one has custody. We're not divorced yet. But Harold is with me now, and I don't want his father getting anywhere near him." She looked at me, wondering how much to tell me. "Marvin has done things to Harold," she said flatly. "Filthy things."
"You should get a court order," I advised.
"I can't. This can't ever be made public. It would ruin my son's life. And I don't know how to keep Harold away from Marvin. Marvin's very rich. He gets whatever he wants. And he wants Harold. Can you help me?"
"What could I do to help you?" I asked.
"I want you to guard Harold. Stay with him night and day. I want you to keep Harold from being kidnapped."
I was beginning to get the picture.
"You can move into my house. There's an extra bed in Harold's room. I would want you to sleep in Harold's room."
"I don't know," I considered. "Playing nursemaid to a kid. It's not really what I do."
"I'll pay you three thousand dollars a week."
"I'll do it."
"I thought you would." She handed me an engraved card. "That's my address. Be there with your luggage. Nine tomorrow morning."
I took the card. I had been hired. Now at least I'd be able to pay my bills and then some. She stood up. "I think I'll be going now," she said.
I went over to the coat rack to retrieve her fur. It snagged a little on the hook. She winced again. I walked behind her and placed it gently around her lush shoulders, looking at the exposed tops of her magnificent tits. My cock got stiff again and, through my pants, started poking her behind. As I draped the sable over her shoulders my hand accidentally brushed her breast. She moved away.
"Now. Now. We'll have none of that. I'm your employer, after all," she reproved. Fucking cocktease. She knew very well what she was doing to me.
"I'm sorry," I said. But I really wasn't. I wanted to tear off her expensive black dress and plant my voracious jaws over her big mammary. I wanted to knead it, to twist it, to flick the nipple with my tongue, to suck on it. The more I thought about it, the longer my hard dick got, and even though I stepped back from her, my desirous pole kept reaching out to rub against her ass.
"Thank you, Mr. Piper," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow morning." And then she was gone. There was nothing left but a cloud of Pastiche perfume. I pushed my cock back down in my underpants. It was really making a tent.
The next morning I arrived on schedule. Phipps, the butler, showed me up to the bedroom I would be sharing with Harold.
"Where's the kid?" I asked Phipps.
"Out on the lawn playing croquet. Mrs. Arbagast is waiting for you in the garden. You can put your things in the drawers of that dresser." He pointed to the one on the left side of the room. There was a bed on the left side of the room too. I figured that was mine. Harold's bed and dresser were on the right side of the room. I unpacked my bags and put my stuff into the drawers. Phipps showed me to the bathroom, and I brought my toothbrush and hairbrush in and left them there.
"I'll take you down now, sir," said Phipps, and he escorted me to the garden. This was really great. Now I had a butler to show me around. I could get used to this.
Millicent Arbagast was lying in a deck chair, wearing a small two-piece yellow bathing suit. Her breasts were pouring out over the top. I still wanted to lick them. She was greasy from head to toe with suntan oil, and she held a silver reflector in front of her face. She was wearing dark green sunglasses.
"Mr. Piper," she said, stretching out her hand. I took her hand and raised it to my lips.
"How chivalrous," she observed dryly.
"Where's Harold?" I asked. I wanted to meet my new charge.
"I'll bring you to him." She got up off the chair and put on a terry cloth robe and a pair of beach sandals. She led me across the great lawns, past the enclosed tennis courts, and the miniature golf links. Way down at the far end I could see Harold putting a wooden ball with a large wooden mallet, trying to get it to go through bent wires.
He was a slender kid, around eighteen or so, with very white skin and spiky yellow hair. He didn't look anything like his mother. I wondered what Marvin looked like.
Harold had on a tight yellow pullover short-sleeved shirt, and I noticed how thin his arms were. And his hands were very small and delicate. He was wearing a pair of tight-fitting white slacks, which hugged his round bottom. On his feet were a brand new pair of bright white buckskin shoes.
"Harold, darling," said Mrs. Arbagast. "This is Mr. Peter Piper. The gentleman I told you about, who'll be staying with us for a while."
"You mean staying in my room."
Harold stared coldly at me. He wasn't happy about this. "This was her idea," he told me. "Not mine." He wanted to make sure I knew he didn't want me there. "Is she paying you a lot of money to watch me?"
"Now, Harold, darling," Mrs. Arbagast soothed him, patting him on the back. "Be nice."
"I'll be nice," he assured her. "What do you say, Mr. Piper. Would you like to play a game of croquet?"
"I never played croquet," I explained. "I don't know how."
"I'll teach you," he offered. Mrs. Arbagast smiled happily. Harold was going to try to be nice to me. She went back to her garden chair and her reflector, while Harold spent the next few hours instructing me on the fine points of croquet. I was just getting the hang of hitting that wooden ball with my hard wooden mallet when Phipps came out and told us we would have to go inside and dress for dinner. Fortunately, I had brought my blue suit. So it had a moth hole. You couldn't really see it unless you got down on your knees and stared at my ass.
The next couple of weeks went without incident. Harold and I were getting used to each other. To being roommates. He was being civil to me, if not really friendly.
I think it was a Tuesday afternoon, when his mother had had the chauffeur drive her into town to go to the department stores. Harold and I were lazing around the bedroom, on our own beds. I was reading a pulp paperback detective novel, and he was reading a magazine. I didn't know what magazine it was, but from a distance it looked like it might have had naked pictures in it.
I was wearing my tank top and my boxers, and my black socks. Harold had nothing on but a pair of skimpy white jockeys, that looked like they were three sizes too small. Everything was bulging. He started looking at me in a funny way. His eyes almost seemed flirtatious.
"Peter. Do you think I have pretty legs?" He started running his hand up and down his left leg as he flexed it. It was a nice leg. Smooth, with just a little sprinkling of golden fuzz.
"I don't know," I said. "I never really thought about it."
"Well, look," he encouraged me, and started showing off his long gams, feeling them all over. "I think I have pretty legs."
"Do you?" I asked absently.
"Yes, I do." He answered in a pout. "My father thinks I have pretty legs."
I raised my eyes from my detective novel, and looked squarely at him. "Your father thinks you have pretty legs? How do you know that?"
"Because he tells me. He tells me all the time. He says I have the most beautiful long golden legs, as beautiful as any woman's. He says I have a gorgeous ass... Do you think I have a gorgeous ass, Peter?" And now he got on his knees on the bed with his butt facing me and lowered his underpants, so that I could admire the two beautifully round firm fleshglobes. He put his hands behind him and started caressing himself. Then, with his ass in the air, he pulled the cheeks apart to expose his little pink hole to me. He did have a pretty ass. His cheeks were nice, and I was even liking his little pink hole. And my cock was liking it all too. I surreptitiously tried to push down my boner inside my boxers. "Do you like my ass, Peter?"
"It's gorgeous," I said, trying to sound sarcastic.
"How would you like to fuck my ass, Peter?" He started swaying it around hypnotically. I was getting into a spell. I had never done that, but it was certainly worth considering, now that the opportunity was so screamingly presenting itself. But, no. I couldn't do that. He was in my charge. I was getting paid a lot of dough to keep him safe. If I fucked him and his mother found out, I could lose my job. My very nice well-paying job.
"No," I decided finally.
"Are you worried that my mother would find out and fire you from your cushy job?"
I didn't answer. He came over and stood in front of me, and he turned around and bent at the waist, moving his butt directly in front of my face. He started fondling it, and spreading the cheeks again. He looked over his shoulder and smiled as he tantalized me.
"Well, how about this scenario?" he proposed. "You don't fuck me, but I tell my mother you did fuck me, and she fires your sorry ass. Do you follow my line of thought?"
"I follow it," I assented, nodding my head, while focusing on the pretty pink hole. I took off both my black socks and pulled my tank top over my head. I raised my ass to lower my boxers, but they caught onto my hard-on and it took a couple of minutes to free them. When I was naked, I moistened my index finger in my mouth and began to explore his tender bud. When my finger touched the sensitive spot, he shuddered all over. The little mouth almost opened by itself to lick my digit. My finger went in. What a warm tight little space. My cock was raging. You know how your cock gets when your finger is exploring a hot fuckchannel.
He turned around and dropped to his knees by the side of the bed, and moved me so that my legs were on both sides of him, and my feet were on the floor. He suddenly sank his voracious mouth over my rigid member, and started noisily to ingest it. It was a great blowjob. I'd never had one like it, I must admit. The kid really knew how to appreciate a private dick's dick. He took his mouth off the long pole, but only to move his head down between my legs and lick my heavy cum-filled balls. Wow, did that tickle. His hand was jacking my wet pole as he tongue-loved my giant nuts. He raised my legs slightly and I rolled a little on my own round cheeks, so that now my own bud was available. He moved his tongue between my cheeks and slobbered away. No one had ever eaten my ass before. That's for sure. I right away knew that I could get used to this.
Finally, it was time to move on. He climbed on the bed. He was on his knees with his head and chest down, and his pretty rear raised high. It was just begging for a nice poke. I moved behind him, also on my knees, and positioned my wet dick at the entrance to paradise. I moved forward and heard the angels sing. Wow. I had never buttfucked before. I guess I hadn't done much of anything before, but this job was giving me incredible new opportunities, and paying me a bundle in the bargain. I grabbed his hips and began fucking his ass. My tickly prick was scratching itself on his scorching sucking asswalls.
I pushed down on his rear, forcing him to flatten and I lay on top of him, so that I could flex my assmuscles into him and not just sway my hips back and forth. He moaned, "nnnnnnnggggg. Nnnnnngggggg." He was really loving it. "Fuck me, daddy," he begged. I wasn't his real daddy but I was happy to oblige. No wonder his father wanted him so badly. But, too bad. I was being paid to keep his daddy from getting him. I felt the exquisite climax building in my balls. I think he felt my climax building also, because he started to move his ass in a frenzied fashion, squeezing his firm bubbles around my shaft, as I shafted him and shafted him, and wow, now I was shooting the most fantastic load I had ever shot in my entire life into his fucktunnel. His hot sweet fucktunnel.
"Oh, baby. Baby. Take my hot juice," I screamed "Drink it up. Drink my hot juice into your ass."
"I am. I am," he yelled. "My ass is drinking your hot love juice, daddy. Drinking it all down." After that we lay there, two limp rags, me on top of him with my very-relieved dick still deep in his assmouth. I sighed contentedly.
"How was that?" he asked.
"Do you have to ask?"
"Yes. I want to know. How did you like my ass?"
"Your ass is wonderful," I said.
"Do you think my ass is beautiful?"
"Yes. I think your ass is so beautiful. I love your sweet ass. I never want to leave your sweet ass."
"Oh, Peter," he sighed. "I wish you never had to. I wish you could stay inside me forever. If I can't be with my daddy, at least I have you now."
"Yes, baby. You have me." I kissed his golden hair. He smiled under me. My prick was still buried in his hole. His hole just didn't want to let go of it.
After that we fucked every chance we got. I was loving my job, and praying my employer never found out that I was doing 'filthy things' to her beloved son, Harold.
My one mistake was driving back to my office to write out checks, and pay overdue invoices. Mrs. Arbagast was going to be home that day, and she gave me permission to go.
I had only been in my office around ten minutes, and was still opening mail, when I heard a knock at the door. Again I saw an ominous shadow darkening the dirty door glass.
"Come in," I called, wondering who on earth it could be. The door opened, and a large well-dressed man entered. "Yes?" I asked.
"Do I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Peter Piper?"
"Yes," I said. "I'm Peter Piper. And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"
"I am Mickey Morris. Big Mickey they call me."
"Sit down, Big Mickey," I invited and pointed at the threadbare chair. He shuddered. He was immaculately and expensively dressed, and my chair was beneath him (figuratively), but not literally beneath him as yet. Finally, having no other choice, he sat. "What can I do for you?" I asked.
"You can turn over Harold Arbagast to me."
My jaw dropped.
"Harold Arbagast?" I stuttered.
"Exactly. I know you're working for his mother, trying to keep the boy from his beloved father. Well, I'm working for his father, Mr. Marvin Arbagast. Mr. Arbagast has hired me to get his son back. To return the dear lad to his rightful dad."
"I'm sorry. I can't help you," I said.
"You mean you won't help me."
"I guess so," I decided, my jaw tightening.
"In that case...." He never finished the sentence. He took out a revolver, and I thought he was going to shoot me, but he grabbed it by the muzzle, walked around the desk, and cracked me on the head with the steel handle.
I went down. Down. Down. Down. Down to another planet. Down to another world. Red smoke was swirling all around me as I fell and fell and fell. A hundred stories. I knew I was going to crash, but I never did. Finally I landed at the bottom, and took a step, but the bottom was only a ledge, and I fell and fell and fell. Down. Down. Down. Another hundred stories to another planet, which was only another ledge. My heart was thudding in my chest, and I knew I was going to crash and burn. Another swirl of red smoke closed around me, and I heard strange, echoey, ghostly voices in my head. I couldn't make out what the voices were saying because I was falling, falling, falling. Down. Down. Down.
When I woke up, I was in a strange room. There were mats on the floor. There were mats on the wall. There were hooks and chains everywhere. It was either a madhouse, or a gymnasium, or maybe a torture chamber.
"He's waking up," said one of the voices.
I was lying on the canvas mat, and the first thing I noticed was that I was naked, and my hands were chained together with a chain, and that chain was chained to another chain which was chained into a hook on the wall. My feet were chained too, but they were not connected to the wall. Under the circumstances, my feet were relatively free.