Rick Mallet and the Little Sister

Ch. 1

I was still working out of the third floor office in the Hammett Building on Chandler Blvd -- when there was any work. On this particular Friday morning Velda and I were in the inner office. The office had a couch that had seen more action than the crack whores down on the corner, a filing cabinet with a coffee maker on top, a closet hiding a john and a sink, a visitor's chair, a desk, and my swivel chair.

Nothing turns me on more than watching Velda suck my dick. Her Cupid's bow mouth opens into a wide O; her eyes widen too; her rosy cheeks flush more deeply; her tongue works at the underside like a beckoning finger. If you've ever seen one of those wildlife documentaries where a snake dislocates its jaw to swallow a feral hog you have a rough idea what her face and neck look like when my private dick bottoms out in her throat.

Velda's boobs must be counted with the world's natural wonders, which makes the bra that holds them up an engineering marvel on par with the Golden Gate Bridge.

Ever since the Back Door Angel case there'd been less dick-sucking and titty-fucking around the office, because my enthusiasm for anal activity was renewed. If there's anything more exciting than seeing Velda's boobs precede her beautiful face into the room, it's watching her bushel-basket of apple bottom leave.

At the moment she wasn't going anywhere. She was on her hands and knees, up on my desk like a mountain goat on a hillside. I was sitting in my desk chair with my face between her asscheeks and my tongue plunged into the back door to her heart.

"That's it, Rick, tongue-fuck my butt --"

She was cut off by the jangling of the bell on the outer office door. Velda's still agile; she got to her feet and jumped off the desk, her skirt falling to cover her pillowy posterior as she headed for the door. I tried to wrestle my trouser snake back down to size, but quickly gave up and just strangled it under my belt.

Velda's ass-juice dried on my face like aftershave as she reopened the door, admitting our first client in weeks. The client was a small, neat, demure looking young woman, little more than a girl, with primly smooth brown hair, expressionless eyes, and a small thin-lipped mouth. Think Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, but without the energy. Or Beth in Little Women. No one ever looked less like Lizzie Borden.

"Mr. Mallet?" Her voice was high and girlish, like Betty Boop. If you told me she was a high school freshman, I'd believe you.

"Yes, I'm Rick Mallet." I rose to take her hand, and offered her the visitor's chair. "And you are?"

"Caril Holan. Mr. Mallet, I'm in terrible trouble, and I don't know where to turn. Can I trust you?"

"Ms. Holan, I do honest work for $200 a day. You can trust me to do my best and keep my mouth shut. Beyond that, I don't know until you tell me more."

"I guess I have to trust someone. I've come here from Kansas to find my brother, but I don't know where to start looking."

"The police have more resource for finding a missing person than any one-man detective agency, Ms. Holan."

"I... I can't go to the police. Paul wouldn't like the police knowing his business. He might be fine -- I'm so afraid he's not -- He sent a postcard a year ago-- " She dug into her handbag and pulled out a dinged-up card with the classic "GREETINGS..." image on the front, and a few scrawled lines on the back. "I just have to find him."

"I'll see what I can do."

She left the postcard, a photo of her brother, her contact information, and a check for $1000 from the account of Herb and Karla Holan at the First National Bank of Manhattan, Kansas.

Velda saw her out. When she got back I was looking at the photo: a thin-faced, high-cheeked young man with heavy dark eyebrows, wavy hair, a narrow nose, fuller lower lip than his sister, and a well-defined chin.

Velda studied me while I studied him. Then she spoke, "You better be careful on this one, Rick. No one is as innocent as that girl is acting."

"C'mon Velda, we all were...once."

"I know you, Rick: you see big hair, big boobs, and a big butt, and sure you get horned up, but you keep your head. It's the stick-figure women that don't turn you on that take advantage of you."

"I'll take that under advisement," I said. But I didn't. I grabbed my fedora. "I'm headed down to the cop shop to tap Honey Bunce for some info. We'll see if Paul here is in the system."

"Tap Honey's butthole is more likely," Velda's voice followed me down the hall.

Ch. 2

At City Hall Plaza, some kind of protest was going on. I could see signs proclaiming "Nothing About Us Without Us," "Slut Walk," "Decriminalize Sex Work," "Sex Work is Work," and "A Blow Job is a Job" (I'd never seen that one before). As I got closer, I saw my old friend Th' Gina Packer at a microphone on the steps, haranguing the crowd and waving her famous bat, the baseball bat she shoves inside herself in her act, over her head. I swung around the crowd and went into the police station.

I had a tray of coffees from the Big Drip. Deacon Washington was on desk duty. I offered him one.

"Thanks, Rick. Who you need to see?" He took a sip, "Damn, that's the good stuff. Why's cop shop coffee gotta suck so bad?"

"Honey Bunce."

"Be cool going in and out, brother. Most a th' force is happy about what you did for us with the Johnsons, but Pete Wax has some friends around. See if you can keep your head down and get in and out without having to hurt anyone."

I could've slipped down a side stairway to Honey's basement office, but I'd brought a coffee for my old partner, Miles Harder, so I made a quick detour through the squadroom. Nobody confronted me, but Miles wasn't around. I left the coffee and went down to see Honey.

When I entered her office, she looked up from her computer and smiled her thousand-watt smile. "Rick!" She jumped up -- you could hardly tell, she's so short -- and bopped around the desk to give me a hug.

I offered her one of the coffees. "I think I remember the way you like it," I said. "Hot, black, and sweet, just like you." She said it with me, but finished with "me."

She was wearing her hair bleached, straightened and pulled into two tails at the sides of her head with big red bows. I had a good view of it, because her head only reached about to my belly button.

I'm pretty sure Honey distracted whoever measured her when she applied to the police academy, and stood on tiptoe to meet the height requirement. She had ample distractions to work with. Her boobs were like two Goodyear blimps loosely tethered beneath a tight top with a plunging neckline. You could set a champagne glass on her ass and not spill a drop, until she started walking; she rolls so hard you'd think you're at sea. Think Nicki Minaj only rounder, and you have a sense of Honey. She had on a short skirt that had to travel so far to get over her hips that it had nothing left to cover her thighs with.

"You look good enough to eat, Honey," I said.

"I hope you're hungry, Rick, 'cause I'm a full portion of comfort food."

"I see that! Nice outfit, Hun."

"Oh, yeah. I'm in plainclothes now."

"There's nothing plain about those clothes."

She cranked the smile up to a thousand watts again. "Rick, I hear you're back on the A-team. I got a hole that's hungry for some of your back door lovin'. Whattaya say?"

"News travels fast! How'd you hear that?"

"I did some database work with a fed named Connie Lingus, and we shared some war stories. Even though we play for different teams and swing from different sides of the plate, we found we have a few things in common. You're one of 'em."

"Did you let her tap it, Hon?"

"Like I said, we swing from different sides of the plate."

"Well she's got a toy that dwarfs anything you ever laid your ruler on."

"You'd know." She gave the front of my pants a meaningful look. "So you did let her tap it, huh?"

"Oh yeah." I went quiet for a moment, remembering the pleasures Connie, Velda, and I had shared.

Honey broke into my reverie, "Rick, you never come here just to talk about ass-banging, and not nearly often enough to tap mine. Whattaya need?"

I gave her Paul Holan's info. Nimble fingers flashed over the keyboard as she sent the request out to the local, state, and federal databases she had access to. She said, "Rick, this'll take maybe half an hour. You wanna --?" She gave a twitch and a twerk, and put her hands to work, sliding the skirt upward.

If all of her honey-sweet flesh weren't tempting enough on its own, my libido and my cock were still on edge from being cut short when Caril Holan came into the office. My cock twitched and jumped within my trousers.

She noticed and said, "I'll take that as a yes. Sit in the chair, Rick."

"What if someone comes in?"

"We'll hear them on the stairs. Besides, you know why I'm here and not out in uniform. I could have a daily orgy in here and it wouldn't change my reputation or my position."

I sat in the chair. Her nimble fingers worked my zipper, and wrestled my meat out of my pants.

Her eyes shone. "That's the delicious Rick-stick I love so well." One hand stroked gently up and down. Without looking away from me, she opened a desk drawer with the other, and brought out some silicone lube. She bent and puckered her cupid's bow lips to give my dick-tip a kiss, then slathered the head and shaft with lube. Releasing her grip, she squirted some of the lube into my hand. "You do me," she requested as she turned and braced her arms on the desk.

All that cake rolled and jiggled under my lustful eyes, and her butt-star peeked into view. I couldn't resist bending to kiss and lick it. I tongue-fucked an ass for the second time that morning while the lube warmed in my hand.

"Goddam, Rick," Honey moaned in appreciation. "I'm so happy you stopped by, and that you're back in the back-door game. Nobody licks or fucks ass like you do, not even your friend Felix Bottoms. You put your heart and soul in a girl's asshole, baby."

Almost reluctantly, I pulled my tongue-tip from her anus and my face out of the grand canyon between her buttocks. The spit shine I gave her crinkled hole grew shinier as I massaged lube on and into her.

Honey backed onto me, reaching between her legs to guide my head to her hole.

I watched in fascination as the anal opening stretched to welcome my massive invader.

Honey sighed and slithered down, sighed and settled some more. She caught her breath and paused a moment about three quarters of the way down.

When I asked, "Everything all right?" I could hear the tightness of arousal in my voice. Her big ass clapped around my cock. I was three quarters of the way to a paradise I hadn't visited in years.

"I'm good," Honey grunted. "I need a minute to adjust when your white snake rearranges my guts." She slid herself another inch down, took a deep breath, then grunted again as she slid down again. Her ass and thighs settled in my lap. It was tight, hot, slick, and erotic. She leaned forward, her feet planted inside mine, her blimp-like breasts resting on the desk edge, and twerked her ass. All that booty shakin', jigglin', and clappin' under my gaze and around my cock had me holding back a hair trigger in no time.

"You like that ass clappin' ya white snake, Rick?"

"You know I do, Honey!"

I reached over her thigh and got a couple fingers onto her clit, then buffed and diddled it.

"Gawd that's good, Rick! Press that love button! Oh my sweet jeeezus, but you know how to make a girl feel fine."

We hit a rhythm -- she did most of the work, dropping her booty on my cock, and sliding it back up, twerking like she worked in a club -- that had my fingers sliding over her love nub and into her open, juicy snatch. She panted her way to a crescendo, then collapsed backward onto my lap, impaled. I'd been holding in my own explosion the whole time. It's old-fashioned, but I was raised "ladies first."

I had two fingers buried inside her, hand clenched over her pubic bone. I wrapped my other arm around her, like a shelf holding up her fun-balloon boobs. Using both arms, I began to lift and drop her on my shaft. Her hands went to the chair arms to assist, and she hooked her legs up and out over mine.

"Oh that's sweet," she moaned. "Rick, what're those li'l cakes with cream filling?"

"Ho Ho's?"

"Yeah, baby. Make me yo ho ho! Fill me with your cream."

"I'm almost there," I grunted.

Boots clattered on the stairs leading down to Honey's basement lair.

In a flash she was off me, sliding her skirt down over her hips, hissing, "Tuck it away, Rick! Get it back in your pants."

By the time a uniformed officer came through the door, she stood beside the desk. I had the coffee cup tray on my lap to disguise my sagging trouser tent. Lube and ass juice dampened my thighs, and my nuts felt like beach balls caught in a vise.

"Help you?" Honey asked.

The officer, a crew cut, muscular rookie clearly confused, said, "I'm supposed to ask you for a measurement?"

Honey laughed, a high musical cascade.

The rookie looked more confused, embarrassed, and on the edge of angry.

She stopped and said, "Come on in and let me explain. But first you should meet Rick. Rick Mallet is a good detective, a good friend, and a good lay." She smiled at me, then at him.

I shook his hand. He introduced himself as Rocky Wood.

"Listen Wood," Honey said, "there's a joke here, but I gotta ask you some stuff to find out if it's good or bad and who it's on. Do you think whoever sent you down here is a stand-up guy or an asshole?"

"I don't really know. Just a guy who was in the gym working out."

"Okay. Do you have a wife or serious girlfriend or boyfriend?"

"No."

"And -- honest answer here -- if you were in a club late at night and I hit on you," she spread her arms framing her over-voluptuous body, "would you tap this?"

"Whu--"

"Honest answer, Rocky. I know I'm not every dude's cup of tea."

He'd been drinking her with his eyes ever since he walked in, so I knew the answer, but I admired the kid for the way he said it.

"I'd consider myself lucky."

"Thanks. Now let's find out if we're both likely to get lucky." She came over to the desk, opened the center drawer, removed a ruler, and slapped it down on the desktop. One of her long acrylic nails pointed at a line drawn near one end with a Sharpie. "It's common cop shop knowledge that I like big dicks. If whoever sent you down here is a good guy, he's trying to do you and me a solid; he saw your dick and thought you might have what it takes. If he's an asshole, you're average-sized or smaller and he sent you here to be embarrassed." She tapped the line, "This is my gold standard. It happens to be Rick's." She looked over at me and smiled, "Did I ever tell you that, Rick?"

I just nodded.

She pointed at another line, closer to the middle. "This is my minimum. If you think you reach the minimum and you're interested, let's see. If not, go back and tell the asshole -- and now you know he's an asshole -- that I'm not your type, or you don't do dick-measuring, or something."

He looked at her, then at me. Just then the computer gave a soft ding.

Honey glanced at it. She said, "Sorry Rick, your guy isn't in any database I have access to. So he hasn't interacted with any local, state, or federal agencies."

"Well, thanks for trying, Honey," I said. "I'll leave you kids to it." As I headed out the door, I saw she had the ruler in one hand, and was reaching for Rocky Wood's zipper with the other.

Ch. 3

The rally out in City Hall plaza was breaking up. As I hit the street side, Th'Gina Packer was about to step into a limo. She spotted me and called out, "Rick!"

"Hey Gina!" I smiled. She had on spike heel black fetish boots, like modernized calvary boots, up to the knee with a flaring top. She also wore hot pants and a bustier. Her hair flared out in the biggest afro I'd ever seen. And she was still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. We hugged.

"It's great to see you, Rick," she said.

"It's great to see and feel you, Gina," I said.

"I feel you, man," she answered, laughing and running her hand down between us where my cock was pressing against her.

"I can't hide my feelings for you, Gina," I told her. "How's Jazmin?" Jazmin is Gina's wife. They'd met as smack-addicted hookers pimped by an asshole named Jimmy Mack Johnson. Now Jimmy Mack was in prison, and Gina and Jazmin were clean.

Gina's face lit up even more, her brown eyes gleaming. "Oh, Rick! She's doing so much better. We can never thank you enough. Hey, get in the car with me for a minute will ya?" She turned to a cruiserweight with a shaved head and ebony skin, wearing a black suit and a tie as narrow as his eyes, and said, "Lenny, hop in the front with George, will ya?" He just nodded. She turned to a bantamweight in a cheap gray suit and a chauffeur's cap. "George, just take us around the block, will ya?"

We hopped in. As the limo slid away from the curb, I asked, "What's all this about?"

"Sex Workers Association rally. I'm the President now. This one is mainly 'cause the cops don't take crimes against sex workers seriously. 80% of sex workers have been assaulted, but if you report it to the police, it's likely they won't do anything about it, 'cept maybe rape you again."

Her mouth was talking policy and lobbyist, but her fingers were performing their own version of a sexual assault, deftly unzipping my pants and working my cock out. It gleamed whitely in the dark interior of the limo. She slid her hand over the swollen helmet. "What brought you downtown, Rick?"

"I'm looking for a fella," I got Paul Holan's photo out and showed it to her. She glanced at it, then her eyes went to my cock, then up to my face.

"I've seen that guy somewhere," she said. "Lemme think about it while I suck your dick, will ya?"

"You don't have to -- I was just poking Honey Bunce in the ass --"

"Oh I've wanted to rim her since I laid eyes on her!"

She began to lick the length of my shaft, swirled her tongue around the helmet rim, then took the head into her mouth.

I clenched double handfuls of her fro'ed out hair, my hips involuntarily pumping more of my length into her sucking mouth.

She pulled off to say, "That's some sweet ass juice, even second-hand. You tell that double-stuffed muffin top, if she ever needs a place to sit my face is available." Then she dove back to work.

I floated on a wave of sensual sucking pleasure.

The limo slid to the curb and stopped. A hand rapped on the divider separating us from the front seat.

Gina let my cock slip from her mouth. "Rick, I gotta be someplace, but you need to come see me so we can finish. Promise?" She tapped the photo of Holan, "That guy was in Lucky's Place not long ago. With some white-hair society honkie chick. There's some club for old neglected wives, where they swap boy-toys or something. You should ask your friend Marilyn Milford, she's in it."

The door swung open while I wrestled my cock back into my pants again. Before I knew it, I was on the curb and the limo was sliding out into the traffic stream.

Ch. 4

Back at the office Velda was working a multicolor silicone toy shaped like an octopus tentacle up into her foaming love tunnel. The thing looked like a prop from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. When I strolled in she pulled it out with a squishy sucking sound and tossed it in the bottom drawer. "Any luck, Rick?" She asked.

"Nothing much on the case. Honey's the same ol' size queen."

"So no leads, but you got laid."

I ignored the taunt and the ache between my legs. "I saw Th'Gina. She says hi. And she recognized Holan. I have to go ask Marilyn Milford about some Lonely Trophy Wife's Club. While I do that, just to cover the bases, you need to go down to the morgue and make sure Holan hasn't died around here."