The Slutty Detective

Anne had given me the insurance papers for the watch. It was a 'Patek Philippe Henry Graves Supercomplication watch.' It had been specially commissioned by a banker named Henry Graves and delivered to him in 1933. It was insured for $15 million, but it probably was worth 'only' around ten or eleven million dollars. It was the most complicated wrist watch ever made by hand without the use of computers. The pictures showed too that it was beautiful.

Due to its unique nature, a thief could hardly wear it around and about on his wrist. Everyone knew it belonged to Joshua Eberlein; that no doubt was the point. It had to be the satisfaction of having it, perhaps as a memento of the murder, that the thief stole the watch.

I thought about this for a while. It was commissioned by a New York banker Henry Graves in the 1930's, during the depression. Graves collected watches and he was in a competition with James Ward Packard, the owner (with his brother) of Packard Motor Car Company, which at the time made some of the fanciest cars in the country. The two men competed to own the most complicated watch in the world, and with the help of the Swiss company Patek Philippe Henry Graves won the competition.

The watch might have been a symbol of power shifting from manufacturing to banking? As a financier, I could see the appeal to Mr. Eberlein of owning that particular watch. Anne had said that he considered it lucky, and he would wear it when he was hoping to close a deal. In many deals there were winners and losers, and maybe the theft of the watch was meant to mollify a loser? Did that mean I should investigate all the deals with consummate banker deal maker had made? God, I hoped not. Best just to keep it in mind, I reassured myself.

Two days later Anne, now traveling under the name Anne Sullivan, sat next to me on an airplane going nonstop to the Cayman Islands. I had an alias, too. I was now Mary Andrews. We booked a room together at a Courtyard Marriott. The Hilton Garden Inn was full, after all.

I explained that patience in this business was a virtue. We had to establish that we were tourists. We went to the Botanic Gardens and to the Cayman Turtle Farm.

The best way to establish our tourist bona fides however was to parade around on the beach in bikinis, to flaunt our bodies, and flirt back with any men who tried to chat us up. We were just two American women on vacation, looking as though we were open to a romantic and meaningless fling if we met the right men.

I thought I was introducing Anne to a world alien to her, but I was wrong. She confessed to me she grew up a poor Hoosier, and she was no stranger to sex dating back to her teenage years. People start early in farm states. She knew how to flirt and even how to flirt outrageously with the best of them.

When you're young, pretty, and sexy, one learns early that one often can get what one wants through flirtation. One does need to be prepared, however, for the flirtation to lead to sex on occasion. If one is not prepared for that, flirtation loses its effectiveness. The potential for a man to lay you had to be behind the flirtation to give it the proper oomph, so to speak. I knew all this -- I knew it in spades. I was surprised to discover that Anne also knew it all too well.

Anne was lucky. She had grown up a poor Hoosier, but she was smart. She had gotten a full scholarship to Vassar. When she got there, she realized how nicely the girls dressed, and she felt outclassed. She took the train to New York and she scoured the bargain shops.

Anne found some cheap and remarkably wonderful outfits at used clothing stores. The best and most affordable used clothing stores were the ones related to various charities, and she returned at the end of the weekend one of the best dressed girls in all of Vassar. Luckily, her clothing taste was sophisticated, due to her dedication to the magazine Vogue she found at the country library during her daydreaming youth.

Once, during her Hoosier teenage years when her family went to Chicago, she bought a much too expensive copy of the French edition of Vogue. She helped perfect her high school French when she read it, even if mostly she devoured the magazine for the pictures of high style clothing within it.

She told me in confidence that she attracted Joshua with her looks and her sophisticated air, but she won him by giving him the best damned sex he had ever had. She could drive him crazy with her sexual talent, more so than other girls did with theirs.

Anne figured it was the massive amount of sex she had back home in Indiana, followed by her four years at college. She had known intimately quite a few men in her wanton high school youth, and she was an avid student of what turned men on. She had called it 'survey research.' She knew how to detect a man's sexual tastes, and then to give him exactly what would turn him on the most.

When Anne got to Vassar she practiced her skills learned while on her back in high school. After she sent a jaded Yale man over the moon with her sexual abilities, she quickly became a legend at Yale and she was in much demand. She refused most attempts of Yale men to date her, but when she said 'yes' to going out with a Yale man, on even their first date she would also say 'yes' to any kind of sex the man wanted. This kept her in very high demand. She was not 'easy' but she was 'spectacular.'

One night the two of us got drunk. I never get drunk on the job, but we had agreed to take the day off. At a weak moment Anne told me something that changed everything. She told me what Joshua had told her, at one of his own weak moments. Sometimes he would open up to her in the bedroom after a particularly spectacular session, shall we say.

Joshua had told her, while he was in a post coital daze, that the Russians wanted him dead.

"Why would the Russians want him dead?" I asked.

"That's why I hired you, darling," Anne said. "To find out."

If you had told me that from the beginning, it might have saved me a lot of work, not to mention a lot of sex, I silently thought.

"Oh," is what I actually said.

Anne then surprised me when she said, "I wonder if there are bars in the Cayman Islands where a mature woman like myself (I figured Anne was around 45, but she could pass for 35 in a dimly lit room) could meet a man for a fun evening?"

I got out my trusty guide book and off we went to what the guide book claimed was just such a bar. Two drunk women going to a bar looking for men is not a recipe for sexual propriety. I was in my late twenties, and I was pretty, curvy and a bit top heavy, so if men were iron filings, I was a powerful magnet in a bar such as the one we entered.

Men knew that I would choose at most one of them for a good time, so Anne got some serious attention just by being close to me. Some men like pretty young things like myself, and some men life MILFs, since they don't fool around and are more likely to get "right down to business."

As the evening progressed, to my surprise the boy-meets-girl bar became a karaoke bar. The men pressured us to join in and sing. It turns out that we can both carry a tune, and Anne even has a nice voice. She's a soprano, and I'm an alto, and we did an old song by Simon and Garfunkel where the two men sing in thirds. Anne of course took the Garfunkel role, since she has the soprano voice.

At one point the bouncer closed and locked the doors, and the master of ceremonies announced it was now time for topless karaoke. Men and women could compete, and this being the Cayman Islands the prize for the best topless karaoke was two thousand dollars. The audience was to choose the winner.

Around ten men entered, one after the other, and finally a woman got drunk enough to enter, too. She was naked above the waist and looked horribly embarrassed at first, but as all the men in the bar cheered for her and applauded her even before she began to sing, she seemed to relax. She did a nice job.

After the first woman entered, the men around the two of us ratcheted up the pressure for us to enter, but Mrs. Eberlein was much too dignified even to think of it. Realizing I was the weak point, they all seemed to gang up on me. One guy, who was a hunk, had already been discretely feeling me up a bit. His name was Johannes, and he was a German tourist. I was into him.

One man in particular had been making every effort to seduce Anne. Johannes had told me that this guy, his friend Hans, had a thing for MILFs, especially elegant ones. For him then, Anne was his wet dream of a woman. He put tremendous pressure on Anne, but unlike me, Anne was impervious to such pressure.

A compromise was reached. Anne and I could sing another duet, with Anne in her bra and skirt, and I would be topless. We went up to the stage and explained it to the MC, and he was cool. We would do California Dreamin' by the Mamas and Papas. Hans yelled, "You need a Papa!" and he tore off his shirt and joined us on the stage.

When I took off my blouse and then removed my bra, the cheers in the bar were deafening. Hans bounced my boobs a little in front of the crowd, declaring them 'real.' I slapped his hand, and the bar erupted in laughter.

About half way through the song Hans had his arm around Anne and his head next to hers as the three of us sang. He had surreptitiously unhooked Anne's bra. His touch was so light and deft, and she was so wrapped up in the performance, she did not notice. When it came time for my solo, he quickly and gracefully removed Anne's bra, tossing it off the stage to his friend Johannes.

Anne's face turned beet red, but she kept right on singing as soon as my short solo was over. The crowd went wild, since somehow being denied the sight of Anne topless, and then getting it by nefarious trickery, made the treat of her bare boobs special. The cries for an encore were deafening, so we sang 'Blowin' in the Wind,' from Peter, Paul and Mary. Anne sang the role of Mary, and I with my alto voice had the role of one of the two men. We were now both topless throughout our second song.

When done we exited the stage, quickly donning our blouses, but Johannes had both of our bras. Johannes teased us, refusing to return them. All the men around us wanted to check out my large boobs "to verify that they're real." Of course, all they really wanted was to grope me and to feel me up and I realized that. I was so drunk at this point however, that I caved and I gave each man two minutes to feel me up. Anne was the time keeper.

We did not win the karaoke competition. A little minx stripped down to her panties while she belted out '(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction' to raucous cheers. Her panties were minimal and lace, and that's all it took. When it came time for judging, the three of us (Anne, Hans, and I) went to the stage, again topless, and Hans grabbed one of Anne's boobs and one of mine, and he tweaked our nipples. We let him and smiled the whole time. I felt sure we would win,especially after that wanton display with Hans, but when the minx came up, she flashed her pussy at the crowd. She won in a flash. There was no second prize, either.

We left the bar with Johannes and Hans, who graciously offered to see us to our hotel. We invited them into our room for drinks from the minibar, and before long the four of us were dancing to music on the radio, all four of us again topless. Twenty minutes later we were dancing with the men in only our panties. Twenty minutes after that my panties were off, I was on the bed, and a naked Johannes with a serious erection was moving towards me.

Hans came over to help out and I decided to play just a little hard to get and held my legs tightly together. Hans was as strong as an ox, and he forced them apart, and then held them in the air, revealing my pussy and asshole to the three of them. I giggled in response. I recovered a wee bit of modesty when Johannes moved in, blocking the view to the others, but next he quickly entered my soaking wet pussy. My reaction was not one of protest, but rather a loud moan of welcome.

Hans then went to Anne, also now reduced just to panties, and his hand went into her panties and stayed there, his fingers quite busy as Anne parted her legs to give Hans' fingers better access. I stopped watching them because I needed to pay attention to my own ravishing, already in progress. Johannes was showing signs of being a great lover!

Johannes got bored with the missionary position. He placed me on all fours and we did it doggy style. Hans was staring at my boobs bouncing around as Johannes pummeled my small and fragile body. Anne was watching too. She seemed to be fascinated, and I wondered if this was her first exposure to group sex.

I had already been forced to try group sex back when I was with Jack. The difference with Jack was that there were two men, and only one of me. You can fill in the details. I did see that Anne surprised Hans just a little by giving him a blowjob. Hans looked to be as happy as a German man can look.

Our room had two beds, and the four of us eventually went to sleep. At some point during the night I noticed that Anne's lover Hans went to the patio to smoke while my lover Johannes went to the toilet. I fell back asleep. Around an hour later I woke up with Johannes back in bed and fingering me. He was really good at it, and I am a girl who loves being fingered to the point of an orgasm, and that's exactly what Johannes did. He then climbed on top of me and entered me. I moaned in response. My eyes had been closed the entire time.

Something was wrong. Johannes did not have the same cock, and he smelled of tobacco. I opened my eyes and it was Hans who was fucking me. I looked at the other bed and Johannes was fucking Anne! The bastards had swapped us women! Anne's eyes were closed, and I wonder if she even realized it? Johannes' cock was seriously bigger than that of Hans, so if Anne was even somewhat awake and aware, she must have known? She was giving no indication she knew what was going on.

I was still drunk and half asleep and after all, Hans felt good inside me, so I too pretended to be unaware. After Hans unloaded inside me he went to the john, and when he returned he went to Anne's bed, and Johannes returned to mine. Johannes fucked me again the morning, and Hans fucked Anne, and we all acted as if the swap of us women did not happen, or that we had dreamed it.

The men took us out for brunch the next day, and each of us kissed both men goodbye, one after the other. Alone at last, Anne and I discussed what happened. Anne surprised me when she said, "I loved it! I got to act like a total tramp and pretend they were fooling me. They're probably now laughing about what they pulled off, thinking we did not know, but I for one loved it. How about you?"

"I've only been laid by two men back to back once before and it grossed me out something fierce. I dumped my boyfriend shortly after he had tricked me into doing such a grotesque thing. But now that I've seen how you view it, I'm sure I'll look back on this as a super erotic night. It was fun," I said, to my own surprise.

"Hans can really finger a girl. Don't you agree?" Anne said dreamily. "And Johannes can really fuck." I had to agree, and I told her of my concurrence.

"Let's do it again sometime," Anne said, a happy twinkle in her eye.

********************

Later that day I remembered why we were both in the Cayman Islands. Jack had explained to me how the banks at the Cayman Islands work. I had prepared Anne thoroughly. I escorted her to the bank; I had worn an outfit showing just a bit too much cleavage to be in good taste. With my boobs, I have a lot of cleavage to show, too.

The Cayman Islands are a bit uptight regarding women flaunting their bodies, despite our secret topless karaoke escapade. There's no topless beaches, for example, and if women walk off the beach in a bikini, they are required to wear a cover up. Therefore, pushing the limits in showing cleavage was not too hard to do, especially for someone whose bust is on the large side.

I have the type of body men do not realize in the abstract that they crave, until they see it. Once a man has seen my cleavage and the slim but curvy body that goes with it, combined with the look of sexual availability in my eyes, he is usually putty in my hands. My low alto voice, my hair, my legs, and my smile all help, too. Some men seem to find women with low voices sexy. I have no idea why.

Mrs. Eberlein who was now once again the grieving widow and I entered the bank. I was introduced as her 'girl Friday.' All the men at the bank called me 'Mrs. Friday,' and I could tell they were captivated. Since Mrs. Eberlein's requests followed the bank's protocols (thank you, Jack!), and everyone wanted to please Mrs. Friday and therefore her boss Mrs. Eberlein, we were able to get what we asked for. I could not believe how easy it was!

I did have to agree to have dinner with one of the men. At least he was cute. When I told Anne she didn't give me sympathy, nor admiration, nor thanks for what I was willing to do for the job. No, as it turned out instead she was jealous! That surprised me, but after our wild night with the two German men, it surprised me only a little. She confessed that for the last few years hubby had been under stress, worrying about the Russians, and her sex life had become rather barren.

Anne did not have cause to have been jealous. I did not let the man get past second base. Just letting him get me naked above the waist seemed to do the trick, and that was a great relief, I can tell you! My boobs triumphed again, to save me from having to put out for the banker. I did, however, supplement letting him have his way with my boobs by giving him a very nice hand job. As a consequence, I now have a 'Monica dress,' with a genuine semen stain.

The point is we got the information we had wanted. A cascading chain of interlocking shell companies, thirty-five in all, had arranged payment for the assassination of Mr. Eberlein. All we needed now was to learn who controlled the shell companies. That is not as easy to do as one might think.

It was time to go back to New York and talk to Jack again. We flew back, and I immediately arranged a meeting with Jack. I laid it all out, and he told me it was above his pay grade. I needed the financial unit of the FBI. Shit.

No problem, he said, he has a friend in the FBI who would just love to meet me. The way he said it, he made it clear enough. Just to nail the point home and make me feel like a slut, he said, "Krishna is in a constant state of horniness, and he is sick of whole wheat bread. We were talking just the other day how much he would love some white bread to add to his diet. By the way, his diet includes items of questionable taste."

"Does he like his bread sliced?" I asked.

"You mean you can still do the splits? He would love that, especially if you're naked. I'll set it up," Jack said. "You do what it takes, and he will ferret out who controls those 35 shell companies. Nobody is better."

"What kind of a name is Krishna?" I asked.

"Krishna is the eighth avatar of the god Vishnu, but in this case, it's just the name of the best financial analyst at the FBI," John replied. "He's Indian. From India, or at least his parents were from India. He's American, born and raised in Virginia. Is it a problem that he's Indian? Whole wheat bread is supposed to healthier than a steady diet of white bread, you know."

"No, it's not a problem. Why would it be?" I asked.

Jack set things up. I met Krishna for drinks, down in DC, a few days later. He was a handsome man. He was totally not my type, as I instantly suspected he was a philanderer par excellence. I laid out my problem for him and asked if he could help.