The Slutty Detective

"I would have to use FBI resources," he said, "and that's unethical and probably illegal. I'm sorry. I'd like to help, but my hands are tied."

I was prepared for this. "That's horrible!" I said. "I was counting on you!"

"Sorry," he said, and he threw up his hands in a gesture of hopelessness.

Acting my part, I waited a while. I knew I could not offer him money. Bribing a federal agent is a felony, and if I tried, I could be arrested on the spot. I sat dejectedly, staring into my drink, and swirling around the little umbrella, channeling my recent 'vacation' in the Cayman Islands. Life in the sun, washed in riches by tax evasion, was such a nice lifestyle, wasn't it? Finally, I bit the bullet. I played my ace. I played idly with the top button on my blouse.

"Isn't there anything I could do? Anything at all?" I asked, 'accidentally' unbuttoning my top button.

"I'm afraid not. Let me compensate: Can I buy you another drink? The night is young," Krishna said.

"That would be lovely," I replied, giving Krishna my best smile. "You know, if you could find a way to help me, legally of course, I would be most grateful." I began to unbutton, painfully slowly, another button of my blouse. I knew once that one was undone, a good amount of cleavage would pop into view. Another button, and flashes of my sexy bra would come into view.

"I always try to thank people who help me in any way I can," I said, licking my upper lip, and slowly, very slowly, undoing a third button, opening up my blouse so that Krishna could see a quite generous amount of my cleavage, as well as a hefty portion of my well-engineered bra.

The waiter arrived, giving us our drinks, and helping himself to a lingering view down my blouse. He gave me a big smile, and asked, "Is there anything else?" I smiled at him, repeating my favorite seductive gesture of licking my upper lip.

Krishna sent him away, saying, "Not for the moment. Thank you."

"You know, Krishna," I continued, "I always try to thank personally those who help me. Perhaps our mutual friend Jack Green told you that?"

"He may have mentioned something. He sent me this picture," Krishna said. He took out his cell phone and showed me a picture on it of me topless and sitting on Jack's cock in the girlie bar. You could not see Jack's cock in the picture, so there was a teeny tiny bit of deniability, but Jack's pants were down, and it was pretty obvious he was fucking me in public. My hair was blocking my face, so it was not obvious it was me he was fucking. The picture was captioned, however. It said, 'Jack and The Slutty Detective.'

I blushed deep red. I said nothing, and studied the tiny umbrella in my drink, as if it held the solutions to all the world's problems. I was furious that Jack had such a picture, and even more furious that he was sharing it! I was trying to contain a volcano of impotent rage boiling up inside me.

"Let's see," Krishna said. "You're a friend of Jack. Jack sent me to you and at the same time he sent me this picture. You're a detective. The girl in the picture looks like you. May I make the obvious inference?"

I said nothing. I was so full of rage I could not speak. I suspect Krishna saw the rage in my face. Probably it was impossible to hide it.

Krishna's voice became gentle, almost sweet. "Cell phones are everywhere these days. Most events are photographed somehow, somewhere. Probably Jack had friends or colleagues in the bar. You know how men can be."

I kept my close study of the umbrella going on. I was counting the folds in the tiny umbrella, over and over again. It was an interesting shade of red, containing just a little orange. The toothpick like stem of the umbrella looked to be balsa wood, but it was probably just pine.

"If it is indeed you in the picture, June, then you have truly gorgeous breasts. They're the kind of breasts that get a man's motor running, if you know what I mean," Krishna said, still in his kind, gentle voice.

I looked up from my umbrella at Krishna's face. Tears were forming at the edges of my eyes. "It's me. You know it's me. I'm so ashamed," I said.

"I'm having a few people over to my place tomorrow night. Would you like to come? I'll see what I can do between now and then," Krishna said. "You did say you would do anything, anything at all, if I could help you, right?"

I got scared. A few people? I was most certainly not prepared for a gangbang, or to fuck him, or anything even remotely like that! Play along, I thought. If it gets weird, I can always say no, right? No means no.

I said words I still regret. I said, "Yes, that's right. Thank you, Krishna." We said our goodbyes, he gave me his coordinates and the time I was to come (9pm, after dinner), and I left. Once back at my DC hotel I sent a text to Jack explaining that he was a fucking bastard to have sent that picture to Krishna. I got a reply of a laughing emoticon.

The next day I was an emotional wreck. I decided the best strategy was to look my best. I went shopping. I decided that anything I bought would go on my bill to Mrs. Eberlein. I found the dress I needed. It had a zipper the full length of the dress, in the front of the dress, from my neck to my knees.

I could unzip the dress from the top or from the bottom, or both. It gave lovely hints of my figure. Tight across my generous bust, it still came in dramatically to highlight my tiny waist and it hugged my ass to perfection. If sexy was what one was after then this was the perfect dress. In my case, yes, sexy but elegant was what I was after. The dress was a sweet shade of lavender. I bought a large gold cross to wear with it, along with a chain so that the cross fell between my boobs. The cross was not solid gold, of course. It was gold plated.

I stood in front of the mirror. The saleswoman first unzipped the top. "A little more," I said. She slid the zipper down farther. "More," I said, and down it went. Now one could see my cleavage to great effect. "A little more?" I asked. Whoops, that was too much! She zipped it back up a tiny bit.

She then zipped the dress up from the bottom. I kept saying more until it was unzipped to just below my crotch. I looked in the mirror. I looked like a hot to trot slut. Unzipped like that, it was definitely a 'come fuck me' dress.

"Let's try the elegant look," I said. The zipper came up well above my boobs, but still gave a hint of cleavage, and the from the bottom it went unzipped to lower mid-thigh, showing off a nice but proper amount of leg. Perfect, I thought.

I went to a lingerie store and picked up a hyper sexy bra and panties set, made in Italy, where (unlike France, for example) they understand women with large boobs. Nobody would see my lingerie, of course, but they might get glimpses of the bra if the zipper got lowered somehow...Best to be prepared, I thought.

I arrived right on time and yet somehow, I was among the last to arrive. I was relieved to see a few other women there. They were all Indian, dressed in Saris with elaborate and carefully applied bindi dots worn at the lower center of their foreheads. These were elegant, beautiful women.

In fact, I was not just the only woman there who was not Indian, I was the only person, man or woman, who was not Indian. It was a strange feeling. I made small talk with some of the women, and I quickly learned almost everyone at the party was associated in some fashion with the Indian embassy in Washington. I began to relax. This was not the kind of crowd where I might have been gangbanged! Far from it. These were dignified, highly sophisticated people.

People were curious who I was, and why I was there. I quickly scrambled for a cover story. I decided to give the minimum information possible. I explained that Krishna was a friend of a friend, and that we had dinner last night, and he invited me over to this party at the end of our dinner. One of the women gave me a knowing wink, and they all giggled. I was flummoxed.

One of the women, who was also named Krishna (apparently the name works both for men and for women) got me alone, and she said, "Krishna likes blondes. Have a good time with him. He leaves women satisfied, if you know what I mean."

"Including you?" I asked, which was highly inappropriate, even rude.

She smiled. She matched my brazen question with her equally brazen reply. "Yes. Including all of us, I'm afraid. He likes Indian women, too. Maybe he just likes women."

Forewarned is forearmed, and I became very careful, especially about not drinking too much. I need not have worried, since as it turns out Krishna had no plans to attempt to seduce me that night. It was one thing to jump into bed, so to speak, with my former lovers Matt and Jack, but it would be another thing altogether to sleep with a strange, new man just to help to solve this murder. Nobody could reasonably ask me to do that and I was not going to do it.

I could flirt to Krishna's heart's content, but I was not going to put out. That much was clear. As I said, this issue did not arise, happily, because Krishna said he needed more time. He invited me over to play tennis Saturday afternoon. "I should be done with our little project by then," he said.

"How do you know I can even play tennis?" I asked.

"Jack told me you were all-state years ago when you were in high school. I'll have you play against Naaz. She's pretty good," Jack said.

"Do you play?" I asked.

"Yes. I'm damn good. You don't want to mess with me. Besides, it's sexy as all hell to watch two women play for high stakes," Krishna replied.

"High stakes?" I asked.

"I'll explain on Saturday," Krishna said. "Jack said you're competitive?"

"Yes, very," I replied.

"Good, good, that's excellent. You'll need to be. Naaz plays to win," he said, his voice seeming to have a bit of menace in it.

"So do I," I said.

Krishna took me back to my DC hotel. I let him walk me to my room door. "Thanks for a lovely evening," I said.

"You know, June, you looked gorgeous all night. I'm dying here. Kiss goodnight?" Krishna asked. He need not have asked. He could have just taken one but somehow, I was charmed he actually did ask.

I smiled. He leaned forward. Our lips met. He kissed me gently, sweetly, and lovingly. I melted. I opened my mouth, and our tongues met. Our bodies somehow were flush, and I could feel his erection grow in real time. His hands caressed my ass through my dress, and damn if I did not love it. I suddenly realized I was being seduced! I had just met the guy, for Pete's sake.

I broke the kiss. "Thanks again, Krishna. Good luck with your research. I really hope you can help me," I said, and then I pulled him against me and kissed him for all I was worth. I'm worth a lot, too.

When we finally came up for air, Krishna said, "You've inspired me to do my best to help you. You're not only a gorgeous woman, you're a sexy woman, too. I'm going to ask Treasury for help. Whoever you are after is damn good. See you Saturday," he said, and the cheeky bastard actually pinched my ass.

My reflex reaction was to slap him, but I overruled it and simply smiled. "Yes, Saturday. I'll come in tennis garb."

Krishna finally left. The next day I bought a tennis outfit. I tried it on and was glad I had good legs, because boy, those tennis skirts show a girl's entire legs, thighs included. The issue was the sports bra. They are notoriously unsexy. I found, however, that now one could get a push-up sports bra with 'keyhole mesh' revealing quite a bit of cleavage. I bought one.

I bought a white top too, of course, and splurged, buying myself a first-rate tennis racket. I went to a tennis club, bought a day pass, and practiced for four hours. I got used to the new racket and felt good about shaking the rust off of my game.

When Saturday arrived, I showed up at the agreed upon time at the home of Krishna in the DC suburbs. I wore the tennis outfit but brought a change of clothes and toiletries for a shower and change after the game. I looked forward to meeting this mysterious woman Naaz. I had Googled Naaz, and it was a standard Indian name for a woman. It meant pride and elegance.

The name fit Naaz perfectly. The woman was intrinsically an elegant woman. Krishna had said she was competitive, and that for me at least implied pride was present too. She was pretty, with a curvy figure.

Naaz had an athletic body, and contributing to that were her smallish breasts, and her slim hips, bearing a stark contrast to my slightly exaggerated hourglass figure. I had largish boobs, healthy child-bearing hips, and a remarkably tiny waist. I did not have the body of a star female athlete. Those women have small boobs and slim hips. Naaz liked what she saw. She planned on wiping the tennis court with me. I could see it in her eyes.

It surprised me that some of the men from the previous party were there too. I remembered them. Their wives were not present, however, leaving Naaz and me being the only two women among six men, counting Krishna. All the men were checking us out as we paraded around in our skimpy tennis outfits. The way they were looking at my creeped me out a little.

I looked questioningly at Krishna, asking 'what's going on' with my eyes, and he said, "My friends are here to watch the game. All of us men like to watch a fierce tennis competition between two sexy women."

That was alarm bell one. I heard it loud and clear, but right afterwards, Krishna said, "I found the answer you were looking for. I'll tell you after the game," and that remark pushed everything else from my awareness. I got very excited.

We socialized for a while, and then the reception adjourned to the tennis court. Krishna explained the rules. After each game, the losing woman had to remove a piece of clothing. I said, rather loudly, "Excuse me?"

Naaz had apparently done this before. She said, "June, you only need to worry if you lose."

"Have you ever lost at one of these matches?" I asked.

Naaz smiled. "Only once. It was fun. Tell her what happens if a girl loses all her clothes, Krishna, besides the obvious result of being on display for all these men," she said.

Krishna said, "We'll deal with that if it happens. It's unlikely to happen, and you know that."

"It happened to me," Naaz said. "It could happen to June today!"

"Or to you again," I said, trying to match her trash talk.

"What happens, June, is that the men play sudden death tennis to decide who gets to have you," Naaz said. Krishna flashed anger on his face. Oblivious, or not caring about Krishna's reaction, Naaz continued, "And all these voyeurs here get to watch. It's quite humiliating and hyper erotic, both."

"She can't be serious," I said to Krishna. "Tell me it ain't so, Joe."

"Joe? I'm Krishna, as you know. Anyway, I'm afraid she's right. That's the tradition, and I always follow tradition. You need to do this to get the information I have for you. The smart move is to win, June," Krishna said.

"Shoeless Joe Jackson," I muttered. "The 1919 Chicago Black Sox scandal." I was fuming with anger. "You're a bastard, Krishna."

"I know," Krishna said.

Not knowing what to do, I accepted when Naaz suggested we warm up with some volleys. It was also a way to check each other out. I play a good ground game. It's my serve that's weak. In the case of Naaz, I noticed she had a deadly forehand, but a less deadly backhand. Also, she was not as quick on her feet as I was, so if I could keep her bouncing from corner to corner, she might get tired and screw up.

Krishna tossed a coin to see who got first serve. Naaz won. Naaz had a deadly first serve. It was 15-love. Her serve reminded me of the serves of Venus Williams. It sailed right by me before I could even try to return it. Jesus. On her second serve, she was out with the first attempt, and I could return her second serve, thank goodness. We had a long rally, and I won. It was 15-15.

Naaz aced her next serve, and it was 30-15. Another ace made it 40-15. I was fighting back the panic. She missed her next first service, and again I won the point after a long ground exchange. Now it was 40-30. Naaz served another ace, and I lost the game.

I had to choose. Remove my top or my tennis skirt? It seemed equivalent, but stupidly I had worn my new sexy sports bra, not knowing I would be playing strip tennis. It seemed too suggestive, however to remove my skirt, so I removed my blouse anyway. As I removed it there was raucous cheering among the leering men, increasing in volume when they saw how sexy my sports bra was. Trying to be a good sport, I smiled at them and bowed, acknowledging the applause.

Now it was my service. I got lucky and managed to ace my first serve. I saw a flash of anxiety on Naaz' face, and I smiled to myself. It was 15-love. I missed my first serve the next time, but got my second service in, and Naaz hit a devastating return with her forehand. I had to use all my speed to run it down to return it, and Naaz was not prepared for my return. She was sure her shot had been a winner.

Naaz was caught flatfooted and I won the second point. The score was now 30-love. I had won that point because Naaz had underestimated my abilities. I knew that would not happen again. My next serve was an ace, and it was now 40-love. I told myself, 'Do not relax!' This woman is good, and now I had got her angry.

My next serve normally would have been an ace, but Naaz returned it. We had a long ground game, and Naaz had me running all over the court, finally smashing a burning forehand right by me. It was 40-15.

I was rattled and double faulted. It was 40-30. Naaz returned my second serve the next time, and again we had a long ground game before Naaz charged the net and hit a devastating volley I could not get to. It was deuce. Naaz won the next two points, and I lost the second game, too. She had broken my serve. This was not looking good for me.

I had to remove another piece of clothing. The choice was obvious, and I had to remove my skirt. Fortunately, I had worn opaque tennis panties, like everyone does, so while I was now dressed rather provocatively, in my bra and panties only, at least my important parts were still covered. I could not afford to lose another game, and service was now with Naaz. Shit.

Naaz already looked triumphant. This really got me angry. I forgot about my humiliation to be playing tennis in a bra and panties in front of an audience of six men, and I became grimly determined.

I managed to return the first blistering serve of Naaz. She was not expecting it again, and I again caught her flat footed. I won the point, it was love-15. On her second service, she missed her attempt at an ace, and I easily returned her second serve. In the ensuing volley back and forth, Naaz gave me an awkward placement, and I sliced my return, giving the ball a top spin. To my shock, Naaz could not handle it! It was love-30.

I had never before seen such an accomplished tennis player who could be flummoxed by a simple topspin. I had found her Achilles heel! Naaz then served another ace, and it was 15-30, but again I returned her next attempted ace. We had a back and forth until I slyly inserted a top spin at one point, and her return went into the net. It was now 15-40.

I was going to have to expose an intimate body part if I lost again, so I wanted to win this particular game more than Naaz did. I managed to return her next attempted ace, we again had a long exchange, and I again resorted to a top spin, and Naaz again hit it into the net. I won the game.

At last it was Naaz who had to remove an article of clothing. She chose her blouse, of course. She had a standard issue boring sports bra, but I had the emotional victory of making her lose a piece of clothing. Especially important, however, it was not I who had to lose any clothing this time!