s14258bc@UMASSD.EDU (Brian Colby)
Black Nylons
Chapter 1
{This is a consensual, non-violent story with a little bit of
fetishism. It is NOT a submissive-dominant story by any means; no one
in this story is whipped, beaten, called "master" or "mistress", or
forced to do anything their free will dictates dangerous.
The whole premise of this story is a woman wearing black nylons (circa
1952 or so, the Mickey Spillane period?) who is a sort of "super
heroine" who leaves her mark by leaving a single black nylon. If this
sounds a bit far fetched, imagine all the stories I've read about X
fucking Y and it seems that none of them have a single flaw on their
bodies! This is a work of fiction, but the characters at least seem
real.
If you get bored/uncomfortable/angry/exhiliarated with this work, send email to
S14258BC@umassd.edu or hit 'n'. Thanks for your understanding, and
comments are always appreciated.
Brian}
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Another taxi dancer killed in the West End section of Beantown. The
Boston Globe and Record American shouted these headlines as far as
they could across the papers. It was June 22, 1952, and so far 6
girls were dead; nearly all of them from seedy origins.
Boston's finest were baffled. They needed someone to inflitrate all
of these "dens of iniquity" and catch this asshole red handed. They
had one secret weapon at Precinct 5 who could pose as one of these
B girls and catch him red handed.
------------
Her well-defined leg stretched above the twin bed to roll a bunched
up stocking over her ankles, past her claves and over her thighs.
She made sure that the 10 denier, shiny mesh stocking had no runs and her seams
were straight before she attached it to the four garters on either side.
Then she slid her black dress on, quickly making what she had on under
her a mystery.
Roberta "Bobbie" Johnson was a pro at catching men red handed. Her
looks, plain but very appealing when she applied makeup and other
items, spoke 25 but her age was really 36. Bobbie could play the act
without flinching or reservation. She had been part of Vice during
the war, when she foiled the Black Market scheme in Jewish-predominant
Roxbury in 1942. She was familiar with every ambulance service,
hospital, hotel, hooker, pimp, madam and burlesque hall in Boston
proper. Sometimes, though, she did vigilante work when the Boston
Police Department did not wish to get their hands dirty when gangsters
were involved. All she had to do was remove a black stocking from
either her legs or her purse (she carried extras in case of
emergencies) and criminals would know all too well that she had been
there...Bobbie had a 100% capture rate, something the BPD was proud of
and criminals were in deep fear of.
------------
At 9:12, the phone rang, just as Bobbie finished applying some makeup.
"Hello?" she said matter-of-factly.
"Bobbie, this is Detective Ross. How would you like to pose as a taxi dancer?"
"Hey, Joe," Bobbie said in an down-to-earth tone. "Serial killer at
it again?"
"How'd you guess?"
"It ain't time to sell tickets for the Policemen's ball."
Bobbie laughed like Elmer Fudd. "Taxi dancer sounds like fun, but I'd rather
be at Scollay Square doing the bump-and-grind."
"Burlesque is not on the menu tonight. But we do have some nice
dancer du taxi, " said Ross with a hint of wryness.
"Well, I have the right accessories for it, so why not? I'm wearing a
black dress and black nylons...if you can call that my modest dress for
tonight." More laughter, this time from both sides.
"Ever hear of a place called Hurley's Heights in Charlestown? Get on
the Main Elevated to City Square and walk two blocks down Main."
"Doesn't sound like a bad idea. I'm at home on Comm Ave right now. I
can be there in an hour and give you a report by 2pm tomorrow."
"Perfect. Headquarters good for you or should I come down to Saint
E's Hot Dog Stand and Morgue?"
"Now we're getting fancy with our meeting places, are we? HQ's fine."
------------
The Main Elevated car rumbled into City Square station at 10:34. Bobbie
looked at the directions she wrote down and walked towards main
street. Her heels clicked a rhythm as she found Hurley's, and outside
there were three bouncers beating the daylights out of some sailor.
The Naval Police came up and dragged the poor sailor into the car, and
proceeded to beat him there, too.
Bobbie put on a wisecracking floozie accent and queried, "What
happened?"
One of the bouncers smiled and said sarcastically, "Taking out the
garbage, dear." The other two laughed as if someone told the
punchline to the traveling salesman joke. Bobbie smiled and said, "Is
it ladies night in there?", lifting her skirt as she spoke. One of
the bouncers said, "Yes, ma'am. Always ladies night. Only thing is,
ladies don't go home to the same place." More brutish laughter.
Bobbie made a face and muttered "fresh!" as she entered the bar. What
a dump, commented Bobbie as taxi dancers teased sailors and the
bartender poured drinks into cups, steins and...shoes. One taxi
dancer staggered in Bobbie's direction, and proceeded to vomit in
front of her. Everyone laughed heartily, except for Bobbie and the
now-sobbing taxi dancer.
The two went into the ladies room, as Bobbie cleaned the girl up.
"Can't seem to hold those Shirley Temples in, huh?" Bobbie said.
"I'm sorry, really," said the girl. She was no more than 20 years
old, despite the fact that she was 5'9".
"What's your name, honey?"
"Kathryn, but everybody calls me Katie."
"Katie, I'm Bobbie. Can you keep a secret?"
"Sure."
"I'm an undercover Boston Police officer..." Katie nearly screamed,
but Bobbie caught her mouth and clamped her hand over it just in time.
"I'm not here to arrest anyone yet, but I am here to catch a serial killer.
He's going after girls like you." Bobbie released her grip and Katie
suddenly looked quite relieved.
"There's this square looking guy who comes here every Thursday and he
always leaves with women wearing black nylons or black silk stockings.
I've known of four girls who've dated him and they always appear in
the newspapers..." Katie choked back a sob, as Bobbie reached into
her bag for a handkerchief. "Katie, would you mind coming down to
Headquarters tomorrow afternoon and give our own Sgt Lucy Kenner a
description? I'll come here this Thursday to check out the scene, and
I'll ask the department to give you immunity and maybe a place to
stay. If we catch this man, there's even a $5000 reward...enough for
one year's salary {In 1952, $5000 was roughly the same as $25,000
today. Brian}. Will you do it?"
Katie said with a gleam in her eye, "Sure." "Come down to Police
Headquarters at 3pm, but before then, call FA7-8010 and ask for Sgt
Kenner."
Bobbie turned Katie around and said, "Katie, your seams are crooked."
Bobbie placed her hands on either side of her stocking and twisted it
so the seam lay flush with the back of her thigh. "This is the
first time I wore silk stockings before," said Katie shyly. All
Bobbie did was smile.
------------
"Our perp seems to have a fix for nylons," said Bobbie to Captain Thomas
Hanford. "One of the taxi girls identified him as a bookworm who goes to
MIT. You'd think he'd stick to the books instead of the broads."
"Good work, Johnson, but is our taxi girl due today?"
"3 pm sharp...Lucy Kenner is going to become Picasso during that
time."
"Good." Hanford came from Southie, but he was once a sergeant for The
Royal Air Force in Northampton, England. To everyone, he was "Cap'n
Tom" because he treated everyone fairly and never raised his voice
when reprimanding. "Now in your report, this suspect comes every
Thursday and leaves with girls in black hosiery."
"Definite fetish. With our luck, he probably likes toe sucking and
placing his big toe in the vaginal cavity." Johnson shuddered at what she
just said.
"Meaning that you're going down Thursday to find him? All I advise is
that you be careful...Lucifer and himself know what he'll do to you,
and I can't lose an undercover police woman as valuable as you are."
"Flattery gets you nowhere, but in this instance I'll make an
exception. What about handcuffs, firearms, and the like?"
"Good enough. Maybe $5 in case he wants a hotel room."
"I think I'll put on my best pair of silk stockings that night,"
Bobbie thought devilishly as she bit her lip. "A glimpse of stocking
may arrest the visual senses and soon arrest criminals. What a novel
concept."
------------
Thursday came, and Bobbie arrived at Hurley's at 9:30. The same scene
with the bouncers and the sailors occurred, but this time other police
officers from the Charlestown precinct were arresting the bouncers,
while the ambulance drivers were setting the sailor up on the
stretcher so he could be taken to Mass General. The Charlestown cops
knew Bobbie was undercover (Brighton precinct phoned them ahead of
time to tell them she would be there), so they left her alone. When
she entered the bar, she heard the ambulance scream away.
She walked up to the bar and ordered a Suffering Bastard. "Get a load
of this broad, Gerry. She had the moxie to order a heavy drink!"
Bobbie countered, "And I also have the moxie to arrest you and pull
your liquor license if you blow my cover!" she hissed as she showed
her badge in her bag. "One Suffering Bastard it is," said the burly
bartender.
One hour passed. Still, no sign of the suspect. Bobbie was still on
her SB and she looked at the people dancing. Sailors had the
tendency to swing the girls low, exposing their stocking tops. Ah,
the joys of swing, thought Bobbie ruefully, wishing they would play
some tunes by Thelonius Monk (too bop), Miles Davis (too angular), or
Sonny Rollins (just right). Another sip and she was done with her
Suffering Bastard.
Just then someone tapped her shoulder. "Excuse me, would you like to
dance?" Bobbie then remembered to strike a taxi dancer attitude when
she turned around. But she was never more surprised to see a
well-dressed, handsome man. Bobbie nearly fell out of her chair when he
offered his hand.
Bobbie found out that this guy's name was Bert. He was a MIT
professor of biology, and even though he hated the sleaziness of the
scene, he thought it well to dance and have a good time. Bobbie liked
his honesty, and they continued to dance on until 2:30. Then they
were asked to leave.
As people streamed out to Main Street, Bert asked Bobbie, "Say, my car
is just down the street. I know it's late and it's kind of abrupt,
but would you like to stay at my place for the night? I don't think
you'd like to sleep in a roach motel." Bobbie agreed, but she
remembered to be careful.
------------
Bert lived on Harvard Street, just over the Brookline line, in a
well-furnished apartment. "Would you like a drink?" Bert offered, to
which Bobbie politely refused.
"So tell me, Bobbie, you're a secretary for Bollack and Hennesey?"
"Yep. Stenographer, that is."
"Beacon Hill?"
"Yeah. I hate climbing up that hill during the winter, where it's so
icy."
"I have an idea," Bert offered. "Place your feet on this stool."
Bobbie felt a bit uneasy, but she complied.
"Would you mind taking off your shoes? The ottomans are on 10-day
trial offer."
Bobbie stood up and using the chair for support, removed her shoes one
by one and placed them beside the chair. Then she placed her feet on
the stool, smiling with a little more confidence.
"That's great." Bert looked at her feet for a bit, then mm-hmmed for
a bit. "Are you wearing silk stockings? You don't have to answer if
it's too personal."
Yes, that is too personal, Bobbie thought vehemently, and her fears
began to quickly jell. But she replied, "Yes. I bought them at
Field's Hosiery for $1.50 a pair."
Bert then smiled. "I don't mean to put you on the spot. I did
research on the silkworm and their reprodcutive properties. The more
reproductive they were, the stronger the silk they produced."
Bert placed a hand on Bobbie's ankle, and suddenly a chill shot
through her spine. "Why do you look so afraid?" Bert asked calmly. Bobbie
spat out, "I didn't come here for a quick trick, bub. You said you
wouldn't do anything sleazy."
------------
"That's what all my victims thought, dear." Bert changed from a
professor to a cold monster. "They thought I would take care of them.
And they always fall for that silkworm bit. Just like you."
"What do you want, exactly?" Bobbie asked carefully.
"Take off your silk stockings, so I can add them to my collection of
other dames who I killed." He withdrew a Smith and Wesson from his
pocket, which was incentive enough.
Bobbie rose from the chair and placed her leg on the ottoman. "Lift
your dress up so I can see your thighs," Bert demanded. Bobbie
complied, raising it enough so he could see her silk stockings being
tethered by her garters.
"You will roll the stockings down your legs, slowly." Bobbie placed a
foot on the ottoman, her skirt still bunched upon her waist as she
moved the buttons back to release the tab. She began to roll it down
when Bert said blankly, "No. Release the other garters first." She
did so. "Left stocking first, then right." Carefully she rolled the
nylon down her legs, then towards her ankles and off her toes.
"Lovely. Ever thought of working in Scollay Square?" Bobbie bit her
tongue for fear of getting shot - no need to spit out a wiseacre
remark if Smith and Wesson's governing the conversation.
She began to remove her right stocking when there was a knock on the
door. "Stay in that position until I return." He left, and Bobbie
withdrew a small ampoule of Ponzhak gas (strong Mace derivative used
in the Soviet Union) she kept in case of dire emergencies. She placed
it in between finger and the stocking, and her plan was to throw the
gas onto the floor. The gas was an opiate, and Bert would fall to the
floor.
------------
Bert returned, still holding the gun. "Continue on. I want to see
that stocking off your leg." Bobbie continued, and by the time it
reached her ankle, she looked up at the smirking face of Bert and
threw the ampoule right onto the floor. Quickly she dove to the
floor, as Bert choked and wheezed, landing to the floor.
Bobbie called the Comm Ave station, and soon nine police cars
converged on the Harvard Ave building. Brookline police assisted
too, and an ambulance was called on the scene.
Ross and Hanford rushed in. "You OK, Bobbie?" asked Ross urgently.
"See? You can get a man in more than one way with a pair of black silk
stockings," laughed Bobbie as she pulled her nylons on.
------------
Bert was actually a psychiatric patient who left the Shattuck not more
than one year ago, Bobbie found out. Even though Katie (the taxi
dancer she met before) gave her erroneous information before,
eventually she gave Sgt Lucy Kenner the correct information that
Bobbie was given the day before.
Katie smiled as she left the precinct. "Now I can afford a pair of
silk stockings...as well as rent and food for the next few years!"
she beamed to Bobbie. Bobbie raised her hand and led Katie to her
desk. From one of her drawers she withdrew a box full of silk hose
and nylons. "My personal thank-you for giving us a big lead on Bert.
These silk stockings are not strong, and they do run, but they sure
feel good on those days you feel down." Katie quickly removed her
old stockings and tried on the black silk ones. "Mmmmm....now I know
what you mean! Thanks so much." Bobbie smiled and relaxed in her
chair, satisfied that a perpetrator was brought to justice by a simple
seductive item.
Black Nylons
Chapter II
1957, the year that Bobbie got a brand-new Chevy after she foiled a
Mafia attempt in the North End. Nineteen mobsters, perhaps the most
wanted in Massachusetts, were sealed in Charles St. Jail for a good
long time.
But Bobbie had not changed one bit, except for a nicely cropped hairdo
and a pair of seamless lode green nylons gracing her legs. Katie
Samuel, once a taxi dancer and now Lieutenant of Vice, walked over to
Bobbie's desk and leaned into it. Bobbie smiled as she typed her
report.
"Hello, Katie. You seem to be free from your work."
"And not a minute sooner," Katie laughed as she sat down at Bobbie's
desk. "That horse-fixing/prositution ring case is driving me mad. I
had to become Little Miss Floozie for three weeks, which brought back
the good old days of waiting on the corner and lifting my skirt. So
much for being humble."
Bobbie laughed so hard, she had to cover her mouth. Katie went on to
describe the time a little old man, sweet as could be, asked if he
could "plug in his plaything" in the middle of a song; the time one of
the horses decided to take an unceremonious dump on her shoes, and how
one of the jockeys cleaned up her legs only to feel them up. Bobbie
was now crying and laughing uncontrollably, as Lt. Captain Joe Ross
came over to the desk in curiosity.
"Say, is Kate telling you the time Great Smokes took a great dump on
her feet?" he asked half-jokingly, as Bobbie dried her eyes and
composed herself. "I'm sorry, Joe, but it's such an uplifting
experience," Bobbie said. "The whole department could hear you, but
your Captain, and there's not much I can do." Ross extracted a
newspaper bunched under his suitjacket.
"I hope your legs are in filly condition," smiled Ross. "Madam Chao
in Cambridge heard about you and she needs some help."
"Madam Chao and the House Of Chao, " said Bobbie crisply. "We've
busted her fifteen times for heroin possession and eighty-three times
for maintaining a bordello. Yet she seems to be a nice, grandmotherly
woman."
"She's coming to the precinct about 2:30. It seems that her bordello
needs a little monitoring."
"Hmm...a captain undercover. Just like the good old days. Who else
will help me?"
"Chi Chi and Hamp."
Bobbie smiled. She liked the wisecracking Chi Chi and the
girl-next-door appeal of Hamp, and they would turn out to be good
foils. She nodded her head while she held her tapered fingers on her
lips. "Great. I think the old black silk-stockings will have to come
out."
---------
Madame Chao smiled as she was led into the office by her old, almost
withered husband. Madame Chao spoke no English, but her husband, a
mathematician at MIT, spoke almost accent-free English and was willing
to translate.
"[Good afternoon, Bobbie Johnson. Pleased to see you are well and you
are prosperous,]" said Mme Chao via Mr Chao.
"Have come here for your liquor license to be renewed?" Bobbie
quipped. Madame Chao laughed readily.
"[No, my little friend. You've busted me so many times I don't bother
to renew. I have a job for you. My wicked sons are trying to take
away brothel. Very corrupt bad apples, I say. Become madam for a
week and I will testify against them.]" Madame Chao walked over to
Katie and placed her hands squarely on her legs. "[My dear, silk
stockings on white limbs are most attractive. But even better when
seams are straight.]" Katie rolled her eyes as Mme Chao twisted the suntan
nylons, making the seams pencil straight. "[Honorable Johnson, would
you like to become the proprietor of my house so you can stop my
sons?]"
"Yes, I will. And I will try my best to bring them to justice. IF
you don't break any rules afterwards."
"[Rules? No rules when worm and womb are frolicking in the Mound of
Venus.]" Then Madame Chao laughed once more.
---------
Chi-Chi and Hamp had come in for the midnight shift. Chi-Chi was in
the middle of putting on a new pair of black silk stockings for the
brothel in Chinatown.
"Nothings more precious than black gold silk," cooed Chi-Chi as she
slipped a stocking up her smooth calves. "Up and around everywhere,
my legs hiss a Mojud morse code."
Hamp had already finished dressing, as she affixed a pair of strappy
heels to her ankles. "You have the address to this bordello, or are
we going to get lost like we did the last time?"
Chi Chi smoothed a hand up and down the seams of her stockings,
swinging her leg up and down for effect. "Relax. I didn't know there
was a Shriners convention at that bar last time," laughed Chi-Chi.
She clasped garters to each side of her stocking and walked towards
the locker. "I bought a pair of backless heels that go with the
dress. Out to be normal for that type of place."
Hamp twirled around in her floral print dress. "Ah always gotta be
the country girl!" she giggled, to which Chi Chi muttered, "And
obnoxious, too" as she zippered up her black dress.
"We've gotta meet Bobbie at nine. Let's get going so we can beat all
of the C1 traffic." Chi Chi applied a cot of mascara and pouted her
lips to apply a blood-red lipstick. After she clamped her lips
together to distribute the lipstick, she collected Hamp and they
headed to Chinatown.
---------
Bobbie was in the middle of directing girls when Chi Chi and Hamp
arrived. "Shriners Convention again, girls?" she said under a
strained voice. "Nope, and we're sorry we're late," said Chi Chi.
"Girls, would you mingle with the guests after you put your coats away
and freshen up." Hamp and Chi Chi did so, and the two retired to the
bar.
Two hours passed. Once in a while, as a signal to Bobbie, Chi Chi would tug at
the tops of her stockings in code. N o t h i n g 's d o i n g was
one code. Another was I f o r g o t t o b r i n g a n e x t r a
p a i r o f n y l o n s. D o y o u h a v e a p a i r ? Bobbie
tapped (with a pencil) in response Y e s, b u t t h e y d o n ' t g o
w i t h t h e s h o e s y o u ' r e w e a r i n g.
Bobbie then came over with two young, freshly scrubbed college men in tow.
"Chi Chi, Alicia, this is Tony and Steve. They wish to purchase your
services. Tell me, boys, are you at least eighteen?"
"Yes, Ma'am," they said simultaneously.
"The house rules are that you may not impose any harm on these ladies
or I shall have to call the police," said Bobbie seriously. Chi Chi
let out a snort of laughter as Bobbie continued. Chi Chi, you shall
go with Tony. Alicia, meet Steve."
"Rooms 19 and 20, if you please." Bobbie extracted two keys from her
pocket. "Protection is provided upstairs...have a good time."
---------
Chi Chi and Tony entered the room, and Chi Chi turned on the lights.
"Kind of warm, isn't it?" Chi Chi set the mood, and she found Tony to
be handsome. "My fee is $25 straight and $50 for other kinks."
Tony silently withdrew a $100 bill from his wallet and placed it on
the table. "Can we just talk instead? I'm not into sex all that
often...I'm getting married."
"No blow jobs? No around the worlds? Are you...no, you're not queer.
Are you afraid?"
"A little."
"You know what I'm afraid of?" Chi Chi softened. "Guys who make sex
too rough. It takes a tender touch for a man to make love."
Tony looked at her legs. "I like what you're wearing on your legs."
Chi Chi certainly couldn't bust this kid for being sincere. "Thanks.
Have you ever seen a pair of silk stockings before?"
"Ah, no."
Chi Chi began to undress, and she did as far as her bra, garter belt,
silk stockings, and backless heels. "Tell, me, Tony, are you scared
looking at me now?"
"No."
"Could you strip naked for me, honey?"
Slowly but efficiently, Tony became naked. He had a giant erection waving in
the breeze, and of course he felt uncomfortable. Chi Chi was
flabbergasted on how pure and strong his erection was, but despite
ethics she wanted to wrap her hand around it and feel it pulse around
her hands.
She led him over to the bed and lay him down. She placed a foot under
the scrotum of his already engorged penis and began to slowly rotate the bottom
of her stocking foot on it. "Does it feel good, Tony?" Chi Chi
moaned as Tony began to squirm. Her sheathed foot began to trace
shapes and forms of his penis and stopped long enough to unhook her
bra. She twisted her nipples as she continued to rub silk against
scrotum.
Chi Chi took her foot away and placed it on the soft bed. One by one
she unclasped her garters and unhooked the garter belt from her waist.
She placed a hand on either side of her stocking and rolled it down
seductively her thighs, keeping eye contact on Tony as he erection
grew very hard. When she reached her toes, she pulled her stocking
off with a flourish and placed it on Tony's erect member.
Then, she wrapped a warm hand on Tony's penis and began to stroke it.
Man, this boy is big, she muttered as she stroked the penis, which
when she bent it it resisted becoming soft. She heard him grunt, a
signal that he was on the verge of climax, and she blithely continued
until he erupted. Stream after stream of semen shot through the
stocking onto the heel, which amazed Chi Chi no end. When she touched
his penis again to remove the stocking, she didn't realize he was
capable of coming again, and how violent his eruption was.
Her hands and the reinforced foot of her stockings were coated with semen,
and to make show of it Chi Chi licked her hands sexily. After
Tony composed himself, he withdrew a $20 bill from his pants and gave
it to Chi Chi.
Chi Chi was tempted to bust him, but she didn't. To hell with ethics,
she thought as she retired to the women's room to pleasure herself.
---------
Two more hours passed. Chi Chi borrowed another pair of stockings
from Janise, an older woman who was like her grandmother, while Hamp
was sitting patiently at the bar. Bobbie walked over to Hamp and
bought her a club soda.
"Tough night at the races, Hamp?" Bobbie asked quizzically.
"You bet. I only made about 16 weeks of my salary tonight," she said
grinning. "I like the Chinese Dragon lady getup...very fetching."
Bobbie blushed as she twirled around. She had bought a black wig that
could be twisted and turned into a bun, and in that bun hung two
Chinese chopsticks. With a bow, Bobbie said, "I thank you, honorable
Hamp."
Just then two small men - dwarves - came over to the bar. "Excuse me,
madam...we would like to make an offer to you. Is there a place we
can talk in private?" said the first dwarf.
"Yes, I guess so." Bobbie suspected that these two cute little men
carried even cuter guns and had a cute thing for cutting people down.
These could be Mme Chao's cute little sons.
---------
"I am Ying Tso, and this is my brother Yong Tsi", introduced the first
dwarf. "We are sons of Chao, and we wish to give you protection."
"If our mother told us we are merciless, bloodletting theives with no
morals, well, that's heresy," said Yong. "We are not interested in
killing people for our own advancement."
Bobbie thought for a moment. "How much protection will you provide?"
she asked, hoping that they'd say for a few dollars and a percent of
the take.
"All we ask for is $500 per week and 25% of all the ladies' take,"
smiled Ying. "We are humble and honest people. There's no reason you
should not function without overhead."
"All right. But I'll make the deal even sweeter. $750 per week, and
35% of the take, plus my two best girls in the brothel." Bobbie
picked up the phone and told the operator, "please send in Chi Chi and
Hamp."
After a couple of minutes the door knocked. Chi Chi and Hamp came in,
but holding hands. "Chi Chi, Hamp, please meet Ying and Yong. They
will send us protection. Please, girls, show our new...guardsmen your
wares. I'm not paying $750 a week for just ordinary girls."
With that Chi Chi and Hamp began to undress one another. Each button
was taken off slowly and sensuously, every zipper unattached quietly.
Hamp set herself on the desk as Chi Chi unbuckled her shoes and placed
tiny kisses on her tan stockinged toes; then she began to lick the inner
part of the thigh were the garter and stocking met. Chi Chi made sure
to unhook the stocking slowly and bring it down while kissing each
part of the leg. "You see, my girls know how to love men as well as
those of their own sex," Bobbie hinted. Chi Chi placed two fingers
inside Hamp and almost immediately Hamp began to moan; then as Chi Chi
pushed them slowly in and out, Hamp arched her back and let out a
choked scream. Warm juice ran out of Hamp's sex, and as soon as Chi
Chi planted her fingers inside herself, she had her own juices running
out of her hand.
Ying and Yong laughed as Hamp and Chi Chi arranged themselves.
"[Wow, what an act!]" gasped Yong in Chinese, who was whistling as he laughed.
"[This young broad really has her act together. Nothing like Mom ever
did!]" chuckled Ying.
"All right. We are convinced. You girls will become stars in this
brothel, like Sacco and Venezuela."
"Sacco and Vanzetti," Bobbie corrected. "And I would like to add just
one more thing to this deal, but I must warn you that you may not be
pleased to see what I give you." In the desk drawer Bobbie extracted
a pair of handcuffs and her badge. With a flourish Bobbie took off
her wig, letting her cropped hair breathe.
"Gentlemen, I am not a madam. I'm Bobbie Johnson, Captain of Vice,
and this two girls are Marcia "Chi Chi" Martinez and Rikki Hamp, and
they work for me."
As Hamp and Chi Chi wrapped the cuffs around their wrists, Ying and
Yong spoke angrily to one another.
"[You sonofabitch! I knew that she stood out like a sore thumb.]"
shouted Yong.
"[Shut up,]" screamed Ying, "[We would have had two lovely broads
under our thumbs if you hadn't had a boner for the Hispanic one!]"
---------
Two weeks later, Mme Chao returned to the office. She was alone.
"I come to see Bobbie. Husband not home. He work today," she said to
Chi Chi as she walked over to Bobbie's desk.
"Bobbie, I come say thank you for putting sons in prison. Nice boys,
nice attitude, but attitude stink. No Chinatown gangster like my
father."
"They were nice, and I'm glad they didn't use their guns." Bobbie
smiled as Mme Chao laughed.
"Boys never had balls to use guns," Mme Chao continued, laughing to
herself. "I also come to say I quit madam business. Learning how to
speak English from my husband. You did good as madam."
Mme Chao extracted something from her pocketbook. It was one of Chi
Chi's black silk stockings that she had used on Tony. "One of friends
not discreet with seed. My girls always use towel or washcloth to
clean. But with little wash and hang, it'll be good and new." Chi
Chi's face was never redder as she picked up the stocking from the
table and muttered a curt "thank you" as Mme Chao bowed.
Bobbie looked at Chi Chi with a mock look of contempt, but Chi Chi
lost her composure and began to laugh. Ross walked over to the desk
and asked, "Did Katie tell you the story about the dumping horses
*again*?" But when he saw the stocking in Chi Chi's hands, he
caught himself. I gotta keep out of these inside jokes, he thought as
he went for a cup of coffee.
Black Nylons
Chapter III
Bobbie had just finished writing the report on her investigation on
the Conrail scam in Allston when a dark-skinned woman approached the
desk. The woman bent over and spoke in a drawl, "Excuse me,
secretary, where can I find the Captain of Vice?"
Bobbie looked from side to side, and then cracked wide a smile.
"Roberta Johnson, Captain of Vice." Bobbie extended her hand and
quickly the woman accepted it.
"Name's Yolanda Beart. Atlanta vice sent me up to investigate a
supposed white supremacist ring that has spread up north. They wear
brown shirts and white sheets no matter what the weather is," sighed
Yolanda.
"Are you talking about the Order of Electrical Workers 59?"
"You really are as smart as they said you were," said Yolanda
reservedly. "I hear that they were going to burn down a few of the
three-deckers in which the newly-hired black workers live in
Dorchester. At least up north it's not as bad as it is in
Atlanta...Bubba and his henchmen use the work 'nigger' as if it were
punctuation, and I got a 30 day suspension for kicking
him in the nuts. Goddamn gorilla deserved it." Yolanda grinned without a
hint of guilt.
Bobbie rose from the desk and made a motion to walk to the coffee
machine. "I'll introduce you to the other members of the
department..."
"All I want is a cup of coffee and no fanfare, please." said Yolanda
modestly, holding up her hand.
---------
During the week, Bobbie and Yolanda made a plan to infiltrate OEW 59.
"I don't want anything to do with sex or giving these shock boys a
thrill..." Yolanda said, but Bobbie grinned and said, "I've done that
many times before. Just with a lift of the skirt and a glimpse of
stocking and the men simply beg for those metal handcuffs to go on."
"Being a Baptist, I normally would throw Biblical Scriptures in your
face, but I'm used to seeing spectacled bookworms do the same thing
for the hookers in the Red Light district." quipped Yolanda.
Just then Katie walked into the room. "Yolanda, this is Katie
Bronson, one of our undercover vice officers."
Quickly the two women exchanged handshakes, and Bobbie continued.
"Katie will work as one of the secretaries at OEW 59. Katie used to be a
taxi dancer, but she survived tha Academy and she's been working for us
for 3 years."
Yolanda grinned slightly, thinking that if she asked Katie a probing
question, Katie would either waffle or answer brilliantly. "Well, ah,
Katie, what made you become a police officer, especially of vice?"
"Experience."
"In what?"
"What do you mean?"
"If it's too probing a question, stop me. But what I'd like to know
is why you gave up taxi dancing and are now working for the police
force."
Katie was a little shocked, but she took a deep breath. "I don't
know, Captain Beart. Maybe I was tired of turning tricks for subway
fare home."
"You don't need to be catty, dear," growled Beart. Obviously, this
woman was not pleasant if crossed the wrong way. "You should have
told me it was none of my business, and I would have understood."
"I wasn't being catty. I was being truthful. You see, Bobbie pulled
me off the streets after a serial murder was lurking on the streets.
I hated giving fellatio to drunken sailors for $5, and I got a reward
for catching that jerk. So in all fairness, Ms. Beart, I'm here to
pay Bobbie back and to remove some criminals off the streets."
Yolanda stood back and crossed her arms. She glared for a moment,
first at Katie and then at Bobbie. Then she began to laugh, and hard.
"I'm sorry I tested you that way," said Yolanda after gaining some
composure. "I have the tendency to be quite direct, and I hope I
didn't embarrass you." Bobbie smiled and winked at Yolanda, who then
raised a thumb to acknowledge that the test they devised worked.
---------
"So you're our new secretary," said Sid Smith, the leader of OEW 59.
He was a rugged man, with a stone face and a blank atitude. "Miss,
ah, what's your name?"
Katie thought quickly, "Miss Linda Caverly," the name Yolanda and
Bobbie had devised.
"Yeah, Miss Caverly, all we want you to do is handle the phones, type
up items that we give you and do errands. Now, how many words do you
type?"
At work, 38, she thought. "50 words, sir."
"Good." Sid picked up the phone and dialed a few numbers. "Hey,
John, bring down those flyers for me." Soon, a robust man came
downstairs with envelopes and paper, cigar dangling from mouth.
"This is John, our printer. You give Katie instructions, and I'll
go fix myself a nice cup of Joe." Sid left the office, shutting the
door gently behind him.
"You don't have to worry about him until you take letters for him,"
said John gently. "How fast cn you seal envelopes?"
Katie took a packet of them, and sealed them all quickly. "I'm
impressed. Take care of these and call me at 6630. I'll bring more
down then." John then whispered, "Coffee's in the left hall. Nickel
a cup and cream's in the fridge." Katie nodded her head and began to
seal the envelopes.
Just then she began to read the paper.
BURN THE NIGGERS DOWN
NO SPICS AND KIKES IN OUR WORKPLACE
SEND THE DOG-EATING GOOKS HOME
MAKE DORCHESTER AND OEW59 WHITE AND PROUD
Katie was not only shocked, but she rose to go to the bathroom to
vomit. However, there was no women's room, so Katie went to the door
marked "restroom" and wretched there.
She noticed women on the stalls splayed out in different nude poses,
some with giant breasts, others with Betty Page like poses, complete
with black mesh stockings and bondage. Katie wretched some more, then
composed herself long enough to wash her face and adjust the seams on
her stockings.
She returned to the desk and folded more items into the envelopes.
John came downstairs with more items, and noticed that Katie was
shaken. "First day on the job jitters?" smiled John. Then he noticed
Katie had one of their fliers in her hands. "Hey, listen, my parents
came from Poland and the Nazis wiped their house out, and the
Communists threw them out into the streets," said John. "All I do is
print it up. I don't have anything to do with this, hear?" whispered
John. Katie smiled, and then went back to her work.
---------
"Holy son of Caesar's ghost," gasped Yolanda. "They're not just happy
with racism but they're also perverts. What I wouldn't give to kick
their asses all the way to Hell..."
Bobbie nodded in agreement. "I think we should activate plan B."
Yolanda looked puzzled. "Our initial plan was to infiltrate. Now all
we have to do is bust them."
"I think this Sid Smith character will be awfully pleased to have a
real live dame present," Bobbie said with a wicked grin.
"Don't tell me...you're going in there."
Bobbie sat down in her chair and raised her skirt a bit to unclip the
suntan nylons from their garters and roll them down her legs. She
placed them in the drawer and opened another one to extract a package.
She opened the package and extracted two black silk stockings from it.
"Uh, Bobbie, what are you doing?" asked Yolanda tersely.
As Bobbie bunched the silk stocking she had extracted from her drawer,
she said, "Sometimes, you need the higher-ups to get the gangsters
effectively." As soon as she clipped the stocking to the garter, she
snapped the garter hard against her thigh.
"Bang!" Yolanda said to herself with a grin.
Bobbie bunched up the other stocking and said, "Exactly."
---------
Bobbie found OEW 59 on the South Boston/Dorchester line on Dorchester
Ave. Pretending to be a representative of the Houston OEW, she
entered with an air of importance and was dressed to the nines in a
black dress, black heels and a veil.
"Excuse me, Miss, I would like to see Sidney Smith, please," she said
to Katie.
"He's at a meeting right now," said Katie with a professional atitude,
knowing that all of this was a charade.
"Oh, he is? Well, I'm Agatha Kresson, one of the female leaders of
the Houston OEW. He should be expecting me for 11 am."
Katie looked up the schedule. "Oh, I got the message this morning,
Miss Kresson. The meeting ought to end in five minutes."
"Call me Aggie. I appreciate that, miss..."
"Katie Bronson."
"Well, Katie, you are doing a fine job. I'll sit and wait."
"Yes, Aggie."
Five minutes passed, and Sid emerged from the office with a very
fat, bloated man with a thick Southern accent. "Ah hate those
nigguhs and weyeah gonna blast 'em out to God's green pasture..."
Suddenly he saw Bobbie (as Aggie) decked out in black finery.
"Lord in Heaven! What a piece of snatch!" uttered the man. In
response Bobbie raised her fingers and pointed it in his fat face.
"I want your name so I can send it to the home office in Houston. I
will not be called a piece of snatch by anyone. Do I make myself
crystal clear?"
"Well, who the fuck are you to tell me..."
"I'm the one to tell you that I will not tolerate any foolishness. I
am Agatha Kresson, new invesigator for OEW 59. I WILL chop your
everloving redneck balls off if you refer to me in that tone. Do you
understand?"
"Yes, ma'am." The fat slug walked away sheepishly, after that tongue
cutting session occured.
"Are you Sidney Smith?" Bobbie asked curtly.
"I am." Sid's expression did not change much, other than to raise his
eyebrows as an approval of Bobbie's moxie.
"I'm Agatha Kresson. I called this morning for a meeting."
Sid would pass up this dame for nothing, Bobbie thought. "Yes, your
secretary called this morning from the Houston office. Damned if I
want to pay $18 for a collect call," Sid grinned. "Please, come into
my office." Sid turned to Katie and said, "Hold all my calls, Katie."
---------
"So you're going to burn down all those nigger's houses on West Sixth and
Dot Ave," said Bobbie after a generous amount of small talk. Bobbie
played the part of union moll to the hilt, even though in those days
women never got to that high of a position. She crossed her legs,
making sure that the faint hiss of silk gave Sid a message that she
was not the bitch to cross.
"We plan on doing it next Friday. Care for a Chesterfield?" Sid
offered as he presented his box of cigarettes to her. (Bobbie loved
Chesterfields, but she made sure her colleagues never saw it; in fact,
she remembered the morning she had to stand in -16 degree cold and the
cigarette stuck to her lips.) "You have good taste, Sid, even in
cigarettes." Bobbie extracted one and bent over towards Sid to have
the cigarette lit and to give Sid a scent of her perfume.
Bobbie took a puff, letting the smoke rush out of her mouth. "Sid, I
must say that Houston will put in a commendment. Your John Birch
ties and the quick turnover of minorities have made OEW 59 quite
stellar." She lifted her skirt a bit to expose a little more leg.
"In fact, that's not why I'm here." When she said "here" she let it
trail a little longer as she leaned over to Sid, whose expression had
changed but little.
Bobbie rose from the chair, and seeing that the shades were open she
closed them. Then she sat roughly back on Sid's desk and raised her skirt, this
time to above her stocking tops. "What would it take, Sid, for you to
kick out more minorities? Another kickback from Southies Favorite
Senator?" She eased herself and began to unbuckle her shoes. "How
about a new office in Beacon Hill?" she oozed sexily as one garter
after the other unclipped. "Maybe a pair of silk stockings from yours
truly to your wife?"
"Why you tramp..." Sid began, but Bobbie put a finger on his lips.
"We wouldn't want to have this escape to the secretary, now wouldn't
we?" she said seductively, knowing that Sid had a giant erection in
his pants. "Let's say if you fuck me, I'll bring you to the biggest
heights you ever got to," she said as she brought her silk stockings
down her supple legs as far as her ankles, then dangled her feet
ever-so-closely to Sid's crotch. He was raring to go, but Bobbie
wanted this stone-faced prick to have a massive case of blue balls.
Resting her foot against the desk Bobbie pulled a stocking off her leg
and draped it around his neck.
"You're ridiculous, sister!"
"I am?" said Bobbie with mock coyness. She extracted a pair of
handcuffs from her bag and went around Sid's chair to lock his hands
together. Then she sat on the desk again, laughing throatily as Sid
tried to wriggle out of the seat.
"You're a crazy bitch!" Sid growled. "I've got a giant hard-on
and you're handcuffing me to the goddamn seat! I hope the secretary
doesn't hear us."
"Oh, I assure you, she won't."
Just then the door burst open. Yolanda and Katie had their guns posed
together as other policemen rushed in to arrest Sid.
"C'mon Bobbie, you have to get dressed," said Yolanda in mock urgency.
"I think the lynching's going to occur right when we bring him and his
buddies to HQ."
"And Bobbie," Yolanda grinned, "Atlanta thanks you."
---------
OEW 59 DISMANTLED
RACISM CITED AS PEROGATIVE CAUSE
Commissioner Warren Beart from the Atlanta HQ called Bobbie when she
was reading the headlines of the Boston Globe.
"My wife says you did an impressive job in knocking out OEW 59," said
Beart. "All of the Orders of Electrical Workers are under
investigation, and 99.99% of them have racism as one of their factors
for closing down. My wife was right...you are one of the best Boston
has to offer."
"My pleasure," Bobbie beamed. "How's Yolanda?"
"Still fighting crime, I'm afraid," quipped Warren. "She's the
Captain of Vice, you know."
Bobbie said teasingly, "I wonder if cronyism is a crime in Atlanta..."
"Only for the whites, Bobbie. The black just do a harder and better
job at it. But that's not really true. We all have that opportunity
to do a fantastic job, regardless of color. Prime example is right
here."
"I hate to cut you off, but I have a meeting to go to in 10 minutes.
It's been nice talking to you."
"Same here. Goodbye." The phone clicked and Bobbie hung up her
extension.
Bobbie brought her chair back and raised her skirt. When no one was
looking, she brought back an elastic garter and snapped it hard
against her thigh. "Thwack" was its response, but her stocking top
had a giant hole at the welt. I must stop doing this, snickered
Bobbie to herself as she rolled the brown nylon down her leg.
Black Nylons
Chapter IV
Bobbie was collecting all of her belongings from her desk, humming the
first few bars of "Sunshine of your Love." Normally, cops would cry
and weep after a retirement party, but Bobbie kept everything in
perspective.
She was 51 years old now. Her hair was salt-and-pepper gray, she had
varicose veins, and she didn't worry about the visits from Stalin each
month. She was well decorated and she felt that she did a job well
done.
She opened one of the drawers and discovered an old pair of silk
stockings she had as a spare. Bobbie never gave up her nylons, even
though pantyhose was now more prevalent and more convenient. She
brought one up to her cheek and stroked its sheerness. Oh, how silk
brings back memories; but as soon as tears sprang to her eyes she
quickly placed them into the box and placed more stuff into it.
Just then Cheryl arrived. With auburn hair and a wide smile that
counteracted her somewhat large figure, Cheryl was quite a piece of
work. She also swore like a midshipman, which brought the witticisms
of Bobbie into Lenny Bruce territory.
"Hey, Bobbie, are you going to blow the waterworks on this nostalgia
shit or are you still packing?" Cheryl was half Bobbie's age, but
sometimes Bobbie didn't believe it.
"Can you talk any louder," said Bobbie curtly.
"I can scream 'rape' all over HQ and everyone from the National Guard
can run into this police station like that," Cheryl quipped, snapping
her fingers for emphasis.
"I might as well show you what's going on," said Bobbie briskly. She
handed Cheryl a sheaf of papers, thinking that Cheryl would balk at
the fact that vice would now be going after dope pushers and LSD
hawkers.
She was right.
"You fucking bitch!" was all Cheryl could utter. "I transferred from
The Bronx with all those Mafioso gangsters and you're giving me this
dossier on a bunch of granola-mainlining peace freaks? Gimme a fucking break!"
"Listen here, Cheryl," hissed Bobbie. "The BPD is not giving you $250
a week to give the motorcycle crews and ambulance service blow jobs.
I will personally transfer you to a desk job if you can't cut the
grain. In fact, it's IS the Mafia who is supplying all this shit to
these hippies and they are dying. Instead of a 5 microgram dose of
LSD these people take 500 micrograms. And they go to the Shattuck for
a unscheduled PERMANENT vacation. Am I making myself perfectly clear so
far?"
Cheryl was flabbergasted. Anytime the word 'blowjob' came out of her
mouth, Bobbie threw up! "Yeah, yeah," resigned Cheryl.
"I can't hear you, dear."
"Yes, Bobbie." Then Cheryl hung her head a bit and said, "I'm sorry,
Bobbie. I didn't want to ruin your retirement day."
Bobbie placed her hands on Cheryl's shoulders and laughed. She placed
her fingers under Cheryl's chin and raised it to eye level. "You're
still the wild child, sister. But here you have to watch your mouth."
Bobbie looked around the office. Man, I'll miss this place, Bobbie
said to herself as tears welled in her eyes. All she could do was
break down and cry. Cheryl caught her immediately, giving her sister
some comfort...like a sister should.
---------
It was 6:00 when the alarm clock rang. Cheryl did not have to report
to the office until 9 - she lived in Allston, but was stationed in
Brighton - but she got up early anyway because she liked to take
a shower and prepare for the day with a cup of coffee and a newspaper.
After she dried her hair, Cheryl decided to put her hair into a braid.
Cheryl reached in the drawer for a pair of pantyhose she bought for
$1.25 at Woolworth's. After she opened the package, she put a little
moisturiser on her legs and began to bunch up the hose in her hands.
After putting her feet into the hose she began to pull each nylon up
her leg, but these pantyhose felt a little too constrictive. They
were nice and sheer, but like Bobbie she preferred a little air
conditioning and sexiness that the nylons offered. As soon as she
pulled them towards her thighs, they felt even more constrictive, and
she felt her legs beginning to embolize.
She tried yanking them more up her thighs, jumping up and down to get
them up to the panties. But alas, the pantyhose wouldn't give, and
Cheryl sat back on the bed disgustedly and yanked the pantyhose off.
But Cheryl knew how to remedy the frustration. After she folded the
hose and put them in the drawer, she went over to the right-hand side
of it where her nylons were. Like Bobbie, she had good taste in
stockings, especially the black ones. She selected a pair of off-tan
Fields Hosiery size nines and placed them on the bed. She went to the
next drawer and selected a white garter belt, not utilitarian as
usual, but very lacy.
She drew the luscious 15 denier nylons on her legs, attaching each one
to two garters. She purred as the mesh clung to her thighs, like
liquid copper to white snow. I would never give these nylons up for
the world, she sang as she danced around the room, loving the swishing
sounds that the hose gave as she rubbed one leg against the other.
It was nearly 6:30 when she finished dressing, and after she put a
nice coat of red lipstick on, she left her apartment.
--------
In 1967, flower power and drugs were rampant. Boston was certainly no
exception; even though Cheryl had arrested hippies and guided OD
victims to the black hearses at the scene, she didn't fully realize
how bad the problem was.
She got a tip from one Sarah in Brookline, who owned the Babcock Women's
Book Nook in Coolidge Corner. It was a funny contrast between
Cheryl's professional business-policewoman look and Sarah's
granola-crunchy hippiness; Cheryl's made up face to Sarah's bare face,
etc.
"I know of two people who have been passing around super-acid, and not
just in Brookline," said Sarah matter of factly. "I take 2 micrograms
of acid and that's even too much for me."
Cheryl thought for a moment. Should she arrest Sarah for the mere
mention of taking acid, or just leave her alone? "Do you know who
supplies 500 microgram killers?" Cheryl queried.
"Not really. I know my friend Yowsley does, but his max is at 5
micrograms. You know what I think?" Sarah sighed, leaning her chin on
her arm, "I think the Establishment is trying to kill us off."
Just then Sarah reached over to the bun on Cheryl's hair and untied
it. Loose waves spilled over her shoulders, and Sarah began to laugh.
"What the fuck did you do that for?" Cheryl said with appropriate
shock.
"You're a pretty girl. Have you ever made love to another woman?"
Sarah mused as she brushed Cheryl's hair over her eyes.
"Not in this life!" Cheryl snapped back her hands. This woman is a lesbian,
Cheryl thought alarmingly.
"So far you've been cooperative, but do something like that again, and
I'll cream you AND put you in the can, you fucking dyke!"
"I knew you would react this way," said Sarah crisply. "I'm actually married,
and you're uptight and anal retentive. You're nothing like your
sister Roberta. She accepted things a lot better than you do."
Cheryl's mouth dropped a foot. "Y-you know my sister?"
"Sure. I used to work for in Precinct 5 myself. Me and my husband
Joel live on Corey Street in West Roxbury, and I left the force to
have kids and a wonderful family. I worked in Homicide as a lab
specialist. What are you now?"
"Lieutenant of Vice."
"I went as far as major until I married Joel." Cheryl rolled her eyes
not because she was tired of hearing this bovine effluvia (bullshit),
but because she had a lot of things on her desk at HQ and she needed
to get to them.
"Tell you what," said Cheryl briskly. "If you come down to HQ after work, can
you positively ID the guy so we can get an all points bulletin out?"
"Can do." Sarah extended her hand out and the two women exchanged
handshakes. "Who should I see?"
"Lester Gray is the person to see. He's my superior in vice, and he's
also a soul brother on loan from New York. 6 pm good for you?"
"Excellent."
Cheryl looked from side to side and whispered in Sarah's ear, "Now
about Joel...is he..."
"Yes, he is." Sarah chuckled, winking to Cheryl spuriously. "He's a busy
bear when it comes to look for honey."
---------
"I dig the fact that we're going after acid heads, but I suggest a
little more, ah, in-to-itness than dressing for the scene like a
widow." Lester Gray looked at Cheryl's disguise of a small black
dress with soft black nylons and black sling heels. Cheryl's hair was
done up in a ponytail and her perfume was subtle.
"Lester, buddy, the perps who are selling this super acid are actually
these rich old people who want nothing to do with these hippies.
Besides, it gave me an excuse to wear my black nylons." Cheryl raised
her leg and placed it on the stool, straightening her seams quickly
and setting the leg down to the floor.
"I was expecting granny dresses and flowers in your hair, " countered
Lester.
Cheryl pursed her lips in mock thought. "Sorry, Les. This is a gala
affair."
"Well, all I want you to do is to be careful. Many fucking lunatics
out there than usual, ready to kick ass whenever and wherever."
"No kidding." Cheryl applied fresh pale pink lipstick to her lips,
then ground them together to distribute it evenly. "Do I look
mysterious?"
"Man, I dig the threads and I gotta retread my head," shouted Lester.
"Yow" was the last thing Lester said before Cheryl left; just then
Wanda Sherry, desk sergeant, walked over to his desk and shook her head.
"Crazy Vice Department" was all she could mutter.
---------
Cheryl was outside smoking a Chesterfield - it ran in the family -
when a swarthy man stepped beside her. He wasn't black, maybe
Meditereanean.
He spoke no words as he extracted a postage stamp from his wallet.
Supposedly, it was a catalyst for about 5 mcg of acid. He
licked it once and waited for the effect of the acid to take place;
but nothing happened. Quickly he stuck out his tongue and made a
grimace.
"Fair trade...bah!" he managed to spit out. "This is bloody tabasco
sauce on a postage stamp." The man swore in Italian. "Lucas Yowsley
gave me a 5 cent stamp with Lea and Perrins tabasco sauce!" He then
turned to Cheryl and smiled sweetly. "See that guy who looks like
Santa Claus but should really be called the devil?"
"Which guy?" Cheryl inquired.
The man pointed out to a white haired man with a beard. He looked
more like an avatar than a dope pusher, and he looked like Santa
Claus. Why would a friendly man do such a mean thing?
"That is the legendary Lucas Yowsley. Guy should have his balls taken
out."
Cheryl thought of a plan. Maybe I'll seduce him and arrest him at the scene.
Not a bad idea, as she made a sexy walk towards the man, who was
talking to two nymphet jailbaits who immediately turned thier noses up
when they saw Cheryl.
The old man lit up when he saw Cheryl, but the blonde wasn't so
thrilled at Cheryl invading their space. "What a cunt," she snarled.
"Can I say something to the both of you?" The two girls advanced, but
Cheryl gave them a hard right cross. The catfight was
underway, and the guards who were at the door intended to watch as
Cheryl tore off dress and made a nice scrape at the white nylons of the
blonde, while the red-haired girl's breasts spilled out when Cheryl
pulled the bodice of the gown cleanly from top to bottom.
Yowsley had seen enough. Quickly he took the scruffs of the red-haired and
blonde haired girl's necks and banged their heads togther. Cheryl was
recovering on the floor, with most of her clothes torn while the
guards threw the now-naked girls out the door.
"Dear, are you all right?" The deep-voiced, white-haired Yowsley checked
Cheryl for bruises and scrapes. Gently the man lifted her up and
dusted her off.
"You have more moxie than my ex-wife did. Can I escort you upstairs
to see if you are all right?"
"Thanks loads," said Cheryl non-chalantly. Maybe Santa Claus is real,
she thought to herself as her head pounded.
---------
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lucas Yowsley, drug connisseur
and gentleman of society," he said as he walked up the stairs to his
private room. "What say you to my lovely mansion?" Lucas presented it as
if it were a prize.
"Lovely," Cheryl muttered, her jaw beginning to swell slightly. "I
suppose you always help women in distress."
opened the door with a old-fashioned key. Inside was a romantic four-poster
bed. "My humble abode, my friend."
Cheryl was amazed at how the thick, plush carpet filled the soles
of her feet. Cheryl sat on the bed and nearly toppled over - it was
so soft and it moved so quickly!
"Not so fast, my dear. You shall break the waterbed!" Lucas laughed.
"I shall be back in a second so I can get some ice for your chin."
Cheryl reclined on the bed. Bliss! she thought as she fell asleep for
a bit.
After an hour, Yowsley returned with the ice. Gently he shook
Cheryl's shoulder, and he pulled up a giant throne chair.
"HJYowsley placed a sheathed foot in his lap, inspecting it, rolling it in his hands and
caressing it carefully. Lucas moved her pinky toe up and down,
tracing it lightly.
"Here's the ice, dear." He handed her a bag full of ice chippings and
he gently placed it on her cheek. He noticed that her nylons had runs
in them, and her feet were starting to swell up.
"You have the most stunning legs to match your quaint eyes."
Cheryl blushed. "Thank you so much," she said sincerely.
"You feet are beginning to swell. I hope you aren't offended."
"They kinda hurt." Cheryl bent over and began to rub her feet, but
Yowsley took her hands away."
"I think a foot massage is in order. Would you like one?"
Cheryl moaned, giving Lucas an indirect yes. Lucas said to her
silently, "If I put a run in your lovely stockings, I shall buy you a
new pair." He pushed Cheryl's dress up, and once he saw the
garters and stockings, he said to himself, "What a lovely sylph!"
While caressing her thighs Lucas tenderly unhooked the garters and
dropped them slowly to the ground. Inch by inch he gently brought the
black nylons down, kissing her legs languidly as the nylons reached
her ankles and placed a tiny kiss on each toe. Then Yowsley began the
massage, rotating Cheryl's toes and soles until Cheryl gasped in
ecstasy. Quickly she raised her skirt and took down her panties,
exposing her Delta of Venus that was slick with juice.
Recognizing his own modesty, he began to quickly turned away. "Other
times I would allow you to do this, but I beg you, don't have an
orgasm on the bed!" he pleaded as Cheryl placed a finger on top of her
clitoris and rubbed it frantically. But soon Lucas saw Cheryl's hips quiver
madly as her vagina spewed out womanly juices onto the sheets.
"Halleujah!" Yowsley said, chuckling slightly. "I've never seen a
woman...spend so much. My wife would just trickle out, but you..."
Yowsley kissed his two fingers, also taking in the musky scent of her
sex.
"I think I wanna trip now," said Cheryl languidly. "Got anything
stronger than 5 micros?"
"Well, I never supply more than 10 mcg's. But..." Lucas extracted a
sugar cube from his pocket. "500 mcg's. It is perhaps the most
potent hit of acid I can supply."
Cheryl moaned a bit as she rose from the sheets. She straightened
her dress out but decided to walk around barefoot on the lovely
carpet. Oh, I hate to arrest the guy, she thought winsomely,
but I have to sooner or later...but not until I stay the night.
---------
Cheryl arose in the morning, entirely nude with her nipples erect.
Her hands traveled to her sex and as soon as she rubbed the thick
nubbin of her slick clitoris she fired right off into orgasm.
She noticed a robe on the chair, with a set of jean shorts and a white
T-shirt next to them. Quickly she pulled these things on, and
progressed downstairs.
There she found Yowsley with a non-Santa like expression on his face.
It was more resignation than anger, and he arose from the seat and
quickly extended his hands.
"Lieutenant Johnson, I realize you have investigated my doings in
injuring others," he said somberly. "There were some people who
didn't need the drugs, so I thought I would teach them a powerful
lesson. I'm quite sorry, miss."
Cheryl looked at Yowsley, and she noticed tears coming out of his
eyes. But she put those feelings aside and reached for the telephone.
"Sorry I haven't called Les. Yes, I stayed the night. Nice castle,
of course. Yeah, send a squad car to 166 Lee Street in Brookline.
What do you mean, that isn't our jurisdiction? Oh, okay. I think
he's going to confess. Brookline will take care of him then. Great.
You should check out the nice threads Yowsley gave me. Wanna know
what I did? Yep. Full report by tomorrow morning."
"Well," Cheryl said regretfully, "Brookline police are on their way.
I don't have the power to arrest you, but I'll wait and give them my
affadavit."
"Dear, I think you and your sister exemplify the best in Boston police
technology," said Yowsley slowly. "I shall be in jail for many years,
but I want to thank you for not being a typical anti-establishment
cop."
All Cheryl did was smile.
---------
"Lucas Yowsley was sentenced to 35 years at Charles Street Jail,"
said Lester to Cheryl with a bored sigh. "It don't make me happy that a
guy who's seemingly good would go out and push acid. But hopefully he'll
remain the gentleman he is and get out in 10 years for good behavior."
Cheryl decided that day to wear the hippy look. Her hair was brushed
out so long and flowing that it reflected the light. A blue-green
granny dress flowed upon her calves, naked except for a pair of white
wool socks.
"Girl, I hope you realize that this is a business and not a costume
party," Les witted. "What happened to the tight-ass police bitch
that gave assholes a reason to think twice?"
"Like, it's not groovy to give these cats the anti-Establishment rap."
Cheryl cackled until tears ran down her face.
"Hey, I met up with Sarah this afternoon, and we got into this deep
discussion about the new feminist movement." Leaning towards Les with
a wicked grin, Cheryl whispered, "Don't expect to see a bra on me
because it's a sign of male oppression and breast worship."
Cheryl peeled off her white wool socks and walked over to the coffee
machine to pour a cup of coffee. "Damn, my feet are cold..." she
gasped.
Les chuckled to himself. "Serves you right for going barefoot in the
office," he mumbled to himself, well out of Cheryl's earshot.
Black Nylons
Chapter V
Cheryl entered the office promptly at 9 am, with only one thing in
mind - to get that Blue Hill Avenue riot case squared away. Today,
she just wore a pair of knee socks and penny loafers under her plaid
trousers, and not because she didn't feel like dressing up.
But what rifled through her mind was that Bobbie was now in the Cancer
unit of Mass General, fighting lung cancer. No one should have to go through
that type of indignity, thought Cheryl as the first few sentences went
from the Remington typewriter (ca. 1950) to the heavy paper. Bobbie
was bald and so rail thin that every time Cheryl saw her, she would
croak out, "What's wrong? You don't have any BALLS to look at me?"
Then the two of them would laugh.
--------
The rang, suddenly startling Cheryl out of her track of mind.
"Hello, this is Mass General Hospital. May I speak to Cheryl
Johnson?" It was a man with an Indian accent, and Cheryl could tell by
the tone of his voice that he was about to say something really
disheartening.
"Speaking."
"I'm Doctor Murheet Banjadhy, your sister's doctor. I'm afraid I have
some bad news."
"Yes?" Cheryl had to sit down on the chair so she wouldn't faint.
"Your sister has passed away just ten minutes ago."
Cheryl cupped her hands over her mouth in shock.
"At what time exactly?"
"The time of death was at 9:12 am. I am terribly sorry."
"Doctor Banjadhy, I thank you for letting me know. Bobbie suffered a
lot with her breast cancer, and she now doesn't have to suffer
anymore."
"That's a frequent thing I hear from those close to a cancer victim.
Well, I am a little busy right now, but I extend my condolences to the
police force and your family."
"Goodbye." Cheryl said blankly. She hung up the phone and dialed the
Chief upstairs.
"Hello Chief. Would you come to the Vice desk quickly? It's urgent."
-------
Roberta Johnson was given the finest funeral in Boston Police history.
The Golor Guard gave Bobbie a 21-gun salute at the Calvary Cematary,
and the Chief of Police gave the flag to Cheryl, whose eyes were
obscured under thick Foster Grants.
Bobbie didn't want to see the giant tears running down her face.
-------
A couple of months passed. Cheryl was miserable, not even wanting to
wear sexy things or put on makeup. Wanda, the desk sergeant,
even took her to Saint Cyp's over on Tremont Street for a Sunday
service, but even the most happiest celebration did not change Cheryl's
outlook.
Internal Affairs, normally a heartless bunch of brutes, suggested
a two-week paid vacation, but Cheryl's response was a rousing
"Fuck you." So they gave her a mandatory two week suspension instead.
That night, Cheryl sat at the bench where all the buses departed for
Newton, Watertown, and other points west. Blankly she stared into the
street.
"Hello, Cheryl." Right beside her was the senior morgue technician Brad Derry,
slightly bookish but good with gallows humor. ("Forget acid, sniff
formaldehyde" was Brad's favorite saying.)
Cheryl said absolutely nothing, continuing to stare into space.
"I heard that IA gave you a two-week suspension for reciting a 621
(F.U.) I wonder why you didn't those assholes to fuck the horse they
rode in on too."
Cheryl glared at him with perhaps the meanest look she could conjure,
and then without warning she slapped him across the face. Brad
reeled back, but once he caught his composure Cheryl slapped him
again.
"You bastard! You cocksucking necrophiliac! You..." Cheryl beat on
Brad's jacket, sobbing all the time; then she collapsed into his arms
and just let all the frustration of the past few months collect into
his cashmere overcoat.
"H-hhelp me, please!" was Cheryl's muffled plea. "I'm sorry I hit
you, everything's just been so bad..."
"No, I shouldn't have said what I did." Brad stroked her hair and
encouraged her to let everything out, and for fifteen minutes that's
exactly what did.
Cheryl then sat down on the bench and smiled faintly. "Wow, do I feel
a lot better now."
"Well, I'm glad you do." Brad extracted a card from his wallet and
handed it to Cheryl.
"I go to a grief counselor every week - a Doctor Janet Shey - after I
lost my wife to throat cancer a couple of years ago. She's in Newton,
and she's reasonably priced. The number's on the card, and tell her
Brad Derry sent you."
"Well, I hope the hell this works." Cheryl said with a speckle of
hope. "I really owe you one, Brad," and for the first time in weeks,
she smiled broadly.
Just then a bus stopped at the bench, and Brad boarded the bus. With
a lurch the bus headed on its way to the Mass Pike, and he waved as he
took his seat.
-------
Cheryl had completed a ten weeks of grief therapy, and Cheryl had
returned to her old self again. Thanks to Brad's suggestion, she
fully dealt with Bobbie's death and now felt fully-functioning.
Sometimes, when she talked with Brad either outside the lab or inside
the morgue, Brad was a little shy when he talked to Cheryl. Her plan
was to break his shyness and give him the opportunity to feel
important, not to mention payback for his wise advice.
With a pencil, Cheryl dialed the extension for the Morgue.
"Hello, is Brad Derry there?" she said with faultless professionality.
"This is Brad Derry."
"Cheryl Johnson from Vice. I have a question for you...do you have a
minute?"
"Actually, I'm just about finished analyzing this nineteen-stab wound
victim, so ask away."
"Are you free Friday night?" Cheryl let her seductive voice waft
through the telephone.
"Umm...yes I am. I suppose you're asking me for a date?"
"Well, I wanted to pay you back for the advice you gave me a couple of
months ago."
"Oh, that's right! How are those sessions going?"
"Perfect." Cheryl brushed her hair behind her ears as if to listen to
every syllable Brad had to say.
"What place do you have in mind?" Brad asked cautiously. "Nothing
fancy, I hope."
"Is there anywhere good in Watertown?"
"Groselys on North Beacon is a good pick."
"Tell you what. I'll meet you down in front of HQ at 7:00. I can
drive you there and we can have dinner."
"Sounds fantastic," Brad said with a little gusto, a little shyness.
"Well, the hearse just brought in another gunshot victim from the
North End. I'll see you Friday at 7."
"Excellent." To tease Brad just a touch, she said softly, "You won't
be disappointed."
They exchanged goodbyes and Cheryl smiled with a high degree of
self-satisfaction. That day Cheryl wore a pair of sandals that
strapped up right up her ankles and had a fairly high heel. She
gently pried off her left sandal and ran her bare toes against
the leg of her desk, simulating what she would do to Brad that night.
-------
Groseley's was a small restaurant with a quiet atmosphere, and
had really tasty food. Cheryl ate a plate called "Monk's Pudding," a
combination of boiled sausage and tomatoes, while Brad delved into a
"Miles Davis", which was a giant 3/4 slab of ribs with a coating of
bbq sauce and ketchup
Both seemed to have a good time. Cheryl laughed heartily at Brad's
tales of cadavery and misfortunes, touching his hand gently to get
some feeling that she really liked Brad. At one time Brad kissed her
hand like a gentleman, looking into Cheryl's eyes like a starcrossed
teenager who had the hots for his French teacher.
Cheryl was ready to play footsie, and she did so by removing her shoe
and applying feather strokes with her black-nylon sheathed toes up
Brad's ankle. Brad jumped a little in surprise, but gained composure
with a simple smile.
"My, my, my," said Brad with mock surprise. "You're trying to seduce
me, Miss Johnson."
"And so are you," Cheryl laughed as she continued tracing
figure-eights on Brad's shin.
"Your nylons are really satiny on my ankles...I wonder what your bare
toes would really feel like," he whispered.
"Are you trying to get me into bed?" she said with mock coyness.
"Me? Not a chance! I'm a gentleman, remember! I'm sitting with a
vice captain with sexy, long legs, blue eyes so clear that they
reflect sunlight like a prism, and the plushest lips that I would like
to kiss. That is, if I have your permission."
"Permission granted." Cheryl extended her lips and Brad adjusted his
so they would meet. To further ensure his safety, Brad took Cheryl's
hand gently in his, and both exchanged a powerful kiss that caught
them both off guard.
--------
As soon as they reached Brad's apartment complex on Mount Auburn Street,
they went hand-in-hand to his apartment.
Brad swung open the door, and to Cheryl's surprise Brad swooped her up
in his arms. Cheryl was laughing hard as Brad sang an ersatz pirate's
song about capturing a wench, tying her up and making hay until the ship
came to harbor. Brad carried her to his bedroom and gently set her
down.
They exchanged another powerful kiss, and Cheryl tried to grab Brad's
crotch. But Brad shook his finger.
"Wait a minute...I thought I was supposed to be seducing you?" Cheryl
asked, pouting as if she got spanked or didn't get her way.
"Well...at the point where you were giving me a footsie I felt quite
comfortable with you. I was scared the first few times because I
wasn't sure what you'd think of a morgue lead dating a vice
lieutenant. You're a very beautiful person, and I would like to make
love to you."
Cheryl was beyond speechless. Brad had become fully confident on his
own!
She walked over to Brad, and standing at eye-to-eye level she kicked off each
shoe. "Let's undress each other," Cheryl finally managed to say after
about five minutes of silence, with an evil gleam to her eye.
--------
Simultaneously, they unbuttoned blouse and shirts, undid pants and
skirts, but Brad had become naked while Cheryl was still in garter
belt, panties and nylons. Cheryl was amazed on how erect Brad's penis
was, despite the fact that it was not obscenely large. About 6
inches, she opined as she tried to wrap her hand around the large
member.
Brad took her hand away, and carried her to the bed. There he removed
her panties and placed a kiss on her delta of Venus. With utmost care
he undid the clasps that held the stockings up, reached behind her
waist and unhooked the garter belt, placing it neatly on the chair.
Then he grasped the 3" wide welt of her stocking and brought it away
from her thighs, down her sleek calves and down to her ankles. With
his teeth he removed the stocking, noticing it had a taste of leather
and other flavors. He did the exact same thing to the other stocking,
and when he was through he placed the nylons on the chair.
He noticed that Cheryl's nipples were erect, and that's where he began
to suckle, to enjoy the hardness against his lips, and to watch Cheryl
moan slightly with the tiniest nip. He wandered down to her stomach,
then played lightly with her mound, lavishing her erect clitoris with
saliva and passion.
Cheryl squirmed when the tip of Brad's tongue played with either side
of Cheryl's labia, as Cheryl's orgasm became stronger and stronger.
With a loud shriek, she gushed forth a stream of her juices. Brad
collected them with his mouth, enjoying the strong flavor.
Then Cheryl lay Brad on his backside as she placed her warm hand on
his very erect member. With slow and deliberate strokes, his sex
turned redder, harder and more sensitive; when she bent down to
receive the head of his penis, Brad shuddered as if he was ready to
climax. But soon Cheryl put her warm wet mouth on his sex, suckling
it gently at first, but with more passes she was going at a somewhat
frantic pace. Brad almost reached the boiling point, but Cheryl took
her mouth off his penis and rubbed it smoothness with his hand.
She bent over again and took his entire length down her throat. It
only took her a few strokes for his liquids to scald her throat and
coat her lips. She suckled every drop from tip to scrotum to clean
him up, and soon he became flaccid for a bit.
Some two hours later they rested. Cheryl's mound tingled and was
spent, as was Brad's. The cuddled together until Brad's erection
poked the cleft of her anus. It was the final time they made love
that night, possibly the best orgasm they had.
--------
Cheryl and Brad held each other throughout the night, and they didn't
wake up until 1 pm next afternoon. Cheryl walked around in Brad's
shirt, looking out the window at the children playing.
"Hey, Brad. Come here for a second."
Brad walked over to the window and kissed a side of Cheryl's neck.
"What is it, Cheryl?"
Cheryl turned to Brad, and tears welled in her eyes. "I want to thank
you for the wonderful time we had last night. I never had more
than..."
She stopped suddenly, and then Cheryl began to weep softly. "My God,
I think you're a wonderful guy. I hope whoever you find is lucky
enough to keep you."
Brad snickered a little, then placed his hands on her shoulders.
"Cheryl, I would like to keep this going. Consider yourself very,
very lucky, because I would like to continue seeing you."
Cheryl smiled through her tears, but she suddenly broke away from
Brad's shoulders. She found the two nylons on the floor and draped
them over Brad's neck; Brad kissed them and the two of them exchanged
another kiss.
Then they went downstairs hand in hand, nylons draped nonchalantly on
Brad's neck, for a steaming cup of Chase and Sanborn and whatever was
in the fridge at that time; just then Brad hid Cheryl's black nylons
in the freezer, with the excuse that "nylons never run when they're in
the freezer...although they might have to be blowtorched later..."
Black Nylons
Chapter VI
Cheryl had logged in 17 cases so far for JIF, a firm for those wives
whose husbands were skirt chasers and for henpecked husbands with
superbitch wives who pretty much fucked any tall, dark and handsome
man with much more money than they made in five years. Of course her
fees were simple - $25 a day plus expenses - but usually the parties
who deserved a little urine with their sugar instead received an
entire toiletbowlful.
Cheryl's disguises were diverse. If the "mark" (her term for cheater)
had a fix for Asian women, she had a silk kimono and a symmetrically
cut black wig. If the mark liked girl-next-door types, it would be no
makeup and pigtails. Sophisticate marks usually liked subtle
surprises, such as the filmy tops of black silk stockings peeking out of
long slit skirts.
Brad didn't mind this at all - in fact, he was the one who suggested
that Cheryl go in for business herself, since the Boston Police
department had limits on how investigations could be done. Also, he
put up $1000 from the advance on his pension to start, and so far
Cheryl paid $975 back to him...tax free.
----------
One night, Cheryl had finished an assignment at 11:30 one evening and
returned to the Beacon Hill apartment she shared with Brad for the
past two years.
"How was that meeting with that Petrazelli character," Brad asked
cautiously, judging from the look of chagrin on Cheryl's face.
"I don't know who's worse - the cad Petrazelli or the wife
Petrazelli," she sighed as she unzipped the cocktail dress and let it
fall to the floor. "That greaseball groped me no less than six times
during dinner, and then he got so drunk, he passed out!"
"Cheryl, remember that's what you're doing now is what you did in Vice
for three years until you decided to leave!"
She removed a high heel and pointed it squarely at Brad. "Don't
lecture me, Brad. I *know* that's what I did, but I did it with
people who were a lot less..."
"Common?"
"Right." She lifted the hem of her slip and brought it over her
torso. She stopped for a moment, realizing that she was taking the
events of the night out at Brad. With an apologetic smile, she said,
"I'm sorry I snapped. I must be a really snotty bitch tonight."
Brad shrugged his shoulders and said, "Sometimes I like it when you
get catty and your fangs come out."
Cheryl then began to laugh. "I don't believe you! I'm going to have
to teach you a lesson in manners."
She looked fetching in her matching set of black lingerie - bra, stockings,
and garter belt - while she reached above to loosen the bun on top of
her head. Wave upon silky wave fell to her shoulders, and it fell in
front of her face. With playful innocence, she cooed, "Brad, I can't
see your face. My hair's in the way." Brad brushed the hair behind
her ears, and her smile was so broadly sexy Brad would have had to put
ice water all over his body to keep from showing his erection.
Cheryl stood above Brad and placed a foot on his chest. "You
know what I do to people who call me catty, Brad? I take off one my sheer
nylons, unclip the garters, and roll the stockings down my legs so
slowly you want to rip it off, and then I tie you up with them. Then
I do whatever I want."
Brad looked at her with mock fear. "What if I resist?"
"I have ways of making me irresistible," she said with an intense
sexiness, and with that she sat down on the chair beside the bed.
Her black stockings were the sized kind - size 9 - and had a black
seam going up the back. Just as she promised, she unclipped the
garters, grasped the three inch welt that shone in the light and took
her sweet time as the gossamer nylon traveled down her legs. With a
flourish she removed it and promptly tied Brad up with it. She did
the same to the other nylon, and Brad simply could not contain his
laughter. He was really enjoying the show.
"Who did you learn this trick from?" he said, as he playfully strained
to break free. The nylons, when on the floor seemed to be fragile as
eggshells, but certainly they held his wrists tightly.
Cheryl said nothing as she quickly removed Brad's pajamas and took his
now erect penis in her mouth.
"Must have been - ugh - somebody special, the same person who taught
you how to do this..." as Brad's member reacted to every nuance of
Cheryl's tongue and throat, and after five minutes he spasmed into her
mouth. Cheryl removed her bra and panties and laughed evilly as she guided
his sex past her wet labia and into her mons.
"Do you think I'm still catty now? D-d-do you...oh, haha, Ahhhhahhh
think I'm...oh I'm coming...Mmmmmmmaaaaahhhhh-oh-oh-ah!" she mouthed
as she came to a climax, and Brad felt her mons surrounding his member
with shockwave pulses. Then, it was his cue to peak once again.
At 1:30, both of them were completely spent. Naked,
Cheryl walked to the bathroom, slyly winked at a still bound Brad, and
shut the door to wash herself.
--------
Cheryl's office was in a non-descript part of Newton, close enough to
a familiar place such as Newton Centre but discreetly tucked away on Beacon
Street. Cheryl always assured those who wished not to be seen
complete confidentiality, and sent a bill that could be paid in
installments than in a lump sum.
There was one quiet day when someone walked over to the desk where Cheryl was
typing her paper. She was sleek and lithe, and wore an expensive
caramel wool suit, caramel colored stacked heels, and off-color hose.
Also, she had a brown fedora atop her head.
"Hi. Are you Cheryl Johnson?" the female asked.
Cheryl looked up, quite startled. "Yes, I am, but I'm also scared out
of my wits," she cracked.
"Sorry about that. My name is Charlene Bloomingston, and I think my
lover is cheating on me."
"That's what I'm here for," Cheryl said, arising from her seat to
extend her hand. But when they shook hands, Cheryl's plainly
manicured nails waned to Charlene's well sculptured nails. It seemed
that her thumb had a diamond encrusted within.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"Sure," Charlene said with a slight weariness. Cheryl poured a cup of
coffee into a small mug and handed it to Charlene. Charlene took one
sip and grimaced. Then she smiled broadly. "You make coffee Boston
style...with a lot of kick and a lot of extra grounds. The way I love
it, compared to the upper-crusty sludge I drink."
"Glad I could be of service." Cheryl then extracted a small notebook
she got from Woolco and a pen. "Who's doing you wrong?"
Charlene sighed a bit and then slowly began to talk. "I'll call a
spade a spade and come right out with it. My lover is not a man. Her
name is Gerda van Bouw, a Dutch banking heir I met in 1973."
Cheryl's expression on her face registered between shock and
amusement, but in a professional tone she replied, "Normally I do
cases between those of the opposite sex, but I will also do it for
those of the same sex too...for the same price."
"Money's no object...but I want you to know that I'm no snob, and I
will not persue you in wanton obsession, " she said with a touch of
teasing. "I came from a hard working family in Southie, so I pretty
much understand my boundaries. Besides, I was married to a member of
the Sons of Italy...nothing like being d-whipped to a walking vat of
testosterone."
"Very well. My fees are $25 per day, no questions asked, and you can
pay in installments." With that, Charlene removed a checkbook from
her black pocketbook and wrote something on it. "This is a check for
$25,000," she said nonchalantly. "I've heard about your successes and
I hope you will be as successful in catching Gerda as you are catching
others."
Cheryl was aghast. $25,000 could very well put her in a better office
and actually buy a real house for her and Brad. "I'm speechless" was
all she could mutter, but Charlene gave a reassuring smile and said,
"Don't worry, it's from my bank account. And I'm also very good for
it. How soon can you start?"
"Tomorrow, I guess...but I won't spend a penny of the money until I
finish the investigation."
"Fair enough. Do you usually set a deadline?" Charlene asked with
sincere interest.
"Not really."
"Can I call you in a week to see how everything's going?"
"Absolutely," said Cheryl briskly as she rose from her seat to exchange
handshakes. Cheryl continued to think about this weird aspect of her
investigation, the fact that she would have to disguise herself into
a lesbian.
--------
"I've been a happy lesbian for sixteen years, and nobody has ever
noticed. Not a single one."
Kaitlin Lees dressed conservatively in a blue dress and strappy
high-heel sandals, and she looked more like a member of the PTA than a
Women's Rights advocate. "I would just act normally and not worry
about it."
"That's what Brad said, but I'm not sure I can pull it off. I always
thought you had to be rough and tough..."
"And they are," Katli said. "But I wouldn't truly rely on the
stereotype that we would handily rip off the (pardon my French) dicks
of these marble mouthed MSPs."
"MSP's?" Cheryl asked, but suddenly "Male Chauvinist Pig" flashed in
her mind quickly and she caught herself.
Katli continued, "Something I noticed about what we wear...be as
subtle as possible. No overpowering perfume, no wool socks. Like I
said, natural does the trick."
Cheryl's face began to even out as things began to sink in. "I should
visit the bank that Gerda van Bouw works and open an account. I think
it might open the avenues a bit."
"*The* Gerda van Bouw?" Katli asked with shock. Then she offered a
sheepish look and said slowly, "I was once her lover..."
Cheryl's mouth dropped a couple of inches. "No...really?"
"Three years ago when I came out I went to this bar called Nora's in
East Boston. Really swank and classy. Gerda is about 6'1" in
stocking feet, and you should have seen the two of us...5'4" old me!
But we broke up when Gerda brought this Charlene into the picture."
Cheryl sat back and continued to listen. "Charlene was nice, but she
was a snooty poop who couldn't stop flashing her riches. They had an
agreement that if Gerda ever set her eyes on another femme, Charlene
would stand to sue for a pretty penny."
"Double Jepoardy..." Cheryl said under her breath. "Now who am I
going to believe?"
"No one" was Katli's terse reply, but added, "until you figure it
out."
--------
Nora's was located on the classier part of East Boston, near the
Revere line on Route 1A. When Cheryl walked inside, every type of
woman was in there, from she-males to beauty queens. Some danced
languidly on the floor, with strains of James Taylor in the
background.
As Katli suggested, Cheryl dressed non-obviously in a neat dress and
heels, and she was just another member of the crowd. She
approached the bar, and the bartendress turned to her. The woman
could have been someone's grandmother, given her friendliness and
brisk manner.
"What'll you have, sweetie," she chirped.
"Rum Collins," Cheryl smiled.
"Finally...someone not asking for a damn Shirley Temple or wine." The
bartendress poured Cheryl's drink with a smile. "I haven't seen you
here before...my name's Eve. This is one classy place...even though
it is a meet market."
Cheryl just looked around to see if Gerda had entered the bar.
"Nervous?" Eve asked.
"Nah. I'm expecting someone."
"Oh. Any particular in mind?"
"Gerda van Bouw. Know anything about her?"
"All I know of her is her $20 tips and her Dutch accent. She's also
very young to even run her own banking empire. And she likes..." Eve
tipped her head and whispered, "kinky stuff. Toe sucking, water
sports, light B&D."
Cheryl could barely hold her breath. From her pocketbook she
extracted $20 and handed it to Eve. "$20 for a confession...I'm a
private investigator...and I'm..."
"Absolved," was Eve's quick reply. "Trust me, I won't tell a soul.
I'm married with six children and eight grandchildren, and I was the
bartender for this place for twenty six years." Then, she returned
the change from the $20. Never did the two of them laugh so hard in
their lives.
--------
Just then a raspy voice interrupted their laughter.
"Good evening, Eve. I hope the two of you have not been talking about me."
Gerda van Brouw was as tall as Charlene described her. 6'1", with
vivid blonde hair tied loosely in a ponytail. She was dressed in a
chic strapless dress, with just enough makeup to bring out her Dutch
features. She wore white stilletto heels with a pair of suntan hose,
and the scent of White Shoulders was so faint and subtle.
"Hello, Gerda. Where is your date?" said Eve with some surprise in
her voice, as if Eve had seen Gerda come in through the roof.
"I'm afraid my date and I have gone...as Americans say, to shit." She
swore something in Dutch, and then saw Cheryl, who inadvertently
grinned. "Mijn Gott, wij hat een schoenes vrouw da?" Gerda gasped.
"What is your name?"
"Cheryl," she managed to say. Then she giggled at the prospect that
Gerda was actually trying to pick her up.
"Cheryl, why do you laugh? You are very beautiful, and I would like
to buy you a drink."
"I can't, really..."
"Abstublieft, or please in English." Gerda pleaded gently.
"Well, I have to drive back to Newton, and I wouldn't want to get into
an accident."
"Ah, then I shall not force you. You have excellent common sense."
Then Gerda turned to Eve and said, "Quinine and lemon juice, please. I
will follow Cheryl's good example...for one night only, though."
--------
Later on Cheryl and Gerda were at Gerda's bachelorette apartment,
drinking tea and sharing small talk. Gerda's accent was more British
than Dutch, but Gerda had some problems with pronouncing "holiday" and
"sarcastic." Cheryl was amazed at how smart Gerda really was.
Gerda heard the door knock, and in entered a slim, athletic woman with glossy
black hair cut in a bob. "This is my new lover, Roxie," Gerda
announced. "She and I have been seeing each other on the side. You
do approve of this?"
"Of course I approve," Cheryl nervously laughed. She wondered how far
Charlene would hit the roof when she told her than Gerda was cheating
on her for a member of the GDR gymnastic team.
"She does not speak English, but she is not contemptuous of how the
Americans live," Gerda said matter-of-factly, "And I would rather date
someone who is not after my money and my, how you say, pussy 24 hours
a day."
"Ja, wenn Charlene nicht so scharfpfundlich wart, sie sehr interessant
ist," said Roxie with a deep laugh.
"What did she say?" Cheryl asked with profound interest.
"If my German serves me well, if Charlene weren't such a bitch, she
would be far more interesting."
To give herself away and defend either one of these people would
certianly put her in jeopardy. Cheryl stepped away from the couch and
said, "I don't want to get into this conversation..."
"And you shan't." Gerda then said to Roxie, "Was bedeutet ihr? Ist
sie schoenlich?" (What do you think of her? Isn't she pretty?)
"Schmecklick. Gut schoen essen!" (Yummy! Good enough to eat!)
--------
What happened over the next hour and a half was a blur. Cheryl knew
that once she woke up it was 1:30, so she went over to the telephone
and called the house.
"Brad, I'm sorry I'm calling late. I know, but I feel bad not coming
home any sooner. The assignment's going well...I'll be back around
3...just go back to sleep, darling..."
Cheryl stepped back and there in her tan nylons and garter
belt - nothing else - was Gerda.
"So, you are not what you seem to be. You are not a lesbian..."
Gerda was furious, but she did well to control it. "What are you,
then? A spy? A private investigator?" The word "Private
Investigator" clicked in her mind.
"That whore Charlene hired you! How much did she pay you off...with
MY money?" Gerda lifted Cheryl straight to her eye level, enough to
give Gerda a big grin.
"Obviuously more than I could ever earn in a lifetime."
Gerda grabbed Cheryl's cheeks roughly and brought them to her eyes.
After sputtering a few choice words in Dutch, she threw Cheryl onto
the couch and removed all of her clothes.
"You shall be lucky to go back to your male lover once I'm through
with you!" Gerda then removed the mesh tan nylons and garter belt
and tackled Cheryl onto the floor. Spreading her legs to gain access to
her sex, Gerda plunged her tongue into the folds of her labia.
Just then Gerda slumped forward. Behind her was Charlene, with a
statue behind her and tears streaming her face. "You bitch! You
wouldn't get your hands on a piece of snatch if I didn't tie you
down!" Charlene sobbed as Cheryl comforted her, still naked, and soon
Cheryl couldn't hold it back any longer either. Both women stood
there weeping, glad that the ordeal was over.
But it wasn't. Roxie entered the room, saw an unconscious Gerda, and
immediately threw an acid look at Charlene.
"I thought we weren't supposed to *kill* her, you idiot!" Roxie *did*
speak English, and so suddenly.
"I hate to say this, but I don't know what the fuck is going on!"
Cheryl finally said, after she checked Gerda's pulse. Thankfully, she
was still alive.
"The intention was right, Cheryl, but I'm sorry I had to hoodwink
you," Charlene finally said. "Roxie is actually my lover, not Gerda."
"We knew Gerda was a female equivalent to Don Juan," said Roxie, "and
she has had many, many lovers. Charlene wished to get revenge on
Gerda and I volunteered to do so," said Roxie. "And I'm not from
Germany...just a German major from Brookline! (Note: Quoted from
Doonesbury's "I'm just a French major from the Bronx" - BC)"
"What I should do is kill you both!" Cheryl screamed.
"No! We are really REALLY sorry we put you through this humiliation.
But we needed someone to see what was going on, to expose Gerda for
the cheater she is," Charlene countered. "And we're sorry Gerda
attacked you. Here's another $25,000..."
Cheryl threw the money onto the floor and cast the two of them a
fierce look. "Well, since Gerda didn't finish the job, I figured the
two of you might, since you're experts at this."
With that both Charlene and Roxie attended to Cheryl's swollen lips,
licking with butterfly kisses. As soon as Roxie suckled on her erect
nipples and Charlene on her erect joy button, Cheryl quickly spasmed
for all she was worth, with juices spreading across Charlene's lips.
"Now, we're even. I bet you feel less dignified than you do now." As
she dressed, she didn't bother to put on her panties or nylons. "I'll
take this $25,000 and donate it to the local Children's Camp fund.
The other $25,000 I will use to put myself in a new office..." Cheryl
wanted to pontificate more, but a smile rose on her face as she said,
"with you two as my partners in a special 'Sappho' bureau."
"That way I can concentrate on the administrative parts of my
business...and my love life," she added with a grin.
--------
Johnson's Infidelity Fixers moved to a larger office in Brookline,
112 Babcock Street to be precise, and in the path of three years,
Cheryl employed ten employees (three retired officers, two senior citizens,
and four homosexual couples) to solve more than 122 infidelity cases.
Of course, there were plenty of fights and black eyes that had to be
endured, and a lot of visits to the hospital, but that was well worth
the risk.
One day, as Cheryl was removing her brand new black silk stockings,
Brad said, "After you take them off, I want to show you a trick..."
"No, no, no, no...those stockings cost me $6 a pair, and I don't need
you to ruin them..."
After she rolled them down her legs, Brad snatched them both out of
her hands. "Brad, I'll kill you if you ruin them!" she snarled.
But after Brad tied them in a knot, he smiled. "Untie the knot and
you will receive a surprise that will make you scream."
Casting the evil eye was easy...but when she undid the knot, out fell
a diamond ring. Cheryl screamed out in happiness, then broke down in
sobs, because this only meant one thing...
"Say, Cheryl, would you marry me? I think we can pull off this
living in arrangement and your successful business together," said
Brad casually if not nervously.
Cheryl was still crying and she wrapped her arms around Brad. "Yes,
yes, I will, you nut..." She grinned through her tears as she said,
"But don't let me catch you become one of my cases, EVER, or I'll drop
you like one of my nylons that have too many runs in it. Agreed?"
Brad picked up one of the silk stockings and draped it over her neck.
"Now why would you want to do that?" he said as he used the nylon to
bring Cheryl to his eye level. Just then they exchanged the best kiss
they ever could muster...the lover's kiss.
Black Nylons
Chapter VII
Cheryl and Brad departed on their honeymoon soon after their
wedding. It was a spectacular ceremony, but very loose and informal
in the middle of Soldier's field in Brighton. Even the exchange of
rings was informal...instead of the priest giving a sermon, they told
each other their thoughts and expressed their love for one another.
Then they departed to the reception, and from there went to St.
Barthelemy.
**********************************************************************
Dyana Freebury was like Cheryl in a lot of ways - that's why Cheryl
put her in charge. She was tough, and she put up with very little nonsense
from her co-workers. If there were problems, Dyana would solve them
with a smile and compromise. If someone had to be disciplined, Dyana
would calmly talk it over. Not a single worker ever called Dyana a
ball-busting lesbian, even though she was bisexual. Even the gays
liked Dyana's professional style and rapport.
Dyana dressed discreetly and subtly in the office, but when
assignments came about, Dyana was full-tilt temptress. Dyana's
favorite mode of dress was mesh nylons with a reinforced heel and toe that
made a swishing noise when her legs came together. Sometimes the
occasion called for subtlety, in which Dyana wore something a little
less obvious. But full-tilt temptress had Dyana's full legs in a pair
of gleaming seamed black nylons, tethered by a black garter belt.
However, Dyana never put up with the men in the office looking at
her in a leering way - it was a up-front $10 fine if someone tried to
look at her cleavage, or $5 for staring. Old Bert Farris, the retired
Police Captain, made the mistake of watching her put on a pair of
shoes and was slapped with an hour's pay docked. To say the least,
Dyana was protective of her identity.
**********************************************************************
Dyana came home at 6:00 and began to cook dinner when the door
knocked. It was her roommate Ellen Oveks (she was once Ellen Peters,
but she divorced after her husband, a logger from Rhythm, Oregon, decided to
run off with a topless dancer), carrying in the groceries.
"Hiya, Dy."
"Hi yourself. How much were the groceries?"
"$25.03."
"Good deal. Supper's almost ready."
With that Ellen set the bags down. Ellen was a emergency room
nurse with a sense of humor...she had an old 1973 Cadillac
hearse/ambulance that she used to carry everything but accident
victims. "How was your day?"
"Great. We caught in flagrante delicto the three guys who
diddled in front of a Harvard cheerleader's bedroom door. And you
know I won't be here Friday night. Assignment with a mark who has a
golden shower fetish."
"And all I had today was three nosebleeds and a skull fracture."
Both of them laughed as Ellen went to the bedroom. Ellen wore a
Harvard football jersey and was barefoot as Dyana served chicken kiev
and green beans.
"I wonder how Cheryl's doing," said Ellen as she served herself
some green beans.
"Hopefully she's in bliss," Dyana quipped. "They're a great
couple."
"I know. I would rather date a nice guy like Brad than a vain
hunk." More laughter as they toasted each other with Tab.
After Ellen cleared and washed the dishes, she sat beside Dyana,
who had curled her feet under her. Ellen leaned into Dyana, and like
a protective sister Dyana placed an arm under Ellen's chest. After a
few shows, Ellen arose from her seat and sat directly across from
Dyana. She extracted Dyana's gunmetal black nylon-clad leg, and began to
massage the reinforced toes and heels. Dyana groaned in delight, and silently
Ellen raised the skirt and gained access to the white flesh in between
the garters and the panties.
With a babies' kiss Ellen brushed her lips between the flesh,
up and down, until she reached the three-inch welt of her nylon.
Ellen was deft when she unhooked Dyana's garters
and rolled Dyana's nylons down her calves and legs. Ellen carefully
rolled the nylon off the foot, rather then pulling it off. Playfully,
Ellen nipped Dyana's heel where the reinforcement was, slowly savoring
the faint scent before progressing to Dyana's long toes, painted in a
rich burgundy. Ellen was famous for her toe-jobs, and this time was no
exception as Dyana squirmed with delight, occasionally running her
fingers through Ellen's hair.
Dyana's panties were soaking when she put her fingers into her
sex. Ellen gently took Dyana's hands away from the crotch, and quietly
removed the other nylon before bringing Dyana's panties over her hips.
Dyana's sex was so moist and sensitive, that when Ellen licked her at
least three times, Dyana arched back and voraciously released her
juices. Ellen's chin dribbled as she collected Dyana's juices, then
she rested long enough to remove her shirt and panties. Ellen took a
little longer to climax, but hers was as violent as Dyana's.
**********************************************************************
Dyana was in the middle of a phone call when Al "Gramps" Lacano, a
seventy year-old police chief who retired naturally "'cause the
Springfield police department are a bunch of turds", entered the room.
Al waited patiently until Dyana set the receiver down. "Hello,
Dyana. How's business?"
"Slow, Gramps. That golden shower guy got arrested in
Charlestown."
"Sorry to hear that. Christ, my lumbago is killing me...I
wanted to say goodbye."
"Goodbye?"
"I'm 70 years old. Old fart like me can't keep going after
pretty young women anymore."
Dyana laughed a little before inviting Gramps to sit down. "I
didn't know you were retiring...Cheryl never told me that."
"That crusty bitch...I'll miss her, and all the girls I've met.
I don't want no sob story. Let me fade into the woodwork."
"No party?"
"Nothin'"
"No $500 bonus that Cheryl left you?" Dyana said with a twinkle
in her eye.
"That I can use for my funeral."
Dyana handed Gramps a $500 bill. "Cheryl called me over the
weekend to tell me that you were retiring today. I knew about it all
along."
"Well, Dyana, you've proven to me that you're a good bullshit
artist. It's been a pleasure working with you."
Just then the intercom rang. "Dyana, a Mister Adolfo Frangucci
is here to see you."
"That's my replacement. I'll bet Cheryl told you that, too.
He's an old Mafia don who became legit after he saw his wife and kids
blown away by a rival family. He's also under the Fed witness
program, so his name ain't Adolfo Frangucci...it's now Dolph Frank."
A swarthy, elegant man walked into the room, looking confident
but slightly nervous. "I'm Adolfo Frangucci, but..."
"She knows, Dolph. Just explained it to her."
"The Fed program too?"
"Uh-huh."
"That won't harm my being here, will it?"
"Don't worry about it," said Dyana. "Everything's confidential.
In fact, I'll get you the paperwork and there's coffee over near the
water cooler."
"Great." Then, as soon as Dyana left, Dolph whistled. "What a
_veni mi fanculere_ (come fuck me) woman."
"She ain't the boss. Cheryl is. And Dyana's not too keen on
having people drool over her cleavage. That's $25 each time she
catches you."
"But the legs..."
"Hey, I though you were legit and modest, stupid. And the Feds
would be on your ass if they caught you boinking the boss. Take my
advice, Dolph. Keep your eyes off the broad and your mind on beating
the sickos."
**********************************************************************
Dolph took Al's advice seriously. He did not linger over
Dyana's curves, and Dyana immediately took notice of how genteel and
gentlemanly Dolph was. Dolph was 53, and when the rival Tattola
family took his lovely wife of 28 years and children away from him in
a fire, he sang like a bird to have 3/4s of the Tattolas put away for
good. The other 1/4 had gone legit, the ones who didn't bother Dolph
personally because they were scared shitless of the Tattolas. At least
Franzio "Fruity" didn't have the change to split; he was in
Leavenworth and probably having loads of fun with the bull fairies.
One day, Dyana was walking into Dolph's office when she heard a
rip when she came around the corner. One of her nylons had ripped,
and she swore gently to herself as she observed the damage.
"Dolph, I have an assignment for you that may endanger your life.
It's pretty much up to you if you want to take it, considering you're
under Fed protection."
"It doesn't happen to involve the Mafia?"
"No, but it does involve a Mafia wife."
"Whose?"
"Marsha Latavio. She's on the prowl."
"At 40 and without an opportunity to get laid? This is Fruity's
sixth wife." Dolph went to the coffee machine and poured two cups of
coffee. "Black courage?"
Just then the phone rang. A raspy voice greeted Dolph as he
asked who was speaking, while Dyana left the room.
"Whatdya mean, whose speaking, baby? It's Fruity! How the fuck are ya?
The warden and all his buddies gave me on last wish before I visit
Saint Pete. I'm dying, you see, and even though I wasn't supposed to
get out for any reason, they'll at least let me do this."
"I'm gonna have your wife and kids moved to a nicer cemetary,
'cause I believe they deserve a lot better. I have six children and nineteen
grandchildren, and never would I wish harm on them. If you think I'm
doing this to atone for what happened, you're right on the money,
baby. And get this...That hit on your family was not my order.
Honest. In fact, I was framed. There was an schism in my family, and
the younger, gung-ho, ex-Vietnam goons who couldn't deal with their shell-shock.
took it upon themselves to kill your family. It was because they
couldn't see a couple of mafia jerks go legit."
"Does a Dyana Freebury work there?"
Dolph said hesitantly, "Sure she does. Why?"
Fruity screamed out loud, "Those fucking diaperheads! They
kidnapped the FBI agent whose supposed to be working there. That cunt
is my frigging ex-wife who's a black widow bitch! Whatever you do,
don't fall for her charms. At all! The minute she shows you her twat
her goon friends show up and eliminate the competition. Keep your
eyes out." Fruity composed himself as he said, "Well, Dolph, I gotta
go, baby. Maybe you'll see me before I'll see you."
Dolph was amazingly composed when he set the phone receiver down.
But what did Fruity mean by that phrase? Maybe it was code for
"whoever dies last wins." Dolph collected the two cups of coffee and
walked down a few steps to Dyana's office.
**********************************************************************
Dolph brought the coffee into the office, knocking on the door
politely as Dyana put her foot onto a chair to remove a high-heeled sandal.
"I'm sorry, I should come back later..." Dolph said.
Dyana found Dolph's modesty amusing, stifiling a giggle or two.
"Dolph, I'm not going to take all my clothes off. You don't have
to worry about a thing. Actually, I want you to stay. I have
something to say."
Dolph turned around, and nearly passed out when Dyana rubbed her
leg up and down, making the faint sound of nylon against nylon.
"Dolph, you're no cad, and you definitely are a gentleman. She
finally rested her foot down on the chair and raised her skirt inch by
inch. When the dark band of her nylon followed, she left the hem of
her skirt there for a bit. Dolph was definitely embarassed.
"You don't have to do this, Dyana Fennari. Fruity just told me
your real ID."
Unfazed, Dyana unclipped a garter and smiled. "I find you very
attractive. I'm going to tease you and make you drop your reserve."
Another garter unsnapped. "You like what you see? My white thighs?
My dark nylons? Oh, I see, you like my nylons so much that you want
to remove them and sniff them. Or maybe you want to pull them off
with your teeth."
Dyana leaned into her leg as she placed her manicured fingers
into the shiny welt and simply rolled the nylon down her legs, inch by
inch. "You know what's best about nylons? They can drive a man to
the brink of insatiablilty."
When she got to the ankle, she lifted up a bit to remove the
stocking. "Fruity always liked it when I did a strip tease. His cock
was so iron hard afterwards, all I had to do was pull it three times and
it just spasmed and spasmed all over my face. Moisturizing facials,
he called it."
"And by the way, Fruity and I were going to go on my honeymoon,"
Dyana said in a sing-song tone, as she let the other high heel drop
to the floor. "That is, until you blew the whistle on the family.
Too bad. We would have had more fun fucking each other blue than
having Fruity shacked up in the Pen." After Dyana removed another
nylon, she waved it in front of Dolph's nose.
After a few moments, Dyana had Dolph under her full power. "My
new husband and his tommy piece are coming over to kill you. That way
you can join your family." Dyana sneered, "I'm not the cold-hearted
bitch you think I am."
Two men came into the room. Dyana's smug expression turned to
shock and then to horror as two Tattola goons came into the room,
armed.
**********************************************************************
"Dolph, my friend," sneered Peter "Babyface" Tattola. "Have a seat. You're
gonna be witness to an execution. But only for five second. Then you're
not gonna be a witness anymore, 'cause your going down next."
"Just like we cleaned off your old lady and rugrat kids," said
Joey "Rat". "Slow and painful."
Just as Babyface aimed the gun directly at Dyana, a small voice
came the back of his shoulder.
"FBI. Hands up or I make your brain into fucking hamburger and
fries."
Babyface turned around suddenly, and pointed his gun at Special
Agent Forcuxi. Just then seven Boston police SWAT team members and FBI
agents entered the office and aimed their guns.
"Are you Dolph Frank, aka Adolpho Frangioso?" said Agent Forcuxi.
"Yes."
"Is your boss Cheryl Derry."
"Yes."
"I'm the boss here until Cheryl comes back. Step outside. We
have orders for shoot-to-kill and a bounty of $250,000 for each head
to bring them back dead."
"No. I'd rather watch these assholes die...slowly." Dolph took
pleasure in saying that as kicked Babyface in the nuts. "I'm gonna
stay for their execution."
"I understand they killed your family, but this is no time for
vigilantism. If you do not leave, your witness protection will
expire."
"I'll take my chances," Dolph growled as he extracted a .45 mag
from his pocket. Dolph stuck the gun into Babyface's throat as he
hoarily whispered, "This is for my wife. The devil's waiting for you
downstairs." Babyface recoiled in horror as Dolph pumped the trigger
four times. The fourth time, Babyface's brains had splattered all
over the desk, along with shards of his skull.
Dolph walked over to Rat and pointed the gun in his eye. "This
is for my kids." Rat's brains joined Babyface's on the desk.
Dolph snarled, "You can have that cunt over there," pointing to
Dyana, who added to the whole mess by vomiting all over the crime
scene. "She's not worth the fucking ammo."
**********************************************************************
"Dyana Tattola, you are under arrest for impersonating a
detective," said a giant black man. "I'm Special Agent Freeley,
and you've met Special Agent Forcuxi." Then Freeley turned on his
walkie-talkie. "Get the Coroner up here fast. A FWPP member got one
in the brain and one in the eyes. We're taking in Dyana Tattola, aka
Dyana Freebury, aka Dyana Fennari. And I'm afraid you're under
arrest, Dolph."
"Payback's a bitch, but it certainly feels good afterwards," said
Dolph as he was put into handcuffs.
Special Agent Forcuxi stepped forward. "Release the handcuffs.
I could use someone with real balls for the rest of the time Miss
Derry is on vacation."
"But that's unethical," said Freeley.
"But since when am I ethical?" laughed Forcuxi. "Dolph, you can
call me Laura. And you don't have to worry about being seduced. I've
just come off a honeymoon myself."
**********************************************************************
Brian Colby Copyright 1994. Copies may be obtained for personal
reading pleasure or for distribution by contacting S14258BC@UMASSD.EDU.
Also send comments and criticism.
*********************************************
--------
Brian Colby Copyright 1993. Copies may be obtained for personal
reading pleasure or for distribution by contacting S14258BC@UMASSD.EDU.
Also send comments and criticism
Brian Colby/UMass Dartmouth/1993
S14258BC@mdcs1.umassd.edu
colby@cis.umassd.edu