Adventures Of Daddys Girl 02 1

#2 The Voyeur's Window

By B.B. Rattan

Hi! I'm Lolly. I'm a thirty-two year-old private investigator. I'm also in a 24/7 DDlg relationship with my partner. This is the story of one of our adventures...

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"Wake up, little girl."

I stretch my arms over my head and then snuggle deeper into the blankets, turning my face into the pillow. So warm and comfy. The blankets are ripped away, crashing sunlight into my sleepy eyes.

I whine and turn over, bottom up, face buried in the pillow, my arms hugging the pillow against me. I feel a tug on the pillow. Then a harder one.

"Daddy, no!"

Then my pillow is gone, and I'm naked, cold, and uncomfortable on the bed. I flop my limbs out to my sides, flat and defeated.

"Time to get ready for work," Daddy says.

"But I don't wanna." I admit that I pout a bit when I say it, but Daddy can't see that. Or at least...I don't think he can.

"Yes, you do."

"I said that I don't."

He says his next words like each word is its own separate command. "Yes. You. Do."

I look up at him. And then I giggle and raise my tush higher in the air, wiggling it in an attempt at being alluring.

"Nope. Not this morning. You've already wasted too much time with your not getting out of bed act."

Now I really do pout. But I drag myself out of bed.

"You're a no-fun, stuffy, old man," I say.

Daddy grabs my jaw under the chin in one hand. His fingers are long and strong, but surprisingly smooth. Hmm...that reminds me of another part of him, and I feel a small pulse in my clit.

His words pull me out of my daydream. "What did you say?"

My head is forced up to look at his face. "I said, 'I love you, Daddy.'"

He smiles at me. "Good girl." My chin is released, and I briefly miss the feel of his strong hand around my jaw, but then I bound off to the bathroom to shower and get dressed.

#

At our office, QTPi Inc. (that's short for Quick-Tip Private Investigations), I bring Daddy a cup of coffee — double sugar, double cream. Yes, he likes his coffee like he likes his little girl, sweet and easy to devour.

"Here's your coffee, Mr. Bear." Mr. Bear is what I call Daddy when we're at work. He's sitting behind his desk, doing maintenance on the code for our website form interface. A lot of our clients prefer to contact us online first. My desk is beside his, a duplicate. What clients can't see is that there's a wooden stool running along the floor beneath mine, so that my much shorter legs aren't dangling off my chair. I'm only 5'0", after all.

I sit down at my own desk and lean back to enjoy the coffee. After the first sip, the bell above the door rings, and a man practically charges into the room, the door slamming closed behind him. I startle upright, spilling some of the coffee on my shirt.

Mr. Bear straightens to his full seated height. He's fairly imposing. The man standing in front of us is of about average height and build. He has tight, curly black hair cut short in a professional style. His light purple button-up contrasts nicely with his dark skin, the color of loamy soil. He's panting, and his business shirt has sweat circles under the armpits.

I sit my coffee mug down and press a paper towel against the wet spot. The one on my own shirt. This guy can deal with his sweat circles on his own.

"Good morning. Can I help you?" Mr. Bear asks.

The man swallows and catches his breath before answering. "I think my wife is cheating on me."

I stand up and come around to the front of my desk.

"That is unfortunate to hear."

I put out a hand for him to shake, and he does.

"My name is Lolly, licensed private investigator, and this is my partner, Mr. Bear."

As I release his hand, the brown, wet paper towel falls off my shirt. My now cold, wet nipple pokes through triumphantly as I give the man my most serious and adult eye contact. Have I mentioned that I'm excellent at first impressions?

#

The potential client introduces himself as a Mr. Donovan Smock. He's sitting with us in the case discussion room, separate from our main office. This room has several comfortable armchairs. Mr. Smock is sitting in one, and Mr. Bear sits across from him with a phone for recording the conversation. I stand.

As it turns out, Mr. Smock has reason to believe his wife, a Ms. Tammy Smock, has been seeing another man while Mr. Smock is at work. He gave us a description of his wife, as well as the name of the man he suspects to be tilling the fields while he's away. A friend of his, unfortunately.

"I just don't understand." He shakes his head. "Dion and me have been friends since grade school. He was at my wedding!"

He's getting angry again, and I need him to stay calm so he can provide the information we need to pursue his investigation.

"Mr. Smock, why do you believe Mr. Greenwood to be engaging in relations with Ms. Smock?"

"Because of this."

In a shaking hand, he holds out a ziplock bag with what appears to be a used condom inside.

"Oh my." I take the bag, pinching it delicately between two fingers and letting it dangle.

Mr. Bear speaks up. "And you are sure the, umm...safety device is not your own?"

"No, it's not mine! That's why I'm here."

"Okay, you understand I just have to ask the questions for our records, Mr. Smock."

Mr. Bear speaks into the phone. "For the record, what we have here is one plastic zipper bag containing an apparently used male sexual barrier device."

I place the item in a bin nearby and turn back toward the client. "Why do you think this item belongs to Mr. Greenwood?"

The man takes a breath to speak, and his lower lip trembles. Infidelity cases are so heartbreaking.

"Dion has been out of work for a couple months now. He's been hanging out at our place a lot. I didn't want him getting into a funk, beating himself up, you know, but when I saw this in my bedroom, I thought about how much free time he has now..."

"Is Mr. Greenwood living at your residence?"

"No, he still has his own place."

"Mr. Smock, can you give us Mr. Greenwood's address?"

#

Mr. Bear looks through his binoculars. "You think that's her?"

I look through my own pair. "Long blonde hair. Tall. Long legs. Tattoo of a flower on her left hip. Yep. That's Ms. Smock."

We'd scoped out the Smock residence before heading here and didn't see any activity.

"Wow, Dion Greenwood should be called Dion Big Wood. That's impressive."

"Watch it, little one," says Mr. Bear.

Of course, it's illegal for us to videotape or photograph events happening inside a private residence, but that doesn't prevent us from watching the occurrence and reporting it back to our client. Not that I want to describe to Mr. Smock what I see through that window right now.

Ms. Smock is on her knees, doing her best to fit Mr. Greenwood's sizable black cock into her mouth. Mostly she's licking it and rubbing the spit down his shaft with her hands because that thing is not going down anybody's throat.

In fact, I say as much to Mr. Bear.

"No way that cock is going down her throat."

"Sure it can."

"Bet me."

"You're on."

"Good, I win, I get ice cream. You win, I'll give you a blowjob."

"Deal," says Mr. Bear.

Then, through the window, Ms. Smock tilts her head back, her pale hair hanging behind her across her feet. Mr. Greenwood takes his index fingers and sticks them in her mouth. I see her tongue licking and sucking at them, and then he stretches her mouth open with those two fingers, one pulling out to each side. With her head tilted back and her lips stretched out, he stands over her, knees bent, and puts that massive cock into her mouth. He continues to hold her lips stretched taut, fingers hooked inside her cheeks. I can see her tongue hanging out of her mouth below his shaft, flattening to allow more room for him.

I've got a profile view of them through the window, and he thrusts into her mouth. His hips move slowly at first, pressing into the back of her mouth. Then he picks up speed, hitting the opening of her throat with his cock. I can see Ms. Smock's abs tighten. She's gagging. With each thrust inward, her abs tighten and she gags.

Mr. Greenwood pulls himself out of her mouth. Drool is running down her chin, and she turns her head and starts a coughing fit, but he picks her up off her knees and puts her on her feet, and then lifts her up and drops her onto the bed. He stands at the foot of the bed now, Ms. Smock's legs held up and back, toward her head.

Greenwood takes his time. Lets the thick head of his cock touch her pussy, just barely. Waits. She watches him. He presses just the head inside her. And then he holds a hand out to her. It looks like he says something, but even if I could read lips, I wouldn't be able to make it out from here.

Our client's wife seems to get the message, though. She lifts her head up and spits into his outstretched hand. He rubs her spit along his shaft and then slides that big black cock inside her. Given the way her eyes roll back in her head, I think Ms. Smock enjoys it.

I'm not having a bad day at work, myself, as it turns out. I feel a wet spot forming in my underwear.

In the window, Greenwood pumps into the client's wife at a steady pace, not rushing it. I've got plenty of information about what is happening here, so I pull the binoculars away from my face and turn to look at Mr. Bear. His binoculars are still up, watching the scene in the window.

His cock is also up, bulging against the front of his pants. There's a wet dot on his pants, where the precum has soaked through. I reach over and press my tiny hand against the bulge. Mr. Bear moans, but he does not remove the binoculars from his face. He's so professional.

I lean over and lick the spot of precum on his pants, and then I nuzzle my face against the bulge. I hear Mr. Bear breathe in.

My deft little fingers undo his button and zipper. His breathing is quiet now, like he's trying to play it cool.

"I know you like it when I touch your cock, Daddy."

"I'm at work right now, little girl."

"That's not a 'no'."

Daddy says nothing, so I pull down the waistband of his underwear. There is his magnificent cock, swollen and pressed tightly up against his lower abdomen. I trace a finger along one of the veins. I put my hand around it and pull it out away from his body. My little fingers don't even reach all the way around its girth.

Leaning forward, I press my tongue, small like a bunny's, against the sensitive underside of Daddy's cock. I run my tongue along it. My head is turned to the side, and I suck on the shaft, pulling Daddy's cock skin into my mouth, sucking on that sensitive area on the underside, but not putting the head in my mouth.

I continue licking and sucking all along the shaft, turning my head from side to side to get Daddy's cock good and wet everywhere. And then I rub my palm against that slick, wet shaft, gripping around it, moving in fast, long strokes all the way up and down. Daddy grunts. He spreads his legs further apart in his seat. The binoculars are still pressed to his face.

I spit on Daddy's cock to keep it wet, keep the movements slick. Each time my hand reaches the top of his cock, I tighten my grip just a little, so the head has to squeeze through the small circle my thumb and index finger make. I know that feeling drives him crazy, like his cock is pressing through the tight opening of my pussy each time my hand comes back down.

I watch my tiny hand massaging Daddy's big cock. Clear liquid pearls up at the tip of his cock and starts to dribble down the head. That makes me feel happy. I giggle, and I stop stroking Daddy and sit back on my side of the car.

Daddy makes a throat-clearing sound.

I pick up my binoculars and look back through the window. Greenwood is thrusting hard and fast into Ms. Smock. I can actually see the bulge of his huge dick moving inside her lean lower abdomen, like some kind of erotic alien trying to bust its way out of her body. With each thrust, he pulls back far, letting the length of that monster really show, and then slides deep into her, cock bulging her belly out. He keeps that pattern going, pulling almost all the way out and then fully back in, steadily picking up pace.

And then Ms. Smock squirts all over him, the liquid hitting his belly and thighs and running down the two of them. He leans forward, his body pressing against hers, continuing to thrust. With each inward movement of his hips, her body squirts out more liquid onto them and onto the bed, drenching them. Finally, his movements slow, and then stop, and he lies on top of her, panting.

I lower my binoculars.

"Well, Daddy. It looks like someone owes me an ice cream."

"What the hell?"

"I said she couldn't take it all the way down her throat, and she couldn't."

"No, not that." He lowers his binoculars. "I swear the guy just winked at me from the window.

Like he knew we were out here. Smiled and winked, not a care in the world that he was being watched."

"Let's get out of here, Mr. Bear."

#

I lick my ice cream cone as we walk around to the door of our building. We already know that

Donovan Smock is waiting at the door for us. We saw him as we parked.

"What did you find out?" he says.

"Mr. Smock, let's go inside before we discuss this," Mr. Bear says in his business voice. I love

Mr. Bear's business voice. It's so sexy.

I unlock the door and hold it open for them, gesturing with my ice cream cone. "Yes, please enter." The two men walk inside, Mr. Bear handing me a napkin as he passes by.

Back in the case interview room, Mr. Smock immediately bursts into questions. "What did you see? Where are the photos? I know she was there!"

I glance at the clock on the wall. 11:45 a.m. "Are you on your lunch break, Mr. Smock?"

He stares at me dumbly for a few seconds. "Yes."

"Then I'll make this quick. We can confirm that a woman matching the description of your wife was at the address you provided for Dion Greenwood."

"And?" he says. "Where is the evidence?"

"I'm afraid we don't have any evidence at this point, Mr. Smock."

"What? Why not? You said you saw them."

"Yes, but it's illegal to photograph or videotape any individual through the window of a private residence. If they'd been at a motel, or camping outdoors, we'd be able to gather something more concrete than just our word for what we saw. But as it is, all we can do is tell you that we saw two individuals enjoying each other's company in a private residence. The residence belongs to Mr. Dion Greenwood, and the female at the residence looked quite similar to the photo you showed us earlier today of your wife."

The client's face falls. "So no photos then?"

"No, no photos."

His voice rises, excited again. "But you could get photos next time?"

"Again, Mr. Smock. The only way we can acquire any photograph or video evidence of the deeds you suspect is if the suspected individuals participate in a public display of affection. Understand, this kind of thing is usually difficult to document. That being said, if you'd like to give us permission to set up surveillance in your own home, we can do that for you."

"Absolutely, yes. Let's set up surveillance."

"All right then, we'll have an official agreement for you to sign, but I'm going to have Mr. Bear go over the basics of video surveillance with you."

Mr. Bear knows this script by rote. "First, Mr. Smock, we cannot record any audio in the home. It is illegal for us to record private conversations without the knowledge and consent of each individual participating in the conversation."

The client nods at this.

"Second, we cannot put video surveillance devices in any bathrooms or bedrooms in the home."

Mr. Smock speaks up at this. "What? Then how are we supposed to catch them? The bedroom is the most likely place for them to be."

Mr. Bear continues in an even tone. "I understand, Mr. Smock. As we said in the beginning, cases of infidelity are notoriously difficult to prove with concrete evidence. In the end, it's up to you to determine whether the information you receive is enough to warrant action on your part."

The client looks at the floor and nods. "I understand."

"In the meantime," I say, "I can do some digging to see what else I might find as far as suspicious activities or conversations between Mr. Greenwood and Ms. Smock."

"I thought you said you can't record conversations."

"Private audio conversations, no. But I have other methods. No worries, Mr. Smock."

#

I recruit my friend Tetty, who is not a P.I., to help me out with the tailing. It works out well because having my friends work with me prevents marks from seeing me pop up in the same place as them too often. And honestly, I stand out a bit in a crowd.

For instance, today I am wearing pastel purple thigh-highs, a purple tennis skirt, a teal sweatshirt, and white shoes with purple and teal bunnies printed on them. I know, I know. Usually, P.I.'s are described as wearing dark trenchcoats to help them hide, but I find hiding in plain sight to be a more effective strategy.

Tetty and I use our phones — safely mounted on our dashes — to keep in contact in our respective cars. While she drives a few cars behind Ms. Smock, I stay in the neighborhood in case Tetty loses her or it looks like the mark is trying to evade her. Everything goes fine until...

"Lolly, I got stopped at the light! I'm going to lose her."

"No worries. You said you are at Hoffman and Brand? I'm turning down Brand now from Turner Street. Hold on...confirmed visual. I see her car. She got stopped at the next light. You'll catch up to her fine. She hasn't turned off anywhere."

Tetty and I managed to follow Ms. Smock undetected to a nail spa.

"Yay! Helping you with work is the best," Tetty says and hangs up our call. She walks into the nail spa directly after Ms. Smock.

As Tetty tells me later, she was able to get a pedicure chair right next to our mark. At a place like that, it's normal to see customers on their phones while getting pampered. No one suspected a thing. And to show my thanks for her assistance, I paid Tetty for the cost of the pedicure, of course.

Mr. Bear and I now review the recording Tetty was able to get. Remember those audio recording laws I talked about? Well, they don't apply to conversations being held in public.

"Oh, you are getting a different color from your usual. You have a big date?" a voice can be heard asking. The video is just pointing at Tetty's feet getting soaked in a basin. Then Tetty switches the phone to one hand, casually positioning it to get Ms. Smock into the frame.

The blonde woman laughs. "Well, I don't know about a big date, but a date, yes."

The rest of the recording is idle chit-chat, except for near the end when the pedicurist asks Ms. Smock when her date is. She responds that it's this afternoon but doesn't elaborate.

Mr. Bear and I set up surveillance close to the Smock residence. This time, we park our car a couple blocks away. I get out to walk down the sidewalk near the house to get a better look. My phone is in my hand with Mr. Bear on the line in case I get into a dangerous situation or need help, but I carry the phone down to my side so that I'm paying attention. The volume is up high enough for me to hear if Mr. Bear is trying to say anything.

The curtains in the living room and kitchen are open, and I don't see any activity inside. The blinds in the bedroom window are closed, but I note that there is no car in the driveway. Dion Greenwood's car is a gray Honda. Having been at his address recently, I'm reasonably sure he would not have walked this distance.

As I turn to walk down the next sidewalk to look at the side of the house, the dog spots me out the window and starts barking hysterically. I smile and wave at it. No one comes to quiet the dog or drag it away from the window.