Clue Ch 2

Now that I'd declared myself in charge of the investigation, it was time to get down to business.

I pretended to be completely uninterested in Ms. Scarlet's impressive tits and my own moistening crotch. "We need to determine where everybody was when the power went out," I said.

"Colonel Mustard and I were in the conservatory," Mrs. Peacock said. "I left to see if I could find anyone else, the Colonel went to see if he could find the fuse box, and when the lights came on…" She shuddered at the memory of finding Mr. Boddy's corpse at the foot of the stairs. I shuddered at the memory of the gargantuan prick that was now officially out of service.

"I was in the kitchen," Mrs. White said, her voice trembling a little.

"I was perusing some volumes in the library," Professor Plum chimed in nervously.

"I was shooting some pool in the billiard room," Mr. Green said.

Ms. Scarlet didn't need to tell us where she was. We'd found her in the bedroom, tied up tighter than traffic to the Hamptons on a summer weekend, face down, tits smashed underneath her, and a candlestick poking out of her ass. I allowed myself another shudder.

"How long were you tied up?" I asked her, keeping my eyes locked on hers. It wasn't easy. Her trimmed snatch was screaming for a good look.

"Not too long," she admitted. "Mr. Boddy usually finishes before I do, so he uses the occasional foreign object to help me cum. The candlestick's about the right size to put me over the top. I like the feel of it. It's ribbed for my pleasure." The room contemplated Ms. Scarlet's pleasure for a few happy moments. "Plus, it's almost as big as he is." She proudly batted her eyelashes at me. "He's a little…large, you know."

I nodded. I knew. I couldn't stop thinking about it.

"So he put the candlestick in and went off to look for something the right size and shape for my pussy. Next thing I know, the power goes out and…" Now it was her turn to shudder. Her breasts jiggled. And that was enough to make me shudder. I realized I'd have to make a concerted effort to stop this shuddering business.

"But he fucked your ass first, right?" I asked. These were the kind of hard hitting investigative questions I like most, but almost never get to ask.

"Oh yeah," she nodded frantically, as if the idea of anything else was preposterous. "He loves to fuck my ass. And I love it, too. There's nothing like feeling that rocket of his explode in my butt. Sometimes that alone is enough to make me lose it."

Mr. Green was still sitting next to Ms. Scarlet, comforting her. I noticed her candid conversation was returning the favor, in a big way. Mr. Green's pants reminded me of a circus tent.

"But how was Mr. Boddy killed?" Professor Plum asked me.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"What were the circumstances of his death?" he asked. "What murder weapon was used? Was the body moved? Were there any clues as to who may have perpetrated the crime?"

"Well," I said, trying to remember something. Anything.

"For God's sake woman," Colonel Mustard stated loudly. "You did examine the body, didn't you?"

"Oh yes," I said. "I examined the body." I could still see that beautiful cock, straining skyward, practically moaning for someone to wrap their fingers around it. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember much else. "But," I said, "We should probably examine it again. I'd hate to jump to conclusions."

Then, almost on cue, the power went out again.

Mrs. Peacock let out a piercing scream. I could hear a lot of commotion as people scrambled for safety in the dark, all of them knowing they were trapped in a pitch black room with a murderer and none of them certain they weren't next.

"Ms. McCoy," I heard a voice whisper. A warm hand took mine. "Come with me."

I allowed myself to be blindly led through the inky blackness. I heard the soft whoosh of a panel sliding open and I breathed in some musty, dank air. My guide pulled me through twisting passageways, down stairs, and through another panel, but I couldn't see a thing. There was a sputter and a flash of flame, and I saw Mrs. White's heavenly nineteen year old face hovering in the darkness. She was lighting a candle with a match.

When some brightness finally illuminated the room, I noticed we were in the kitchen.

"How'd we get here?" I asked.

"There are secret passageways," Mrs. White explained. "All through the house."

"Why did you bring me here?"

"I didn't think you were safe," she said. "One of those people could be a murderer. If they think you might catch them, there's no telling what they can do to you in the dark."

"Right," I said, studying Mrs. White in her French maid uniform. I could think of a few things I wanted her to do to me in the dark.

"Do you want me to get you something to eat?" she asked. "I've got some vanilla cake. It's freshly made."

"Sure," I said.

"Anything to drink?" she asked.

"Got whiskey?"

"No," she answered regretfully.

I looked around. "What about cooking sherry?" I asked. "I'm not picky."

"Yes," she said, unconsciously nodding to a cabinet.

"Good," I said, grabbing a wine glass off the bar rack and heading to the cabinet.

"I'll get it for you, though," Mrs. White shouted quickly, but too late.

I opened the cabinet and my eyes immediately fell on the stacks and stacks of photo albums.

"What are these?" I asked, picking one up.

"Nothing," Mrs. White said, behind me and sounding a little desperate.

I opened one up. My nipples hardened.

There was a Polaroid of the late Mr. Boddy, who, in the photograph, was very much alive. He was sitting on the toilet in the master bath, beating his ample meat, apparently unaware he was in pictures.

"Nice pic," I said. I turned the page.

Another Polaroid, Mr. Boddy toweling off after a shower. Another, Mr. Boddy getting dressed, taken before underwear covered up the good parts. Another good jack off pic, Mr. Boddy on the bed, shooting an impressive stream of cum into the air.

My mouth was dry as I reached for another book.

A little hardcore action. The female participant's face was cut out of the photos, but I could tell by the crimson stockings and ample attributes it was Ms. Scarlet.

"When we found the body," I said, flipping through the pages, "you led me to believe you'd never seen Mr. Boddy naked before. You sounded surprised at how big he was."

"I'm always a little surprised," Mrs. White said quietly. "But his cock is the only one I've seen, so I'm not sure."

"What do you mean?" I asked with shock, finally turning away from the pics to look at her.

She was standing by the sink. I noticed, with dread, that she was holding a knife in her hand. She had a faraway look in her eye that I might have liked if I'd been watching her get fucked. But she wasn't getting fucked. Naturally, I was a little nervous.

"I'm a virgin," Mrs. White said softly.

"You never-" I pointed to the albums.

She shook her head. "He never touched me. He promised my mother, when she retired, that I'd be safe here. That my virtue would remain intact. And he always kept his word."

I gulped. I couldn't tell if she was angry or sad. It made it hard for me to decide what to do.

She continued. "You have no idea what it's like, growing up in this house, so close to that cock." I thought I saw some tears welling up in her eyes. "No other friends, no boys around. I've been watching him through the peepholes in the secret passageway since I was sixteen. More than three years of fantasizing. When my mother retired, I figured I finally had a chance."

I nodded, urging her on. I figured the more she talked the safer I was.

"I started by showing up all over the house naked. I'd pretend to be surprised and ashamed, but it was such a thrill. So exciting. I expected he'd grab me and throw me down, I thought he'd force himself down my throat or my ass, like he did with Ms. Scarlet. But it never happened. So I arranged for him to catch me masturbating, so he'd know how horny I was. But if he found me in the Study, with my legs up on the desk and my fingers in my crotch, or in the Conservatory, with a homegrown cucumber, he'd just excuse himself and leave. Finally, one night I handcuffed myself to his bed. He just unlocked me and told me that he'd promised my mother he'd never touch me."

"That's gotta hurt," I said sympathetically.

Mrs. White nodded regretfully.

"Did you kill him?" I asked.

"God no," she said. "What would I do that for?"

I nodded at the weapon in her hand. "What have you got the knife for?"

She looked at me with surprise. "I was going to cut you a piece of cake. I thought you said you wanted some."

"Oh," I said. "Yeah." I breathed a sigh of relief and let out a little laugh as I grabbed the bottle of sherry. "Do you mind if I look through these?" I asked, holding up the albums. "I'm an investigator. It's what I do."

"Sure, go ahead," she said with a shrug as she deftly pressed the knife through the spongy cake. "I'm always in the mood to look at them."

So, by candlelight, Mrs. White and I drank sherry and went through her impressive photo collection.

"He sure did whack off a lot," I commented, studying a nice photo of Mr. Boddy in the shower, massaging his soaped up penis.

"He was very sexual. Almost any time I wanted to catch him I could."

"Really?" I asked.

"Oh yes," she said with an emphatic nod. "I'd get naked, he'd catch me and ignore me, but he'd almost always be in his room a half hour later, feeling himself up. I guess I just didn't interest him as much as his right hand did."

"I think you're looking at it the wrong way," I said, turning the page.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Maybe he was yanking on himself all the time because you turned him on," I explained.

"You think so?" she asked. I sensed a little happiness.

"Definitely."

"That's a nice way to look at it," she said. A sweet blush crept across her face.

I turned the page. "Holy shit," I said with surprise. "Look at all that cum."

Mr. Boddy had produced a stunning amount all over the bathroom countertop. He looked quite relieved, thick swollen prick in hand, long, hefty strands of cum dripping from his fist.

"Oh yeah," Mrs. White said. "That was just yesterday. He caught me shaving myself in the Lounge."

"Looks like he liked it," I said.

"Maybe," she mused, enjoying her new perspective. "Later on, I went into the bathroom…to clean. I locked the door and rubbed his cum all over me. I licked the rest off the counter." She smiled fondly. "That was a good time."

"Your pussy's shaved?" I asked, changing the subject slightly.

Mrs. White looked at me with surprise. "Yeah," she said. "I figured I'd tried everything else."

"Let me see," I said.

Her face turned bright red. "You want to see my pussy?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, moving the albums. "Sit right here on the table in front of me." Being the primary in an investigation has its privileges.

"Okay," she said uncertainly. She stood, sheepishly lifting her tiny skirt, and placed her naked ass on the wooden kitchen table. Her cunt was shaved so close it almost looked like it'd been polished.

"Very smooth," I said, feeling it.

"I like things to be neat and clean," Mrs. White said softly.

I dipped my fingers in some of the frosting of a nearby slice of cake, and massaged it around her pussy lips.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "Nobody's ever touched it but me."

"Don't worry," I said. "You're in good hands."

"I don't know what to do," she said.

"You don't have to do anything," I said, leaning forward. "Yet," I added. Then I buried my face between her smooth, nineteen year old thighs.

No one can give head to a woman like another woman. We know when to lick, when to suck, and when to use our tongues like a spit covered dick. The virginal Mrs. White was extremely receptive. She shuddered, she gasped, she wriggled, she twisted her tits with her hands, her ass cheeks made a sound on the table as her body squirmed. I loved looking up every now and then to see her face contorted with ecstasy. Not that it gave me a swelled head, because she didn't have anything to compare her first oral experience to, so I could have done anything and it would have felt good to her. However, even though my head remained unswelled, my crotch became unbelievably wet. Listening to orgasm after orgasm race through her body, releasing three years of sexual frustration, was enough to make the most frigid bitch send waterfalls of lubricant into her boots. And I'm about as far from a frigid bitch as you can get. I'd finally had enough, and I stood.

She looked at me with disappointment. "Is that all?" she asked.

"That's all for you," I said, unbuckling my pants. "Do you think you know what to do?" My slacks hit the floor.

She nodded, sliding off the table, anxious to return the favor.

I took my place on the table and she kneeled in front of her, licking her lips. I stopped her just before she moved in to start.

"Wait," I said. "If you're a virgin, why do they call you Mrs. White and not Miss?"

"Mr. Boddy hated change," she said, her big blue eyes peering up at me, her lovely lips inches from my pussy. "For years he had a housekeeper he called Mrs. White. He didn't want to have to start calling out a different name."

"Oh," I said, satisfied. "Okay. You can lick me now."

But it was not to be. Just as I lay happily back, ready to enjoy Mrs. White's first lesbian lick job, the kitchen doors rudely burst open. I leapt to my feet.

"Good Lord," Colonel Mustard cried out. "What in heaven's name is going on in here?"

I wrestled my pants back on. "Do you mind?" I snapped, flustered. "I'm interrogating a witness."

Professor Plum hovered behind Colonel Mustard. His eyes devoured Mrs. White on her hands and knees, her skirt still hiked up around her waist and her ass glistening from the juices she'd produced while sitting on the table. "It's Mr. Boddy's body," he said, shoving his hands quickly in his pockets to adjust himself.

"What about it?" I asked, angrily buckling my belt.

"It's gone," he said, looking at me.

To Be Continued...