Note from Author: The following two part story is a tongue in cheek tale of an erotic author and is followed up with a hot sex story by the writer.
At first glance they may seem to be separate, stand-alone tales in different eras and with different people. But as the reader will realize, they give insight into the art of erotica.
The first story, The Job, is written as homage to the marvelous pulp fiction writers of decades past. A hard-boiled private detective, in the style of Mickey Spillane's Mike Hammer, accepts an assignment from an old friend that will give him insight into the mind of an erotic author. Although light on sex, every erotic author will find much to identify with here.
The next story by the author introduced in 'The Job', is supercharged sex when a demure young wife is caught in the web of a sexual predator who is intent on seducing her.
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The Job
It was an unseasonably warm day and I had given my secretary Velda the day off. I'm at my desk finishing up some old overdue paperwork and polishing off the last gulp of my coffee laced with grappa. Caseloads are low and I'm thinking of taking a few days off myself, maybe take out the old sailboat or just hang around some friendly bar for a while.
The more I think about it the better the idea sounds. I swallow the last dregs of my spiked coffee and am putting the bottle back into my desk drawer when I hear a knock at the door: "Yeah, come in. Doors open." I bark out, none too friendly.
My eyes open wide as I watch her walk in and over to my desk. Veronica Lake style wavy-blond hair with a lock hanging over one of her crystal blue eyes; hips undulating under a sheer pastel blue dress and breasts moving sensually with each step she takes. I manage a grin as her spike heels take her to the front of my desk. My eyes travel up her nylon clad legs; linger at her lower belly before continuing on to her breasts and face. She is drop-dead gorgeous and has an amused smile on her ruby red lips as she begins talking: "Mister Hammer, we need your help in a very delicate matter."
As she is talking, I am busy drinking in her beauty and sensuality. Her dress is so tight I can count the pubic hair at her groin. I am up to 146 when something she says catches my full attention: "The Colonel sent me. He says you are the only man for this job."
The Colonel! Shit, there goes my vacation. There is no request I would ever refuse from The Colonel. We go back a long way, The Colonel and me. He has saved my life and, more importantly, my soul more times than I could count. I don't hear from him very often anymore, but when I do, it is something damn important.
She is reaching into her small clutch purse and pulling out a card with a phone number written on it. I catch a sent of her lilac-musk perfume as she reaches over the desk to hand it to me. "Call the number on this card, he will tell you everything you need to know."
She turns and walks back to the door, giving me a view of her legs with the nylon seam running up each one, clear up to her ass. Except for the garter belt holding them up, she is not wearing any underwear and through the gossamer fabric of her dress, I can make out a small tattoo on her left cheek. It's a small rabbit head with the words "Bunny Momma" scrolled underneath. At the door, she turns, flashes me a smile and is gone.
"Whewwwww!" I whistle as I take out my bottle for another pull before picking up the phone.
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Four hours later I am driving across the state, trying to find some jazz to replace the bible belt music on the Caddie's radio. I borrowed the car from 'Marco the Head' to make the trip; he had also heard from The Colonel and had a garrote and stiletto ready for me to take along. "Here" he said, "better take these brass knuckles and sap too. And stay on your guard when you see Davito. He's a big lummox, but I've seen him put three men in the hospital for just looking at him funny."
As I was pulling out of Cicero's parking lot I heard a whistle and stopped. It was 'Fat Clemenza' coming up to me with a paper bag in his hand. "Take this." He said. It was a .45 cal colt automatic with a shoulder holster. "The serial number is filed off and there's tape on the handle. Just in case." He grinned.
I locked my snub-nose .38 in the glove compartment, strapped on the shoulder holster and put Clemenza's cannon into it under my suit jacket. But before I got out of the parking lot I noticed 'Paulie The Gimp' hobbling toward me on his crutches. He just wanted to pat me on the shoulder and wish me luck. He also dropped something into my pocket and said: "Just in case things get hairy."
I was anxious to get going so I didn't look to see what it was, I just flashed him a grin as I stomped the gas pedal of the 450 hp El Dorado and burnt rubber onto the highway.
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It was 3:10 AM when I coasted up to a stop in front of Davito's house with my lights off. I slipped out of the door and was starting to climb over the fence when I heard the growl of his guard dog, Seawolf. Fortunately I had picked up a heavy dose of dog tranquilizer from 'Doc Feelgood' so I wrapped a few pills into some hard salami and tossed it over to him. Then I sat down to wait for him to go to sleep.
As I waited, I thought about what The Colonel had told me and speculated on what he hadn't told me about this job. His instructions on what needed to be done were clear, but he didn't tell me why. I knew that Davito was one of The Colonel's favorite writers and that he could be counted on to put in some white-hot sex action in his erotic fiction stories. Perhaps it wasn't all fiction after all, I speculated, and one of the cuckold husbands he wrote about had taken out a contract on him?
Or, maybe one of the wives who entrusted Davito with her personal story found out that he used it in one of his books? "Beware of a woman deceived," I mumbled under my breath. But, somehow I didn't think that they were the reasons. DL Davito specialized in writing about forbidden sex - not the perverse stuff, but forbidden in the way that sex with another mans wife is forbidden. He wrote several books based on this "thou shalt not covet another mans wife" theme under his "Tenth Commandment Series." But he hadn't published anything for a while.
It didn't really matter why he sent me, I was here to do a job for The Colonel and that's what I would do.
The tranquilizers were working; I could hear Seawolf snoring peacefully by the doggie door. I made my way over the fence, jimmied the door and entered the lair of Davito.
I could hear snickering and chuckling coming from the basement as I made my way silently down the stairs. I could see a scruffy man in a wife-beater undershirt hunched over a computer terminal. From the bluish light coming from the screen I could make out his hands on the keyboard. They were wind and sun burned, as you would expect to see on a man who loved being at sea. The clincher was the signet ring he was wearing with the inscription "OMW." I had my man!
I had the garrote in my hands as I made my way up to him from behind. Old pizza boxes and empty beer bottles were scattered around the floor... I heard a "snap" as I stepped on a bottle cap.
For a stout man he was surprisingly fast as he leaped from his chair and charged at me. Before I could get the garrote around his neck he slammed into my stomach and knocked me back against a bookshelf. Books on classic erotica and Oprah's best sellers came tumbling down around us. I landed a right cross alongside his head and he stumbled back a bit. But then he kicked me in the groin so hard it knocked the air out of me. His fist connected with my nose and I felt the blood start to flow.
I caught my breath and smacked him across his forehead with my sap, but his forehead sloped so much it just glanced off.
One-two, one-two, one-two - I punched his face with my fists. He staggered back, then bellowing like a wounded bull, he and charged at me. His elbow caught me in my side and I felt a rib break.
As he turned to charge me again, I got my brass knuckles on and as he put his head down and ran at me I stepped aside and brought them down on his head. He screamed and went down and out.
I kicked him in the ear with my size 12 wingtips to be sure he was out. He was.
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I tied him to his chair with the garrote around his neck and down his back to his wrists. He couldn't move without strangling himself while I spent the next 20 minutes going through the files on his desk. I think I had found the answer to my "Why?" question. He had three or four novels started, but they only went on for a few chapters then stopped. None were finished, although some did contain the white-hot sex that Davito was known for.
I felt his beady eyes on me as I read through his last file. I cocked the .45 and walked up to him, pointing the gun at his nose. "What do you want Hammer? Who sent you?" He croaked through swollen lips.
"Who do you think Davito? You're becoming an embarrassment to the gang. The Colonel is very disappointed in you." A tear welled up in his good eye as I continued: "You know how much The Colonel loves reading your books, hell we all do. But you haven't finished anything in months. What is the matter with you man?"
Tears were forming at his face now. He tried to speak: "No one ever tells me that they like my books, did you mean it when you said The Colonel does, Mike?"