Despite what TV and movies would have you believe, a PI does much more than tail cheating spouses. We often chase workman comp claims, looking for missing persons or things like that. The cheating spouse cases happen maybe once a month at most. Don't get me wrong, I've done plenty, but they aren't the norm. With the internet what it is now, who can't track their spouse down with a Find My Phone app? Why pay three or four grand when a ten-dollar app can do the work for you?
The one thing TV and movies get right is that most PIs are men. I'm kind of unique in that way. Being a woman is a huge advantage; people often don't suspect a woman is tailing them or easily shrug it off after a few seconds. The only downside is I have to fight hard for the work. Clients can often doubt a woman PI more than they would a man. That's a trope TV shows have gotten right since the 80s, and that hasn't changed.
My last case was a cheating spouse case, making it a bit cliche, but things took a turn at the last minute. The client suspected his wife was cheating while he was at work. They were pretty well off, and she was a stay-at-home wife. I'd actually use the term trophy wife even though I hate it. That's what she was, to be honest. Fifteen years younger, blonde, and all the curves a man could want. I'm no plain Jane, but even I said, "Damn!" when he passed me the photos.
He was right, though that was not the norm either. My experience has been that more than eighty percent of spouses aren't cheating despite what statistics say about marriage failure rates. The divorce attorneys that have hired me and my personal experience have decided that it's usually about money. The breadwinner doesn't want to share anymore or something along those lines. The cheating, if any, is usually a side-effect of a bigger issue.
I followed her around all day, running errands like picking up dry cleaning, getting her hair done, etc. Then she went to the shadier parts of town. My first thought was she was scoring drugs or something, but then she pulled up a strip club called the Titty Twister. (Feel free to change the name) This was not what I was expecting from her. She was hot, like the sister next door hot, so going to a strip club seemed a bit weird. It wasn't my first time in a strip club, and it wouldn't be my last. This job can put you in some pretty odd places. I won't even attempt to tell you more about that now. That's for another time.
I paid the cover charge and two drinks minimum to sit at the bar to watch the client's wife inside. To my surprise, she was on the stage in a catholic schoolgirl uniform that left little to the imagination. In just the twenty minutes it took me to get inside, she had changed her entire look and make-up. I was damned impressed that the sister next door look was gone and an almost new person was there in her place. I wear my share of make-up, but to look like she did, I'd have been at least an hour doing my face. She had talent in more ways than one. Her moves on the stage were impressive. The men there thought so because she had piles of bills on the stage. They were quite literally throwing money at her. I was tempted to throw some myself just for the fun of it. That would draw attention to me, so I passed. Instead, I used the hidden camera in my purse to record her whole dance routine. I was sure hubby would want to know about this.
When she was done dancing, men seemed eager for a private dance, so I stayed in sight to get footage of that, too. In an hour, I watched her land four or five trips to the back room for lap dances and walked away with wads of bills three or four times thicker than the other girls I'd seen. I'm really in the wrong line of work... But something seemed off. It was fishy, but I wasn't being paid to figure that out; just tail her and see if she was cheating. This wasn't cheating, but I was sure the client would want to know this. Your wife stripping in the seedy side of town was something I thought most men would like to know.
Just as I was paying my tab and assuming the job was over when, I turned to come face-to-face with my target. I could smell the perfume on her as she stared at me with big green eyes. They were like deep emeralds that wanted to devour my soul. I just smiled, trying not to let them engulf me. It wasn't easy, let me tell you. The photos hubby had shown me didn't do her justice. I know the make-up was doing a lot of work from experience, but that didn't matter. She was a walking sex dream, standing there in a plaid ultra mini-skirt, a bright white button-up dress shirt only buttoned to just above her navel. Her massive breasts were practically spilling out, and the fact she wasn't wearing a bra was evident as her very hard nipple poked at the fabric. Her heels gave her several inches as she looked down at me.
I nodded and was trying to make my leave when she put her hand on my shoulder. I tried not to melt away from the sexuality she exuded. I'm a professional, after all.
"Well, hello there, good-looking," she exclaimed. I could feel her eyes taking me in. I wore a low-key pair of jeans, an AC/DC t-shirt, and a plain ball cap. It was my frumpy look so that I could blend in. My brain said it was pure BS, and I thought I might have been made. I prepared to find an out.
"You can't possibly mean me," I said, faking modesty. "I didn't even put my face on this morning."
"You don't need it, honey," She replied smoothly. Taking my hand in hers, I could tell she was about to put out the charm. I knew the move well. They taught it in sales classes, and I guessed it worked well in the stripper field as well. "We don't get many women in here, let alone not with the company of male peers. Pardon me for jumping at the chance to offer you a lap dance."
My mouth was open to speak again when she interrupted me before words could form. "Half price, of course. I'd love to tempt more women in here. Do tell your friends."
My mind raced with a way out, but then I shrugged it off. I had expenses I could charge the client, and he might be paying me to get a lap dance from his wife. That would be a first. I smiled and said, "Lead the way. How could I turn down an offer like that?" It helped that I hadn't touched a woman like that in a while. My male companions were great, but a woman's touch was something special.
I followed her through the room, trying not to gawk at how her hips swayed with every step. She made it look so natural. I had to put in effort with middling results when I tried that. I was beginning to get jealous. Her come hither look over her shoulder made me weak in the knees as I was right on her heels. I took a deep breath as we entered a room about eight by eight. It was just big enough for a loveseat on one side and a pole running from floor to ceiling in the opposite corner. Soundproof foam lined the wall, and the click as she closed the door was deafening. All the noise from the stage area just stopped. Only a few vibrations could be felt from the base rumbling the floor.
"Sit, Honey," she directed me with a smile. "I know just the song for this private show."
I did as told and watched as she hit a few buttons on a tablet attached to the wall. A familiar guitar rhythm hummed from the room speakers. She began to slowly dance around the pole, shuffling her short mini-skirt as she did. The music sped up, and her head swung with the singers humming. As the drums began, she rocked back and forth harder. By the time the lyrics to Thunderstruck began, she was in full dance around the pole, using her every inch of sexuality to tease my senses.
I had to admit she was good at this. It didn't take a detective to figure out why she picked this song or band, too. I tapped my foot to the music as I watched her white blouse be tossed to the side. Then, the skirt, followed by a slow teasing removal of her panties. Her breast bounced closer to me as the song blared in the small, confined room. The dancing got as close to me as possible, and then she would move back to the pole. I was fighting the urge to get up to join her.
When the song ended, she entered my lap just seconds before. She had been so fluid with it all that I barely noticed as she ground her crotch on my thigh. Her hands began roaming my body, touching places I didn't think strippers were allowed. It felt more handsy than private dances I'd had before, but I also tried to chalk it up to being a woman, and she seemed to like that a lot.
The thing that took me by surprise the most was when she began nibbling on my ear. My back got ridged, and I almost got up to leave. Strippers really don't do that, and I was getting uncomfortable.
"Shhhh," she whispered to me. "This is just for the ladies, and I won't charge you extra. Just relax. There are no cameras in here."
I began to protest, but when she placed her lips on mine, I couldn't do anything except feel my hands wrap around her waist. To my surprise, she didn't jump off me. Instead, her hands grabbed my breasts as I felt her pussy ride my leg like a dog in heat. I swear, I'm professional, but we all have our limits.
Before I had a grasp of the situation, her hand began guiding mine to her crotch, and I used my fingers to start stroking her swollen clit. It was moist now, and I had a damp spot on my leg where she had been. I kissed her neck as she moaned from my touch. She was so wet I couldn't hold back, and I slid first one finger inside, then two more. Each one made her bite her lip. Her bite was almost hard enough to bleed. Every movement of my fingers made her writhe in my lap. Such pretty moans escaped her sweet little mouth.
My mouth made its way down to her chest and gently moved towards her nipples. The sigh she released was not something that could be faked. She was into this more than I thought. This whole fucked up scenario had me more excited than I expected. My hands and mouth were moving with a mind all their own.
"Don't stop." She murmured, then bit my shoulder as I felt her gush all over my hand. It was one of those full-body orgasms, too. I watched her trembling from the top of her head to her toes. I was pretty proud of myself. I hadn't been with another woman in a while and worried I might have lost my touch.
"Now it's my turn," she whispered to me.
I sat there as she slid from my lap to the floor. Winking at me, her hands moved to the zipper of my jeans. Ever so lightly, she slid them down around my ankles and then made my panties follow. Had I known that I'd be getting action, I'd have worn a sexy pair and not the unsexy cotton ones I'd grabbed in a rush. Her face never showed any acknowledgment or judgment of my choice of undies. It didn't change my embarrassment.
The heat of her breath tickled the hairs of my muff as I felt her nose bury itself in them. Light flicks of her tongue attacked my clit slowly. This was not her first rodeo, and I could tell as I felt my eyes rolling back in my head. My fingers ran through luscious curls as she ate me like a fresh peach. Her mouth gulped every drop of wetness as her tongue worked magic on me.
I expected her fingers to start doing some of the work, but they never did. It was all her mouth ravishing me. My own climax approached faster than I expected. As it did, I found my hands gripping her hair tighter and pulling her down into my cunt harder. She never struggled as I thought I might be smothering her. Instead, she just fucked me with her mouth hard. When my own orgasm was over, I was gasping for breath as she looked at me with a fucking grin on her face.
Before either of us could speak, a banging came from the door. A deep male voice followed it, "Trixie, are you okay in there? I got several of the regulars looking for private dances."
"Oh Shit," she mouthed at me but didn't actually speak. "Yeah, I'll be out in a second!"
Looking at me, she said, "I wish I had longer. We need to talk, actually. There is a diner a block from here called Ginnie's. Meet me there in an hour." Then she kissed me again and vanished into the busy club before I could speak.
