The Maltese Kitty

Disclaimer: This is a sexual fantasy involving acts that would be terribly immoral in reality.

--

The dame walked into my office like she owned the place, which wouldn't have set her back much.

I'm a detective, or at least that's what it says on my door: Samantha Harrison, Private Eye. But the only investigating I'd done that month was seeing how much gin I could get for what little money I had. If I didn't get a break, I'd be out on the street. So that was one reason why I was so interested in the dame when she walked in.

The other reason was, she was a hell of a doll. She wore a strapless black dress slit up the sides, high enough to reveal plenty of her charms. She had curly red hair and curves enough to make my heart start to race. I've heard people say that a woman has legs up to heaven; this dame's legs went up to her ass, which I guess was close enough.

"What can I do for you, miss?" I asked.

"I hear that you're a detective of some skill, miss Harrison," she replied.

I could stand to hear this, but I shrugged. "For the right case," I said.

She sat down. "I have a case that the police can't solve, and I'll pay a thousand dollars if you can."

"Well," I replied, "consider me on it. Why don't you tell me everything."

She nodded, and took a deep breath. "My younger sister Gabriela has been ravished, and I want the perpetrator caught."

I nodded slowly. "Start at the beginning, miss. Tell me everything you know."

--

I saw it all happen because I was spying on my sister.

We both stand to inherit a great deal when our ailing father passes away, and in high society it's not unusual to watch your potential rivals carefully. I regret seeing her that way, but I did. So, on the night of the crime, I was spying from her closet.

My sister is beautiful. Her mother came from Malta, and she inherited the best of her looks - sharp features, long black hair, and gorgeous dark eyes. I suspected her of having a secret boyfriend, which led me to my spying.

When the man walked into her bedroom, at first I thought I was right. He was tall and suave, with blond hair and gorgeous blue eyes. He disrobed almost immediately, revealing a lean form and a manhood already half-erect at the thought of my sister in the shower.

I soon found out how wrong I was, though. My sister stepped out of her bathroom, clad only in a towel, and he leapt out to grab her from behind. One hand held both of her arms as she struggled, while the other reached down and untucked her towel. Each time she pushed away from him, the towel slid down a few inches, until it fell to the floor.

"Stop!" my sister cried. "Help!"

"Nobody else is home," the man said, "except for your sister, taking a nap in the east wing." He adjusted her position, pressing his manhood against her backside, and she squealed. She reached her hands back to try to push him away, and he adjusted himself again, reaching one hand between her legs.

"No!" she gasped. "Please, I'm a good girl!"

"We'll see," the man said. He reached forward and began to slide his fingers along her lips. She gasped again, and reached out to push helplessly against his arm. Ignoring her efforts, he began stroking her, his fingers expertly drawing her body along. Quickly, her squeals of protest grew breathier, her struggles grew less frequent, and the sounds of his fingers along her lips grew wetter. She said 'no' a time or two, but she seemed to be saying it to her pussy as much as to him.

I'm ashamed to admit it, miss Harrison, but I did nothing to help her. I was invisible, and I feared that if I stepped out to help her I'd be ravished instead.

"I don't know if good girls respond like this," he murmured, his hand exploring her bosom.

She squirmed helplessly in his grasp. "Let go of me," she insisted.

"I will," he replied, watching her chest move as she struggled. "But first I want to see if you really are a good girl."

She looked up at him. "How?" she asked, not wanting to admit that she knew.

"Good girls don't go to bed with strange men," he replied.

She squealed as he pushed her forward and set her on her bed. He was right behind her, though, holding onto her hips and keeping her from getting too far. She turned to try to hit him, and he grabbed her wrist and pushed her down into the goosedown coverlet.

I couldn't look away, miss Harrison. Her legs flailed as she tried in vain to push him back, her flawless skin growing flushed and sweaty with her effort. He was settling in above her, pinning her wrists against the bed. He could see every inch of her, from her innocent face to her cute bosom to the soft curly hair that led to her dripping-wet kitty. She was trying to stop him, but her body was just trying to make things easy for him.

"Stop, you brute!" she cried.

"Now, now," he said as he adjusted his position, lining his manhood up with her lips. "Is that any way for a good girl to treat a guest?"

He pressed forward, and she squealed anew. I could see the head of his cock parting her lips, just beginning to slide inside her. He groaned and pushed forward, slowly sliding himself deeper and deeper inside her with small motions of his hips. I could see her straining against him, and hear her crying out, but it did her no good.

He was watching her expression, even as he slid fully inside her. She stared up at him imploringly, and he smiled back.

"You do feel good, doll," he said.

"Stop," she pleaded. "This isn't right."

"Maybe not," he admitted. "But as long as you're being so good I think you should enjoy it."

He began to move in earnest then. His hips rose and fell, slowly at first, exploring her body with his own. Despite the possibility of discovery, he seemed to be in no hurry. His own pleasure was hardly visible; his attention seemed focused on her. He watched her face, as her outrage and shock and pleasure all battled for control. He watched her blush spread from her cheeks down her neck and across her breasts. He listened to the sounds she made, to see whether she was objecting to him or to her body's reaction.

His attentions were certainly having an effect on her. Her blush had soon spread across most of her pale skin, and I could see her sweating. She was still struggling, but I couldn't help but notice how many of her struggles involved arching her back and wiggling her hips. Most notable, though, were the sounds she made. She was still saying no, and demanding that he stop, but her tone of outrage had given way to gasps and barely-suppressed moans. I could hear her tone growing more frantic. I suppose she didn't want to be the sort of girl who came for her ravisher.

He smiled down at her. "You can make as much noise as you need to, doll," he told her.

"No!" she gasped. "Let me go!"

He seemed to shrug. "You can fight it if you want. That's what a good girl would do, right?"

He drew back, then thrust slowly into her, letting her feel every inch of it. She couldn't quite hold back a moan. Then, as he rubbed his hips against hers, he kissed her on the forehead. She couldn't fight everything, and she gasped as she belatedly tried to shake him off.

"Even if you fight it, I think I'm going to take you places," he added.

She was trying so hard to prove him wrong. She kept struggling, trying to break his grip on her wrists or dislodge him from down below. She tried her best not to show him how much pleasure she was feeling, to deny him that much, at least. The trouble is, my sister is a terrible liar. She was trying to hold in her sounds, but they would burst free. Her stifled gasps and moans that she cut short were as easy to read as her expressions. Her struggles, too, were always the most desperate when he was really putting it to her.

"Please," she gasped. "Let me go."

"Soon enough," he rasped, his own pleasure beginning to rise.

Her squirming was getting more frantic. She arched her back and dug her heels into the bed, trying to push herself away, but he locked his ankles around hers and pushed her deeper into the plush coverlet. Her eyes grew wider as she felt her climax approaching, and she shook her head desperately.

"No," she moaned.

"You've been depriving yourself," he said. "Just let it go."

She couldn't take her eyes off of his. He stared back as he ravished her, his own breathing starting to grow ragged as he brought her to her full.

When her climax hit her, she couldn't keep herself contained any longer. She cried out in ecstasy, her repressed pleasure suddenly overwhelming her and sweeping her away like a tidal wave. She arched her back, pushing herself up against him, grinding her pussy against his hips. Her left hand broke free of his grip, and instead of fighting she grabbed his hand and held it tightly as the orgasm dominated her. Watching his face, I could see his smug joy at having forced her to cum for him, but also his rising pleasure as her pussy squeezed his cock. He was controlling her, but I knew it wouldn't be long before he controlled her even more fully.

She gasped for air, still making adorable mewling noises, as the pleasure began to recede. She realized after a moment that she was holding his hand, and she shook it away and pushed at him for a moment before he pinned her wrist once more.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," he husked. Exhausted, she didn't even manage a reply.

"And since you're being such a good hostess, I have a housewarming gift for you."

Her eyes shot open. I don't know how my poor innocent sister knew what he meant, but she did.

"No!" she cried. She winced and tried to free herself, but her orgasm hadn't changed the balance of power.

"Oh yes," he groaned. "I've got a load of cum for you."

"No," she moaned.

"You're so pretty," he said. "But think how pretty you'll be with a baby in your belly."

"You can't," she objected, but she knew he could.

"I'm getting close," he panted. He was glancing up and down, trying to take in the whole sight of her before he claimed her.

At first, she closed her eyes, as if to pretend that it was all a dream. It was futile, and I think she knew it. Her curly hair and her breasts were bouncing along with his thrusts, and her pussy was still riding a post-orgasmic high. She couldn't close herself off.

She opened her eyes to see his expression growing more and more frantic. She silently pleaded for him not to fill her, but his rising pleasure was overtaking him. His primal need to reproduce, to seed her womb and make her bear his child, controlled him almost as thoroughly as it controlled her.

"Yes," he groaned. He looked down at where his cock plunged into her, her wet lips opening to take him in, his brown hairs melding with her black.

"Oh, yes," he went on. Drawn by his gaze, and by the inevitability of the moment, she looked down. She could feel his pace increasing, feel his cock growing harder as it prepared to seed her helpless pussy. Despite her struggles, she knew that her dripping cunt was eager to take him, and her fertile womb ready to receive his seed.

"Yes!" he cried as he reached his peak. He gripped her wrists tightly and buried his cock deeply inside her. She moaned helplessly as she felt his cock pulse, flooding her with his seed. He drove himself inside her like a madman, spraying wave after wave of cum against her cervix. My poor sister, exhausted and helpless, watched in shock as he claimed her.

I didn't do anything to help her. From where I was, I could see his cock twitching with each blast of his invading seed. I could see her struggling in his grip, and hear them both crying out in ecstasy and denial. But I had kept myself safe, and so I could do nothing but watch him use her for his pleasure.

As his climax waned, he collapsed on top of her and held her close, groaning as the last of his seed flowed into her. She squirmed for a moment, then fell still, accepting that she wasn't going anywhere until he let her.

He waited a few moments. I don't know if he was too exhausted from what he'd done to her or if he just wanted to keep his seed trapped inside her. Regardless, by the time he pulled his cock from my sister's honeypot, she had passed out.

The brute leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. Then, silently, he stalked out of the room and left her there.

I waited for what felt like an hour, but was likely mere moments, before I slid the closet door open and made my escape as well.

--

"That was yesterday," Scarlet said. "My sister hasn't mentioned it to anyone. And if we called the police, it would be all over the papers."

I nodded, trying to focus myself. For the past four months the only thing beneath my belt that had seen any action was my hip flask, and Scarlet's detailed description had left my panties dripping wet. "So you want me to track the man down quietly."

"Yes. No one should know but me - not even my little sister, yet. Give me proof of his identity and I'll take care of it from there."

I held out my hand. "Alright, miss. I'm on the case."

--

My first stop was the Sackefeller mansion. Scarlet said her sister had stepped out for the day, so I had an opening to examine the crime scene.

Gabriela's room was high-class, but it didn't have much in the way of clues. Judging by the fresh sheets, she'd cleaned up not long after. Her windows were locked, as were all of the windows I'd come across so far.

As I was stepping out, I nearly bumped into the maid. She was wearing a short black skirt with a lacy apron and carrying a feather duster. She seemed surprised to see me, but quickly found her wits.

"Hello, miss," she said with a French accent. "Are you looking for miss Gabriela?"

"I'm checking the house security, " I said, giving her the line that Scarlet had given me.

"Oh," she replied. She hesitated a moment, looking toward the window, then put a hand on my arm. "I have seen something in the back that you should see."

I followed her down a flight of stairs to the back landing. The Sackefeller estate extended for at least a mile behind the house, going from vast green lawn to forested gardens. I tried not to pay attention to the bit of her back exposed by the uniform top, or how closely her skirt gripped her ass, but there wasn't much else to see on the stairs.

"Do the girls go out here much?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "But we are very good about keeping the doors locked."

"And the windows?"

"Yes, miss. Mister Sackefeller is very particular."

We stepped down the stone stairs of the porch and out into the vast yard. "Are the girls set to inherit this?"

"That is the hope. Mister Sackefeller's will has difficult conditions, though." I filed that away as we reached the muddy edge of a garden patch.

She pointed to the margin, where a deep footprint had been left in the soil. I looked closely - It was a man's bootprint, size ten or eleven, with a distinctive scratch in the heel. I judged that it was perhaps a day old.

"Thanks for pointing this out, doll," I said.

She glanced around. "Should I call you if I see anything suspicious? I've been...unnerved the past few days, though I can't say why."

"You surely can, miss..."

"Cecile."

I took out my card and handed it to her. "I'm half an hour away if you need me. And to be honest, I think you're right to be unnerved, so be careful."

She tucked the card away and nodded. "Thank you."

--

I followed the footprints back into the estate, but they vanished a quarter-mile back. It seemed like a clear lead, but the circumstances seemed odd to me. The idea of a man approaching a rich estate by walking across a mile of open ground, easily visible from every window, struck me as unlikely.

I left the estate and swung by city hall to follow up on a hunch. Sackefeller himself sounded like quite a character, and I wanted to see if Cecile's suspicions about his inheritance were correct. Of course, you couldn't just walk in and ask for someone's will, but a good private eye always has connections.

When I had the records, I headed to my office. I drank my last shot of whiskey, hoping that this was going to pan out.

Before I could get far, though, my telephone rang.

"Samantha Harrison," I said.

"Miss Harrison," Cecile replied. "I am glad you are there."

I glanced at the clock. "It's ten o'clock, doll. Has something got you worried?"

"Yes," she gasped. "I believe I saw someone entering the house through the back door. I don't know how they got in, but no one should be outside and have the key at this hour."

I picked up my trenchcoat. "Sit tight. I'm-"

I was cut off by a sudden cry, right before the line went dead.

Cursing, I threw my coat on and dashed out the door.

When I arrived, Cecile was waiting at the servants' entrance. She was sweaty and disheveled, and she wore a plain bathrobe over her maid's uniform.

"Miss Harrison," she said. "You were right. I am sorry that you were right."

"Settle down, doll," I replied. "Why don't you just tell me what happened?"

--

The man grabbed me quickly. He wrapped one hand around my middle and clicked the receiver with the other. I cried out, and he let the receiver fall and clapped a hand over my mouth.

"Not so loud, doll," he whispered. "You don't want Mr. Sackefeller to hear, do you?"

"Why shouldn't he?" I retorted, pushing his hand away. "You are a thief! How did you get in here?"

He chuckled and let go of my middle, then reached for my wrists. I struggled, Miss Harrison, but he was quick, and he caught them both. He pushed me forward, onto my knees against the chaise. As he did, I could feel his manhood pressing against me.

"So you want to know how I got in?" he asked, leaning close to my ear.

"No!" I said. I understood now that he meant to ravish me, but he was right about Mr. Sackefeller - if he arrived, he'd be more likely to sack me than help me. "Please, sir."

"Don't worry," he said. "I take care not to hurt anyone when I'm getting in."

He shifted his position, pressing himself up against my rear. I squirmed, trying to break free, but he held me in place. I looked back to see him looking at me, taking in the shape of my body in my uniform, the apprehensive expression on my face, the way my blonde hair fell over my shoulder.

"The first thing to do is always to case the joint," he murmured. "You never know what you'll see."

I strained to get away from him, pushing against the floor and struggling against his grasp. He held firm.

"Like that," he went on. "You're beautiful when you try to get away."

"Let me do it then," I hissed back.

He only chuckled. "Casing the joint is only the first step," he replied. He adjusted his hands, freeing one while keeping both of my wrists pinned. He moved his hips away from me for a moment, and I heard the zip of his fly and the rustle of his pants falling away.

"Stop it!" I gasped.

"Not until I'm done stealing," he said. "Once you've had a good look, you can get past the outer defenses, like the walls. They're easy enough to skirt."

With that, he lifted my skirt up above my waist, revealing my underthings. I squealed in shock, but he was only beginning. He placed his hand on my leg and ran it up the inside of my thigh. His fingers caressed my lips through the thin fabric of my underwear, and I gasped.

"Once you're past the walls, you have to be patient," he said. He grasped the top of my underwear and pulled down, leaving my panties at my knees and my pussy exposed. His fingers resumed their gentle exploration, gliding over my thighs, my bush, my lips. I tried to contain myself - I was mortified at the thought of Mr. Sackefeller or one of his daughters finding me like this, but I was also horribly embarrassed at the intrusion. Beyond that, though, I could feel my body beginning to respond to his ministrations. My...my wetness begins deep inside, and only reaches the surface once I'm thoroughly hot and bothered. I wasn't there yet, but I was headed there.