Greetings all; in my stories my characters exist in my head, but there might be real life inspirations for some of them. Who knows?
This is my contribution to the private dick genre.
~
Preface.
To all that know her Celia Wheatstraw was the epitome of charm, grace and propriety in every area of her life. She's a tall blonde, with a swimmers body, nice juicy melons, and a pretty face with an aristocratic nose. While she doesn't hide her sizable assets, she also doesn't flaunt them, and when it comes to intimacy she is equally conservative in her behavior.
She isn't a prude, but she's always preferred intercourse with her husband to happen in their bed in a dimly lit or darkened room. She sucked his cock, but she didn't swallow his cum. When she gave herself to him in the doggy position, she'd ask him not to look at her backdoor. On those rare occasions when she rode him, her movements were subtle and her stay up there was always short lived.
Her husband Petey Wheatstraw had gone along with her conservatism in the sack until the night he finally gave her a good old-fashioned fucking. He grabbed her ankles, spread her legs wide, then pushed them forward until her feet touch the bed. Her honey pot was then completely exposed to him and he took advantage of her vulnerable position by driving his cock into it to the root. He then fucked her with a rhythm she'd never experienced and hammered her poontang until she came unlike she'd ever cum before.
After the deed was done she felt like a wanton slut for enjoying it so much.
Since that night he's nailed her the same way every time they do it, and not only that, sometimes he's face fucked her and drained his nuts down her throat.
Deep down she's loved every second of it, but she doesn't approve of that type of behavior for herself. So in an effort to cleanse her conscience for her uncivilized conduct she complained about it to her mother. She left out the racy details, instead opting to tell her that her husband's deportment had taken a sudden turn.
"Its like he's a different person," she said to her mother. She then sniffled and fought back a tear before adding, "He's, he's, his appetite is like we're newlyweds again."
As her mother listened to her daughter's concerns, she came to the obvious conclusion that he was cheating on her. She immediately called her attorney and instructed her to find a female private investigator.
~
The female private investigator that her mother's attorney chose was me, Kendrick Butch Johnson. I was assigned male at birth, and grew up as a boy until adulthood, then lived as a man until I decided to transition. At that time I was a cop, but some of my fellow officers started giving me crap over my decision to become a woman, so I chose to try private detective work.
I think I'm a stunningly good looking six footer, with a great figure, some big ole d-cup titties, a fine ass, and I still have muscles. Even though I present myself as a woman, I still love my cock, and I have a large one.
Chapter 1
It was Monday morning when I walked up the hallway from my bedroom to my living room, which has been converted to my reception area. I greeted my office manager Vetta. "Good morning sexy," I said before kissing her on her cheek. "How was your weekend?"
"Morning Boss," she responded in her typical perky way. "It was great. Thanks for asking. How was yours?"
"Not bad, not bad at all," I said, sounding equally upbeat. "I thought I heard voices in here a few minutes ago."
Vetta nodded toward my closed office door.
My expression asked the question.
Vetta responded saying, "Mrs. Monica Young and her oldest daughter Mrs. Celia Wheatstraw are in there." She smirked and added, "Her highness Mrs Young feels rather entitled, and she didn't want them to sit out here with me. I think you'll like her."
I grimaced and then I exhaled before going in there to face the music. "Come see about me in five minutes," I said to Vetta before turning to go into my office.
When I stepped inside Mrs Young looked over her reading glasses at me. She had her cellphone in her hand and she was obviously texting. Her daughter was also holding her cellphone and looking nervous.
I was wearing jeans, a form fitting top that displayed my torso to its best affect, and a baseball cap. All in all I was looking quite butch, no pun intended. "Good morning ladies," I said cordially, speaking in a husky voice. "I'm Butch Johnson."
"Hm," Monica Young responded, while looking me up and down. "I heard you could pass as a man or a woman. Looking at you, I suppose that's true, but at least you're pretty." She stated it with no sign that she was concerned what so ever about my feelings. "I'm Monica Young," announced the fifty something cherubic brunette woman with big hair.
"This is my daughter Celia Wheatstraw."
While looking directly at Monica I said, "It's so nice to meet you." I was sounding so sweet I was obviously being passive aggressive. I then looked at Celia more sincerely and said, "May I offer y'all coffee, or a latte, or another beverage?"
"Irish coffee," said Monica, "With a double shot of cognac." Then she checked the message she'd just received.
Celia whispered, "Mother," under her breath, "You've already had one of those and its still morning."
Then she looked at me and said, "I'll have a latte please."
After spending less than five minutes with Monica I was tempted to pour a drink for myself. When I opened my office door to call out to Vetta, as I expected she was eavesdropping, and she had her hand over her mouth to stifle herself from laughing. "One Irish coffee and one latte coming up," she said, snickering all the way to the kitchen.
A couple of minutes later she delivered the beverages, and Monica Young had the nerve to hold a finger in the air as a signal for Vetta to wait for her to taste the coffee before going back to her desk. Once Monica decided that she was satisfied with Vetta's effort she thanked her and referred to her as hun.
I watched the little drama play out, all the time knowing it would cost me a dinner and a drink to make it up to Vetta.
Once Vetta left Monica took a big gulp of her coffee and then got right to the point. "Ms Johnson you come highly recommended for handling situations that involve delicate personal matters, and you're known for getting results," she explained. "I'm concerned that Celia's husband is cheating on her, and I want you to put our minds at rest as far as that's concerned."
"And why do you think he's cheating?" I asked.
Monica looked at Celia then looked at me and said, "Her husband's recent, um, performance in the bedroom has improved...a lot."
"Hm, I see," I said, with a quick glance at Celia.
Monica then explained her rationale for reaching her conclusion. "I know how it works," she said. "I was much nicer to my husband when I had a plaything on the side. I gave him myself more often, and I was willing to be um..., more adventurous you might say."
While there was some validity to her reasoning, I was surprised to hear her admit her own indiscretion, especially in front of her daughter, but I guess that second Irish coffee had kicked in. Regardless I kept my cool and responded like the worldly private dick that I am. "Do tell," I said.
To my surprise she did. "My lover's cock looked like that hand carved brown wood dildo sculpture on your table," she added. "It was also the same color, and just as hard."
