Sin in the City of Angels

by Callista Hawkes

  “Oh Sam! It feels so good!” She pants. “I can’t believe I’m doing this, but it feels incredible!” You couldn’t agree more, your balls churning as the sensation combined with the excitement of penetrating Lois’s ass for the first time has you swiftly approaching your climax. Lois is closing in too, her breathing rapid and shallow. You pinch a nipple between your forefinger and thumb while rubbing the fleshy nub of her clitoris in a circular motion with a fingertip, her moans increasing in intensity.

  “Don’t stop!” She gasps. “I’m so close!” Moments later, you feel her stiffen, her sphincter clenching even tighter around your cock as she shrieks with pleasure. You feel her clit twitching against your finger and her body bucking and trembling with each wave of her orgasm. As she writhes in ecstasy on your lap, you can hold back no longer. You thrust up inside her one final time and with a deep groan of release, you erupt deep within her bowels.

  “Oh my God, you’re coming in my ass!” Lois gasps with delight. “I can feel your hot seed inside me! Oh, I feel like such a filthy whore!” You grunt in response, holding her tightly as your cock pulses again and again into her ass. As your climaxes finally subside, your hold on her relaxes and she carefully climbs off you, your softening shaft slipping from her stretched sphincter.

  “You enjoy that?” You ask her breathlessly as she slides across to sit next to you on the couch.

  “I damn well did.” She admits. “I haven’t come like that that in a long, long time.”

  Continue

  Still panting from your climax, you take Lois into your arms, kissing her tenderly.

  “Well, I’d say you’ve just about redeemed yourself.” She smiles, standing up and straightening her skirt, adjusting her bra and buttoning up her blouse. She slips her glasses back on and runs her fingers through her hair before examining her appearance in a mirror. With her clothes creased, her lipstick smudged and her hair disheveled, she sighs and shrugs, abandoning any attempt to disguise what you have both been engaged in for the last half hour. “Screw it. It’ll give ‘em something to gossip about.” She grins at you.

  “Hope I haven’t tarnished your reputation, doll.” You chuckle as you straighten your own clothes.

  “It’s been in tatters long before you walked back into my life.” She giggles, sitting back down behind her desk. “Now, what else did you want to ask me?

  What does she know about Neville Vandergraaf and Valentina D’Abruzzo

  What does she know about the Vandergraafs

  What does she know about Sabine Marceau

  “What do you know about a connection between Neville Vandergraaf and Valentina D’Abruzzo?” You ask Lois as you zip up your fly.

  “Sounds like someone’s been peeking through some keyholes.” She chuckles.

  “I’m a private detective, remember.” You shrug.

  “I’ve heard some things.” Lois admits. “Heard he’s been screwing around and has been for a few weeks if not months now.”

  “With Valentina Vandergraaf?” You ask.

  “Maybe.” She replies vaguely as she re-applies her lipstick. “Sounds like you know more than me on that front.”

  “You think he knows who she is?” You ask her.

  “No idea, but he’s a man, so it’s probably his dick doing all his thinking.” Lois replies. “If he does know who she really is, he’s playing with fire.”

  “What do you think her angle is?” You ask.

  “She’s the daughter of a Chicago Mafia Don, he’s one of the richest men in L.A.” She replies. “I’m sure I don’t have to join the dots for you.”

  “You think she’s going to blackmail Vandergraaf?” You reply.

  “No, I’m sure it’s true love.” She replies, rolling her eyes. “Look, it’s no secret the D’Abruzzo family is moving in on Mickey Cohen’s turf. To do that you need money and Vandergraaf’s got plenty.”

  “You’ve got a point.” You grin, rising from the couch and pulling on your hat. “Thanks Lois… for everything.” She returns your smile, blushing slightly.

  “Don’t leave it so long next time, Sam!” She calls out as you pull open the door. You make your way across the open plan office towards the elevator, ignoring the curious glances from the staff and reporters.

  As you drive through the city back towards your office, you grin, feeling as though you are on the brink of cracking the case. It’s all starting to fall in place. However, with murder and the mob involved, you’re feeling a little out of your depth. Deciding it’s too big for a lowly gumshoe like yourself, you make a sudden turn, deciding to take the case to your old pal Nancy Morton down at the local Police Station. As you take the turn, you hear the squeal of tires as the car behind you follows you. You glance up, seeing a big, black Oldsmobile filling the rear view mirror. Looks like you’ve picked up a tail.

  “Goddamn it.” You mutter, pressing your foot to the pedal, the engine roaring as you accelerate. The Oldsmobile matches your speed. Glancing again at the mirror, you see a silhouette of two men sitting inside the pursuing vehicle. A heavy set man in the passenger seat and a thin man in the driver’s seat. You sigh recognizing Valentina’s thugs. Weaving in and out of the traffic, you try to lose them, but the hood manages to match your maneuvers and keep close.

  You head out of the city, the tall densely packed blocks of downtown giving way to sparse low buildings as you drive through the suburbs. As you streak down the highway towards Long Beach, you spot a ramp down to the concrete storm drain that was once the Los Angeles River. Maybe you can outrun them in a straight line. You reach under your left arm and pat the pistol in your shoulder holster. Either that or try to shoot the sons of bitches!

  Try to outrun them

  Try to shoot them

  “So what do you know about Neville and Viola Vandergraaf?” You ask her.

  “So, Viola Vandergraaf’s the ‘glamorous wife’ you mentioned!” Lois murmurs, leaning forward. “Damn, Harlowe, she’d look good on the front page with handcuffs on her wrists instead of diamond encrusted bracelets!”

  “Cool it sister, she’s the client, not a suspect!” You growl.

  “Shame.” She tuts. “So what are the Vandergraafs mixed up in?”

  “Thought you were supposed to be answering my questions.” You reply gruffly.

  “Sorry, I used to be a reporter, remember. Old habits die hard.” She shrugs. “Viola Vandergraaf.” She muses almost to herself. “Beautiful woman, but doesn’t really stand out from any of the other vapid rich wives in this town. Don’t remember even hearing of her getting drunk and making an ass of herself. Neville Vandergraaf, heir to the Vandergraaf fortune of course. He’s had a few drunken run-ins with police particularly in his younger years.”

  “Boys will be boys.” You shrug.

  “Exactly.” Lois nods. “Barely something to fill the columns on page twenty-eight on a slow day. Though…”

  “What?” You ask, sensing she might have something worthwhile.

  “I have it on good authority that he’s been screwing around behind her back and has been for some time. Don’t ask me who, but I’m working on it.”

  “I might know.” You grin.

  “Don’t suppose you’d care to enlighten me?” She grins, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Not right now.” You reply, pulling on your hat. “But I’ll let you know later.” You walk to the door and pull it open, the noise of the open plan office spilling into the room. “Thanks Lois. I owe you one.”

  “Just remember that when you crack the case.” She calls out. You hurry towards the elevator, avoiding the curious glances of the reporters.

  As you drive through the city back towards your office, you grin, feeling as though you are on the brink of cracking the case. It’s all starting to fall in place. However, with murder and the mob involved, you’re feeling a little out of your depth. Deciding it’s too big for a lowly gumshoe like yourself, you make a sudden turn, deciding to take the case to your old pal Nancy Morton down at the lo
cal Police Station. As you take the turn, you hear the squeal of tires as the car behind you follows you. You glance up, seeing a big, black Oldsmobile filling the rear view mirror. Looks like you’ve picked up a tail.

  “Goddamn it.” You mutter, pressing your foot to the pedal, the engine roaring as you accelerate. The Oldsmobile matches your speed. Glancing again at the mirror, you see a silhouette of two men sitting inside the pursuing vehicle. A heavy set man in the passenger seat and a thin man in the driver’s seat. You sigh recognizing Valentina’s thugs. Weaving in and out of the traffic, you try to lose them, but the hood manages to match your maneuvers and keep close.

  You head out of the city, the tall densely packed blocks of downtown giving way to sparse low buildings as you drive through the suburbs. As you streak down the highway towards Long Beach, you spot a ramp down to the concrete storm drain that was once the Los Angeles River. Maybe you can outrun them in a straight line. You reach under your left arm and pat the pistol in your shoulder holster. Either that or try to shoot the sons of bitches!

  Try to outrun them

  Try to shoot them

  You reach into your pocket for the book of matches and flick it onto Lois’s desk. She picks it up and turns it over in her hand.

  “Sabine.” She murmurs. “Ah Sabine Marceau! Talented singer. Too talented for that dive.” She stands up and tosses the book of matches back at you. You catch it and slip it back into your pocket.

  “How have you heard of her?” You ask.

  “She was involved in quite a scandal a couple of years back.” She replies, moving towards a filing cabinet. She glances towards the draw labeled ‘1947’. “It would have been a helluva story, but the studio put a lot of pressure on the owners of the paper and I was forced to bury it.” She pulls open the lower drawer and rifles through it.

  “Ah, here it is.” She straightens and pulls out a manila file and passes it to you. You rummage through, finding several large black and white prints. Noticing the blurry edge of a window frame creeping into the foreground of a few of the shots, you recognize the candid camerawork of a fellow professional. You can see Sabine with a brunette woman, who has her back to the camera.

  “Ah!” You murmur, as you flick through the photos, the camera capturing the pair in a passionate clinch. The following photos show them in various states of undress as they strip each other before the final photos show the brunette reclining in a chair while Sabine kneels before her, her head nestled between her thighs. The brunette is sideways on in the last shots and your eyes widen in recognition.

  “Damn!” You grin. “Isn’t that…”

  “Yes.” Lois chuckles, sitting back down behind her desk. “You can see why the studio shut the story down. They’d hardly want the scandal of one of their biggest stars turning out to be a dyke. So the story was quietly buried and Sabine Marceau’s promising career was left in tatters. No studio will touch her now.”

  “Thanks.” You tell her, climbing to your feet and pulling on your hat. “You’ve been a lot of help. I won’t forget this Lois.”

  “Sam!” She calls out as you reach for the door handle. You glance over your shoulder to find Lois gazing coolly back at you, her hand outstretched. You grin ruefully and pass her the file. “Nice try.” She chuckles as you step out into the main office, feeling the eyes of several of the typing pool girls on you as you head towards the elevator.

  As you drive through the city back towards your office, you grin, feeling as though you are on the brink of cracking the case. It’s all starting to fall in place. However, with murder and the mob involved, you’re feeling a little out of your depth. Deciding it’s too big for a lowly gumshoe like yourself, you make a sudden turn, deciding to take the case to your old pal Nancy Morton down at the local Police Station. As you take the turn, you hear the squeal of tires as the car behind you follows you. You glance up, seeing a big, black Oldsmobile filling the rear view mirror. Looks like you’ve picked up a tail.

  “Goddamn it.” You mutter, pressing your foot to the pedal, the engine roaring as you accelerate. The Oldsmobile matches your speed. Glancing again at the mirror, you see a silhouette of two men sitting inside the pursuing vehicle. A heavy set man in the passenger seat and a thin man in the driver’s seat. You sigh recognizing Valentina’s thugs. Weaving in and out of the traffic, you try to lose them, but the hood manages to match your maneuvers and keep close.

  You head out of the city, the tall densely packed blocks of downtown giving way to sparse low buildings as you drive through the suburbs. As you streak down the highway towards Long Beach, you spot a ramp down to the concrete storm drain that was once the Los Angeles River. Maybe you can outrun them in a straight line. You reach under your left arm and pat the pistol in your shoulder holster. Either that or try to shoot the sons of bitches!

  Try to outrun them

  Try to shoot them

  You make more calls to a few friends in low places. By the end of it, you know that Valentina D’Abruzzo has been seen frequenting a casino in West Hollywood. Looks like you need to get your tuxedo dry-cleaned.

  A few hours later and feeling uncomfortable in the monkey suit, you step inside the casino. You buy a hundred dollars’ worth of chips and smile wryly, wondering if this counts as a justifiable expense. The casino is bustling with people and there is the low murmur of a couple of dozen conversations as you make your way past the card tables towards the roulette wheel. You take a seat at the table and place some chips on 13 Black.

  You’ve never been much of a gambler. Before you know it, you’ve lost half your chips and there’s no sign of Valentina D’Abruzzo. Finally you see several heads at the table turn. You follow their gaze and you can see why they were distracted. A tall woman floats across the casino floor towards you, a slinky dark red dress shimmering beneath the lights. She carries herself with an air of confidence, her head held high. She is slender but with curves in all the right places, her hips swaying with each step. Her long, silky black hair and smooth, olive skin betrays her Italian ancestry and while she might be American by a generation or so, with her graceful poise and smoldering brown eyes, she might as well have just stepped off an airplane from Rome. As she reaches the table, she glances around it before sitting down opposite you.

  “Good evening.” You smile.

  “Good evening.” She replies, her gaze meeting yours and her generous lips twisting upward in a polite smile.

  “I could do with a visit from Lady Luck,” You tell her, momentarily glancing at your diminished stack of chips, “And you certainly look the part.” She holds your gaze for a moment and flashes you a smile. A genuine one this time.

  A few turns of the wheel later and you’ve lost nearly all your remaining chips.

  “It would seem my arrival has not improved your fortunes.” She purrs, her own stack of chips higher than when she arrived.

  “I wouldn’t say that.” You grin, holding her gaze for a moment before tossing the last of your chips onto 34 red. “My name’s Sam by the way.”

  “Valentina.” She replies, a lit cigarette held elegantly in her slim fingers. “Valentina D’Abruzzo.” Her voice is a silky as her hair. Her eyes lock on to yours, perhaps curious as to whether her surname means anything to you.

  “Ah!” You chuckle. “I actually ran into a couple of your employees’ yesterday evening.” You add casually before glancing ruefully at the roulette wheel as the croupier collects the last of your chips.

  “Oh?” Valentina replies, raising the cigarette to her lips.

  “Yeah. We actually had a difference of opinion. Things got a little heated.”

  “Ah!” She replies, slowly exhaling a plume of smoke. “You must be Mr Harlowe?”

  “Afraid so.” You grin.

  “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She flashes you a predatory smile.

  “And you.” You reply.

  “Place your bets please ladies and gentlemen.” The dour faced croupier intones.

  “I a
ppear to be out of chips.” You frown at Valentina, rising from your chair. “A pity, but a pleasure to meet you Miss D’Abruzzo.”

  “See that these are paid into my account.” Valentina tells the croupier before getting to her feet. “A moment Mr Harlowe?”

  “Sure.” You grin.

  As you follow Valentina to the bar, your gaze lingers on her ass, the shimmering dress clinging tightly to her buttocks. Reaching the bar, your eyes flick up to meet hers as she turns to you.

  “As I could not improve your fortunes, let me buy you a drink.” Valentina smiles.

  “Sure, I’m not too proud to refuse a drink from a broad.” You shrug. “A whiskey.” The bartender places your whiskey on a napkin before you and a dry martini next to it.

  “Cheers.” You nod to Valentina, raising the whiskey glass and taking a healthy drink. Valentina nods before raising her own glass to her lips and taking a sip, studying you curiously over the rim of the glass.

  “Mr Harlowe, what is your interest in Neville Vandergraaf?” She asks you after a moment.

  Be evasive

  Be confrontational

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shrug. Her dark eyes narrow slightly

  “Must we play games?” Valentina sighs before leaning forward, her lips an inch from your ear. You can smell her sweet perfume and feel the soft warmth of her chest as she brushes against you. “I’d hoped my men would have got through that thick skull of yours that I’m not to be trifled with.” She hisses. “Don’t underestimate me just because I’m a woman. I’d order your death without the slightest hesitation.” She pulls away from you and takes another sip from her martini.

  “Good to know.” You grin. She gazes at you curiously for a moment before returning your smile.

  “You intrigue me, Mr Harlowe” She chuckles. “I can’t make my mind up whether you are brave or foolish.”