by Tawny Taylor
“Oh, yeah, all this crazy talk about kinky Grandma made me forget. A guy came in here looking for you about an hour ago.”
“Did he leave a name?”
“Yeah. I put his card on your desk.”
“Okay.” Driving toward the freeway, Mandy checked the clock. It was almost ten. Sarah was normally gone by six. “Which class is it this time? English Composition?”
“No, psychology.” Sarah was attending classes at the local community college a couple of nights a week. She didn’t own a computer, so she would periodically stay late and use her work computer to do her homework. “I have a paper due tomorrow night.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks. It’s almost done. Thank God for the Net. I don’t know what I’d do without it.”
“I hear that. I’ll call that man tomorrow. I was caught in a downpour not once, not twice, but three times tonight. I’m cold, I’m wet, and I’m tired. So I’m going to head home, dry off, and chill out on the couch.”
“Sounds pretty good to me. See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
She clicked off, dropped the phone on the passenger seat, and drove home, feeling pretty good about how things worked out today. She still didn’t have any photographic evidence on Clark, but she’d wrapped up one case and hopefully tomorrow she’d be collecting a retainer for a new one.
When she arrived home, she was greeted by a delivery tag on her door. The UPS guy had left a package with her favorite neighbor, Mrs. Wentworth. Funny, she wasn’t expecting any packages. She hadn’t ordered anything online in months. And she never received packages from anyone else. Curious, she pressed an ear against Mrs. Wentworth’s door. She heard voices but didn’t know if they were from the television, which Mrs. Wentworth left on day and night, or from real, live people. Knowing Mrs. Wentworth was prone to insomnia, Mandy knocked lightly on the door. A minute or two later, the door swung open.
Sporting a ratty robe, slippers, socks, and a head full of little pink foam rollers, Mrs. Wentworth grunted, hobbled over to her coffee table, and pointed. “This damn thing’s heavy. I’ll let you come in and get it.”
“Thank you.” Mandy hurried in, lifted the box, which was large but not particularly heavy, off the table and shuffled back out into the hallway. She started to say something to her cranky neighbor, but the door slammed shut before she got a word out. “Oh, well, I tried.”
Mandy read the label on her mystery package as she scurried back to her apartment. Shock of the century, it was from Zane. What the heck was he sending her? The carton was pretty big. If he’d thought to replace the two cameras he’d crushed, he wouldn’t have needed to send them in something so huge. She wasted no time tearing into the package.
Inside were two smaller boxes, one pretty big, the other shoebox-sized. Both were gift wrapped, with silver paper and pretty gold ribbons. There was no card.
She opened the small one first, of course, because everyone knows good things come in small packages.
Once again, that cliché had proven to be true. The box, which identified the brand, was plain brown. Inside, the shoes were far from plain. Or brown. Black, with a jewel-encrusted platform and spike heel, they were the most insanely sexy shoes Mandy had ever seen. She didn’t even want to think about how much they might have cost. Fortunately, there was no price anywhere on the box.
Undecided whether she dared accept the gifts, Mandy opened the other box. Inside was a black dress. It was simple, elegant, and one shouldered, with soft pleating sewn into the bodice. She carefully put the dress back into the box and stripped out of her sodden clothes, afraid the water might stain it. After hanging them up in the bathroom to dry, donning some fresh undies, and drying her hair, she slipped into the dress. The soft material cascaded down her body and swirled around her legs as she walked. She dug out the shoes, slid her feet into them, and, feeling like she was wearing a million bucks, floated to the full-length mirror hanging on the bathroom door.
Wow.
How had he known that dress would fit her so well?
After taking a look from every angle possible, Mandy forced herself to take the shoes and dress off. She hung the gown in her closet and made the shoes cozy in their box. Her phone rang as she was carrying the box back to her bedroom.
She checked the number. It was local, but she didn’t recognize it. She answered the call. “Hello?”
“What do you think of your gift?” Zane asked. His voice sounded husky, breathy. She liked it when it sounded like that.
“They’re beautiful. I’ve never owned a dress that magnificent. And those shoes. I mean... wow! But, Zane, they’re so expensive. I really shouldn’t—”
“Don’t. Do they fit?”
“Yes. Perfectly.”
“Good. Wear them this weekend.”
“Sure.”
“What are you doing now?”
Mandy looked down at the shoebox. Her bare boobs. Her black cotton panties. “I’m putting away the shoes.”
“What are you wearing?”
Her face warmed. She thought about lying and telling him she was lounging around in big, ugly sweats. But something made her say, “Panties and a smile.”
“Mmmmm. I like that.”
She liked the way his voice had rumbled when he’d mmmm’d. Feeling a little naughty, she flopped onto the bed. She set the shoebox on the floor. “And here I thought you didn’t care much for a girl wearing panties.” Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling.
“It depends upon the girl. And the panties.”
All this talk about panties was making hers wet. “Then would you like me to wear some this weekend?”
“Only if that’s all you’d be wearing.”
“I guess that’ll have to wait for another time, then. I’d hate to miss out on a chance to wear the beautiful dress you bought me.”
“I’d be fine either way.”
Typical male. Of course he would.
Her hand, the one not holding the phone, skimmed down her body, coming to rest over her warm mound. “I’m sure you would.”
“You sound a little tense. What are you doing now, Amanda? Are you lying on your couch, touching yourself?”
“No. I’m on the bed.”
“Mmmmm.”
For a moment, Mandy could swear she might come at just hearing that sound.
“Take off your panties.”
Mandy had never had phone sex. She’d always thought it was kind of silly. At the moment, however, it wasn’t sounding silly at all. With that melt-your-bones-hot voice, Zane could have a second, very successful, career in the phone-porn industry. She tugged off her panties and laid back down.
“Spread your legs,” he said, his voice as commanding as it had ever been in the bondage dungeon.
She bent her knees and inched them apart.
“Wider,” he said, as if he could actually see her. She slid her feet a few more inches apart. “Are you wet for me already?”
She ran her flattened hand over her slick folds. “Yes, I am.”
“Good. Do you have some lube? A vibe or a dildo?”
“I can get them.”
“Do it.”
She pulled her favorite toy and some lube out of her nightstand drawer and set them within reach, then returned to her position on the bed. The vibrator was a slender hot-pink number. Simple and small, with a nicely rounded tip. It was all she’d ever needed. She was tight. The little toy fit her perfectly.
“Have you ever been fucked in the ass?” he asked.
“No.” She shuddered, but not because the notion was scary or unpleasant. Quite the opposite. She’d been wanting to try anal for quite some time, but she hadn’t known how to go about it. “Only with a finger.”
“What kind of toy do you have?”
“It’s a vibrator. A smallish one.”
“Perfect. Close your eyes. Imagine I’m there with you and your ankles are bound, your knees bent, your legs spread wide apart.” She
took the position as he narrated. “I have to taste you first. My tongue flicks over your little pearl. How does that feel, Amanda?”
She simulated the sensation using a fingertip. A pleasantly warm wave rippled through her body. “Good.”
“Yes, you like having me eat you while you’re restrained. You can’t move. That makes you hot, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.” She slid one finger inside her vagina. The slick walls clamped tightly around it. Her fingertip grazed her G-spot, and she quivered all over.
“I can’t wait to fuck you, Amanda. Just the thought makes my cock hard.”
His voice was still warm and mellow, but there was a slight tension to it now. Amanda could imagine him kneeling there beside her, his hand slowly stroking his thick cock. She finger-fucked her pussy, that image burning in her mind.
“You aren’t ready for me yet.”
He was so wrong about that. But how could he know? Holding the phone between her shoulder and ear, she used two hands now. One index finger drew slow, lazy circles around her sensitive clit. The other glided in and out of her hot channel.
“Lube your ass.”
She spread some cool gel on her anus, then inserted her middle finger into her hole while fucking her pussy with her index finger. In the digits went and out. With each small movement, she grew closer to orgasm, hotter, tighter, and more breathless.
“That’s it, I want to see you fuck that little ass of yours. Get the toy. Do it now. I can’t wait much longer.”
Her pussy quivered around her invading finger. She snatched up the toy, added some lube, and placed the tapered end at her tight hole.
“Ease it in, baby. Relax.”
Trembling now with need, she drew her knees farther apart and concentrated on relaxing the ring of muscles.
“I need to see that toy buried in your ass.”
She increased the pressure, pushing against her body’s resistance. The skin burned. But the pleasure-pain only added to what was quickly becoming an overwhelming blaze burning through her body. Her anus opened and the tip of the toy slid inside. She groaned as it slid in farther, until a couple of inches remained outside. Leaving it where it was, she pushed two fingers into her pussy. “Oh, God.” A surge of carnal heat blasted through her body.
He groaned in her ear. “Come for me.”
“Yes.” Fucking her pussy harder, she increased the pressure to her clit, fingering the hard nub until the heat gathered in her center. It churned there for one, two, three blissful seconds and then exploded through her body. “Ahhhhhh,” she said as her pussy and ass convulsed, and pulses of pleasure raced up and down her body. Zane growled like a beast, and Mandy imagined him throwing his head back as he found his own release. The scene playing out in her head prolonged the pleasure, sparking a second orgasm. When she was finally able to catch her breath, she murmured, “Wow.”
“We’re going to play out that scene sometime,” Zane promised, sounding like he was still fighting to catch his breath. “But instead of that damn toy, it’ll be my cock filling your ass.”
Mandy had some doubts about being ready for that, but she didn’t voice them just then. Instead, she said, in a weak voice, “I want that.”
“I’ll make sure you’re ready. It’ll feel better than you ever dreamed.” Then, without so much as a good-bye, he ended the call.
Mandy slid beneath the sheets and let dreams of one hot dom carry her away.
9
“That is some smile on your face this morning.” Sarah, mainlining a mocha-chino at her desk, gave Mandy an eyebrow waggle. “Who did you sleep with last night?”
“I slept with myself.”
Sarah’s waggle stopped. “How is that possible? You have the look of a woman who’s been well fucked.”
“Phone sex?” Mandy shrugged, heading to her office.
“Phone sex?” Sarah scurried after her. “Really? With who?”
“Zane.”
“Ohmygod! Seriously?” Sarah gave her a look of pure awe. You’d have thought she’d just witnessed the reincarnation of Marilyn Monroe, her ultimate dream girl.
“Seriously.”
“I guess I don’t need to ask how it was.”
“No, you don’t.” Mandy felt her cheeks warming. She and Sarah had shared some intimate conversations in the past, about all sorts of things. Why she was feeling a little embarrassed now puzzled her.
“You go, girl.” Sarah smacked her on the back. “My baby’s growing up.” Faking a teary-eyed snuffle, she dabbed at her heavily mascaraed eyes. “I’m so proud of you.”
Mandy plopped into her chair and took a quick survey of her cluttered desktop. “Okay, that’s enough. I need to get to work. Where’s that message you told me about last night?”
“Here.” Sarah pulled it from the middle of a stack of pink While You Were Out notes. She smacked it on the desktop and poked at the top line. “He said he’d be available to talk anytime today.”
“Okay.” Mandy dialed the number. “Thanks.”
Sarah threw her a wave over her shoulder as she bounced out of Mandy’s office. Clearly, the caffeine had kicked in.
Mandy skimmed the notes on the other pink slips as she waited for Jim Marcum to answer his phone. After the fourth ring, the call clicked to voice mail.
“Hello, you’ve reached the Schrader home,” said a woman’s voice. “We can’t come to the phone right now. Please leave a message after the tone—”
Schrader? Mandy hung up. Had she dialed the number wrong? She tried it again. The line rang, then clicked over to voice mail once more and the now-familiar female voice greeted her. Mandy ended the call and stepped out of her office to find Sarah playing FarmVille. “I tried calling this Jim Marcum guy. But I’m getting some other family’s home voice mail. Is it possible you took down the number wrong?”
Sarah shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. I thought I had it right.”
Mandy set the paper on Sarah’s desk. “See if you can find another number for this guy. Maybe he’s listed in the phonebook.”
“I’ll do my best,” Sarah said, clicking on her little farm plots and planting eggplants.
Mandy went back to her office to see if any of the other messages looked promising.
Nope.
One was from Ruby Belton’s granddaughter, asking for a return call. She didn’t sound particularly happy. Mandy had a feeling she knew how that conversation would go. No doubt she’d expected Mandy to drag her mother home. Problem was, she had no authority to do that.
The other messages were all from bill collectors.
A girl of action, Mandy decided she needed to get her ass out there and take care of business. Her first stop would be the Clark residence. If she had to tail that little weasel all day, she was going to catch him in the act of fornicating with another person or she was going to die trying.
Stopping at Sarah’s desk on her way out, Mandy asked, “Anything on Jim Marcum?”
“Um, not yet. I ran a Social Security inquiry, and the only Jim Marcum I’m getting lives in Washington State.”
“Maybe he’s here on business?”
“Yeah. But this Jim Marcum is only two and a half years old.”
That meant this Jim Marcum either didn’t have a social, was not a U.S. resident, or was using a false identity. She wondered which it was.
Deciding it wasn’t worth worrying about, Mandy looped her purse over her shoulder and headed for the door. “If he calls back, get some more info on him.”
“Do you want me to give him your cell number?”
“No. Not until we know who he is.”
“Okay.” Sarah went back to her planting.
Mandy headed out to her car.
The drive to the Clark residence was uneventful. Conveniently, Mandy saw a Starbucks coffee shop a half mile from her destination. She splurged on a Double Chocolaty Chip Frappuccino and a double-iced cinnamon roll. The cost was a little steep, but consuming that many calories in one sitting mean
t she could skip lunch.
Ten minutes later, parked outside Clark’s home, she slurped and nibbled in her car while waiting for the weasel to make his morning getaway. At ten to ten, roughly a half hour after Mandy had parked, his sleek black Maserati rolled out of the attached garage.
Cautiously, Mandy checked to make sure he was the driver as the car rolled by. It was him. She tailed him to a nearby gym. Watched him haul a duffel bag up to the building. He was dressed in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. She saw no reason to follow him inside. An hour and a half later, he came out wearing a pair of black slacks and a sweater. She followed him to his office and parked outside, hoping he’d sneak out for a special lunch at noon. Sure enough, he came strolling out at exactly twelve o’clock. Staying several car lengths behind him, she followed him to a Red Roof Inn.
Finally, she had him!
She waited as he checked in, then drove around the side of the building. Not wanting to take the chance of him recognizing her car, she grabbed her gear—lock-picks, cameras, and cell phone—and headed after him on foot. She caught him just as he entered the first-floor room. Like every Red Roof Inn she’d ever seen, the rooms opened directly to the outside. There were no interior hallways.
How convenient.
Cautiously, she approached the window, hoping the drapes would gape enough to get a peek inside. No such luck.
She heard voices. Male and female. Laughter. It sounded like things were getting rolling. She checked out the door. It was a standard key entry, thank God. No card key. She could risk picking the lock, hoping the room’s occupants would be too involved in whatever they were doing to realize the door was slightly ajar. It had worked for her in the past.
She had the lock disengaged within seconds. Slowly, she twisted the knob, holding her breath. All she needed was an inch. Just enough space to get her scope and camera inside.
Using her toe to hold the door open, she inserted the scope, putting the eyepiece to her eye.
Bingo! She had him! He was on his knees, doing it doggy style with a blonde with fake boobs.
She replaced the scope with the camera and hit the RECORD button, leaving the camera running for several minutes. Then, as a safeguard, she snapped a few still shots with her digital camera, closed the door, and hurried back to her car. She quickly double-checked to make sure there were no problems with the cameras before driving back to her office.
