Message-ID: <26112asstr$967579815@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <002301c011e1$d60d8d20$c50cfc3e@oemcomputer> From: "Hecate" <hecate1@bigfoot.com> MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.00.3018.1300 Subject: {ASSM} [Write Club Duel] Mr Slot v. Souvie Date: Tue, 29 Aug 2000 16:10:15 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/26112> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: newsman, RuiJorge The two stories are below, Mr Slot first. The nine words were: From Mr Slot: insurmountable; phase; ultimatum From Souvie: holiday; masochistic; magnolia And from me: analgesic; idioglossia; oenophile <g> My verdict will be on alt.sex.stories.d Enjoy! The following is a work of fiction consisting of adult concepts and possibly sex. Do not read if you are not legally permitted. I don't want the police on my front doorstep. You are welcome to read but please don't distribute without my permission. Feel free to make any comments to the author. Send E-Mail to dalech33@hotmail.com Three's a Crowd by Mr Slot Bill surveyed his plans for the evening. One game of Trivial Pursuit, one game of Twister, several dirty movies on videotape, and one dozen bottles of wine. And not cheap wine either, there were a few bottles of good plonk here. Grace had often accused Bill of being an oenophile, something that he had taken as an insult until he had looked it up in a dictionary. A connoisseur of fine wines; a grape nut. That sounded like Bill all right, and using a word like oenophile sounded like Grace. She had a college education and liked to flaunt it with a regularity that sometimes had Bill seething, but he knew that he loved her, even with her annoying habit of using rare words, so he put up with it. The fact that she was a goddess in bed also helped. If there was one thing Bill liked better than wine it was sex, and Grace was more than willing to accommodate him on that score. There was only one thing that Grace had not given him, the thing that Bill wanted more than anything. A threesome. And that's what tonight was all about. Grace's best friend, Tanya, was coming over for dinner. Grace had gotten tipsy one night when they had been holidaying in Noosa, and had confided in Bill that Tanya was probably the only woman that she could ever think about going to bed with. That little tit-bit of information had lodged in Bill's brain like a red-hot coal and burned its way into his fantasies. He desperately wanted to have a threesome, after all it was every man's dream, and Tanya was just the sort of woman he wanted to join them. Tanya was beautiful, and if her stories were even half true, very sexually liberated. She had regaled them with a tale one night over drinks, where she had been trapped in an elevator with two men. It had taken the rescue team nearly two hours to get the elevator working again, and in that time Tanya had screwed both guys, several times. She had claimed that it was just a way of passing the time. Bill had decided there and then that he just had to party with this girl. He had managed to get both women to go to a nightclub with him, in the hopes that the music and alcohol would get something going. And dancing with the two girls had been very exciting to start with. But eventually Tanya had found herself dancing with several men, and Bill was left sitting at the table with Grace. Bill had them made the mistake of complaining about Tanya dancing with all those men, and Grace had them accused him of wanting to get into her pants. If he had quickly denied the accusation he might have gotten away with it, but he hesitated and that was all she wrote. He spent the night on the couch while Grace slept behind a locked door. Tanya had gone home with two of the guys she had been dancing with. Things had been a little cool for a while, during which time Bill had done everything to get back into Grace's good books. At first the task had seemed insurmountable, everything Bill tried had failed, but one day Grace had come home to find the living room covered in magnolias, her favourite flower, and couldn't stay mad at her husband any longer. That night they had the most incredible sex they ever had. Unfortunately for Bill he had been so excited, due to the fact that he hadn't had sex for several weeks, that he hurt his back while trying to have sex on the kitchen table. The table was covered in foodstuffs they had been using which made it very slippery. So slippery in fact that Bill had slipped right off the table to land on his back on the cold hard floor. Of course he didn't realise at the time that he had hurt himself so he had climbed straight back onto the horse, so to speak. He had felt it the next day though and had spent the next week taking an analgesic while it healed. But the best thing about the night was that the rift had been healed, and now Bill could pursue his fantasy of a threesome again. Which brings us to tonight. He had invited Tanya over for a night of dinner and Trivial Pursuit, Grace's favourite game. If all went to plan the three of them should be doing the wild thing by midnight. He was checking the vegetable bake that he was cooking when he felt arms around his waist. "Mmm, smells good," said Grace, resting her chin on his shoulder. "I love the way you cook, you're so domesticated." "You think I cook well?" replied Bill, turning to face her, "you should see what I'm like in bed." "I wouldn't mind seeing what you're like on the kitchen floor," said Grace seductively. "Oh would you now?" asked Bill, raising an eyebrow. "And what do we tell Tanya when she lets herself in and finds us going at it in here?" "Oh I know what you would like to tell her," said Grace. "Uh oh," thought Bill, did she know what he was planning? He decided to try to avert her suspicions. "Pull up a chair and help yourself, Tanya, we'll be with you in a day or two." He was relieved when Grace laughed and held him tight. He had managed to avert a disaster, he was sure of that. Grace kissed him before letting him go. "I'm going to get dressed, if Tanya gets here before I'm ready just tell her I'll be down in a sec." Bill watched as she left the kitchen, then set about setting the table in the dining room. He set three places and was just opening the wine when he felt arms around his waist again. "You know," he said, "if you keep this up Tanya will have to eat dinner by herself." He turned to find Tanya looking into his eyes. "Well maybe I will just have to join in then," she said coyly. "Umm, err, hi, Tanya," stammered Bill. "I thought you were Grace." "Well we can't have you mistaking me for your wife, can we?" asked Tanya. "Who knows what would happen?" She winked at him then kissed him on the cheek before letting him go. Bill felt himself starting to blush and tried hard to suppress it. Just then Grace came down the stairs, wearing a slinky black dress. Bill couldn't be entirely sure but it looked like she was not wearing any underwear. She was definitely not wearing a bra. Tanya met Grace at the bottom of the stairs and they kissed politely. "You look wonderful, Gracie", said Tanya, "almost good enough to eat." "Only almost," replied Grace, pretending to be hurt. "Well I didn't want you thinking I would just eat you right here on the stairs," responded Tanya. "Oh, you couldn't do that," said Grace, looking into Tanya's eyes, "you would spoil your appetite. And Bill spent most of the afternoon cooking." She looked at her husband over Tanya's shoulder. "Isn't that right, Bill?" "Umm yes, yes I have," replied Bill, trying hard not to let on that he was sporting a raging hard on. "Speaking of which, I better start serving. If you ladies would care to seat yourselves," he said, pointing to the table, "we can begin." The dinner was a culinary success, roast lamb with vegetable bake, and home made apple pie with cream for desert. And wine of course, plenty of wine. Bill made sure that everyone's glass remained full. After dinner they took their glasses into the living room where Bill had set up a game of Trivial Pursuit on the coffee table. The three friends sat around the table and played for nearly two hours, until at last Grace needed only one more correct answer to win. "What is Idioglossia?" asked Bill peering through an alcoholic fog. "And I'll need that in the form of a question." All three dissolved into a fit of giggles before Grace managed to control herself enough to answer. "What is a psychological condition in which speech is so distorted as to be unintelligible?" "Is that right?" asked Tonya. "I have no idea," replied Bill. "I've been making up questions for the past half hour." All three stared at each other for a minute, before falling about laughing once again. They had consumed several bottles of wine and were feeling very good about themselves. "So what do we do now?" asked Grace. Bill decided it was time to move onto the next phase of his plan. "How about a game of Twister?" he replied. He had planned on playing this, the physical closeness of the game, plus the alcohol could lead to all sorts of things. "How about a game of naked Twister?" said Tanya. "Naked Twister?" asked Grace, "how do you play that?" "Well," said Tanya, "the idea is that if you fail to put a hand or foot where you are supposed too, you have to remove an article of clothing. You can also sell a piece of clothing to change positions." "And how do you get clothing back?" asked Bill. Tanya leaned over until her face was just millimetres from Bill's. "Now what would be the fun in that, big boy?" Bill looked at Tanya, then at Grace, then back at Tanya. "None I suppose," he replied. "Good," said Tanya. She turned back to Grace. "You up for it, Gracie?" "You bet," responded Grace. The trio quickly set up the game of Twister while consuming yet another bottle of wine. The game itself quickly degenerated into a sea of twisted, rapidly disrobing bodies. Bill was completely naked before he had completed two games, leaving Grace and Tanya to play out the last game. Bill spun the wheel for Grace and instructed her to put her right hand on red. Grace promptly fell over, forfeiting her panties, which left her lying on her back completely naked. "Well it looks like Tanya just has to complete this move to win," slurred Bill before draining the wine bottle he had sitting beside him. He spun the wheel again and said, "Left hand on pink." "Pink?" asked Grace, "there is no pink." "He must mean this," said Tanya and gently caressed Grace's naked pussy with her hand. She smiled as Grace moaned slightly and, taking it as a cue, bent down to gently lick where her hand had been. Grace grabbed Tanya's hips and urged her to squat over her face. Tanya complied and Grace reached up to pull her friends g-string aside, before pulling Tanya's wet pussy down onto her face. Bill watched as the two women before him set to work on each other in a classic 69 position. He looked down at his flaccid penis. "Get up," he commanded. Get up now or I swear I will never use you for anything other than pissing ever again." He felt a bit silly about giving his dick an ultimatum, but he was desperate. Here were two beautiful women having sex right in front of him, and his cock looked like old pork sausage that has been in the butchers display case far too long. More moaning from the women caught his attention and he looked up in time to see them both climax simultaneously. He looked back down at his dick to see it stir slightly. "All right," he thought, "now we're cooking with gas." "Bill honey?" Bill looked up and saw that Grace and Tanya were standing now, cuddling together like two schoolgirls. "Yes?" he said. "Tanya and I are going to bed," said his wife. "Uh huh," replied Bill, his mouth hanging open. "We're going to fuck," said Tanya, smiling at Bill. "Uh huh," replied Bill again, whose vocabulary had mysteriously shrunk to just two words. "Do you want to come with us Bill?" asked Grace. "Uh huh." "That's good," said Tanya. "I always wondered what it would be like to fuck you." "Uh huh." "Well," said Grace, "we're going now. Come in when you're ready." She led Tanya up the stairs to the bedroom, pausing occasionally to kiss. Bill watched them go, then got unsteadily to his feet. This was the moment he was waiting for. All these weeks of planning had finally paid off. His fantasy was about to come true. All he had to do was climb those stairs to heaven. Well that, and try to get an erection. At the moment his dick was far from compliant, in fact it appeared to have shrunk. Bill was mildly worried, but he figured that once he got into bed and started to get busy, things would come together. He steadied himself using the back of a lounge chair as he gathered himself for the trip up stairs. He started to walk towards the stairs, but put his foot on a bottle that was lying on the floor. He realised his predicament a second after lifting his other foot off the floor. The bottle beneath his foot rolled, causing first one leg, then two, to fly into the air. He came crashing to earth on his head, causing darkness to sweep over him. His last thought before passing out was, "Not now!" *** Bill was woken by a hand shaking his shoulder. "Wake up, Bill." It was Grace, his wife. She looked down at him as he opened his eyes. "Well it's about time. I thought you were going to sleep the day away." "Day?" asked Bill. "It's daytime?" "Honey, it's nearly noon. Now get up and help me clean up this mess." Grace started picking up empty wine bottles. "What about Tanya?" inquired Bill. "Oh she went home ages ago. She was a bit disappointed that you didn't come upstairs with us." She looked at Bill. "Too be honest, so am I. I thought it was your fantasy to have a threesome." "It was, is," replied Bill. "Well that's a shame, Hon. Tanya and I decided that last night was fun, as an experiment and all, but we don't think we'll do it again. Bill? Honey? Why are you banging your head against the floor? You're not going all masochistic on me, are you?" Bill couldn't hear her, all he could here was "I don't think we'll do it again." He continued to bang his forehead against the floor as Grace walked from the room. The End. "The Case of the Masochistic Wrestlers" (MMF oral rough) by Souvie ===== "Tolliver, get your ass in here!" I sighed. "Coming," I hollered right back. Mr. Peterson was a major pain in my aforementioned ass, but when he called, you didn't dally. I shut the door to his office, behind me. "You bellowed." "Can the cutesy stuff, Tolliver," he said, talking around the chewed up stogie clutched between his teeth. "I have an assignment for you." "I can hardly wait." So far my "assignments" had been covering society functions and gardening club shows. Here in the south, society ladies loved their garden parties; however, there were only so many different ways you could write about mint juleps and magnolias. "Are you familiar with the Dastardly Duo?" "Are they a new rock group?" I asked, tentatively. "Christ, Tolliver, don't you pay attention to the news? I mean you help write it, for shit's sake. They're a wrestling team, part of that group performing this weekend at the Arena. My friend inside the police department called earlier. Seems like the pair have been charged with..." he looked at a sheet of paper on his cluttered desk. "..rape and masochistic tendencies." "Masochistic tendencies?" "That's what I was told. A woman named Delta Murphy has brought the charges against them. They haven't been arrested yet; they're waiting for a judge to come back from golfing or hunting or some such bullshit, to sign the warrant." He sat down behind the desk, propping his feet on top. "I want you to get down to the Arena, ASAP. I want the scoop on this story. You fuck it up and I'll see you busted back to the mailroom, understand?" "Is that a threat?" I didn't like threats, even when they were from my boss. He grinned, his tobacco-stained teeth making my stomach cringe. "Of course not, Tolliver. It's an ultimatum. You *do* want your name on a byline, don't you?" Only slightly more than I wanted to fuck Harrison Ford. "Of course I do," I replied. "Give me this story, before the Sun runs it, and you've got your byline." "I could just kiss you, almost," I said, not able to keep a smile off my face. I could see my name in print already. He grunted and gestured toward the door with the cigar. He didn't have to tell me twice. I stopped at my minuscule desk to get my purse. "Where are you off to in a hurry?" Shit! I'd hoped to escape without "it" noticing me. I turned around, the biggest most fake smile I could come up with on my face. "What makes you think I'm going to tell you, Dirk?" Dirk Drummand, my rival there at the Daily Press. He was the only that got all the stories that I wanted. If you asked him, he'd tell you he was God's gift to women. If you asked me, I'd tell you he was an A-1 asshole. If you didn't sleep with him, that automatically made you a lesbian. He'd been trying for the past three months to figure out which secretary I had my eye on. "You ever ask out Shelia?" he questioned. If there was anything faster than his hands, it was his ability to switch topics. "Shelia's that new girl down in payroll, right? The brunette with the big rack?" Shelia wasn't my type. Now Eric, down in the mailroom, *he* was definitely my type. I shook off my adolescent daydreaming and noticed that Dirk was practically drooling. "Yeah, Shelia, that's the one." I wondered if she'd turned him down, too. I shouldered my bag and looked him in the eye. "Bite me, Dirk." I turned around and walked off without a backward glance. "You're just frustrated because you want it, but it's not in your nature," he shouted out after me. I held up and hand and flipped him the bird. "She needs to get some pussy," he muttered under his breath, sitting back at his desk. "I think it's a phase he's going through, dear," elderly Mrs. Beermeir said, patting me on the hand as I passed by her. "Venus is approaching its equinox and Mars is at its zenith, you know." She had been cleaning the newspaper's offices for over 40 years. I think that's the only reason management tolerated her eccentricity. I found her quirkiness refreshing. "Either that, or he's got something stuck up his ass," she added, an absent look on her face. I bit back a laugh and walked out the door. ==**== The Arena was packed, even for the middle of the day, and parking had been a bitch. I brushed a lock of shiny, blonde hair behind my ear and adjusted my bra. I'd changed clothes before heading downtown. If was going to be an honest to God reporter, I figured I had to dress the part. To me that meant wearing whatever I could that would insure I got the story. From the stares and catcalls I was getting from the construction workers across the road, my choice of black denim mini-skirt, red tank top and high-heels had been the right one. I showed my press credentials to a burly man at the side entrance and he let me in. I guess it was up to me to find the wrestlers. It didn't take me long to find them, after all. Even though it was seven hours until the events got underway, and was pretty crowded, the wrestling ring was easy to spot. I stood on the fringe of people crowded around the ring, and looked for someone who could help me. A middle-aged, bald man with bulging biceps and horn-rimmed glasses started walking up to me. "Can I help you?" he asked. "I'm looking for the Dastardly Duo," I replied, batting my eyelashes for good measure. "That's them up there," he said, jabbing a finger at the two guys in the ring. "They should be done in a few minutes, if you want to wait for them." "Thanks." I studied the men in the ring. I'd stopped off in research before leaving the newspaper. I might be a blonde, but I wasn't as ditzy as I let people believe. The Dastardly Duo was actually Hank and Henry Smith, originally from Cooperstown, Alabama. They were examples of the "small town boys made good" story. Young boys leave their hometown in pursuit of their dreams, and overcome insurmountable odds to make it rich and famous on the pro wrestling circuit. Both weighed in at 230lbs and topped out at 6 foot even. Not bad looking either, if you liked them tall, muscular and sweaty. "Can I ask you a couple of things?" I said, turning to baldy. "Sure." "First of all, is it always this crowded before a show?" He laughed. "This is nothing, you should see it on a holiday weekend. Then, you can't even scratch your nose without bumping into someone." He looked around. "This is your typical mix of agents, trainers, go-to boys, groupies, lighting crew and various other technical people. It'll clear out some before the first match starts." "Okay, now, about Hank and Henry up there. What in the hell are they saying?" I'd been listening to them for over ten minutes, but they might have well been speaking Greek for all I could understand. Baldy laughed again. "It's some kind of made-up language they use to communicate in the ring. No one understands it but them. They say it's to keep their opponents from anticipating their moves." "Ah, idioglossia." "Huh?" "Idioglossia. That's the term for their made-up language." "You a teacher or lawyer?" he asked, suspiciously. It was my turn to laugh. "No, I'm just a fan, hoping to get an autograph, or something." "Ah." The action in the ring stopped and I watched as Hank and Henry edged through the ropes and hopped down to the concrete floor. People immediately surrounded them. I decided my original plan wouldn't work. Finding a young boy setting up folding chairs in a row, I slipped him twenty dollars and hiked my skirt up a bit. In no time, I was heading down another hallway, on my way to the Dastardly Duo's dressing room. I was ready when they came in. Lucky for me, they were alone. I was sitting in a corner of the dilapidated couch, legs crossed and skirt hiked up once again. I'd also freshened my red lipstick and knew that with my long blonde hair and baby blue eyes, I made quite a picture. "Hey, Hank, lookit what we got here," the brother with red-highlights in his hair said. He must be Henry, the older of the brothers by 2 years. His face was a bit battered, attesting to the violent nature of their chosen profession, but, in my opinion, it only added to his character. Hank had been busy inching out of his tank top, but turned our way when he'd tossed it aside. The glint in his eyes let me know that my chosen method of introduction had been right on the mark. "What are you doing here, little miss?" Henry asked, taking off his tank top now. "Why, I just wanted to meet ya'll up close," I said. I laid on the southern charm only when it suited me, like now. "I've been a fan of ya'll's ever since ya'll started wrestling." I stood up and adjusted my bra strap, even though it was perfectly fine. I could practically feel the testosterone level in the room rising. "Isn't that sweet," Hank finally spoke up. "A fan, come to show her admiration." I knew from my research that he was the only one of the two to have taken some college classes. "What can we do for you, Miss?" Hank continued. "Trudy. Trudy Tolliver." I stuck out my hand and Hank took it and planted a kiss on the back of it. I giggled. "A nice name for a nice lady," Henry said, not wanting his brother to get all the attention. "Why, thank you." I twirled my hair. "I was just hopin' I could get an autograph... or somethin'." "We have time set aside to sign autographs after our match," Henry supplied. "But, I guess I'd do just about anything to get an autograph. It's for my collection." I formed my lips into a small pout. "What did you have in mind?" "I dunno," I said with a small shrug that caused my tank top to fall off one shoulder. By the way Hank's tight wrestling trunks had become tighter, I could tell he was interested. "I think we can come to some kind of arrangement," Henry said, carefully. He wasn't as slow as I'd thought he was. "Oh goody! Can we have a drink or something? My throat is a little dry." I only hoped they had something that didn't taste like piss-water. A good southern girl does have her standards, you know. "I think I have a bottle of '96 Ch teau Fourcas Loubaney in the fridge," Hank said. I almost fell back onto the couch. I quickly composed myself. "Well, it's not a '98 Domaine de Pouy, but I guess it'll do," I said, nonchalantly. "Nice, but my absolute favorite is Ch teau Grinou," Hank shot back, heading for the fridge to get the wine. Damn! I'd never pictured him for an oenophile. I wondered just what kind of college classes he'd taken. I turned to Henry, hoping he didn't feel left out during our talk of wines. He was thumbing through a CD collection. "Henry, you wouldn't happen to have some aspirin would you?" "I dunno. We might have some Tylenol or something like that." "That's fine. I just need some type of analgesic, pretty please." Thankfully he didn't ask why I needed it, just ambled off into another room to get it. I'd learned in college, the hard way, that if I downed three or four aspirin before I drank wine, it caused me to do things I'd probably not normally do. At least that's what I'd gathered from the story the lacrosse team had told me. ==**== An hour later the bottle of wine was gone, our clothes had mysteriously melted away, and so had my inhibitions. I found myself on the receiving end of some serious foreplay. Any woman who's not had two men eating her out at the same time, doesn't know what she's missing out on. The second time I came, I thought I was going to pass out. After the Duo had gotten me nice and wet, Hank sat down on the couch and lowered me onto his extremely hard cock. I was facing away from him, my feet dangling toward the floor and my ass resting against his hairy crotch. He wrapped his callused hands around my waist and started moving me up and down, slowly but steadily. Henry had been stroking himself, but now moved in front of me and stuck his dick in my face. I opened my mouth and sucked it in, using my hands to guide it. It wasn't that long, but it was thick and my lips hugged it tightly. I matched my own cock-sucking rhythm to the rhythm Hank had established. In out. In out. My right hand reached down to finger my clit while my left hand played with Henry's balls. "Harder," Henry instructed. I wasn't sure if he wanted me to suck harder or squeeze harder, so I did both. "Ah..." Suddenly, Henry grasped the back of my head and stilled my motions. "Now bite it." I scrunched up my face and looked up at him questioningly. "Bite...my...cock." Did he want me to just take it in my mouth and give it a mighty chomp, or was I supposed to give it small little bites all along the shaft? Once again, I was left to wing it so I did both. "Oh yeah, baby, that's good," he moaned. "Harder, honey, harder." I was lost in my own wave of sensation, and did as he instructed; I bit harder. Not enough to draw blood, mind you, but hard enough to let him know I was using my teeth. I also started to squeeze his balls again; *really* squeeze them. I guess I must have done something right, because with a loud grunt and a shove of his hips, Henry shot a torrent of cum into my mouth. I started sucking it in, trying not to choke. His hand was still tangled in my hair, and he held me in place until he was spent and starting to go limp. He pulled out of my mouth and collapsed on the floor. I could have sworn I heard him snoring. Hank increased his motions, slamming me down onto his cock, and my own fingers sped up their tempo on my swollen clit. I could feel the pressure increasing and knew I was approaching my own orgasm. I stiffened my legs and let out a small scream as wave after wave of pleasure rushed through me. Hank gave one final slam and I felt his hot juice stream into me. Lightheaded and suddenly sleepy, I crawled off of Hank and lay down on the empty section of couch. He flopped over, using my hip as a pillow. "Hank," I mumured, remembering that I'd been sent there to do a job. "Do you know anyone named Delta Murphy?" "That bitch? Henry used to be married to her sister. Why do you ask?" Things were beginning to click in my wine-and-sex soaked brain. "No reason." I curled into the couch cushion as sleep overtook me. ==**== "Great work, Tolliver. I knew you could do it." Mr. Peterson slapped me on the back and I almost swallowed my gum. Bullshit. He'd probably started an office pool on how long before I came back with my tail tucked between my legs and no story. I looked down at the freshly printed newspaper in his hand. There was my name, just under the title, as promised. "Dastardly Duo falsely accused by jealous ex-sister-in-law" the cumbersome copy read. I'd chosen a much nicer title, but Mr. Peterson had said something "grittier" was needed to attract attention. "Okay, Tolliver, tell me again how you busted the case wide open." He pulled out a fresh cigar and set about mangling it. "It's all there in black and white..." I started to say, but gave in. "After, uh, interviewing the Duo, I did some digging on Delta Murphy. It seems that her sister, Camille, had been married to Henry, but divorced him before him and Hank became rich and famous. She was pissed that she couldn't touch any of that money, to say the least, so she cooked up this scheme with her dim-witted sister. Camille knew about Henry's weird masochistic tendencies in the bedroom, so she coached Delta in what to say. They faked the rough stuff themselves, got the story straight, and then Camille sat back and mentally counted the money they'd get, while Delta sobbed her story to the police. She was going to say that they'd all been high on pot the night it happened, which would supposedly account for Hank and Henry not remembering a damn thing." "But the police never arrested them, because you got to Delta Murphy first, and she ended up recanting the whole thing." Peterson laughed. "I love it. Fucking-A, love it." "Yeah," I said, chuckling along with him. "I just flashed Miss Murphy a phony badge and told her I had some more questions. It wasn't long before she was sobbing and spilling her guts. Evidently Camille, who is still denying the whole thing, got all the balls in the family." "Well, Tolliver, like I said, that was some damn fine work. Why don't you take the rest of the day off, you've earned it." "I'll say I have," I muttered. "Thanks, boss," I said. I was going to go home, change into my pajamas and veg out in front of the television for the rest of the day. "By the way, Tolliver, I know interviewing those crude wrestlers must have been a royal bitch. Anything I can get or do for you?" I thought for a couple of seconds. "If you're serious, why don't you rustle up a bottle of aspirin and a good bottle of wine and get Eric from the mail room to run them over to me?" THE END Copyright 2000, by Souvie Permission is granted to repost, given that my name and copyright information is left intact. Direct all comments or questions to: souvie@txucom.net More of my stories can be found at: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Souvie/www -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+