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Subject: {ASSM} [Write Club Duel] Mr Slot v. Souvie
Date: Tue, 29 Aug 2000 16:10:15 -0400
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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.
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