***The roaring 20s. Fade-in from black.***
That’s the dame, he knew.
She walked into the office dressed in typical flapper gear—she was in her early 20s with that bobbed hair *those* sort of women liked. A black sparkling jacket and short skirt—looked like a Coco Chanel brand. Judging from that and the almost aggressive panther vibe, she was one rich broad.
“Flap your yap already, miss. What do you want?” the detective barked.
She crossed her legs and let out a little puff of cigarette smoke, carefully shaped like a ringlet. Slow, methodical. Her eyes were blacker than the Devil’s own soul. “I want you to find someone for me.” She pulled a paper out of her silver handbag and slid it over.
He picked up the paper and noted the name. Out in California, it was always good to know people. And this name…this one was a doozy. He got up and paced. She didn’t watch him, but stayed resolutely puffing at her cigarette, her full lips caressing it like she had a grudge against it.
“What’s it pay?” he said at last. That was when he noticed that the right delicate strap of her dress was slightly askew—her shoulder was alabaster and perfect. He stepped up straight behind her. She extinguished her cig in a small ashtray on his desk and said, “Not much. My husband controls the money.”
Same story. A broad needed help, but she didn’t want her husband to know. He’d seen dozens of women like this. He could see the tension in her shoulders and back, even if she was doing a fine job acting like an impudent tigress. He placed his hands on her shoulders and murmured, “Don’t want the husband to know? Must be stressful.” His hands, strong from years of work and from time spent fighting in the Great War, gently rubbed her. Almost like a cat, she sat up straighter in her chair, arching her back, leaning into the touch.
He caressed her neck, slowly pulling the top of her dress down as he did.
“You don’t even know my name,” she said, her voice soft. He was taller than her, and his green eyes looked down from above—he could see her breasts. They were perfect and small. He knew he’d easily be able to cup one in the palm of his hand. She might have been portraying herself as a strong flapper, but they both knew she was helpless and needed him.
“Then tell me your name,” he said, the top of the dress falling to her waist as his hands massaged a trail to the small of her back. She was wearing a diamond necklace—she looked like a prize. A trophy. She let out a little sigh of pleasure as his thumbs kneaded the very center of her back; there was tension there.
“Lilah Mawell,” she said. Her voice had an almost brassy tone to it, the voice of someone used to being loud and being heard.
The detective liked that.
He slid his hands up and over her shoulders, sliding them down to touch her breasts. The fact she hadn’t worn a brassiere excited him. He said, “No bra? Flapper? But married? You’re a lady of contradictions, Lilah.” His hands cupped and caressed those small breasts, rough calloused fingers brushing over pale areolas that stiffened to perfect little points at his touch. This time she didn’t hold it in. “That’s…oh. That feels perfect.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a reason we get called private dicks rather than private eyes by some folks,” he quipped. Her breasts were firm and yet exactly as soft as a man would want them to be. “Does your husband do this at home?” Lilah closed her eyes and said nothing. That told him all he needed to hear. They both knew where this was going.
“Bend over the desk,” he said. “You can make up the difference in money with this.”
He couldn’t see her eyes standing behind her, but the speed at which she complied, bending over the dark oak desk and tugging up her skirt, turned him on beyond belief. An errant coffee cup, a stapler, these things were pushed aside so she could brace herself. He tugged down her panties, cute red lingerie. Very nice. The detective unzipped the fly of his trousers—he wore a slate gray three-piece suit, and he didn’t see a need to take it, or his fedora hat, off. He pulled out his cock, already hard, spat on his hand, and he made sure it was slick enough.
He parted her pert asscheeks and found that rosebud of a hole—not her pussy. She was married, and no detective anywhere wanted to risk pissing off an important husband. Besides, she was obviously a kinky minx anyway. He pushed the thick pink head of his cock against her asshole, and Lilah let out a gasp. “What are you–?”
He leaned close and murmured, “Relax.” His voice was a rich dark purr in her ear. This wouldn’t be the first client he’d had on this desk, and she wouldn’t be the last. He saw how the muscles in her legs and ass slowly seemed to wind down, and with that, he gently pushed inside of her. The tightness and heat was incredible. She let out a passionate loud cry; he *knew* she would like it. He started slow so she could get used to his size, occasionally reaching around to push his fingers in her mouth, making her suck on them, get them wet, so he could keep things well-lubed.
But when she wriggled her ass, bumping back against him, he knew she wanted more. He grabbed her waist to steady himself, his hands large enough to almost reach around and touch, and he fucked her hard, pounding her as fast and as deep as he could give and that she could take. She yowled like a cat in heat, her ass bouncing against him with a satisfying smacks.
“In or out?” he asked. He was close.
“In. Oh god, *in* me. Please come in me,” she begged. With the massage, his touch, his body, his fucking, she had gone from being tense and afraid to being open and lusty.
With one last groan, thrusting deep in her, his balls pushed against the soft curvature of her bottom, and he climaxed, filling her ass up with thick white cum. She let out almost a scream—she’d come from having her ass pounded! He pulled out with a small pop noise a few minutes later, after the aftershocks of pleasure had faded, tucking his cock away and zipping up. She closed her legs, tugged up her panties, and pulled up the top of her dress.
“Now that you’re paid–” she began.
The detective laughed as he walked over and sat back at the seat of his desk, pulling out a small bottle of half-empty whiskey from the drawer and a glass he kept there. Time for a shot.
“I said it’d make up the *difference*, toots. Let’s talk *money* and about this missing fella you’re so keen on finding.”
***Zoom out, fade-to-black***
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I hope you enjoyed this little short story from the wonderful writers, authors, and dreamers over at [Elliquiy Erotic Roleplaying Forums](https://elliquiy.com/). We are an established community over twelve years old that is always looked for creative and expressive people to join us. Our members cover a diverse number of topics, from non-erotic and erotic writing, BDSM and LGBT-friendly content, styles in poetry and prose, to even sharing their art and talents for all to see. Please stop by and take a look around and, if you’re interested, drop an application to join so we can get to know you! There is a lot to read there and the place is quite friendly.
This is a complete writing sample; there is no ‘continued’ story with it, though if folks are interested, I can write more and share it here on Reddit just for y’all!
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/9l7u4a/payment_in_full_mxf_noir_anal_small_tits
It’s really good work, and the noir theme is right down my alley. If you were to publish more I would read it, that much is sure :)