Little Sister
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2009 by Maxicue

Mystery Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Waikiki PI story #2. A fetching Vietnamese woman lures Joe into a troubling world filled with ghosts of his father's former life. Much edited and improved reposting of "Sister Lovers," the second Waikiki PI story (formerly attached to the first). Please read "The First Case" before this to understand characters.

Caution: This Mystery Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/ft   Consensual   Romantic   NonConsensual   Rape   Heterosexual   Interracial  

Janet and Frank left their college buddies back at the large tent doing drinking games and getting loaded. Janet, having pulled Jerry from the scene, grabbed a flashlight and cautiously stepped into the woods they explored during daylight. They followed the shallow dirt trail heading for the sound of the falls. Jerry had been startled by Janet's actions. She was engaged to one of the fellows in the tent for God's sake! He didn't know the ceremonious wedding concept of the closeted (to his family) gay man, and Janet playing the role of the pretend mate. She was attracted to Jerry, finding him cute and smart if a little naïve and unaware of her attraction. Therefore she became the aggressor. Being a horny young man and Janet being a lovely blonde with a smart, mischievous smile and soft curves which he certainly wouldn't mind learning about in detail, he was more than willing to succumb to her desires.

Once at the falls, the loud white noise became the background sound to their kisses and touches. It seemed to stimulate their blood flow from their deeply beating hearts to the centers of their erogenous zones: his head and lips and cock, her head and lips and nipples and pussy.

After French kissing while exploring the feel of their clothed asses, Janet wanted to head quicker to the finale. She unzipped his shorts, unsnapped them, pulled his underpants away and took hold of his cock. He lifted up her t-shirt to expose her soft white breasts which he pressed and weighed and stroked, hardening her nipples against his thumb and the palm of his hand. Since his mouth wasn't occupied, he added to the tit manipulation with lips and tongue while one hand slid between her open legs and stroked her cunt. She assisted him there by undoing her linen slacks and sliding them off. His fingers slid past the edge of her panties to slip into the slippery lower lips, pulling up along the pubic bone and stroking her clit. Her panting became more pronounced. When he got down on his knees to explore her thrill center further, he found the rocks and the dampness of their present spot non-conducive.

"Come on," he said, rising to his feet, his needs now making him take command. "Let's find a softer place."

Leaving their pants behind, they stepped inside the trees, Jerry's flesh pole bouncing. Janet's flashlight spotted a small clearing. She lay on her back. Jerry enthusiastically returned to his interrupted explorations. Holding her soft long thighs apart, massaging them gently on the inside, his tongue licked all around her open pussy from asshole to pubic hair before joining his plunging fingers inside. When he sucked in her clit, her ass rose, and she let out a guttural groan.

"Fuck me, Jerry," she moaned.

After a quick lap across her lower lips and another suck of her clit, he climbed up over her. Her legs, more powerful than their softness implied, wrapped around his ass and pulled him down, her hand guiding his rock hard cock on target.

He felt the head sink in and stroked in and out until he fully embedded. It wasn't the tightest passage he ever entered, but the warm, slippery walls felt exquisite along his sensitive glans. They froze once he was all the way in, feeling every nuance of their first encounter with penetration (at least between the two of them). Then the fucking began in earnest. The harder he thrust, the more she sang out her pleasure. He became a hyper speed piston. He stroked fast yet long. She loved the length, the depth and the power of his strokes. He felt the ultimate pleasure approaching, and began concentrating on the scraping of his knees to slow down its eventuality. Sensing his closeness, she commanded him to suck hard on her nipples while her fingers strummed her clit faster than their fucking.

"I'm cumming. God, Jerry. It's so good. Cum with me!"

Hearing these blessed words, he shut out everything except the amazing pleasure of their friction until he felt the throb of his balls. He thrust deep, holding her against him as he sent out his love spray, coating her insides with jism. She shook with pleasure and moaned loud as he felt her inner walls throbbing in orgasm.

After a few minutes of abating pleasure, they began searching for their abandoned clothing. It was then they discovered the body. In a neighboring clearing a beautiful and voluptuous Vietnamese woman had been staked to the ground naked and spread-eagled and dead.


"No," Detective Donald Nakamoto stated unequivocally a few hours later. Despite the sun just rising on the scene, and the fact that every one of the cops and forensic experts there had been awakened after not enough sleep, no one felt tired.

"Are you sure?" asked Lieutenant Sam Kamalua. As thorough as ever, he had brought Nakamoto to the site. Nakamoto was an expert at ceremonial killings, especially those of tribes from Southeast Asia. The Lieutenant's awareness of the expertise of the young detective surprised even Nakamoto. He hadn't advertised his research, which he had done to get his masters in criminology, to avoid the scorn of his less learned and more practical brethren. Kapu, the sacred doctrine of the forbidden in Hawaii, was a common area for jokes from his fellow officers. But Lieutenant Kamalua knew. The man was a hero to Nakamoto, and, despite leaving the comfort of his bed and his newest sexual conquest, he was thrilled to be chosen, and it lifted his opinion of the Lieutenant even higher. But how did he know?

"All the markings are obviously post-mortem. The girl may have been tortured, I don't know, but not by the cuts on her chest and abdomen. I am familiar with the markings, but from what I have found in my research, those occur to actually torture the poor victim and eventually kill him. And the marks are done too carefully like a bad forgery or something. No, this was done as a deception or maybe some kind of warning to other Vietnamese."

"Thanks, Donald." Sam was impressed. The ME had given the preliminary probability of death as blunt force trauma to the back of her head. And he too had mentioned the cuts were post mortem. In fact, the death had most likely occurred somewhere else. The poor woman had been staked and marked after she had been killed.

The body photographed by crime scene investigator had not been photographed by the press, restrained from entering the crime scene by uniform cops, but, after covering her nakedness with a sheet, Sam let the press in. There was no ID on the woman, and the computers at headquarters had yet to make an identification, so Sam thought it might be useful to get the woman's face in the paper and on television. A pretense though; he knew the victim.

Pamela "Kitty" Kitano was a pretty Japanese local girl the same age as me who I briefly fell in love with. Her body resembled Michelle's, the roundness, the firm, voluptuous ass, and the mouth sized breasts. Maybe that attracted me to her. But she decided against me in the end. At first subtle, playing songs at her home (I actually met her parents!) meant to suggest her loss of interest in me, being a dense kid it took looking back several months later to figure out those songs' intentions. I guess not being suave enough for her like her stylish hair salon and model friends lessened my desirability. She cut hair herself, and her and their attitude turned me off to such people in general. Most acted stuck up like her despite having the ignoble job of dealing with many an unkempt scalp. We planned a weekend together of unbridled sex, the kind we always seemed to have. I loved her body and the flavor of her kisses and her juicy pussy. She seemed to love my flavor as well, kissing and licking me all over, giving me lovely blow jobs and even letting me cum in her mouth. But she told me she decided instead to hang with some new friends, boys as it turned out, who windsurfed. She always wanted to windsurf. I must have whined a little because the end of the conversation which ended the affair she told me to fuck off and hung up on me.

So I decided to go out and get fucked up. Maybe find me someone to fuck. Some kind of rebound fuck I knew even at that age had little lasting possibilities. I needed a physical explosion to let loose my frustration. I decided on my favorite place for both drinking and mating, a new wave nightclub I frequented called, of course, "The Wave." So I showered, dressed in my best black, punk/new wave clothes and strolled across Waikiki.

The Wave was a great club, not only the best rock club in town, but really the only valid rock club in town. It avoided pretension. The décor kept simple and modern, maybe a little plastic, but still comfortable. The overall shape inside, a soft, subtle curve, pinched in a bit at the end of the bar and table area, opened up nicely for a large dance floor, lined with hard plastic booths along the left wall up to and into the start of the dance floor, which transformed into a long counter and stools along both sides of the floor. The space ended at an accommodating stage for the shows, which occurred once or twice a week. Most of the time the Wave was a disco and the ultimate place to meet young, attractive women of the local and the tourist persuasion. The lights dimmed to a flattering level, and the music promoted dancing.

After a few hours of drinking, I met the first part of my need. I remained in control, but had a buzz on. The second part wasn't happening. I asked a few girls to dance. Most turned me down. Others didn't warm up to my antic dances. One seemed a possibility, but her voice and her words just didn't jibe with me. Why I was being so particular I don't know. Though lovely and sexy, she had a silly, almost moronic attitude about the world, a valley girl accent and seemed a bit uppity. All in all a bad combination. But maybe it was destiny.

I stepped out and sat on the subtly curving and perfectly high brick wall in front of the club, letting the cool trade winds pass through my hot, slightly inebriated head. A few minutes passed while I debated reentering the establishment or heading home. Either way it seemed I would be keeping company with frustration. Then I saw her.

She wasn't beautiful, but sexy as hell. Her clever, dark, large brown eyes caught mine nearly a block away. We never lost contact. I noticed she had large breasts, larger than normal on such a petite frame. The closer she got, the more she smiled. I liked her smile, a study in contrasts: warm yet sharp; happy yet sad; inviting yet forbidding; friendly yet mocking. In other words, she fascinated me. The stare only broke when she passed by. But before entering "The Wave" she glanced back, a glance that instantly tightened my pants at the crotch. I didn't want to rush her, so I paused a moment before following her in.

I saw her leaning into the bar, awaiting the bartender. Her breasts barely rested against the surface. I wanted to be the bar. Her ass was small but round and well toned. I could see the details. She wore spandex.

"Can I buy you a drink?" I said loudly over the noisy new wave music and conversations, and breathlessly, since this woman had taken my breath away.

"No," she said in her high and somewhat raspy voice. Even with that one word I sensed she'd been through a lot.

I turned away disappointed. Had I misinterpreted her interest? Was she playing me for a fool? No. She took my arm in her strong narrow hand and kept me from moving away. And she smiled at me that smile. I loved her smile.

"Such a gentleman to offer a lady a drink. But I'm the kind of lady that likes to offer first. Can I buy you one? What are you having?" She spoke English like she knew the language well, but I could tell from her accent she came from Southeast Asia.

"Bourbon soda."

When the bartender finally attended her she ordered a whiskey sour and my drink. The tip must have been generous, because the bartender nearly hit the bar with his head when he bowed.

We danced until we closed the club. At first I did my crazy winged eagle imitation, arms outstretched and floating, but she found that too silly and not intimate enough I guess. She performed luscious and sexy dances. She moved her breasts in a way that let you know she knew her most attracting feature. Her body moved sensuously against mine once I quit the bird bit. One of my legs pressed between hers and she rubbed herself against it. I lowered a little making sex to sex contact, letting her feel how much she excited me. I could feel her heat as well.

I didn't get much out of her in our conversations except her name, Kim and she hailed from Vietnam. My being liberal and her blaming us bleeding hearts for giving up on her country and letting it fall kept politics to a minimum. She had me talking about myself most of the time, and I let her know about my budding private investigation career with one successful case already under my belt.

Maybe my babbling monologues made me feel good being with her along with the provocative dances, so when we exited the club, I hoped to continue the relationship. Within the mass exodus of the customers that remained until closing, she held my hand. She guided me out of the masses and up the block.

"Do you live far? Can I walk you home?" I said behind her.

"Come on," she said simply with a backwards glance and a smile, pulling me around the block. My heart fluttered in hope. She walked over to the back door of an old Checker cab waiting at the curb, opened the door and slid in. Still holding my hand, she happily forced me to slide in next to her.

"Moe, this is Joe," said Kim to the driver, a scruffy looking big hairy man in his early thirties wearing an army fatigue jacket who brought the engine to life. He turned the handle on his meter as he moved his head around to take in my appearance. His hand followed the motion of his head turn. I thought he wanted to shake, but it contained a fat unlit joint which he handed to me.

 
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