Chapter 1

The private investigation business is not the most genteel profession. In fact it can get positively sleazy. Obviously one immerses in the world of the criminal which, especially in the lower level "blue collar" milieu, is chock full of bad habits. The lower level criminals include alcoholics, drug addicts, thugs, prostitutes and their pimps, with bad hygiene, messy living conditions and other obvious signs of people lacking in self-esteem. With the upper echelon "white collar" criminals, the self-esteem is not the problem, or, to be ironic I guess, it is the problem. Their over abundance of confidence brings out their sleaze. They think they're smarter than the rest of us, especially those of us on the side of law. White collar criminals don't play by the rules. They make up their own, inventing games that only they can win. Whether it's cheating on their spouses or cheating on their businesses, stealing jewels or stealing old people's nest eggs, their happily cynical attack on the ethics and compassion of the rest of us "losers" makes them sleazy.

We worked a particularly difficult insurance scam case which took far too long to prove. The guy, Mel Jacobi, claimed some sort of emotional paralysis. Somehow he had proven that the stress of his salesman job for a local advertising company, being pressured to add an impossibly high number of clients each month, compounded by a sudden, unexpected, rude and traumatic firing had caused him to collapse in the foyer of the business, causing a concussion and facial abrasions and worse, paralysis of his lower extremities. No physical reason for the paralysis had been found. It was psychosomatic, i.e. bullshit.

This sharp scammer had a healthy (for his sake) dose of paranoia, always aware of being watched. He even left a message on Sandy's answering machine that he knew we watched him. I don't know how he knew, but I figured his lawyer may have suggested our presence when our target described an older blond woman and a tall young man to him. Mel might have been an asshole, but as for his lawyer, greasier slime has never emerged from a mother's womb.

Desperate, we knocked on the door of his next door neighbor. As it turned out the gentleman of the house loved sleuth mysteries. With the insurance company's vast resources enabling equipment, and with my youthful enthusiasm for telling tales, he let us set up surveillance in his youngest daughter's room, which looked directly across and down into Mel's living room and master bedroom. Mel had acquired the single level house recently because of his "infirmity."

The youngest daughter was away, a freshman at a private college on the mainland. The middle daughter, however, still lived there. Having conceived three daughters and no sons, and wanting to keep his thriving hardware and building material supply company in the family, the father was thrilled that his tomboy middle child never grew out of her unfeminine attitude. After playing catch with her as a child, when she reached her teenage years he let her shadow him in the business, eventually hiring her to do various jobs in the warehouse and in the store. She also assisted at construction sites with a couple of contractors who bought from her dad's store. By the time we entered the picture, she was finishing up a business degree at Chaminade University just on the other side of Diamond Head from their home while still working with her father at his company.

We learned all this from her. Diana Rogers was a lovely young woman and stronger than most men I have ever met. At nearly six feet tall, she probably weighed at least 180 lbs, none of it fat. Broad thick shoulders narrowing down some to a thick waist, flaring out to a broad ass, with long muscular thighs and leaner, well defined calves, she resembled a light brown haired Amazon.

Her disposition was sweetness personified. Her and her father kept us entertained throughout the week of our surveillance. I guess maybe her dad didn't have complete trust in us, because he never left us alone in the house for more than an hour. Neither Sandy nor I minded. We enjoyed the dad's company, full of youthful enthusiasm, and Diana became one of the loves of my life.

To tell you the truth, I never thought it would end up the way it did, with loving and soul stirring ménage-á trois action. Diana seemed plain when we first met. She wore loose fitting clothes, the kind one might wear to garden. Her frizzy hair looked mousy brown banded together in a pony tail, strands not quite captured by the band curving across her eye, hiding it.

When we first talked, we exchanged basic information about each other. I enjoyed the conversations and her company, but even when I tried to lighten things with a bad pun, her expression remained neutral. I liked her. I found her to be a really, really nice person.

That all changed the moment Sandy showed up. I was setting up the camera in her sister's room, her dad fascinated by it. She looked content, probably enjoying her dad's enthusiasm. The doorbell rang. "I'll get it," she said, racing out of the room. She didn't return for an hour.

While I finished setting up the high tech surveillance equipment testing, listening in on the television, some cop show Mel watched, Diana finally returned to the room with Sandy in tow. "That was some house tour, Diana," I said. "I didn't know you had a mansion here, Bert." Bert was Diana's father.

"We just chatted," said Sandy. I noticed a blush and a smile of embarrassment on Diana's face. She seemed to be preoccupied with Sandy, staring at my lovely partner. "She told me she was studying business, and I grilled her for ideas to improve our partnership. Then we got talking technology and expenses and expansion and taxes and construction. You've got one smart daughter Bert, with her pretty head well placed on her strong shoulders."

"You can't get the tom boy out of the woman," I thought.

"I don't know what I'd do without her," said Bert with a loving smile.

When I arrived the next morning at 5:30, opening the front door with the spare key Bert had given us (another reason to keep us under watch while we watched his neighbor) and quietly snuck up into the bedroom, I found Diana sleeping in her sister's bed in a frilly pink nightgown. She looked incongruous, her large muscular frame in such delicate cotton, like a linebacker in a teddy. A tired Sandy gave me a long soft loving kiss.

"We spent the whole night talking," Sandy whispered. "She's only been asleep a couple hours."

"What did you guys talk about?" I asked quietly.

"Everything. You know how conversations drift. But it eventually led to sex, at least the conversation. I think the poor girl is a virgin. And I think she's confused. She's not sure if she's attracted to boys or girls. To me it seems like she may swing both ways. She got me describing moments, specific moments between me and you and me and girls. It got me horny."

I had noticed that piquant, sweet odor of female arousal. "Her, too?" I asked.

"Her face got redder, her breathing heavier and her nipples harder as the night went on. I think if she had the courage to touch herself, I might have been inclined to help."

"Maybe she could see it first hand," I whispered, pulling Sandy's lithe body against me and kissing her with all the effort I could to fire up her lust. It didn't need much. Her jeans clad pussy rubbed against the growing lump in my groin. My hands mauled her ass, pulling her harder against my hard-on. Her hands snuck between us and undid my pants and slid them off.

Kneeling in front of me, she pulled my drawers down, making my growing cock bounce free. "Sit," she commanded. I sat on the hard oak chair. With a long slow stroke her tongue licked from base to head. I moaned.

A series of efficient and graceful movements had her stripped naked from the waist down. Needing no further stimulation, she straddled me. I guided my penis home while she descended. I slipped easily into her soft wet depth. We remained still, kissing heatedly. When the kiss ended, our breath whooshed out with a moan. Then she began to rock.

We created a subtle friction, added to by the muscular contractions inside her pussy. As the fucking became more intense, she leaned back, creating an arch. I guided the motion with my hands on her hips. My cock put the most pressure up along the g-spot. From her heavier breathing and her higher pitched moans, I could tell she enjoyed the position. She looked at Diana. I glanced over to the bed.

A wide eyed Diana watched. "Touch yourself," said Sandy within her moans. One of Diana's hands disappeared under the blanket, while the other outside the nightgown delicately rubbed at her nipples. From the tensing twitches of her thick arm muscles, I could deduce Diana did as instructed. My job was clear. I needed to keep this fuck going until Diana achieved release.

The problem was the sexy situation heightened my sensitivity encouraging an early orgasm. Sandy saved me by rising off me. She stripped naked. Her back faced me as she sank down onto my cock, her hand guiding it, returning it to its home. Leaning forward, her hands holding my knees, she bounced against me. My hands pleasured her, one set of fingers pulling and twisting her nipples, the other pushing and rubbing her clit. My feet pressed down hard to keep the chair from rubbing against the floor which drew my attention away from the exquisite friction of our connection.

Diana approached climax. Her legs opened wide. The covers had been pushed away. I could see her hand sliding in and out of her panties, getting teasing glimpses of her curly pubic hair which looked to be a rather abundant thatch. The other hand inside her nightgown stimulated her nipples. Her face reddened. Her breath quickened.

Sandy pushed down hard and froze. She let out a deep, elongated groan. Her pussy throbbed around my pole. It broke through any resistance I had, and I erupted. A hot geyser soaked her insides, the spurts mixing with her rush of fluids. Diana had stopped her masturbation. I could see her muscles tighten on her pussy stroking arm. We had all cum together.

After a moment of recovery, Sandy arose from the chair and threw on her clothes. She sat on the bed and began petting Diana, sliding her hand through Diana's thick brown hair. Diana was crying. I put my pants on and headed downstairs to make coffee, letting Sandy calm the girl down.

Once the coffee had finished brewing, I sat with my mug, staring into its blackness. The image of Diana crying affected me. There is something disturbing about seeing a woman of Amazonian proportions sob.

My thoughts broke a few minutes later by Diana's father arrival. Dressed in blue pajamas and a light cotton robe, he padded over to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup. The man suddenly looked his age. He sat beside me, staring off.

"The problem with having a house full of pretty daughters," he began finally, talking so quietly that I could barely hear him, "is the constant conflict between wanting them to be safe and chaste, to be 'good girls' and their need to grow up, to find love, to move on from girlhood to womanhood. That conflict was the most complicated with Diana. Her dedication to me, keeping me sane after Ginger, her mother left us, taking on the responsibility of following in my footsteps, working so hard to do all this, has made me very happy and proud. I tried to ignore her loneliness. I mean, since she was a teenager I don't remember her bringing a friend home of either sex. She's been just too busy keeping me happy and proud to make friends.

"The thing is, I know all about frustration. I may seem to be a very conservative guy, an all-American, work ethic, hard hat type, you know? But to tell you the truth, before Ginger left me for that asshole, we seemed perfect mates, at least in bed. We were both insatiable. We even joined a swingers club. We never got tired of each other physically. Otherwise we couldn't have been more different. She was sophisticated. She used to drag me to the theater, to operas, dances, art openings. Looking back, I'm kind of glad she did. It really made me more, I don't know, aware of the world. Made me more sensitive. But being that hard hat guy, it only seemed natural and macho to resist. Eventually she realized I wasn't going to change, so she would go with her girlfriends. Of course my lack of sophistication helped make her susceptible to the charm of a sophisticate.