The Case, Lusty Lee Log #1

The Case, Lusty Lee Log #1 by Jason Pinaster Copyright 2016

I had spent the morning in my office alternating between freaking out that I had no income and jotting down wayward, and mostly impractical, ideas as to how to drum up business. I couldn’t afford rent for a real office so my “office” was really a small storage room with a chair and my laptop perched precariously on an old typewriter stand. The storage room was in my apartment which I couldn’t really afford either.

Now I was in the bedroom frantically deciding what to wear. I had just got a call to come down to our biggest client, a large downtown Toronto law firm. My go-to outfit—a professional looking navy pantsuit—was on the bed: Navy pants, navy jacket, pastel-blue shirt. It was go-to because it brought out the blue in my eyes and didn’t contrast too obviously with my curly brown hair. The rest of my wardrobe was, item-by-item being ripped out of the closet, thrown on and subjected to harsh scrutiny. I rejected the red miniskirt as no longer being appropriate for a twenty-nine year-old. The green dress hugged my still-svelte 120-pound frame perfectly—the ten pounds I’d put onto my five-foot-five frame last week having made all the difference. But it made me look too busty for a business meeting. The pink skirt with multi-colored top played havoc with my blue eyes and made me look like a teenybopper.

So it was the tried and true, if somewhat boring, navy-blue suit. I compensated with underwear woven of a mesh so fine that it was almost transparent. My nipples perked up at the thought and pressed hard against the thin fabric as it rubbed against them. No one would see this, but I would know. I glanced in the mirror and smiled back at my physically-fit and professionally-clad body. My face was slightly round, but pleasant, just short of pretty, the right mix to attract a male subject, but not so attractive as to make a female subject defensive. And my smile made them all to ready to answer my questions.

I had no idea what the meeting was about. The assistant had said only that it was a new case and muttered something about ‘all hands on deck’. But the ‘all hands on deck’ might have just been an excuse for the short notice.

The assistant, a perky twenty-something, ushered me into the boardroom. I had timed my arrival to be exactly punctual. Not desperately early or disrespectfully late. But maybe I should have been a bit early; everyone else was already there. The two largest private investigation firms in the city had each sent a pair—one from the office, the other an operative from the field. Also present were Martinson & Macdougal, the family firm who were our perennial competition.

The lawyer standing at the front, Michael Everett Rayburn, turned to me as the door opened, “And you all know Lee Brandt”. It was at that moment, just as the lights were being turned down that I noticed Peter sitting in the far corner. Peter, my former partner. Peter my former boyfriend.

The lights went out. I could either stand or try to fumble around in the darkness to the only vacant seat, the one next to Peter. I decided to remain standing. Michael Rayburn, introduced the junior lawyer on the case, Cathy something, then began his PowerPoint presentation.

It seemed that some unknown culprit had posted embarrassing images onto the internet. One of these images had upset one of the firm’s clients, in Rayburn’s words, “a very very important client.” The firm’s client hadn’t wanted to come forward for fear of deepening the profile of the offending posting, but when the culprit posted images of someone else, the firm’s client had offered to fund “all available countermeasures”.

Michael Rayburn continued on with his presentation, showing the culprit’s past postings, emphasizing that he, as the lawyer in charge, would have to approve all actions taken by the investigator chosen by the firm. The firm’s client was not to be involved in the investigation or implicated in any way.

Flecks of grey in his light brown hair pegged Rayburn as a few years older than Peter. And maybe an inch shorter. Many pounds lighter, less muscular. But masculine and handsome, even more so than Peter. And his blue over Peter’s brown eyes were a definite improvement. What would it be like to have a man who could actually fit between my thighs? And his wide mouth, full lips, clear and precise pronunciation meant he’d be a good kisser.

Rayburn pointed to a slide listing the services he required, “You will note that undercover work will feature prominently.”

Suddenly the presentation screen was blank and the lights came back on. Peter was looking straight at me but his thoughts were hidden behind his well-practiced poker face.

The representatives of the two large private firms looked at each other and shook their heads. The first suit turned to Rayburn, “Michael, I don’t think that this case falls within our areas of expertise. But if you need to consult with any of our IT experts, we would be pleased to help.”

The second suit nodded his agreement, “We’d be in the same boat, Michael.”

Rayburn shook their hands and the two pairs left. ‘Not within our area of expertise’ was code for not wanting the case because it was too risky and a failure might imperil other, more lucrative, business. Me, I had no other business and needed this case if I was to have any chance of paying the rent.

Rayburn then turned to Martinson who had been chatting with Macdougal, his son-in-law. “Mr. Martinson?”

“What sort of investigation did you have in mind?” He looked uncomfortable and was clearly playing for time. This was out of his comfort zone of tracking down deadbeats, serving absconding debtors and checking for gaps in police investigations.

I watched Peter, mentally ticking off the seconds of silence. As soon as Peter started to take a breath, I jumped in, “The undercover work will require an experienced female operative.”

Rayburn had kept his eyes on Martinson. “Mr. Martinson?”

Martinson nodded, looking relieved. “I think she’s right, Mr. Rayburn. Regrettably we do not at present employ any experienced female operatives.” From Martinson’s point of view, the case obviously had difficulty and uncertainty written all over it.

Rayburn thanked them for coming. Cathy saw them to the door and excused herself from the meeting noting that she needed to discuss another case with Martinson.

Rayburn looked back and forth between Peter and I. He could tell that something wasn’t quite right, but he had no idea what it was. “I guess it’s up to your firm to track this cyber asshole down.”

Rayburn still thought our firm was together. My mind flashed back to last week, when Peter Henge and I still lived together. When I’d prepared his favorite meal to celebrate my dieting down to 110 pounds. When he’d thrown me around in a mad and ecstatic session of ragdoll sex. Driving me to orgasms standing, lying and hanging upside down. Last week when he’d told me that ‘this isn’t working’ and moved out of our apartment leaving me solely on the hook for the rent. Last week when he’d informed me that we couldn’t continue in the business together. Last week when I’d devoured an entire Black Forest Cake in one sitting.

Peter looked at the floor, cleared his throat and was about to look up when I beat him to the punch again, “Mr. Rayburn, I’m sorry, but Mr. Henge and I are no longer partners.”

Rayburn was dumbfounded, “But I…”

“It was a recent development,” I told him.

Rayburn looked at Peter who nodded, confirming my news. The lawyer skipped a beat as he digested the information. Then he sat at the table, waving me to take a seat. I thought about moving forward to sit closer to him, but I wanted to be able to see Peter, to counter any moves he might make. I sat down opposite Peter and the three of us made a rather large triangle around the huge boardroom table.

Rayburn looked at Peter who’d always been our senior partner, “Mr. Henge, what are your thoughts?”

“I would be pleased to be of assistance.” That was Peter-speak for he’d like the job, but didn’t want to commit to anything specific. And it usually worked, most clients didn’t want to know how we obtained our results.

But this wasn’t the usual case, and Rayburn wanted at least some detail. “Do you agree that the case will require undercover work?”

Peter nodded. “Probably.” He relaxed his chest and smiled reassuringly. I was itching to jump in, but I had to keep my silence.

“With a female operative?”

Peter nodded.

“And who do you have?”

Peter’s right hand and his eyes moved in my direction. The movements were barely perceptible, but Rayburn, trained in interpreting the micro-expressions of dissembling witnesses, caught them and turned to me. And in that moment, I got the case.

The last photo posted by the Cyber Culprit had been taken at a bar in Montreal, so after I’d deposited the cheque Michael Rayburn had given me into my bank account, paid my rent for this month and last and filled my wallet with five one-hundred dollar bills, I hopped onto the train to Canada’s second-largest but by far it’s most interesting city: Montréal.

All the way to Montréal, More Ray Al as the locals called it, I kept pulling out my wallet to slide the new plastic bills apart. I’d never had so much money in my wallet before! I could have taken the plane, after all Rayburn’s firm was paying all the expenses, but when you factor in the taxi ride to the airport in Toronto, the long lines at the airport and the taxi ride into downtown Montréal, flying wasn’t really that much faster.

Besides the train trip would give me a chance to study the file. Cyber Culprit had been posting images of men and women onto various web platforms for several months now. Most of the images had been freely available elsewhere either as porn teasers or on public websites such as Flickr. Most of the time he—I thought of him as a ‘he’ even though we had no actual evidence one way or the other because most criminals of this type are male. Most of the time he posted to other photo-sharing sites. But sometimes he hacked into other people’s webpages and deposited the photos into these random locations. There hadn’t seemed to be any rhyme or reason to his postings until he’d followed up his posting of our client—a senior bank executive—with the posting of a well-known sports commentator. Both with their mistresses.

The sports commentator had been photographed picking up a woman not his wife in a bar in Montreal. Photographs taken over a four-hour span had wound up on the internet. The commentator’s marriage had taken a hit, but he’d kept his job. And I was on my way to the bar in question. Thankfully the bar was in an Anglo area of Montreal and I wouldn’t have to strain my high-school French.

The bar was large and only half full. Still, not bad for a Wednesday night. And everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. I spread some of Rayburn’s money around to the barkeepers, but none remembered the philandering sportscaster. A big black man asked me to dance—black men are fine, usually more than fine, but tonight I refused. I didn’t need the sight of a black man dancing with a white woman distracting those I wanted to talk to. Instead I bought drinks for anyone who seemed to be attending the bar for the purpose of watching other patrons. But I struck out again there too.

Work done, it was time for fun. I stopped looking for people who were watching other people. I started long for men who were watching women. Or more accurately, I started looking for men who were watching women’s body parts. Men who wanted anonymous sex. I didn’t want talk or backstory or flirting. Tonight I wanted fucking. A zipless fuck to be exact.

Tonight I’d worn jeans and a Tshirt. Body hugging to be sure, but not a miniskirt which I could slide up my thigh to the bottom of my buttocks. The man I wanted likely wouldn’t be looking at me. He’d be looking at women with skirts that teased a view of their panties or with tits half hanging out.

And there he was, at the corner of the bar where he could surreptitiously glance in any direction he chose. And he was doing more than glancing! Any woman with cleavage showing was being devoured by his eyes. And any round bums which strolled by were being followed for as long as he could.

He was short and stocky. His head barely came to my chin, but he could probably carry two of me for a mile without breaking a sweat. His hands were either pale white or covered with black spots—the hands of a man who worked with automobile engines all day but had spent an hour trying to clean the oil and grease off his hands. The hard work explained the muscles, the efforts to clean the hard work off his hands indicated a man who might be an attentive lover. Like me, he was wearing jeans and a tight Tshirt.

His head was round. There were no black spots on his face. A man who was careful and meticulous—better yet! In my mind, I named him ‘Charlie’. It seemed better than ‘Zipless’.

I slipped next to Charlie at the bar, careful to position myself so that the round curves of my breasts would occupy as much of his visual field as possible. “Hi,” I said to remove any doubt that I’d specifically chosen that stool to be close to him.

As he sat straight to look me up and down, I turned towards him and pulled my shoulders back to stretch my Tshirt tight across my breasts. “Would you like to fuck?” I asked.

There it was, the essence of the zipless fuck. No names, no information, just an offer, bare as bare can be.

He looked me up and down and started to smile. “Would you like a drink?”

“No.”

“But you want to fuck?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“My hotel room.” I dangled the key.

In my hotel room, I locked the door, but didn’t draw the security bar. Charlie would make short work of anyone stupid enough to try to break in and it’d fun to watch.

As I turned, Charlie was opening his mouth, “Do we—“

My lips sucking the air out of his lungs told him that tonight was not to be a night for talking.

But I came up for air before he was out of breath. “I don’t know anything about you,” he gasped.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“I don’t even know your name.” His mother had obviously raised Charlie with good manners, but manners were not what the night called for.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“I’m—“

I kissed him again, even harder. Still he was trying to speak. If I could ever get him into bed, he’d have the endurance of a stallion! I gasped air into my lungs. “I don’t want your name, I don’t want to know anything about you. I want your cock. I want you to fuck me. I need you to fuck me.” I took a deep breath. “Please.”

He looked at me quizzically, then nodded.

“No words.”

He nodded again.

I leaned forward to kiss him, but he whirled me against the wall. I reached down to unzip his jeans, but he grabbed my wrists and held them against the wall until I stopped trying to resist.

He gently caressed my breasts. I wanted him to grope and squeeze and mash, but without words, I had no way to urge him to ferocity. He rubbed up and down the front of my jeans. I wanted him to force his hand under my jeans, under my panties, to attack my most sensitive parts, to thrust his round stubby fingers inside my roiling cauldron!

But Charlie was proceeding slowly, methodically, forcing me to adapt myself to his pace, like when a rollercoaster slowly ratchets its intended victims chain-link by chain-link up the ever-increasing incline. He slowly unzipped my jeans and slid his hand down the back of my buttocks, hard raw flesh against my soft bottom. He squeezed gently. It was all I could do to restrain myself from yelling at him to rip every last thread from my body. But each link Charlie was ratcheting me up promised ever-increasing intensity for when our rollercoaster would plummet back down to earth.

He squeezed each buttock with one of his stubby strong hands. He squeezed again, this time with both hands, and I realized that my hands were free. I groped for his zipper and pulled it down. He let go of my bottom, grabbed my loosened jeans by my hips and propelled me sitting onto the bed. I pulled his pants down below his hips and his cock sprang free. Knobby and gnarly like the rest of him. A thing of true beauty. I reached forward to swallow him down my throat.

But Charlie had other ideas. He pushed back on my shoulders—gently, mind you—and, grasping my jeans once more, pulled them off my feet. My panties got stuck halfway down my thighs. As he carefully removed them, I made another try for his cock but he turned his hip to block the attempt. I had, however, managed to get my feet back onto the floor.

He turned me around and pushed forward. I had to put my hands out against the mattress to prevent myself from falling forward. His feet against my feet spread my legs. It was happening, we were starting up the incline. The zipless fuck in all its glory and he wouldn’t even be able to see my eyes!

But it wasn’t his cock. It was his finger. One measly finger! And not even this single finger was thrusting inside. It was softly maneuvering between my pussy lips, making sure that I was lubricated, and then tenderly stroking in and out. I waited until his finger had pulled almost all the way out, then thrust my hips back, plunging his finger as far as it would go and smacking his knuckles against my tender pussy parts. I lifted myself on tiptoes to rub his knuckles against me as hard as I could.

At last Charlie started to get the idea and there were two of his fingers inside me, rubbing the top of my vaginal canal. Presumably he was searching for my g-spot, but I just wanted to be fucked silly. I thrust myself back and forth doing my best to rub against him, to move the night’s festivities forward. He strained to hold me in place. But at last I’d frustrated him and he shoved me forward onto the bed.

I scooted away from him, then spread my legs as wide as they’d go. “Fuck me, you bastard!”

He pushed his jeans and underwear to the floor, then pulled his Tshirt over his head. He was round and muscular, swarthy, a chest-full of hair, not an ounce of fat. His cock stood out from his body, not long, but wide of girth like his master.

“Fuck me,” I repeated. “Fuck me hard!”

“You have a dirty mouth.”

“There’s only one way to shut me up.” I glanced down at his cock, then looked into his eyes with hard desire.

He slowly climbed between my legs, pressing his knees between my inner thighs. He lowered himself on top of my belly. I couldn’t move, but he wasn’t smothering me either. He levered himself forward so that the tip of his cock was pressed against my pussy opening.

I put my hands against his chest and moved them forward until my fingers were covered in his hair. I pulled him towards me. “F—“

But he’d dropped his entire weight on top of me and thrust himself inside all in one fluid motion. I couldn’t breathe. He was rocking his hips, his cock sliding in and out. My pussy lips were in joyful caress. I couldn’t breathe. Pulses of pleasure were coursing up and down my love canal. I couldn’t breathe!

With my last ounce of breath, I let out a plaintive gasp.

Attentive lover that he was, Charlie felt the sign and lifted himself up off me. “No more dirty words?”

I flopped my head from side to side as I gulped air into my screaming lungs. Charlie held his stomach lightly against mine and slowly increased the pace of his thrusts. I shut my eyes and caressed the luxurious mat of hair on his chest. Each thrust of his cock pumped pleasure into my cunt, expanding the potential of the climax building inside me, climbing me further up the hill.

Then I was on the plateau. Floating where there was nothing but bliss. Floating where there was nothing by Charlie’s buttocks plunging his cock into me. Floating where there was nothing but pelvises rubbing together. Floating where Charlie’s manly scents wafted deep into my brain. Floating towards the edge, knowing the edge was there in some vague future sense, but not being affected by the knowledge.

And then the edge was there, all-consuming, riveting my entire attention to it. I was approaching the edge, too close to back away without a colossal exercise of will. And Charlie was even closer. His breaths were mere shallow gasps. His thrusts were a series of quick little jerks, while he gathered his strength, followed by deep hard thrusts.

I opened my eyes. Charlie was no longer attending to me. His eyes were shut, all the lines in his face smoothed into blessed harmony. All his attention was focused down into his glorious cock. The glorious cock that was slamming into me with ever-increasing force!

If I wanted to keep up with Charlie, to meet together at the edge, I’d have to become as single-minded as he was. I shut my eyes and dove down into my pussy. His cock was teasing little frissons of pleasure through my pussy lips. I shut my legs and was immediately rewarded by a ten-fold increase in the pleasure. I angled my pelvis and his cock stroked the spot which had eluded his fingers. I rotated my hips and, at the outer edges of each rotation, jolts of electricity shot through my clit.

Charlie’s thrusts shuddered to a sudden halt. He’d reached the edge but was momentarily paralyzed from advancing further. I ground our pubic bones together and felt an initial teasing contraction. I pressed up, as hard as I could go and this time the contraction was deeper, unmistakable. I pulled out.

I was about to rise, rock my hips and rotate all at the same time when Charlie’s climax slammed me against the bed. His cock was on fire. He roared from deep inside his chest. Spurting cream tickled inside.

Charlie’s orgasm had dislodged me from my own climax and I was immediately worried that he might be one of those guys whose thrusts taper into nothing after he comes, but not my Charlie! He pumped and ground himself into me as if on a crusade to stuff his orgasm into me forever.

And I was back teetering on the edge, half of me on firm land, half of me in mid-air, evenly balanced. I would explode if I let myself over the edge, even a millimeter. I struggled to maintain control, my mind pulling my cunt back from misadventure, my fingers digging deep into Charlie’s butt to keep me here, on the plateau, safe.

A drop of Charlie’s sweat landed between my breasts. It was so light, almost imperceptible, but that was all it took to almost send me over the edge. I could feel my cunt clamp onto Charlie’s cock, my whole insides rotating into a tight vortex. I crawled back to balance.

But Charlie would have none of that. He thrust deep inside, ground his pubic bone into mine, then wrenched sharply up and around. I plunged off the edge into the abyss. And I was falling and contracting. Lightning was shooting through my body, then exploding within the center of my cunt frying my brain, curling my toes.

Only when I went limp did Charlie stop fucking me. He collapsed beside me. Our sweat mixed. He fell asleep, but only seconds before I started to join him in well-deserved oblivion. I was aware that I hadn’t ejaculated—something I usually did only when I felt completely comfortable with a lover—but still my orgasm had been stupendous.

The next night I returned to the bar. It was Thursday. Three quarters full and somewhat louder. But at least there were fewer people tapping away on their laptops. I spread good cheer wherever I thought it would do any good. But no one remembered the sportscaster. Same thing Friday night.

Saturday I’d dressed up for date night: a tight white cotton shirt, buttons down the middle. Black lace bra to be visible under the shirt. And a short denim miniskirt that could easily be slid up or down my thighs. But my luck in chasing down the Cyber Culprit wasn’t any better and I was about to leave when Zipless Charlie came into the bar with friend in tow. Charlie spotted me and waved me over to a table which was just coming free. We gestured towards the bar until the barkeeper understood that we wanted a pitcher, no make that two pitchers, of beer.

Charlie—turns out his name really was Charlie—pointed to his friend, “This is Luc.” Then he pointed to me, “This is the girl I told you about.” He turned back to me and pointed to where he thought my cellphone was. “Show him the picture.”

I reached into my other pocket, flipped to the photo of the sportscaster and showed it to Luc. “Did you see him here?” I asked.

Luc nodded but we were interrupted by the arrival of the beer and me paying and Charlie pouring and everyone taking a large pull from their glass. Luc was almost a foot taller than Charlie, but about the same weight. His face was long, not handsome, not ugly: nondescript. His skin was dark, like someone who worked outside. The way he carried himself, his muscles would be wiry, but strong. He was wearing a tight button-down shirt and blue pants: dress casual. Charlie was still wearing jeans and a Tshirt. At least someone was interested in impressing me!

When I saw Luc put his glass down, I showed him the photo of the sportscaster that had been posted by the Cyber Culprit, “Did you see him?”

Luc nodded, ”It was here. A month ago. They were dancing and kissing. How you say, ‘lovee-dovee’?”

I nodded, glad that Luc’s English was better than my French. “Did you see anything else?”

Luc shrugged. “There were lots of people here, having a good time. Everyone drinking.” At the mention of drinking Luc remembered his beer and finished off his glass. Charlie immediately filled it. One pitcher down.

“Did you see anything else?” One more try before suggesting what I wanted to hear.

Luc smiled. “Charlie said you’d show me a good time.”

I waved at Luc to drink his beer and moved around the table so that our thighs were almost touching. When he had another half-glass in his belly, I leaned over to my left, undid two buttons and angled my chest for Luc’s maximum viewing pleasure. “Charlie’s right. I will show you a good time. But business first. That way we’ll be free spirits celebrating. That way I’ll have only one thing on my mind.”

I lifted my left leg over Luc’s and put his hand on my knee. He looked around to make sure no one, or at least no one besides Charlie, was looking then slowly slipped his hand towards my crotch. His hand was hard. A workingman’s hand. Just like Charlie’s. Not rough, just hard. He would be fun to get into the sack. So it took all my willpower to quickly pull my leg away and put my foot back onto the floor.

“Business first,” I remonstrated.

Luc swallowed, and not beer. “I saw him. His hands were all over the woman. But she seemed to be enjoying it.”

I sighed. I hated asking leading questions. People would want to be helpful, tell you what you wanted to hear. But all they’d be doing is sending you on a wild goose chase. “Was anybody watching them?”

Luc nodded, smiling at being able to give me useful information, “Everybody was watching them.”

“Anybody in particular?”

Luc shook his head.

“Was anybody taking photographs?”

“Lots. Lots of people were taking pictures.”

I swore inside. Our Cyber Culprit would have been hiding in plain sight. If I’d been there the night after the sportscaster, I might have been able to get security footage—yes, I’d checked, they erase and record over every week—and might have been able to use the footage to get images of everyone who’d been snapping cellphone pics. But now the trail was too cold.

But Luc was not too cold and a promise was a promise! “Ready for some fun?” I asked.

Luc nodded. “Charlie says we can not talk.”

I smiled. “That was for Charlie. You can talk as much as you like.”

He smiled back at me but didn’t say anything further.

On the way back to my hotel, Luc reached out and took my hand as we strolled down the street. “Charlie say you like it rough.”

“I like sex, Luc. What do you like?”

“I like sex too.” Not exactly helpful. But then I hadn’t been any more specific.

I squeezed his hand. “What kind of sex do you like?”

“I like touching.”

“I like being touched.” With that he spun me around and gave me a light kiss. It was nice not to have to bend down. He was smiling, no longer nondescript but exceedingly attractive.

In the hotel room, I let Luc unbutton my shirt and slide it off my shoulders which he tenderly kissed. He unbuttoned my skirt and let it drop to the floor. He ran his fingers over every inch of my body, holding me at arms-length so that he could admire my curves as he went. His devotion stimulated the first stirrings of desire in my belly.

He touched my bra so softly I could barely feel anything on my breasts, but I smiled knowing that he would come back to favor my nipples with the same gentle touch. He touched my panties the same way, but my skin was more sensitive there and his probings tingled all over my pussy. I spread my legs and he stroked lower forcing me to hold onto his arms.

“So beautiful you are,” he murmured.

I smiled at him. He could talk as much as he wanted to, but I had no intention of saying anything.

He turned me around and his fingers were little circles of warmth where they touched my skin. My bra was unclasped and I shook it to the floor. He kissed down the center of my back, his fingers on the outside of my curves. When his fingers encountered my panties, he pulled them gently to the floor as he kissed down my legs, tickling the back of my knees. He kissed each and every one of my toes.

“Magnifique!” he proclaimed.

Luc lay on the floor looking up at my legs into the center of my body. I was tempted to lower myself onto his lips, but his expression was worshipful, not lustful. Instead, I stepped off and pulled him to his feet. He tried to touch me again, but I pushed his hands away and quickly unbuttoned and removed his shirt. I caressed his nipples; they were almost as responsive as mine. He reached forward and I let him touch my nipples, but only for a moment (a heavenly moment!).

“Nice little boutons,” he gasped

I sat on the bed, pulling him with me by the top of his pants. I undid his belt, unbuttoned his pants and pulled down on the zipper. The zipper was sticky because something was pressing up against it. I pulled down on the zipper, anticipating the treat pressing up against it. His underwear was ordinary Canadian Stanfield briefs. But white as the driven snow. I lifted them up and over, and there was my treat!

His penis was longer and thinner than Charlie’s, almost exactly in tune with their other physical differences. The skin under Luc’s briefs was almost a white as had been the briefs themselves. Little testicles dangled below. I ran my fingers along his shaft, as softly as he’d touched my panties. His cock quivered. I let go and caressed his testicles. His cock quivered again.

He groaned, halfway to speechless. This was going to be fun!

I grabbed Luc’s cock in one hand, holding it still for my lips. As soon as I kissed it, there was a salty drop of pre-cum. I readied to take him deeper into my mouth, but Luc’s strong hands pulled me up.

Luc shook his head. “I want us to do everything together.” He was smiling ear to ear.

I smiled back. Fine by me. I walked backward on all fours until I was lying flat on the bed. Luc crawled on top of me and lay down. His hips were just slightly wider then mine. I spread my legs further and felt his cock pressed against me. He steadily increased the pressure and bit by bit, inch by inch, he slid in, gradually filling me with the promise of joyful conjugal union. His belly touched mine. In and in he went. Our pubic bones touched. And then he was all the way inside.

He kissed me, at first tenderly, then with more suction. He tongue traced around my lips, then darted inside. I tried to touch my tongue to his, but he danced away. Below he was making short rocking motions, just enough to keep himself erect and me lubricated, but nothing more. I dodged his tongue and was inside his mouth. His tongue had no choice but to do the full tango with mine.

Then he was pumping, not vigorously, but most of the way out before gliding back in. I bucked against him, urging him to more forceful thrusts. His response was to roll me over on top of him. Boy was he strong!

“I like to touch,” he reminded me.

And he lay still as he caressed my breasts every way possible: lightly all over but avoiding nipples, a gentle squeeze, running his palms over my breasts, this time rubbing against my nipples, pinching my nipples then softly soothing them, twisting my nipples, then firmly squeezing my whole breasts, letting them go to repeat a gentle caress all over, then grabbing them firmly and giving them a gentle twist.

Luc may have liked to touch, but my desires were more visceral. And on top, I was in full control. I rocked my hips, pulling his shaft almost out, then sliding quickly back down its length. I crossed my legs and clenched him tight. My attention was as focused on my genitals as his was distracted by his fingers and I had him on the brink of orgasm before he realized it.

Luc’s eyes locked on mine, rebuking me for the trick I’d played on him. But he was too far gone to pull back. I smiled in triumph knowing—

But he rolled me back onto my back as easily as if I’d been a feather. Now it was his turn to smile. He pulled himself out, then plunged his entire shaft back inside me. He pulled himself out, half-sucking my genitals with him. In and out and in and out, the friction making both of us hot between our legs.

Now he had me on the brink and he knew it. “Say my name, Lee. Say it!”

“Luc.”

“With passion.”

“Luc!” Not ownership, but deep friendship.

“Say it like I own you. Say it!”

“Luc!” And he did own me, shuddering and contracting up and down my body. “Luc! Luc!”

“Lee!” Our spurting juices mixed together making him suddenly slippery and I had to concentrate on keeping him inside me.

“Luc.”

“Lee.”

He rolled me over on top of him again and that’s where I fell asleep.

Three nights ago, fucking Charlie had been to erase Peter from my muscle memory. Making love to Luc made me human again.

Next morning Luc was just shutting the door behind him when my phone rang. It was Michael Rayburn, the lawyer. “Did you find anything?” Even I had treated Charlie to more foreplay than this.

“I found the trail, but it’s gone cold. There were too many people snapping pics of the victim for us to be able to ID the culprit who posted them on the internet.” I quickly filled him in on the details.

“There’s been another posting. Nobody famous. The victims were at a local swingers club.”

“Montreal?” A day of R & R here instead of rattling back to TO on the rails sounded like a good idea.

“Toronto. The club’s dark until Thursday, but I’ve arranged for you to meet the owner and his staff tomorrow evening. They’re freaked out, worried that no one will come to their club if pictures of their members end up on the internet. So at least for the time being, they’re maximally motivated to be helpful.”

‘Maximally’. A fifty-dollar yuppie word if I ever heard one. But the bottom line was that I’d have to hop on the first train out of Montréal in the morning. So much for sleeping in.

Next day on the train, I sprang, or rather Rayburn’s client sprang, for the Wifi car in the train. In between an online shoot-em-up game, winning sixty-bucks at a poker site and Skyping with Luc, I received an email from Rayburn. He included a URL to the culprit’s posting which he urged me to access immediately as it was in the process of being taken down.

I downloaded the video to my hard drive. It showed a middle-aged couple in the throes of healthy sweaty consensual and mutually enjoyable sex. They were somewhat identifiable. It’s not the loving couple who should be ashamed; it’s the people who wanted them to be ashamed who should be ashamed. Ashamed or worse. But the world was the world and I wasn’t going to change it overnight.

The rest of Michael’s—should I call him Michael or Rayburn or Mr. Rayburn? I decided that it was safer to call him ‘Mister Rayburn’ out loud. But inside my own head, I’d call him whatever I pleased. The rest of Michael’s email described the typical night at the club: couples starting to arrive around ten, dancing starting at eleven, some flirting on the dance floor, some at the bar. Some were swingers, some not. Later on there was sex at the back, sometimes in dark corners, sometimes in the center of the room for all to see, for all to cheer. It was during one of these hyper-public displays that the offending video had been recorded. The club had a strict no-photography rule.

###

Back Notes:

Thank you for reading this story. If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to post a

review.

Other Lusty Lee Logs are now available:

Swinging, Lusty Lee Log #2

Strip Club, Lusty Lee Log #3

The Escort, Lusty Lee Log #4

Leather, Lusty Lee Log #5

Lusty Lee Box Set 1: All of the above!

Hedonism, Lusty Lee Log #6

Other Lusty Lee Logs are upcoming:

Hedo II, Lusty Lee Log #7

Cheaters, Lusty Lee Log #8

The Actor, Lusty Lee Log #9

Yearning, Lusty Lee Log #10

Please also consider reading other titles that I have authored as follows:

I Alien Vacation (novelette)

II Connie’s Crop, a novel

III The Christopher Carter Series—already published

Carter’s Chance II

Private Party His

Private Party Hers

Private Party Box Set

Ryan’s Reprieve

Cashmere Congress

Melissa’s Moxie

Molly Madness

Melissa’s Memories

Blackmail Bounce

Assisting Audrey

Splosh Scoundrel

Jody’s Journal

Busted Bonds

Solicitor’s Slip

Stakeout Story

Aural Artifact

Mayan Magic

Party Photos

Buying Before

Cardiac Caress

Credit Card Con

Formatting Foam

Clinic Caper

Cosplay Clue

Witch’s Wrath

Carter’s Climax Box Set: All 25 stories

And please check out my author profile at

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/JasonPinaster

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Copyright 2016 by Jason Pinaster. Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favorite ebook retailer to discover other works by this author. Please leave a review. Thank you for your support.

Fiction: This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely and entirely coincidental and not intended by the author. In short: this story is not about you, anyone you know, or about the acts or omissions of anyone living or dead.

Cover credits: The lady in the colorful bikini is Maganda of DropTopGal Mang 25 on Flickr and her images were used either pursuant to a Creative Commons licence or by direct, not to mention generous, permission. All photoshoping was done by me.

Jason Pinaster