Dirk Saber P.I.: Jane Russell Ch. 05

Waking from a sex dream to find Becky gone from my bed jolted me upright. Sunlight peaked around the edges of the window shade, and the clock read 7:00am. Throwing off the sheet, I scrambled to the closet to find my robe was missing. So I slipped on sweatpants and a tee-shirt, and went in search of my client.

The smell of bacon lured me to the kitchen. As I approached, another alluring sensory input captured my attention - female humming, a sound never heard before on these premises. I hid behind the door jamb and peeked in, not wanting to interrupt. The mystery of the missing robe was solved, and it never looked better. Although too big, Becky had rolled up the sleeves to her elbows. Its hem touched the floor, which caused drag when she moved from the stove to the table, revealing lissome leg from toe to hip. The belt had loosened enough to allow more than a glimpse of free breasts. Her hair, still disheveled from sleep, cascaded around her smiling face as she worked. Wires ran from earbuds into the breast pocket where I deduced her phone played the music she hummed. Although I couldn't name that tune, it must've been lively. She swayed and shimmied to the beat. After a minute or two, I stood in the doorway, leaning shoulder against the frame, and waited for her to see me.

As if feeling my presence, Becky turned from the stove in my direction. Her humming stopped and her face reddened.

Carrying a bowl of scrambled eggs to the table, she said, "You're just in time. Breakfast is served."

"Smells delicious." Watching her, I added softly to myself, "Looks amazing."

Pulling the earbuds from her ears, she asked, "How do you take your coffee?"

"Black."

"Me too," she said, pouring. "No calories."

I sat and she served.

"You don't have any fresh fruit."

"That's what I take vitamins for."

"Do you want some toast?"

"Love some, with butter and raspberry jam."

"Bless your heart. With all this fat you won't make fifty."

"From what I've seen, growing old is just a slow, boring death. I'm shooting for a massive heart attack." And in my head I added, 'while fucking.'

She brought the jam and butter. "Well, try not to have one on top of me."

On top of me? Aren't we done? Was that an invitation for a repeat performance? I'd have to watch my step, or I'd be working on that heart attack very soon and often.

"Your cupboard is bare. The food you have is old and needs to be thrown out," she said, dropping the toast on my plate. "The bread was stale, but toasted it'll taste fine."

In answer, I said, "I eat out a lot."

Becky sat down opposite me, and nibbled bacon from her hand like it was a breadstick. Pointing the pig meat at me, she said, "You should hire me as your personal assistant. I'd take good care of you."

There she goes again, trying to get hired.

"You hired ME to protect you, remember?" I sipped coffee, and added, "Just relax here a few days. Let Fairweather get tired of searching for you."

Dick Tracy barked to come in. Damn, I hadn't thought about Dick at all. Not the dog, anyway.

Becky got up, "Do you feed him in the morning, too?"

"Yes, two cups of the dry stuff. Add a little water."

"Let me do it. I like your Dick."

The double entendre wasn't lost on me, even though she didn't wink or smile devilishly.

Becky took care of Dick's appetite while whetting mine, and returned to the table flashing fabulous cleavage.

"My brother texted me. He wants me to work at the theater tonight and wear my 'Outlaw' costume." She leaned back, and while combing her fingers through her tangled hair, added, "He thinks I'll help future ticket sales. What do you think?"

Acting composed, I answered, "Couldn't hurt."

"Will I be safe?" she asked, leaning forward, looking concerned as a boob fell out of confinement.

Maintaining eye contact, I answered, "Safe as you were last night."

She smiled, tucked in the breast, and answered, "Great! Last night I was totally satisfied with your service."

Nonchalant, I sipped coffee, and said, "You're in good hands."

"Mmm, I know." Becky got up and began clearing the table.

"I need to work downstairs in my office for a while. If you need anything, just knock."

Placing dirty pans in the sink and running water, she said, "I'm going to start cleaning to help pay my debt as we agreed, if that's okay?"

"That's fine."

I ate quietly while she washed dishes.

After draining the last drop of Maxwell House, I said, "Thanks for making breakfast. Let me show you where I keep the vacuum and cleaning supplies."

Becky followed me to the hall closet, where I opened the door to reveal my housekeeping paraphernalia. "Here's everything you need. Go crazy."

"I plan on it," she said. "I need to get dressed first. Would you please put this back in your closet for me?"

I couldn't help but stare as she untied the robe sash, slipped it off, and held it out to me.

"Sure. My pleasure."

"Thanks," she said, and strolled naked to the guest room.

Becky had my attention, whatever game she was running.

After placing the robe back in my closet, I adjourned to my downstairs office to run a background check on Rebecca Renaldi. I wanted the truth, whether I could handle it or not. But the truth remained what little I already knew, because all my paid access into police and government databases came up empty. No police record. No past or pending litigation. No outstanding warrants or even traffic tickets. At least her Screen Actors Guild profile confirmed she was Rebecca Renaldi. So maybe she was just the disillusioned, exhibitionist, cosplay, impersonator, sexpot, she seemed. That was reassuring.

I was about to run a background check on her stalker, Boyd Schlitzmiester, A.K.A. Lloyd Fairweather, when a loud crash in the living room above sent me running to investigate. I rounded the corner into the room and stopped dead. There was Becky on her hands and knees, cleaning up broken glass. At first I didn't notice what she was doing, because the skimpy French maid's outfit captured all my attention. Cosplay time again.

"What happened? Are you all right?" I said to the ruffled butt.

Immediately Rebecca stood to face me with head bowed and hands behind her back, breasts heaving in the tight, lacy bodice. "I'm so sorry, Monsieur. I am so clumsy. I knocked over the lamp while dusting. I will pay."

I bought the lamp for five dollars at a garage sale. I knew that because the price tag was plain to see on the bottom. She couldn't miss it. The French accent and submissive posture hinted there was more to this story. And even though the lamp had no value, financial or emotional, I played along, "On your salary, it would take two years to pay for it."

I knew I was on the right track when she sobbed, and said, "Then you must punish me, so I will learn not to be so careless."

"And what do you think suitable punishment would be?"

Without looking up, she gestured toward the couch, and said, "Sit down Monsieur, si vous plais."

I did as Maid Becky asked, and waited.

Turning her back to me, she lifted the short skirt and pushed down her panties, allowing gravity to pull them to her ankles. She stepped out, picked them up, folded them neatly, and placed them on the coffee table. Without making eye contact, Maid Becky knelt on the cushion beside me and lay down across my lap.

This morning, when I got out of bed in a hurry, I'd put on sweatpants, but no briefs. So my unconfined cock had plenty of room to grow, and it did. There was no hiding it.

The way Becky squirmed against it, I knew she knew. "I am ready, Monsieur."

I'd never spanked a woman for any reason. I'd hit women before, but it was sparring during self-defense practice. My former partner, Samantha, liked it real. This felt weirdly unreal, but admittedly erotic, a new, titillating experience.

Rubbing my palm over her perfect derriere, I said, "I think you've exhibited enough remorse. Corporal punishment isn't necessary."

But fondling was.

"Please, Monsieur. If you do not punish me, and feel my debt has been paid, you will become bitter, and it will grow into resentment. I don't want to lose my job." She pressed her hips down and shifted left and right, grinding against my lap.

Something grew all right, but not resentment. As I massaged her ass, my detective skills tried to deduce what mind game was afoot. Was this a tactic to ingratiate herself into my life, to develop a kinky relationship that only she can satisfy and thereby control me? Or was she just naturally kinky and horny? Well, silly moi voted for the latter. So I gave her a swat. Not extremely hard, but firm.

Surprised, her body jerked, and then she laid her cheek on the cushion in submission, waiting with closed eyes.

In for a penny, in for a pound, and since she let me pound her last night, the least I could do is give her a pennies worth of my palm. So I continued. After six or seven swats her ass turned a rosy pink, and my nose detected the scent of female arousal. It DID turn her on, which, in turn, did the same for me.

"That's enough," I said, sliding my hand from her ass down between her legs.

Pressing a finger between her soaked labia, in mock disbelief I asked, "Did this excite you?"

In a sheepish whisper, Maid Becky answered, "Yes, Monsieur."

"Why?" I asked, honestly.

She didn't answer, so I pushed two fingers inside and rubbed her clit with my thumb. "Tell me!"

She groaned from the sensation, and then answered, "I'm sorry if my body offends you, Monsieur, but I can't help it. I find you very attractive... and I saw your... erect manhood this morning, and it excited me."

Interesting!

"When did you see it?"

She didn't respond again, so I spanked her. "When!"

"In your bedroom! You were sleeping. You had an erection that tented the sheet. I peeked without waking you."

Ah, my sex dream carried over into reality.

"Well then, let me relieve those wanton desires so you can get back to work undistracted." I began to plunge my fingers in and out, while my free hand snaked beneath to fondle her breast. Finding it difficult, I commanded, "Up on your hands and knees."

She obeyed, and I pulled the elastic bodice down to free her breasts for my groping.

It wasn't long before she began to thrust back against my fingers and her arms gave out.

"Mon Dieu!"

Her sudden release drenched my hand and dripped onto my sweatpants. No faking that orgasm.

Gradually slowing my penetrations, I said, "You may take a short break before resuming your duties."

Falling flat across my legs, she whispered in a breathy voice, "Thank you... Monsieur."

As she recovered, I helped myself to more ass rubbing and marveled at the new vein of eroticism she'd tapped in me. I'd never thought of myself as a Dom, or into role playing, although my fascination with early 20th century detectives and starlets was probably the clue that Maid Becky explored.

The question now was, to what end? What motivation would a beautiful woman have to want to play sex games with me?

My suspicious mind became distracted when Maid Beck recovered enough to get off my lap. As if nothing unusual happened, she picked up her panties and slipped them on. Turning to face me, she covered her mouth as if to stifle a gasp, and said, "I've made a mess on your pants."

"You certainly did," I said, looking down at the wet spot covering my crotch.

She giggled and pointed. "You are... hard."

No shit! Aloud, I said, "You have a firm grasp of the obvious, Ms. Renaldi."

"I'm so sorry, Monsieur. Today, I cause much discomfort for you."

My eyebrows knitted together, and I gave her my 'You can't be serious' look. When I started to stand, she pushed me back down.

"Wait! Stay here. I'll be back."

Thinking, 'That didn't sound like Arnold at all,' I rubbed my finger in the wet spot and sniffed. Maybe I wouldn't wash the sweatpants for a while.

A few minutes later, Maid Becky returned with clean sweatpants under her arm and a bowl in her hands. Kneeling at my feet, she set the bowl of water that contained a washcloth on the floor, and said, "Please allow me to clean up my mess."

I'm uncomfortable with this kind of groveling subservience. Independence and self-reliance are the hallmarks of my solitary life. So to have this fantasy maid act like my servant girl gave me pause.

Maid Becky misunderstood my reticence as permission, and grabbed my waistband with both hands. Pulling, she said, "Lift your hips, Monsieur."

With only a little reluctance, I complied.

Maid Becky pulled my sweatpants down to my ankles and then removed each leg one at a time, all the while grinning at my slumping penis, which began to unceremoniously un-slump. Her face flushed shyly. What an actress!

She lifted the washcloth from the bowl, and while wringing it out, said, "He is very handsome."

"He?"

No response. Becky knelt against my shins, and without making eye contact, began to swipe the warm cloth around 'Mr. Handsome.'

"You don't want to feel sticky the rest of the day, do you?"

Um, I guess not. Aloud, I said nothing. But Mr. Handsome soon stood proud as a peacock, and shouted, "Look at me!"

"Sacré bleu! I am so bad, Monsieur! I just make you more and more uncomfortable," said Maid Becky, looking up with believably sad eyes, while her washcloth encased hand surrounded Mr. Handsome and slowly scrubbed up and down.

"May I give you relief, Monsieur? It would be my pleasure to pleasure you."

Tongue-tied, I managed to nod.

She gave me a beautiful smile, and said, "Merci beaucoup," as her free hand joined the other washing Mr. Handsome. She settled in a slow up and down motion, seeming to enjoy the sight of her hands at work.

Without making eye contact, she asked, "Monsieur, do you think I'm pretty?"

The question struck me as so ridiculous I was able to find my voice. "No, Becky, I don't think you're pretty."

She looked up with questioning eyes.

"I think you're beautiful." Not to mention you look like Jane Russell.

Becky gave Mr. Handsome an affectionate squeeze, and said, "Oh, Monsieur! Thank you. You flatter me."

Letting go, she reached up, removed the little white maid's cap and unpinned her hair. The dark mane flowed down over her shoulders as she shook it free.

"You like?"

"Very much."

"Please take off your shirt and move your hips to the edge, Monsieur," she said.

As I obediently complied, she reached behind her back and unzipped. The tight bodice, barley confining her breasts, became loose. After slipping one arm out and then the other, she folded it down to her waist.

"I think the washcloth is too rough on your sensitive manhood." She said, leaning forward, and placing Mr. Handsome between her faultless breasts.

Pressing her breasts together, surrounding me with soft, warm goodness, Becky stroked up and down.

I moaned, and closed my eyes.

"Mmm, does it feel good, Monsieur? I am glad. You made me feel so good, too."

Something wet touched the tip, so I opened my eyes to watch her tongue lather my glans every time it popped up like a jack in the box. Maybe jack-off in the box would be more appropriate, because it wasn't long before I felt my impending spending.

My head fell back and my hips twitched.

"Mon Dieu," slipped out, giving her the same heads up that she gave me.

The soft, oscillations sped up. "Bon, Monsieur! S'il te plaît, viens pour moi. Vien! Vien!"

Well, that felt and sounded like encouragement to orgasm, so I did, hard. I felt it land hotly on my chest, but then it was alternately swallowed up between the cushiony breasts. My eyes opened to watch, as her cleavage became soaked and glistening - an incredibly erotic sight.

When my dick softened, we both watched the last dollop ooze out, run down her right breast, and stop on the hard nipple. When she lifted the soaked peak and sucked it clean while gazing into my eyes, I thought my heart would burst out of my chest.

"Mmm," she murmured, before retrieving the washcloth, first mopping up me, and then her breasts.

My brain a sated mess, all I could think to say was, "Thank you."

Standing, Maid Becky tucked herself back in, zipped up, and said, "It was my pleasure to serve you, Monsieur. I will get back to work, and will try not to disturb you again."

Disturb? I'd never felt more disturbed in my life, or aroused, or infatuated.

When the vacuum cleaner roared to life, I pulled myself together and returned to my office. The strange excitement of the morning haunted me all day.