A Private Dick

You set out some old photos across your new desk. Here's your mother with a ball gag in her mouth being sodomized by a large lead pipe you found. Here's your sister (RIP) covered in cum after you her mouth. Here's your cousin being stripped and fucked on the college football field as all of America watches. Here's actress Alison Brie. Life's been good.

"Are you the new private detective?" asked a pair of what you immediately sniffed out as two undercover cops, posing as man and wife. The question was rhetorical. Your picture was on the wall a half dozen times now, everyone in the country knew your face, and your line of work, in addition to your infamous "hobby".

You put your feet up on the desk and peered up at them. "What do you want, copper?" you say, sneering as they roll their eyes at being called out.

"Well," began the female of the two, a no-nonsense dyke no doubt, dressed like some sort of plain housewife. The polka dot dress did not look good on her... but it will look good crumpled up on the floor. "There's been a in town. And not a harmless one like you, but one that has your same MO of attacking the rich and powerful and..."

You got up from behind the desk and towered over the strong-willed lady, causing hesitation in her breath. A _harmless _rapist... that's what everyone called you these days, like you were some sort of Barney the Dinosaur motherfucker. You grabbed her shoulders and then began tearing away at her dress. "Go on," you say, after ripping her bra open and getting a good look at her exposed tits.

Her partner stepped in as you began manhandling her, "Um, yes, sir. We believe the is a copycat, but one who's very careful not to leave incriminating evidence. He tends to his victims... after..."

You ripped off the females panties as you bent her over the desk, and violently plunge your hands into her nethers with a carefully begloved hand. Both holes are very tight, you note, confirming her likely dykeness, as you plop out your cock and prepare to fuck.

"You sure it's after?" you ask, your voice raised over the woman's screams as you begin to ass- her.

"Yes... we... God... can... tell..." said the woman, in between poundings. You flipped her over and began pushing into her while holding her firm breasts tight, staining one with your begloved hand.

Of course they can tell. You could always tell, in your younger days. You began fucking her vagina as she winced at the displeasure of being fucked by a man. Like you gave a fuck.

"What the fuck do you want me to do?" you asked, still pounding away.

"We were supposed to pose as entrepreneurs, seeking 'protection'. We thought maybe you ran in the same circles, as your history shows that you used to hang out with illicit rapists and trained some back in the day. We thought this guy might have been a protege of yours."

It was true. After college, you opened up a business, completely above board and legal, to teach techniques to the many fans of yours that had grown up over the years. Unfortunately, the fuzz caught wind of this, and while they were fine with your rapes, they weren't with anyone else's, and had a tendency to stake out your business and tail the clientele. The clientele dwindled, understandably, when half ended up in prison or worse.

You let loose inside the woman, leaving a memento or worse (if she neglected birth control before coming to meet you, that's her problem), and wiped the blood, sweat, and shit off your cock with her polka-dot dress. As you plopped down on your antique office couch, you finished the conversation. "I'll check through my rolodex, maybe make a few housecalls. Assuming, of course, the LAPD gives me the proper remuneration."

The male reaches into his "wife's" purse and tosses down a stack of crisp hundred dollar bills. "Give me two more of these and we have a deal."

"When you catch the motherfucker," said the naked, disheveled female half, trying to piece together some semblance of clothing.

You sneered. You were pretty sure you were the only motherfucker in this story, but would be surprised if this guy had the balls for such a pleasant activity.