AAA Detective Story - Checking out the Surrealist - Part 4

 

After Ken and Joan return to the office, he takes her notes and adds a few of her comments to his notebook. “Joan. Did you hear Isabeau speak?”

She thinks about it, “Yeah Boss, what of it?”

“Did you notice an accent? Something that made her sound foreign?” He asks as he writes “Lena — accented English”

“Not really, but I only asked her how much a couple of those painting cost.” She replies.

“So if she is the model who inspired all of his work, they would have had to meet in Paris, Madrid, or London?” He says as he sits back and pulls a fag from pack in his pocket.

“Maybe she’s an American who did modeling in Europe. Maybe she was a WAC, a Nurse, or a volunteer who stayed to become a model?” Ken writes Isabeau’s name then starts writing versions of it, Isabelle, Elisabeth, Eliza, Bessie, and Betty.

“You might have it, Joan. Maybe she came to Europe to help with the wounded or refugees, encountered the painters, who offered to paint her. She liked the work and that’s how we got here.” He takes a drag on his cigarette and blows smoke from his nose.

He picks up the phone and dials Mister Huddler’s private number.

“Mister Huddler’s office. How can I help you?” Ramon says in a friendly, but professional tone.

“Hi Ramon, I need to speak to Theodore. It’s about last night.” Ken says in a tone that matches his.

In a moment Theodore’s voice comes over the receiver. “Mister Cooper, what can I do for you?”

Ken notices that Teddy’s tone is a bit more business-like. “Mister Huddler, last night when we heard Charles speak, did you detect an accent?”

There is a pause for a moment. “Not really. There was that ‘showman’s’ tone of voice, but not the accent of non-English speaker. I assume that when he studied, he improved his English to better attract British and American patrons.”

Ken writes down Teddy’s thoughts. “That’s a possibility sir.”

“Mister Cooper, do you still suspect some kind of fraud?”

“I wouldn’t call it fraud, but there’s something wrong. I’ll get back to you when I figure it out.”

“Please do. And Mister Cooper, if the artwork is genuine, you will have the one you wanted in your office soon.”

“Thank you, Sir. Have a good day.” Ken finishes and hangs up.

Joan walks over to the fan and enjoys some of that ice cooled air blowing on her. Ken looks up and realizes that under her thin dress, she has a thick bra, supporting her. He chuckles to himself for a moment.

“What’s funny Boss?” She asks.

He blows a cloud of smoke into the air. “Just thinking about what your brassiere is covering.”

She puts a protective arm across her chest. “You saw them once and that was enough. These are for Pete now. Oh, I forgot to tell you. I talked with Marcy and the girls last night. They was all surprised to know that cunnilingus is a regular thing. I told them that the Greeks and Romans did it for their women. They didn’t believe me until Miss Julie, apparently overheard and came over. She told us, that not only did they do it in ancient times, but guys who’s been to Europe do it too.” She steps away from the fan. “So when they finished their night, Pete was all smiles because the ladies were giving their guys the what for.”

Ken leans back and finishes his cigarette. “So Pete was a little more gentile on you last night?”

“I wouldn’t say gentle but after he warmed up his mouth again, I told him I wanted to do that fil-a-whats-it on him. Like you said yesterday Boss, an even exchange.”

He sits up and looks at her. “That’s what I’m missing. What’s being exchanged? What’s he get out of it.” He flips through his notes.

“What do you mean Boss? Pete got me to suck his dingus. Fair’s fair.” Joan says defiantly.

Ken shakes his head. “No. I’m talking Charles Pauline. If he isn’t the artist, what’s he getting out of it. If he is the artist, what’s the deal with Lena?”

“That little woman at the gallery? Isn’t she his manager or something? Isabeau seemed to follow her directions.” Joan says as she pours some water into her empty coffee cup.

Ken quickly draws a triangle in his book, he labels each corner; Charles, Isabeau, and the top of the triangle is Lena.

“So, what’s next?” Joan asks as she sits down.

“I’m going back to the Gallery tonight, after they close.”

Joan looks a little worried. “I hope you know what you’re doing. I don’t think we got money to get you out if you get pinched.”

He gets up, grabs his hat and jacket, “I’m going out. Enjoy your night with Pete, and tell Miss Julie I said ‘Hi’.”

She stands up. “You don’t want me to come with you?”

He shakes his head as he heads for the door. “Nope. Besides who’ll get me out if the coppers nab me?” He says with a wink and a smile.

The afternoon sun is hot, as Ken drives around. He sees which hotels are near the gallery and sees if a Mister Charles Pauline is registered as a guest. None of them have him nor Isabeau or Lena. Though he doesn’t have last names for them. It’s possible that they are in a hotel farther away from Bryce Gallery, but he takes a chance that there is another option. “The Gallery was an old factory, so what’s in that back section. Isabeau said it was the Studio space. It might have more back there.” Ken says as he parks the car in a secluded part of the parking lot. With the window’s rolled down, he sits back, puts his hat over his eyes and takes a nap.

He wakes up all covered in sweat. He pulls a handkerchief from his glovebox and wipes himself dry. He checks the time. It’s after 8 and the sun is down. The sky is an inky blue with a line of dark orange on the horizon. The parking lot looks empty, and he notes that the lights are off in the main building.

Ken gets out of the car and slowly walks around to the rear of the building. He doesn’t know what type of alarm they have, but the gallery probably has something on the front door.

At the rear of the main building is a smaller building. The windows are aglow with lights, so there is something going on. Ken continues walking quietly, and looking for a rear door. Eventually he finds one. He slowly and quietly turns the handle….click..it is unlocked. Ken, as quietly as he can, slips in through the door, and makes sure it is closed behind him. The room he’s in is the old feed stock store house for the papermill. There are boxes and crates, stacked three high. A few of the crates are open, and Ken sees that they have wooden slats in them. These were used to ship the paintings. The shipping labels read that they were from London, England, which tracks with his research. Maybe he is barking up the wrong tree. Everything points to a good artist trying to trying to make a name for himself. He stops and freezes, when he hears voices.

He can’t make out what’s being said, just that one voice is female and the softer one seems to be male. He hears what sounds like a slap, and then the female voice yelling “Down on your knees! Mets-toi à genoux et lèche-lui la chatte! Do you understand?!”

Ken slowly moves between the crates to the other end of the building.

There is more light in that area, and he sees easels and canvases set up. He can smell the acrylic and oil paints. “This must be the studio area, that Isabeau mentioned.” Ken thinks.

“Oui! That’s it…. Lick her. Put your face between her legs. Utilise ta langue!” the female voice commands.

Ken slowly peers around a stack of crates and sees a naked man on all fours, Isabeau, naked too with her legs spread, and Lena painting. The exaggerated tongue on the canvas looks like it is being devoured by an open vulva which looks like a cross between a vagina and a mouth.

“That’s why! She’s the artist!” Ken says aloud and everyone stops and looks at him.

Lena puts down her paint brush and palette, grabs a rag to wipe her hands and then yells “Come from behind the Crates! Come here now! Vite Vite!”

Ken steps into the light. “I’m sorry to interrupt you while you are working. But I had questions…”

“And now you have answers!” Lena shouts at him.

A soft voice from behind her asks “Should we stop and take a break?”

Lena sighs, “Oui, Charles, get dressed. We’ll stop for now. Isabeau, you can put something on too, if you want.”

Ken notices that Isabeau’s pink nipples are hard and tasty looking, and definitely the inspiration and model for some of the erotic art pieces. She gets up and grabs a robe. She then walks over to Lena. “Can I use the toilet, while we’re taking a break.”

Lena places a gentile hand on her neck, “Oui, mon amour. Do what you need.” Then kisses her lips.

As both Charles and Isabeau leave the studio area, Lena looks at Ken. There is a fire in the eyes of this small woman. “You have interrupted me and distracted my models. I don’t know if I want to scream at you, or have you get naked so I can paint you.”

Ken leans against one of the crates feeling a little shocked. “It makes sense.” He says, then pulls out his note pad and pen. “You are Charlene Paulis.”

(I hope you enjoyed Part 4 of “Checking out the Surrealist”. My plan is to do this in a few parts over the next couple of days. If you enjoy this; Leave me a Comment. If you enjoy my writings follow and subscribe. Come back for Part 5. Be Seeing you….)

AAA Detective Story - Checking out the Surrealist - Part 3

 

As the sun tries to shine through the hazy, humid morning, Ken opens the windows to his office, then pulls off his shirt, before it gets too wet. His t-shirt will get wet enough. Then he walks over to the basin. The water from the melted ice block is tepid. He dumps it down the drain, then picks up the phone and dials the operator. “This is the Operator, how may I help you?” a high-pitched female voice asks. 

“Yeah, please connect to Mike’s Ice and Oil.”

After a moment she says “Sir, we have a Mike’s Oil, Ice, and Fuel Company, is that who you mean?”

“Yes, please.” He says as he sits down. The phone rings and then another female voice says “Mike’s Oil, Ice, and Fuel, how can I help you?”

The operator says, “We have…”

Ken speaks up, “Thank you Operator, I’ve got it from here. Hi, this is Ken Cooper of AAA Detective agency, and I want to place an order for an Ice block to be delivered to my office for the next few days.”

“What size do you want? 10 pound, 20 pound, or 40 pound?” She asks in a professional tone.

He thinks about the basin and how yesterday’s 10-pound block was the right size. “A 10-pounder will do.”

He can hear her writing down his information, “Will you be paying cash for that in advance or bill at the end of the week?”

He pulls the folded stack of bills from his pocket. “I’ll pay for the week when he brings up today’s order.”

“Very well, sir. Thank you for calling Mike’s Oil, Ice, and Fuel.” And then she hangs up.

Ken hangs up the phone and then turns on the fan. The air in the office is still and thick, even this early in the morning. He then makes some coffee and reviews his notes from last night.

In a few more minutes, Joan comes in, wearing another thin summer dress. When the light is right, Ken can almost see right through it. “Good Morning Joan, isn’t it a little warm for nylons?” He asks as he fills his mug.

“Good morning, Boss. Coffee’s ready? Great. And No, these ain’t too hot to wear. During the war, we couldn’t get them, so I wore leg makeup. When the war ended and stockings were back in the stores, I told myself I was always wearing the real thing when I wanted.” She says as she pours herself a cup. Then she notices the pages of notes that Ken is flipping through. “So how did last night go, Boss?”

Ken circles a few things, “Paris”, “Madrid”, and “London”. He then writes “Fleeing the Nazi’s?”, “Post-war refugee?”

“So is his work any good?” Joan asks and then sips her coffee.

Ken isn’t really listening to her but responds “Yeah, good technique, strange ideas, and maybe some wartime trauma.”

“Wow, must have been some show. What’s this “Circumcised Banana” and “Vulva on the Half-shell, with Clitoris”?” She asks reading his notes.

He leans back for a moment. “Those are part of a collection he did, focusing on sexual body part. What time does the public library open?”

“Same as always, 9 AM. Why?”

He leans forward again, “Because we need…” There is a knock on the outer door.

“Let him it, that’s probably the ice man.” Ken says, as he slowly opens his desk drawer, just in case he is wrong.

Joan opens the door, “Oh Hi. Back again? You can put it the same place as yesterday.”

Ken hears the voice of the ice guy as he sets down the block on the basin. The fan’s breeze is instantly cooler. He then turns towards Ken. “The office said that you were paying cash?”

Ken stands up and pulls the bills from his pocket. The ice man counts them and then pulls a receipt book from his shirt pocket. He quickly writes out a receipt and hands Ken the carbon copy. “Thank you Sir. See you tomorrow.”

Joan closes the door as he leaves, and Ken shuts the windows again. r“Smart call, Boss. Are you getting ice for the whole week?”

Ken sits back down and finishes his coffee. “Yeah, I think the weather’s going to be hot all week.” He then looks down at his notes again. “So the Library opens at 9. In a little bit, we need to go there. Bring a pen and a note pad, we need to do some research.”

Ken explains how they are going to look at various magazines, art books, and newspapers to see what we can find out about M. Charles Pauline.

By Noon, Joan had gone trough stacks of magazines and books. Ken focused on the newspapers, especially the foreign ones. Joan found a few recent articles in an English Art Magazine, with photos of Charles standing next to a lamp with a fish on one side and a black and white scribble on the other. The article talks about a brilliant new French artist who studied in France and Spain, showing his art in London. Ken looked for any mention of him in both Spanish and French language papers. He’s not fluent in either language but he can look for names. He couldn’t find anything. In a couple of pre-war articles from Paris, he found a similar name, Charlene Paulis, but that was a woman. He couldn’t find any photos or descriptions, only that she was a new artist working in the surrealist style. “Joan, do you want to see the actual pieces of art?” Ken asks as he puts away his notebook, and set the binders of news articles on the return desk.

“What do you mean, Boss?” she asks as she gathers up her books too.

“There is a public showing this afternoon. I am going over, and I’d like your thoughts.”

“Ok. Do you want to see my notes?” She asks.

“Not yet. While we’re there, take notes on anything you see or feel.” He says as he heads for the door.

This time the parking lot is only a quarter full, but then Ken realizes “Of course. Most everyone is still at work.”

“What’s that, Boss?” Joan asks.

“I was just realizing what time it is and why there are so few cars in the parking lot.”

“Oh. Can we go inside?”

He sets his fedora on the dashboard. “I won’t need that inside. If you get chilled, tell me and you can have my jacket.”

She nods but looks confused. Just as last night, the cool air greets them as they open the door. “Wow, Boss, better than a fan with ice.”

He smiles and nods. He immediately notices that the reception table is gone, along with all of the serving trays. Some of the paintings have been adjusted too. He takes Joan’s hand, and leads her towards the alcove. “Follow me and tell me what you think.”

When he turns the corner, he is surprised. All of the sexually graphic paintings have been replaced. In the place of “Circumcised Banana” is a painting of black birds dropping bombs, the landscape is pitted and burned as rats wearing helmets and gas masks scurry for cover. The colors are blacks, greys, oranges, and reds. It’s titled “A Murder of Crows”.

Another painting shows barbed wire fences, and dogs and pigs guarding sheep that are shorn. The faces are all exaggerated to looking almost human, with the guards looking lustful and hungry, and the prisoners vacant eyed and starving. The title of this one is “Safe at Home”. 

Where there had been twisted sexual organs, now there are images of war, prisons, and labor camps. Another painting that he stops at, shows stylized skeletons, lined up, extending empty bowl, as a grossly fat cook ladles drips that are blood red. It’s called “Food for the Hungry.”

Ken breaks out into a cold sweat. The artist was in one of the camps. He feels sick for a moment. He remembers what some of his buddies who liberated the camps in Belgium, France, and Germany, had told him. Skeletons who had been starved and worked to death. Women and men, abused in ways only twisted minds can dream up.

“Is this what you wanted to show me, Boss?” Joan quietly asks. “These are gross, and ugly, but so’s war.”

He swallows the burning sick in his throat and then writes down the titles of more of these.

Joan is writing too. She points to “A Murder of Crows”. “That one was in the London show.”

He looks up and sees that on her notes from the library, she has none of the sexually explicit items listed, but a mixture of the abstract, surreal, and war themed titles.

“When we get back to the office. I’ll look more closely at your notes.”

The other people in the gallery are slowly moving from painting to painting. Some gasp, or look confused. There are even a few who give a dry laugh, but none of them walk deeper into the alcove. They all seem to glance at the pain and ugliness and turn away.

Ken looks around for Charles but the only face he sees from last night is Isabeau. Though unlike last night’s barely there dress, today, her hair is in a bun, and she is wearing a blue and white polka-dot dress. The dress helps to cover her more luxurious curves, but it’s obvious to anyone who see her that she moves like a model. Today she has a clipboard and pen. Ken walks up to her. “Hi, aren’t you Isabeau? I was here last night. I’m Ken Cooper. My client wanted a second opinion about the paintings before purchasing any of them.” He extends his hand.

She smiles politely and shakes it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mister Cooper. I’m sorry but I don’t remember you from last night. But I’m happy to see that you returned.” She uncaps the fountain pen. “Do you know the names of the pictures that your client wants to buy.”

He steps closer and lowers his voice. “They were a couple of paintings that had been in the alcove last night.”

She knowingly nods. “I see. Do you know which ones?”

He nods, “I do, but I wanted to see them in the day, without champagne dulling my senses. Where are they?”

She leans in and whispers, “We moved them into the studio space. We didn’t think they were appropriate for the general public.”

“Who’s we?” Ken quickly asks.

A slightly flustered look comes across her face. “I mean Charles. He decided. It was his decision what to show to wealthy buyers, and what to show to the public.”

Ken nods. “That makes sense. Where is Monsieur Pauline right now? I would like to talk to him.”

Before she can answer, the small almost frail brunette, from last night comes up. “Is there a problem, Isabeau?”

Isabeau almost looks relieved, “Lena, this is Mister Cooper, a buyer. He has some questions about the special paintings from last night.”

Lena eyes narrow for a moment as if she is trying to remember something. “Oh yes. Last night you had a question about the inspiration for some of them. I’m sorry Charles is not here at the moment. If you are not placing an order, then please move along so others can.”

Ken nods, “Of course, Miss Isabeau is free to help anyone who needs her. By the way, Lena, is it? That is an interesting accent, you have. Is it French?”

She turns to go. “I have been many places, and my English pronunciations have suffered for it. Good day.”

Ken nods and then finds Joan standing in front of the lamp with a fish as a bulb. “I don’t get it, Boss. It’s called ‘How many surrealists does it take to change a light bulb?’ But there isn’t a bulb just a fish.”

Ken takes her hand. “I’ll explain it on the way back to the office.”

(I hope you enjoyed Part 3 of “Checking out the Surrealist”. My plan is to do this in a few parts over the next couple of days. If you enjoy this; Leave me a Comment. If you enjoy my writings follow and subscribe. Come back for Part 4. Be Seeing you….)

AAA Detective Story - Checking out the Surrealist - Part 2

 

With the sun low in the sky, the air was still hot and thick. Ken drives over to Bryce Gallery. It’s on the edge of downtown, in a building that used to house Bryce Paper Company. The company still owns it, but they build a new factory and warehouse, closer to the highway, and converted this place to a gallery so Missus Bryce could have a rotation of up and coming artists visit and sell their wares. The parking lot is about half full, so Ken parks his sedan and gets out. He pulls on his suit jacket and straightens his tie before he goes in. He is greeted by a blast of cold air. When they remodeled the building, they added an expensive heating and cooling system. It helps to keep the art from getting damaged by being too hot or too cold. Ken squares his shoulders in his jacket, happy now that he wore it.

He looks around and notices some of the wealthier families moving from painting to painting. Ken looks at a black and white one, near to him. It looks like someone took a paintbrush and made one long continuous scribble, covering the whole page. The small card next to it says “Trance”. Ken slowly shakes his head. He heard something about that, how some artists would either take drugs or put themselves into a trance and then paint whatever they saw. Some would later add different colors and textures but some, like this one would keep it true to what they “saw”.

He continues moving through the main room. There are lots of paintings that are just shapes and colors, giving the impression of something from a nightmare.

“So, what do you think, Mister Cooper?” A familiar voice says from behind him.

“Well Mister Huddler, or should I call you Theodore in this setting?”

“Theodore works fine here.” He responds extending his hand in a greeting while holding a champagne flute in the other.

Ken shakes his hand, “Then you should probably call me Ken. As for my thoughts, I don’t know yet.” He releases his grip and looks for the table with the champagne. “Let me get a drink and look at a few more pieces.”

Theodore nods and sips his glass. “The most interesting pieces are in the side gallery.” He slowly moves along, as Ken grabs a glass and follows.

“Ken, you were in Europe during the war. Did you have a chance visit any of the galleries?”
Ken sips his glass and walks beside Theodore. “In the “great galleries”? Not really, but I got to see a fair amount of art when we confiscated what the Fascists and Nazis had taken as loot. We also had to arrest some of our own guys who were trying to take ‘trophies’ back to the States.” He says in a matter of fact tone.

“I didn’t think that the Nazi’s liked ‘modern art’?” Theodore says with a mild tone of surprise.

“They didn’t. Officially they preferred “realism” and the “old masters”, but that was the Party line. That didn’t stop their officers from acquiring various pieces throughout Europe and holding on to them in private.”

“Fascinating. So what do you think of the surrealists?” He asks as they turn the corner to an alcove where more paintings are displayed.

“They are different. It still takes skill and….” Ken stops mid-sentence. The walls are filled with paintings of various sexual organs. There is a banana with its peel that’s a foreskin, peeled halfway down, facing an erect penis with its foreskin that is a banana peel peeled halfway down, facing each other like looking at each other through a twisted mirror. The small label reads “Circumcised Banana”. 

The painting next to it has a plate with an oyster shell on it, but in place if the oyster is a vulva with a visible clitoris at the top. It is titled “Vulva on the Half-shell, with Clitoris”

From there each piece is more bizarre and twisted. Breasts, Mouths, Penises, Scrotums, Vulvas, Labias, Rectums, and body parts that look sexual even though it is uncertain what they are.

“You were saying Ken?”

Ken sips his drink. “This takes skill, attention to detail, and imagination.”

“So you think he is good?” Theodore asks.

“I want to meet the man first. These are good, but there’s something that’s wrong.” Ken says.

“What do you mean?”

“Was he in the war? And for which side? What was done to him to bring out such a fascination for twisting and changing sex organs?” Ken says as he looks at another painting that is a mouth screaming, while unidentifiable holes are being filled from below. There isn’t a true body connecting the lower half to the mouth, just shades and colors giving the rest of the body vague shapes while the mouth and holes are given almost pornographic detail.

Ken hands Theodore his glass, “Please hold this for a moment.” He then takes his notepad from his pocket and his pen. He quickly writes down the names of the most graphic and disturbing pieces. Then he closes the book and takes back his glass.

“Theodore, what do you think about them?”

He smiles and points to “Circumcised Banana” “I was thinking of purchasing that one and putting it in Ramon’s apartment.”

Ken chuckles at that. “Ok. I’ll give you that. And if you really wanted to give a gift to the Missus, she or Hillary might enjoy ‘Vulva on the Half-Shell, with Clitoris’. But I would advise against getting some of these others. I feel like there is a lot of pain and trauma in some of them.”

They walk back into the main room, and Ken sees a extremely realistic painting of a lamp but in place of the light bulb is a fish that is glowing brightly. The title of it is “How many surrealists does it take to change a light bulb…” Ken smiles at the joke.

“Theodore, if you are buying these for friends and acquaintances, I like that one.” He says pointing to it. Theodore looks at it. “The detail is marvelous, and the colors are very realistic.” He then looks at the title card. “That’s clever too. Maybe if I like what you tell me about the artist, that might be your payment.”

Ken sets his empty glass down on a tray with other empties. He then writes the title of that one in his book too.

“Speaking of the artist, isn’t he supposed to show up and take questions?” Ken asks.

Theodore looks at his watch. “He should be here soon.”

At that, the large double doors at the end of the hall open and out walks a man in a white suit, flanked by a tall blond model wearing a vibrantly colored evening gown. The gown barely conceals her ample assets. Ken notices that the barely visible pink of her nipples is similar to one of the paintings that is all full round breasts with hard pink nipples. “Yes that must be his model.” Ken says in a low tone.

Trailing behind is a thinner woman wearing a very plain skirt and jacket. She closes the doors, following behind with a clip board and pen, then blending into the crowd. Ken make a quick note of her. “Manager, or assistant, maybe?” He writes down, and turns his attention to the artist.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Mesdames et Messieurs, Señoras y Señores, Thank you for coming out tonight. I am happy to be in your beautiful city as I begin my tour of the United States.”

He moves to the center of the crowd, “Let me introduce, my inspiration and my Muse, Isabeau.” The curvy blond does her best to curtsy to the crowd while still keeping everything barely covered.

After the applause dies down, the artist motions to the crowd. “What questions do you have?”

A young man in a rumpled suit and pork-pie hat holds up his hand. “Messieur Pauline, I’m Zach Thompson, from the City Paper, how long before you and your collection go to the next city on your stop?”

“Mister Thompson, we will be here only a few days. Just long enough for people to see my art and maybe some of your wealthier citizens, to purchase some of it. Next question.”

An older gentlemen raises his voice “Speaking of cost, how much do you charge for some of these?”

“It depends, Sir. Some of them are one of a akind, and others I have painted multiples of, each one numbered and signed, but still original.”

The older man continues, “Well then for example, that one? How much is it?” he asks pointing to a piece that looks like bars of color raining down on broken landscape. Ken can’t read the title of it, but makes a note in his book.

“That, my good man, is one of five that I made. Each one of them goes for $500.”

There is a murmur moving through the crowd.

Ken raises his hand. “Mister Pauline, what inspired the works that you have in the alcove?”

He smiles, “Ah those. Well if you look at my lovely muse, you can see that Isabeau, inspired them.”

Ken cocks an eyebrow, “She was the model, but there is more to it than that.”

“Of course. I stared at her. Looking at every inch of her beautiful body, and was inspired. Can’t you see how every curve and angle fills you with desire and lust?”

Ken nods, and writes a few more notes then moves deeper into the crowd.

He sees the small brunette, who is taking notes. He walks closer to her but she looks up and then moves away.

“Ok. Not tonight, you’re working.” He says to himself, though still curious as to her identity.

After a number of questions, Charles Pauline says, “Ladies and Gentlemen, It is getting late and we will have the general public in tomorrow afternoon, so Lena will take down your information if you are interested in purchasing.”

The small brunette is now by the front door with her clip board still in hand. Ken writes down “Lena” and then puts a question mark next to it.

“So, Ken. What do you think of him?”

Ken puts away his notebook, and leans into Theodore, “The works are real, but I don’t think he’s the painter. Hold off on buying until I can check a few things out.”

Theodore straightens up. “Really? Should I…”

Ken shakes his head. “Let’s keep this quiet. It’s just a hunch. But there is something about ‘Monsieur Charles Pauline’ that’s just not right.”

(I hope you enjoyed Part 2 of “Checking out the Surrealist”. My plan is to do this in a few parts over the next couple of days. If you enjoy this; Leave me a Comment. If you enjoy my writings follow and subscribe. Come back for Part 3. Be Seeing you….)

AAA Detective Story - Checking out the Surrealist - Part 1

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Visiting "The Dungeon"

 

As you sit in the company breakroom, slowly eating your lunch, you miss your girlfriend, Heather. Normally the two of you would just sit and talk during lunch, but that was a week ago. You work in different offices so after breaking up, you don’t really run into each other. But you also really don’t have any close friends here, so you sit alone at a table.

Three guys sit down at a table near you.  They are guys who work in a different department from you but you have seen them around.

You are almost done eating, when you hear. “You wouldn’t believe the place. They did anything I paid them to do.”

You sit there and try to listen in.

“Man, There ain’t no places like that for real.” One says.

“I’ve heard about those places in New York and Frisco, but I didn’t know we had one here.” The other responds.

“Keep your voices down. We don’t want someone to file an HR complaint.” The guy telling the story says.

You sit back and sip the last of your soda, trying to look like you aren’t listening.

They lower their voices so you can’t really get all of what they are talking about but you hear. “The Dungeon”, “Leather”, “Latex”, and “whips”.

“This can’t be real.” You think to yourself. The whole reason your girlfriend broke up with you was because you wanted to try something that she thought was “kinky”. You didn’t really think it was kinky, you just wanted her to wear tall leather boots and a latex bustier, and control you in bed. But it weirded her out and she refused to answer your calls.

You get lost in a moment fantasizing about what your ex-girlfriend, Heather, would have looked like wearing the boots and bustier that you bought her. You felt the leather of the boots against your skin when you bought them. They would have looked so sexy on her.

You see the guys all get up from their table. “Are you going back?” the one guy asks.

“I might. I had an amazing time, I just need to make sure I don’t max out my credit card.”

“Just don’t use the corporate card.” The other jokes.

“Yeah, only executives can do something like that.” The first one jokes.

You head back to your desk and do a quick search online for “The Dungeon”.

There were a few different responses, most of which were related to video games or RPG. You redefine your search including the name of your city. The first couple replies are still related to gaming, but farther down you see something that says “This is a 18+ site”.

You click on it and you read “Welcome to The Dungeon. A place where you can explore your private fantasies. Sexual, Non-sexual, Role Playing, and BDSM services available.”

You know that Corporate IT monitors website activity, so you copy the website address and email it to yourself, so you can check out the site at home.

Once you are home, after you make yourself a quick dinner, you power up your laptop, and open up the link. 

You create a username and password. It asks for age verification. It gives you two options, 1: Upload your ID and a Selfie or 2: Use a valid Credit Card. You think about it for a moment. If you upload your ID and a selfie, and they are doing something nefarious with it, you have set yourself up for identity theft. If you use a credit card, they could steal and misuse it. Reaching into your wallet, you pick a credit card that is almost maxed out. If it is a scam, they can’t do much with it.

After you plug in your information, the screen changes. “Welcome, you have been verified. Do you wish to enter?” You click on “Yes”.

The screen is filled with various images.  The faces are blurred but the body parts are visible. You see women and men dressed in various types of fetish gear. You see beds, couches, pommel horses, and tables in a variety of rooms.

“If you like what you see, please contact us for an in-person visit.” You continue scrolling down, intrigued by what you see. The idea of being tied, and controlled has you hard.

“Rules for In-person visits.

1. Complete the questionnaire.

2. Schedule an appointment with a Master or Mistress.

3. Payment is up front and non-refundable.

4. No illegal acts.

Be honest about your fantasy and we will do our best make it come true.”

You reach down and rub your crotch. Your cock is so hard just thinking about the sexy Mistress they show.

You click on the questionnaire. “Please check ‘Yes’ for all items you wish to do and ‘No’ for all that you do not agree to. If you wish to experiment with something,

please check the ‘Needs Discussion/Comments’ box.”

You have seen loan applications that were less detailed.

It starts off with “Sexual Activity” “Giving/Performing”. It quickly goes down the list Kissing; Cunnilingus (pussy licking/eating); Blow Job; Face Fucking /Rough Blow Job; and continues down for 3 pages. It asks similar questions for “Receiving/Bottoming”, “Fluid Exchange”, “Bondage/Restraint”, and the last deals with “Safe Word”.

You think long and hard as you fill it out. You want to be restrained; slapping (face); slapping (body); Give cunnilingus; Give Vaginal Sex; Use Condoms; and Receive Oral Sex.  You have never done any anal play. Your previous girlfriends all thought it was gross or dirty. You click ‘Needs Discussion’ on Anal Sex Fingering, and then No on the rest of it. You look it over and then add ‘Needs Discussion’ to Giving Anal Sex.

You submit the questionnaire. A schedule pops up on the screen. A number of Mistresses and their dates and times available appear. A note at the top reads “For your first time, the Master or Mistress will spend time interviewing you. This will not be charged to you. If either party does not think that the appointment will be a good match, a different Master or Mistress may be chosen, if available. If you violate any of the house rules, you will be expelled and barred from the establishment.”

You read that a couple of times to make sure you understand. You would hate to go through all of this prep work, just to be turned away.

You notice that they seem to be busy on the weekend, but during the week, there are more spots available during the day. You haven’t used sick days in a while. So you email your boss and tell him you are feeling sick and will go to the doctor tomorrow. You then pick a Mistress with a mid-day opening and hit send.

A confirmation email hits your inbox.

You confirm and double-check the address. It is in the old part of Downtown. You feel nervous but excited. You go to bed and jerk off to a porn video with a woman wearing lots of leather and latex and spanking the man before she forces him to lick her to an orgasm. You stroke yourself so hard and cum quickly, then wipe yourself clean and go to sleep.

 

When you wake up, you call into work to make sure your boss got the email about being sick. He hopes you feel better and will see you tomorrow.

After you shower and clean up, you look at your closet and pick something to wear. You want to look nice, but you don’t really want to wear your “work clothes” to a place called “The Dungeon”.

You put on a pair of khaki slacks and a red polo shirt. When you look in the mirror, you think “Great, I look like ‘Jake from State Farm’.” You are about to change and then stop. You normally don’t dress like this, so you might not be recognized so quickly if someone from the office sees you.

Just to make it look good, you drive from your place to your doctor’s office. You pull into the parking lot and wait for a bit. Then you drive from there to downtown.

As you drive through the part of the city that was Old Downtown, you see a lot of brownstone buildings. Things that used to be stores, newspaper offices, office buildings, and are now just apartments or set for demolition as part of the Mayor’s revitalization effort.  Down a side street you see an old gothic style church. But what catches your eye is that there are no crosses on it. The original sign is gone, replaced by a small one that reads “By Appointment Only”.

You park in the parking lot, and walk past the iron fence that surrounds the property. It all looks a bit eerie even though it is mid-day with full sunshine.

The front door is old oak with black iron hardware, and a large knocker on it.

You grab the metal ring and bang it. The door opens and the hinges squeak loudly. You almost expect to see cobwebs and torchlight, but inside looks pleasant. There are a row of upholstered chairs along a wall, and a desk with a professional looking receptionist. She looks up from her computer screen. “Hello, and welcome to the Dungeon. And you are?”

You walk forward and tell her your name. She checks her screen and nods, then she stands up. “Please follow me.” She leads you to a down a hall that probably was at one time classrooms or offices. The doors are all closed and look to be the same old oak design as the front door. She stops and uses the knocker. The door opens and you see a beautiful woman wearing a thick bathrobe. “Mistress, your next appointment is here.”

She opens the door wider and invites you in. The room is more like what you were expecting. A lot of grey stone and iron candlesticks and sconces.  You see another soft chair and sit in it. She picks up her tablet and clicks on the screen. “Ok, according to your questionnaire, you want to be tied down, slapped and controlled.” She says in a very matter of fact way.

You are a little shocked by it, but then you realize that it is her profession, so you should have expected it. “Yes.” You stammer a little nervously. “I asked my girlfriend, I mean ex-girlfriend to dress up and tie me down.”

She taps her screen again, “Dress up how?”

You describe the bustier and boots, and how you really wanted her to control you and use you for sex.

She slowly nods and taps on the screen of her tablet. “It says here that you “Need to Discuss” Anal, and only have ‘fingering’ marked off.”

You feel nervous again. “I have wanted…to try…but my girlfriends said it was gross, dirty, or gay.”

She sets down her tablet and looks directly in your eyes. “What do you think about anal play?”

You feel a little embarrassed. “When I watch anal sex in porn, it turns me on.”

She nods. “So why did you list ‘Fingering’?”

“I want to see how it feels. Especially when I am restrained or tied down.” You explain.

She moves closer. “You want to feel helpless, as your exposed ass is penetrated and entered?” she says in a soft, seductive voice.

Just thinking about it has you starting to get hard, and swallow nervously. “Yes.”

She leans back and picks up the tablet and jots down some notes. “Is there anything else you want me to add?”

“I like women wearing tall boots, and form fitting leather or latex.”

She nods. “Do you want to schedule 20 minutes, 30 minutes, 45 minutes, or a full hour?”

You think about it.  “If I pick a shorter time, can I extend the session if we need?”

“You can but you will be charged for it.” She says with a pleasant smile.

You pull your wallet out and pick the card you used for ID purposes. “Let’s just do 20 minutes.”

“Oh, one more thing, so I fully understand what you want. You didn’t mention hair or skin color of the Mistress. Do you have a preference?”

You look at her, with her hair pulled in a pony tail and the thick bathrobe covering what she is wearing underneath, and immediately picture her in tall boots and latex. “I like how you look. I don’t really have a preference but I think you are very sexy.”

She smiles and winks at you. “I think you are cute too. Ok. I will need to change. While I am doing that, I will have one of my assistants secure you. Do you want the flat bed or the movable table?”

“Can I look closer at each?” you ask.

She stands up and guides you deeper into the room. The bed is an old style brass frame bed with padded restraints attached to each corner. The cover on the mattress is new and hadn’t been used. You then walk to what she called the ‘movable table’. It looks like something from a horror movie. It has straps and restraints, can be flat, standing up, or any angle in between. Also there are sections where the table can be opened to expose chest, pussy, or penis, if you are laying on your front, or your ass if you are lying on your back. Your mind comes up with a myriad of fantasies and positions using the table. But you shake your head. “Lets use the bed this time.”

She nods. Clicks on her tablet. “I forgot to ask. You want to be restrained but not humiliated. Is that correct?”

You nod. “I like the idea of being someone prisoner who is being used for sexual purposes. But I really don’t need to be told that ‘I’m weak or pathetic’.”

She makes another note on the tablet. “Ok. You are my prisoner.  Did you bring clothing to change into?”

You give her a confused look. “Why?”

“If I treat you like a prisoner, then I could rip or cut your clothing off of you.”

“Damn, I didn’t think of that. I should have brought something to change into afterwards, or clothing that already had rips and tears.”

She holds up her hand. “If you enjoy yourself this time, then next time we can rip and cut your clothing off of you. Just get naked and sit on the bed.”

You nod. “Is there anything else?”

She shakes her head and holds up her tablet. “I just need to hit ‘purchase’ and process your card.” You take the card from your wallet and she taps it against her tablet.

She takes her cell phone and texts. There is a knock at the door. She opens it and a large man wearing a gimp mask silently walks in. She points over to you. “Slave. Secure the prisoner to the bed. I will return shortly.”

As you lie on the bed, you feel the padded cuffs put on your wrists and ankles. A blindfold is put on your eyes. The “slave” never said a word, and you heard the door open and close.

You hear boots walking on the stone floor. A crack echoes in the room. You think it might be a whip being cracked in the air. The sound excites you as you picture the Mistress wearing tall boots and tight latex in your mind. As she walks closer, you get so hard.

“So, my latest prisoner is excited to be in my presence.” You hear her voice say.

You try to think of dialogue from porn movies, but you only think of bad action and adventure movies. “You’ll never break me. I might be your prisoner but I’m free where it counts.”

You feel her breath on your ear.  “I don’t need to break you. I’m just going to use you until I’m tired of you. You are going to be my personal ‘fuck toy’.” She says in a soft seductive tone. “Mmmmm  Look at that. You seem excited by that thought.”

You hear the sound of her pulling on surgical gloves, then you hear the cap open on a bottle. Cold liquid drips along your hard shaft, then you feel her gloved hand firmly grip you and slowly stroke you. Up and down. The lube makes her hand feel so slick.

‘”Oh God that feels good.” You say as you try to reach down but you only move your wrists a little.

“Yes, you are my little ‘Fuck Toy’. Kept on the bed so I can use you any way I want.” She says in a louder tone

You feel so excited. You don’t know how long you are going to last.

She stops stroking you. Your hard cock thumps against your stomach.

You hear a zipper, then feel the bed move. Pleather clad knees are on both sides of your head and you smell the scent of wet cunt.

“You have been pretty vocal. Let’s see if we can put your mouth to a better use.” She says above you.

Damp, warm pussy lips are pressed against your mouth.  Hungrily you stick out your tongue to lick and taste her. “Yes. Look at that tongue. You are going to be my “Fuck Toy’. I’m going to use your mouth and your prick, and maybe even your ass.” She says in a commanding voice.

You try to reach for her thighs but pull against the restraints. She holds her pussy right above your mouth, rubbing her lips and clit against you.

You try to suck her clit.  You feel a playful slap across your face. “No. I control what you suck and what you lick.” She then pulls your hair. You feel the lube in your hair as she pulls firmly.  “If I want you to suck my clit, I will fuck your mouth with it. Do you understand?”

“Yes Mistress!” you say loudly.

“You are such a good little toy. I want to feel you inside of me.” She says in a more seductive tone. You feel her raise up off of you.

A moment later you feel paper towels wiping the lube off of your hard shaft. The rough texture is something you didn’t expect. A moment later, you feel her stand your cock up, and you feel a condom slowly roll down along it.

“Yes. You are perfect for riding now. And you can’t do a thing about it.”

You feel her sit on the bed.  It sounds like she is removing her boots. You nod and think that makes sense. Riding cowgirl or reverse cowgirl will be easier without the boots and will prevent from tearing the bed cover with the heels.

You feel the bed move as she is probably standing on it, and slowly lowering herself. She grabs your rubber-clad dick and slowly rubs her pussy lips along the shaft. Then you feel as she takes you deeper into her. Her pussy is so warm and wet. Even through the condom, you can feel the heat. She goes up and down multiple time until you are fully inside of her. “Oh GOD this feels so damn good.” You say as you start breathing harder. She rocks her pelvis back and forth, grinding her clit against you.

“Is my little Fuck Toy going to cum? I’m going to ride you until done with you.” She says leaning over you. You feel her pleather covered chest rubbing against yours.

“Damn it Heather, this is all I wanted. Why couldn’t you do this.” You say out of anger and sadness. You feel pleasure moving through you. You try to hump up against her but your ankle and wrist cuffs prevent you from doing it. You feel her breathing harder too as she rides you. Her pussy is pulsing around your cock. You explode and fill the condom.

Then you feel her climb off of you. You feel her unlock the restraints. You sit up and remove the blindfold. She has her thick bathrobe on again, but you see the tall boots on the floor.

“You have a few minutes left. Do you want me to probe your ass?” She asks very professionally.

You stand up and slowly get dressed.  “Not this time Mistress. That was amazing. That was everything I wanted.”

You see her walk over and move a curtain which reveals a sink attached to the wall and wash her hands. “You might want to come over here and wash yourself off before you leave.”

She points to a stack of wash clothes and small towels, right next to a hamper. You follow her, soap up a cloth and wash your soft dick so that it is nice and clean. She gives you another wet washcloth and says. “Here, you might want to use it in your hair. Sorry I got a little carried away.”

“No apologies. It was perfect.” You say as you wash the lube out of your hair.

The timer on her tablet goes off. She taps it to silence it.

“Heather really doesn’t know what she missed out on. But her loss is the Dungeon’s gain.” She says. “Would you like to schedule a follow-up for next week?”

You are a little shocked when she says Heather’s name, but you realize that you must have said it aloud when she was riding you. “You’re right, her loss is your gain. I will have to see my work schedule and see when I can take off.”

“We have a ‘lunch time special’. A 30-minute session for the price of a 20-minute. But that is only available Monday through Friday, from 11 o’clock to 1 o’clock. We can even work in a group rate, if you have friends that need fantasies fulfilled.”

You realize that you must be blushing when she mentioned the group rate, because she follows it up with “or if you just need time alone from the office, we are a great place to relax.”

“I will think about it, Mistress. Thank you for an amazing session. Is there a way to pay a tip directly to you?”

She smiles and shows you her Cash App number on her tablet.

You pull out your phone and make a quick transfer. In the notes you type. “Special clinic for emotional health”.

“It has been a pleasure to help fulfil your fantasy.” She says as she escorts you to the door.

“It is a pleasure to be here, Mistress.” You say and then leave.

As you drive home think about when you want to return. At a stop light you quickly email yourself a note, “Check work schedule for ‘lunch special’ next week.”

“No Heather doesn’t know what she missed out on.” You say as the light turns green.

(If you enjoyed this, leave a comment. If you enjoy my writings, subscribe and follow)

Roadside Assistance

You are an auto mechanic working for a roadside assistance company.

For years, you worked at various garages, always one of the few female mechanics. But you had gotten tired of working for someone else, so you tried to start your own repair shop, but it was harder than you thought and closed it.

You heard that some roadside assistance companies were looking for experienced mechanics and offered to pay more than you had been earning in a shop. The other thing you like is that you get to drive around.

You offered to take the late shift. You really aren’t a morning person, and you don’t mind being on the road at night. The company issued you a truck with their logo on the side, compartments for all your tools, and extra floodlights mounted on the top.

It’s a sweet truck.

Because you are one of the few female mechanics, some guys refer to your truck as “the Candy Machine”.

At first you thought it was a dumb nickname, compared to “Breaker Bar”, “Jack Stand”, or “Power Driver”. But after a while, you appreciated hearing, “‘Candy Machine’ we have a stranded motorist off the highway.”

Especially when it was a new driver that needed a tire changed or stuck in a ditch. Whether it was a guy or girl, they were grateful that you were a bright light in the darkness, putting a smile on their face, and sending them on their way.

After a while, you even enjoyed calling in, “This is Candy Machine; we are done here. The customer is satisfied.”

Tonight, you got the call that a driver has a flat tire on a country road, away from the highway. After plugging the signal into your tracker, you call in. “This is Candy Machine. I’m on my way. I should be there in about 20 minutes.”

Turning off the highway, you get on to a narrow-paved road, flanked by fenced off farmers’ fields. In the darkness, you aren’t sure what they are growing, but you have a feeling you wouldn’t want to be stranded out here.

A dark country road with only car headlight providing light.

Even though you are only minutes from the highway, without any lights along the road, the whole area feels unnerving and spooky. You are glad you’re in your truck. You turn on the fog lamps to help push back the darkness.

It helps, but you still want to find the driver, help them, and get back to where there are lights and people.

You keep glancing at your icon on the map. You have a good signal, which you are thankful for, but the whole thing reminds you of a bad horror movie.

As you get closer, you look ahead and see red hazard flashers. You slow down and pull up behind the car. You put it into park, but leave the engine on.

Flipping on your floodlights, you bathe the whole area in bright light, but that just makes the fences on the side of the road look that much more imposing.

You see the silhouette of someone in the driver’s seat. The left rear tire of the car is obviously flat.

You get out, go to the tool box on the side of your truck, and pull out a tire iron. It feels cold, and heavy in your hand.

Even with the floodlights on, the whole area looks spooky. You slowly walk up to the driver’s door and knock softly with your knuckles.

“Driver’s Assistance. You called for help?” You say in a polite but slightly nervous voice.

The driver’s side widow rolls down. “Thank you.” Says a young woman. “I was driving, made a wrong turn, got lost, and then I had a flat tire.” You hear the fear in her voice, but she also seems to relax a bit seeing that you’re a woman.

You smile at her, “I understand. I’ll get that tire changed and we’ll get back to the highway. Can you find your way from there?” you ask in a friendly tone.

“Oh, Thank You! Yes.” She says as she breathes a sigh of relief. You notice her hands had been gripping the steering wheel tightly, but she is now relaxing a bit.

“No problem. That is what I am here for. Do you know where your spare tire is on your car?” you ask as you step back a bit, relaxing the grip on your tire iron. You hadn’t realized you were scared too.

She pops the release on the back of the car, unbuckles her safety belt, and gets out. The floodlights of your truck shine through the thin material of her light cotton dress. She has a nice figure, but you are here to do a job and focus on it.

“I think it is here.” She says as she lifts the back and the floorboard.

You look in and see never used spare tire. “Good. Let me grab a few things, and we will get you on your way.”

You grab your jack, the long air hose, your air wrench, and the correct size socket. After connecting one end of the hose to your air compressor, you unroll it to the back of her car. You connect your air wrench and set it on the ground.

You pull out the spare tire, and the woman helps a bit. “You don’t need to do that. I am here to help you.” You say as you roll it and lay it down.

“I know. But it feels so dark and spooky out here, and I feel better being near you and in the light.” She says.

“Okay, then just keep back.” You say as you put the jack under the axle and start pumping it up. You raise it just a bit, and then use the air wrench to loosen the nuts.

Then, you raise it higher so that the tire is fully off of the pavement, and pull it off.

She stands the spare up and rolls it to you. “Thanks.” You say and then put it into place. Quickly, you hand tighten the nuts and then release the pressure on the jack. Once the car is down, you use the air wrench to fully tighten the nuts. “You did that so quickly.” She says in a tone of awe and admiration.

“It's what I do.” You respond in a light tone. “Here, let’s put that old tire in your car. There’s a truck stop on the highway. If we time it right, we might have the night mechanic look at it. They can tell you if you need a new one or just need it patched.”

“Ok, I like the sound of that. At the truck stop, can I get you a cup of coffee or something?” she offers.

You smile, “That sounds good about now.” You say as you put away your tools.

She closes up the back and gets into the car. You walk up. “Follow me. I’ll get us out of here.” She smiles and nods.

You pull ahead, your truck’s floodlights still on, helping blaze the way down the dark road. On your map app, you see where there is a crossroad ahead. If you get on it, even though the road will be twisty, it will lead back to the main roads, and from there to the highway.

You keep your speed slow, and keep her headlights in your rear-view mirror. In places where the road dips, there are light patches of fog, which adds to the spookiness. You try to relax your grip on the steering wheel, but sometimes the floodlights make strange shadows. “It must be scarecrows or something.” You tell yourself.

You call the shop. “This is Candy Machine. I helped the motorist and am leading her back to the highway. We will stop at the truck stop to have her tire checked.”

“This is Driver Assistance Home-base, we read you loud and clear. Call if the situation changes.”

You hit the button and focus on the road. You feel a bit better, knowing that Home-base knows your status. But you still want to get to where there are lights and people. “It must be worse for her.” You think to yourself about the driver behind you.

It took longer to get back to the main roads using the twisty farm road than the road you came in on, but once you see the street lights, you slowly exhale.

Turning onto the main road, you turn off the flood lamps, but keep the fog lights on, allowing you to see a bit more into the darkness. You keep your speed slow, just under the speed limit, so she doesn’t lose you.

After a bit, you merge onto the highway. She is still on your tail. A few minutes later, you turn into the Truck Stop. The bright lights of the fuel pumps, garage, and café are welcome.

You park, and she parks next to you. “Follow me.” You call to her as you head for the garage. “Hey, Big Mike? Are you still on?” you yell as you enter the garage.

A deep voice booms back. “Yeah, who wants to know?” You see your old mechanic friend. “Oh, it’s the Candy Machine.” He says in a playful tone. “What can I do for you tonight, darlin’?” he asks as he wipes grease from his hands.

You point to the lady. “This nice lady had a flat tire. If we bring it in, can you see if it needs patched or if she needs a new one?”

“Sure, just roll it to the side door. I’ll look at it after I finish what I’m doing. It’ll take about half an hour.” “Okay, we will be in the café.” You say.

Quickly, both of you return to her car, take the old tire and roll it to the side door. The bright fluorescent lights of the truck stop make everything seem more comfortable and friendly.

“How do you take your coffee?” she asks. You tell her, and she orders two coffees. You find a table and sit down. She hands you your cup and you take a sip. The strong smell alone is what you need, but the hot liquid feels so good as it goes down. She sits across from you. “By the way, I’m Ann.” She says, extending her hand. You softly shake it and tell her yours.

“But he called you ‘Candy Machine’?” she asks with a puzzled look on her pretty face.

“That is the name of my truck, because it is sweet and leaves a smile on their faces, when I am done.” You respond.

“Oh. But I was so glad to see you when you knocked on my window.” She says. “It was so spooky out there. I felt like…”

“Like you were in a bad horror movie.” You finish her sentence.

She reaches out her hand and places it on yours. “I kept having thoughts of getting attacked by some “hillbilly” cruising the back roads looking for helpless women.”

You set your cup down and place your other hand over top of hers. “I know what you mean. If you noticed, I walked up carrying my tire iron, but I never used it to change the tire.”

She thinks about it for a second. “Oh. Oh, wow. So, I wasn’t the only one thinking like that?” says as she places her other hand over top of yours. You hold each other’s hands, helping to reassure yourselves that you are safe.

She releases yours and takes her coffee cup in both hands. “So, how long have you been a mechanic?” she asks, trying to change the subject.

You tell her an abbreviated version of your story. “So, what do you do Ann?” you ask.

“I am a college nursing student. I never thought about being a mechanic. Most of the women I knew growing up were moms, teachers, secretaries, cashiers, or in the medical field. I really hadn’t noticed any working as a tradesman. It sounds exciting.”

“I enjoy it.” You say taking another sip.

After a while, while you are chatting, she gets another round of coffees. Returning to her seat, she asks, “So with a “butch” job like a mechanic, are you into women?” You take the cup from her hand.

“Not really.” You respond with a slight pause. “Are you?”

“I have dated both guys and girls. Many of us in the nursing program have guys who want to be doctors, asking us out all the time, but I hate to admit it. I find more pleasure and comfort in the skilled hands of my class mates than with the guys.”

She takes a drink from her cup and sighs.

“Do you know what I was imagining when I watched you fix my tire?”

You shake your head. “No, what?”

“I pictured you, on your knees, licking me and then using a dildo attachment on your air wrench.”

You laugh at that. “Oh Honey, the torque on that wrench would tear a body up. I would never use something like that on someone as pretty and cute as you.”

She smiles, “You think I am pretty?” she asks in a soft voice.

You nod “Though I prefer guys, you are a pretty little thing. If we had some time, I’d enjoy learning what you and your classmates are doing. I tell ya’, I still feel a tingle left over from being scared out there.”

She stands up, and takes your hand. “Leave your coffee and follow me.” She guides you to the Ladies room and takes you into a stall.

Kissing you, softly you feel her warm lips on yours. “Would you like to see what I have learned?” she asks you. You nod and kiss her back.

Her skin is soft and smooth compared with your rough calloused hands.

As you stand there, she unbuttons your shirt and kisses your upper chest. You place a hand on her head. Her hair feels soft. Everything about her is soft and pretty.

“I’m lucky tonight.” She says as she opens the clasp at the front of your bra. Your full breasts are freed, as the empty cups hang to each side. She grabs each tit and then licks around each nipple. Her tongue is so wet and smooth. Then she sucks your right nipple, as she reaches down and opens your pants.

It feels so good, your panties are getting damp, and you press down on her shoulders. She moves down to her knees.

You feel the thick denim of your pants against your skin as she slides them down your ass and hips, then hit the floor around your ankles.

You grip the top of the stall to steady yourself as you feel her gentle fingertips move the crotch of your panties to the side.

Looking down you, you see her smiling face looking up as she slowly licks your wet pussy lips. She licks up and down, then you feel her tongue on your clit.

You bite your lower lip to stifle a moan as she licks and sucks it.

“You taste so good. You are a Candy Machine.” She says as she licks and sucks your clit harder. You feel her fingers slide into your pussy, thrusting and twisting. Going deeper and harder.

You grip the stall with one hand and grab her hair with the other. Bracing yourself, you feel pleasure building and moving through you.

“Yes! Cum for me. Let me taste you, my Candy Machine.” You hear her say in a soft tone.

You grip her hair tightly as you press her face into your pussy and cum. You bite your lower lip harder as you hear a low moan echo in the bathroom.

It takes a second to realize that moan is coming from you.

Ann stands up and kisses your mouth. Her lips are wet, and you taste yourself.

“I think we should get back to our table. I think “Big Mike” might be done with my tire.” She says as she opens the stall and washes her face in the sink.

You exhale for a moment and get dressed.

Washing your hands in the sink next to her, “I have never felt something like that. I mean, I’ve had guys eat me, but that felt great.” You say in a low tone.

She kisses your cheek. “Maybe on your day off, we can get together and teach you what I did. We learn a lot at college.” She says with a wink.

Going back to your table, you see the coffee cups have been cleared away, so you get a fresh cup. In a “to go” cup this time.

“There you are.” You hear a familiar voice say. “I was looking for you ladies. The tire is patched. It had picked up a nail. It is as good as new. Pull your car into Bay 3 and I’ll change it for you.”

“Thanks, Big Mike. Do we owe you anything?” you ask.

“Just the cost of the plug and my time.” He hands you a quickly scrawled estimate. You look it over. “That’s fair, and covered under the service plan. I got it.”

Taking the company card from your wallet, you head for the cashier.

“Are you sure?” Ann asks.

You nod. “It is all part of the service package. Go move your car to Bay 3, it will be the one with the garage door open.”

She kisses your cheek, “Thank you.”

After paying the cashier and getting the receipt, you head back to your truck, sipping your coffee. You call into the shop, “This is Candy Machine. We are done here and everyone is satisfied.” You say with a smile.

(This was the second story of the female mechanic, if you want more, tell me. If you enjoyed this; leave a comment. If you enjoy my stories, follow and subscribe.)