Here’s more of the third Detective Daddy story.

In case you missed it:

• Part 1
• Part 2

***

Part Three of Five

***

Case File 003: The Yellow Rose of Texas

10/2/14

What with one thing and another, Joe and I didn’t talk much other than occasional texts until Thursday. He was balancing working full-time with moving his stuff, and I’d been winding down from my job at his company. We passed each other in the hallway near IT, though, on my last day in there, and, wordlessly, he swiped his card in a door marked “Private” and stepped in. I followed, the door clicking shut behind us, the lock beeping. It was the server room: a long, narrow corridor made even more claustrophobic by half of it being taken up with racks of computer equipment.

Well, I say claustrophobic, but I didn’t get that way as long as I could stand up straight, which I certainly could do in here. It wasn’t like we were in a cave.

We were lit only by the lights of the racks of computers — Joe hadn’t put on the overheads — and that made it hard to figure out what was going on in his dark eyes. At least until he reached for me. I caught him by the wrist and guided him back against the wall, pushing my body against his. I felt his cock grow hard and try to escape his slacks, and mine did the same. We were close enough in height that I swore I could feel him throbbing against me. “Yes?” I said, my voice as mild as I could make it. “Did you want something?”

He seemed to weaken, and I found his other wrist, holding them both against the wall. It brought the smallest noise from his throat, and he had to swallow before he could talk. “You,” he whispered. “I want you.”

I’ve always been self-conscious about myself; hearing that someone wants me is quite an aphrodisiac. I rewarded him with a kiss, his mouth opening to mine, his hips canting forward. I felt my heart leap into my throat and had to stop. “We can’t,” I said. “Not here.”

He tugged his left hand out of my grip and reached for me, finding my cock and running his palm along it. “We could. If we were careful. And quiet.”

But I shook my head. “Tomorrow night,” I said. “Come over to the house.” And then, because I was feeling confident: “Tara wants to meet you.”

Joe seemed to straighten at that. “Wh… what?”

I let his other hand go and took a half-step back. “Tara. My wife, she wants to meet you.”

“Why?” He was suspicious; everything in his body language would have told me even if his voice hadn’t. “What does she want?”

“She just wants to meet you,” I said for the third time. “She’s not going to try to convince you to have sex with her, or yell at you for what we did on Sunday. I promise.” I felt a smile touch my lips. “Actually, she thinks it’s pretty hot.”

His brushstroke eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

I nodded. “She likes to watch when guys go down on me.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know.” I readjusted my cock in my slacks; now that it wasn’t hard anymore, it felt awkward. And if mine felt that way, I could only imagine how much more uncomfortable it was for Joe, what with his being that much bigger than mine. “Do you think she could?”

“Could… watch?” His head dipped down. “I don’t know, Will. I’ve never done that before–“

“And you don’t have to,” I reassured him. “It’s not like there’s a checklist or anything. But if you’re okay with it, I’m okay with it.”

“I… I don’t know.” He put his hands in his pockets. “I mean… what would she do? Just sit there?”

I shrugged. “Depends. She likes to get a good look, but she won’t hover or anything. She gets closer to me when I’m doing it.”

“That might be a little too weird.”

I heard the reticence in his voice now, and I tried to salvage things. “Just come by on Friday night and have dinner with us. If it bothers you too much, we can go back to your place.” I tipped his chin up with my fingers so he could see me smiling. “Because nothing I can think of will keep you from fucking me on Friday night.”

He couldn’t stop his own smile.

Good. He’d better be looking forward to it, because I sure as hell was.

#

Evidence: E-mail

Case File 003

Filed 10/2/14 7:28pm

To: Will Waterhouse (will@wis.cx)

Fr: Joseph Benson (josephbenson47@hooray.cx)

Re: FW: meet me please

Will — 

I got this e-mail from Rob’s ex Rose. She’s in town and wants to meet me tomorrow night. I don’t think we can do what we planned, but I think maybe you can help. I asked her if I could show this to a friend and she said yes. What do you think?

PS: Sorry about what you wanted me to do. Hopefully another time?

J

FORWARDED MESSAGE:

To: Joseph Benson (josephbenson47@hooray.cx)

Fr: Rose Forrester (yellowrosef@freemail.cx)

Re: meet me please

Hi Joe. I know it’s been a year since we’ve talked and I know I said some things that were really crappy to you, and even though I apologized I’m sure it still hurts. I hurt too. I know we both still miss Rob, and I know now that you loved him a lot, even though I kept taking him away from you.

I wouldn’t normally ask this but I didn’t know who else to turn to and I know you know more about computers than anyone I’ve ever met.

There was this guy at work, a contractor, and he had a crush on me. We went on one date but we didn’t click and the next time he asked I told him thanks but no thanks. Since then he’s been trying to get my attention, sending me flowers at work and at home, little presents, and all these e-mails and texts. I went to the police, but they’re way backed up with cases like these and they said they’d look into it. Without concrete proof, though, they can’t move me up in the pile. I guess maybe when he locks me in a basement and forces me to do things with him, maybe that’ll work? I don’t know.

Anyway, I don’t know how I would get proof. He uses all these different disposable e-mails and phone numbers, and he never puts his address on anything he sends. He’s probably paying cash for everything so there’s no paper trail. I just need to get some kind of proof that I can go to the police with to get him to stop.

Is there anything you can do?

I don’t want to talk about details online, so can we meet? I’m in town this weekend to see my sister but maybe late Friday night, around ten? My number is 804-555-7673.

Please, Joe, can you help?

Rose Forrester

# 

Sweetheart’s Diary, 10/2/14

“You shouldn’t even be showing me this,” I said as I handed Daddy’s phone back to him.

“I don’t keep things from you.” He set the phone on the table next to the couch and then sat in his spot. 

I knelt in front of him and put my hands on his thighs, near his knees, just for the contact. “Are you going to go? Is Joe?”

“He said he is.” Daddy put his right hand over my left. His hands are always so big and so warm, and it can be a distraction when I let it. “I don’t know, sweetheart. If I get involved in this, then I could end up in court to testify.”

“Maybe you could just tell Joe how to do it?”

He shook his head. “Not that Joe’s not smart enough, because he is, but that would mean giving him access to my computer and my tools, and nobody gets to do that.”

I nodded. “I know, Daddy.”

He leaned forward and cupped my face. “I know you know, baby.” He kissed my forehead. “What do you think I should do?”

My first reaction was to tell him to do it, to help Joe’s late ex’s girlfriend, or whatever the word was for that. This guy was clearly harrassing her, and if the police didn’t have time to help then someone else had to do it. But I understood why Daddy might be leery: he’d be involving himself in someone else’s business, someone he didn’t know very well, and the last time we’d tried to do that we’d accidentally almost unmasked someone in witness protection. Daddy took failures hard, even when they weren’t his fault, and that one had hurt.

“Sweetheart?” He had leaned back a bit but was still close enough that, if I’d wanted to, I could’ve gone in for a kiss. “What are you thinking?”

“I think…” I paused, took a breath, and then paused again. “I guess,” I finally said, “that I don’t really know. I mean, I know why you should and why you shouldn’t, but I can’t make the decision for you.”

Daddy sighed. “I was kind of hoping you would.”

“Some dom you are,” I said, a gentle tease in my voice.

It worked; Daddy smiled a little. He was my Daddy, but I didn’t think of him as my dom and he didn’t think of himself as mine. Our dynamic was our own, and nobody could label us if we didn’t want to be labeled. Besides, from our very first weekend together Daddy had told me he could be very indecisive, and sometimes he needed a nudge in the right direction, even if he knew what the right direction was. He’d needed fewer and fewer nudges through the years, but this one… this one I wasn’t sure he knew which way he should go.

He sighed again and leaned back on the couch. I knew from the look on his face that he needed me closer, so I climbed up in his lap, straddling his hips, and tucked his face into the crook of my neck and shoulder. He kissed me as his arms went around my hips, hands resting on my lower back. I pressed my lips to his forehead. “Whatever you pick, Daddy, I’m on your side.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He kissed my neck again. “I should probably let him know what I choose, though. One way or the other.”

I nodded. “How about we have dinner first? Maybe try to keep our minds off it for a little while?”

“Okay, baby.” His hands found their way under the hem of my tank top, and I felt his warmth all the way through my back and into my tummy. “This might help.”

I made a raspberry noise and climbed off his lap. “We’ll never get dinner made if you do that, Daddy.”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

*

We did end up having dinner though, and not having sex beforehand. Daddy made grown-up tacos for himself and little ones for me; I got chicken and cheese and lettuce and diced tomatoes, and he got fish and lime juice and avocado and something that he swore was lettuce but certainly didn’t look like it. He even used the taco racks his mom bought us last time she was in town — “just in case you need them,” she’d said, like we’d ever use taco racks when perfectly good plates would do. Well, I guess she was right about that.

I could see it weighing on Daddy as we ate, and I tried to eat only with my right hand so I could touch him. Every time I did he smiled at me, and I knew I was helping, even though I couldn’t really make this decision for him like he wanted me to.

After dinner, I cleared the table and when I came back he was still sitting in his spot, so I put my arms around him from behind and rested my chin on his head. He reached up and wrapped his hands around my arms where they crossed his chest. “Thinking hard, Daddy?”

“Yeah.” He’d put his phone on the table, the screen on, and though I wasn’t really looking at the screen I knew he had Joe’s e-mail up. “I want to help her — I know I can help her — but I don’t want to get dragged in.”

“Can you meet her online? Remotely?”

“I can ask, but I bet she’ll say no. Otherwise she would’ve asked Joe to do a video chat.”

“Hm.” I felt him breathing, his heart thumping steadily where my arm pressed against his chest. “If you really feel uncomfortable, you should say no.”

“But you hope I don’t. I can tell.”

“How?” Not that he was wrong, but still.

“I know you, sweetheart. And you know me.  You know I’m not going to turn her down.”

I kissed his hair. “I know, Daddy. You just had to get there yourself.”

“Yeah.” He picked up his phone and tapped the reply icon. I watched as he typed. I’ll meet her. Let me know where and a confirmed time. No promises. Then he hit send. “Before I change my mind.”

He pulled at my arms and I stood up so that he could. Then he pulled me into a hug and tucked my head under his chin. I nuzzled his chest through his shirt and he held me close. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

# 

Case File 003: The Yellow Rose of Texas

10/3/14

Joe and I met Rose at the Taco Mac near his house. It being Friday night, it was suitably loud in there, loud enough that, if we were careful, we could have a quiet conversation and no one would overhear. Rose had insisted on that. I didn’t like all the noise and ruckus, but I didn’t get much of a say in the matter.

Joe was hanging around out in front of the building when I got there at nine. He had on a dark-brown polo shirt and jeans, and the shirt was untucked so when I followed him in I couldn’t watch his ass. Not that I hadn’t had my hands on it plenty a week ago, but still. He led me to a table in the corner and a woman — presumably Rose; who else could it have been — looked up at me.

She was a wreck. Her curly hair hung lifeless down around her shoulders, and she hadn’t touched up her roots in a while. She had enormous blue-green eyes accentuated by bluish-purple shadows underneath, and her mouth and nose seemed a little big for the soft oval of her face. She tried to smile, and she was pretty when she did, but it was a show for us. She had a pint glass of amber-colored beer half drunk in front of her, and judging from the rings on the tabletop, it wasn’t her first.

“This is Will Waterhouse,” Joe said as he sat across from Rose.

She didn’t try to shake my hand, just looked back down at her drink. “Thanks for coming.”

I sat next to Joe and took out my phone so I could make notes. “How long has this been going on?”

“Two months.” Her voice had no tone to it, all flat and dry even over the noise of the restaurant. “I went to the police after the first week, and again a couple of weeks ago, but they didn’t do anything.”

A server stopped by our table. Joe ordered a rum-and-Coke; I glanced at the back of the beer list and picked one of the ciders on draft. When he was gone, I said, “what have you kept?”

She shook her head. Her hair brushed the shoulders of her black blouse, which was buttoned up too high for it to be fashionable. The buttons were like little black pearls. “I guess whatever’s in my email. I threw away the flowers, the notes. I deleted the texts. I didn’t want anything to do with them.”

“I understand.” Not exactly, because I’d never been stalked, but it was a thing to say. “You still have the same phone, though?”

She nodded and reached down below the surface of the table. Her hand came back up with a Samsung phone, which she unlocked slid across the table to me. “I don’t know what to do, but Joe says I can trust you, so I trust you.”

I nodded and picked up her phone. “I need to install some software on here.”

“Do whatever.” The way she sounded made me worry that she was depressed, or that her anxiety was sapping all of her energy. “I just want it to stop.”

The server came back with our drinks, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I installed a backup program onto Rose’s phone, and when it was done I pulled out a little double-ended flashdrive with a micro-USB and plugged it in. The backup program started. “Give it about ten minutes,” I said. “And, in the meantime, if you get any more messages, save them. No matter how they make you feel.”

Rose sipped her beer, holding the pint glass with both hands. “What do you do, anyway?”

“I’m a security consultant. Didn’t Joe tell you?”

She shook her head. “I just thought you were a tech guy, like him.” She glanced down at my left hand, and then at how close Joe and I were sitting. “Oh, hell, Joe, didn’t you learn your lesson? Don’t try to fuck married men.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Joe said, a hardness in his voice that I don’t think I liked, “but Will told me up-front that he was married, and that his wife comes first. If I still want to fuck him, and he still wants me, then what does it matter?”

Another shake of her head. “You’ll just get hurt again.” She turned to me. She was too curvy for her cheeks to be truly hollow, but there were shadows there as well. “Just don’t die on him.”

I felt Joe’s body tense up beside me. “If I didn’t think it was so awful for you to be going through this,” he said, his voice low and icy, “I’d leave right now. I’m supposed to be at home, having sex, but instead I’m here with you.” He put his hand on my leg and despite myself I felt my heart thump in my chest. “So show a little restraint, would you?”

Rose’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away and scrubbed a napkin across her face. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

I was very much a third wheel in the conversation, and I busied myself with watching the progress indicator on Rose’s phone until she said, “what else can I tell you about him?”

I tapped my notes app and picked up my phone. “Start with his name, and then everything else. Give me enough information and I’ll track him down.”

“Okay.” Rose took another sip of beer, and then a deep breath. “Brad Clark. His name’s Brad Clark.”

I typed it in. “All right. What else?”

*

An hour later, Rose put our drinks on her gold card and we all went out to the parking lot. She’d already called for a cab to take her back to her hotel; we were just waiting for it to get there. I had a fairly good dossier on Brad Clark, and I had a backup image of Rose’s phone, and she’d promised to forward me everything tomorrow. “Thank you,” she said when the cab pulled up. She held out her hand, and when I took it, she clasped mine in both of hers. “I really…” She sniffed, shook her head, and pressed on. “I really appreciate it. I’ll be in touch.”

“Get some rest,” I said. “I’ll email you when I have something.”

Rose nodded and released my hand. She seemed to be about to go to Joe, to hug him, but then apparently thought better of it and just got into the cab.

Joe sighed as we started walking toward his car. “That was a mess.”

“It’s not her fault.”

“I know.” He brushed against me, but in this neighborhood two men holding hands might have gotten some of the more drunk bros riled up, and neither of us wanted that. Still, I appreciated the gesture. “I’d much rather have been at home, with you.”

“Yeah.” As I’d taken notes, he’d kept his hand in the vicinity of my thigh, and even now I still felt the warmth where it had been. “Maybe tomorrow?”

I know he heard the hopeful note in my voice, but something in his face, even in the bleary lights of the parking lot, left me taken aback. “I’d rather our first time be just you and me.”

It was clear what he meant. “She isn’t going to join in–“

“It’s not that.” We were at his car now; he brushed the sensor on the door handle and the lock chunked open, the headlights and taillights flashing twice apiece. “I want to be with you, Will, but Rose was right: I can only get so much from you. What happens when I want more?”

I shrugged, the motion ending with a hunch over as I stuck my hands in my pockets. “I won’t put anyone above Tara. But I like you, Joe, and Sunday was…” I shook my head. “Well, you know.”

“I know.” He opened the driver’s door. “Let me think about it. And maybe you could come over on Sunday? Will she be okay with that?”

I didn’t like the tone of the last bit; it was as if he was saying Tara had to approve what I did with other people. “It’s not like that–“

“It is.” He shook his head. “I’ll be home all day Sunday. Come or don’t.” Then he got in his car and started it up. “Good night, Will.”

I started back toward my own car, hands still in my pockets, dejected. I didn’t begrudge Rose for needing my help, but her timing had been awful. I’d convinced Joe to come over, and maybe gotten him on the road toward having sex with me while Tara watched. But now it seemed as though he was ready to write us off.

Shit.

*

I got home and found Tara in bed, reading. I didn’t even bother to undress; I just took her book, nudged her onto her back, and pulled off the blanket. She was naked and gorgeous, almost glowing in the light of her bedside lamp. I climbed onto the bed and straddled her hips. “Daddy,” she murmured, arching under me, “what are you doing?”

I didn’t answer with words; I leaned down and kissed her, hard and possessive. Her arms started to come up around my shoulders but I caught her wrists and put them back down on the bed. She moaned into my mouth at that, and again when I pressed my hips downward, my cock hard between our bodies, trapped by my pants.

“Daddy…” She gasped it out as my mouth found the side of her neck. I scraped my teeth along her flesh, and then dug them hard into her shoulder. “Daddy!”

I shook my head and sucked hard on her, knowing I would leave a bruise and not caring. She squirmed, trying to pull away, to grab at me, but I was too strong. I held her arms down, and when she started to kick I readjusted my feet to trap her legs.

That was when she cried out, wordless. That was what I wanted.

When I pulled my mouth away, there was a large red mark on her left shoulder, right where her bra strap would go. A perfect position, at least in my opinion. I let go of her right arm, moving my hand to her throat, my fingers digging into the soft flesh. She tried to gasp, but I was squeezing more than usual and her face flushed red, eyes opening wide.

I let go. She sucked down a ragged breath, and then, with her free hand, grabbed my hair and pulled me down for another kiss. She tried to take control of it, but I refused to let her, even as I moved my legs so my hips were between her thighs. That let me reach down with my right hand and grab her hip, my fingers sinking in. Ever since I’d become her Daddy, ever since I’d finally let go and allowed myself to be the sadist I always wanted to be, she’d had little bruises the exact shape of my fingertips on both hips. I kept her marked, kept her mine.

She was mine, wholly and completely.

I twisted my fingers and she pulled away from my mouth to let out a broken cry, her lower body pressed tight to my pubic bone, my cock hard and pushed up against her. She came then, trying to twist away, and this time I let her, moving down the bed and pulling her along until I was on my back and she was on top of me, straddling my shoulders. “Now, sweetheart,” I said, looking up at her. The curve of her tummy, the curve of her breasts, the curve of her smile as her eyes met mine.

I didn’t wait any more. I took her by the thighs and pulled her to my mouth, breathing deeply, filling myself with the scent of her body. Her skin was smooth against my mouth, and slick and sweet when my tongue found her clit. It wasn’t the best position; she had nothing to grab onto, nothing to steady herself. But I didn’t care, not right now. I needed my sweetheart, my Tara, my gorgeous girl, my wife, and it had to be my way. I tilted my head back, one arm going behind her to push her backside, to get her in the right place.

And then my tongue was inside her, and she was so wet, and my other hand was on her clit, and she came again, her taste filling my mouth. She lost her balance, falling forward, the curve of her body cutting off my air, and I didn’t care. I didn’t need to breathe; I just needed to taste her.

That was a lie. I did need to breathe. I slid out from underneath her and off the foot of the bed. Before she could figure out what was going on, I had my hands on her ankles and was pulling her backward, toward me, until she was bent over the bed and I was on my knees and I could breathe and she could come and she was so sweet and wet and hot, her orgasms coming in sharp cries that drove straight into my ears and down to the base of my spine. I was throbbing, aching, wanting to fuck her, but wanting her this way too, wanting to stay here until I couldn’t talk, couldn’t move my jaw, couldn’t feel my tongue. When we’d met, she’d been skeptical that I could make her come with my mouth — none of her previous lovers had done so, she’d said. I had, and years later I continued to do so.

In this position, I had more access, and the next time she came I slid my middle finger deep into the tightness of her body. She made a strangled, pained noise, but I found her clit with my tongue and she came again, pounding the bed with her fists. I curled my finger downward, found her g-spot, and pressed hard on it as my thumb dug in just above her clit.

That orgasm was the one I’d been waiting for, the one where her come poured out over my hand, hot and wet, the one that left her just on the verge of giggles.

My other hand found my belt, pulled it open. I got to my feet, unbuttoning and unzipping. When I took my hand away from her, she whimpered, but then my cock was spreading her open, filling her up, and my hand was in her hair, pulling her head back, and she took her Daddy all the way to the hilt.

And then I fucked my wife hard, one hand in her hair and the other around her throat, until I lost control and came and came and came.

***

This story brings back Rose from Four Days, which, again is part of Butt Stuff. Rose is based on a woman I used to work with, who I had a massive, massive crush on, but this was before I knew I was polyamorous so I didn’t act on it, except to spend as much time working with her as possible. Hopefully she didn’t think it was weird.

More tomorrow!