John Malloy-Private Dick (8) "The Blackmailed Beauty

+*John Malloy-Private DICK*+ (8)
       The Blackmailed Beauty
            (Making a Game Plan)

There are moments in life you know life is worth the gamble. I was pumping my last thrusts, lying on top of a gloriously-naked Lana Rogers. When we both exploded at the same time, I knew this was one of them!

I rolled over on my back, and worked on getting my wind back.
The memory of being inside the warm, wet heaven between the looker's milky thighs was fresh on my noodle.

You were wonderful, John!," she panted, out of breath. "A girl could get used to that!'

"Get used to it, kid," I chuckled. "This shamus ain't goin' nowhere! You weren't exactly chopped liver, yourself, dollface."

She rolled her deliciously sweaty body over to lie on top of me. Her long nipples were still hard, and causing my happy johnson to start twitching, all over again.

"Oh, no you don't, big boy!," she laughed, smiling down at me like sexy angel. "This gal needs a break! You sent me over that cliff three times, already!"

I planted my paws on her firm, round bottom and gave a gentle squeeze. "If you're not gonna comply with my very reasonable demands, woman, at least fix me some breakfast!"

She hopped up and stood in front of me, giving me a gander at the hottest body I'd  ever seen.

She saluted and looked all-serious. "Yes, Sir, my brave captain!" She then broke into this killer-diller, white-toothed smile.

A half hour later, we were parked at my yellow, formica kitchen table; the ones with the chromed frames. I was drooling over a steaming plate of scrambled eggs, sausage and hash browns, cooked to perfection.

"And, you can cook, too!," I said, shoving my fork into the golden hashbrowns.

Lana was sporting one of my long, white T-shirts, the front of which had never been filled-out with such a full set of headlights before. Those proud nipples were riding point beneath the thin cotton.

She gingerly prodded her eggs and said, "You mean there are other talents to admire in me?"

Yeah," I laughed, "You  do a simply darby walk-away show!"

She took a fork full of her scrambled  hen fruit, then flipped the sticky mess right onto my bare chest. "That kind of talk, Mister Malloy, will get you a free sample, any time you want!," she smiled

I looked at her lovely pan and cleared my throat. "There's just one point we gotta clear up before this romance gets any hotter, if that's possible."

The former model eyeballed me, suspiciously. "And just what might that be, darling?"

That's the moniker that sticks in my gullet.....Darling! Every romantic flicker I've ever watched had that scene where somebody calls somebody darling'! That's the cue  they're joined at the hips, forever! I'm not ready for that scene, just yet."

She squinted at me for a few seconds  "I have no apron strings on you, John," she finally allowed. "You can pack your fears in your old  
knapsack and fly away, any moment you feel the urge, Mister Molloy! I have a film career I'm trying my hardest to get off the ground!"

"Uncle!," I laughed. "You nailed my keister to the wall  with that zinger!"

For the next few minutes while we chowed down the fine grub she'd rustled up, I filled her in on all the gory particulars of my visit with the charming  Clara Withers.

After I'd finished, Lana gyrated out of the kitchen, and lowered herself onto my over-stuffed davenport. She crossed her shapely gams and folded her arms over her lap. " What are you going to do about it?," she asked.

I strolled over in my red-striped boxers and plopped down next to her. I slipped my arm around her long neck. My palm managed to locate her right melon, giving  the firm orb a friendly squeeze. "What are WE gonna do about it, doll?," I said. "I want you to introduce me to that Hollywood pimp to the stars, Scotty Bowers. Do you know where he hangs his hat?"

She looked up with those deep brown peepers and said, "Why, yes, John. He has a large, spanish-styled home in Laurel Canyon. I was there, once. Why do you want to see Mister Bowers?"

"I need to hire a hooker who specializes in sadism," I explained. "We're gonna set a trap for that masochistic son-of-a-bitch who's been blackmailing you over that girl's night at Katharine Hepburn's dump. That's why!"

I saw a light go on in those lovely lamps of hers. "Oh, John!," she giggled. "You are a naughty boy!"

" Guilty, as charged,  Judge!," I grinned down at her.