Nicky Noir & The Hangover
By Benji Bright
So this is the inaugural adventure of private detective Nicky Noir. If you’d like to hear more from Nicky, shoot me an email at: Benjibright [at] gmail.com, or stop by my site The Erotic Ledger (http://www.theeroticledger.com) or drop me a line on twitter: @Benji_bright. Also, please consider donating a few bucks to Nifty, it’s a terrific site that really does need your support.
Never play chicken with a bottle of gin and a Thursday night, you'll always lose, and Friday morning sunlight isn't particularly sympathetic. So I'm lying with my head down on my cool faux-wood desk, while Penny — bless her heart — tries to keep my phone from ringing. I should be working, I'm dressed for it anyway: a collared shirt with rolled-up sleeves, suspenders, and pinstripe pants. A grand sartorial gesture that marks me as clearly as the sign on the door:
'Nicky Noir: Private Dick.'
I should be out sleuthing, but the pounding in the back of my head says otherwise. I keep my forehead on the desk and start counting to fiftyleven. I only reach eleventyseven when Penny Pryde walks in. Cute girl, blonde and legs like a gazelle. She's wearing a dress that's fire-engine red and a shade of lipstick to match; I'm guessing it's called five-alarm fire, because the dress is so short that this fire-engine has to be going somewhere.
"Nicky," she says. "You've got a client."
"What I've got is a hangover. Get rid of her or him. Tell em' to go bother that thug Morretti." Theodore Moretti is my biggest rival, but the way I'm feeling, I'd be glad to send a little business his way.
"Not a chance. This you'll want to see."
Penny drops a glass of water, preloaded with an antacid fizzing away, and a business card on my desk. I thank her for the antacid and read the card: Thaddeus Logos. I perk up. Suddenly my stomach doesn't feel so bad.
"Is he —" I start to ask.
" — heir to the Logos newspaper fortune?" Penny grins like a wolf in a chicken coop. "I'll send him in."
I straighten my hair as Penny walks out. Trouble has a look to it: sometimes it looks like Penny, all in red, tight and smiling, all the while assessing your worth down to the last dime. Sometimes it goes the other way. Sometimes trouble looks like all the money you could ever want.
Thaddeus Logos walks into my office and looks around as if to say, 'where's the rest of it?' and I give him a smug grin as if to say, 'I'll buy it once you pay me.' Logos's got his hands in the pocket of his tailored suit, the pants of which contour so snuggly to his body that I can see the pronounced bulge in the front of them. I clear my throat.
"Mr. Logos, it's an honor to meet one of the city's golden sons. I'm Nicolas Noir, private investigator. You can call me Nicky."
Good ol' Logos gives me a crooked sideways grin. The kind of smile that unmarried women take exception to and married women reminisce about.
"Nicky. Thaddeus Logos, call me Thad." He walks from one side of the room to the other then spins on his italian leather soles before crossing the room again. His handsome face is half-bemused, half-agitated. "Listen, Nicky. I'm gonna' be frank with you, if you don't mind a little coarse talk."
"Please," I say and raise my glass to him, shaking it a little so it fizzes up nice. "I'm a bit hungover, so coarse talk is about all I have the stomach for."
"My pop says hangovers are the product of inferior spirits," Thad says.
"Yeah? Maybe next time I'll drink on your pop's tab instead of mine."
Thad barks a laugh and wags a finger at me. "I think I like you, Nicky. Anyway, here's the rub: my girl, my fiancée —" he says it with a french accent that's so spot on that I wonder if he speaks it fluently, but he slips right out of it like a pair of day old drawers. "— is two-timing me. I know this for a fact." He emphasizes the word fact strongly, as to leave no doubt of his statement's veracity. Good for him. "The question is: what's my response supposed to be?"
"A new fiancée would send the right message," I offer.
He laughs again, but it's without genuine humor, like he's getting rid of it. "Good idea, but no. It has to be her. I can't say too much, but she's aligned with some of the right people. I scotch the wedding and my pop...well, he'll be none too pleased. I need a different tact. I need something that'll burn her right up." Thad walks over to my desk. "Got any ideas?"
I look up at him. He really is handsome: high cheekbones, full head of dark hair styled perfectly to accentuate his Greco-Roman features. His vest fitting perfectly over his lean-muscled frame.
"Thinking about an affair?" I ask.
"Maybe," he says, looking suddenly half-interested, as if the thought only just crossed his mind and he was yet to be sold on it. "How's your secretary in the sack? She could do."
I shake my head. "Penny's not that kind of girl. You get her in the sheets and she'll put claws in you, string you along, the whole time she's running an adding machine in her head. I'd be surprised if she left you with the suit on your back."
Thad gave me another smile and I started to think that maybe he and Penny wouldn't be such a bad match after all.
"I see. So what about you?" Thad asks.
"Me?" I say, because what the fuck else do you say to that.
"What would burn her more than having her fiancé fucked by another man?" Thad undoes his fly and lets his cock fall out. It just rests on the desk between us like a poker chip. He puts his hands back into his pockets. Thad's grinning like a millionaire, which I guess he is.
"You know, there are boys downtown you can pay for this kind of service," I say.
Thad's dick twitches. Maybe it's already familiar with some of those boys. "This'll be more fun, I promise."
Maybe I wouldn't consider it if it weren't for the hangover, because when you show up to work after spending a whole morning turning your stomach inside out, maybe it's nice to be appreciated. But I'm certainly considering it. Considering it seriously enough to lift the receiver of the telephone and dial Penny's extension.
"Nicolas Noir Investigations," she answers, there's a little honey in her voice, but it's all business with her.
"Take your lunch early. Make it last," I say.
"Generous today, aren't we?" she says. "Can I go get my nails done?"
Thad's in front of me slowly stroking his dick to life. He's smiling that smile again. Like the world belongs to him.
"What the hell, go crazy: get your hair done, too. It'll be on Mr. Logos."
Penny laughs. "Who knew news was such big business? Good luck, Nick."
I hear Penny gathering her things in the office just beyond the door. Thad's cock is fully hard now and just slightly wet at the tip. It's a gorgeous piece of meat. He slides the uncircumcised skin around the head, pulling it taut and loose again like some pervert magician. I don't reach across the desk until I hear Penny slam the door behind her. Bless her.
Thad makes a noise that sounds like the pleasured trill of a petted cat when my fingers brush against his dick. It's warm in my hand, I just rest in my palm and Thad eggs me on, "put your fingers around it, Nicky. Jerk me off. Don't worry, it doesn't bite."
The customer is always right. I make a fist with Thad Logos's dick sandwiched in between and think about how I'd have lost any bet that placed me right here, right now with the heir of a million dollar news empire bucking his hips and sliding his cock back and forth in my hand. A few thrusts and his dickhead drips a fat trail of precum all over the side of my fist. When he sees this, Thad yanks his dick out of my hand, holds my hand steady with his, and bends over to lick the preejaculate from my hand. He lazily sponges it up and lets it glisten off of the tip of his tongue before pulling it back into his mouth and swallowing. Not for the first time I wonder what the fuck I've gotten myself into.
"Mind if I get undressed?" Thad asks. I almost laugh. The man has just licked his own precum off of my fist closed around his cock and he's asking me if he can get naked?
"Sure," I say, but not before I down my antacid. I'm having the feeling I'll need the extra fortitude. In fact, even given my delicate condition, I'm aching for a slug of gin to shore me up.
So Thad starts to strip. His vest comes off first, and he lets it fall to the ground. His shirt is next and he takes his time with every button, his eyes glued to his own chest like Narcissus himself. I have to admit that if I had a chest like that, I'd be gazing at it too. He's built like Michelangelo's David with significantly more going on between his legs, if I can be a little high-brow with you. I'm so focused on watching his chest and stomach as they're slowly revealed by his unbuttoning that I don't realize when his gaze shifts back to me; he catches me ogling him. So I guess my cards are on the table now: I'm kind of into guys.
Up until that I point I could say it was coercion, but there are certain looks you can't fake and Thad just caught me in the middle of one. I don't make a big deal out of it, sleeping with men I mean. It is what it is, like the fact that I pee standing up. I don't expect a medal for that or an interrogation, so why should it be front page news — pardon the situational pun — if I put my dick into a Jim or James every once in a blue moon?
Thad's shirt hits the ground. So it's just those pants left and his dick hanging through them. He's just standing there, looking like he's got it all figured out, so it's up to me to prove differently.
"Put your hands down flat on the desk," I tell him.
"Why?" he asks.
"Do you want to do this or not? Because if you do, we do it my way. If not, well...I'm sure Penny will appreciate the haircut just the same."
Thad gives me a stone-hard look and I just give it right back. I'm sure he's used to investors rolling over for him, and god knows who else, but as shitty as it is, this is my office and that's my name on the door. He nods after a while and puts his hands on the desk. Once he does I get up and walks around the desk so that I'm standing behind him.
His ass looks great in those tailored pants of his, especially with that stuck-up cock of his hips. It's nice and round and juicy. I can already feel my hands on it before I've even touched him.
"How bad do you want to burn this fiancée of yours?" I ask.
"And you're willing to let me fuck you to screw with her head? To get back at her?"
"Best way there is," he says. I can't see his face, but I can hear the smirk in his voice. I slap his ass with my open palm and he jumps. He whirls around to face me with fire in his eyes.
"What's the big idea?" he shouts.
"Excuse me," I say, "I was under the impression that you were giving your ass to me."
Thad reddens for the first time since he strutted into my office. "Yeah, well, I didn't expect —"
"You didn't expect me to take liberties with you, is that it? You wanted me to drop trou, no questions asked and give you what you came for? Put your hands on the desk or stuff that hard-on back into your pants and take it back to your fiancée."
Thad shrinks back, clearly affronted at having been spoken to in such a manner, but his cock doesn't flag. He slowly turns away from me, a high blush still on his cheeks and puts his hands back on the desk leaving his ass to me. I slap him again right away, just to establish what this is. He hollers a little, but his hands stay on the desk. Good. I move right up to him so that he can feel my hard cock pressing up against him. He pushes his ass back, rubbing it on my erection like he's in heat. I reach in front of him and undo his belt, together we push and pull his tight pants down his legs.
I shake my head: only a real dandy would squeeze himself into that veritable corset he calls pants, but either way that glorious ass is exposed and it's mine. He's wiggling it like a hooker for a nickel, and I've got to admit, it's turning me on something awful.
I bend down behind him before I can talk myself out of it and dive between those globes of his. His taste is a little sweaty, but I don't mind. I'm already fumbling with my pants, trying to let my jimmy get some air as I tongue-twist him. Thad is pushing back against my face, urging me deeper and trying to get his hole wetter. I slap his ass with my free hand and grope the hell out of him, he purrs like a brand new car, but I can tell this vehicle's been around the block.
"Lick it, Nicky. That's what I'm paying you for," he says.
Technically he's right, so I let it go. Besides, in a different context, under a pier or in the darkest room of an already darkened bar, I'd do this for free. So I give him some gusto and munch on his snatch like like he's the first piece of ass I've ever had.
Eventually I deem him wet enough and I bring up a few fingers to play. His hole is hot and tight and once my fingers are in him, he's wiggling and vibrating like a just-spun top. He opens up for me like an elevator door and I ride him all the way up to his spot. He twitches when I find it, and groans.
"Nicky, that's it. Right there. Aw, Nick." His dick is drooling now, a long unbroken string of it leaking out of him as I play his instrument. It's a game now, so I finger him with two or three at a time and lean in to bite his ass cheeks while his dick-spit thread grows longer and longer. It breaks at four or five inches and hits the ground.
Thad is sweating now, though the fan on my desk is blowing directly at him. That's how I know he's primed for what's next. I stand, without pulling my fingers out, and tell him, "spread your legs." He does.
"Further," I say. He does. I think at this point if I told him to dive out of the window and I'd ball him on the way down, he'd do it without thinking. That's the kind of state I like to get a guy into before I give him a piece.
I pull out of my fingers quick and he puppy-yelps, but I push the head of my dick in before he gets too lonely. He moans and complains a bit, but the heat is on me now and I'm ready to give him what he came for. I push a little further and he clenches up, god that feels good.
"Can't you spit on it or something? You expect me to just take that bull-cock?" he asks, a little hoarse and panicked.
So yeah, I guess I'm pretty big. I pull out again and oblige him, spitting and rubbing it over the shaft and head before I reintroduce it to his fuck-shaft. My head is pounding as I push up into him, but the pain of my hangover has fallen to the back of my mind, all I can feel is excitement and the warm softness of Thad's million-dollar guts. He's panting and grunting, pushing back against my dick and trying to get used to it. I'm not a total monster so I give it to him slow until I can start to feel him relaxing. I stroke his shoulder and rub his chest. He jerks his cock with one hand and uses the other to steady himself against the desk. I catch a blast of the fan and realize that I'm sweating too.
I glance down at my dick splitting his firm ass cheeks and my dick jumps inside him. He swears, but starts to jerk it a little faster anyway. That's how I now he's ready for what comes next. I start to pick up the pace, getting my hips moving in a rhythm, not just mindless pounding, but really working myself into him. I'm grunting and sweating and balling him, while he's grunting and sweating and making himself feel good. We get something good going and I just keep pushing further into him until I'm banging him right on the prostate. He starts wailing nasty words.
At this point it occurs to me that the people in the other offices on either side of us can hear us, but I only have this realization because someone starts hitting the wall with a broom. Thad however can't be persuaded to quiet down, not with my big dick pumping into his tight hole as recklessly as I'm pumping. I cover his mouth and he bites my fingers, I call him a fucking maniac, but I don't stop. Not now, not when it feels this good.
Thad moans something that sounds like words, but my hand is over his mouth and I'm not inclined to move it. So I don't really have forewarning when his insides start pulsing on me and Thad loses it all over my desk, his hand, and the floor.
"Geez," I mutter. His fluttering asshole sets me off and I start to spunk right up his butt. "Geez," I say again, as I put a load into one of the city's golden boys in my dirty, low-rent office. I keep pumping until it's totally past, until I'm sure that I've left every drop in him. Then I pull out and watch a bunch of my sperm drip out along with my still hard dick, my 'bull-cock' as Thad so eloquently put it.
The desire for a gin comes over me again along with a pang of hunger. I'm starting to envy Penny her lunch hour. I go back over to my desk and get a couple napkins out of a drawer to clean up, I offer some to Thad, but he shakes his head. He just pulls up his pants and buttons them back up.
"It works better if my fiancée can see and smell your handiwork, I think," he says, then quickly adds, "not that she'll know it was your work specifically. I think I'll keep that between the two of us."
"I'd appreciate that, yeah," I say in response.
Thad winks at me and finishes getting dressed. I'm thinking about just making it a half day and leaving Penny to close up.
"Is a check alright?" Thad asks as he draws his checkbook from his jacket pocket.
"As long as you're good for it."
He laughs as if it's the funniest joke he's ever heard, which, maybe it is. He writes me a check that has more zeroes in it that I'd expected, but I manage to keep my eyes in my head. I don't know which is sweeter, his money or his ass. He hands me the check and as I go for it, he yanks it away.
"I'm not going to read about this in the papers, am I?" he says.
"Not unless you write the article."
Thad smiles. He's back to owning the world.
He lets me take the check and he walks out of my office after wishing me a pleasant afternoon. I only just manage to get my office back into its natural order, and not smelling entirely like male sex, by the time Penny shows up. I'd expected her later.
"Well," she says when I ask her about it. "My regular hairdresser wasn't around and I was thinking about going uptown at this new salon I've been hearing up from my girlfriends, but..." She bats her eyelashes demurely as if I don't know what she does with her Saturday nights. "...I wanted to see how much money I had to budget, courtesy of Mr. Logos."
I wave the check in my hand and I can tell when she reads the number because her eyes get big as pie plates.
"I think you can afford a new hairdo, and in fact, I was thinking about closing up early today."
Penny doesn't bother taking off her jacket. "Sounds good, boss. In fact, I think we should take next week. Religious observance and all."
"Amen," I say, and we leave together, neither of us all that concerned about the ringing phone.