Date: Tue, 29 Nov 2011 10:33:20 -0800 (PST)
From: Bob Archman <bldhrymn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Catfish Visits a Castle 7

Catfish Visits a Castle 7
By Bald Hairy Man

This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex.  If this offends or
bothers you, DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a
discussion of safe sex. If you have, any comments send them to
bldhrymn@yahoo.com


The next day there was a new atmosphere at the castle. Having some suspects
cheered up the police.  The lab work began to come back and it was a
treasure trove of information. They had been able to trace the drugs to
their point of manufacture, Knoxville, Tennessee. The DEA and ATF men knew
who controlled those drugs, so they had additional suspects.

Clive Moncrieff said the Academy of Art had better lawyers than the late
Trevor Aston and Ferdinand Bullard.  When W. Waldrop Winslow appeared at
the Castle as a court appointed conservator in charge of protecting
Mrs. Dumont's fortune and person I knew what he meant.  I didn't know
Winslow, but I knew of him. He was at the uppermost tier of Virginia
law. He had been considered for a seat on the Supreme Court but was too
intelligent and fair for the modern court.

Winslow arrived with an entourage of accountants, appraisers. LeRoy
Whittle, the Art Historian and curator was in the group in charge of fine
art. LeRoy had been their earlier and all had not been good.

Winslow systematically interviewed the staff one by one in a portable
office brought on to the site.  The castle was the crime scene and was off
limits, but I assume he wanted to be in his own space for the
interviews. That gave him an advantage.  I was one of the last to be
interviewed.

"Mrs. Smith said you were a bright man, but you make a poor first
impression," Winslow said. "She seemed to understate that.  Tell me what
you know." He seemed elderly and very proper, almost like a lawyer in a
1930s William Powell and Myrna Loy movie. He was mostly silent, but asked
questions where he needed clarification. I gave him a concise account and
my analysis of the situation.  I was careful to make sure he knew what my
supposition was and theories and what was fact.  It took me a minute of two
to realize he was in charge and had solid grasp of the situation.

"Some of the employees seem marginal intellectually," he said. "Can you
explain?" I told him about the involuntary servitude problem. He asked me
to stop and he called his accountant in the office.  I explained the
swindle to them. The boys were limited; most of the "security" people had
problems with substance abuse and had to take whatever job they could get.
Once they were at the Castle, they were trapped.

"The financial records are very confusing," Sam, the accountant said. "It
was difficult to determine the actual salaries being paid to the
staff. There is an account to pay for medical insurance, but the money that
goes out to it does not appear as a disbursement from the bank accounts. It
seems to be a paper transaction."

I explained the housing and food fees. Sam said he would look for them, but
he didn't think there were line items for those fees.

"Wouldn't that sort of thing appear in any audit?" I asked.

"Well, I've been here for three hours and discovered massive
discrepancies," Sam said. "I think we are dealing with the real set of
books. There must be a second set of books, or perhaps they were planning
to create a second set for an audit."

"Trevor and Ferdinand were greedy and cheap," I said. "Trixie was awash in
money.  There was no reason to take men who were paid minimum wage to the
cleaners."

"You misunderstand the problems with this sort of man. It would have been
easy to take cash legally. Mrs. Dumont would have given them the cash," Sam
said. "They just couldn't stop. Taking thirty cents from a man on minimum
wage was just as exciting to them as taking a million from Mrs. Dumont."

"Needless to say, we will make full restitution with appropriate
considerations to the men cheated in this scheme," Winslow
said. "Technically she was the employer of these men. In a court, she
wouldn't have a problem, I suspect, since she was impaired, but I prefer
that minor problems like this be settled out of court. Now, how did they
give Mrs. Dumont the drugs?  Was it the cook?"

"It could have been the cook, but I doubt it. He has to be a suspect, but I
can't see him doctoring his own food," I said. "He's not a cook; he's a
chef, a very good one. I can't see him doctoring his own food. It would be
a.  .  ."

"A sacrilege?" Winslow suggested.

"That's the word. He wouldn't defile his work," I said. "The food was
prepared in the kitchen and then sent to a serving area next to the dining
room. Someone plated it there. I don't know whom. If you wanted to add
something the serving room was the place to do it."

LeRoy came in the room. "I was right, there are three missing paintings, a
Monet, a Frederick Remington and Ingres portrait." he exclaimed.  "The
paintings hanging here are forgeries."

"You are positive?" Winslow asked.

"One hundred percent!" Leroy exclaimed. "They aren't technically
forgeries. There was no effort to use aged canvas or to antique them. They
are copies. I believe they were done from photographs. The paintings had
not been recently cleaned.  The copyist painted the dirty image. He or she
did not paint the original colors and then antique them. He a painted the
copies as if the dirty image was the original."

"That must mean the painter wasn't involved in the scheme," I said.

"There is another clear indication of that," LeRoy said. "The painter
signed his work."

"You mean Sean Monet or Tiffany Remington did the painting?" Winslow said,
obviously amused.

"It's not quite that bad. The painter copied Monet's signature but worked
his or her initials into the background."

"Do you know who it is?" I asked.

"No, but I will," Leroy said. "He also worked into the grass the University
initials and the phrase "ACC champs 2009."  The artist was probably a
student. That is what in the business is called a clue!"

That afternoon I visited the security men and the boys. The security men
were scared to death. They were marginal men who had been in trouble
before. They knew deep shit when the fell into it and they were in as deep
as you could go.  Sean, the footman I met when I first came to the castle
was shivering in fear.

"I knew something was going on in the basement," he told me. "I thought it
was just a meth lab."

I told them to tell all and hope for the best. "I have the feeling the cops
are after higher ups." I explained.

"Meth labs aren't that bad," he added.

"Sean, I don't want to scare you, but I think the cops aren't that partial
to meth," I said. You know a guy is in deep when his defense is "it was
just a meth lab."

Casey was so scared he was sober. "Those guys will kill us if we squeal,"
Casey said. His idea of a defense was that he was drunk most of the time
and didn't know what was going on. I had to admit, Casey did a convincing
job of playing dumb as shit.

"I'm not sure you would make a decent witness. Any lawyer could rip you to
shreds on the witness stand. If you provide some good leads, the cops might
overlook any problems in your past."

"What makes you think there is something in my past?" he asked.  He looked
shocked.

"It's just a stab in the dark, but don't worry about me," I said, "but if I
can figure it out they can." I wasn't sure what he knew but there was a
chance he could be helpful. I knew the place was filled with fools and
incompetents. It was hard to find anyone who seemed capable of running a
big operation.

I talked with Harry and Butch my nighttime visitors at the pump
building. They weren't quite as worried. I didn't think anyone would trust
them with important information. They were spear- carriers only. Butch was
nice enough to whisper he had a bad inch in his ass and he needed someone
to scratch it. We hadn't hooked up since our first meeting.

I was puzzled. Trevor and Ferdinand seemed to be busy screwing the staff
for nickels and dimes. Who ran the drug operation? My mind turned to the
chef, Dugan Smythe-Hilderbrant, the only competent man in the group.  He
was in the basement all the time. The drugs were all but under his feet. I
shivered at the thought when I realized that my cock had been doing my
thinking for me.  We had fucked, and it had been good. He seemed competent
and in control. I would need to check into Dugan's background.

I went to talk with Dallas and the boys. Dallas was afraid, but the other
men were okay.  Dallas knew something was wrong, but wasn't sure what. I
told him to come to Calhoun or me if he had a problem. The boys tended to
accept whatever happened as a done deal.  They saw finding a man hanging
from a tree as interesting, but not much different from finding a turtle
with interesting coloring on its shell. It all was the same to them.

Dallas wanted to know if we could go to the cave and have some fun. I told
him it might be better to come and see me at my room that night. We could
have a little party.

That afternoon a police cruiser drove up with LeRoy and a young man. The
man was the artist who had made the copies, a graduate student named Don
Hill.  He made the copies to pay for rent. LeRoy asked me to show him
around the Castle to see if there were other paintings he had copied. LeRoy
had to talk with Winslow.

As Leroy guessed, Hill was painting copies, and he had added his own
initials just in case someone tried to pass them off as something else. He
looked young, but was 25-years-old. He was a star of the University's art
department and he had done additional copies of other paintings. Hill
wasn't sophisticated or calculating.  Unfortunately, he had slept though
his art History classes and didn't remember the names of the artists he
copied.

We found a Corot, and a Gainsborough that he had copied. Paintings were
stuck in odd places in the house. The Corot was in a coatroom and the
Gainsborough was in a storage room. LeRoy was pleased. When we were in
Sheila's bedroom, Hill saw a photograph of Trevor. Trevor had been the man
who commissioned the copies, but had used the name of Donald Trevor. He had
paid in cash. That clarified who was behind the painting scheme.

I don't have perfect Gaydar, but you could say I do possess good Size Queen
Gaydar.  Whenever Hill wasn't looking at paintings, he was looking at my
crotch. My old jeans show one part of me to advantage. I caught him looking
at me a few times and didn't react. Hill took that as permission to gawk.

It was after five I went in a bathroom in the service wing. I took a leak
and he joined me. He pulled his cock out and we shared the toilet.

"I'm not very shy," I said.

"You have nothing to be shy about," Hill said. "I'd pay a dollar at the
county fair to see a tonsil tickler like yours. You would need a detachable
jaw to take it all. "

I laughed. His organ began to inflate and looked good. "I assume you are a
cock fancier?" I asked.

"That is a nice way to put it," he said.  Hill had a straggly blond beard
and was unimpressive to look at, but he was interested.  "Shit there is
another one!"

"Another what?"

"Another painting I copied," he replied.  A small painting hung above the
toilet. I looked closer. It was signed Thomas Cole. We zipped up and went
to get LeRoy. Cole turned out to be an important Hudson River School
painter. It was an oil sketch for a larger painting LeRoy said was in the
National Gallery. This was the original painting so they hadn't switched it
out for the copy.

"It's clear we need to do a much more complete search of the house. What in
hell is a painting doing in the toilet? Can you come back tomorrow?" Leroy
asked Hill.  Leroy had to go back to Richmond that night. I offered to put
up the artist for the night at my room in the pump house. Hill was willing.

Hill was in the shower when someone knocked on my door. It was Calhoun and
the boys.  I remembered I told the Boys they could come over that night
too. Calhoun found them walking over and joined in. I asked them in.  It
was confused until Hill emerged from the bathroom naked and semi-erect. The
boys and Calhoun liked what they saw and a minute later, everyone was naked
and going at it.

As an experienced gay man, I still was amazed that being naked and erect
could be such an icebreaker. Hill was mostly a bottom and that was good for
the boys. When Calhoun took his uniform off, they soon forgot he was a
policeman. Calhoun was accommodating too.  He liked Dallas and they seemed
to hit it off.

With Dallas, Jimmy, Johnny and Jerry in the room with Hill, Calhoun and me
it was a tight squeeze. Hill was a bit of a space cadet and seemed to stare
into space but he was good with the boys. It seemed to me he had a natural
sense of what they wanted and how to please them. He wanted to please and
had no problem sucking anyone and even less problem taking their cocks in
the ass. Technically, he was a size-queen, bottom-slut, cum-hound. In
short, he made friends quickly. He was close to being a human sex toy.

He was a little taller than I am, just as thin and had a cock as long as
mine but pencil thin. It was easy to deep throat and unusually easy to take
in the ass. I discovered he could get nine inches up your ass before you
knew what he was doing.

Hill was the sexual spark plug. He obviously loved sex and had no problem
taking whatever came his way. I noticed he had a calming effect on the
boys, indeed, he calmed Calhoun too. I was one of the last men to sample
Hill's hospitable ass.  He was well stretched by then. It took some effort
on my part to get in, but Hill was attractively tight.

We had an audience since they wanted to see if Hill could take it. As I
slid in, I had a sense my cock was home. It was like the feeling you had as
a child, that you were tucked safely into bed on a stormy night. I don't
know how many had fucked him, and how many had shot off in his ass, but it
was good for me. As I entered, some excess man seed oozed out and provided
extra lubricant for Hill's over used ass. My cock felt at home deeply
lodged in the quivering ass.

When I pulled out, I heard Johnny asked Dallas if they could have seconds.
Johnny rarely talked, so he must have been excited.  I watched Hill's face
glow in anticipation. Hill was a pure slut.

Calhoun was on the bed so I lifted his legs and made a visit. I caught him
a little off guard, but he soon relaxed and took it like a man. Dallas
watched and was close to drooling. I pulled out and let him in. I watched
as Dallas' knob rubbed Calhoun's prostate and Calhoun gasped for breath and
his eyes crossed.

I was nice to be with men who didn't have a shy bone in their bodies. Every
man has a cock, balls, prostate and asshole, but only a few get full use
out of them. For the boys, these organs were their primary
entertainment. Hill was just a plain old fashioned over sexed pig and he
loved it all. Calhoun was closer to being reticent than anyone else in the
room, but he soon adapted to the situation and accommodated the other men's
needs. I was a lovely night for a pint-sized detective.

After everyone left except for Hill, I called my office.  My night person
looked up Dugan Smythe-Hilderbrant.  He was indeed a well-known, four-star
chef. The only oddity in his records was that he had been killed in an
automobile accident three years earlier. That, as Leroy said, was a clue. I
called the Police chief and gave him that information. A half hour later,
we discovered he was gone, and Bruno, the assistant chef was on his way to
the University Hospital with a drug overdose.

I had been conned. While my cock is directly attached to my body, I try to
maintain some professional detachment, even when it's in the ass of a
suspect. I had failed to do that. I realized he figured out I wasn't what I
pretended to be. The big bucks were in drugs. They are the gift that keeps
on giving. Ripping off Trixie was a minor sideline, a dangerous sideline.
Her property was mostly donated to the University and the Academy of the
Fine Arts, two powerful, wealthy institutions with armies of lawyers.

Trevor and Ferdinand's greed threatened the drug cash cow. Eventually
someone would audit the books and, as Sam indicated, the books were not
ready for prime time. The whole house of cards would collapse.