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Ursula Parkheart, P.I. : The Flexing Detective in
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
The following story contains adult subject matter. You have been warned!
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© WIG, LTD 1993
Ursula Parkheart, P.I.
The Flexing Detective:
in
The Adventure of the Amorous Amazon
Chapter Two:
Awed by A Hardbody
I sat at my desk listening for the sound of a customer's
footsteps. It had been hard enough getting up from my desk, away
from the arms I had dreamed of; it had been harder still to dress
and clean up my office. And it had been impossible to get Ursula
Parkeart's gorgeous two hundred and thirty pound muscular frame
up from my desk. I feared the arrival of our client; I had asked
her to give us just a moment while we dealt with another
customer---a wholly imaginary one, of course.
I corrected and groomed my own appearance in the mirror, and I
was glad I kept that extra shirt in the drawer. I tried once
more time to rouse her from my desktop. She lay magnificently
muscular and naked, half asleep on the oaken surface, acres of
bare she-hunk flesh beckoning. I saw the breasts rise and fall
with her breath; I wanted to touch them, and more...
Instead, I grabbed a glass of water and threw it over her, the
icy fluid crashing softly on her face.
She shot up, spluttering, finally awake; her hair a mass of
slickened tangles.
"Darn it, Sally, there's a customer coming!", I urged her. "Go
inside and get yourself cleaned up!"
A dulled flash of recognition came across the sleepily erotic
face and she found her feet, balanced precariously on her thick
naked thighs, wobbling in spike-heeled shoes. I escorted her to
her office door, holding the powerful forearm, trying to turn my
eyes from her gorgeously naked body and succeeding only with
heart-wrenching effort. I gave her a small push across the
doorway, and only then did I allow myself to watch two perfect
round buttocks shimmy and shake out of sight as the door closed
behind her. I re-arranged my desk, establishing some kind of
order, and I heard with relief the sound of the shower being
turned on in the small bathroom off her office.
A knock came at the door not one second after picking up the last
dusty envelope from the floor.
A blonde moppet walked in, chewing gum impatiently and looking
like she couldn't wait to leave. She turned her nose up at the
plain surroundings of the office and looked annoyed that she had
to spend any time in here at all.
"Good afternoon", I said, trying my best to be friendly and
professional while I listened to the shower head silenced, the
leaking washer letting a small rain fade and echo for some
seconds after.
Hurry, Sally.
The girl-woman and I listened to the larger rain outside as it
slapped against the windows with small puddles.
"You work here?", the blonde asked after settling herself down in
the single chair used for the occasional backlog of waiting
clients. She wore a pair of red shorts, cut very high on her
thin tan thighs, and a pair of matching red mules, their heels
skyscraper-high. I wondered how she walked in them on such thin
legs. And how had she managed to stay dry?
She rubbed the cloth of her white t-shirt on a diamond ring,
perhaps to call my attention to it. It was impressive; almost as
big as the one Ursula had worn before her relationship had hit
the skids, and her life had derailed; the big diamond she had
been so proud to wear banished and vanished into a deep desk
drawer.
Other than that, this newest customer was forgettable looking;
bland oval face full of too much makeup and a look that told of
having seen too much and done too much that she couldn't talk
about, in cover of night. She was small-breasted and spoiled and
pampered and tapping her foot impatiently.
"Yes", I answered, "I do".
"So what are you?", she asked in a high nasal voice through her
bubble gum. "You a private eye?" She looked at me as if I were a
shop clerk who wouldn't take her credit card.
"Ah, no, actually, I'm not. I'm Ms. Parkheart's assistant."
She broke into a delighted smile. "Oh, you mean like, you're her
secretary? Cute.." she responded, finding the idea funny.
I was about to tell her that I was an operativge, that I had been
in a couple of potentially dangerous spots in service of
Parkheart Investigations. The words were forming in my mouth
when Sally's door opened, and she walked out.
She showed no signs of having been dead drunk less than ten
minutes ago, and near passing out. She wore a dark business
suit, cut tight to her zoftig frame. The only remarkable thing
in Ursula's appearance, besides the staggering size of the woman,
was that she wore no blouse underneath the low-cut jacket;
cleavage spillled out abundantly, pounds of big soft succulent
breast bared. That was nothing new; and neither was the altered
hemline of the otherwise conservative skirt; it was shortened to
mid-thigh and showed off her wonderfully developed legs, their
hard calves prominent. I tried to force my eyes away from the
sights my hands and mouth had feasted hungrily upon minutes ago.
"Hello," she said, after just a moment's pause in the doorway
before walking over to the superficial blonde, extending a hand.
"I'm Ursula Parkheart. How can I help you?"
The blonde did not react at first to the extended hand. She was
in shock. Her mouth hung open, revealing the pink wad of gum she
had been working as it lay upon her tongue.
"Jesus Christ, you really are big,", she finally said, bluntly;
awed; her cynicism shaken for just a moment. She gave the hand a
brief girlish shake. Ursula pretended not to hear the comment.
She sat back on my desk, and I saw that she had somehow done an
expert make-up job in minutes. Her hair was slicked back, wet
and in a bun. She smelled terrific and her chiseled features
were alert and ready for the job. She crossed her legs and
folded her arms and started asking questions.
"Coffee?", she asked, pointing at the ever-present pot in the
corner; it's aroma was still strong three hours after having been
brewed.
"Yeah, sure", she answered, and Ursula gave me a casual nod. The
blonde seemed to enjoy seeing her give me an order and smiled as
I poured the two women the strong black brew.
"Excuse me for not inviting you into my private office", Ursula
said as she sipped at the styrofoam cup's contents; "but it's a
bit of a mess right now. We were just seeing another client who
gave us some trouble..."
The blonde looked Ursual up and down. "That looks like a pretty
bad idea with somebody like you..."
Ursula smiled a million-dollar smile that displayed perfectly
dazzling teeth. "Let's start from the beginning; what is your
full name, miss?"
My pencil was at the ready.
Angela Sternwood told her tale.
"The problem?" she asked after the legal questions had been
covered. "The problem is my sister is a friggin' moron, that's
what the problem is...", she said, as she fidgeted in her cheap
vinyl seat. This was a girl used to leather under her behind and
she looked as though she was getting ready to make a complaint
about the seat cushions when Ursula, all business now, leaned
into her.
"Please be specific, miss", she said, firmly, a trace of
annoyance and, I thought, hangover, in her dusky voice. Angela
Sternwood got the message.
After a moment of silence, she began.
"My father is Hugh Sternwood, okay? You know, the health food
guy?"
Ursula nodded, the slightest trace of strain on her face.
Hangovers made it painful to move your head, didn't they?
"Sure. I use his supplements..."
"Yeah?", the blonde said, as though surprised to find someone who
actually used the stuff that had made her an heiress to a
fortune. She was, if her figure was any indication, of the
binge-and-purge school of nutrition; bone thin, but with a tiny
ring of flab around her midsection that her body refused to
surrender to that dietetic torture.
"Anyway, my mom's dead, and dad, well, he's not too sharp
anymore. He mighta sold the stuff but the only health food he
ever took was eighty proof..."
My eyes met Ursula's for just a second; they flashed with guilt.
"So there's nobody to run things, right?", the girl said, rather
than asked.
Ursuala interrupted her. "What about a conservator, a lawyer?"
Angela shook her head. "He don't believe in them. Hates
lawyers, says they run the government, like what's his name, Ross
Perot, right? He tried to get my friggin' sister to run things.
That's when he got into trouble, boy...See, my sister, she likes
money, but she don't know what the hell to do with it, you know,
manage it? I took some courses at the community college, but
hell, the older sister gets the job, and we're all he's got. So
he sends my sister out into the field, like he called it, which
meant she had to take some really shitty jobs in the outlet
stores, learning the business. She makes friends with this
woman, Raye-Anne is her name; she managed an outlet store in
Pennsylvania before she moved out here with my sister to make it
in show business..."
"Yeah, that's it, Raye-Anne Hallison. Boy, what a bitch...", she
said, handing the picture to Ursula, who studied it.
It was an 8X10 glossy; the sort that actors and actresses have
done all the time.
"How so?", Ursula asked, glancing at my speeding pencil, a blur
as I got everything on legal-sized paper.
"She took over the friggin' business is what. See, my sister
likes to party, y'know? So she has a little too much to drink one
night, and she loses control of the Beamer. She hits this old
lady. She's hurt pretty bad, but the old broad, she pulls out.
So Raye-Anne tells her that she can get wiped out, you know, in
the law suit. So she tells my idiot sister to write the business
over to her; give her everything. Well, jeez!", she exclaimed,
"even I know that's the oldest one in the book. But does my
moron sister? No. She signs the whole goddamn business over to
Raye-Anne!", she said, her hands slapping down on her thighs in
anger. "My sister goes on welfare and everything just to make it
look good; tells the cops she was disinherited. Dad goes along
with it; at this point he'll go along with almost anything you
tell him...", she said, unsentimental even at the thought of a
dad insensate.
"So", Ursula said, "when the suit was over, Raye-Anne didn't give
anything back, right?"
"Right", she said, in surprise, as though Ursula had figured out
a bit of quantum physics. "She told my sister to go fuck herself.
Says she has everything all nice and legal; notarized. Raye-Anne
had the brains to see a lawyer, at least..."
"Not much you can do about that, is there?", Ursula said.
Angela Sternwood was not hearing what she wanted to hear. "What
do you mean, not much I can do? That's why I came to see you."
She twirled a flat and lifeless strand of hair on her finger
nervously...
"I can't change the law, miss.."
"Who's askin' you to? I want you to get the contract back, is
all. It's not like it was done fairly or anything, right? And
my dad will pay plenty..."
My eyes went to Ursula, waiting for what she would say.
"Where is it?"
"In a safe. In her house. But only until Friday, that's when
her lawyer is coming for it. He's out of town for now, but on
Friday he'll be back, that's for sure. You have to get it by
then, 'cause after that everything's gonna be hers", she said, as
though all it entailed was visiting this Raye-Anne and telling
her to hand it over.
"You just have to.."
Ursula's well-manicured, long-fingernailed hand went to her chin.
She had grown her naiIs long to please her fiance; she ran one
of them across her high, chiseled cheekbone.
I knew that Ursula could crack any safe short of Fort Knox; I
didn't know where she had picked up the skill, but I had seen her
more than once approach a locked safe with nothing more than a
stethoscope and her steady nerves and fingers...
In light of her recent drinking, that already worried me...
"So what you need is a little skilled muscle, right?", Ursula
asked. "You need someone who can get in, open the safe and get
the papers and leave without being detected? And take care of
herself in case she can't get out...? Sort of a `two for the
price of one' deal, right?"
"Yeah, that too", the blonde said. "This Raye-Anne lives alone.
So it would be one-on-one if it came to that, I guess...Like you
said, muscle's what I need. Skilled, fast, muscle." She looked
my bosslady up and down.
Ursula stood and turned away from the blonde and slid off her
suit jacket, handing it to me to hold. She then turned around
again and presented a muscle-packed body to the blonde, with only
a small black bra holding in the huge breasts. They looked as
though they were ready to explode through the sheer undercloth,
as though they were angry at this imprisonment.
Ursula hit a stage pose, and I was doubly pleased at the sight.
Firstly, because any view of her flesh was hot-heaven for me; but
also because it was the first time she had intentionally
displayed any muscle since the break-up.
Booze or not, my bosslady could still flex 'em; she was ripped
and huge as the slabs of sinew re-appeared.
My gorgeous hearthrob rippled with massive muscle commanded to
life; I was proud to see her bring that force to bear again. I
looked at the heavily painted face of the blonde bimbo, and I was
secretly proud of the startling body my bosslady displayed;
thickly packed with muscle that made me delirious each time I saw
it...
"Holy shit", the blonde said. "You're built almost as big as
Raye-Anne..."
Almost?
"By the way", Ursula asked her, "how did you get my name?"
Angela shrugged. "I asked the cop across the street if she knew
any private eyes, and she said you were right up here. So, I
came..."
Maria. We owed her one.
"What we need", Ursula said, "is a diversion."
"What kind of diversion?", the blonde asked.
Ursula paced the room, still clad above the waist in only the
tiny bra.
"What about a guy? She lives alone, you said. So she isn't
married?"
Angela's nose wrinkled. "Raye-Anne? No way. She goes through
men like kleenex. 'Specially guys like him", she said, jerking
her thumb at me as I sat at my desk; she did not even look at me.
"Really?", Ursula said, her gaze going to me as though the very
idea was strange. "You sure about this, Ms. Sternwood?"
Angela looked at me. "Hey, buddy, stand up." Ursula nodded to
me to obey.
She looked me up and down with a bored look. "Yeah, just like
him. She likes them much smaller than she is. And with no body
hair, too. None. Not even, you know, down there", she said,
---
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