She Fucked Him To Death

Rich elderly man with Hispanic gold-digger companion or wife

by Cristiano Caffieri

Levi Parks didn’t need to hang out a shingle. The people who required his special services always seemed to know exactly where to find him. That was certainly the case with Lisa Beaubien-Arcor.

Ms. Beaubien-Arcor was woman in her fifties who had definitely avoided the ravages of time – or had them surgically removed. She wore a dress that made the Oscars’ red carpet look like a trip to Walgreens. Lisa donned so much jewelry, she never left home unless escorted by a man who looked like two football players glued together.

Her super-stretched-elongated-and-stretched-a-little-more limo pulled up outside of the Levi Parks Detective Agency and Full Body Massage Parlor. The muscle-bound hoodlum stayed outside as she slinked into Parks’ wood-paneled office. The shortness of her dress, gave the lucky proprietor a perfect view of Trinidad and most of Tobago.

Lisa laid her cards out on the table.  “I’m looking for a private investigator,” she announced, “And I’m looking for the best.”

“And luckily, you’ve found him ma’am,” he mumbled, walking over to the cocktail cabinet and offering her a drink. “And I can guarantee you that I’ll find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

“I don’t drink and I don’t like dealing with those that do,” she growled, adjusting her mink wrap to punctuate the point.

“Well I ain’t that fussy,” he announced, downing three shots of scotch and a pre-chilled pitcher of margarita mix. “I deal with drunks, junkies, hookers, pimps, mobsters and some cases that don’t involve the Catholic Church – all I give a damn about is do you have the money.”

“Oh, I have the money, you two-bit, wonky-legged Shamus – can you deliver the goods?”

“Isn’t it as obvious as that vagina under your dress? I eat, breathe and piss other people’s business. Speaking of… “

Levis pulled open his desk drawer and began to urinate into it. There’s actually a funnel in the drawer that leads down to a bucket under the desk. It’s a cheap private eye trick but it’s effective. It made the clients believe that Levi was capable of anything, plus, it allowed him to show off his cock to all the female clients.  Sure enough, Lisa spilled her rich, jewel-encrusted guts all over his office floor. Her father, Whitfield, was about to marry a woman who was only after him for his money.  “She’s only 28 and she’s seen three rich geriatric husbands off to the cemetery already,” she revealed as she rose to pour herself a drink.

“I thought you didn’t partake,” he queried, zipping up his pants.

“I’m rich. I lie a lot.”

“Well, I’m poor. The closest I’ve ever come to Beef Wellington is eating a Quarter Pounder out of the bottom of a rubber boot. What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“I want you to dig around and get all the dirt you can get on Brooke Petersen, formerly Grovenor, formerly Banks-Foley formerly God knows who! I want hard facts – indisputable evidence that I can present to my love-struck father,” she hissed, “This marriage must not go ahead.”

Lisa tossed a roll of a hundred dollar bills the size of Mike Tyson’s neck onto his desk and headed off for brunch with a group of women she hated. Mr. Private Dick counted his dough and floated along on the ghost of her perfume. Then, the first thing Levi did after paying his back office rent, his back apartment rent, his bar bill, his laundry lady, his mechanic and the guy who stands outside the liquor store and makes duck noises, was to call Chantelle. She was an old friend who ran the biggest escort service in the entire city.

“Sure I know Brooke,” she said, “I taught her everything she knows.”

“Does that include preparing a tasty bouillabaisse that’s five parts antifreeze?”

“If you’re thinking murder darling you can forget it, she just fucks them to death. The dearly departed were all exceedingly old.”

“You’re saying she’s a lethal piece of ass?”

“I’m saying her late husbands all died with a smile on their chops. Getting some rich old fuck to pop his clogs while in the act is a time honored tradition. The girls in the business call it ‘The Hump and Slump.’”

The more Levi got to know about the future Mrs. Whitfield Beaubien the more intrigued he became. Banking on the fact that his good looks and masculine charm had allowed him to cavort with some of the most beautiful women in town, he donned his Ronco Super-Spy Glasses and headed out on the most important  and dangerous case of his career.

The Beaubien estate turned out to be bigger than some European countries but without all the really hard to spell names. He half expected someone to check his passport as he drove up the endless driveway. There was no doubt that the future Mrs. Brooke Beaubien would be cumming into a lot of cold hard cash once her future husband was cold and hard.

As he neared the mansion, he was fretted that he’d be greeted by some slab-faced butler and wouldn’t get to meet his quarry. Luckily, he had a cover that appealed to rich scumbags with egos where their hearts should be. Levi would pretend to be an architectural Historian wishing to take a few pics of the manse for one of those big thick snotty magazines that people who wished they were rich bought.

In the garden facing the house was a very ornate gazebo. The eagle-eyed Shamus caught site of a gorgeous woman tending the tulips and hydrangeas. He looked her up and down but then wanted to get down and look up her. Levi had a hunch, mostly to hide the boner in his pants; he was definitely going to have to start wearing longer suit jackets. Yeah, she sure looked like a woman capable of sucking and fucking a man to death. He didn’t need that photo in his pocket to know this was his mark. This woman had hands that were made for scraping grave dirt off her shoes.

The toughest dick in the world gave the deadliest woman this side of Andromeda a steely stare.

“You must be Mr. Levi Parks,” she said, “I was expecting you.”

He knew Chantelle wouldn’t betray him. He liked women he couldn’t trust because they never let him down. That’s why I always got his nephew to drive his car when he suspected the brake lines had been cut. He didn’t know whether Brooke would attempt that kind of thing but Levi had the ‘neph stowed in the trunk, just in case.

“I suspected you might have some spies in your future daughter-in-law’s cabal of friends,” he coolly replied.

 “Let’s not call them spies – let’s call them friends,” she smiled, detaching one of his retinas with a heave of her breasts. “You’re not going to find any skeletons in my closet,” she said, dragging a key down the side of his car, “I did once work for escort agency but I never offered sex to my clients.”

He wasn’t convinced but he kept listening as she pulled off one of his windshield wipers.

“I found that I liked the company of much older men and that I could bring them happiness. The fact that they couldn’t stand the rigors of my love is not really my fault and I’ve certainly not committed any crime.”

“But you inherited mountains of cash from your other three husbands – why a fourth?”

“Because my fiancé was a friend of my last late husband Freddie,” she paused. “I think it was Freddie. Anyway, someone told him what a good fuck I was and Whitfield proposed to me at his wake. Why don’t you drive what’s left of your car around the back to the guest house and I’ll show you how deadly I can be.”

His heart began to pump and his eyes began to water.  The thought of sliding his wad into her plump and pampered pussy had him sweating like a bear in a sauna under his suit. Sure there were huge risks, but Levi laughed at death for a living and Brooke was definitely a chortle he was willing to take. Besides, if he did indeed have a date with a ball peen hammer in that guest cottage, he could always get his nephew to drive him to the hospital.  

Once inside, Brooke suggested they take a shower together.

“You mean with all our clothes off?” he inquired hopefully.

Brooke unzipped her dress and left it to gravity to do the rest. Her fetching frock raced his jaw to the floor. She was a supermodel who ate actual food. A blinding, glistening diamond that made all other women look like lumps of soggy coal. A Greek Goddess that was accustomed to being Greeked. Her tits alone made him wish that he was rich and old with a heart condition.

The shower was twice the size of his apartment, which meant it was a little snug in there for the two of them. Brooke turned on the water and began to apply the French-milled soap to his taut and trim torso. Soon two soft, warm, lathered sponges where circulating around his balls. As he leaned back against the glass and closed his eyes, she clamped his shaft between two late marine-organism sponges and skillfully worked them up and down.

Breathing heavy in the steamy atmosphere, he began to feel the sperm heating up in his nutsack. Before he knew it, Levi let out a primeval grunt and began spewing an unexpected load. Forty-nine seconds. A record! Man, she was good! Brooke giggled as his goo mingled with the soapy water. He pulled her up to meet his awaiting lips and smothered her in a massive soul kiss. Her talented tongue danced about his mouth as his hands dined upon her peerless breasts.

Levi had kissed a lot of broads in his time but he’d never experienced anything quite so intense. She sucked so hard his ears popped and his balls disappeared.

All this professional foreplay had his cock begging for a rematch. He drew his soapy body against hers, aching to sink his twitching fuckstick into her ripe and syrupy crack. Realizing that sex in the shower is absolute shit – it’s super great but still absolute shit – they raced to the bed in the other room. Picking her up in his sinewy arms, Levi flung her onto the mattress so she might receive him. Brooke spread her legs open wide, like he was an hedge fund broker, and bade him enter her.

Levi feasted on her soft and scented skin as his penis rubbed up and down her slippery vulva, waiting for that epic moment of penetration. Brooke grasped his shaft in her hand and guided the head of his wang through her sopping aperture and deep into her cock cave. Levi’s brain started to spark. The incalculable concupiscent carnival found within her body was head-spinning. It felt like the end of his dick had been snorting cocaine.  

Brooke was a fornicating fiend. She bucked her hips and writhed around on the bed like demented spirits had taken hold inside her. She moaned, she swore, she sank her nails into his nards as Levi drove his rampaging knob deep into her pulsating pleasure pit. Levi was helpless, lost on a storming sea of lubricious wonders. All he could do was close his eyes and drift into paradise as Brooke rhythmically worked her pelvis as if synchronized with some inaudible metronome of sex.

When Levi finally exploded, he came so deeply, he half expected his tongue to spurt out the end of his cock. He pressed his hilt hard against her fuck hole as he emptied untold gobs of molten goop up into her uterus, drenching the walls of her vagina and spackling her cervix. In the blink of a banker’s eye, Brooke flipped him over like an Olympic wrestler and sucked the last few drops of semen from the end of his devastated rod.

As Levi lay there, floating in an afterglow of indescribable yum, Brooke stuck the tip of her tongue up his ass. Sigh. He never had a chance.

Needless to say that Lisa Beaubien-Arcor was not especially happy when she got his official report that read, “I think she’ll make your father very, very happy.”

Two months later, Brooke stood between Levi and her new fiancé at Whitfield Beaubien’s funeral. As they were lowering the pine box (why waste money on a dead guy?) into the ground, she whispered into his ear. “When you pissed into your center drawer, you had a funnel in there right? And it led to a bucket under your desk.”

God, she was good! She was very, very good.


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Copyright 2022 Cristiano Caffieri

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