The Horny Heiress

by Paddy Killeen

When Amelia Durnen walked into my office one Saturday morning I knew I was going to make the front page of all the tabloids. Her every move attracted the press, she’d had more coverage than the potato famine and was better know that the Taoiseach or the President of Ireland.

From the age of sixteen, when she ran away to Europe with her tutor, through her four marriages to some of the wealthiest men in the world, she’d been the darling of the press corps. Even climbing out of her Rolls in downtown Dublin would attract half a dozen photographers fighting to give their readers a faint glimpse of her panties. She was a celebrity without compare.

Obviously, someone of her breeding would find my office both tasteless and untidy and she didn’t waste any time telling me that it looked like a shithole.

“I like it that way,” I said, “it’s got atmosphere,”

“But is there anywhere I can sit without the risk of serious contamination?” she asked with a faint sardonic smile on her face.

I quickly moved Snowy my cat off of the sofa, dusted a spot with my hand and suggested she sat down. She turned down my offer of coffee and instead pointed to my bottle of Jack Daniels and inquired if I had a clean glass.

As we sat sipping our Kentucky Bourbon, it was hard to focus on what she was telling me because my eyes were riveted to her long nylon clad legs. And when she bent over, attempting to find an empty spot on the coffee table to place her empty glass, I got a view of those magnificent mammary glands that had been fondled by some of the most influential men in the world.

The Durnen family, as would be expected, lived in one of the most beautiful castles in Ireland and until recently Amelia lived there with her extended family. However, one by one they had suffered unfortunate and fatal accidents. Or, so it seemed.

Although the press had attributed the fatalities to the curse of Dundurnen Castle, and the Gardai had found nothing suspicious about the deaths, she was not convinced.

“My grandfather tripped on the stone steps at the front of the house and died from a skull fracture,” she said, “then my mother ran into one of the stone gateposts with her car and a few weeks later my father drove his Land Rover into a lake on the estate. The Gardai had the effrontery to suggest that he was so distraught over my mother and his father, he committed suicide.”

Tears were beginning to run down her cheeks as she said that apart from the twelve servants she was now all alone at Dundurnen. I offered her my handkerchief but she politely refused it and rummaged through her purse for a tissue.

“Mr. Killeen,” she said, after taking a deep breath, “I’d like you to come and stay at the castle and investigate these deaths, I refuse to believe they were all accidental.”

Before I agreed to take on the case I asked if there had been any attempts on her life. She shook her head. Then I asked who’d benefit if she died. She shuddered at the thought but then said it would go to her brother who was somewhere in South America helping the poor.

“Didn’t he inherit under your father’s will?”

“Well, father didn’t really have any money I’ve subsidized the estate for years, thanks to my four ex-husbands.”

“But didn’t he get a share of the estate itself?”

“No, father left that all to me, he knew Crispin would want to sell it and put the money in the charitable trust that he runs. Father didn’t have anything against the poor but the castle has been in the family for hundreds of years. He wanted to keep it that way.”

She went on to explain that she hadn’t seen her brother for several years and had little contact until she hired an old friend of his as a gardener.
“What do you know about this gardener?”

“Oh Tatham’s OK, he does a good job and is always respectful.”

“Did he have a letter of introduction from your brother?”

“Better than that he had a couple of photographs of him and Crispin together, they lived in some remote village high in the Peruvian rain forest, teaching the Indians improved methods of cultivation.”

“So your brother’s an expert in agriculture?”

“Oh yes, he studied at in England and America before he took off.”

“And who finances him?”

“Well he had some money of his own but Tatham did say he was running a bit low and so I sent some funds to an address he gave me.

“Did you receive a reply?”

“Yes – he went to the nearest town and emailed me. But what has this got to do with the deaths at Dundurnen?”

“I just like to get as much background material as possible before I take a job on.”

“So you’ll come out to the castle and stay for a few days?”

“I’ll be there this evening,” I said.

She arose from the chair, shook my hand in the most ladylike way and left the room like a graceful Gazelle. I poured myself another drink and I sat thinking about those long legs and what it would feel like to have them wrapped around my back. Eventually, I had to return to earth, where I flung a few things into a travel bag and drove the 50 K or so to Dundurnen.

I was ushered into the impressive edifice by Yeats the butler and on to the west terrace where cucumber sandwiches and Oolong Tea were awaiting my pleasure. Amelia, wearing a long flowing gown invited me to sit down. Just for the fun of it, I did examine the cups for cleanliness before she played mother. My sense of humor was not wasted on her and she gave a little smile.

“You seemed very interested in my brother Mr. Killeen and so I’ve pulled out the two photos for you to look at.”

I scrutinized them carefully. Crispin, a good looking young man with a strained smile on his face was flanked by Phillip Tatham on one side and a man she identified as Joe Mulligan on the other.

“He’s another friend of my brother,” she said, “they’re all involved with the same project.”

I took out my trusty magnifying glass for a closer look and I got one of my pings, the little noise that goes off in my head when I think I’ve made a significant discovery. In this case, studying the background in the photographs it looked a bit like our three young NGO workers were in some sort of prison. Not the modern barred structure that we’re used to seeing but possible a local rural lock-up.

After we’d polished off those delicately prepared sandwiches Amelia took me out to see the scene of each accident. I took a few measurements and some photos and then we returned to the house for dinner. I told her that I didn’t have anything particularly dressy and she said that a T-shirt and blazer looked good on me and not to worry.

“That’s your style,” she said, “don’t change it on my account.”

I washed up in the beautifully appointed room I’d been assigned and when the gong sounded and I emerged onto the landing I discovered that my equally beautiful host was my next door neighbor. And I also discovered that she had a sense of humor, as she was wearing a very short mini-skirt and high heels topped off with a T-shirt and blazer.

“How do I look,” she asked twirling around.

“Like every woman in the world should look I smiled,” as she took me by the arm and escorted me down the marble staircase to the dining room.

To say the table looked elegant, or even opulent would have been an understatement. The china, the glassware and the monogrammed cutlery could have graced the tables of the crown heads of Europe without embarrassment.

The two of us were seated close together and not at opposing ends like one often sees in cartoons. And during dinner, which was accompanied with an excellent bottle of 1990 Domaine de la Romanee-Conti, we shot the shit and laughed a good deal.

Retiring to the drawing room for coffee and liqueur, she sat next to me on the overstuffed sofa and suddenly became quite serious.

“Do you think my family members were murdered?” she asked.

“I think it’s a distinct possibility.”

“Do you think I could be next on the list?”

I said that was also a possibility and she went strangely quiet.

“Who would benefit from your death apart from your brother?” I inquired, trying to attract her attention, as her mind seemed to have wandered off somewhere.

“Nobody,” she mumbled, and then realizing the implications she looked me straight in the eye and yelled, “you’re not suggesting Crispin would kill off all the people he loves to gain the estate are you?”

I explained that I always started my inquiries by including every eventuality no matter how remote, gradually eliminating one possibility at a time. She calmed down and changed the subject as though she couldn’t cope with any more unpleasant suggestions.

“The woman who gave me your name described you as a great detective and an extraordinary lover, she smiled, “do you make it a practice to seduce all of your clients?”

“Only the females,” I replied, flippantly.

“So you admit having an eye for the ladies.”

“I admire beauty.”

“And how did I score when I walked into your office.”

“Eleven out of ten.”

“I should be flattered.”

“No – I should be flattered that you chose me to help you with your problem.”

“Do you know what my problem is right now?” she asked, moving her face so close to mine I could feel her hot breath on my cheek, “ I’m feeling awfully horny.”

With that, she gently touched my lips with hers and then withdrew, as if to say, ”Your move.”

Although I had a hard on that had driven my foreskin all the way back to my balls I decided to savor every moment of this encounter. Rushing things would have been like serving a vintage wine in a shot glass. I wanted to take my time and so I placed my hand on her leg and moved the hem of her skirt back to expose her lacy panties that barely covered her crack.

Her body went stiff for a moment. With my left hand still on her thigh, I used my right to slip up her Tshirt where I made contact with her soft warm tits. I rubbed my palm over her nipples and then pressed my lips against hers.

As the lady said, I’m not inexperienced in these matters but there was something about her that was very, very special. My whole body was beginning to tingle as if all my nerve endings were short circuiting. However, I didn’t give in to the urge where I would have crushed my lips against hers and groped her all over.

In the end, it was Amelia that let loose and as her tongue plunged into my mouth her hand reached down and grabbed onto my cock. After that, it was a matter of tearing each other’s clothes off and we ended up lying on a Bear Skin Rug rolling around naked like two sex starved teenagers. Then she suddenly broke loose and began to run around on all fours like a dog, with her tits swaying from side to side and her ass in the air just inviting penetration.

It seemed a little crazy but a piece of tail is a piece of tail and so I bounded after her like an overgrown Wolf Hound and grabbed onto her hips, dragged her back so she was in line with my dick and drove it into her. She gasped as I gave a quick thrust or two and put my arms around her holding onto her pendulous breasts. I only managed to thrust it in and out a few times when the crazy bitch broke loose and hopped onto the sofa as if she was a real dog. I just stood up and looked down at her for a few seconds, I was a little confused as to what she wanted it was then that she lunged at me and took my cock into her mouth and began to suck hard. For support, I fell forward and hung onto the back of the sofa.

I was beginning to sweat as she kneaded my balls with both hands and took my dick so far into her mouth when I shot my load it must have coated her tonsils. There was no way I was going to admit it at the time but she completely shagged me out and when she stuck her ass up in the air again I had a job to get it hard enough to penetrate. However, when her warm, well-lubricated cunt wrapped around it I was ready to pound her pussy with a vengeance but that’s when the butler came into the room.

“Can I get you anything before I retire madam?” he asked, appearing to be oblivious to the fact that I had my dick stuck up her.
“No I think that will be all – thank you Yeats. “

As he left the room, she suddenly yelled: “Fuck me Paddy and fill me up with cum.”

I was a bit hesitant as I thought the gardener might suddenly appear asking if he should prune the roses in the morning. As we did seem to be alone at last, and by now I was a little frustrated I grabbed onto her tits really hard and I pounded her cunt as if I was cleaning a rat’s nest out of a pipe. She loved it and two hours later I was allowed to retire with my cock feeling as though it had been in a meat grinder.

The next morning during breakfast I asked her at what time of the day the dubious accidents occurred, she told me they all happened after dark. Suddenly I got another one of my pings and I hurriedly finished my coffee and made for the building where all the garden tools and supplies were kept. I searched it thoroughly and high on a shelf I found what I was looking for, it was a laser gun. I had a feeling that our man Tatham had hidden and laid in wait for the so called accident victims and blinded them with the laser as they drove on the estate. In the case of the grandfather, he had concealed himself in the nearby bashes and then flashed the light in his eyes as he was about to descend the steps.

My next job was to examine those photographs where I thought her brother looked under duress; I then phoned Wanda, my landlady, whose past experience serving with an Italian Intelligence Agency came in useful from time to time. I asked her to do some checking with the Peruvian authorities. and spent the rest of the morning checking the accident locations again and then it was time for an elegant lunch with Amelia.

She asked me if I was making any progress and I told her I was.

“So you don’t think they were accidents?” she cried, excitedly.

“No, I don’t,” I replied, “and I don’t want you to drive in the dark until this case is solved.”

She looked absolutely terrified but then asked me once again if I was suggesting her brother was involved. When I said I wasn’t sure she got quite angry and told me that the whole idea of him wanting to kill off the family members one by one was preposterous.

“He’s not even in the country,” she said, “how could he be responsible?”

“I don’t think we can prove where he is at the moment but we do know he has a friend here.”

“You mean Tatham?” she gasped, “Mr. Killeen I think you are letting your imagination run wild.”

“I didn’t tell her about the laser gun I’d found because I couldn’t prove it was Tatham’s. The tool shed had no lock on it, consequently, anyone could have concealed it there, although he was my prime suspect.

My accusations seemed to send her into a moody silence and that was good because I really needed to concentrate on the job at hand. We had a quiet supper together and then slipped back into Dun Laoghaire to consult with Wanda, who told me she’d uncovered some important information.

She was still in my office where she’d been using my computer and phone. When I got there she reported that she’d managed to trace him through his charity website, which included a phone number. Amelia had never mentioned having seen a website, I guess she’d never had time between marriages and lovers to look it up.

Wanda got her husband to speak to him in Irish, “He didn’t even recognize the language,” she said. Of course lots of Irish people don’t speak the language fluently but they usually have a smattering, apparently, he didn’t have one word. She had concluded that she was speaking to someone pretending to be Crispin. Probably the recipient of the money Amelia sent. She handed me a file she put together and I headed back to the castle.

I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions until I’d asked my client about her brother’s language skills. However, when I got back she wasn’t there. Yeats told me that she’d received a call from her brother who had arrived at Dublin Airport from South America. I didn’t have her cell number to call her but I thought I could prevent yet another accident by taking possession of the laser. Unfortunately, it was gone. It looked like Tatham had gotten there first.

I had intended to talk to my suspect and other members of the staff the following day so I’d not actually seen him apart from the photo that Amelia had. Now he was out there presumably waiting for her to come home when she realized her brother wasn’t there. That could have taken hours.

I figured he wouldn’t want to commit another killing on the property and I racked my brain for a location between the estate and Dublin that would be ideal for another accident. There was a very dangerous bend in the road about 5 kilometers away and I decided to take a look at that. When I asked Yeats what kind of car Tatham drove he said he didn’t have a car, he rode a motorcycle.

Heading out towards the location I slowly scoured the bend and sure enough, there was a bike tucked in beside some trees and in the shadows, I saw a man I presumed to be Tatham. When I stopped the car he looked in a bit of a panic and quickly climbed on his bike but I managed to run alongside him as he pulled out onto the road and I punched him in the side of the head as hard as I could. He and his fancy dancy machine skidded across the road and almost got hit by an oncoming vehicle.

Tatham would have got up but he couldn’t, I had to drag him to my car, where I bundled him into the back seat and put the cuffs on him. Back at the castle, I gagged my prisoner to stop him calling out and then I dumped him in the tool shed and waited for Amelia to return.

I really didn’t have anything on the accused that would stand up in court until I searched his room and found three false passports, a gun and a quantity of drugs. I presented these to the Gardai, along with the laser gun and hoped that they would be able to make a case stick against him. Presuming her brother was dead and Tatham’s colleague had assumed his identity, hoping to inherit the family fortune, my client wanted me to go to Peru with her but I had other commitments. In the end, I persuaded her to take my friend Michael Noiseaux along, he spoke Spanish and French and had a martial arts background. He was the perfect international traveling companion.

Three weeks later, after working things out with the Peruvian authorities, Michael returned. He was pale and worn from his ordeal, as he had shared a room with Amelia for the whole time he was away. The other two Michaels and myself, wanting to listen to his sexual exploits, and perhaps restore the color to his cheeks, plied him with enough Guinness to float a battleship. He does claim that she offered him a permanent job as her personal assistant but he didn’t think running around naked on all fours was quite the position he was looking for. THE END

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LEGAL
Copyright 2017 Paddy Killeen
The characters portrayed in my stories are, for intents and purposes fictional and any similarity to persons living or dead is purely a product of your imagination.
You may not sell, license, sub-license, rent, transfer or distribute any part of my stories or images in any format, or claim ownership.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
In an effort to blend reality with fiction the author and the protagonist are essentially one and the same. Their oneness is reflected in their choices, their backgrounds and their obvious dislike for the conventional

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