It was Tuesday. Shrove Tuesday. And I'd never really gotten the hang of Tuesdays,
Shrove or otherwise. I'd spent a totally pointless day going through the morgue
files at the Post-Herald-Dispatch for some leads on a messy divorce case I was
doing as a favor for old times sake and $250 a day plus expenses. I hate divorce
cases. They stick to your shorts. The name on the directory for office 2-D said
"JOE KINK--Investigations", and since it was my name and my racket I figured I
might as well climb the stairs and see what the answering machine had to say for
itself. I know us private dicks are supposed to have big dumb blonde secretaries
with boobs by the bushel basket, but I never saw any point in paying a person to
do what a machine could do just as well or better. Of course, it works both ways,
so I never bought a vibrator either. Anyhow, a quick stoop to pick up the
envelopes promising me a microwave if I'd look at some resort property about a
hundred miles from nowhere put me down where I could see through the one pane of
frosted glass still unbroken and boarded over into my room, and what I saw made
me curious.

There was an outline visible that definitely appeared to be woman- shaped, if
memory served, and that probably meant trouble. Dames always meant trouble in my
book. Of course, I never learned to read much, just to look at the pictures, and
pictures of dames usually meant fun, so I decided to take a chance and pushed the
door open with stealth, catlike grace, and a loud creaking howl from the well-
rusted hinge.

She was tall, she was a redhead, and there was something strange about the way
she stood there. She didn't move, and while I'm not always raped on the spot by
strange women, they usually wiggle at least a little bit when they get a load of
my devil-may-care smile, my flashing eyes, and my gold Visa Express card.

Then I got the picture. The dame was tied up. Tight. Under the trench coat, which
I removed solely in the interests of forensic science, she was naked and bound as
tight as King Tut's aunt Petunia. Her wrists were tied to the tops of her
well-turned thighs, her elbows looped to a rope that ran just under her gorgeous
jugs, and her knees and ankles were trussed tighter than a goner gobbler before a
football Thursday in fall.

I was just about to give thanks for this big-titted high-heeled gift from the
gods, when I noticed that even her lips were tongue-tied. A clever flesh-colored
piece of tape had been slapped over her face, and an artfully painted set of
phoney lips were etched over the silenced real ones underneath.

"Okay, sister." I sighed, " We can do this the easy way or we can do this the
hard way. It'll hurt you more than it'll hurt me, and you know its for your own
good. Its always darkest before the dawn, so get me some clean sheets and plenty
of hot water!"

I couldn't think of any more cliches to stall the inevitable, so I grabbed the
corner of the tape gag and pulled it off with a mighty yank that sent the
redheaded dame dazzling down onto the moth-eaten orange naugahyde divan that was
left over from the days a horny Hollywood agent had used it for his casting
couch.

"Woooowie!" she smiled, enjoying the ripping pain, "You sure give good tape Mr.
Kink."

"Call me Joe, babe. What brings you to see me? An appliance dolly?"

"Can the clever shoptalk, shamus. I got trouble. Big trouble. And I heard you
were the kind of dick who thinks with his meat."

She knew all about me. I had no idea how she'd done it, but she had me dead to
rights. Not everybody knew I was a bondage buff, but I guess when you beat an
entire troop of cub scouts in a knot-tying contest, fame is inevitable. Of
course, the kids never had a chance. I tied up two blondes and gave them to the
judges. They used two sticks.

"Okay, doll. What gives? How come you're tied and waiting for me and how come you
know so much, and how come you got in here without a key, and how come you got up
the stairs in that condition, and while you're at it, how come salmon swim
upstream ?"

I thought I had her there, but she answered with the answer that I'd been hearing
ever since I was a teenager bringing my ropes and my rod to the service of horny
housewives all over East Merrick, New Jersey.

"Its my husband, Joe." she said with a smirk.

It was a good smirk. A really good smirk. Especially coming from a babe wearing
nothing but ropes and the smirk itself. The fact that I'd never seen a bad smirk
on a naked bound babe was irrelevant. So ignore it. I did.

"Now that I've got your attention, Joe, let me explain...." And she did, dotting
every t and crossing every i, which was another twisted thing about her I grew to
love and cherish in those brief days and nights.

It seemed her husband, Wade Barker III, scion of the North Campbell Barkers,
famous for their holdings in gold, diamonds, cattle, and brussels sprouts
futures, had a thing for bondage about as heavy as my own, and often left Mrs. B.
tied up like this out in public for sport. Some people prefer hockey.

Perverts.

Anyway, when he left her alone on the grounds of the family manse, it seemed to
be more of his usual kinky fun, but eight hours later she'd wiggled her way up to
the main house only to find old Wade- In-The-Shade laid out dead as a
door-to-door steak salesman in a lion's den.

She'd managed to find my address in the yellow pages letting her nose do the
walking since her fingers were otherwise engaged with fine manilla sash cord, and
had hopped along to my office, arriving only moments before I did, to get my
help.

"So you wanna know whodunit, huh Mrs. Barker?" I summed up.

"Its Babs to you Joey baby, and sure, it'd be nice to know all the answers
eventually. But in the meanwhile, could you change my position? My left big toe
is beginning to cramp."

Anybody who knows me will tell you I can never deny a beautiful babe in bondage
anything, so I gave her all the hospitality my simple digs could manage, binding
her into the portable carbon-alloy stainless-steel pillory I kept in the front
closet for just such an occasion. With her hands and head locked in at my waist
level, I knew she'd be more relaxed. For about three seconds. I was standing in
front of her in two.

"Suck dick, doll" I whispered, springing into action.

"Mmmmmphghhhhmmmmrrrrrgh!" she said, displaying all of the wit and subtle
badinage that is a dead giveaway of high breeding and low morals.

Just to give her a little encouragement, I swatted her wiggling butt with the tip
of my hand-tooled three-tailed East Borneo jousting flagella which I'd picked up
at the local Useless-Bamboo-Oriental-Junk-R-Us store's going-out-of-business
sale. Useless huh? Hah! Useless indeed!

Babs was really jamming and slamming in her rigid imprisonment in the yokes of
the pillory, and I was getting an extra suck of desire with each stinging lash I
delivered to her bouncing bumcheeks.

That's when it came to me like a voice out of another dimension. A ringing,
piercing, crying harbinger that ran up my spine, around my collar and into my ear
like a bedbug in a Miami motel.

"Pull out, Joe! Pull out! This thing is going deeper than you know! Deeper than
you can handle! Pull out! Pull out now before its too late!"

With a pop like Guy Lombardo's last bottle of New Years' Cordon Rouge, I
extracted my wiggling will-o-the-wisp of wench-whapping wand from Babs' bounteous
blubbery bouche d'amour. The suction nearly had me beside myself, but I kept my
wits about me and my digit intact.

There was no easy way to do it. I had to break it to her, and I knew she was
gonna fall hard.

"Party's over, sweettooth. It was you, wasn't it. It was you all along!"

"What do you mean, Joe? What are you talking about? Shut up and ram that big gat
of yours up my tingly twatty-poo now that its all hard and hungry for me! I need
you in my captive crevice soooooo bad!"

"You're good, dollface, I'll give you that. You're very, very good. But it won't
wash. I've got your number, and its the twelve digit one that'll be under your
picture at the State Honor Rancho For Built Broads. You're gonna take the big
fall, sweetmeat.

But don't worry. You'll like prison. Lots of handcuffs and cells, and even a few
nice husky dyke guards with loose whips and tight lips to sink your hips into. In
fact, for a sexy sicko dame like you, it'll hardly be punishment at all."

"What makes you think you know so much, smartass?" she spit out from her position
bent over in the stocks.

"Oh, I see all those women's prison pictures. I'm a fucking expert." I explained.
"You know the ones: 'Sing Sing Sluts', 'Dykes In Chains', 'The Warden Wore
Support House', 'Big Bamboo Dolls In Houses Of Steel', 'Whip Me Another',
'Hellhole Whores'....

"No you blithering VCR addict! Not that! I mean how do you figure you've got me
over a barrel?"

Although that seemed like a pretty silly thing for a naked woman in a pillory to
say, I let her have it hard and straight.

"Ungh!" She cried as I rammed it home, whispering sweet nothings into her
shell-like ears over the rim of the stocks.

"You killed Wade Barker III. You got pretty good at moving around in bondage,
didn't you? So good at hopping, that you managed to jump right up and kick the
poor dumb perverted son-of-a-bitch to death! You danced on his grave, baby, and
then you hippity-hopped over here to give yourself an alibi. A poor dumb shamus
with a thing for tied up twat. It was all too perfect, except for one little
mistake."

I paused for effect. It had none. So I drove myself another three inches into her
and fingered her tight butthole. That did it.

"Oh god I'm coming, Joe! What mistake?"

I smiled and got ready to unload it all. "You weren't totally naked in your
bondage, were you baby? No, that wouldn't be fetish enough for a kinky dame like
you. You had to add a little style to your sleaze. You needed a little extra
touch. I saw it right away when I came in here a while ago. You were naked, sure,
but you had on those sexy black patent high heels. And I'll bet the coroner will
be able to match those heel prints with the little round holes on old Wade's
forehead."

"Mggggghhhhyessssssss! I'm commmmmmmmminnnnnnggggg!" Babs bubbled as I unloaded
all my hot love gism, anointing her hungry hole with my dominant dew.

"Save it for the judge, sweetheart. Save it for the judge."

I reached for the phone, dripping with sweat and other fluids too numerous to
mention in a family magazine, when she cried out from her post-orgasmic coma.

"Wait a minute Joe. Wait and think. You don't want all those dykes in the big
doll house to have me, do you? I want YOU to have me Joe. What do you care if
Wade is dead. You didn't even know him! And now I'm free, easy, and very rich. We
could build a cozy little bungalow! Two simple rooms, a living room and a
dungeon! Just you, me, the rack, the pillory, and the iron maiden! You could whip
me every morning, and pinch my titties every night! It'd be heaven, Joe! Heaven
on earth! What the heck do you care about my husband? Let it be, Joe. Let it be
and let me be your rich, sexy love slave for ever and ever more! "

I gave it some thought. . .I gave it some more thought. . I gave it a bit more
thought.

I thought it sounded real good.

Until it hit me: Wade tied her....I tied her. Wade whipped her....I whipped her.
Wade fucked her....and man did I ever fuck her! Wade and me, we had a lot in
common. We had Babs in common. We had bondage in common.

"Sorry, sweetheart." I replied as I zipped up my J.C. Nickles chinos with a
zinging zip. "No can do." "Why not, Joe? Why the hell not?"

"The way I see it sweetheart, I didn't know Wade, and maybe I wouldn't even have
liked him much. But Wade and me....well, we was partners. And when somebody kills
your partner, you're supposed to do something about it. You're supposed to do
something, that's all." So saying, I made my call.

And I left her there for the cops. I couldn't stand the sight of some other man
slapping the cuffs on those tender wrists of hers. I guess I kinda fell for her.
Fell hard.

But life is hard, especially in this game. Bondage isn't pretty. But its all I've
got. Its part of me. Part of my pride. Part of my soul. Part of my life.

And after all......spending the afternoon tying up a buxom redhead and fucking
her senseless sure beats working for a living. So does getting paid to write
about it.

But that's why I'm Joe Kink, Investigations, and you're reading this with two
eyes and one hand. S'okay, kid. Keep 'em tied tight though. And remember, no
matter how much you're into footwear, take their patent spikes away from them
first thing, especially on a first date. Those things leave very nasty
marks....in your forehead and in your heart.