Silence of the Hams

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ORANGE

So, that’s all this is. It’s a birthday one-shot for my buddy Orange. She’s… there are not enough words in the English language to describe Orange. She’s a multitude of them all wrapped up in a little body. So since today is the anniversary of the day her parents had sex nine months previously and then she came shooting out screaming “It’s a waterslide! Hurrah!” I thought I’d give her a present. Orange, babe, this one is TOTALLY for you.

Disclaimer: Contains NC17 Sexual content (pure smut, although it’s not PWP, because there’s 28 pages of Plot). It’s also completely insane. Based on characters owned by Tom Lynch and the N corporation

* * * * *

Spencer jogged through the soggy woods, dead leaves crackling and making unpleasant ‘blurp’ sounds as she ran. Her grey FBI sweatsuit was sweaty with sweat, and her hair hung limply over her face. Blonde tresses that often caressed the side of her head were plastered down with the unpleasant side-effects of her training.

Jumping a gate, she continued running until a buff young gentleman named Buff ran up to her. She slowed down so that he could keep pace but remained jogging. She wasn’t going to stop her work out for any gay young fella who liked it rough in the changing room.

“Cap’n wants to see you, Lieutenant,” Buff said politely, his muscles glistening in the sun.

Spencer swallowed her urge to vomit at his puny display of manliness and then reminded herself that the steroids he probably took to keep himself that buff had probably also reduced his manliness to… puny proportions.

Damn, it was good to be a lesbian.

Running down the hill to an ivy-covered brick building, she passed a bunch of people who murmured her last name at her – “Carlin” -as though she didn’t already know it.

She showered quickly and changed into her power suit. It gave her a great sense of power. It was grey, and made her eyes stand out. That wasn’t why she wore it, but it sure worked nicely to give her some standing. She was particularly proud of the shoulder pads.

Marching to the Captain’s office, she found it empty, and took a chair. Covering the wall behind his desk were a myriad of press cuttings from various newspapers. Spencer was trying to discern the writing beneath the headline “Aliens Kidnap Three-Headed Baby”, underscored with a picture of her boss shaking the hand of a man in a panda suit, when the door opened.

Captain James T Jerk was forever suffering. He suffered under his name. He suffered under his inadequacies. He suffered under the fact that he’d only risen so far in the FBI and then had failed to move further, like a soufflé forever denied the warmth of the sun. He also suffered under a hideous bouffant toupee, but that was probably his own fault.

“Captain,” Spencer said with false respect. She suffered under the Captain. She had no choice, he was her boss. One day though, one day soon, she would be promoted past him and then, then she would poison his aquarium with Coca-Cola!

It wouldn’t matter; the fish in there were plastic anyway.

“Carlin.” The chief sat down behind his desk, toupee slipping and sliding on his sweaty bald head like a large sculpture of lard.

“Sir.”

“Carlin.”

“Sir.”

It always went like this, until the Captain remembered what it was he wanted to say.

“There’s… there’s a delicate job we’re looking at.”

Oooh, work. Now this was interesting. Of late, Spencer had been reduced to investigating why the Captain’s donuts were always being stolen out of the lunch room. When she’d pointed out that he was leaving a note on top saying ‘Please eat’, he’d insisted she dig further into the problem.

Sometimes she thought sexism was still alive and well in the FBI.

“Frankly, this one requires a special touch. A woman’s touch.”

Great, she was going to end up investigating petticoats. She could see it now.

A pile of news articles landed on the desk in front of her, taken straight from the Captain’s locked drawer. After a quick perusal proved that none of them came from the National Enquirer, Spencer let herself get a little more curious.

Each article was from a small town newspaper, some of them slightly larger town newspapers, complaining of recent thefts, grave robbings, in fact. Another scan showed that each small town was somewhere in a two hundred kilometre radius of the Tennessee Appalachians.

Great, hick country.

She looked up at her boss. “This needs a delicate touch?”

The Captain sighed. “No, but by extension, that’s what you’ll be investigating.”

He leaned back in his chair. “How much do you know about… death?”

“The guy in the robe, carries a scythe, big skeletal horse thing?”

“Well, him, but more… the act of dying.”

“Er, not a lot.”

“Well, I’m going to tell you something. And this is not to leave this room you understand?”

Spencer leaned forward, anxious to hear the secret information that might unlock the key to her first real case.

“When people die… there’s… this thing that happens…”

Spencer looked eager. The FBI was privy to many secrets. Was she about to hear one?

“Many of them… are buried… with valuables.” The Captain sat back in his chair, bringing his hands up in front of him and tenting his fingers just so. “Sometimes people dig up those graves to retrieve the valuables.”

Then he stopped talking. It took a few minutes for Spencer to realize that the man had just defined ‘grave robbing’.

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” she said dryly. “Grave robbing.”

“Oh… well, uh, see, we’ve managed to get a pretty good hold on this stuff of late. Not too many grave robbings getting past this agency these days.” To punctuate his point, the Captain slammed his fist down on his desk, making the contents and Spencer jump. “But lately these bastards have been getting away with it. Frankly, we’re stumped.”

Spencer stared at him.

“We have but one choice, we have to talk to her.”

She stared at him again.

“The… death… expert.”

“The death expert?”

“Yes.” He moved his hands back to the tented finger position.

“What, the coroner?”

“Oh no… no, no, no.” He smiled, attempting to look knowledgeable but ending up looking lecherous. “You see, there is more than just belongings missing in this little puzzle, Miss Carlin.”

“Lieutenant,” she corrected crossly. She hated it when people forgot her rank, especially Captain James T. Jerk.

“The bodies are also missing.”

She gasped. This was probably a crucial piece of information and it was just like the idiot to leave it to the end. She rifled through the articles he’d handed her and frowned. There was no mention of corpses missing.

“Ah, yes, we have as yet managed to keep this out of the press.”

“Oh. Er, why?”

“Because we don’t want to tip them off!” he said gloriously, cheerful at his own brilliance.

“Hmm… yeah…” Because hillbillies normally worry about newspaper articles. She rolled her eyes. “So you want me to head up to the mountains?”

“Eventually,” he said. She could tell he was now being deliberately obtuse. It annoyed her. He annoyed her.

“Um…”

“There is one person, one person alone in this country, who knows what we may be dealing with. She is the expert.”

Spencer nodded. “So you want me to go see her.”

“Indeed.”

She waited. And waited. And waited some more.

“Er… and she’s…”

“Ah, therein lies a problem,” he smiled, clearly enjoying himself. “We don’t know where she is.”

Spencer nearly groaned. He was making this hard for her on purpose. All this could have been done in about ten seconds and she could have been back in her room, masturbating to lesbian porn. Anything to get this asshole out of her brain.

“But there is one person who might know where she is,” he postulated pompously.

Spencer knew better than to jump. He was going to make her wait anyway.

“The Gaydinator.”

If he was aiming for shock and surprise he won it. “Sir!”

“He knows, but he’s not telling.” The Captain leaned forward. “And I think you might be able to get it out of him.”

“But… why me sir?”

“Because he only responds to sexy young blondes with cleavage showing!”

“Sir, he’s gay! That’s completely counter-intuitive…”

“I know,” the captain admitted. “But it’s true.”

“Sir… I don’t know if I can do this… I don’t know if I can go in there.”

“Carlin, people are dying!”

Spencer paused a moment. “To be frank, sir, they’re all dying of natural causes and are then being stolen.”

“Yes, and that’s just not good enough. This Agency is not going to preside over a bunch of Tennessee hick corpses going missing, not while I’m heading it!” He pounded the desk again.

“Sir, you’re quite low down on the chain of command…”

“Carlin!” he barked. “Go find the corpse thief.”

She sighed. “Yes, sir.”

Great.

Well, at least it was a case of her own.

Still…

The Gaydinator.

That was a big ask.

He was… infamous. One of the FBI’s big eight. The people they’d brought down who’d been so bad, so heinous, that they’d actually numbered them. There were eight of them, and the Gaydinator had been the last.

Like his seven bretheren, who were not in fact related to him but simply held in some loose familial bond of imprisonment, the Gaydinator was housed at the Looney Petuney Psychiatric Hospital for Nutcases.

Spencer made an appointment with the head Psychiatrist, Dr. Goober McBoobers, the very next day. She wanted to get this over and done with.

And so it was that, once again, she found herself seated in an office staring at a wall of newspaper cuttings. For some reason these cuttings were all about the exploits of famous pigs from around the country.

“Why hellooooooooo there.”

Spencer looked up to see an austere looking lady in a very nice buttoned-down pant suit waltz into the room. She looked like a psychiatrist, right from the sensible shoes, to the neat dress, to the wire-rimmed glasses on her nose, all the way up to the pineapple on her head.

Well, maybe not the pineapple.

Spencer tried not to stare at it.

“You must be Miss Carlin!”

“Lieutenant Carlin,” she corrected absentmindedly, still trying to not stare at the pineapple but having trouble.

“Loose… sense of… identity…” the psychiatrist wrote on her arm with a Sharpie.

Spencer raised her eyebrow.

“So you’re here to see… Him.”

“Uh, I’m here to see… Mr. Dennison, if that’s what you mean.”

“Well done, Miss Carlin. You’re the first gumshoe I’ve met who doesn’t insist on referring to him as ‘The Gaydinator’.”

“I try. Lieutenant.”

“It’s doctor.”

“No, I mean I’m a lieutenant.”

“Some… fixations… on minor… points,” the psychiatrist wrote again on her forearm with a Sharpie.

“Could you point me to him?” Spencer asked, tired of the strange woman and her strange note-taking habits. She was more than nervous about meeting the savage criminal and wanted to get it over and done with.

“Oh, well, I’m not sure you’re quite ready for that,” mused the taller woman, who wasn’t bad-looking despite the tropical fruit on her head. Spencer wondered if she could slip into the bathroom for a quick bit of hand action.

“Please, Doctor, I need to talk to him about some important FBI … thing. He may be the only one who can help us.”

“Miss Carlin… are you aware of… exactly what he is?”

“Lieu -. Yes, yes, Doctor I think I am.”

“Hmm…” The woman sat down, gently adjusting the pineapple. “You know, you must give him more… credit than that. He will play with your head. He will mess with your brain. He will say things that might spin you right out, young lady!”

The doctor could not have been more than five years older than Spencer, but the young detective avoided rolling her eyes. Only because her optometrist had said it would do more damage than good. Granted, her optometrist had been between her knees undoing the blonde’s belt at the time, but it was still solid advice.

“Can you give me some advice? Some way to get through to him?” Spencer asked.

“The only way to get to Mr. Dennison is to… offer up a piece of yourself.” The Doctor smiled. “Of course, that’s the best way to get through to me too…”

Spencer watched as the top two buttons of the doctor’s blouse became undone and a swathe of extremely sexy cleavage came into view. The pineapple came off and suddenly mousey brown waves of hair swung around the doctor’s shoulders.

Spencer felt herself tense, and then moisten.

Fuck. Good lookin’ dame.

“Uh…”

“Miss Carlin? If you’d care to drape yourself across my desk?”

“I… um…” Spencer swallowed. Fuck, she really, really wanted to. “I really… I can’t.”

The doctor unbuttoned one more button and Spencer nearly lost her nerve.

“Are you sure?”

The blonde detective nodded, though she was anything but sure. “Please… I just need to see… uh… him.”

“Well, very well then.” The doctor busily did up her buttons, a sight which made Spencer almost groan at the loss of such a beautiful view.

Dr. McBoobers proceeded to press a button on her desk, calling in a rather attractive redhead in uniform.

Spencer felt her skin flush and her thighs moisten further.

Where the hell were all these beautiful women coming from?

“Please accompany Miss Carlin to the chamber!”

“Lieutenant,” Spencer replied absent-mindedly, following the redhead’s fine, fine ass out the door. The mesmerizing buns took her all the way down a corridor and to a metal gate. She probably could have kept staring at them for quite some time if it hadn’t been for the shrieking coming from the concrete tunnel ahead.

The redhead opened the gate with an electronic code and let Spencer through. As she passed by, there was a sudden pinch to her ass and she turned.

“Good luck, don’t mind that lot.” The redhead winked at her. “I’ll be here when you’re back. Maybe I can compensate for you. He’s at the end there.” With a cheeky smile, the good-looking girl closed the gate.

It took Spencer a few moments to collect herself after the onslaught of beautiful females, but she managed. Squeezing her legs together helped.

Although she was scared, she couldn’t help but look in the first cell as she passed. In the corner, a small man, completely naked, quivered. He didn’t look at Spencer as she passed, and she found the sight so strange she hurried on. She also didn’t look in the next two cells, but hurried past.

By the time she’d reached the second-to-last cell, Spencer had caught her nerve again. How scary could these people be? They were behind bars. There was no way they could get to her.

A squelching sound was emanating from that cell, however, and it didn’t sound promising. Although she had promised herself that she’d look, that she’d be brave and face the inevitable, what happened next almost shook all her resolve down to her sensible shoes.

As she approached, a shout came from the second-to-last cell – “Oil of Olay!” – followed by a glob of sticky, wet material that shot out and hit Spencer in the ear.

She recoiled, gagging, desperately worried about what the depraved man could have been doing. She knew exactly what he could have, and probably was, doing. Wiping the glob from her ear she caught a faint sickly-sweet familiar smell and chanced a look at the offending material.

It was white.

Moisturiser.

She looked at the man in his cell, and found him gleefully pumping away at a large bottle of pump-action Oil of Olay while gibbering to herself.

“Got dry spots, Missy!” he shouted at her. “Scalp line! Nose bridge!”

Spencer self-consciously touched her nose bridge and then shook her head. Wiping the last of the name-brand cream from her ear, she hurried on to the last cell. The cell that held the criminal de criminals, the whole reason she was here: the Gaydinator.

He was mostly naked. That was to say, he was wearing a pair of boxer briefs that did nothing to hide his enormous erection. It was possibly the largest bulge that Spencer had ever seen in her entire life. In fact, it was so large that her eyes were immediately, and rather sickeningly, drawn to it. She hadn’t even looked him in the face.

“Hello!” a cheerful voice called out to her and she dragged her offended gaze up to the face.

He was handsome, that was true. Neatly-coiffured brown hair on a chiseled face. His chest and abs showed that he spent enough time in his cell working out. His legs agreed. The fact was, though, he was currently humping the ass of a blow-up doll that was bent over in front of his erection.

It was male. Well, it was probably your standard female blow-up doll except that someone had pasted a cut-out photo of a man on the doll’s face. It looked an awful lot like Spencer’s brother, Glen.

The young blonde shook her head and swallowed.

She let her eyes drift away from the site, hoping that she’d be able to wash it out of her mind somehow. Around the cell were a myriad of posters, all of them depicting unicorns. There was a shelf towards the back of the cell covered in My Little Ponies. Most of them were unicorns.

Shaking her head she turned around.

There was a seat in the corridor, so she used it, happy to be off her feet. Her sensible shoes were great, but she was lazy.

“I’m here…”

“You need my help!” he stated authoritatively before flinging aside the blow-up doll and marching forward to the front of the cell. The walls were lined with thick but transparent glass. Spencer felt her eyes wretchedly betray her and flick down to his erection. It really was very big.

Thank Christ she was a lesbian. Except that now she wanted to gag.

“Yes,” she acknowledged his previous statement.

He followed her gaze down and chuckled. “Oh me. Sorry, that happens some times. It gets so big!”

He shoved his hand in the front of his jocks and pulled out a large, rubber phallus. Flinging it to the other side of the cell he grabbed a pair of low-slung jeans and put them on.

Spencer let out a silent but grateful breath.

“So, you have a killer and you want my help tracking them down,” he said with confidence.

“Er no…” Spencer’s brow furrowed.

He appeared to be paying little to no attention to her.

“Of course, I’ll need special privileges, access to some boys for… um… help…”

Spencer looked at him. He was indeed crazy.

He’d killed fourteen men with a plastic spoon because they’d disturbed him mid-Nair. You did not disturb the Gaydinator during his hair removal procedures. In a short amount of time, the entire starting line up of LA Galaxy was bloody and dead on the floor.

Pity. David Beckham had such a pretty left foot.

“And then there’s the, uh, investigatory aids…”

“Mr. Dennison, we don’t need your help to find a killer,” Spencer spoke over him.

“A couple of tubes of lube… Huh?” Caught mid-sentence and clearly paying little attention to her, it was the Gaydinator’s turn to look confused.

“We don’t need your help finding a killer.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry.”

“My culinary skills? I do a mean liver and beans!” He looked hopeful.

“No, we need your help finding… someone.” The day’s events had rattled her, even though she’d never admit it. She couldn’t remember the name of the person she’d been sent to interrogate him about.

Grabbing her pile of papers, she flicked through until she finally found the name she was looking for.

“We need your help finding Miss Ashley Davies.”

“Ashley!” The Gaydinator’s eyes misted over with sentimental joy as his face relaxed into a mushy pile of loving, slobbering adoration.

“Er yes. Ashley.” Spencer adjusted, feeling uncomfortable in her cleavage-baring top. Since the man in the cell hadn’t once glanced at her bosom, she had a feeling her boss just wanted her to dress up for his own amusement. Still, if she got a result, who cared.

“I can do that. I know where she is.” He smiled, raising one eyebrow. “But, I won’t be giving out information just like that!” He snapped his fingers on the last word, punctuating his point.

“Oh.” Damn, Spencer had hoped he would. It would have made things just so much easier.

“No, no, no, Miss Carlin.”

“Leiutenant,” Spencer corrected. She hadn’t told him her name… She was about to ask how the hell he knew it when she realised she was wearing her name tag in full view.

“If you want something from me, you’re going to have to give me something in return.” He looked at her in such a way that Spencer really, really, really wanted to shudder. This man was creeping her out.

She reached her hand down into her bag, looking for a breath mint, when her hand closed around the box in there.

She really shouldn’t have stopped on the way to the prison but the store had a huge sign outside advertising fifty percent off and, well, a girl had needs.

She pulled it out of her bag.

Spencer watched Mr. Dennison’s eyes widen in first shock, and then sheer delight.

He breathed out “Oh” and then jumped up and down on the spot. “That will do! That will do!”

Spencer rolled her eyes and got to her feet. Oh, well, she had the receipt. She could always claim it on expenses. She strolled over to the slide draw that allowed objects and food to be passed into the cell without any interaction. Of course, no utensils allowed. So said the sign above the slide.

She pulled out the drawer and, with some sadness, put her triple-speed eleven-inch perfectly-formed latex vibrating dildo, unusued, into the slot. She wished it wasn’t that slot that she was inserting it into.

The draw slammed back as the Gaydinator grabbed his prize with gleeful abandon and did a victory dance around his cell.

“Papa’s got a new wand of joy!”

Spencer gave in and shuddered.

“Mr. Dennison… Mr. Dennison,” she attempted to interrupt his ridiculous display of cheer. Eventually she just yelled, “Mr. DENNISON!”

He stopped.

“Miss Ashley Davies?” she reminded him.

“Oh, yeah. Try Australia.”

That was it? Try Australia?

“Think you wanna narrow that down a little? I mean, it’s a big country.”

“Seventh largest in the world,” he agreed happily.

She groaned. Loudly.

“Ape Cheryl,” he added, stroking the box of the vibrator while holding it up to his cheek. “Try there.”

Ape Cheryl, check. She’d heard of it, famous coastal town.

“Thank you,” she said to the man in the cell.

He, however, did not respond. As he was busy trying to open the box, Spencer decided it was probably time to high-tail it out of there. Knocking over the chair with her exuberance, she fumbled to get it upright and then fled down the corridor again.

She got to the end where the redhead was waiting.

“I gave him a vibrator,” she informed the woman breathlessly.

“Oh good, that’ll keep him entertained till he breaks it. He overpowers the motors.”

Spencer took another deep breath and did the only thing she could think of: she pinned the redhead to the wall and kissed the living hell out of her. Crushing the gorgeous woman’s mouth with her own, she performed a special brand of tongue and lip movements she liked to call the ‘Carlin combination’ before pulling back and looking into the thoroughly-stunned eyes of the woman in front of her.

“You people are all crazy and I’m leaving.”

And she did.

************************

Stretching her kinked muscles at Perth Airport, Spencer scratched the back of her neck and sighed.

She’d talked the FBI into sending her business class to Australia by flashing the travel clerk her cleavage and leaning over seductively. Spencer was actually quite intelligent, with a 3.3 average from Yale and a Masters in Criminology. It really bugged her that she got a lot more done with her breasts than with her brain.

Still, the flight had been quite good. There’d been some movies to watch, and she’d been able to spread out and get some sleep. She was well-rested enough to be happy to see the Australian sun and get a move on to the town of Ape Cheryl.

How she was going to find Ashley Davies there she had no idea. Still, couldn’t know without trying.

She wished she had a photo or something. Something to help her find this mysterious death expert.

In her head she had a curious picture of an overweight lady in a long hippy skirt and flowery blouse, sporting beads on her head and fifty over-laden fake jewels on her fingers. She’d have a crystal ball and a turban. She’d say mysterious phrases about contacting the ‘other side’ and then feed Spencer some kind of gumbo.

It was going to be one of those trips.

A gorgeous blonde with legs that never ended waltzed by with a small bag trailing behind her. Spencer’s eyes dragged along until she watched the pert ass disappear in the crowd.

She was still frustrated as hell, having had no time for even the quickest masturbatory break. It wasn’t fair.

She should have fucked the pineapple doctor.

Hailing a cab she asked for her hotel destination and spent some time reading up on her research papers on Ape Cheryl.

The research department at the FBI had done a thorough job: they’d printed the Wikipedia article on the subject for her.

Some Western Australian town with dolphins. That was about the size of it. One warm, beautiful blue bay with lots and lots of dolphins. Dolphins you could swim with, could pat and perhaps one day fall in love with.

That was roughly the gist of the article.

Spencer felt that perhaps the person who’d written it was a little too enamoured with dolphins.

Her hotel was lovely. She took an evening stroll down the Swan River, smiling at the gorgeous women left and right, before heading back for a solitary dinner. She had multiple invitations for company and more, but all of them from handsome men in suits. She did try to eye off a couple of the single ladies in the bar but none of them bit so, in the end, she had to go back to her room alone and more frustrated than ever.

Porn and her right hand did not alleviate the problem.

She just couldn’t get off.

Finally, exhausted and grumpy, she rolled over and tried to get to sleep, ignoring the song that played over and over in her head. Damn the Divinyls… when I think about you… I fucking TOUCH myself. Damn them.

The next day dawned bright and clear, and although Spencer’s nether regions were burning with unfulfilled possibility, she was quite content to let the day unfold.

She took her allocated tour bus the long way to Ape Cheryl, wishing that buses came with a business section.

Arriving at the pretty seaside town, she found her generic four-star hotel and booked in. Despite being jet-lagged as hell, she decided to take a stroll before getting some sleep. She wandered around the town, staring at the tourists in their plaid shorts and flip-flops before heading down to the cool, calm bay.

It was impossible to get to. There were thousands of signs offering ‘dolphin experiences’, from the plain viewing to the total interaction. There was even a small booth with a triple-x sign that Spencer suspected had been set up by the same person that wrote the wikipedia article.

She didn’t see anything that would help her, though, so she went back to her hotel. After a quick nap, she got changed for dinner, grabbing the lowest-cut top she’d brought with her. Sleuthing had got her nowhere, maybe her breasts would come through again.

She ate dinner alone, turning down the myriad of invitations that had come from various men, some of whom had been clearly married because their wives were standing right there. She hoped she didn’t get woken in the middle of the night by some murderous spouses. It wasn’t Spencer’s fault that these women couldn’t keep their men in check.

Over an after-dinner drink at the bar, she caught the eye of a dapper young gentleman who smiled at her and slid over. She wouldn’t sleep with him, but if he gave her the information she needed, she might let him think she’d give him a hand job. She’d rather die, but her job took some personal sacrifices, so she’d let him think that.

“So, new in town?” he asked her in a fine, fine accent.

“Just visiting,” she admitted, leaning down so that her halter neck top showed ample cleavage.

“Here for the dolphins?”

“Uh huh.” She pressed her arms together, maximizing bulk, and leaned forward. “And to look someone up.”

“Oh yeah.” His white, white teeth were mesmerizing. “Who would that be?”

“Ashley Davies.” That’s it Carlin, ease on into it.

“Well she’s not exactly hard to find. She’s famous she is,” the guy laughed at Spencer. “Honey, you want her, just amble on down to the bay.”

Oh. Wait. Honey? Great, a gay guy! She’d used all that cleavage for nothing.

“Thanks,” she said.

“No problem.” He drank from his glass and eyed the ass of a passing waiter.

In the elevator on the way back up to her room, Spencer marvelled at how someone could be world-famous and yet she’d never heard of them. Well, sometimes she didn’t keep up with gossip, although clearly this girl was neither a famous actress or singer. Interesting. This was turning out to be interesting. And her extreme sleuthing method of asking blunt questions was paying off.

Good training there.

The next morning she put on her shortest white shorts and a skimpy light blue top over her bikini, threw on her sunglasses and white string sandals and promptly fell out the hotel door. Picking herself up off the carpeted hall, she gratefully noted that there was no-one around to see her less than graceful departure, and went downstairs.

The bay wasn’t too crowded this early in the morning. She approached one of the more laconic looking people at a tourist establishment and used her extremely subtle method of gathering information once again.

“Excuse me, do you know where I can find Ashley Davies?”

The man looked her up and down and grinned. “Ordered you specially did she?”

“Huh?”

“She’s out in the water, about halfway out the bay. If you don’t feel like swimming there’s a kayak over there.”

He pointed to a kayak bobbing merrily in the water.

Shrugging, and unwilling to swim all the way out to the middle of the bay, Spencer shoved her wallet and FBI ID into her pocket and stepped into the kayak.

It took her about ten minutes of going around in wobbly circles to get the hang of steering the thing. After that, she managed to keep it in a roughly straight line out to the middle of the bay.

The closer she got, the easier it became to see the person bobbing in the water on some kind of inflatable chair. She was about twenty metres away when she heard a voice call out.

“Stay there. You’ll scare them.”

Spencer tried to stop but, although she ceased paddling, the kayak went right on obeying the laws of physics and coasted neatly up to the chair where it stopped moving and bobbed up and down.

The girl in the chair turned and glared at her. “What part of ‘stay there’ did you not understand?”

It was hard to respond. It was hard to speak when your hormones had just mounted an all-out assault on the functioning parts of your brain. When they’d mounted the control panel and hijacked it, taking over with glorious chants of the people’s revolution and communist doctrine while chasing the oppressive capatilist overlords of mental control into the nether regions of the cerebrum.

“Guh.”

She was gorgeous.

Long, curly brunette locks. A pert little nose that was a little freckled from the sun. Glaring, seductive brown eyes.

She was fucking gorgeous.

“Um…” Spencer tried to remember her own name.

“What?” The girl said angrily.

“The canoe kept moving,” the blonde tried to explain lamely. “I stopped paddling but it kept going.”

“Very true. Would you like a cookie or a medal?”

Spencer swallowed. “I was looking for you.”

“You found me. Now shut up.”

Dazed and confused, Spencer shut her mouth. She watched while the brunette fished a dead fish from the floating container attached to her chair and yelled “Mimi, sing.”

As the brunette threw the fish in the air, a graceful dolphin jumped out of the water, caught it with a double twist and then neatly landed in the water. For lack of anything else to do, Spencer applauded politely.

“Don’t encourage them,” the brunette growled.

“Huh?”

“Stupid animals. I’m trying to get them to perform the dolphin version of Rent. All they want to do is back flips and ball balancing. You’d think they were trying out for fucking Sea World, not Broadway.” Ashley threw another fish. Another dolphin did an impressive triple somersault before eating the fish and landing in the water with a dolphin gibber. “Jesus, Collins, try to at least look the part.”

“Rent…”

“Yeah, you know, December 24, 9 pm, bohemian lifestyle, etc…”

“Bohemian dolphins?” Spencer blinked with a complete lack of comprehension.

“Well, I don’t see why not. It’s not like they’re porpoises.”

“You couldn’t have bohemian porpoises?” This conversation was going places that Spencer had recently thought non-existant.

“Well, duh. Far too capitalist-minded. Bloody things would make a shamozzle of it.” The brunette threw another fish. “Maybe narwhals, if you could get them to stop fencing.”

“Fencing narwhals…” Spencer said quietly. To be honest, her eyes had drifted to the brunette’s pleasantly filled bikini top and she was no longer thinking about mammals of the sea. More about mammaries. And how she might be able to see them. “Um, you’re Ashley Davies, right?”

The brunette nodded happily as three dolphins swam around in a circle that would have made synchronized swimmers green with envy. “Atta boys, you’ll get the Life Support scene down in no time!” She threw another fish. “It’s important to encourage them,” she said to Spencer, as though imparting some great confidence. “And, yes, I am Ashley Davies, the famous dolphin trainer.”

“Ah.” Spencer scratched her head. “Not, say, Ashley Davies, the death-expert?”

There was silence. Lots of silence. Well, not so much silence as a not-talking period filled with the sounds of dolphins attempting to sing what sounded like “Caribbean Amphibian”, a song Spencer was fairly sure wasn’t in the musical Rent.

Eventually Ashley spoke. “Who are you and where do you come from?”

Spencer dug in her pocket and pulled out her FBI identity card. “My name is Lieutenant Spencer Carlin and I’m from the FBI.”

Another pause. “I paid those taxes! You people have no right to keep hounding me. I told you they weren’t my DVDs!”

“Um… I’m not here about that… I need your help.” Spencer scratched her head and let her eyes stretch down the brunette’s long, slender legs.

Fuck, she needed a… fuck.

“Oh. Is it about dolphins?”

“Um, no,” Spencer admitted. “It’s about corpses going missing.”

“Oh shit.”

“Looks like someone’s digging up valuables in the Appalachians, and they seem to be taking corpses with them.”

“Oh dear.” The brunette shook her head sadly. “This isn’t good.”

“It’s not?” Spencer asked distractedly. Ashley had taken a deep breath and it had made her bosom bounce. “Oh, no, it’s not!”

“You have the problem.”

“We have a problem, sure,” Spencer agreed.

“No, you have the problem.”

“Uh, which problem would that be?” Spencer asked.

The brunette sighed. “You’re going to need my help.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m out on a kayak in the middle of an Australian bay trying to get it,” Spencer pointed out helpfully.

“Well turn that kayak around, girl, because we’re going back to shore.”

“Um, okay.” Spencer wobbled in her boat. “How will you get there?”

“Pfft, easy. Joanne! Maureen!” The brunette clapped twice at each name and two dolphins swam up. Before Spencer could say a word, the two dolphins were propelling the inflatable chair towards land at an alarming speed. The blonde had no choice but to paddle her way in.

On shore she found the brunette towelling herself down in a way that did not alleviate Spencer’s tension in any way, shape or form.

“Lunch,” the girl said firmly.

And so they went to lunch.

Over a steak and salad at the local grill, Spencer watched her companion wolf down food. She never thought she’d find something like that sexy but then, everything about this girl was sexy.

“So, uh, what’s this problem we have?” she ventured. Work, that’s right, she was there for work. Maybe she could get a little sumphin’-sumphin’ on the side, but work was the primary objective here.

“Zombies,” Ashley said, spooning another forkful of potato into her mouth.

Spencer stared at her. For a long time. Before saying, “Zombies?”

“Uh huh, classic zombie action here. No doubt about it.”

“Zombies.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“The walking dead. Lurching, rotting, braaaaains… zombies?” Spencer raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, Miss Thang, don’t shake your groove tree at me,” Ashley protested. “You wanted the expert, you got it! I’m telling you, this is zombies. Believe me.”

“Zombies don’t exist. Except in horror films,” Spencer explained gently.

“Pfft.” The brunette laughed at her. “That’s what you think. Oh, they exist alright. They just don’t get out of hand as much as people think. It’s really hard to contract the virus and it usually runs a fairly short course.”

“Uh…” Spencer goggled. Then she swallowed. “Are you sure?”

Or are you just insane? Spencer’s brain filled in the blanks.

“Oh, absolutely positive. Man, this steak is awesome!” Ashley took another bite. “Mmm.”

“Should I not be calling my boss? National emergency!” The blonde stood up, panicking at the thought. A warm hand on her arm stopped her movements. It also sent lovely little spirals of want and need all the way up to her brain and then down to other bits.

“Don’t panic, blondie. Sit down, eat your lunch, it’s fine.”

“They could escape!”

“You said the Appalachians, right?”

Spencer nodded.

“Then we totally have time. Trust me. Zombies aren’t all that mobile. And they’re not that smart. Especially hillbilly zombies. They’ll just spend the next several months digging up and reanimating their cousins so they can have sex with them.” She waved a fork in Spencer’s general direction. “We’ll take care of it.”

“Oh.” The young FBI agent thought about it for a few moments. “We?”

“Sure, you wanted my help, right?”

Spencer nodded.

“Well I guess that makes us a team.” Ashley grinned and then proceeded to spear one of Spencer’s potatoes right off the blonde’s plate. “Thanks, teamie.”

**********************

The flight back had been somewhat hell. Mostly because the more time Spencer spent with Ashley, the more she was attracted to the slightly odd brunette. The girl was undeniably hot. She was long-legged, sexy, fucking beautiful actually.

And yet, possibly insane.

Spencer had met a lot of insane people in her time. None of them had been dolphin trainers, though.

At least Ashley seemed to be on the less murderous side of insane than most of Spencer’s recent meetings.

The subject of the Gaydinator hadn’t come up. Spencer kept it that way. She’d kept the conversation light and tried not to stray into anywhere sexual because she was afraid she’d just jump the girl.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that the attraction was mutual. Ashley kept giving her glances that were a little less than discrete, and she was managing to put vaguely sexual spins on a lot of her comments. Pretty well done considering she was talking about dolphins a lot of the time.

At least she’d agreed that loving dolphins in the way some of the tour operators offered was sick and twisted thing.

But she looked like she wouldn’t mind giving Spencer a spin.

Spencer was wanting to be spun. Badly.

Her director at the FBI had granted them permission to head up to the hills and check out what was going down. She’d failed to mention the word ‘zombies’ to him in case he spread said word and she came back to an office full of horror movie paraphernalia. She’d be the laughing stock of the FBI for years.

Best she just got up to the mountains and found out what was really going on. Once it was sorted, she could call it a job well done and that would be that.

Then she could take Ashley and…

She really had to stop thinking like that.

The car journey was not helping her. Having picked up their mid-sized sedan at the rental place, Ashley had stretched out on the passenger seat, a move which had continually exposed her very attractive abs.

Spencer tried to concentrate on the road. Very hard.

Then there was the conversation.

Miss Davies was thoroughly convinced that the problem really was zombies. The blonde agent attempted to be very polite in her ‘Are you crazy?’ questions but in the end she had to just give in to the insanity that was Ashley’s theory.

She’d be proven wrong in good time. Spencer could wait till then. Then she could comfort the poor distraught thing… yes… comfort.

They had approached a small town near the epicentre of the recent problems and stopped for lunch. Spencer suspected, after eating her burger in a small diner that reeked of overcooked grease, that it had been a bad idea to stop. This was one of thosesmall towns: the type of town where you were watched by the patrons, the owners and the stuffed animals on the walls; the type of town where you considered yourself lucky to leave with one kidney.

Ashley seemed quite happy, though, chewing on her chilli dog with enthusiasm. God, that girl could eat! Discrete enquiries as to the source of the problem led nowhere. Spencer’s patented method of asking got nowhere, neither did Ashley’s seemingly-patented method of leaning over in a low-cut top and admiring the local sherrif’s sideburns.

Instead, they just drove further into the mountains and hoped that Spencer’s poorly-gathered map from the FBI would lead them close to an answer. In the end, it was the dwindling light of the evening that brought them to a stop. They spied a cabin deep in the woods, led off the proper roads by Ashley’s dubious navigation.

They pulled up on the dirt path in front of the cabin and Spencer grabbed the map out of the brunette’s hands.

And turned it the right way up.

“Great,” she muttered. “We’re lost.”

Ashley shrugged. “Yeah, well, I can’t find my ass in my jeans so getting me to direct was a bad idea.”

“I seem to recall asking you if you minded and you said you were the best navigator in the world!” Spencer felt the irritation rising in her while at the same time fighting the urge to help Ashley find her ass in those jeans.

“No, I said I was the world’s greatest litigator! You know, people that… sex … other people!”

Spencer looked at the brunette with a completely blank expression, fearing Ashley’s brain would suddenly dribble out of her ears.

“Ashley, a litigator is a lawyer,” she said slowly.

“Oh… really?”

Spencer nodded.

“Then what was the word I was looking for?”

Spencer shrugged. Saying ‘slut’ just didn’t seem friendly enough. “Let’s just go ask where we are.”

The dwindling light creeped Spencer out and she was glad that Ashley accompanied her to the door. Three loud knocks brought no answer, so Spencer tried the handle. It was open, although she suspected locks weren’t the most common of door accessories in this part of the world.

A quick perusal of the small one-bedroomed cottage showed it to be clean, well-kept and completely empty. A howl echoed through the woods and made Spencer shiver.

“Great, no one here.”

She turned to find Ashley bouncing on her ass on the couch.

“Free place to stay.” The brunette put her hands behind her head. “Sweeeet.”

“We can’t stay here.”

“Oh, we want to stay here,” Ashley disputed. “We don’t want to go back out there.”

“We need to find a motel.”

“Hey.” Ashley sat up. “Who’s the death expert here?”

“This is about accomodation!” Spencer stamped her foot.

“And zombies come out at night.”

“Zombies… come… out… at night…” Spencer blinked.

“Oh, yeah. Definitely night-crawlers. Close the door, bolt it. We don’t wanna get zombie on the carpet.”

Spencer rolled her eyes. She didn’t believe the zombie story but she was ready to give up. It was a nice enough cabin. They could spend the night. Ashley could sleep on the couch… perhaps.

“Let’s get the cases out of the car,” the blonde sighed. “Please.”

“Okay!” There was something very bouncy about the girl. Spencer found it attractive.

Having brought the bags inside, Spencer was placing her own on the bed when Ashley came in.

“So, I guess we’re sleeping together.”

It turned out that it was entirely possible to choke on one’s own spit. After she’d stopped coughing spasmodically, Spencer blinked.

“We’re what? No. You’re on the couch!”

Ashley winked at her. “Whatever you say, blondie.”

She watched the brunette wander back out again. She was muttering to herself when she heard the brunette call, “Close the shutters in there. Zombies can break windows.”

Spencer rolled her eyes again and shut the window coverings. It was easier than arguing.

When she emerged into the living room, she found the place locked up like Fort Knox and Ashley in the small kitchen, cooking some eggs.

“Eggs?”

“It looked like the most edible thing here. We can leave cash if you like.” Wow, for once the brunette was making sense.

“You’re cooking.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” Ashley grinned. “You like eggs?”

Spencer nodded. “We only ate, like, two hours ago.”

“Yeah, but, you know, it’s dinner time.”

Spencer stretched. “Okay.”

Dinner was surprisingly edible, and Ashley must have been some kind of girl scout in a past life because she was busy making a fire in the fireplace when Spencer came back out to the living room after changing.

“Romantic,” she mused, and then bit her own tongue. Dammit, that was not subtle at all.

Ashley looked up. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

It was then that Spencer heard it: a noise groaning from outside.

“What the hell?” She made for the door to investigate.

“Noo, don’t open that.” Ashley stood up.

“What? I wanna know what it is!”

“It’s a zombie.”

“Ashley… Maybe we should move past this whole… zombie thing.”

The brunette sighed. Putting down the poker she was wielding, she walked over, grabbed Spencer and gently took the blonde’s elbow. Walking her over to the closed window, she lifted the curtain and carefully propped one of the shutters.

“Go on. Look.”

Spencer peered through the small slit until her eyes caught a wave of movement. And then another, and then another. She stumbled backwards, reeling with surprise.

“There’s… there’s….”

“Zombies.”

“More than one!”

“Oh yeah, a whole cadre.”

“C…cadre.”

“Mmm-hmm, it’s the collective noun for a group of zombies. I always wanted a shuffle but the Academy of Sciences went with cadre.”

Spencer gripped the back of the couch. “But… the undead…. they’re OUTSIDE!”

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry, we locked everything. We did lock everything didn’t we.”

Spencer nodded mutely.

“Well, we’ll be right.”

Spencer nodded again. Then she pointed to the door, swallowing. “Z… zombies.”

“Seriously, they’re really bad at having opposable thumb movements. They’re not going to get in.”

Spencer clutched her chest. “What do we do about them?”

“Well, we have two options.” Ashley flexed her fingers. “We can wait till morning, find where they’re sleeping and flamethrower them.”

“No flamethrower.” Spencer blinked. “Zombies sleep?”

“Oh, sure.”

“What was the second option?”

“Energy.”

“Energy?”

“Enough energy will knock them over. If we can do that, they’ll be down for the count for a little while. Then it’s pretty much shove-to-the-neck-and-decapitate time.”

“Decapitate.”

“That’s how you take care of zombies.” Ashley rubbed her hair. “Decapitate them.”

“How long do they need to be down for the count for?” Spencer swallowed.

“Enough energy, you’ll knock em down for fifteen hours or so.”

“Right, so all we need is energy.”

“Emotional Energy.”

“Em… Ashley, what are you going on about?”

“It has to be human emotional energy.”

“Riiiiight.” Spencer rolled her eyes again.

“Hey! Who’s the death expert here? Have I been wrong thus far?”

Spencer had to admit that was true. Ashley had been dead right on everything, pun unintended.

“Fine. So… I cry. That’s it.”

“Honey, you could cry for hours and it still wouldn’t work.”

“Well, what do we do then?”

Spencer’s eyes opened a little as Ashley moved towards her. “I have… an idea.”

“Uh… yeah…” Spencer swallowed as the brunette kept moving towards her.

Ashley pulled up in front of her, fingers tracing along the button area of the blonde’s shirt. “We could create the energy together.”

Oh boy.

***************************

Ashley was good. Oh, Ashley was very good.

From the first moment the brunette’s lips had hit Spencer’s, the blonde had been lost.

The sheer sexiness of the woman in front of her; the long, built-up seduction; the complete lack of sex despite very sexy women left right and centre that had permeated Spencer’s life of late: they all combined to create one important moment.

Making out with the brunette of your dreams on a sheepskin rug in front of an open fire.

Spencer moaned into the hot, warm cavern of Ashley’s mouth and cupped the back of her head. Her fingers rifled through brunette curls. Whatever was happening, it was creating enough energy in Spencer’s pants to ignite an entire community of zombies.

Spencer moaned again as Ashley’s hand slid down into her pants and began rubbing her panty-clad hip. Oh yeah, the cute little boy shorts had been a great idea that morning. Of course, they were completely unusable now, since they were sopping wet.

Arching into the touch, the blonde drew her hands down Ashley’s lower back and under her shirt. Skimming up incredibly soft skin, she shimmied the brunette’s shirt up and over the girl’s head.

If the object was to create energy, then Spencer was in it to be a consummate professional. She dragged her fingertips down the brunette’s back and found her bra strap, unfastening it with precision.

She liked to be good at the things she did.

She also liked Ashley’s little mumble of enjoyment as Spencer’s fingertips brushed across the brunette’s soft back again. So she did it again.

They moved against each other, breaths starting to mingle with increased desire. Ashley’s hands made quick work of Spencer’s shirt, rolling them over so that the blonde was straddling the brunette who was now fumbling to get the shirt off.

Spencer slid her hands down and unbuttoned the dark jeans of the girl under her. A quick snap and she had the girl’s abs under her little fingers. Tracing their taut lines, she marvelled at the soft skin over the hard muscle and breathed in. It was hard not to ride a little, letting her own denim-clad centre bump against the denim-clad thigh beneath her.

Growling, Ashley shifted them both so that, instead of straddling the whole of Ashley, Spencer was now straddling a well-muscled thigh. The blonde threw her head back and moaned. Her hips moved, thrusting rough denim into her centre.

“Oh, yeah.”

Ashley rolled them back over and Spencer took the opportunity to shove the jeans down the brunette’s legs. The other girl helped, kicking them off and then suspending herself over the blonde on outstretched arms.

“How many?” Ashley whispered, ducking her head down and nibbling on the blonde’s neck.

Spencer moaned, whimpering. “How many what?

“How… many…” Ashley’s breath panted out against the girl’s neck, licking with little tickles of the end of her tongue and let the vibrations of her words do their work. “How many orgasms can you have in a row?”

Spencer arched into the brunette as the other girl palmed her breast. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

“Hmm,” Ashley vibrated against her neck again. “I guess we’ll have to find out then.”

Oh, she was thorough. Ashley was thorough.

By the time they were naked, Spencer was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and ready to very much test Ashley’s theory of how much she could take. She suspected, what with her recent lack of activity, she was going to be able to withstand a hell of a lot.

Ashley’s mouth on her nipple was enough to nearly send her to that first point of no return. Of course, Ashley’s hand sliding between her legs, forcing her clitoris into painful swelling was also getting her close.

Ashley’s mouth lifted off her rosy bud and moved warmly back up to her ear. “Sure you can handle this, blondie?”

Spencer arched into the touch, wishing to God that the brunette would just get on with it. “Handle what?” she panted. “Handle… you… not… succeeding?”

Growling with irritation against Spencer’s neck, the brunette’s fingers spread her wet, sopping lips and slid two fingers right home. A well-practised thumb came up and brushed circles over the blonde’s swollen clitoris as Spencer arched up against her.

“Oh, you’ll get there.”

Oh and she did. She did, she did, she did.

Screaming into the air, giving off as much energy as possible. After all, it was her job. It was good that her job led her to an incredibly amazing orgasm that made every muscle in her body clench.

She collapsed on the floor, panting.

“Told you I’d get you there,” Ashley said proudly.

“Mmm… and I thought you implied more than once,” Spencer said. She had no idea what made her say that because she currently had no energy left. She’d expended it all on getting a bunch of zombies to fall unconscious.

What could she say? She did what she had to do.

Ashley propped herself up over Spencer on an elbow and looked down. “You’re right. I think I can hear them still groaning.”

Spencer was sure it was just their own echoes.

“So… we’d better get back to it.”

Oh, she was good. She was pretty damn good. Ashley’s mouth between her legs was enough to awaken the energy required to help with some damn good zombie killing. God, the brunette could give some damn good head.

The magic number turned out to be four. That was, it was four when Spencer flicked them over to show off some of her own sexual skills. After all, she was fast running out of energy and Ashley had plenty left.

Her fingers found purchase both inside and out. She discovered that Ashley was extremely sensitive to having her g-spot thrust against with two strong fingers while Spencer’s tongue laved the brunette’s clitoris with firm strokes.

She also responded to riding Spencer while three fingers filled her completely.

Oh, and to riding Spencer’s thigh while they came together in an orgy of sexual energy.

Five to three. Spencer came out good either way.

They collapsed together on the floor, Spencer sore from head to toe. Her back sore from the rug burns. The rest of her was sore from… activity.

It took some time for the blonde to get enough energy back to get up off the floor. When she did, she got up to use the facilities, and came back to find Ashley stretching on the couch again. Not your typical post-sex romance, but then, Spencer was considering their current break as just that: a break. She had every intention of evening up the numbers.

She shrugged on some underwear and a t-shirt, feeling a little self-conscious about her nudity, and carefully peered through the shutter flap again. Expecting to see a pile of corpses unconscious in the moonlight, she was stunned to see a large group of shambling zombies groaning around in the dark.

They were most definitely conscious.

“Fuck!” she swore loudly. “It didn’t work.”

“What?” Ashley emerged from the bathroom, clearly quite at home with her naked body.

“The zombies, they’re still up.”

“Yeah, they would be… oh shit.” Ashley at least managed a partial look of guilt. Smug, self-satisfied, I’ve-just-had-the-world’s-greatest-orgasm guilt, but guilt nonetheless.

“Tell me.” Spencer crossed her arms, hoping she looked sufficiently murderous. “This… energy thing was a complete lie wasn’t it.”

Ashley bit her lip and then gave a quick grin. “Perhaps?”

Spencer closed her eyes and sighed.

“I just wanted to sleep with you, okay? I … you’re fucking hot and I’ve been dying to touch you for days.”

Spencer shook her head.

“For the record, all you had to do was ask,” the blonde admitted. “I’m not exactly a prude.”

“Naah, you’re incredible,” Ashley grinned.

Spencer had the sense to blush. “So what do we do about the…” She thumbed at the zombies.

“Shot gun oughta do it. Hit them with shovels. They’re mostly slow and pretty easy to take care of. We probably should do it in the daytime, though.”

“Do we have that stuff?” Spencer asked.

“Sure, I brought it with me.”

“Oh.” Spencer bit the end of her index finger, an old nervous habit. “What do we do till then?”

Ashley grinned again and shimmied her naked form. “I can think of a few things.”

The blonde grinned back. Brilliant. Time to even the score. And tomorrow… tomorrow they’d go zombie hunting.

******************************

Orange babe. I tried desperately to fit everything in. I think the only thing I missed was goats. Well, one of the zombies was a goat and he later left the zombieing to become a werewolf at twice the pay. I think that covers most things. *Hugs*