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The Wakefield Cases; The Licentious Life Of Mr. Lacey, Part 1

The Wakefield Cases; The Licentious Life Of Mr. Lacey, Part 1

The year is 1931. Mr. Wakefield arrives at a hotel, where the service is better than the rooms.
My name is Ira Wakefield. These are the memoirs of my life after returning to the city.

It was the 3rd of January, 1931, when I arrived at the central station with nothing but a suitcase. At first I had mixed feelings about it all. It had been eight long years, since I had left the country for the continent. I stood there now, in the biting cold and tried to recognize it all. My coat was too thin, as I came from the south of France. I had nowhere to go really, so I decided just to begin walking, hoping to find a cheap cafe on a corner, to warm myself.

I was twenty-two, a lad really, but I was determined and adventurous. My father had not taken my decision well in any regard, but I wanted to show him that I could make a career for myself. I had chosen this place. This city where every street made me think of my mother, who was hidden in the back of my head like and old, faded photograph in the bottom drawer of a commode.

I resembled her much less than I would have wanted to. She was beautiful. A stately lady and the sort I had dreamed I would marry one day. Chance had not smiled upon me. I am my fathers son, in appearance and, however little I like to admit it, in personality.

I am quite tall and slender, but with a slight athletic build as I used to be a swimmer and still enjoy this when I have the time. I have dark blond hair, and a sharp face with cyan eyes. Sometimes, when I was angry at my father, I would yell at myself in the mirror because of our resemblance and my fear of confronting him. This day however, our likeness should come to benefit me tremendously for the first time.

My suit was shabby, and I began looking for a dodgy hotel to stay in, when suddenly someone behind me called out to me, “Charles? Charlie!”

I did not react at first, as I didn't think it was directed at me of course. When the man continued, I turned and saw a short elderly man approaching me on the pavement. I looked at him surprised, for Charles was not my name, but it was my fathers. The man stopped in front of me. He was breathing heavily. “Sir,” I said. “I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong man.”

The man looked at me weirdly, and I began to speculate whether he might be senile. He was well dressed, and well dressed people were rarely lunatics in my experience. If so they would surely not be in the streets.

“Oh.. I am sure.. I was certain..” he mumbled, studying every inch of me closely. “You looked so much like Wakefield. For a moment I thought.. Never mind..”

“Charles Wakefield is my father, Sir! Do you know him?”

“Did, son, did.. I haven't seem him for years, since he moved to that monkey land or something.”

“France, Sir?”

“Oh, what does it matter, lad! So, you're his flesh you say? What was it now? Oh, yes! I remember! Little Ira, isn't it? Where's that sister and brother of yours? And how is lovely Elenore?”

I bit my lip as he mentioned my mother's name.

“My mother is dead, Sir! Don't you remember, that we moved after...”

“Oh, yes!” he interrupted. “Dreadful business. Terrible. It happens to the best people. Well, son! How rude of me! Here I have been blabbering, and I haven't offered you a place to stay! We old pals must stick together, right?”

I shrugged. I thought it was more rude of him not to have presented himself.

“Maybe, he's forgotten his name,” I thought to myself.

My feet were tired and my stomach empty. I had no place to go and decided to follow the man. I was curious. I knew little of my mother's death and the City. Perhaps the man from the past was sent from above.

As we walked, the streets became darker and the neighborhood poorer. The man talked constantly about anything from the weather to what his barber told him about the printer last Thursday. I really wished he would shut his mouth.

At a corner there was a very shabby looking hotel called Newcomb's Hotel and the man ventured inside. I didn't like the surroundings much or the staring eyes of the locals, but I didn't think I could afford anything more fancy.

The inside of the hotel was just as sinister as I had imagined. There were slightly torn red velvet wallpaper, an old worn counter and a number of chairs, that looked as if the would break upon anyone sitting there.

The old man dragged himself up to the counter and rang the bell. He looked back at me and shook his head as if I was supposed to know what was wrong. There were two stairs, a larger one for the guests and a small one behind the counter.

Suddenly footsteps were heard on the small staircase. I recognized the sound as being heels, as my sister Karen always ran up and down the stairs at home.

“Sir! Sir! I'm sorry! I was just..!” said a young woman who came down the stairs.

She didn't finish but instead took the old man's hat and coat.

“Jane, dear! This is.. Erh.. Wakefield. He will be staying here free of charge! Be good and show him his room. Wakefield, I'll meet you for supper! I have something discuss with you!”

With that the man disappeared through the door, and left me alone with Jane. I gave her my coat and she folded it nervously. Her hands were shaking, I noticed.

She was quite pretty. Not a stunning beauty, but sweet. She seemed to be a few years my senior. She had silver blond hair, a round face and some very full lips, painted red. Her eyes were rather big, and made her look like a dear in headlights.

Her grey uniform-ish dress wasn't buttoned properly. This made me sneak a peek at her body. Her bosom seemed to be barely there, but Jane had the loveliest ass.

“Erhm.. Are we to go upstairs, Miss .. ?” I began.

“Dooley,” she added. “Jane Dooley, Sir! Yes, this way!”

I followed her up the stairs, constantly following the movements of her ass with my eyes. She took me up to a corridor with multiple doors.

“So, how do you know Mr. Newcomb? If it's not rude of me to ask, Sir?” Jane asked.

“I don't know him,” I said staring at her curves. “He knew my father, I think.”

“Right here!” she said and stopped outside room 14.

While she tried to find the right key, I looked around and discovered that the door to room 15 was slightly open. Curious as to how the rooms were I opened it.

“NO!” cried Jane as she noticed.

She quickly blocked the doorway.

“Not there, Sir! You'll be in 14.”

I studied her panic, and then pushed her aside. I entered the shabby room, and at first saw nothing odd. The my eyes fell upon the bed, which someone clearly had been lying in.

There was a wet spot on the bedcover and a photograph. I picked it up and Jane whined behind me. It was a photograph of Paul Muni, and I turned to face Jane.

“Well, well, well! What have we here, Jane!”

“Please give it back!” she sobbed.

“Hey, don't worry,” I said, realizing why she was not at the counter and why her dress was buttoned wrong. “I won't tell anyone.”

She sighed of relief and stepped closer.

“But Jane,” I said. “There's no harm in fantasizing. You know, I do that too sometimes.”

“You do?”

“In fact, Jane, I could help you. The thought is powerful, but admit it, what you really want is a man between your legs right?”

She looked at me strangely, trying to decide whether I was really going to keep quiet. I could see in her eyes that she was considering it and that she thought I was handsome.

I closed the door behind us and wrapped my arm around her.

“Jane, you're really cute, do you know that?”

I kissed her neck repeatedly and she let me.

“Mr. Wakefield! Please! If Mr. Newcomb finds out, I'll get fired!”

I kissed her hard, preventing her from saying more. I lifted her up and carried her to the bed. I sat her down, pulled the cover off and pushed her down. She shrieked with pleasure and smiled.

“Ah! So this one liked it rough!” I thought.

Jane unbuttoned what was not already unbuttoned of her dress and pulled it off. To my surprise she wore a bra but no panties. She giggled and pointed towards the corner of room, where they were lying as had they been thrown.

“Come on, Mr. Wakefield! Are you afraid?” she said.

I took of my shirt, while she reached up and opened my belt. My pants slid down my legs. A beginning erection was visible through my underwear, and she had noticed.

She began to massage my cock from outside the underwear. I took off my hat and put in on the nightstand. There was not much need for foreplay, for this girl was wetter than Niagara Falls and had already aroused herself. I smiled, thinking that the threat of getting caught was turning her on.

She pulled my underwear down slowly, so that my now erect cock sprung out almost hitting her in the face as she eyed it.

“Did it scare you?” I said jokingly.

She kissed it softly and looked up at me. I looked at my watch wondering how long until I had to meet with Mr. Newcomb. I handed her a condom I had gotten from my pocket, and she slid it on.

“I'm ready, Mr. Wakefield!” she purred.

She had a slight cockney-esque accent which spoke to me. It was simply so different from the French girls. I mean, I've had prettier but damn! There is nothing like what you've not had before!

I pushed her back down hard, and once again signs of pleasure escaped her cupid lips. I watched her as she lay there. She was so willing and hungry.

I lay down myself and pinched her nipples. She sighed in my ear. I slowly licked her from her shoulder all the way up her neck. While playfully biting her ear I turned her around so she had her back to me.

I kept my one hand on her breast, while the other crawled down her stomach. She suddenly smacked her legs together hard and pushed her ass backwards. It nested on my cock and I could feel her warm, wet cunt through the rubber.

I grabbed her violently and dragged her up on all fours, to which she shrieked and giggled. I plunged myself deep into her.

“You're making me crazy,” I whispered.

“Ooh!” she moaned in agreement.

I draped myself over her back and held on with my right hand, while I fiercely rubbed her swollen clit with the other.

I pounced harder and harder. She pulled the pillow close and buried her face in it. The pillow now received all her lusty screams so that they were not heard downstairs.

Then Jane came. She clenched her buttocks and her pussy vibrated on my cock as her nectar was flowing down my shaft.

“Oh, Mr. Wakefield!” she screamed into the pillow.

I roared and joined her in the last stages of her climax, by cumming deep inside her. I held still inside her and we caught our breath together. I pulled out slowly and threw the condom in the bin.

“Oh, Mr. Wakefield?”

“Yes, Miss Dooley?” I relied.

“Jane. It's Jane!” she smiled. “Thank you!”

I looked at my watch and got back in my clothes, while Jane watched me from the bed.

“I have to go wash up now, Jane!” I said.

“See you around,” she replied with a grin.

I left her there in room 15. She had given me the key and I now carried my suitcase into room 14. After splashing some water in my face, I put on a little cologne. This room was as shappy as the other. I wanted to get out, but mostly because I was curious to what Newcomb wanted.

I came down the stairs and followed the sound of light jazz to a lounge. The place was full of plant, that all needed some green fingers to take care of them. At a table by the window was Mr. Newcomb. He was seated in a large comfortable chair, reading a paper and smoking a cigar.

“Ah, there you are, young Wakefield! Come and have a seat! Dinner will arrive soon. Tell me lad how much do you know of your fathers trade?”

“Not much. He's a private eye.”

“I have a proposal for you.”

“Do tell,” I said and took a seat, unaware of what I was getting myself in to.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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