More from our favorite cross dressing detective...

Part Four of Silver's Detective Agency is out...

(Yes, Jack has his own little site now. I thought it a better idea to split the story off than let it take over the blog entirely. The panties need room to breathe, you know.)

Silver's Detective Agency - Part Three

Silver's Detective Agency
By Hope Alexander

Part One
Part Two
Part Three - In which the panty thief is encountered, and a trap is set...

The first stop on the panty thief's trail was at Boinkwell's Fine Art Gallery, a gauche institution selling the type of pieces that might have been created by a small child on acid. It was a cloudy day outside, but as I entered the galley I donned a pair of sunglasses to shield my eyes from the bright neons and otherwise clashing hues that assailed them from all angles.

I suppose I appeared rather drab in that light place, a fedora propped at a rakish angle atop my head, and classic long line trench coat svelte against my body, hiding the bulk of it from the prying eyes of the world, revealing only a pair of highly polished high heeled patent leather boots which click clacked pleasingly on the gallery's parquet floors.

I had barely stepped in the door when, like a harpy, Miss Boinkwell was on me in an instant. She seemed to simply melt out of one of the installations, a lithe vibrant creature suddenly embracing me and kissing my cheeks effusively.

“Jack! Darling! How are you!” she chirped.

“Hello Sarah dear,” I replied, taking her hands in mine and stepping back to admire her. She was wearing a lovely green indie dress, cinched around the waist and flowing out in soft pleats to her knees, a matching pair of pumps adorned her feet, the entire outfit making her look absolutely stunning. A string of beads hung around her neck, further heightening the bohemian feel. How she could dress herself so well and yet sell the rubbish that hung on every wall of that gallery I do not pretend to know.

“What brings you here, Jack?” she gave me a bright smile as I admired her.

“Art, dear. I am looking for a new piece for the bedroom,” I lied.

Her smile brightened further, and dropping one of my hands, she used the other to begin leading me around the cacophony of garishness that was her gallery.

You might be wondering why I didn't just slap the ol' cuffs on here there and then and call it a day. Well you see friends, there's this little thing called proof, and I lacked it. As much as I was aware of her heinous crimes against lingerie, I had to catch her in the act.

“You know, it's awfully hard to tell what these pieces would look in my home.” I said, trying not to regurgitate lunch as I pretended to admire what appeared to be a mud spattered canvas covered with orange stripes.

“Perhaps you could bring a few pieces over to my place some time and I could see which ones work best with my décor?” I suggested, fixing her with a winning crimson lipped smile.

She practically melted there on the gallery floor. Little sissy Sarah had quite the crush on me, so it seemed.

“Of course,” she twittered.

“Lovely, you're a darling,” I drawled, winking.

She giggled and fidgeted with the hem of her skirt with her free hand. “I could come over tonight?” she suggested.

“Perfect.” I murmured, drawing her close and kissing her cheek.

The die was cast.

Silver's Detective Agency - Part Two

Silver's Detective Agency
By Hope Alexander

Part Two - In which we discover the nature of the panty thief....

Part One

Of course, like most of the criminally minded, this panty thief would never admit that she was one. No, she claimed to be nothing but an art dealer on the fashionable north side. It was bollocks of course, in my line of work, you learn to spot people who are hiding things, and the moment I laid eyes on Miss Sarah Boinkwell, I knew she had more than a few skeletons hiding in her pretty little closet.

She looked out of the screen at me, her full pink mouth set in a little pout, her eyelashes caught mid flutter around sweet green eyes, red waves of hair setting her creamy skin off to perfection. Oh she was a pretty one alright, if it wasn't for the fact I knew her skirts hid seven and a half inches of trouble, I'd be thoroughly tempted myself. Fortunately for sissy Sarah, I'm strictly a ladies man. Unfortunately for her I'm tough on crime, real tough.

Does it sound like I had a personal bone to pick with this lady? Well, let's just say that even the best of us are sometimes caught out. You see, Sarah Boinkwell and I weren't actually strangers when I agreed to take this case. I had met her for the first time at a little soiree I was holding at my apartment, she came as the date of a charming gentleman friend of mine, and was rather the little social butterfly as I recall, flitting about the place making sparkling conversation and entertaining the other guests thoroughly.

It was a lovely evening. I was dressed in a black sequined gown that clung from head to toe, long slits up the sides revealing my shapely sheer black stockinged legs and just a hint of garter. Even in my role as host, I like to think that I would have been more shrewd than to allow myself to be taken advantage of by a thief in my own domain, but I must confess that I was thrown off my game by another little lady that evening, Jane Domehard, a divorcee and satisfied client. A lot of women are put off by an unrepentant male crossdresser, but Jane was well in the thoes of post divorce exploration and she wanted to try everything, including me. A gentleman does his best never to refuse a lady, and it seemed that night her hands never left me for an instant. As a result my mind was a little hazy when pretty sissy Sarah minced over to me, clutched at my arm and asked where the ladies room was I directed her to my en suite, thinking nothing of it at the time.

It wasn't until the next day when Jane was cooking us eggs for breakfast that I realized my panty drawer had been well and truly pillaged. Sissy Sarah had an eye for quality, I'll give her that, I still haven't been able to replace some of the panties she stole that fateful evening. Since then Sarah had pulled off several similar heists, targeting the Governor's wife amongst other high profile citizens, and attracting the attention of the police. Oh yes, she had been a very, very bad girl indeed, and bringing her to justice would be an exquisite pleasure.

Silver's Detective Agency - Part One

Warning, this story contains themes of a lacy nature...

Silver's Detective Agency

By Hope Alexander

Of all the agencies, in all the world, she had to walk into mine. Jeans hanging off her hips, faded baggy t-shirt hiding any hint of a curve, plastic crocs clumping on the floor. Her mascara had been hastily applied and was running down her cheeks, mixed with her tears. Her double chin quivered slightly with her grief, her milky blue eyes looked out at me hopelessly through stringy blonde hair tainted with patches of mousy brown regrowth. She was a mess.

“Hello, Beautiful,” I smiled. Her look of surprise at the compliment was practically hilarious as I unfolded myself from my deep office chair and gestured for her to take a seat on the pink couch reserved for clients. She plopped down in the middle of it, wringing her hands and inspecting the polished wood floor.

“How can I help you?” I asked, perching my pinstripe suit clad posterior on the arm and smiling at her.

“He's cheating on me,” she said numbly.

“What can I do?” I asked, examining one of my well manicured fingers, already knowing the answer.

“I want proof. I want to take him for all he's got. I want him to hurt.” A glint of purpose was in her eyes as she looked up at me, ferocious desire to hurt the man who'd hurt her so terribly, the passion briefly recalling what must have been her beauty before the grind of child bearing and marriage sapped her of her passion for life.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves here. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Jack Silver, private detective. It's a lot less glamorous than it sounds of course, most of my clientel are women and men just like the one currently occupying my couch. Nobody walks through that door for a good reason. This is a business built on deceit – but it's also an avenue to justice, which is why I enjoy my work so very very much.

I reached down and squeezed her pudgy shoulder reassuringly. “Don't you worry darling, we'll get the bastard,” I assured her, earning myself a watery smile. I picked up a pad and paper from the coffee table in front of us, my skirt hiking smoothly as I sat back down and crossed my slim stocking clad legs, enjoying the soft whisper of nylon and the way my slim calves formed a well heeled triangle, one black stiletto dangling from my elevated toe.

A glance over at the full length mirror saw me seated there looking as impeccable as ever, dark hair curling to my shoulders, my eyes tastefully though dramatically highlighted with earth tone eyeshadow to bring out the deep brown of my eyes and topped off with long lash mascara – a guy's best friend.

My newest client introduced herself as Angela, a 37 year old housewife from the 'burbs. He was cheating with his secretary. It was a story made all the more tragic by its sheer ordinariness.

“I'm going to sue him for everything. He'll never see the kids again.” She spat venom, anger taking over from grief.

“Of course darling. Now you go home and take a nice long bath and leave this to me.”

She left, an angry little lamb buoyed with the thought of revenge. I smiled as she stomped out the door. It was all too easy, another stake out, another set of high definition saucy pictures, another five figure settlement.

Pressing the intercom button, I called for my secretary. She came tottering in all blonde curls and giggles as usual. I pay the girl far too much, but she's cute, and that's good for morale.

“Erica, get me a drink would you?”

“Of course, Mr Silver,” she bobbed in a curtsy that held a hint of sarcasm. Don't ask me how she manages to move sarcastically, just take my word for it. If you ever meet her, you'll know what I mean.
I watched her prepare the drink through slightly narrowed eyes. She's been my secretary for three years now, and I swear she never tires of finding new ways to playfully irk her boss.

“Thank you dear, do you have those files I requested from John at the station?” I asked as she handed me my usual, a pink lady.

“Uhhmmm,” her blue eyes practically rolled up inside her head as she thought about the question.

“Yes!” she finally revealed with a bright smile.

“Send them on to me, please.” I stood and walked back to my desk, drink still in hand, dwarfing her petite figure with my 6'3 frame elevated even higher by the 2.5'' heels. She calls me 'the Giantess' behind my back, thinks I don't know about it. Really I need to do something about that girl.

For the moment however, I had bigger fish to fry. The files from John at the station were on a case highly relevant to my interests. Sitting down behind my desk, I swung my long legs up onto the corner of the table and waited, sipping at the drink.

True to form, the 'new email' icon soon flashed on screen, and a few well placed clicks later, I was looking at the digitsed representation of my latest quarry – the inimitable panty thief.