Message-ID: <14380eli$9808151831@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Subject: More Lost Stories - Hot on the Trail 2! - Who in the World is Celeste802 {Tammy Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: TTT Archive (Treasure Trove of the Titmouse) -------------------------------------------- Please pardon the lengthy header. BitBard has informed me of several more missing stories from earlier in 1996. These did not appear in Celeste's Cumulative Monthly List posted in late July, since that list began with March. The additional "missing" stories are from January and February, 1996. As before, I'll repost those I have in my archive with a request to others to try to locate the remaining ones. My new batch of found stories includes: Dark Nights I {jash} Paying the Price {Javahead} Thanksgiving 1-3 {Tom} Snowbound {A. Van Peebles} Hot on the Trail - Who in the World is Celeste802? {Backrub + Tammy Ng} A Guest of Celeste {Ted}, part 2 of 2 only Previously reposted: Bushido {Sachi Mizuno} Excerpt only. Anyone got the rest? Cleave it to Beaver 1 {MrNatural} Is there more? Dispensation of Grace 3 {Horangi} Anyone got parts 1-2? Face of Betrayal {Morpheus' Twin} Hands On {Deidre Ng} Meeting Shirley {The Observer} Open Big {Thomas A Long} Silent Intruder {Annette} Tammy's Game {Tammy Ng} Terri's Dilemma {The Observer} Tonya Harding, Slave Girl {Your Friendly Author} STILL MISSING: (Note: I'm a couple of days behind on reading this newsgroup, so some of these may have been posted by others.) Natalie by Daniel Shechori Carol & Tom by Nom de Plume A Guest of Celeste by Ted, Part 1 Making a Splash by I Robert Dispensation of Grace by Horangi, Parts 1,2 Under the Table by DOLFAN353 'D' Is for Driving by Dulcinea (I can't BELIEVE I'm missing a Dulcinea story!) Zipless Fuck by Doug Two final notes: 1. Don't bother asking me to send you stories. I won't. I might make an exception for FOC'ers (Friends of Celeste). 2. I've included the original headers for historical purposes if I have them. Many of the addresses are invalid by this date. Best, Titmouse ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- FIRST PART POSTED SEPARATELY AS Hot on the Trail 1 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- alt.sex.stories #77485 (2 + 206 more) [1] From: bckrub@aol.com (BCKRUB) [1] Backrub:New:"Hot on the Trail" 3/3 Date: Sat Feb 10 04:47:22 PST 1996 Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) Lines: 417 Sunday, December 1. We didn't wake up until 8 A.M. and didn't get out of bed until 9:30 A.M. Use your imagination. A beautiful day for a drive out to Long Island. Back to the small North Shore village I used to live in. Before Tammy Ng, before cheap gin and expensive trouble. We passed the old 1895 grey house I used to live in, the back yard with swaying trees where I used to sit and think through quiet cases, sipping 18-year-old single malt scotch. The place where everything used to be simple, before the changes. We parked in front of the familiar old grocery store, a storefront whose windows held posters extolling the direct correlation between drinking Budweiser and attracting women with large breasts, the lunch specials and Ben & Jerry's. Inside, the grizzled old man behind the counter looked up from the sandwich he was slowly wrapping for the only customer in the store. His eyes shone with a combination of surprise and disapproval. "Backrub, I don't know whether to shoot you or hug you." "You got a piece?" "Not as nice as the one you got next to you." "Then maybe you better hug me Mac." The old man came around the counter as the customer activated a set of jingle bells on the door as he left. I didn't even see the left hook coming. I saw Tammy start to move and then stop. "Maybe I don't have a gun, but I still got my fists!" "Hey! What'd you do that for!" I mumbled, rubbing my jaw. "You may have saved my son, but you still sent my nephew up the river!" "Your nephew, Mac, was a con artist who bilked elderly couples and I was a cop at the time. They don't mix. Someone had to take the fall. He deserved the seven years he got." "Well, it ain't fair. He's still got two years in stir and he can't even write books to make money, like most normal white collar crim'nals." "Look, Mac, that's ancient history, we're here to see Timmy. I need his help on a case and he owes me for the 'Toys 'R Us" caper." "Who's the dame with the nice gams?" "Tammy Ng, Bobby MacMillan. Mac, Tammy." "Ditch him, babe. He's a loser who's going to end up face down in an viaduct with a bullet between his eyes." "Viaduct?" asked Tammy. "Why not a chicken?" "Backrub's been ask'in for it his entire life." "And most of the morning." "Oh, one of them smartass modern dames. I'll bet she likes to be on top, too." "Oh, Backrub, you told him about me." "Mac, can we can the classy repartee and see Timmy?" "Yeah, yeah, he's around back and upstairs, right where you left him last time. Oh, and you still take hot sauce on the ham-egg-cheese sammich?" "Yeah, Mac." Timmy wasn't exactly 'right where I'd left him.' When I'd last seen Timmy MacMillan the Harvard Ph.D. cum Deadhead druggie had gone relatively straight. Instead of spending his time traveling, operating a home drug lab and maintaining a taste for the illicit, he'd put his energies into computers and had started his own small software and virtual reality R&D firm, as well as maintaining his own internet server, jerry.com. We walked into a large room that had more hardware than I'd ever seen in one place. A mini trade show with servers, PC's, Macs, printers and stereo equipment. The Grateful Dead were still flowing out of the speakers, and Timmy was still wearing a bandana around his head. "Backrub, long time, man. Who's the sister with the great legs?" I repeated the introductions. Tammy smiled demurely. Timmy looked her up and down. "Timmy, we need your help on a case. We're looking for someone on the internet. Celeste802." "The phantom satirist on a.s.s. Far out." "You know about this?" "Sure, not much happens on the sex-related functions of the internet that I don't know about. Since you saw me last, I've created my own little empire. I started up alt.binaries.pictures.erotic.lassie, alt.sex.bigtits, alt.binaries.sounds.peeing, the Peeper's web page, the Flemish Erotica CD's, all kinds of stuff. Big bucks selling CD's and charging people for downloads. Whoever Celeste802 is, she has class. I could make a fortune scanning her pussy and selling the files to thousands of desperate college students. By the way, sweetie, I could make you a star. Your face could launch a thousand 18-year-old hearts." "I think I already launch a 40-year-old pretty effectively every night," noted Tammy. "Timmy, if you wanted to trace someone like that, how would you do it?" "But how do you do it?" asked Tammy. Timmy grinned. "What's it worth to you?" "A couple thousand from our client." "Shit, I can make that in a good afternoon. I'll tell you what, Tammysweet. Let me do a few digital photo's of your sweet pussy and ass and we'll call it even. You'll become my girlfriend on one newsgroup, a cheerleader on another, and I'll paste Winona Ryder's face on your body..." "Timmy, I don't think we want to know about this. We still have an account with CompuServe." "The one thing I won't let you photograph is my face." After we had completed our, or at least Tammy's part of the bargain, Timmy set to work. "OK, the first thing we do," he said as he clattered away, "is hack into AOL and plant a little bitty worm in their system. That worm will send us an identifying message when Celeste802 picks up their mail. Then we'll send them a mail message as bait, sit back and wait." We sat back and waited. Six hours and two six packs later, along with Dead concert tapes covering each night from July 4 through July 20, 1973, Timmy's AOL account came to life. "You've got mail!" said America Online. Timmy moved back to the PC that had just announced mail call and opened the incoming email message. He looked it over, saved it printed it, and left AOL's software. "Backrub, come quick!" I felt Tammy take me completely into her mouth as her finger slid into my ass. "I just did." "Now we go back in the back door," said Timmy. Tammy voluteered her pocketbook sized tube of K-Y jelly and Travellers Aid Society dildo (just fill with hot water from any tap). Timmy regretfully declined. "The worm I planted just sent us an automatic message when 'Celeste802' picked up her mail. The message includes aol's internal account number for the person, so even if they're not in the member directory, I can get them internally through aol's account files." Tammy and I lost interest until Timmy paused and we saw him staring at the display. We joined him in staring at the lines from AOL's account files. "Farm out," said Timmy. "Well, I'll be," said Tammy. "Never a dull moment," I noted. "Now what do we do?" Tammy asked. "Well, Celeste801 hired us to find our who wrote the parody. She hired us because she was hurt that someone had written the parody. She'll feel better if she knows who it was, and in this case, she might even be flattered when she finds out. I think some kind of final confrontation with the perp is necessary." "Why's that?" Timmy inquired. "Because this is a detective story, and detective stories require final confrontations. Look, I think I read somewhere that this particular perp likes John LeCarre novels. Let's send this message..." I moved over to the keyboard and typed in this message: "Karla, When we first met in Delhi, I tried to convince you of the wisdom of moving to us, to the West, and the limits of your future in the East. You have now reached those limits. We have Alexandra, we know that she is your daughter by a woman of known anti-Soviet tendencies, that you arranged for her secret departure from the Soviet Union and that you conceived an elaborate plan to maintain her here, in safety, while establishing a cover for her as your agent. You have arranged for at least two murders, plus the official execution of Kirov, to cover your private scheme. All of this evidence, given your precarious position in Moscow Centre, is sufficient to ensure your liquidation by your peers in the Collegium. If that should occur, Alexandra would be left alone, an ailing refugee sent from public hospital to public hospital, or worse, sent back to Russia, where she would be subject to the full wrath of your enemies. "There is another way, which I offered you twenty years ago when we met in Delhi. Come to us, in the West, tell us what you know, and we will make you a home here. Smiley P.S., M: We know you're Celeste802. Time to 'fess up. - Backrub, P.I." "Sure know how to stretch a point, don't you? Is she going to have any idea what that is all about?" Tammy opined. "Well, let's see if it works. If she likes LeCarre she may be impressed, or just curious about how we found her out." It worked. Two hours later, an email message from Celeste802: "George, darling, Come and get me. Tonight, 9 P.M. Alone... Karla" There was also a Manhattan address and a password to give the doorman, who, I suspected, would otherwise not let me through the front door, much less into an elevator. We bid Timmy farewell, and raced back to the city. Tammy went to gather up Celeste801 at her hotel room and bring her to our office to await my return. I headed uptown. The building was on Fifth Avenue, within sight of the Metropolitan Museum. I made a note to move into the neighborhood as soon as I've cleared $3 million. The doorman let me in, smiling and I went up to the apartment, in the quiet and relatively exclusive building. She answered the door wearing a sleeveless cotton crop top and tight jeans, a small ruby heart dangling at her throat. "Ms. Ciccione, I presume?" "Hey, you're not one my high school teachers!", she smiled. "C'mon in and tell me a story." Standing seven feet behind Madonna was Sandra Bernhard, looking surprised. "You really don't look like any private eye I'd ever imagine. I mean, I would've expected a trench coat and a fedora, not jeans, a tweed jacket and Mets cap. I envisioned Humphrey Bogart or Robert Mitchum, not fuckin' Woody Allen. You look like some NYU professor." I decided that mentioning my stint as an NYU professor would not improve my standing. "There's only one thing 'Woody' about me, sister." Madonna laughed. "OK, tell me the story. How did you figure this out?" We sat down and I told them the entire tale. When I was finished, each of them had something to say. Madonna: "Pretty cool. Sounds like a fun job you've got there." Sandra: "No real private eye stuff? No climbing up buildings or shooting people or guys named 'Louie' or people knocking you over the head or tying you up or anything? You found us by using a stupid computer trick?" "Actually, I thought it was a pretty smart computer trick. If it'll make you feel any better, you can always tie me up..." Five minutes later I was lying tied, naked and spread-eagled on a large bed with silk sheets in a dark room lit only by many candles. Madonna, now in black lace bra and crotchless panties, was kneeling between my legs, rolling a condom onto my hardening cock. Looking straight up, I saw Ms. Bernhard's pussy descending onto my face. I licked, and enjoyed it. After sucking me with world class ability for several minutes, Madonna mounted me and began riding me while I continued to lave Sandra's pussy, which was grinding into my face as she got higher. I couldn't see the movements of Madonna's hips as she rode me, but it was clear from what I was feeling that she was very dedicated to working out all sorts of muscles. Sandra came, grinding herself indulgently all over my face as I licked her clit, pussy and anus. She continued rubbing until she was completely sated and she'd wiped her juices all over my face. She dismounted to kneel next to Madonna and pinch her nipples as she came. We locked onto each others' eyes as her blond curls quivered, her hips thrust and her body flushed. The sight of the muscle definition on her thighs and stomach almost made me lose control. Then, each of them was on a side of me. The condom was off and Sandra was putting oil on my cock and stroking while Madonna bit my nipples. "You know, this might not be the time to bring this up, but in 'Body of Evidence,' I really found the simple but passionate sex scene between Julianne Moore and Willem Dafoe more of a turn on that your bondage seduction stuff with him and the hot dripping wax later in the film." "So, we've got Gene Siskel in bed with us today, Sandra." With a mischievous grin and a sparkle in her eyes, Madonna reached for a nearby candle. "Oh, you're not really going to...Ouch...Oooch!" "So...you like the hot wax on your chest, don't you?" She continued drop, drop, dropping hot candle wax onto me as she covered an index finger with oil and brought it to my ass. Kids, if you see a woman with long nails on all of her fingers except for one, usually an index finger, this may be reason. Sandra's wet, fast stroking of my cock continued apace. She brought her face down to it as if to invite me to come on her, then rapidly flickered her tongue about one millionth of an inch away from the head, then looked up at me with those smoky eyes and thick pouting lips. As I stiffened and tugged at my restraints, Sandra aimed my cock over my stomach and Madonna slid her finger into my ass, sliding in and out as I came in large, warm spurts over my stomach and her nice satin sheets. "Hey, he's sorta cute when he comes!" Later, the three of us showered together, removing the wax and sweat from our bodies. I insisted on making sure that each of their pussies was really, really, clean, sliding a bar of soap over and between their pussy lips until they came, each holding each other. They reciprocated and I came on Sandra's tits. Dressed and ready to go, I stood at the door. Madonna dropped to her knees, unzipped me, took out my clean cock and sucked it hard two or three times and then smeared her lipsticked lips over each side. Hard, she put me back in my pants, rose and kissed me goodbye. I returned to my office and reported to Celeste801 and Tammy. I left out the part about the sex to avoid upsetting Tammy or suggesting to Celeste801 that I'd already been paid in the form of fringe benefits. I explained that Madonna had nothing to lose: no one would believe the story and even if they did, it would only help her image, either as a sex symbol or as a smart clever individual who can write as well as sing. Celeste801 was unlikely to crow to her students or friends, who might be impressed about the Madonna connection but outraged by the English-teacher- secret-writer-of-erotica. Celeste801 was flattered, because whether or not she happened to like Madonna, brushes with fame are exciting and a world famous sexually-charged rock star parodying your work is something of an ego boost. Tammy and I got paid and Timmy got pictures of Tammy's pussy to post on Usenet (check out alt.binaries.pictures.erotic.catholic.school.girls, under the header, "Hillary Clinton's pussy - REALLY!"), also available on CD-ROM. Deidre and Tammy had something new to argue about, SoooNH continued occasional writing of sexy, thoughtful stories, Madonna probably made another million while I wrote this, and Sandra Bernhard continued her career as a sexy smartass. AFTERWARD Evening, Sunday, December 1. After everything calmed down, Tammy and I went to dinner, then a movie, then back to my place. There are two things you need to know about the very end of this case. The first is that I live in a nice, but not luxurious building, and nice New York City apartment buildings are usually overheated. It may have been December 1 and only 42 degrees out, but the heat was cranked up and I had the bedroom window open about six inches or so. Tammy likes things toasty warm, while bear that I am, I prefer cool. It just ensures that she cuddles up close to me at night. The second thing you need to know is that Police Officer Kevin Brophy, the beat cop on my block, is an old friend who looks after me. The next day he mentioned that at about 1:15 A.M., while passing my building, he could clearly hear Tammy's voice from my fourth floor bedroom, exclaiming, "Hey, what's this lipstick doing on your cock!?" Private Eye Hint Number Seven: Always wipe everything clean of prints after an illegal entry. [Fade to theme music and credits] by Backrub (bckrub@aol.com) and Tammy Ng (deidreng@aol.com) February 4, 1996 End of article 77485 (of 78088) -- what next? 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