Discreet Detective Agency – Chapter 4


Chapter 4

WARNING:  For mature audiences only

HE’D MANAGED TO GET an hour or so of sleep after ramming his cock up the girl’s tight ass a few more times.  He enjoyed fucking dead Black girls.  All of the fun and none of the sass, he thought as he rubbed his hand once more over the girls round firm ass.   She was still soft.  Rigor mortis hadn’t set in yet.

“Mmmm,” he moaned rolling her over and ramming his right hand between her legs.  He rubbed furiously at her clit.  He wanted to see if even in death she’d cum.

He began urging her on.  “Come on.  I know you want to.  Show me you’re still in there.  Show me how I make you cum.”  Insulted that she did not show her appreciation for all of his hard work, he pulled his right hand from between her legs and slammed his balled up fist down hard in the center of her face.

“Whore!” he screamed, releasing his pent-up rage/

“Whore! That’s what you are.  That’s what all of you are!  Whores!”

He wanted to hurl things, throw things, and break things.  But knew better.  The less he touched in the room the easier it would be to clean.   Standing up, he looked down at the dead young Black girl’s body.  At least, he reminded himself, he still had her.

He picked up the girl’s body and threw it violently against the wall.  When it plopped to the floor, he calmly walked over and begin kicking it.  Still not sated, he reached down, grabbed a hand full of the long black human hair weave attached to the young Black girl’s head and started punching her beautiful bronze face until it was unrecognizable.  Emotionally satisficed, he dropped the body back in the middle of the bedroom floor from where he’d retrieve it later.

He was hot and sweaty and smelled of whore.  He needed a shower.  But that was against the rules.  Some of those new detectives down at the Bureau of Detectives actually worked. And he wasn’t about to help them by giving them his DNA.  He kicked the body one last time before retrieving his clothes from the funny looking orange chair beside the bed.   He dressed quietly, casting his eyes over at the lump of flesh on the floor from time to time.  He tied the last loop in his shoe laces and snarled, “Where’d you hide them, bitch?”  The young Black girl gave no answer to his question.

The man got up, slipped on a pair of gloves he kept in his pants pocket and searched the room for her keys.  The apartment door key and the downstairs door key.  He’d need them to get back in and finish his business.

He scanned the top of the dresser.  Nothing.  He pulled open every dresser drawer.  Every single one of them was empty.  Which meant this was a place of business for the girl.  It was not where she lived.  “Ahh,” he sighed aloud.  “Her purse.”  The keys and her phone will be in her purse.  Now, where the hell was her purse?

Then he remembered.  The last time, he’d done this, the whore had hidden her purse where she could get it if there was trouble.  Bathrooms were usually the only rooms with a lock.  He sauntered over to the bathroom, opened the door, and sure enough, there behind a stack of folded towels was a nice pink lady like bag.   “Humph,” he said to himself.  A whore with a lady like bag.  What the hell is this world coming to?”

He rummaged through it, careful not to leave any traces of himself and found what he was looking for.  The keys.

As cool as if he were going out for a summer stroll, he walked out of the room, down the hall, and out the door.

Outside, the sky was a dark navy blue indicating that sunrise was maybe two or three hours away.  He had time.

He walked slowly to his car, a white Buick Encore, that he’d parked around the block, unlocked the truck, and pulled out the Samsonite Winfield 2 Expandable rollaway suitcase he used for these occasions.  There was a reason he liked them petite.

Pulling on a baseball cap and keeping his head down, he made his way back to the apartment building and using the dead young Black girl’s keys, let himself back in.

The lump of flesh was still where he’d left it.  He knew what he had to do.   There was a reason he liked them petit.

First, he pulled the sheets from the bed and placed them on the floor next to the body.  He rolled the dead young Black girl’s body onto the sheets.  Opening the suitcase, he pulled out a turkey baster full of bleach and plunged it into the dead young Black girl’s vagina and squeezed until it was empty.  Then, he stuffed her, the sheets, and the pillow cases into the suitcase.  Satisfied with his work, he put the keys back in her purse and put the purse back where he’d found it.

He did one final check of the apartment, making sure he’d left nothing of himself, and assured that he had not, he left dragging the rollaway suitcase behind him.

He took Indiana Avenue south.  Passing First Unity Baptist Church, he knew he’d escaped the Police Station at 5101 S. Wentworth Avenue.  He didn’t slow down or speed up.  He didn’t even turn his head for a look see.  Instead, he kept going until he reached Cottage Grove Avenue.

He hung a left.  Things were going as planned.  Confident, he took another left onto 64th and stopped when he reached a section of apartment buildings near 65th and South Ingleside Avenue that had a large parking lot which was adjacent to an empty lot.

He parked his car under a large grove of trees.  He had to be careful now, it was getting light outside.  But he wanted to make sure that those leaving for work, early in the morning saw the fire.

He pulled the rollaway suitcase from the back of his car along with a bright red container of gasoline.  His lighter was in his pocket.  He said nothing.

Stooping behind one of the park’s large trash cans, he unzipped the suitcase and lifted the young Black girl’s body out of it and dumped it into the trash can.  He looked down at the sheet covering her naked body and smiled.  He stooped down again, picked up the bright red gasoline container and emptied its contents all over the sheets making sure every inch was saturated.  Then, he closed the suitcase, put the cap back on the container, removed his gasoline soaked gloves, pulled the light from his pocket, flicked it, and tossed it in.  The trash can erupted in flames.

The tall well-dressed solidly built man got back into his car and drove off.

Eliza D. Ankum

Discreet Detective Agency – Chapter 3


Chapter 3

WARNING:  For mature audiences only

IT WAS A NICELY DONE working girl’s bedroom.  Nothing too gaudy or too feminine that was off-putting to a man’s desire.  It had everything necessary to complete their transaction.  A king-sized bed.

He’d allowed her to led him in, undress him, fondle and suck on him, before he threw her on the bed and jammed his hot throbbing rod into her black cunt.

“Oh baby, that’s it.  Drive it deeper, faster, harder,” the young Black girl on the bed beneath him yelled.  She was only about seven years older than his daughter, Emma.  He shifted his weight and obeyed.

Her eyes were closed as she ground her pelvis into his pushing her hips up meeting his every downward plunge.

As she began climaxing, he shifted the weight of his body to his left arm and cupped his right hand around her slender bronze throat.  He pressed down hard with all of his strength.  The girl’s eyes popped open.  She began struggling beneath him, not with pleasure but with fear.  The more she struggled, the more excited he became.

Her slender arms and delicate hands pounded against the sides of his naked body.  And when she gored her bright red nails into his back in a desperate attempt to stop him from choking the life out of her, he only became more and more excited, pounding even harder and deeper inside her.

He prayed that the sound proofing in the building was good as he grunted loudly his cumming as the life seeped from the young Black girl.  It was even more exciting cumming inside her as she died.

He stayed on top of her and inside the body of the dead young Black girl, savoring the sensation of her lifeless body.

She’d been soooo good.  He’d have sex with her two or three more times before leaving.

He pulled out of her, rolled over onto his back, and stared up at the ceiling wondering what the fellas back at work would think of him if they knew.

Eliza D. Ankum


Discreet Detective Agency – Chapter 2


Chapter 2

WARNING: For mature audiences only

THE YOUNG BLACK GIRL – a real stunner, in his opinion, with deep brown skin that shimmered like polished bronze in the glow of the apartment’s soft lights.  She was petite – no more than five-two – with a slim figure.  Just the way he like them.

When she’d opened the door, she’d smiled at him with a mouth full of perfectly white and perfectly aligned teeth that he was sure one of her other customers had foolishly laid out a giant wad of cash to get them done for her. Or, perhaps, he thought, one of her other clients was a dentist.

Hmmm, he thought, dwelling on the idea of what that rich, generous client would think about the work he was going to do on her tonight.

In that melty chocolatey voice that most women of her kind have, she said, “Come on in, sweetie.  I’ve been waiting anxiously for you.”

No, he thought, you haven’t.  But, he knew better.  He couldn’t allow her to see the beast, yet.

“Can I fix you a drink?”

“Yes,” he mumbled, following her down the short narrow hallway that led into a large living room that had floor to ceiling windows that offered up a view of downtown Chicago’s skyscrapers and Lake Michigan.  No wonder she had cost so much.  One thousand for the entire night.  She or her pimp had to pay the rent on this sucker.

He thought about his humble little three-bedroom house back in Beverly with its small fenced-in backyard.  The only view it offered was a view of his neighbor, Stanley’s, backyard.  And of his two teenage boys – Logan, 14 and Oliver, 16.  And how they had to share a bedroom so that their younger sister, Emma, who was 12, and on her way to becoming a woman, had the privacy she needed.   And here was this Black whore, living like this!

When the young Black girl bent over a glass and gold bar cart to pour him a drink, she gave him a look at her well rounded, generous behind.  He thought about his wife, Grace.

Grace was warm, loving, thoughtful, and in some ways, sexy as hell.  And she thought the world of him, and truthfully, would have done anything for him.  She loved him, and he knew it.

There was just one problem.  With her blonde hair, blue eyes, and pale skin, she didn’t do for him what he needed.  She didn’t get his Johnson hard.

At home, he was a limp dick unless he fantasized about the raunchy black bitches he saw walking the streets.  Or he closed his eyes and played back in his head what he’d done to the other whores he’d had.  Same things he was going to do to this Black whore tonight.  Tomorrow night, he could make love to Grace.

Desire flared in him.  He reached out and stroked the young Black girl’s firm rounded ass.

“Oh, sweetie, you’re ready to go aren’t you?” the girl cooed.  Turning to him she ran her shimmery bronzed hand over the rock hard white bulge at the front of his pants.

“Ooooh.  That’s a pretty good sized one you got there sweetie.  Why don’t we go on into the bedroom and you let me play with him for a while?  I might even suck him.”

“Yes.  Why don’t we do that,” he answered, his voice husky with lust.”

“Good.  I can’t wait to ride him. Hard.”

Eliza D. Ankum



Discreet Detective Agency – Chapter 1


Chapter 1

Warning:  For mature audiences only

THE TALL, WELL DRESSED, solidly built man scouted the hallway of the upscale apartment building located near South Indiana Avenue and East Hyde Park Blvd.  His work and personal cell phones had been turned off and safely stashed in a Faraday Cage in the trunk of his car.  A white Buick Encore.

He pulled an anonymous cell phone, which he used for just such occasions, from his jacket pocket and began scanning the apartment building’s unit numbers for the apartment number in the ad he’d pulled off the escort service’s internet page.

Finding the right unit, he paused outside the door letting the wave of excitement, regarding what he was about to do to the occupant of the apartment, wash over him.  Excited yet calm, he knocked on the door.  The burgundy painted door swung open before he could knock a third time.

The girl, as promised by the ad, was young, petite, very pretty with a shapely slim figure, and a gorgeous smile.  Even more importantly, she was African American.  Black.  She had to be.  It’s what got his juices going.  He’d had enough of white bread.  He needed something spicier.

All day long he saw them.  Watched them as they swung their amply rounded asses back and forth across the streets of his city.  Low cut tank tops with no bras and short denim shorts worn without the benefit of underwear.  Their chocolate brown sweaty skin glistening in the hot Chicago summer air that smelled of reefer and Jew-town polish sausages.

Eliza D. Ankum




John Lewis’ Final Crossing Of The Edmund Pettus Bridge

This morning, I got up to watch This Week With George Stephanopoulos, but instead, I had the good pleasure of witnessing US House Representative John Lewis’ final crossing of the Edmund Pettus Bridge.

If you missed it, you missed God’s salute to him.  

It started with the people.  As the horse drawn cart carrying Representative Lewis’ body neared the beginning of the bridge crossing, the people were yelling their love for him and praise for the work he’d done on their behalf.

But when that cart neared the top of the bridge, it got quiet.  You could no longer hear the people.  And then it started.  As a low buzzing that turned into a loud crescendo of katydids.

Click here to watch and LISTEN!

It was as if God was using them to say:

Well done!  My Good and faithful servant.

Black lives do matter to ALL of US (United States of America)

A Tiny Kitten With A Big Mouth
Eliza D. Ankum


Mr. President 2016 – Chapter 19


Chapter 19

THIS IS CHANNEL 4 NEWS Washington, DC.  And my name is Peter Rawlings and we’re coming on the air to bring you an update on a story we told you about earlier this evening. Continue reading

Mr. President 2016 – Chapter 18


Chapter 18

JADONA STONE, Jade to her friends, sat in her office in the East Wing of the White House wondering how the hell had all of this happened. Continue reading

Mr. President 2016 – Chapter 17


Chapter 17

RUYAH LAID DOWN on the elegant king-sized Embassy bed and allowed the tears she’d been holding back for the last few hours of her old life to flow. Continue reading

Mr. President 2016 – Chapter 16


Chapter 16

RICK KNEW SOMETHING WAS WRONG. Very wrong. Ruyah wasn’t in his head and all he heard were the usual hotel sounds; the TV, snoring, couples arguing, and couples moaning in ecstasy. But still, something wasn’t right. Continue reading

Mr. President 2016 -Chapter 8


Chapter 8

ARMY SPECIALIST OPERATIONS OFFICER Roy Johnson, was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible while keeping an eye on his new target.  But, he was clearly irritated by Director Loudoun’s questions.  Did she really think that he’d deliberately gotten the old man killed?

If he hadn’t already figured it out, this call from Director Loudoun was making it crystal clear that former President Noah Daniels was not the FBI’s nor the CIA’s most wanted target.  No, it was Ruyah al-Basir bint al-Aziz bin al-Saba.  She was who they really wanted.  And he, unfortunately had left her unguarded at the hotel, assuming her to be a no value target as he’d chased after Daniels.  After all, they – him, Madison, Blaine, and Alvarez – had destroyed that damn weather machine her and her terrorist husband, Youssef bin Caneer, had made.  And the weather of late, had been just fine.

But he knew as he listened to FBI Director Loudoun’s angry restrained voice, that if Daniels had been their main target, she would have sidelined him by now and had the boys in Public Affairs make up some cock and bull story about how the former President had had a heart attack while running along the Potomac’s shoreline trying to avoid arrest.  And as a result had fallen in.  But they hadn’t and he was still active.

“Ma’am,” he snarled into the phone, “I was trailing him as instructed.  And after trailing him to the Brookmont house, I waited outside for backup, from the hotel to arrive.  I did not engage the subject at any time, before or afterwards.”

“Did you see the former President’s killer enter the condo?”

“No ma’am.  His killer must have gotten there before me and had been waiting inside.”

“How long was former President Daniels in the house before you realized he was in trouble”

“About half an hour or so, ma’am.”

“What happened?”

“Like I said, I was outside the house in Brookmont on Ridge Drive when I heard a panic alarm, inside the house, go off.  Then one shot.

I raced into the house.  However, I didn’t see anyone when I entered. After which, I made sure the first floor was clear before making my way up to the second floor.

Broaching the second floor landing, I noted that the lights on the entire second floor were off.  I swept right towards the bedrooms at the front of the house.  All of them were empty.

I turned left and made my way towards the rear bedrooms.  That’s when I saw that there was a small red blinking light coming from one of the rear bedrooms, I thought it was the master bedroom. It was not.  It was an office connected to the master bedroom.  I made a quick visual sweep of the room and that’s when I saw him lying, on his side beneath an open safe.”

“Wait a minute!  You’re telling me his body was still in the house?  How can that be?  He was found floating face down in the Potomac River.”

“Probably because I didn’t wait for back-up ma’am.  Seeing the former President lying on the floor, I quickly made entry into the room without any interference.  I bent down to check to see if he was still alive and I got a boot to the head”

“So, his killer was still in the house?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Where are you, now, Specialist Johnson?”

“Jamaica Station, in New York ma’am.”


“I believe Lisa Miller was once former President Noah Daniels assistant and confidant.”

“Yes.  But the two of them had a rather ugly falling out over Miss Miller’s oversharing of information.”

“Yes ma’am.  But since the house the Former President visited tonight was registered under a dummy corporation filed by Miss Miller, I staked out Miss Miller’s real address figuring that once she heard the News she’d be up.  And I was right.  I captured something very interesting, ma’am.  I’m sending you the picture right now.”

Marlene looked down at her phone’s screen, then asked, “Is there anything you need?”

“The rest of the team, ma’am.  If you want to capture Former President Noah Daniels’ killer.

“I was going to do that anyway, Specialist,” Marlene answered, before pressing the end call button on her phone.

Yes. I’m going to do just that.  But not for the reason you suggested, she thought to herself.



Eliza D. Ankum
Author of
Flight 404 – A Novel of Aviation Disaster
Ruby Sanders (The Ruby and Jared Saga Book 1)
Jared Anderson (The Ruby and Jared Saga Book 2)
Ruby and Jared (The Ruby and Jared saga Book 3)
OneThreeThirteen – A Presidential Agent Novel Series Book 1
The Hunt For Red November  A Presidential Agent Novel Series Book 2
Dancing With The Fat Woman
Thou Shalt Eat Dust – A Second Chance Love Story
Eleanor Grunsback – An Ugly Woman’s Love Story
A Woman’s Voice: A Little Book of Poems
STALKED! By Voices
A Tiny Kitten With A Big Mouth