An FBI agent contacts a woman via phone about her dodgy sex contest

Maytag: Yes, I’m calling about the contest.

Woman: Of course you are, sweetie. Why don’t we get
started.

Maytag: I don’t think you understand. I am Special Agent
Gerald Maytag of the FBI.

Woman: Oooh, that’s a new one. I like the whole position
of authority thing. Keep going.

Maytag: I think there’s a misunderstanding, ma’am. I
really am with the FBI.

Woman: And I’m really with that voice. You’re getting me
warm, Agent Maytag.

Maytag: You like my voice?

Woman: Sure do.

Maytag: Ahem. Thank you, Ms. Bartlett. If we could just
get back to taking about the contest.

Ms. Bartlett: You’re doing well so far. How do you know
my name?

Maytag: I checked with the phone company before calling
you, ma’am.

Ms. Bartlett: Polite, too. If you know my name you might
as well call me Angie.

Maytag: All right, Angie.

Ms. Bartlett: What else do you know about me? Do you
know what color underwear I have on?

Maytag: That’s not why I called, Angie.

Ms. Bartlett: What do you mean?

Maytag: I mean I’m not interested in that sort of thing.

Ms. Bartlett: What sort of thing?

Maytag: The color of your underwear.

Ms. Bartlett: You’re not gay, are you, Agent Maytag?

Maytag: My sexual orientation isn’t at issue here, Ms.
Bartlett.

I want to ask you a few questions about your contest.

Ms. Bartlett: Well, why don’t you start by asking me
about my panties? I mean, how often do you talk to a
woman on the phone who is interested in telling you
about her panties?

Maytag: You’d be surprised.

Ms. Bartlett: Oooh! Do tell, Agent Maytag!

Maytag: I’d rather we talk about you and your contest.

Ms. Bartlett: That’s what I was trying to do, but you
said you weren’t interested in that sort of thing.

Maytag: I’m interested in the contest itself, not
participating.

Ms. Bartlett: That’s a shame, because you’re doing well.
Are you sure you can turn down a shot at a thousand
dollars, Agent Maytag? How much does the FBI pay you?

Maytag: Again, that’s not at issue here. Could we get
back to the contest?

Ms. Bartlett: Gladly. Black.

Maytag: I beg your pardon?

Ms. Bartlett: Black. My underwear is black. I know that
sounds pretty ordinary, but the color isn’t the
interesting thing about this underwear, the size is.
This thing is so narrow in front, sometimes I can’t tell
which way to wear it. I wanted to wear it today and I
had to shave so it wouldn’t look silly. I wound up
trimming so much down there that I just decided to hell
with it and I shaved it down bald. Now that thin black
strip doesn’t look so silly. Are you still with me,
Agent Maytag?

Maytag: Yes, I am.

Ms. Bartlett: Because you’ve gotten awfully quiet.

Maytag: I’m simply being patient and waiting to get this
conversation back on track.

Ms. Bartlett: I thought it was getting on track quite
nicely, and now I’m starting to get a little impatient.
You’re a little tease, Agent Maytag. Did you know that?

Maytag: Ms. Bartlett, have you done work in the phone
sex industry in the past?

Ms. Bartlett: Mmm-hmm. Talk so hot, you’d swear my
tongue actually came through the phone line and licked
you in the ear.

Maytag: And you’ve had some financial success in the
industry?

Ms. Bartlett: I’m good at what I do, Agent Maytag. And I
go that extra step. I had a regular once, a guy who
called me a lot. He liked to call me at lunch from his
office. We did a lot of fantasy sessions where I played
his secretary; he liked high heels, black coffee, and
blow jobs. One time we got to talking about my
underwear, just like the two of us are doing now. He
came faster than usual, so I guessed I found something
he liked.

Then I got this idea. We had talked so much about him,
and his job, and where he worked that I knew exactly
where he was. I had a little package delivered to him
the next day. He walked into his office after some
meeting and it was there on his desk. It was labeled
CONFIDENTIAL, and had my fictional secretary name, Ms.
Murphy, on the return address.

That must have gotten his blood going. Then he ripped
open the padded envelope and found a pair of panties
just like the ones we talked about the day before. He
told me that his dick almost poked through his pants.
He whipped it out and only managed two strokes before he
came. He tried to catch his cum with my little Ms.
Murphy panties, but he missed; it wound up shooting all
over some financial report.

Can’t blame him, really; those panties didn’t have a
whole lot of material to stop anything. Poor guy had to
ask for a new copy from his accounting department. Said
he spilled coffee on it. Agent Maytag?

Maytag: Yes?

Ms. Bartlett: When you come, what little FBI report are
you going to have to get a new copy of?

Maytag: Ms. Murphy, if we could just get back to the
contest.

Ms. Bartlett: Oh, I think we’re in the contest now, for
sure, Agent Maytag. You just called me Ms. Murphy.

Maytag: That was a mistake.

Ms. Bartlett: Sure it was. Do you have a secretary,
Agent Maytag? Would you like one? I could do that for
you. Stalk through your office in tight skirts, black
panty hose with a thick black seam running along the
back of my legs to make them look longer. Do you drink
coffee, Agent Maytag?

Maytag: Yes.

Ms. Bartlett: Do you like blow jobs, Agent Maytag?

Maytag: I like my job, Ms. Bartlett, and if you’d allow
me, I could continue to do it.

Ms. Bartlett: What exactly is your job, Agent Maytag?
Calling up phone sex contests to see if they’re
legitimate?

Maytag: In a manner of speaking, yes. Is your contest
legitimate?

Ms. Bartlett: Of course. I like my job, too, Agent
Maytag. Only I got tired of hearing clicks right after
guys came, just when I was getting into it.

Maytag: Even with regulars like your office friend?

Ms. Bartlett: He was different. But he stopped calling.
So I set up the contest. The caller that gets me off the
best in any month wins a hundred dollars. The best one
this year takes home a thousand.

Maytag: And your proof that you really give this money
away?

Ms. Bartlett: This was getting to be such an interesting
conversation, Agent Maytag, and now you’re in danger of
ruining it.

Maytag: It was never meant to be interesting.

Ms. Bartlett: Those are the best kind.

Maytag: I’m beginning to believe that.

Ms. Bartlett: Oh, goody. There’s hope for you yet. To
answer your question, this phone line and the contest is
run by my company, Angie Bartlett Home Enterprises.
There are records of everything. I keep winners’
identities secret if they prefer, but an outside auditor
who looks at my books knows who the winners are. They
vouch for me.

Maytag: These auditors are compensated?

Ms. Bartlett: Agent Maytag, are you insinuating that I
trade sexual favors for their work?

Maytag: No. Not at all. Honestly, I’m just checking to
see if you paid them.

Ms. Bartlett: Of course I pay them. They’re accountants,
they wouldn’t go for the sex anyway. I just thought I’d
try to steer us back the other way. You’re a different
story, though, aren’t you, Agent Maytag? How about it?
If my contest were a fraud, would you accept sexual
favors to keep it quiet?

Maytag: Ms. Bartlett, you’re coming close to offering a
bribe to a federal officer.

Ms. Bartlett: And you’re nowhere near close to answering
my question. What would it take, Agent Maytag?
Hypothetically. I don’t actually want to get in twubble
wid da guvwuhment. But there must be something I could
do for you. I have a nasty imagination and very few
inhibitions.

Maytag: I have no doubt about that.

Ms. Bartlett: I know your type. This whole reluctance
thing is a sham, just like your phony FBI routine.

Maytag: Ms. Bartlett…

Ms. Bartlett: You know what you want, but you won’t go
after it. Even if it’s right in front of you. You wait
for it to come to you. And you’re so eager for that
fantasy that you’ll slide into just about any temptation
that comes along. Just a little arm-twisting is all it
takes. Is that how you want it? I could twist your arm
behind your back and force you to your knees. Then I’d
push my stiletto heel against your chest and twist it
until you gasped. And through the pain, you wouldn’t
want me to stop because you’re too damn busy staring up
at this thin strip of black cotton covering my bald
pussy.

Maytag: Please, Ms. Bartlett…

Ms. Bartlett: That’s right, beg! You can’t even finish
the sentence. You can’t ask me to stop because you don’t
want me to. You want that heel in your chest, and on
your back. You want to lick my heel, and my shoe, and my
foot, and all the way up to my bald cunt. Don’t you,
Agent Maytag? That’s your game, Agent Maytag, playing
dumb and letting things just happen. Your tongue would
be licking my ass and you would still honestly believe
“that it just happened.” You want me to make you get
your hands off whatever imaginary files you’re shuffling
there on the desk, whatever work you’re pretending to do
and shove it into your pants so you can jerk off. Your
cock is getting rock hard just thinking about it. Isn’t
it? Answer me!

Maytag: I can’t.

Ms. Bartlett: Why not? We’re adults. We both want it. I
want to grind my heel on your back. I want you to
smother your face with my pussy. And you love to hear me
talking like a filthy slut. I’m soaking wet over here.
So admit it! This is why you’re on the phone. Now reach
down and stroke that fucking cock. Talk dirty to me.

Maytag: That won’t happen, Ms. Bartlett.

Ms. Bartlett: Give in! Grab that thing and whack it!
Whoa, what was that?

Maytag: What?

Ms. Bartlett: That voice. A woman’s voice.

Maytag: That was just another agent, Ms. Bartlett.

Ms. Bartlett: You’re not alone?

Maytag: No. Agent Stanton is in the room with me.

Ms. Bartlett: She’s not on the phone, is she?

Maytag: No. Everything OK, Ms. Bartlett?

Ms. Bartlett: You aren’t making this FBI thing up?

Maytag: No, I’m not. I apologize for the
misunderstanding.

Ms. Bartlett: I’ve been talking like this to a real G-
man?

Maytag: Yes, you have.

Ms. Bartlett: With other G-men around? I mean G-women?

Maytag: Just the one.

Ms. Bartlett: Oh. Can I ask you something?

Maytag: Of course.

Ms. Bartlett: What does she look like?

Maytag: What?

Ms. Bartlett: You heard me, what does she look like?

Maytag: Ms. Bartlett, if I could just have the name of
the auditor, you can get back to your work.

Ms. Bartlett: You surprised me there for a second, but
now I am back to work. Is your dick hard, Agent Maytag?
I bet it is. I was talking that whole time, and you were
so quiet with your partner in the room with you. You
must have been ready to cream right in your pants and
there was nothing you could do about it. Oh, fuck,
Maytag, I can’t diddle myself fast enough, I’m so
fucking hot.

Maytag: The name, Ms. Bartlett.

Ms. Bartlett: Not yet! You let me go on like that, you
must be enjoying yourself. You haven’t stopped me. Just
let me get off.

Maytag: I just need the proof of legitimacy.

Ms. Bartlett: You’ll get it when you hear me moan like
an alley cat in heat, Maytag. Oooh, yeah.

Maytag: Please, Ms. Bartlett, let’s continue.

Ms. Bartlett: Oh, yes, let’s!

Maytag: Men call you in an effort to get you off.

Ms. Bartlett: Mmmm, yes.

Maytag: I can only assume there’s masturbation involved.

Ms. Bartlett: Yes, keep talking, you fucking stud!

Ms. Bartlett: Ms. Bartlett, if you can’t answer some
simple questions, Agent Stanton and I are going to have
to pay you a visit and teach you that we’re not fooling.

Ms. Bartlett: I’m so close!

Maytag: We’ll cuff you and strong arm you and work you
over until we get what we want.

Ms. Bartlett: I want it. I wahhhnnt it.
I…I…aaayyyy…

Maytag: Please hold.

Ms. Bartlett: Wait! Wait! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

Stanton: Hello!

Ms. Bartlett: Who is this?

Stanton: This is Special Agent Stanton, who is this?

Ms. Bartlett: Angie Bartlett. I was speaking with Agent
Maytag.

Stanton: I saw that. He just left the room, and he
looked to be in some kind of hurry. What’s going on
here?

Ms. Bartlett: I have something that Agent Maytag wants.

Stanton: Yes, and what’s that?

Ms. Bartlett: Some proof of legitimacy. I can send it to
him. Could I ask for your address?

Stanton: Yes, but is this something that needs to be
mailed?

Ms. Bartlett: Well, I can’t send a check over the phone.

Stanton: Check?

Ms. Bartlett: Well he wanted some proof of legitimacy,
and he certainly earned it.

Stanton: Great. Should I give you the address now?

Ms. Bartlett: Please. One last thing: does Agent Maytag
open his own mail? I thought I might include something
personal.

Stanton: Our mail goes through an examination process
before delivery, but it involves x-ray machines, gas
chromatography, and so on. It’s non-intrusive. But, Ms.
Bartlett, mail sent here is property of the FBI. There’s
no guarantee that others won’t see it. If it involves a
case, for instance, I’ll almost certainly see it.

Ms. Bartlett: Oh, it’s worth taking a chance. I’ll just
label the envelope “CONFIDENTIAL”.