The Blue Stripe Case

The Blue Stripe Case (part 2)

by Some Writer

Warning: This story is pure fiction, written solely for your enjoyment. Do not attempt to recreate anything described in this story.

Johnson should not have been surprised when the police turned up at his door the day after the magazine was published, but he was.

"Mr. Johnson?"

"That's me."

"We'd like to talk to you about the Blue Stripe case."

"Ah. Come in." Johnson led them through to the sitting room.

It turned out that neither of the victims had gone to the police, who were therefore quite surprised to read in a magazine about a crime spree that they knew nothing of.

"So why didn't these crimes get reported?"

"The victims were quite embarrassed at the time, so I imagine that was a factor in them not coming forward." Being a reporter, Johnson was used to talking to police and was easily bored by their questions.

"Why didn't you report them?"

"I didn't think it was my place to interfere."

"Yet you were happy to write an article on them."

"The public has a right to know about this danger."

"So you think it is a dangerous serial rapist?"

"For all I know the women consented to kinky sex but just weren't freed afterwards," Johnson pointed out. He had no desire to get the police involved in a story that so far had been exclusive to him.

"Your story says it was rape."

"My story is designed to get people reading. Sex sells, danger sells, both together sells even better. So are you going to investigate these crimes?"

The two offices glanced at each other. "To be honest Mr. Johnson, so far we have two victims, neither of which want to press charges, we're not sure what the crime is exactly, we didn't have chance to examine the crime scenes and we have no leads. So we would like you to try and convince these people to press charges. If you can find them again that is, or if you should happen to somehow find another such person in the future."

"I can certainly do that," Johnson told them. He held back a smile; the cops weren't interested. The story was still exclusively his.

* * *

Johnson pushed open the door of the hotel room. This was different to the last times; the simple bed in the middle of the room had a man on it, not a woman. The man was on his side, his knees tied together, but ankles tied to opposite corners of the bed in what looked like a very uncomfortable position. Johnson realised that the man must have been left on his knees, backside in the air, but he must have slumped to his side during the night. As Johnson moved round the bed he saw that the man's elbows were bound to his knees, leaving him crumpled in a strange manner. His flaccid penis had an empty condom still on it. The man had the usual array of headgear that left him deaf, dumb and blind, and a blue stripe of paint down his chest.

The banner on the wall above the bed read: 'IT'S NOT JUST PORN STARS THAT DO ASS-TO-MOUTH'. Johnson began taking photographs of the scene, adding to his collection of the previous women. Despite being advised to destroy them, he had kept a backup in a safe place as well as other copies. It was his reporter's nature to never destroy anything that might be useful for a story.

Johnson removed the man's gag, blindfold and ear-plugs - he was getting good at this - and then gently shook the man awake.

"Hey buddy, wake up." The man opened his eyes. He looked completely dazed. "I just found you here. You're a bit tied up, I'll help you," Johnson said, wondering how much the man was taking in.

"How did I get here?"

"You tell me. Although I suspect you won't remember anything."

"No, my head is swimming. So who did this to me?"

"There's been a spate of these things. I'm not sure who did it, but he's done it before." Johnson finished untying the man and helped him sit up. The man noticed the banner above the bed.

"I did that?" he asked incredulously.

"Again, you tell me. I'm afraid to say though that the banners may be right." The man looked slightly disgusted at the thought of what he might have done. "So look," Johnson said, deciding to make a token effort at doing the right thing, "do you want me to call the police?"

"No, no way! No-one really knows I'm gay, let alone them knowing about this! Will you keep it quiet?"

"There's a bit of a problem there. I'm a reporter."

"A reporter!"

"I could write about it but leave out your name. I'm not sure though - my editor is pretty pushy." Johnson would leave out the man's name anyway, but he wanted it to make it sound like he was doing the man a favour.

"Please, don't mention my name. I'll give you money if that's what you want."

Johnson smiled at the man's offer. "Not money. I need... a sample."

* * *

"So what's the verdict doc?" Johnson was in the toxicology doctor's office, eager to collect the results of the man's urine analysis.

"You were right - they had been drugged. Twice over in fact."

"Twice?"

"Yes. An interesting combination in fact. One is a drug that attacks the brain. It usually has a negative effect on the short-term memory. The other drug is simply a strong sleeping pill."

"So the overall effect is to give them amnesia and knock them out?"

"Roughly speaking, yes."

"How much of their memory would be wiped? And will they ever regain it?"

"At least the previous twelve hours, at a rough guess. Maybe twenty-four, maybe up to thirty-six. Without the sleeping pill, it's possible they could have regained the memory. But I suspect that having taken the two together, they will not regain it. Apart from that, there should be no permanent ill-effects. Not that I would be happy to declare such drug use safe however."

"Got it. Thanks."

* * *

"Hello?"

"Mr. Johnson." It was the blue stripe source. "Before I give you this week's location, tell me - do you prefer one per week or one every two weeks? I know your magazine is bi-weekly, so I wondered."

"One a week is fine," Johnson said cautiously. The man on the other end of the phone had never asked such questions before.

"Ok. And am I right in thinking women make better copy than men?"

"Yes, I'd say that's true."

"I'll bear that in mind. It's not always within my control though - men are easier."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Never mind. I enjoyed your article. Shame about the lack of pictures, but I've been getting them anyway of course. I think you'll like today's little adventure. Upmarket this time; the Three Trees Hotel, room 603. Goodbye."

The hotel room was much larger than the previous ones, with a four-poster bed. Johnson could hear muffled yelps coming from the woman in the bed. He approached it and found that she was being subjected to a complicated form of torture that took him a minute to figure out. His reporter-like detachment, born of visiting crime scenes in a previous job, meant that it did not occur to him that he should free the woman first.

A metal pole - made up of several smaller segments bolted together - had been attached to the top of the four poster bed, running straight down the middle of it. There were two bundles of towels wrapped around the pole, containing inside them - Johnson surmised - big blocks of ice. The effect of the towels was presumably to delay the release of the melting water; the towels would have soaked the initial melting for some time, probably a few hours.

One piece of string hung from the bundle suspended over her groin, with a weight on the end that kept it vertical. Two pieces of string, similarly weighted, were hung from the other bundle that dangled over her breasts. Water was slowly running down the pieces of string and dripping from the weights at the end onto her breasts and vagina. Her body was kept in place by cuffs on her ankles and wrists, but she was primarily stopped from struggling by some more fiendish bondage.

The woman had pierced nipples, with rings through both of them. These rings were tied to unstretchable metal wire that attached to the underneath of the bed, effectively keeping her nipples in place. She did not seem to be able to move them at all - without any pain, anyway - from the path of the dripping ice-cold water. Her labia were also pierced, and rings tied with similar wire to leave her pussy spread wide open and held in place. The water appeared to be dripping on the area around her clitoris. While the wind could sway the weights slightly to vary where the water would hit, she was very effectively pinned with her most sensitive areas directly underneath the cold drips, which seemed to occur every few seconds.

Johnson began taking pictures. With the customary blindfold and ear-plugs on, she would not notice him doing so. It may be unethical, but it would guarantee his next tip-off. Johnson took picture after picture of the devilish set-up, keen not to miss any details. He had taken over a hundred pictures before he stopped.

Whereas the other victims had been asleep and generally awoke with shock, the look in this woman's eyes was one of relief when Johnson took off the blindfold, sliding it up over the blue stripe of paint across her forehead. "Thank you, thank you," she said when he removed the gag and set about untying her, careful not to dislodge the plastic sheet underneath her that had collected a fair amount of water.

"I thought it would go on forever," she said as she sat up. "It seemed like forever. And in between the dripping, I had this weird pain in my ass. From inside."

"I think I may know why," Johnson said, nodding at the banner on the wall. She turned and read its bold painted letters, 'THIS FIERY ANAL SLUT NEEDED COOLING DOWN', and only then did she become as shocked as the others had been.

"I would never - I mean I have never - I can't believe this," she babbled.

"I'm sorry," Johnson offered. He added: "Do you remember anything?"

"No, nothing before waking up being dripped on, and I've been suffering that until you got here." She looked round the room. "Am I in a hotel?"

"Yes."

"Do you work here?"

"No, I'm a reporter."

"A reporter? Then why - oh." She paused. "You're here to report on this aren't you?" she asked quietly.

"Yes. No names though, you'll be anonymous."

"I guess that's the best I can hope for," she said reluctantly. "Well, thank you at least for freeing me."

"No problem."

* * *

The second blue stripe article went to print with many new revelations. The victims had definitely been drugged. The attacker was bisexual. He had begun torturing his victims. This time, the article was the main story on the front cover. Readership had gone up the week before, but would surely surge up this week. Johnson was on a roll.