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Chapter 9 The Condo
“It must be nice to have money,” I whispered to the living room. I was in Cynthia Rose’s high rise condo in Chestnut Hill. The building was in easy walking distance of Boston College. I’d read somewhere that wealthy parents of college kids were buying condos instead of renting apartments or dorm rooms. Supposedly, it was a sound investment if the property increased in value.
The building manager had reluctantly lent me a master key after I showed him my badge and threatened to get a warrant. Cynthia’s college experience was nothing like mine. I’d spent my four years in a dorm that should have been condemned. It was small and smelled like the monkey cage at the Stoneham Zoo on a hot July day. On weekends, at least one student either overdosed or tried to kill himself.
Cynthia’s place, on the other hand, looked to be professionally decorated. Everything matched, carpet, drapes, and upholstery. After a quick search I found the wall switch that opened the floor to ceiling drapes. I watched as the motorized mechanism revealed a spectacular view of downtown Boston. I could see the Prudential Center and the John Hancock in the distance. A flat panel television monopolized one wall. My place didn’t look anywhere near as good.
I told myself to quit envying the rich and get on with my job. My only possibility of having a condo like Cynthia’s was to marry Violet Addison. There was definitely an attraction between us. She’d promised to take me to the next Club Macabre meet. Maybe in between whippings, I would propose.
The condo was clean and orderly, almost too orderly for a college student. I checked out the kitchen. The refrigerator was empty. Maybe she had a maid who decided to take all the food home since Cynthia wouldn’t be eating any time soon.
Cynthia’s walk in closet was filled with designer labels. I quit counting shoe boxes after one twenty five. Hanging in the back were several leather outfits that I classified as dominatrice apparel. Corsets, high heel boots, leather skirts and bustiers aren’t proper attire for the mall or classroom.
I’m enough of a pervert to take a whiff of the crotch of one of outfits. It was a narrow band of leather that must have barely covered her vaginal opening. She’d sweated enough to stain the material. I inhaled deeply taking in the aroma of stale pussy. That made me wonder what kind of creep would stick his dick in a dead girl’s snatch and finds it exciting enough to blow his load. Maybe he was making a statement. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if she had just died and was still warm. I couldn’t see myself as a true necrophiliac in love with the cold dead. That brought to mind Doctor Jared. She’d left several voice mails asking me to call. I surmised that someone with a very large cock had been recently killed in Beantown.
I methodically looked through the built in drawers in the closet. One contained her S&M paraphernalia. It was filled with whips, paddles, hand cuffs, nipple clamps, cock rings and ball stretchers. Cynthia must have been one hell of a date for a college girl.
I recognized a particularly vicious looking double set of nipple clamps and decided to keep them as evidence. They were designed for a two person game that determined who had the greatest pain tolerance. Your clamped nipples were cross attached to your partners.
The clamps brought back memories of happier carefree times. Back in my undergraduate days, I’d watched a pair of dykes play the game at a drunken orgy. They’d got into a fight over who got to fist a passed out femme. Rather than slug it out, the host produced the clamps and challenged the ladies to settle their argument like gentlemen. Being buzzed out college students, we’d all gathered around to watch, shout encouragement and make a few side bets. There is nothing like a bloody cat fight involving tit torture to give a college boy a raging boner. However, the girls were as turned on as the guys.
The bois had nice knockers for a pair of tattooed diesel dykes. Our well-equipped host produced handcuffs to restrain the girl’s arms behind their back. From the expressions on their faces, you could tell it hurt like hell where our host let the clamps snap shut. The metal teeth were sharp and the spring was strong. Drops of blood appeared along the jagged teeth. But they sucked it up and glowered at each other as they threatened to tear the other’s tits off.
“I saw a girl get her nipple ripped off in Cancun last summer doing that. It was so cool,” said my date trying to prove she was a sadistic woman of the world. I can’t remember her name other than later when we were fucking she begged me to lift her off the bed by her buds. College is where we experience new things.
Our host counted to three and the action began. I recall there was lots of blood and screaming before one of the lesbians managed to rip off her opponent’s clamps taking most of the skin. She sounded a cry of victory and kicked the defeated partner in the crotch sending her to the floor in agony. Apparently, a Doc Martens directly to the pussy incapacitates. Based on the way she screamed as she flopped around like a landed tuna, her clit was smashed.
Next our victor sat down on the loser’s chest, took a nipple in her teeth and began to yank it like a bulldog playing tug of war.
“This is so fucking cool. I want you to fuck the shit out of me when they finish,” said my date reaching for my cock.
There was a lot of begging between screams causing everyone to get turned on. Girls including my date dropped to their knees to haul out something to suck on while they watched.
Finally the winner chewed off her opponents bud. Chunks of bloody breast flesh were caught in her teeth. The host uncuffed the winner who showed her appreciation of sportsmanlike conduct by stomping her helpless opponents boobs and pussy.
I learned from the experience to never piss off a diesel dyke. I had no idea why I wanted the clamps. Maybe the next time, Darlene and Nikki got into an argument; I could persuade them to settle the dispute like ladies.
Back in the bedroom, my search continued. The top drawer of the night stand contained a selection of dildos, vibrators, and lubricants. A single girl occasionally had to entertain herself and warming gel is a substitute for a hot tongue fuck. I grabbed the contents as presents for my roommates.
The second drawer contained four different strapons. I took out the largest for a closer look. It was upscale equipment, not the crude craftsmanship you find in your local adult products retailer. The snap on dildo was one of the punisher models, the kind with rough raised bumps that rakes the lining of the orifice raw. It was also a thick ten inches. Whoever she used it on must have crawled home. It gave me the shudders just thinking about someone ramming it up my ass. Naturally, fear made me want to try it; but I opted for later.
I hadn’t found anything that would lead me to her killer. Cynthia was into BDSM but so was half of the Commonwealth to some degree. On any given day, how many spouses would be shouting, “Who’s your Daddy?” as they applied an open palm to their partner’s derriere?
The office asshole, Matt, like to talk about how he takes his wife, Andrea, out to dinner and gets her drunk, then cuffs her to the bed, snaps a pair of jumper clamps on her buds, and fucks her in the ass. The bastard even played an audio tape of her whimpering and begging him to take the clamps off her boobs. Wasn’t it Shakespeare who said, “The course of true love never did run smooth?”
There were drawers of expensive lingerie purchased from the boutiques that lined Newbury Street. I resisted the urge to try on some of her panties; but I did select the hotter ones along with some items that caught my fancy to put in my evidence briefcase. I also added the biggest and meanest of the strapons. Later, when it was just me, I would put on a fashion show for Darlene and Nikki. If they were so inclined, they could belt on the faux cock and light up my rectum.
I moved on to what I assumed was the spare bedroom. Except it wasn’t a bedroom, at least not furnished like one. My dad used to say everyone should have a hobby. Dad’s was micro photography of plants and insects. He got good at it and was published in photography and nature magazines.
Cynthia’s appeared to be making porn. One wall of the bedroom was a reflecting backdrop. The drapes were heavy enough to keep out the sunlight. Polarized lights and umbrella shaped screens for lighting shadows surrounded a collection of vinyl cushions. Dildos, vibrators, and lube were strewn on the floor within easy reach. I pictured myself in recently purloined lingerie bent over a bolster taking the strap on up my bleeding ass.
There were three tripod mounted video cameras pointed toward the cushions. Everything looked very professional. I examined the cameras. There weren’t the models you purchase at Best Buy to capture baby’s first steps to send to the grandparents or the girl friend sucking your cock to post on PornTube after she dumped you. They were serious cameras capable of grabbing high resolution close-ups of semen slowly dribbling out the girl’s ass.
Cables from the cameras lead to a table on the far end of the room where there was a collection of high end computer hardware. It was a complicated assemblage that included a large high resolution monitor. Since it was Apple and I am a Windows user, I was lost. Cynthia’s Windows laptop now sitting in my home office had contained strictly her college school work. I found the Apple’s power switch and toggled it. Almost instantly, the screen displayed something called, “Compass Video Director.” I managed to figure out it was a video editing application but that was as far as I got.
I’d have to take the computers back to headquarters and turn them over to somebody who knew Apple. The thought occurred to me that Darlene had an Apple laptop. Maybe she could help me.
A red plastic water bowl for a dog was in the corner. That struck me as odd. I hadn’t seen any other indications Cynthia had a dog. I opened the closet then stepped forward to stop the contents from spilling out on the floor. It was filled with cushions and other crap that I assumed were props for porn shoots,
I wandered back into the living room and took a seat facing downtown. It was time to think. I’d expected to solve Cynthia Rose’s murder quickly. Most sex crimes are no brainers. Perps leave body fluids laced with DNA in and on the victim. But the love juice they found in Cynthia’s twat didn’t turn up a match in CODIS.
I wonder where she had gone the night she left The Edge. It couldn’t have been Club Macabre because Violet said no meeting was scheduled. But maybe it was to meet someone she had met there. Serious perverts tend to congregate at groups like Club Macabre in order to establish contact with their peers. Once you locate your kind of deviant, you set up a private session where you can let it all hang out.
Maybe Cynthia had met someone who promised to push all the right buttons including inserting gerbils in her orifices. But he was too far out and Cynthia ran. He had to chase her down and run her off the road. When he found out she was dead, he was pissed enough to fuck her before he inserted his calling cards.
I was seated in a comfortable chair exercising my mind and enjoying the view when I heard a noise. Somebody had inserted a key in the door. It was probably the cleaning lady but I decided to play it safe. I slipped into the coat closet leaving the door cracked open.
“We just can’t let her parents find it. It would kill Dr. Rose if he found out,” said a young female voice. “Besides, someone might recognize us.”
“We shouldn’t be here,” said another voice apparently of the same age and gender.
I held my breath as two college age girls walked past the closet door. I figured they were class mates and friends of Cynthia. They headed straight to the spare bedroom. I waited a second then followed.
“Shit,” yelled one of the girls. She’d opened the closet and hadn’t moved fast enough to keep the contents from spilling out on the floor. The noise provided enough distraction for me to slip into the room without being noticed. The two focused on unburying a small safe at the back of the closet. I gave myself a silent lecture on being more thorough when I search. I should have found that safe.
“Fuck, its locked,” said the shorter of the girls trying the handle.
“Of course, silly, it’s a fucking safe,” said the taller one.
“So what’s the combination?”
“Fuck if I know. Try her birthday.”
“She wouldn’t be that obvious.”
It was time to have a little fun. I flipped open my badge and made an announcement in my most official cop voice. “Boston PD, you’re under arrest for breaking and entering. Place your hands on the wall and lean forward.”
I overdid it because the short blonde who turned out to be Megan Connors fainted. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she passed out. Fortunately, I managed to grab her before she hit the floor and injured herself. However, she did piss her pants as I laid her gently on the floor.
The taller brunette, Austin Draper, was made of sterner stuff. “You scared the shit out of us, Asshole,” said Austin as she helped me ease Megan to the carpet.
Ten minutes later, the three of us were seated in the living room. Austin and I were drinking bottles of sports water she found in the pantry. Megan’s lower half was wrapped in a towel while her jeans and panty took a turn in the dryer. With the safe in mind, I’d made a call to an acquaintance. Luckily, he answered on the first ring and agreed to come over immediately.
Having a pair of young attractive college girls at your mercy does not happen often unless you work college security. I got a buddy who works security at Harvard. He has countless stories and videos of what girl and the occasional guy student will do to keep from being arrested.
As for Megan and Austin, I wasn’t about to arrest them for B&E but they did not know that. I made it look official asking them to spell their names and copying the identification numbers off their student badges. I recalled these were the two that Arnie had identified as Megan’s club buddies.
“Are you friends of Cynthia Rose?”
“I’ve known her since grammar school. Her father and mine are partners at their clinic,” said Austin.
“I only met her at college. I’m from Plano, Texas,” said Megan falling into her Texas accent.
“You do the club scene with her,” I asked?
“Sure, what else is there to do on weekends,” asked Austin?
“Club Macabre too,” I asked?
That caused a worried look to pass between them. Finally Austin spoke, “Yes, are you going to arrest us?”
“Not if you cooperate, I’m treating Cynthia’s death as a homicide for now. If you answer my questions, I may forget about the burglary charges.”
“The three of us joined Club Macabre about six months ago. It was Cynthia’s idea. She knew someone who got us in,” said Megan.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“She never said other than his name was Stanley,” said Austin.
“I though she said his name was Stewart,” said Megan. “Cynthia said she met him at BC. He may have been a professor. Why is this important? You think this Stewart killed her?”
“Our investigation is in the preliminary phase. Did you ever meet this Stanley or Stewart at the club?” I asked.
“Nobody goes by their real name at the club. They really stress keeping your identity secret,” said Austin.
“My club name is Cassandra and Austin’s is Marilyn,” said Megan.
“Thanks, Big Mouth,” said Austin giving her friend a dirty look.
“Who gives a shit now that Cynthia’s dead? We can never go back there,” said Megan.
“And Cynthia’s name was?”
“Amber,” said Austin after thinking a minute.
“What kind of things did you do at the club,” I asked?
“I don’t know what you mean?” said Megan.
“Don’t be coy. Were you dominant or submissive?”
“The clubs stresses that we learn both roles so if you are dominant one month you should be submissive the next. Psychologically, Cynthia and I were dominants while Megan is submissive,” said Austin.
“I’m working to develop my dominant side,” said Megan. “Master Andrew says he started out very submissive but eventually evolved into a true dominant.”
“Did Cynthia meet someone at the club that she agreed to meet later,” I asked?
“Possibly, but if she did she didn’t tell me. It was pretty common to set up a meet that was just the two of you so you could really get into whatever. I’ve done it before,” said Austin. “I like to whip a guy until he breaks down and cries like a baby.”
“So have I. Everybody has something special they need to experience,” said Megan.
“Let’s cut the bullshit. What kind of kink were you into? Want me to guess?” I said recalling that Violet had told me about the Club’s penchant for bestiality.
“Dogs,” said Austin.
“Only dogs,” I asked wondering if gerbils were in the mix.
“Only dogs except for the time Cynthia took us to a friend who had a pony but that had nothing to do with the club,” said Megan.
“You girls fucked a pony,” I asked trying not to sound impressed?
“Cock is cock,” said Austin nonchalantly.
“He didn’t get it in all the way but it still hurt,” added Megan.
“And it only happened once. We were going back to the stable but then Cynthia got killed,” said Austin.
“To try a horse,” I asked?
“Sure, why not,” said Austin who I was having trouble picturing as a future house wife and mother. It takes a special breed of female to wedge a horse cock up her cunt.
“So what happened at the club with the puppies,” I asked.
“Just what you would expect, masters would bring their slaves into our area. Most of the time, the slaves were female but sometime it was guys,” said Austin. “It was surprising how some people really got their heads into dog sex.”
“Oral, vaginal, anal,” I asked?
“Yes, all three but most times the Master wanted the slave to finish with oral and swallow the dog’s come. It really humiliated the slave to have a stomach full of dog spunk,” said Megan.
“So it was pretty standard for slaves for engage in dog sex,” I asked?
“Yes, it’s required on the first visit,” said Austin.
Give that I was on standby for Violet’s summons to make my first visit to Club Macabre; it appeared my future included a gut full of canine jism.
“So what is in the safe,” I asked changing subjects?
“Cynthia videoed us with Rusty, Archie, and Bentley,” said Austin. “We thought it would be cool to do our own video.”
There is nothing dumber than college kids when it comes to sex. “Three dogs, you girls did the whole kennel,” I said.
“Only two, Bentley is this guy Cynthia was interested in at the time,’ said Megan. “He was in the video too.”
“Bentley’s full name,” I asked.
“Pike, Bentley Pike, he goes to BC. He plays basketball,” said Austin.
“Where are Rusty and Archie now,” I asked.
“At the kennel, they don’t belong to Cynthia. She rents them,” said Austin.
There are times when you doubt the future of Western Civilization. “You can rent a dog to fuck you,” I asked?
“Longwood Kennel does. The owner is a major pervert,” said Megan.
It was at that point, the front door bell rang and I got up to let Malcolm Fraser, safe cracker extraordinaire, in.
Malcolm was late twenties but looked older. Prison ages you. He was a tall, angular black man with long sensitive fingers that were something of a legend in the niche population of criminals who make a living opening other people’s safes.
“You called me here to open this piece of shit,” asked Malcolm when he looked in the back of the closet? “You can buy one of these at Wal-Mart.”
“Just open it, Malcolm,” I said.
“What’s in it for me,” asked Malcolm?
“You get to fuck these two sluts,” I said gesturing toward Austin and Megan.
“Hey, we never agreed to that,” said Austin.
“If you don’t, I’ll take the safe downtown and have one of my officers open it. Whatever is on the DVDs will get passed around the office and wind up on the Internet,” I said.
“Why not,” said Megan. “It’s not like we’re virgins.”
“So if we party with you guys, you’ll let us take the DVDs and won’t arrest us,” said Austin.
“That’s the deal; however, I have to look at them to decide whether there is any evidence related to Cynthia’s death. If not, you can take them,” I said.
“First time, I ever got paid in pussy,” said Malcolm unpacking his tools.
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