Chapter 1 New Case

     “You’re late, Simon.  Sullivan’s looking for you,” said Matt the asshole who sat across from me at Boston PD headquarters.  I could tell my getting in trouble thrilled him to no end.

    “Had some things to take care of,” I said dropping my laptop on my desk before heading in the direction of Captain Ryan Sullivan, the head of my unit.  Matt’s really not as asshole, he’s a low grade cretin prick whose idea of a good time is sitting in the break room telling his buddies how much his Italian wife, Andrea, likes to be fucked in the ass.  Sometimes, he illustrates his tales with Polaroids of her face down and cum smeared butt up.  Why she stays married to the shit head is a mystery.  It probably has to do with her desire to feed and clothe their three sons.

     My name is Detective Lieutenant Simon Westbrook.  I work in the Special Crimes Unit or SCU.  There’s nothing special about the crimes other than they are too disgusting or violent for the good cops to sully themselves with.  Most involve sex of the type you can’t watch on hardcore porn.  If your neighbor is butt fucking his six year old or your toy poodle, SCU is on the case.

     It’s a dumping ground for officers whose career is finished.  Our offenses were bad enough to permanently keep us off the promotion list, but not serious enough to be fired or incarcerated.  Compared to some of my fellow officers who did things like shoot their collar and plant a gun on them, mine is actually pretty tame.

      Before I screwed up, I was on the fast track to Boston PD’s top echelon.  I made lieutenant at thirty two, the minimum qualifying age.  My record was clean and I had twice as many arrests as the next cop.  I played by the rules and the DA’s conviction rate on my arrests was almost a hundred percent.

     Then I got stupid and started an affair with Mary Travers, whose husband, Tom, was my partner in Homicide.  Everyone liked Tom, me included.  Why did I pick the most popular guy in the department to fuck over?  Pussy is the reason.  Mary and I met at the annual police awards ceremony.   Sometimes things just happen.

     One minute we were making small talk, the next we were whispering about where and when we could get together.  The only attraction was sex but that was incredible.  I ran out of things I’d always wanted a girl to do but was afraid to ask.  She has a thing for the Rusty Trombone and didn’t mind how much rust her tongue had to lick off to hit my high notes. 

     Her husband finally figured out his wife had round heels and an itch between her legs that needed frequent scratching by anybody who was not him.  Tom placed a video camera in my condo that not only videoed everything but transmitted it over the wireless internet to his laptop.   He specialized in electronic surveillance; so recording the two of us fucking like rabbits was a no brainer.

      What I didn’t appreciate was that he loved his wife even if she was a slut.  He was in his car outside my building watching us while he wrote a letter blaming me for betraying him something a partner should never do.  After he typed out a full page of woe and ran it through spell checker, he stuck his Glock in his mouth and pulled the trigger, punching a hole in the roof and ruining the upholstery of his Ford Tarus.

      Inside I had Mary face down on all fours.  Her asshole was gaped open from my repeated assaults.  I thought I heard a loud bang out on the street but I was too focused on dumping my load in her rectum to take a look.  A passerby called the police.

      The department’s Media Liaison Group managed to keep the press from learning why Tom blew his brains out.  The Boston Globe has always been a team player and cop suicides were a downer.  Of course, the real reason spread through the department overnight along with copies of the video and letter.  I was surprised it didn’t make YouTube.

     I became a pariah, a cop avoided by his fellow officers like a crack whore with AIDS and the clap.  No one wanted to partner with me.  I hadn’t put the gun in Tom’s mouth and pulled the trigger but most of the department felt I might as well have.  I found myself transferred out of Homicide to SCU, the department’s way of telling me career wise I was finished and it might be better if I moved on to another PD, perhaps the Royal Canadian Mounties were hiring.

      I was hanging around contemplating my next move.  My sister wanted me to go back to law school and join her legal practice at triple my salary, but I wasn’t sure I was cut out for the bar.  I’d replaced Mary with Darlene, a stripper who worked at the Squires Club.  She moved in with me a month ago.  She was almost as good a fuck as Mary with the advantage she was unencumbered, no husband or boy friend, only her regular customers who paid for sex and didn’t give a shit who else was banging her.

     As a bonus, Darlene’s sixteen year old sister, Nikki, also lived with us.  Nikki was a voluptuous piece of jail bait who aspired to join her sister in the adult entertainment field.    If Nikki had any morals, it certainly didn’t show.  Her ambition was to move to Los Angles when she was eighteen and break into porn. 

      “Captain wants to see me,” I asked Nancy the chubby brunette who guarded the boss’s door?

     “Yeah, he’s pissed.  Where you been?” asked Nancy whose taste in clothes ran to too tight sweaters and too short skirts.  She was a new hire and the word around the department was that her employment was based on her unequaled proficiency in providing Captain Sullivan his daily hummer.  She waved me through.

      “Come in, Simon, you know Marty Graves of Traffic?” asked the Captain pointing toward a uniform seated in front of his desk.

      “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure,” I replied shaking the hand of the nervous looking cop.  As we shook, he handed me a case folder with his other hand.  He passed it off like you would if you were getting rid of a particularly bad smelling turd.

      “What you got here, Marty,” I asked flipping the folder open as I took a seat?

      “Something that’s not in our line of responsibility,” said Marty looking happy I was now holding the folder full of shit.

     The first picture had shock value, a blonde female spread out on the trunk of a roadster I took to be a Beemer.  Her mini dress was up under her armpits and her underwear was missing.  She was skinny as a runway model except for her softball sized tits.  I wrote those off as augments.  The car was banged up and from the looks of her, the blonde was too.  Her head was hanging at an angle a healthy neck bone doesn’t allow.

     “What am I looking at here, Marty” I asked?

      Marty flipped open his note book and read.  “Cynthia Walcott Rose, twenty two, daughter of Doctors Walter and Daniela Rose, both employed at Brigham’s and Women’s.  She’s a student at BC, rather was a student at BC.  Her car was found by a jogger Sunday morning at approximately 7:30AM in the Arnold Arboretum.  Apparently, Ms. Rose missed a turn on Arborway Drive and the vehicle rolled down an embankment.”

      “Then what happens,” I asked glancing through a series of photographs of Cynthia.  The last two were close ups of her pussy and anus.   They gave me a good idea why the case was being dropped in my In Box.

     “We’re not completely sure.  The ME believes the victim was killed in the crash then raped which is a hideous crime,” said Marty doing his best to look disgusted.

     “Since when does Traffic not handle necrophilia,” I asked wondering if Marty had any sense of humor?

     “That’s our job,” interrupted Captain Sullivan spoiling my fun.  “Lt. Westbrook has considerable experience in this particular area.”

     “I need to get moving.  Call me if you need anything,” said Marty.  He was anxious to leave, no doubt heading back to Traffic to report he’d successfully passed off the turd to one of the losers in SCU, the one who caused his partner to blow his brains out.

     “Where the hell you been,” asked Captain Sullivan as soon as Marty departed?

     “I had something personal I needed to attend to,” I said not wanting to get into the story of how Darlene’s kid sister, Nikki, had arrived from Rochester after her parents kicked her out, and to show appreciation for allowing her to stay at my place, the two sisters had offered me a threesome which turned into a foursome when my brother Winston unexpectedly showed up for breakfast.

      “You didn’t call,” said the Captain.

      I nixed the excuse I couldn’t talk because my mouth was full of pussy.  “I forgot.  I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again,” I said doing my best to look contrite.

     The Captain should be grateful I didn’t call in sick.  I left a first class orgy in full swing.  Winston’s wife, Cecilia, is seven months pregnant so he was on a pussy free diet a home.  When I left, the three of them were still going strong.

      “So what do you think we got here,” asked the Captain?

      “Hard to say at this point, who runs around with a speculum in their pocket in case they happen on a dead girl,” I said realizing there were things that didn’t add up.

      “Fucking stiffs is disgusting and downright creepy,” said the Captain mindful it was only three weeks to Halloween.

      “Only a misdemeanor in most states,” I said aware that the penalty for having sexual intercourse with a corpse was a Class C Felony in Massachusetts  with a maximum sentence of seven years.  The embalmer I’d arrested last summer drew three years probation.  The DA had only charged him with one count but I suspected hundreds of attractive females embalmed by McCarthy’s Funeral Home had been buried with his spunk rotting in their cunt.

       “Be careful.  Her parents have juice.  O’Malley from the mayor’s office has already called to say we need to handle this one carefully and keep him informed of any progress we make,” said the Captain.              

    

       

         

Chapter 2 Taboo

      I’d read up on the necrophilia when I worked my first case.  The first historical mention is found in the hieroglyphics of ancient Egypt.  It warned parents and husbands to allow the bodies of females to decompose for three days before turning them over to burial attendants who might otherwise use them for sexual purposes.  It must have taken a strong stomach to let the wife’s body rot in the desert heat for seventy two hours before you called the undertaker.

      It’s a crime like pedophilia that gets folks excited.  However, as I mentioned to the captain, the penalties are not that severe.  Twenty six states treat it as a misdemeanor and the rest as a less serious felony.  Rape the living and you can go away for a long time but fucking the dead will get you a fine, possibly a little hard time, and probation.

      While the Captain had claimed to Traffic I had vast experience; my reality was limited to three. The first was a pair of college kids who thought it was cool to work the graveyard shift in the morgue at Mass General.  One night they’d gotten stoned and decided to fuck a dead hooker who’d overdosed on heroin and dropped dead while providing a John from the burbs a half and half.  The John panicked and tossed her body out on lower Tremont right in front of the Wang Center just as the night’s performance of the Nut Cracker was letting out.  Thousand of little girls and their moms got to see first hand what happens to bad girls who don’t learn the dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.

      It turned out the dead hooker had a family who wanted to give her a proper burial.  A mortuary attendant noted the presence of really fresh semen in the cavity and called the cops.  The boys confessed and got a fine and probation.

     My next case was more nuanced.  There was a big above ground mausoleum near the LNG port.  One of the owners got his kicks removing male cadavers from their slots and taking them to his office for wine and cheese.  After they’d spent some time discussing how it felt to be dead, he sodomised them with the aid of a metal strap on dildo that encased his penis.  The dildo had slots in the sides so he could enjoy the sensation of long dead flesh.  He’d purchased the dildo through a German based Web site offering unusual items made with Teutonic precision.

     A janitor who’d passed out in his supply closet from too much MD 20/20 woke up locked in after closing hours.  When he saw the light on in the boss’s office, he rushed to ask to be let out only to find his employer plowing away inside a long dead ass.  The perp pleaded insanity and the judge agreed.  A two month stay at a treatment facility and he was back at his old job.  I sometimes drive by the place at night and wonder whose corpse is sipping pinot noir, eating brie, and taking it up the butt.  My experiences convinced me cremation is the way to go even if it does upset my Catholic parents.

      But Cynthia Rose was different.  Her late model roadster with the top down had missed a curve and rolled down a twenty foot embankment.  The crime scene ME had preliminarily attributed her COD to a broken neck acquired during the roll over.  He also noted she had a multiple contusions and a broken left arm.  There was an open bottle of tequila in the car that managed to survive the crash.    

    If that was all there was to it, it would have been a routine traffic death attributed to alcohol.  It’s a scenario that happens multiple times every year.

     College girl goes clubbing Saturday night.  She drives into Boston from her off campus apartment in Chestnut Hill.  She visits one or more of the night clubs on Lansdowne Street.  She meets some friends, dances, drinks, and does coke, Ecstasy or crystal meth, possibly all three.   Maybe she gets lucky in a bathroom stall with some Euro trash before she calls it a night and heads home.    Arborway is a winding road and poorly lighted.  She misses a turn, flipping her car over the rail.  A promising piece of ass bites the dust before she fills her getting fucked quota.  Life is full of tragedy.

      But some nut case had happened on the body and decided she’s still warm enough to screw.  He places her on the trunk of the vehicle which luckily for him had landed upright.  He brought along enough sash chord to tie her wrists and ankles.  The chord stretched her arms overhead in a V.  Her legs were tied to the undercarriage spreading her so wide she was in a split any cheerleader would envy.  And he had taken the time to stretch her tight, real tight.  You could see the chord was digging into her flesh.  Why so tight I wondered? 

     Why would someone go to all that trouble for a dead body?  She wasn’t going to struggle or fight.   I’d handled my share of rapes where the victim was tied.  Binding the struggling girl so she couldn’t move made sense from the perp’s point of view.  Getting your eye gouged out could ruin a perfectly good assault.

     Now for the weird part, after the late Ms. Rose was stretched out like a rubber band, he inserted speculums in her vagina and rectum.  He’d cranked her open as wide as the instruments allowed and left them there.  He must have worn gloves because they were no prints.

     My brain couldn’t put together a scenario that added up.  Suppose someone was following and witnessed the accident.  According to the police report, the car was not visible from the road unless you were standing right on the shoulder of the road looking down.  The Good Samaritan goes to help out and finds a very attractive dead girl in a mini dress.

     Maybe he too was clubbing and struck out, leaving him drunk and horny.  Let’s say he’s some kind of career rapist who just happened to have forty feet of white sash chord in his car.  For reasons known only to the mentally unbalanced who are into extreme S&M fantasies, he uses the chord to tie her as if she was a live girl he was going to rape.  So far so good, the nut job is pretending and Cynthia’s corpse feels more realistic than the blow up doll he ordered online.  Of course, she can’t suck your dick but you can squeeze her tits and pond away in both orifices.  Another problem is a lack of feedback.  She’s not screaming, “Fuck me harder, Motherfucker.”  On the other hand, some guys find that shit distracting.

     But that still leaves the speculums.  How many guys are driving around with a roll of sash chord and a pair of hole spreaders?  Maybe more than we want to think.

    I recalled reading that in certain cases when rigor mortis had occurred, the necrophiliac had used a speculum to pry the vagina open.  A dead pussy was apparently a tight pussy.  According to Krafft-Ebing who defined the disease of necrophilia, a true necrophiliac preferred his victim cold and stiff.   They are sick puppies who have an erotic attachment for corpses.  

      But if he witnessed the accident, she couldn’t have lost more than a couple of degrees at most by the time he prepped her and sought penetration.  If she’d been fucked a couple of times during her foray on Lansdowne, she’d be loose and wet, making it easy to slide home.

      I signed on my computer, accessed the Web and listed medical supply houses sites that sold speculums.  Fifty bucks bought the finest surgical steel.  A Google search revealed they were also sold by medical fetish sites along with enema equipment, mouth gags, and short sexy nurses’ uniforms.

      Maybe the perp was making a statement.  She’s a whore and her holes are open to all.  That implied he knew her and didn’t approve of her sexual habits.

      “Man, I could use a turn with that,” said Matt who had stopped by my desk on his way back from the break room.  He was standing behind me looking over my shoulder at the crime scene photos.

      “What’s the matter, Matthew? Andrea got a bad case of hemorrhoids and cut you off,” I said.

      Matt picked one of the photos for a closer look.  “It wouldn’t matter if she did.  The Mattster doesn’t take no for an answer.  Her backdoor is always open to me.  What’s she got in her twat?”

      “Speculums, you ever use one?” I asked.

      “Don’t know what it is,” said Matt.

      He was not just a prick; he is an ignorant prick.  “It’s a medical device, doctors use to spread open the vagina or anus so they can examine the interior.  Ask your wife.  Her gynecologist uses one to look up her snatch.”

      Matt turned to the female officer who had been assigned to SCU last week.  “Hey Sarah, do you know what a speculum is?”

      Sarah Covington’s desk was next to mine across the aisle.  She was an attractive brunette and from what I could tell had a good figure.  I particularly admired the way she pushed out the front of her uniform blouse. 

     Rumor had it she fell out of favor with the wife of the head of Family Justice Division when she caught her screwing her husband.  The wife followed her spouse to a motel in Everett where she demonstrated enormous resourcefulness by persuading the desk clerk to let her into the room.   Once inside, she pulled Officer Covington off the top of her husband and proceeded to beat the shit out of her with her son’s Little League bat she had cleverly concealed under her raincoat.

     Fortunately for all concerned, the desk clerk managed to subdue the aggrieved spouse before she committed homicide.  Sarah’s husband of two months, who was a fellow officer assigned to the Harbor Patrol, learned of her infidelity in the ER while the orthopedic surgeon was setting her broken arm.  He took umbrage at her betrayal of the marriage vowels and promptly filed for a divorce.   Her only defense was that she had been putting out for the division head since she joined the force seven years ago and being married wasn’t a credible reason to stop.  I admired her logic and looked forward to having an opportunity to discuss it with her.

       Media Liaison worked overtime to cover up the scandal which required cashing in current and future favors.  Someone’s career had to take the fall and Sarah was the logical choice.  Division heads are hard to replace but office whores are a dime a dozen.

      “What are you talking about, Matt,” asked Sarah looking pissed she was being sexually harassed?

      Perhaps one of her fellow female officers had informed her of the existence of a pool each male SCU member had paid twenty dollars to join.  The first policeman to provide incontrovertible proof that he’s screwed her would collect the entire amount.  I should note the pool was not discriminatory in that it was enacted for every female who joined SCU, even fat ugly Greta who no one was particularly eager to prong.  Her pool would possibly have gone uncollected if Sergeant Howie Stark had not gotten drunk out of his mind at the Shield and drug her into a back room and mounted up.  No one argued when the next day, he offered a pair of 10/3XLarge drawers as proof.  The crotch had a stain that no laundry pre-treatment could remove.

     Matt provided the definitive conclusion after he took a whiff of the crotch.  “Smells like a fat girl’s pussy.”  No one was prepared to argue with his assessment.

     Officer Stark used a felt tip to print the date, time, and location of his victory along with his initials on the come stained crotch.  Then to the applause of his fellow officers he penned the garment to the secret cork board located in the janitor’s closet of the Men’s Locker Room.  It was a poignant moment and everyone was suitably respectful.  My time at SCU was short but there were two thongs bearing my initials.  In ways that don’t count, I am an overachiever.  

     “Simon’s caught a speculum case,” said Matt.  “I just wondered if you ever used one.”

     I didn’t doubt that Matt’s attempt to involve Sarah in the conversation represented an opening gambit in his attempt to win the pool.

      “Gynecologists use speculums, Matt.  What’s a speculum case, Simon?” asked Sarah.

      “Actually, it appears the perp is a necrophiliac who used a speculum,” I said seeking to disassociate myself from Matt’s stupidity.  Based on several glances, Sarah and I exchanged I felt I had an excellent chance at winning the Covington Pool and adding her to my building legend.  But I didn’t believe in rushing things and it has been my experience that females are more likely to offer sex to males they believe, however mistakenly, are gentleman. 

      “So does your gynecologist use a speculum when he looks in your pussy,” asked Matt unwilling to quit when he ahead.

      “Of course, Matt,” said Sarah.

      “What does he find in there,” asked Matt.

      “Nothing, it’s a hole, an empty hole and it’s going to stay that way,” said Sarah.

      Deciding that being part of the conversation was not conducive to screwing Sarah, I signed out and left the office.

      I made a quick visit to the scene of the accident.  It was a sharp curve.  The guard rail was bent over and twisted.  Down below you could see where the car had crushed the kudzu.

     The Arboretum was owned by Harvard but policed by Boston as one of the many urban parts built my Frederick Olmstead in the last decades of the eighteen hundreds.  There were several buildings within the property where Harvard scientists and students studied plants.  There were also numerous nature walks that in times past had been excellent venues for rapists.  Recently, gentrification of the surrounding neighborhoods had improved safety.  The last reported attempted rape was two years ago.

      I couldn’t find any skid marks.  Cynthia must have been too blitzed to hit the brakes.  But I did find shards of orange plastic scattered on both shoulders of the road, the kind that covers directional signals and indicators.  I carefully gathered all I could find and placed them in an evidence bag. 

     I was a little surprised Traffic hadn’t collected it but I suppose they were in a hurry to get back to the donut shop.

Chapter 3 Terri

      “Terri Gilmore, I’m Office Simon Westbrook investigating the death of Cynthia Rose.  I understand you reported the crime.  I have a few questions,” I shouted through the still closed apartment door.   I was in an older remodeled home in Hyde Park.  It was built as a single family home back when families were larger and the relatives lived together until they passed on.  It was from an age where being a family member meant more than today.

      “Show me your badge,” said a husky female voice.

      I held it up to the peephole.  Almost immediately, the door opened to reveal a tall black female dressed for the gym.  She was quite an eyeful.  Black spandex shorts covered two long shapely legs.  Her bare mid riff revealed a concave abdomen whose musculature hinted of a six pack.  Two large breasts were attempting to climb out the top of a jog bra.  And the face wasn’t bad either.  Stupid rednecks are put off by the Negroid lips of Afro-American women but I know how it feels to have those full lips racing up and down the length of my cock.  

      Terri had a firm handshake and plenty of muscle.  I’m a gym freak myself and attracted to females with a BMI of less than twenty five.  Hang around a health club long enough and it changes your idea of feminine beauty. 

      I had a fleeting thought I’d met her before.  Then I reminded myself that if I’d met someone who looked as good as Terri, I’d remember her.

      “I just got back from the club and need a shower.  Can we talk as I clean up?” asked Terri.

      “Sure,” I said.  “Cleanliness is next to godliness, or so my Mom used to say.”

      “Your Mom was right,” said Terri leading me into a bedroom decorated in pink and white.  The carpet was white shag and out of respect, I kicked off my loafers before I entered.

      “Thanks, that’s sweet,” said Terri slipping out of her bra.  The boobs were undoubtedly augments but very nice augments with a large mahogany areola and quarter sized nipples that reminded me of the ripe blackberries we used to pick on my uncle’s farm. 

      “You called it in on your cell phone,” I asked as Terri went into the bathroom.  She left the door partially open so I could see her backside as she slipped the spandex shorts down her thighs then stepped into the shower. 

      I had no idea why Terri was showing me her boobs and tushie.  Maybe she was a cock teaser.  Or she had a thing for cops.  There are females, God bless them, who get turned on just looking at a blue uniform.  But I was dressed in a suit and tie.  I reminded myself I was a professional with a job to do and looked away from the door as Terri adjusted the water temperature.

      “Never leave home without it.  A girl jogging alone in the park can’t be too careful,” said Terri.

      “Did you see any strangers in the park?”

      “None, it’s pretty quiet in the Arboretum on Sunday morning,” said Terri.

     “Have you ever witnessed any problems there before,” I asked?

     “No, the reason I run there is that it’s safe.  There are places in the city where guys think they have the right to grab your boobs as you run by,” said Terri.

     “Tell me what you found,” I said.

     “I was running at my normal eight minute mile pace along the shoulder of the road when I just happened to look down and see the fender of a car.  That’s when I noticed the guard rail was banged up.  I stopped and leaned over for a closer look.  That’s when I saw that poor girl,” said Terri.

     “Did you climb down to the wreck,” I asked?

     “Yes, but just to see if she was alive.  Of course, she wasn’t.  I hope they find the pervert who stuck those speculums in her.  That’s sick,” said Terri.

     I heard the shower turn off and resisted the urge to watch as Terri exited the stall.  “Yes, it was sick and unusual.  Have you heard any rumors about weirdoes in the Arboretum?”  Maybe someone in your health club mentioned something?”

      “No, it looked to me like some nutcase found her body before me and tied her up.  Then he fucked the poor dead thing and left her.  I just hope her parents don’t see her like that.  She was a pretty girl, damn shame,” said Terri arriving back in the bedroom wearing a towel.  She took a seat at a dressing table and proceeded to blow dry her hair.

      “The speculums part is unusual.  You ever hear of anyone who likes to use them during or after a rape?” I asked.

      I watched as Terri thought for a moment before answering.  “No, not during a rape, but some guys want to see inside your love tunnel.  I had a friend who used one to look up my bottom.  Crazy bastard took a digital photo of the inside and made it the screen saver on his PC.  He worked in Customer Service over at Commonwealth Pier for Fidelity.”

      “You still in a relationship with him?” I asked.

      “No, he was a little too weird for me,” said Terri.

      “Anything else,” I asked?

      “The S&M crowd is into speculums,” said Terri.  “But what aren’t they into when you think about it.”

      “How so,” I asked?

      “I’ve seen one used to torture a vagina.  The Master opens a slave girl’s pussy with a speculum then sticks a violet wand deep inside and pushes the button.  He shocks the inside of her pussy.  Sometimes he does her asshole too.  It lights a girl up like a Christmas tree.  If you like to hear someone scream, it’s one way to go,” said Terri demonstrating her knowledge of uncommon sexual practices.

      This was turning out to be an interesting conversation.  “Any idea where that kind of action goes down,” I asked.

     “Club Macabre, for one” said Terri.

     “Never heard of it, where is it located?”

     “It moves around, no one place in particular, they rent out an abandoned warehouse for the weekend and email the members the location at the last minute,” said Terri.

      Terri was turning out to a valuable source on Boston’s demimonde.  “Like a rave, ever been to a meeting of Club Macabre?” I asked.

      “Once, but sado-masochism is not my thing.  Those people are insane.  Guys getting their balls flattened and girls with needles in their boobs and blood everywhere.  These babies cost too much to let some jerk puncture them and let the filling leak out,” said Terri.  As she spoke she turned toward me and let the towel slip down. 

      “They’ve very beautiful,” I said and I meant every word of it.

      She cupped her boobs and held them up for me to appreciate.  My guess was thirty six C or D.  “Officer Westbrook, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t recognize me.”

      It was time to be charming.  After all she was showing me her tits.  “Somehow you seem familiar but if I had met anyone was gorgeous as you I would have remembered her.”

      “Simon, you always was a smoothie.  Charmed me right out of my panties the first time we met.  That was ten years ago.  You were in uniform then.  I took one look at you, all ramrod straight with every crease in place and decided I had to have some,” said Terri.

      “Sorry, give me a clue,” I said.

      Terri dropped the towel and my mouth dropped open.  When she spread her legs, I recognized the eleven inch cock and the name of the owner came to me.  “Terrence Bouclé.” 

      I was a rookie driving home after second shift when I happened to look into an alley and spotted three white guys beating the shit out of a tall skinny black boy.   I was idealistic in those days and thought I could make a difference in Boston’s touchy race relations.  I was out of my car in half a second racing down the ally to slam my nightstick on the head of a fat Irish goon.  The three were drunk and to be honest, the black kid was giving a good account of himself even if he was outnumbered.  It wasn’t long before the micks were lying on the pavement with busted heads.

     “You’re under arrest,” I said reaching for my cuffs.  I fully intended to take them back to Precinct D and throw them in jail. 

     “No, I don’t want to file a complaint,” said the black kid.

     “Why not?  It’s a hate crime and that moves it up the felony ladder,” I said.  The three could get a year inside if convicted of a hate crime.

     “Waste of your time, Officer.  I’m a male prostitute.  The judge will let them go with his blessing,” said Terrence.

      Terrence was right.  Boston PD and judiciary was a bastion of homophobia.  They’d think the idea of putting three Irish lads in jail for stomping a queer preposterous.

      Terrence looked a little faint and started to fall; so I grabbed him.  He was pretty beat down.

      “Take me home, please,” he whispered             

      I suggested he go to the ER but he convinced me that wasn’t necessary.  He lived in a basement apartment on Commonwealth Avenue.  It wasn’t bad and I wondered how he could afford it.  Most male hookers live in poverty. 

      “I just need some rest and I’ll be fine,” said Terrence as I helped him strip to down to a pair of lacy female panties and tumble into bed. 

       I worried he might be hurt worse than he thought and decided to hang around a while.  I helped myself to a beer from the refrigerator and settled down on the couch to watch television and promptly fell asleep.

      I woke up to the pleasant sensation of someone sucking my cock.  I had a moment where I thought I was back in my parent’s home and Arlene was taking care of me.  Her crack of dawn blowjobs are among my fondest childhood memories.  But when I opened my eyes, I found myself looking into the bruised face of Terrence.

      “Relax, Officer Westbrook, I want to thank you for last night,” said Terrence showing remarkable skill in the art of fellatio.  His pink tongue was magic as he worked from my pucker to the tip of my cock head.  A long thin finger slipped inside my anus and located my prostate.  I moaned my approval of his efforts as the pad of his finger expertly stroked the gland.

      “That’s not necessary,” I said but I didn’t move.  I admit to bisexuality.  My older brother, Winston, used to say that sissies fucked only girls and that it takes a real man to fuck a man.  That was his rationale for putting me on all fours and corn holing me when we were kids. Winston wasn’t a hog about it.  He let me do the same to him.  Gays deny that true bisexuality exists.  According to my gay friends, you’re gay, straight, or lying.   They’re full of shit.  I love to fuck both.

      “You take cream in your coffee,” asked Terrence after he swallowed my load with a Las Vegas finish that drained me dry?

      “No, black,” I answered feeling a little embarrassed.  “How old are you, Terrence?”

      “Nineteen,” he said as he hustled off to the kitchen.  He was wearing a white satin robe and matching white lace panty.  A pair of scuffs completed his ensemble.  That was when I noticed the size of the bulge in his crotch.

      It was daylight and I knew how nineteen looked.  “Really,” I asked?

      “Seventeen,” he said.

      “Honestly,” I asked again?

      “Sixteen but I have a birthday coming up next month and that’s the God’s truth,” said Terrence.  “Why don’t you get cleaned up?  The green towels are for you.”

      “No thanks, I better get going,” I said standing up.

      “Why?  Do you have to work today?” asked Terrence.

      “No, not until six,” I said.  I was on evening shift.

      “How do you like your eggs?” asked Terrence.

      I hesitated a minute.  At the time, I was between girl friends.  Being a rookie cop is demanding and I didn’t have time or energy to haunt the meat markets and find company.  Plus I was curious what was hiding underneath the crotch of those white panties.

      I found out after breakfast.  It was eleven inches long and five inches in diameter.  A cock that size was in demand and produced enough income to afford a decent apartment.  Only the head would fit in my mouth but the entire package made its way down my rectum.  I’m versatile so my nine inches fit inside Terrence’s hole.  We sucked and fucked all afternoon until I had to go home and get ready for work.

      After that, Terrence became one of my snitches plus a regular fuck buddy.  He passed on useful information on gamblers, pimps, and drug dealers.  In return, I made sure he wasn’t arrested or if he was, he was out in an hour.  Occasionally, we got together for sex.  At times, I helped him out when a John wanted a black and white fucking.  Usually, they were married men from the burbs with children and respectable positions in the community.  It was something of a hoot for the two of us to pound the living shit out of some overweight middle aged executive leaving him exhausted but so very grateful.   We’d send him home to the wife and kids with jism leaking out of his asshole.  When I left Vice for Homicide, I lost track of Terri.

      “I got married two years ago so I’m Mrs. Lawrence Gilmore now,” said Terri bringing the conversation back to the present.

      Massachusetts allowed same sex marriages so it was possible.  “Congratulations, where’s Mr. Gilmore?”

      “He died three months ago today. Massive heart attack, the doctor said he had a congenital weakness in the left ventricle.  He was only forty two.  I’m just now getting over it.  Larry was the love of my life,” said Terri looking sad.

      “I’m terribly sorry to hear that,” I said taking his hand and pressing it.  Some of my old feeling for Terri AKA Terrence tumbled back into my mind.  The fact he looked so damn hot helped.

      “I had five years with him and I treasure every day.  He treated me like a goddess.  Larry had money and he paid for my surgeries.  This building belonged to him along with a couple of others,” said Terri.

       “You look terrific,” I said and I meant it.

       “Thank you.  You look pretty good yourself.  I heard about your partner and how you took the fall,” said Terri.

      “I was stupid.  I don’t know what got into me fucking my best friend’s wife,” I said.   “She was one hell of a piece of ass.”

      “We’ve both had a run of bad luck.  You got to be anywhere soon?” asked Terri.

      “Just the autopsy for the victim at three,” I said glancing at my watch.  It was almost eleven.

     “Stand up and take your clothes off, White Boy,” said Terri stretching her monster out.

     I couldn’t feel anything but lust as I stared at his massive cock.  I wanted it and would do whatever it took to get it. Terri remembered how I rolled.  I’m a submissive bottom when it comes to gay sex, a catcher not a pitcher.  I’m six feet two inches of hard cop muscle that wants to be a girl when it comes time for guys to fuck me.  Go figure.

     Terri also knew how to tap into my white guilt for slavery and other transgressions against his race.  I was raised in a liberal home whose parents traced their ancestry back to prominent abolitionists.  Somewhere buried in my psyche was the idea that subjugation of the Negro by the white man could only be atoned for by submitting to the black man’s cock.  I often wonder what Freud would say to that.

     With women I’m dominant.  However, I have been known to switch in either case. Male friends say I’ve grown more submissive since the suicide of my partner and that I’m seeking to be punished for what I did.  Females say I’ve become more dominant as a means to express my rage for the unfair treatment I’ve received.

     My sister Arlene thinks I need therapy.  Fuck that.  I think therapy is a crock of useless bullshit.  I refuse to go even though there is a psychologist on staff and career wise, seeing her would be a good move. 

      One thing I realized was sex with a gorgeous black transsexual who knew which buttons to push was going to make for one hell of an afternoon.

      “Come here, White Boy,” said Terri when I was nude.  She wrapped her hand around my cock when I stood in front of her.

      “Yes, Ma’am,” I said feeling my manhood grow at her touch.  I resisted the urge to throw myself at her feet and beg her to fuck me.

      “Have you ever sent your DNA off to one of those labs so they can trace your genealogy?” asked Terri taking a firm grip on my balls with the other hand.  She squeezed just hard enough to make me gasp with pain.  I’ve got a nice set of low hangers that tops love to twist.

      “No, Ma’am,” I managed to say through clinched teeth.

      “You should do it sometime because somewhere in the Westbrook line is a black man with a cock like yours.  This is a black man’s cock.  Are you sure one of your grandmothers didn’t satisfy her craving for nigger dick?” said Terri stroking my shaft and squeezing my balls. 

     It was a pain and pleasure move that made me want to beg and plead for her to do whatever the hell she wanted with me.  But I managed to stay focused.  “Not that I’m aware of.  We’re Nordic stock.”  Both sets of my grandparents arrived in this country from Norway right before the Second World War.  Except for my older brother Winston who has red hair and green eyes, we’re all blue eyed blondes.  But Terri was right.  My cock was a two inches shorter version of his.  If you dyed it brown, it was a black man’s cock.

      “Come with me, White Boy.  I’m going to prettify you before I fuck you.  Some of my buddies would love that cute white ass of yours,” said Terri using my penis as a handle to take me into the bathroom.

      “Sit on the commode. Lean back and spread your legs,” said Terri after we reached the bathroom.

      I watched in awe as Terri shaved my privates then my legs. I’m not that hirsute, but there was golden fuzz covering my manhood.  It was a first for me.  In a way, it was like she was taking away my masculinity.  She was making me like her.

      “Turn around, bend over and spread your cheeks, that’s what the guards at the Essex County jail used to say to me before they gave me a finger wave,” said Terri.

      The jailors over at Essex County were known throughout the correction system for their cavity searches, especially for women prisoners.  There is a chubby matron named Margo who claims her fat fist had been inside more than ten thousand cunts ranging in age from twelve to eighty.  I once watched Marge demonstrate her technique via a hidden security camera.  The fourteen year old shoplifter just might have been scared straight by the experience of having Marge’s fist force its way inside her pussy and anus, causing severe pain judging by the way she screamed her head off.   The coup de main was when Marge’s shit covered hand went into the girl’s mouth the minute it left her asshole.   Being left naked on a cold concrete floor in a pool of your own vomit with a bleeding asshole is a powerful deterrent to petty crime.

      I eagerly complied with Terri’s request and a moment later, my anus was a hairless as my balls.  Bottoms love to expose their anus to tops.   

      “Now, I’ll clean you out.  Can’t have you getting caca on my dick,” said Terri filling a pumpkin shaped enema bag with warm water then adding Castile soap.   The soap burned like hell but it left the inside of your bowels sparking clean.

      I started to cramp as soon as the water reached my lower intestine.  I broke into a sweat and held my abdomen as the cramps worsened.   Terri made me wait before she allowed me to take a seat and let fly. 

      “Do you love me, Simon,” demanded Terri straddling my legs and taking my head in her hands as I released my bowels?  His semi erect cock was inches from my mouth; so close I could almost taste it.

      “Yes, Terri, I love you,” I said and at that moment I meant it.

      “Prove it, Simon.  Show Terri how much you love her,” said Terri sticking her cock in my mouth.

      I knew what was coming.  Obviously, he hadn’t forgotten the kinky things that turned me one.  Water sports are high on my list.  Urine flooded my mouth and I quickly gulped down the first mouthful then sucked hard on his piss hole for more.  

      “That’s right, White Boy, swallow that black piss.  Drink it down like it was your Mom’s tittie milk.

       I was thrilled Terri was allowing me to drain his tank.  By the time, he finished, I’d taken in almost as much liquid on one end as I’d shot out the other.  I could feel the weight and warmth of all that pee as Terri ushered me into the shower to clean off.  He handed me some kind of perfumed soap that made me smell like a girl.

      Shaved, douched, and smelling like a French whore I presented myself to Terri in the bedroom.

      “Slip this on,” said Terri handing me a garter belt and hose from his extensive collection of large sized lingerie.  Since he and I were about the same size, everything fit.

      It was a half hour later when Terri looked me over and declared, “Not bad, Simon, you look fuckable.  You can be Arlene for the afternoon.”

      Terri had one hell of a memory.  I’d confided in him about the things I did with my brother and sister. But it had been ten years since he last dressed me in women’s lingerie and called me Arlene while he fucked my ass.

      I watched in the mirror as he transformed my masculine looks into something bordering on the feminine.  From somewhere I recalled that Terri had gone to cosmetology classes and had actually worked a cosmetics counter at one of the department stores downtown.  I was wearing a platinum blonde wig and make-up that matched my complexion.  A sexy garter held up my white hose.  Matching thong panty barely covered my cock. A pair of white pumps looked right although I wasn’t sure I could walk across the room without falling.

      “Let’s see if anyone wants to join us?” said Terri dialing her cell.  “Charles, darling, you busy?”

      “Fabulous, I’ve got an adorable white shemale here who is desperate for black cock.  No, he’s an old friend.  He’s also a cop so not a bad dude to know in case your black ass gets arrested again,” said Terri.

       “The call ended with, “See you in five.”  Terri immediately dialed again.  “Reggie, you busy?”

       I listened as she invited another of her friends to come and fuck me.  Thank God, she quit after she invited someone named Kelso who Terri assured me had a bigger cock than his. 

      I can’t say I wasn’t eager for what was about to happen.   The thought of pulling a train of well hung black guys is every white boy’s dream fuck.

      “I got just what we need in the way of stimulation,” said Terri selecting a DVD from a bookshelf.  “White Shemale Gangbang No. 5, its high definition,” read Terri holding up the case.

      “I’m not a shemale.  I don’t have boobs, Ma’am,” I said.

      “I know a board certified plastic surgeon who’ll make you a pair.  He did mine,” said Terri inserting the DVD in the player.

      I stood staring in the mirror contemplating what I would look like with breasts.  I’d worked vice for a year.  That brought me in contact with the world of transvestites and transsexuals, even the rare transgendered.  On several occasions, I’d dipped into man made pussy.  It wasn’t bad and the thought that my cock was inside a penis that had been hollowed out and reversed into the body cavity was enough to get me off.  However, the faux clit that was carved out of the penis head didn’t quite look right although you could suck it like a regular clit.

      My reverie was interrupted by the door bell.  Seconds later, Charles appeared and I recognized him.  Charles Darnell played wide receiver for Boston College Eagles, my alma mater.  I’d watched him terrorize defensive backs for the last two seasons.  He had broken every wide receiver record BC had.  NFL teams were salivating over him signing up for the draft.  At six four with an incredible athletic physique, he was Arlene’s wet dream.

      “Charles, this is Arlene,” said Terri.

      “Come here, Arlene,” said Charles pulling me into his arms for a kiss.  One hand reached down and grabbed my buttock pulling me hard against him.  The other grabbed my nipple and worked it in his powerful hands that could snatch a ball out of an opponent’s grasp.

      We broke the kiss for a moment so Charles could take off his sweats.  He was magnificently equipped and it thrilled me down to my toes to take his warm cock in my hand.

       “Arlene’s a pig slut,” said Terri informing Charles of how to use me.  Those three letters, “pig,” said it all.  The first time I heard them was when Winston called me his pig brother then pissed in my mouth.

      “My kind of whore,” said Charles taking me back into his arms for another kiss.  “Open your mouth, Arlene.”

      I held my mouth open as Charles let a king sized gob of spit cascade over his bottom lip onto my tongue.  I savor the slimy fluid then swallowed it.  Charles raised one arm toward the ceiling presenting me his armpit.  The fingers of his other hand captured my nipple.  I knew the pig drill.  I placed my tongue at the base of the pit and licked upward.  My tongue retraced its path leaving a streak of saliva.

     I whimpered as he applied pressure to my nipple.  His fingers were like iron.  Once he had his hands on a football or a male mammary, nothing was going to make him let go.  I buried my face in the pit, working my tongue over the wrinkled flesh.  Fastidious types are repulsed by the aroma produced by the male sweat glands but not yours truly.   I consider it one hell of a turn on.

     I was whimpering in pain as we kissed.  Both of my nipples were being crushed as he practically lifted me on the ground using them for leverage.  After I’d whimpered enough, he pushed me to my knees and I began sucking his cock.  Terri got in on the action and I was switching my mouth between dicks.  Of course, the race card was always available to play.

      “Arlene loves black cocks.  He can’t get enough of them.  Right Arlene?” said Terri.

      “I love black cocks.  They’re so beautiful and they’re so big,” I said as I ran my tongue over the ebony surface.  They felt so warm and vibrant on my tongue. 

      I’m not sure why the white man and this white man in particular find it such a rush to kneel before a black man and make love to his manhood with his mouth.  I’ve sucked my share of white cock and while it can be great too; there just not the same intensity of feeling.  The bottom line is I adore sucking a big black dick.  Who doesn’t?

      “Arlene wants to drink my piss. Don’t you, Baby?” said Charles.

      “Yes, please,” I said.

      “He’s already emptied my tank,” said Terri.

      I managed to swallow everything he gave me without spilling a drop.

      “Where’s you get this white boy, Terri” asked Charles suitably impressed with my performance. 

      My view is that the sexual humiliation of the white man by the black increases the pleasure of both races.  The black man enjoys the sense of payback as he repeatedly fills the white man’s mouth with his urine.  The white man believes he is atoning for past wrongs.  I’m no psychologist but that is how I understand it.

      “You fuck him while he eats my ass,” said Charles lying back on the bed and raising his legs to give me a clear shot at his sphincter.

      A minute later, I’m taking Terri up the butt while trying to work my tongue past Charles’ sphincter.  We were going hot and heavy when Reggie and Kelso showed up.  Kelso promptly replaced Terri as my ass fucker.

       Kelso’s cock wasn’t long but it certainly was thick.  He also brought along a can of Crisco vegetable shortening which meant I was going to be fisted at some point.

       Terri announced that since Charlie, Reggie, and Kelso were tops, he was going to bottom with me.    It was cute the way he wiggled his ass, inviting Reggie to stick his pecker inside.

     One of the best parts of the afternoon was lying on my back beside Terri holding hands and kissing while the others fucked us.  It was intense especially when the tops took their cock out of Terri’s ass and stuck it in my mouth or vive versa. 

      “Just like the old days,” remarked Terri.

      Toward the end, Kelso packed our rectums with Crisco.  It’s a very intense feeling to have a man’s hand and forearm up your bowels.  Charles obliged me by sticking his fist in my ass and sucking me off. 

      “That’s quite a big load for a white motherfucker,” said Charlie after he gulped it down.

      The finale came when they put Terri and me ear to ear and gave us a facial.  Terri and I kissed as we licked sperm off each other’s face.

      As I was driving back to headquarters, the thought occurred to me that the Cynthia Rose case was not going badly.   Terri had promised to get me in touch with someone who could wrangle an invitation to a Club Macabre event. 

      Hooking up with my old friend Terri boosted my morale.   He’d offered to teach me to dress as a woman something I had always wanted to do.  Terri believed that with a little coaching I could pass.  He’d also mentioned the possibility of our going in drag to Chez Jacques for dinner and dancing.  Just the thought of being on the dance floor in a man’s arms gave me a hard on.

Chapter 4 Doctor Brown

      Doctor Maxwell Brown had been the chief medical examiner for the city since before my time.  He trained at John Hopkins and was considered one of the top men in his field.  He was also getting along in years, and rumor had it retirement was a matter of months.  Most autopsies he left to his staff but Cynthia Rose’s parents weren’t just anybody so he decided to examine her personally.

       I was all garbed up like I was going to operate, not that I was going to be allowed to touch anything.  I’d set my laptop up on a nearby table to take notes.  Dr. Denise Jared was assisting Doctor Brown.  She was an attractive petite brunette whose work was considered good enough for her to replace Dr. Brown and take over the department once he retired. 

     Denise had been good friends with my ex partner and his wife.  She graduated Boston Latin high school with Mary Travers.  Before Tom killed himself, Denise and I used to flirt even though she was married.  I figured it was only a matter of time before I got into her pants.  But after the suicide, she became a serious enemy who bad mouthed me every chance she got. 

     I’d greeted her with a cheery, “Good afternoon, Denise, you’re looking exceptionally well.  Is that a new hair do?” to piss her off.  It worked.  She muttered, “Asshole,” as she rushed by without looking at me.  Doctor Brown gave me what the hell look and shrugged.  He was one of the few that didn’t hold Tom’s suicide against me. 

      Cynthia Rose was on the examination table.  An attendant had washed her body and put the body block in place elevating her thorax pushing her fake boobs toward the ceiling.  She looked like any other dead girl with the exception of the two shiny speculums decorating her orifices.  I sat quietly at a nearby table as they started the examination.  I typed away as Dr. Brown went through the preliminaries. 

      “Cause of death is a broken neck, a very badly crushed cervical spine,” said Dr. Brown finally saying something important. 

      We were looking at an X-ray.  There were no recognizable vertebrae where C1-C7 was supposed to be, just a bunch of fragments.

      “Any idea how it happened,” I asked?

      “You see this in roll over accidents.  My guess is she wasn’t wearing a seat belt.  When the car landed upside down, her head took the impact crushing the vertebrae,” said Dr. Brown.

      “No chance her neck was broken by an assailant,” I said.

      “No, you couldn’t do this kind of damage if he hit her in the top of her head with a sledge hammer,” said Dr. Brown.  “This is a result of having a ton and a half of automobile drive the crown of your head into the earth.”

     Dr. Brown wielded the Stryker saw for the Y-incision opening her throat.  I stepped closer for a better look as Denise snapped off evidence pictures using one of the lab’s new digital cameras.  Cynthia’s cervical spine was pulverized.  Next was the T-incision.  The Doctor made a point of showing me her liver. 

      “Twenty two but with the liver of a forty year old, she’s been consuming alcohol regularly since puberty,” said Dr. Brown as he weighed the organ and entered the weight into the computer.   “Alcohol is the number one cause of premature death in America.” 

      The Doctor was a former boozer who had staggered into AA one night and joined the sober.   I had no idea why he was proselytizing me.  I’m not much of a drinker.  

      “It’s Officer Westbrook’s dick that’s worn out from excessive use,” said Dr. Jared sarcastically.

      “And how would you know, Denise,” I asked with a smile causing her to snarl at me?

      “Tequila, urine, and semen, of course,” said Dr. Brown taking a whiff of the contents of her stomach after he had emptied it into a beaker.  The way he did it reminded me of a wine tasting I’d attended where the host had invited everyone to savor the bouquet of a recent vintage pinot noir from Chile. 

      “No food,” I asked even though the fluid was almost clear.  The presence of urine reminded me of my afternoon at Terri’s where I had tapped several tanks.  When I left Terri’s, you could hear it sloshing around in my gut.

      “None, when did piss drinking become a normal part of sexual intercourse,” asked Dr. Brown philosophically as he examined the contents of the beaker?  “In my day, only insane people drank urine.”

      “Been around for a while,” I offered before adding, “And it shows you really care.”

      “I suppose it saves a trip to the john,” said Dr. Brown philosophically.

      “It’s a means for men to objectify and humiliate the woman during sex,” said Dr. Jared once again tossing a mean look in my direction.

      I tried to remember whether I had ever objectified Mary Travers with a tummy full of strong yellow.  Probably, I decided although I could not remember a specific occasion when I humiliated her by emptying my bladder down her throat.  It’s one of those things guys do after they’ve tried everything else.

     That begged the question of where Mary would have reported her golden shower to Denise.  I found it difficult to imagine Mary informing her, “Simon pissed a full bladder down my throat.  It was delicious and oh so hot.  I creamed my pussy as it filled my belly.” On the other hand, they were good friends and Mary had shared a few things with me about the sexual practices of Denise.

     I framed my answer to make Denise unhappy.  “It’s a way of sharing something personal with that special person.”

     It was after the examination of the internal organs that things got interesting.  The good doctor was shining a light in the vagina when he made the big discovery.  “That’s odd,” said Dr. Brown reaching for a long thin forceps.  It took a little effort on his part to remove a small furry rodent that had been wedged deep in the uterus. 

      “Jesus, a rat,” said Dr. Jared.

      “No, a gerbil,” I corrected although gerbils belong to the same genus as the rat.  I had gerbils when I was a kid.  I’d recently bought my nephew Jason, Arlene and Sam’s son, a gerbil and a habitat for his birthday.  Arlene was less than thrilled.  She was secretly pleased when little Sparky expired after a week.

      “I’m too old to find out that ancient urban legend is actually true,” said Dr. Brown laying the creature down in a specimen pan. 

       “I thought the legend only applied to gay men,” I said.  I considered the gerbil up the ass an old wives tale myself.  Gay men aren’t stupid enough to stick a live animal in their rectum.  It would try to eat its way out.

      “I’ve always heard it’s just a legend like John Crapper invented the flush commode,” said Dr. Jared.

      “Exactly,” said Dr. Brown.  “In all my years of experience, this is the very first gerbil I’ve found in a body cavity.”

      “Its legs are taped,” I said noting the presence of clear tape holding both pair of limbs together.  It looked like ordinary office tape.  A roll of it sat on my desk at work.

      “Possibly to make it easier to slide the gerbil in place,” commented Dr. Brown.

      “My God, there’s another one,” said Dr. Jared pulling a second dead gerbil out of Cynthia’s rectum.

      “The media will go into frenzy,” said Dr. Brown taking evidence pictures of the gerbils.

      “We have to keep this quiet,” I said.  You keep certain details from the media so you can reject false confessions.  I pictured the following exchange with one of those nut jobs.

      “Did you insert any foreign objects in her vagina?” I asked.

      “Just my big pussy destroying cock, officer,” replied the nut job.

      “Get the fuck out of here and quit wasting my time,” I would reply before I kicked his butt out of the precinct.

      “I hate rats, mice and anything that looks like them,” said Dr. Jared examining the small body she held in the forceps.

      “I need samples of the tape,” I said.

      I held the evidence collection bags as Denise cut the tape then unwound it from the body.  As she worked, I reconsidered my case.  Whoever had come along after Cynthia Rose drove her Beemer over the embankment just happened to have sash chord, speculums, and two taped gerbils as part of his “don’t leave home without it” kit.  That struck me as beyond the realm of possibility.

      My thought processes were interrupted when Denise screamed, “The motherfuckers are alive.”

      Not only were they alive but able to jump off the table and scurry away.  Denise proved she was one of those women who are absolutely fearless except when confronted by a four ounce vegetarian rodent whose only defense was to run like hell.

     I proved my manliness by reaching down and scooping up one of them. Then I rushed to the corner of the room where the other was cowering and grabbed him.

      “Get something to put them in,” I asked before making an observation only an experienced gerbil owner could make.  “They’re both males.”

      “It figures,” said Dr. Jared who had turned pale and was still shaking.  She surprised me by looking at me like I wasn’t a piece of dog shit and muttering, “Thanks, Simon, I’m terrified of rodents.”

      “Fucking amazing,” said Dr. Brown handing me a small cardboard box.

      I taped up the box and set it aside.  The rest of the autopsy was routine.  Dr. Jared swabbed the vagina and rectum.

      “Semen in both orifices,” announced Dr. Jared after looking in the microscope at what she’s captured.

      “So she was a triple threat,” I said.

      “They all are these days,” said Dr. Brown wearily as he snapped pictures of the speculums.

      “Anything you can tell me about the speculums,” I asked once Dr. Brown removed them.

      “Top quality, made of surgical quality steel, available from any number of medical supply houses, or you could steal them from a hospital or doctor’s office,” answered Dr. Brown.

      “Or you can buy them on the Web from sites that sells medical fetish equipment,” added Dr. Jared.

      That caused the Dr. Brown and I to look at Dr. Jared who looked away embarrassed.  I tried to remember what Mary had told me about her best friend’s sexual life but nothing came to me.

     I spent another hour making case notes as the two completed their reports and prepared blood and fluid samples for analysis by the toxicology lab.  It was almost six when we finished.

***

           

     I was half way home before I remembered I’d left my wallet in the morgue’s locker room when I changed into scrubs.  “Damn it,” I yelled to the two gerbils resting in their box on the back seat as I switched on my blue lights and did a furious U-turn.

      It was after six when I reached the Crime Lab.  The building was dark.  I quickly signed in with the guard and rushed onto the elevator.  I stepped off two floors down.  The place was dark with just enough indirect lighting to find my way down the hall to the Locker Room.

      My wallet was right where I left it, on the top shelf.  That was when I heard a noise from the Cold Room where they store the stiffs.  Someone had just opened a refrigerator door and rolled out a corpse.  I heard Denise tell Dr. Brown she was going to stay a while and finish up some paperwork.  He’d given her a knowing look.  That seemed odd but I didn’t think anything of it at the time.

      I glanced out into the Cold Room from the darkness.  There was Denise standing beside a rolled out body.  It was a Latino kid who’d been gunned down that afternoon in a drive by on Ruggles Avenue in Roxbury.  They’d tucked him away until tomorrow’s scheduled autopsy.  I remember thinking what a waste.  He was a good looking young man who should have been in school not standing on the sidewalk selling drugs and catching a bullet.

     I was about to announce my presence when Denise turned slightly and I saw that she was nude under her lab coat.  Her scrubs were folded on a table she wheeled up by the morgue tray.  Curious, I stayed in the shadows.  A post coital conversation with Mary Travers finally tumbled back in my head.  Somehow we’d gotten onto the topic of her very best friend.

     “I worry about her,” said Mary taking my slime coated cock in her hand as a preliminary step in creating an encore fuck.

     “Why,” I asked making idle conversation as her warm fingers stimulated my instrument.  Women always worry about their friends.  It’s expected.  Denise struck me as normal.  She had a husband who worked at the fire department and two boys.  She also had a good job.

      “She has some unusual tastes in sexual partners,” said Mary working my balls with her other hand. 

      In spite of having already performed twice, my cock signaled a third was a distinct possibility.

      “Explain that,” I said.

      “Later,” said Mary as she moved down in the bed to lick body fluid off my penis. 

      My attempt to pursue the conversation was forestalled by Mary squirming to sixty nine where I proceeded to engage in my own version of fluid removal.

      I watched as Denise removed the sheet covering Juan Carlos Ramirez who went by the street name of Smokey and belonged to Mara Salvatrucha better known as MS-13, the most brutal and savage crime gang in the nation.  I’d gotten this from the officers who brought him to the morgue.  They didn’t seem interested in catching the killers.

      That was when Denise did something that made pulling gerbils out of Cynthia’s body cavities seem normal.  She leaned over and kissed Smokey using her hands to pry open his mouth.  After the kiss, she pressed her boob against his lips.  I could hear her moans and sighs from where I was standing. 

     Luckily, there was one of the digital cameras used for autopsy pictures nearby and I picked it up without being seen.  I got several shots of Denise rubbing her boobs on Smokey’s chest as she probed his mouth with her tongue. 

     I knew enough forensics to know bodies cool slowly, about two degrees an hour.  Smokey was still warm enough to fend off rigor mortis.   This is truly bizarre I told myself as Denise pulled his tongue out with forceps and proceeded to suck on it.   I continued to make a photographic record of Denise’s love making as she became more stimulated.  She was sucking tongue, rubbing her tits on his chest, and fingering her pussy when she climaxed.  It wasn’t a quiet orgasm either.  I made out a few expletives as she got herself off. 

      I figured she was done but like her good friend Mary she was up for an encore.   She removed the sheet covering Smokey, folded it neatly and placed it on her table. Next she spent time playing with his soft cock.  She pressed it against the side of her face and kissed it, even took it in her mouth for a post mortem blowjob. 

     She started to get seriously turned on again.  I couldn’t make out what she was saying.  It was mostly moans and sighs as she fondled his cock and balls.

     Smokey had low hangers and Denise took advantage by squeezing one ball into the bottom of his scrotum isolating it.  After she sucked on the nut for a while, she took a large syringe from a specimen pan and injected something into his nut.  I cringed at the idea of taking a shot in the balls then realized the victim could care less.   Then she injected the other testicle. 

      That was when I learned there was Viagra for the dead.  Denise’s oral efforts bore amazing results.  Smokey was getting an erection.  In fact, it was one hell of an erection.  Whatever, Denise had injected worked.  He was huge.  It was long and fat and the skin was stretched so tight, I thought it might explode. 

       After more oral, she climbed on the table straddling him.  Denise closed her eyes as she took hold of his cock and guided it home.  A loud, “Yes,” escaped her lips as she lowered her body burying his pole.  She struggled to make it fit.  As she doggedly descended you could tell it was hurting her but in a good way.

     Once she had taken all of it, she started to move like one of the Latinas who service MS-13 members, an all out effort encouraged by the tendency of gang members to cut off  the nose and ears of girls who show a lack of zeal.  Of course, it was all one sided.  Smokey was completely ignoring her efforts as she cursed, pinched her nipples and planted long probing kisses on his dead mouth.  The presence of two nine millimeter holes in his chest didn’t present a problem.

     The camera was a professional model and took terrific close-ups of Denise’s vagina stretched around his chemically inflated cock.  She went multi-orgasmic as she fucked him.

      That was when I decide revenge was in order.  I slipped the memory chip out of the camera and stuck it in my pocket.  From this day forward I owned Dr. Denise Jared.  She would do anything to prevent her family from finding out she was a necrophiliac.  She’d lose her job and possibly wind up in jail.

      I decided to start my revenge by having her take care of the erection I’d acquired watching her screw Juan Carlos.  I quietly undressed as she humped away.

      She was so preoccupied that she didn’t notice me until I put my hand on her shoulder.  “You,” she screamed as she turned and recognized me.

      “Be quiet and don’t move,” I said grabbing her and holding her in place.

      “This isn’t what you think,” said Denise.

      It was a stupid, almost comical remark.  But I played it straight.

      “I’ve got a memory stick loaded with camera shots of your performance,” I said.

     She’d noticed I was nude.  That said a lot. 

     “What do you want,” asked Denise looking desperate.

     Desperate suited my purposes.  “Let’s start with objectification and humiliation.  Just keep fucking your dead guy.”

      “You won’t tell anyone,” asked Denise.

      “Not if you do what I say,” I said climbing onto the tray.  I was on my knees straddling Smokey’s head.  My balls were resting on his pink tongue.

      I didn’t need to tell her to suck my cock.  She figured that out on her own.  She sucked my dick as she rode her dead lover’s cock.  She got over my unexpected arrival and returned to lust mode.

      I was still intent on lowering her self esteem.  “I’m going to pee and you’re going to swallow it, Bitch,” I said placing my hand under her chin and lifting her face so she was looking me in the eye.  She nodded yes and went back to sucking me off.  I gave passing thought to the quality of my urine.  I’d emptied Terri and her friend’s tanks hours before.  Would it double in strength as it processed through my kidneys or did it make it smoother like the triple distilled vodka I preferred?  I’d pissed earlier and noticed it was a deep shade of gold.  Gays say strong yellow can be hard to swallow.  Not my problem I decided as I released my flow. 

      Denise gulped it down as fast as I came up with it.  Either she was an experienced water sports fan or determined to keep me happy, maybe both.  The aroma of ultra strong urine filled my nostrils.  It was the kind of urine you generate first thing in the morning after you’ve spent the night in a sports bar watching the Red Sox and swilling Sam Adams lager.

      “That was good,” said Denise wiping her mouth with the back of her hand when I finished.  Her lower lip was decorated with golden drops.  She impressed me by sucking hard on my piss hole to make sure I was empty.

     From the look on her face, I concluded objectification combined with humiliation was a turn on.  I wonder how often hubby emptied his fire hose in Denise’s kisser.   I hoped she had a tin of Altoids to take before she got home and he caught a whiff of her breath.  Piss breath is a dead give away hardcore infidelity has occurred.

      “You like that, Denise?” I asked slapping my cock hard against the side of her cheek.  I clutched her hair to keep her head steady as I cock whipped her face.  I wasn’t nice about it.  She’d handed me a lot of shit and I owed her.

      “I love it,” said Denise between blows.  “I’m a corpse fucking whore.”

      I had accidentally tapped into somebody’s hidden need for humiliation and punishment.  I wasn’t sure she was sincere or just trying to please the new man in her life, the one with a memory stick full of images of her fucking a dead body.  

     With my bladder empty, I was ready to move on.  “Juan Carlos and I are going to DP you. Tell me you want it and make me believe it.”

       Denise showed her skill at dirty talk, a necessary component of good sex.  “Oh God yes, fuck my ass, Simon.  I want you to stick your big hard cock up my shitter.  I’m nothing but a pig slut who deserves a good ass fucking.  Please hurt me as you ass fuck me while my beautiful Juan Carlos fucks my pussy.”

      She sucked on Juan Carlos’ tongue while I relocated to the doggie position.  Denise was making cooing sounds and telling Smokey how much she loved him as I spread her buttocks and spit on her anus. 

     I smeared it over the hole and worked it inside.  Ass fucking is not for the squeamish especially if the hole hadn’t been cleaned out recently.  Terri had cleaned mine out before he and his friends fucked me.  Gays and bisexuals are into douching.  At home, I have a shower attachment that washes out my hole at the turn of a knob.  It’s a dead give a way that I take it up the ass.  But I had a sense that once my cock got inside Denise’s butt, I’d be driving a dirt road.  The smell when I opened her up confirmed it.

      Her butt was a tight fit for my nine inches.  I attributed that to the presence of Juan Carlos’ chemically inflated member which was occupying more than its share of volume inside her body cavity.  I felt his dead stiff cock pushing hard against her bowels.  Denise’s fingers gripped the sides of the tray as I forced my peter down the hole.  She was hurting and I was glad. 

     I dismissed the thought that my balls were slapping up against Smokey’s and his legs felt cold between my thighs.  Once I had established full anal penetration, I grabbed a handful of Denise’s hair for leverage and began slamming her.  Whimpers of pain punctuated by loud moans were pleasing to my ears.

     I reached around with my free hand, grabbed her nipple and executed a pinch and twist maneuver that delivered maximum pain.  Juan Carlos’ mouth muffled her scream.  I brutalized her tit as I fucked her ass.

     All the butt action had pumped some of her rectum’s contents to the surface.  I ran two fingers around her anus coating them brown.  Then I reached forward and drew a Dirty Sanchez on her upper lip.  There’s nothing that says I love you more than having your lover finger paint a thick layer of shit under your nostrils.

     I pushed my shit stained fingers into her mouth and she sucked them.  Denise was definitely hard core but what else would you expect from a necrophiliac.

     I regretted I didn’t have a friend there to take her image for posterity’s sake.  Quality images of a Dirty Sanchez are rare.

     I needed a bit more revenge so I recoated my fingers with the brown oozing out around my cock and stuck them in her mouth.  She cooed her approval as she sucked them clean.  Denise combined scat queen with zombie love, a rare combination.

      Sensing my load was about to surface, I made an executive decision. I pulled my cock out of her ass and frog marched over her back and turned around without falling off the tray and injuring myself.

     “Suck it clean, you shit licking whore,” I said presenting my chocolate coated manhood to her lips.

     The fact that my penis was covered with a quarter inch of her feces didn’t faze her.  Denise licked and sucked like it was one of those chocolate pudding cups kids carry in their school lunches.  I took hold of the sides of her head and fucked her mouth until my spunk had left the building. 

     I carefully climbed off the tray feeling spent.  It had been a long day.  I’d begun with a wake up fuck with Darlene and her sister.  Mid day I’d been down on all fours being screwed by Terri and company.  I wasn’t quite sure whether I had just participated in a threesome or a two plus cadaver.  I used Denise’s scrubs to wipe my cock off.

     While I got dressed, she slowly climbed off Juan Carlos.  She took a wet rag and wiped him down.  Then she carefully replaced the sheet.  Right before she slid him back into the drawer she kissed him on the lips and whispered, “Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels see thee to thy rest.” Hamlet, I thought, maybe not.  I’m no scholar.

     I dressed quickly and headed for the door.

     “Simon,” yelled Denise as I reached the exit.

     “Yes, Dr. Jared,” I said turning around to face her.  I smiled because her mouth was still smeared with shit

     “Call me,” said Denise misinterpreting my smile.

     

    

          

             
  

       

Chapter 5 Arlene

      “You’re sure Jason wouldn’t want them.  They’re educational and caring for them would teach him to be responsible,” I said to my sister.  It was almost nine o’clock and I was in Weston at her home that qualified as a mansion if you were into that sort of thing.  Weston was the wealthiest town in Massachusetts if you believed Boston magazine.

     We were seated at the kitchen island drinking coffee.  She’d fixed me breakfast.  We were alone in the house.  Jason’s nanny had been banished to her apartment over the restored carriage house, a sure sign Arlene was horny and wanted my undivided attention.

     Sam had left for his office at the State House and Jason was on his way to Town and Country Day School, a private establishment my sister had enrolled him in pre birth based on a sonogram.  His tuition almost equaled my yearly take home pay.

     Arlene had attended a zoning meeting in Medford the night before.  It didn’t end until after midnight, but she managed to get her client’s variance approved so she was celebrating by not going in the office until noon.  My sister was on her way to being a major fixer in Boston’s commercial real estate market.

     “I don’t have to start getting ready until eleven,” said Arlene retracting her shoulder blades to draw my gaze to her newly augmented breasts Sam had given her for her thirtieth birthday.  She’d always been small breasted and I had no idea why a woman her age would decide to get a boob job.

     The missing nanny and the boob parading meant my stud services were expected.  I was feeling a little fucked out from all the crazy sex I’d had yesterday, but I squared my shoulders, straightened by spine and informed my plumbing it would be necessary to get the pressure up regardless.  When your kid sister wants sex, you put out.  After all, she’s family.

     Pussy and Ass were happily enjoying their new habitat and chowing down on food left by the former resident.   If they had suffered any trauma from being shoved up a dead girl’s orifices, they weren’t showing it.

     “Jason doesn’t like gerbils and I don’t want them either.  You’re the one who loved them when we were growing up.   You could use a pet besides Darlene.  Maybe Nikki would want them.  She’s still young enough for gerbils,” said Arlene who took the view that I was always bottom fishing when it came to members of the opposite sex.  She wanted me to date doctors and lawyers, marry one, and settle down.  My lack of ambition frustrated her.

     I hadn’t told her about Nikki’s tendency to fuck anything with pants, but maybe our older brother Winston had spilled the beans.  He loved to talk about who he was fucking and how. 

     Since Cecilia started showing and Winston found her bloated belly deflating, he had been dropping by regularly to screw my girl friend and her baby sister.  Well, he was my older brother and our parents taught us to share.

     And for that matter, the bun in Cecilia’s oven was mine.  Winston foolishly had a vasectomy when he was married to his first wife, Mary Kate.  Her medical problems made both children and birth control pills impossible.  He was nuts over Mary Kate so he agreed to the operation.  The wisdom of that decision came into question when she left him for a female professor who also taught psychology at Tufts.

     Winston and Cecilia wanted children so I was called into service as someone with almost the same DNA.  When the issue of my standing in for Winston first came up, I surmised it would be a turkey baster baby, but Winston declared that to be no fun and paid for Cecilia and me to spend a week in Aruba where we fucked our brains out.  Initially I had been surprised that Cecilia readily agreed to adultery with her brother-in-law.  I hadn’t fucked her before.

     Perhaps it was my charm, good looks, and sex appeal or she had learned her husband was screwing around on her every chance he got.  Winston was one of Boston’s leading divorce lawyers and that’s the job to have if you want to lay pipe to a different woman every day.

     I decided to take the philosophical tack assuming most wives wouldn’t hesitate to engage in husband sponsored adultery especially if it included a week in a warm climate away from the New England winter.  Luckily, she came back pregnant.  Mission accomplished.

     That brought to mind the message on my voice mail from Cecilia.  She wanted to know when I was going to come see her again.  I didn’t share my older brother’s distaste for pregnant women.  I considered those big round watermelon bellies a major turn on.  I loved to suck on her extended belly button.  I had to take it easy, none of my usual rough stuff.  The up side was that she was so damn grateful. 

       Like all pregnant women she was subject to bouts of insecurity.  “Winston does want me anymore,” sniffed Cecilia cuddling up in my arms as my spunk slowly dribbled out her slit.  “If it wasn’t for you and Gary, I wouldn’t be getting any sex at all.”

     “Who’s Gary,” I asked fondling a milk filled breast.  She’d promised me that after the baby was born I could have all the breast milk I could drink.

     “He’s the produce manager at Super Stop and Shop,” said Cecilia obviously enjoying my attention and trying without success to make me jealous.  I didn’t care if she put out for the grocery store’s entire checkout lane.  Cecilia described in great detail how Gary had taken her into the store’s back room the day before and had his way with her on top of a pallet of fresh broccoli.  My brother’s infidelity was turning his wife into a mega slut as she sought revenge for his philandering.

     I gave up convincing Arlene to keep the gerbils.  She had never been a pet person.   “All right, you win, I’ll take them,” I said.  Maybe Nikki would like to take care of them.  I gave thought of stopping by a pet store and buying a pair of females.  She’d probably be interested if she could watch them mating.  Anything to do with sex got her attention.

      “Good, that’s settled.  More coffee?” asked Arlene walking over to the urn.

      “Just one more, I caught an interesting case,” I said.

      “Tell me about it,” said Arlene leaning over to pick up something from the floor.  She was wearing a short robe and it rode up her backside revealing the fact she wasn’t wearing any panty.  Her shaved clam was exposed.  My sister has an adorable pussy, nice symmetrical lips with no loose skin flopping about.  Flashing her cunt was a ploy she’d used since we were kids. It had never failed to work.  My cock stirred at the sight.  Incest is best is my motto.

      “You can’t tell anyone, not even Sam, Cock Teaser,” I said feeling my groin respond to the prospect of taboo sex.  It had been several weeks since I last screwed my sister.   Winston and she had a regular tryst but she and I were more spontaneous.

     “My lips are sealed except for this,” said Arlene filling my cup as we exchanged a brother and sister tongue kiss that included a nipple pinch.

     “Did you read about the girl who drove her car off an embankment in Arnold Arboretum Sunday morning,” I asked as she returned the urn.

      Arlene returned and took a seat beside me on a kitchen stool.  Then she swiveled my way and placed her legs on the countertop allowing her robe to slide down and open.  She reached down and parted her labia, drawing out her oversized clitoris. 

      “Yes, the Globe said it was an accident.  She’d been clubbing down on Lansdowne Street.  Sam knows Dr. Rose.  They met when he was on the board of Mass General,” said Arlene licking her fingers before placing them on her vulva for a round of slow sensuous stroking. 

      “What did Sam have to say about him,” I asked reaching down to unzip my slacks.   My sister married well.  Sam was a wealthy real estate developer, a successful one.  He was also well connected.  There was a rumor that it was his influence that kept me from getting fired after my partner ate a bullet.  That was another reason for me to take care of his wife’s sexual needs.  He was too busy making money to screw Arlene.  Besides he knew when he married her that she slept with both her brothers.

      There are actually four Westbrook kids.  My oldest sister Peggy lives on the West Coast and we don’t see her that often.  Peg’s three years older than Winston who is two years older than me.  I’m a year and a half older than Arlene.

      Peggy’s the prude in the family.  She was very studious and stayed clear of the opposite sex in high school and college.  As such, she doesn’t approve of her siblings, especially the incest.  In spite of our differences, we got along pretty well until Winston made her angry in her final year at Boston University.  He decided she needed to loosen up and learn how to have a good time.  He invited her out on her birthday for what she thought would be a quiet brother and sister dinner. What she didn’t know was that her dessert would be a gangbang.  It was a disaster.  Winston may be a brilliant barrister but there are times his judgment is seriously flawed.

     Unbeknownst to anyone else in the family, he concocted a scheme to get her drunk on margaritas and high on ecstasy and cocaine then have her pull a train for a select group of his Sigma Alpha Epsilon frat brothers.  Exactly why he thought a gang rape would loosen Peggy’s moral code is a mystery.

      Another flaw in Winston’s plan was that he consumed the same quantity of booze and drugs as Peggy and passed out after he dropped his sister onto his bed at the SAE house.  Winston had arranged for four of his well-endowed friends to participate.  They had promised to be gentle with his near virgin sister.  Unfortunately, it did not turn out that way.

     Things got out of hand due to the scoring of a large quantity of crystal meth by a fraternity brother who generously shared his good fortune with all present.  Peggy’s pretty with a nice rack and she proved irresistible spread out naked and comatose.  The entire frat house went into gang rape mode.  An estimated twenty five males and a couple of females sampled Peggy’s charms over the next six hours.

      Meth can result in bizarre behavior.  During the gang bang, some freak removed Peggy’s nipples in the wee hours of the morning after everyone had passed out.  Actually, due to a drug and booze induced unsteady hand, he cut off most of her areola.  Reconnection proved impossible, since after he chopped them off, he ate them.

     At first, everyone thought the surgical tool was a scalpel or a razor blade but it turned out to be pinking shears accounting for the odd pattern of the cut flesh.

      Regardless of circumstances, they were definitely missing the next day when she looked in the mirror.  The freak had added insult to injury by staunching the flow of blood with a Cuban cigar he had saved for just such a special occasion.  Additional damage included a severe case of hemorrhoids from her first encounter with repeated anal intercourse that may or may not have involved hard fisting.  Gonorrhea and herpes showed up in medical tests the following week.  To say Peggy was pissed is putting it lightly.

      Far from loosening up our oldest sibling, it had the effect of alienating her from the family.  Winston’s apology not withstanding, she declared all three of us tools of Satan and swore to be done with us forever.  After graduating, Peggy accepted a teaching position at University of California San Diego and left without saying goodbye.

      Years passed with no contact in spite of our Mom’s attempt to reconcile us.  Mom finally got us back together when Peggy accepted a proposal of marriage from a gentleman willing to ignore her mangled boobs.  She agreed to return to Boston for her wedding.  Mom made each of us swear to be on our best behavior and we almost made it.

      It was at the reception that things went to hell.  We were at the Four Seasons.  Mom and Dad had gone all out.  The problem was that the groom’s married older sister, Natalie, was first of all drop dead gorgeous and second of all a person who turned into a pig slut after a couple of glasses of champagne.  And Natalie was no kid.  In fact, she had three children of her own, including fourteen year old Celeste.  Celeste was at the age that required dedicating part of her day to war with her mother.

      In spite of Natalie’s age, she had loads of sex appeal.  Winston and I had a brief conversation at the rehearsal dinner in which we agreed she was ultra fuckable.  The fact she was an awful flirt who couldn’t keep her hands off other men was encouraging.  You know the kind.  Saying hello requires they press their boobs against your chest as they perform a discreet grind of the groin.

      But Mom was on alert to our shenanigans so we kept it in our pants.  She patrolled the room like a prison warden until Dad plied her with several glasses of champagne.  Then she let down her guard; so in a way what happened was her fault although she accepts no blame.

     It was a raucous fun reception with everybody dancing.  I was beside Natalie during the traditional “YMCA”.  What’s a wedding reception without an inebriated rendition of that classic?  When it ended, the band chose a slow song.  I took her in my arms as the lights dimmed.  I was a little drunk but the way she leaned on me indicated she was drunker. 

      “I’m having a great time,” said Natalie molding her body against mine.  Her breasts were huge and the bridesmaid gown Peggy had chosen was strapless.  It was tempting to pull down her top and bury my face in those mammary.

     I was being a gentleman but she had other ideas.  She reached behind and pulled my hand down to her bottom.  I reacted by pressing my cock against her belly.  I was hard in an instant.  Weddings do that to me.

      “Me too,” I said giving her a slight grind.  I figured a little body contact was alright as long as that was it.  That shows you how liquor fucks up your mental processes.  What drunk can walk away from a sure piece of tail? 

      “There’s a coat closet in the hall,” said Natalie grinding on me in return.

      It took me a minute to realize what she was getting to. It was June and the outside temperature was in the seventies.  “I didn’t wear a coat.”

      She smiled and kissed me.  It was a long kiss with lots of tongue.  Thank God Mom was looking elsewhere. 

      “Neither did I, Silly. Let’s go,” said Natalie pulling me by the hand off the dance floor.

      I finally got it.  My conscience argued with my dick for maybe two seconds and as usual, my dick won.   The hall was empty.  I thought we had escaped without anyone noticing but just as I closed the door, someone grabbed it.  It was Winston and Arlene.  My sister had a thing for buxom women of low morals especially when it involved teaming up with her brothers.

     In such circumstances, Winston’s motto is the less said the better.  I suppose anything he said would have sounded wrong.  “We saw you leaving with that slut and we followed because we want a piece.”

     He spun Natalie around and unzipped the tacky mauve strapless gown.  With a skill honed since the eighth grade, he unsnapped her bra with one hand.  She allowed it to fall as she turned and grabbed Winston’s head burying it between her knockers. 

        I was amazed she didn’t object to group action with her new in laws, but I didn’t know the woman that well.  It was a wedding and getting laid was expected.  I wasn’t at all surprised when Arlene turned her back to me and said, “Unzip me.”  We quickly stripped the women down to hose and garter belt, very sexy.  They embraced and kissed while Winston and I got naked.   Being overeager horny sluts, they finger fucked themselves to orgasm by the time I got out of my boxers.

     Both girls knelt down and performed orally then we guys returned the favor.  Natalie’s cunt was flowing and I dove in.  It was hot and heavy fucking in the small closed room and we all worked up a sweat.  Since Natalie was company we focused on her.  Arlene is bisexual in the Westbrook family tradition.  Her skill at cunnilingus was the talk of the Catholic girl’s school she attended.

     The four of us were in flagrante delicto when all hell broke loose. We were on the floor in the reverse cowgirl position doubly penetrating our out of town guest.  I was on bottom with my cock in Natalie’s pussy while Winston was pounding her asshole.  Arlene was standing grinding Natalie’s face into her vulva. 

      “There you are,” blurted out Mom throwing the door open and flooding the room with light.  

      Mom sort of staggered when she took it all in.  Natalie’s husband, Carl, was standing beside Mom.  Peggy and her new husband were looking over Mom’s shoulders.  Natalie’s three were standing between the adults taking it all in.

      “Mom, you are such a fucking slut,” screamed Celeste as she snapped off several images with her shiny digital camera.  That showed amazing presence of mind in one so young.

      “Close the fucking door,” demanded Winston reaching for knob which unfortunately was behind Arlene and out of reach.  Fortunately, Mom had the presence of mind to act.

      The door quickly shut but not before Celeste managed to jump inside, snapping pictures as fast as she could.  She captured several of my erection before I slipped on my boxers.

     Later in the post mortem, Winston averred we should have continued on and included Celeste who in his opinion was dying to fuck a pair of older guys like us.  I seriously doubted Natalie would have gone for that regardless of what Celeste thought.

     We quickly dressed but decided not to return to the reception.  I drove home with the expectation that my mother would never speak to me again.  However, she called me the following Monday to inform me that Celeste had posted the images to an amateur porn site.  The girl had a good eye with a camera.

      “It’s your father’s fault.  He raised you not to have any morals like him,” was my Mom’s final word.

      To my surprise, Natalie’s husband did not divorce her.  Some husbands get off watching the wife do the nasty with other guys.  Maybe he took her upstairs for a piece of cream pie.  Peggy retreated to San Diego vowing to never have anything to do with the three of us for ruining her wedding. 

      A week later, Winston, Arlene and I met for dinner to discuss how to make it up to Mom.  After deciding there was no way to make amends, we started laughing about their reaction, especially Celeste, the daughter from hell.  Once we recovered our good spirits, we repaired to my place for some serious family fucking. 

      Family memories are wonderful especially when they include great sex but Arlene brought me back to the present.  “Even at my age, I haven’t dried up,” said Arlene sticking two pussy juice-coated fingers in my mouth.  Arlene’s vulva was frothing thanks to her masturbatory efforts. 

      “What did Sam say about the Doctors Rose?” I repeated.

      “Not much really, he said Dr. Rose was crazy about his daughter and her death would be a serious blow.  So tell me.  It wasn’t a simple case of too much booze and coke?”

       “This is a super secret.  You can’t even tell Sam,” I said.

       “Cross my heart and hope to die,” said Arlene making the gesture with her hand then reaching it to my lips so she could smear cunt liquor over my face.

       I kissed the wet fingers and gave them a gentle lick.  The taste and smell brought back more memories.  I was a junior in high school when Arlene mounted me for the first time.  Mom and Dad liked their privacy.  Their master bedroom suite was as far away from our bedrooms as the house’s floor plan allowed.  And it was a big house.  Of course, we kids knew the reason for that.  Mom was a screamer when Dad was fucking her. 

     Of course, I wasn’t Arlene’s first.  Winston owned that honor.   He was my first, too.  He put her up to it.  I was sound asleep when she crawled in my bed and applied her mouth to my dick.  Winston was hovering outside the open bedroom door monitoring the situation.  He didn’t appear until I had dumped my load into her snatch.  While she sucked me hard for an encore, he ate her cream pie to show me how macho he was.  Then we had a three way where Arlene mastered the intricacies of double penetration.

       “It’s kind of crazy and there are loose ends I can’t tie up.  After her car missed the turn crushing her neck, some nutcase shows up and ties her spread eagle on the trunk with sash chord,” I said.  “He really stretched her out which is stupid because she was dead and immobile.  Then he fucked her.”

       “Necrophilia is rare.  Isn’t it,” said Arlene.

       “Not as rare as one would think,” I said mindful of yesterday’s encounter with Denise.

       “Any match on the DNA?” asked Arlene?

       “Not yet, there was semen in all three orifices along with a tummy full of urine, booze, coke, and Ecstasy,” I said.  “There are probably multiple sources of DNA.”

        “Cynthia Rose was a triple threat hard partying slut.  They all are these days.  So what was so odd about the case?  There’s nothing too unusual about a guy hopping on before she’s cold,” said Arlene who probably would not have been too shaken if she witnessed a man pumping his load into a lifeless pussy.  Arlene was hard core and getting harder as the years passed.

        “There were medical speculums in her vagina and rectum.  She was cranked open to the max and the perp had inserted gerbils in her orifices,” I said.

        “I see,” said Arlene eying Pussy and Ass as they chased one another through a maze of plastic tunnels.  “That is different.”

    “So whoever found her came prepared.  Who carries sash chord, speculums and live gerbils around hoping to happen on a dead girl,” I said.

    “The answer is simple.  He must have killed her,” said Arlene drawing an obvious conclusion I had somehow missed.

    “The ME said the wreck killed her for certain,” I said.

    “So he caused the wreck.  It is an interesting case and I wish you luck with it.  Can we go into the bedroom now?” said Arlene.

    “Yes, should I bring my speculums and the gerbils,” I asked.

    “No, you may not.  And for being a smart aleck, you can eat my ass and it’s not that clean,” said Arlene whose latest sexual obsession was scatology. 

     It wasn’t but I’m used to driving the Hershey Highway with my tongue. Winston taught me shit is an acquired taste.

     My sister’s vagina is classified as a nut cracker.  She couldn’t crush a walnut in her cunt but a soft shelled pecan is a possibility.  Every morning she performs a tantric yoga ritual intended to build strength where it counts and increase one’s enjoyment of penetration.  She even attended a five day seminar in San Francisco to lengthen the duration of her orgasms.  The woman takes her sex seriously.

      We got naked and stretched out on her bed.  I chased out of mind the fact her husband had occupied the bed not that many hours ago.  We began slowly to let it build.  We both knew how it would end.  Once we relaxed, my dominant side appeared.  I stuck three fingers in her vagina and four in her mouth for her to choke on.

      As I furiously finger fucked her, I began to lightly slap her face and tell her what a disgusting whore she was.  I picked the left tit to torture recalling I had done the right last time. 

     My sister’s approach to sex had changed over the years. When she was younger she followed whatever trend was popular.  In high school she went through an extended period of lesbian sex.  She fell in and out of love with a number of her female classmates.  Once she declared herself a fully committed bull dyke and announced she was going to have her breasts removed so she could be something called a “bois.”  Fortunately, Mom talked her out of it.

     Our Mother worried herself into a state over that but less than a month later, Arlene declared herself devoted to the enjoyment of black cock, specifically that of a boy she met at a dance who sported ten inches and was the most sought after college basketball prospect in the state.  

     In college she got involved with group sex and learned to pull a train.  As a young lawyer about town, she joined a club devoted to BDSM and learned to switch from submissive to dominant depending on what was needed at the moment. 

      Marriage, children, and age had slowed her down in the last several years.  At least that’s what Winston and I have concluded.  That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have sex with a number of different people each week.  It only means she isn’t quite the nymphomaniac of her younger days.

      Winston describes their sex together as classic brother and sister fucking, nothing too kinky or rough.  Apparently, she still meets with old girlfriends for strap on parties the first week of the month.  And the young boy who cleaned their pool last summer was nailing her twice weekly from June to August.

      My role is to provide the occasional brutal fucking.  I have no idea why other than I am good at it and enjoy slapping her around.  Just to show Arlene’s who is boss. I hook two fingers in her nostrils and take hold of her jaw and force her mouth open.  Then I look in her eyes as I spit in her mouth.  That’s nasty and disgusting and she loves it although she acts like it is vile and she hates it. 

      I deliver a pair of open palmed slaps that really ring her bell then I make my demand.  “Beg me to fuck you, Cunt.”  Professional women with an education are programmed to hate the C-word.

      “Don’t call me cunt, your motherfucker,” replies Arlene.

      That’s when I pretend to go crazy and slap her so hard her face bruises.  But if I hold back, she taunts me and I’ll have to slap her until she begs me to stop.  I flip my red cheeked sister over and go to work on her bottom with a vengeance.  I spank her ass until it is a purplish red.  Regularly, I grab the left nipple and take it for a full twist.   By the time we’re done, the entire top of her boob is red and the nipple is an inch long.

     Preliminaries over, I flip her onto to her back, position my hard on at her entrance and ram it home in one swift motion that causes her to cry out.  Arlene likes to be bent double and pounded.  We switch positions.  I grab her head for a spell of skull fucking where I force the top three inches of my manhood down her throat and hold her nose until she starts to shake violently.  When I let up, I beat the sides of her face with my cock.  I repeat that a few times until her face and hair are covered in saliva and she looks like an over fucked party girl who passed out and was gang raped.

     Anal penetration is just as merciless as vaginal.  There’s no slowly easing into the hole to allow her to get used to having a dick in her rectum.  She reacts violently and struggles to throw me off but I’m strong and hang on to her and ram her again and again until her anus relaxes.

      Arlene is into light scat, at least her own.  When I pulled my brown stained cock out of her ass, she wraps her lips around it and sucks it clean.   She seems to have a thing for the taste of her own shit or mine for that matter since I squat over her face and let her give my anus a tongue bath.

     Winston says that’s the result of attending Catholic girl’s school.   They’re taught that being defiled atones for their sins.  There is a lot of emphasis on the crucifixion with each step of his path up Golgotha described in detail.  What lesson should a teen age girl take away from the image of a bleeding naked Christ being nailed to the cross after a brutal scourging?

     After I’ve fucked her in all three orifices, I announce she’s going to swallow my piss.  She loudly objects and I slap her face and tits until she can’t take any more and agrees.  Arlene plied me with coffee to make sure I had a full tank. She drinks my golden river down like she just trekked across the Mojave with an empty canteen.  For the finale, she opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue and I blow my load on her face.

      Lately, she’s been into something that others might consider strange.  There’s a digital camera on the night stand that I am supposed to grab and take multiple images of her kisser smeared with streaks of my jism.  I have no idea why she wants me to do this.  However, I have perversely refused to ask.  Perhaps she shares them with the girls at her monthly strap on party.

     It’s almost noon before I stagger out of my sister’s house.  My hands tingle and hurt from all the slapping.  I make a mental note to buy a leather strap and save my nerve endings.  All the energy expended in fucking my sister results in a quick stop at Subway.  I’m trying to eat healthier.  When I check my messages, I learn Cynthia Rose’s Beemer is stored in the Mattapan Impound Lot awaiting my inspection.  I also learn that no one from the Crime Lab is available to help me so I am on my own.

Chapter 6 Impound Lot

      “It would have been nice if you assholes in Traffic did your job,” I said to absolutely no one except myself as I carefully scrapped flakes of black metallic paint off the driver’s side front fender of Cynthia Rose’s 535i convertible roadster. Arlene had been right.  Someone had forced Cynthia off the road.

     She’d also pitched the idea of me giving up police work and making some real money.  The thought occurred to me that I could afford a car like Cynthia’s if I got my law degree and joined Arlene’s practice.  I could kiss my three year old Honda goodbye.

      I was at the city’s Impound Lot No. 2 in Mattapan.  Normally it’s a busy place but it’s late and everyone has cleared out.  Boston is a condensed city with expensive off street parking and inadequate on street parking.  Parking regulations are zealously enforced by private tow trucks roaming the streets searching for illegally parked cars.  If they can’t find anyone breaking the rules, they pick someone who isn’t and haul their car off to one of the three impound lots.  Since the citizen has to pay both an illegal parking fine and the wildly inflated cost of towing, it is akin to grand larceny.  Three hundred dollars is the minimum you can get away with.

     Every three years, the towing contracts are let setting off a feeding frenzy among those officials trusted with the responsibility for choosing the winners.  Bribe money is recycled as tuition payments to Boston College ensuring that the sons and daughters of Boston’s political elite receive an excellent Jesuit education.   It is a beautiful system whose survival is assured by the wimpish nature of the citizenry.  Long gone are the embattled farmers who stood at Lexington Common and fired the shot heard round the world.

      The fact that Traffic had missed the obvious signs that Cynthia Rose’s car had been forced off the road made me wonder what else they might have missed. 

      “Eureka,” I whispered after I discovered a nearly full bag of weed in the driver’s side door pocket.  There were two neatly rolled doobies inside the bag.  A whiff of the contents convinced me it was quality stuff probably brought in through our northern border.  Our Canadian ally was becoming a world leader in the hydroponics production of marijuana that due to clever cross breeding had a THC content that kicked serious ass.  Deciding that the bag of grass had absolutely no bearing on the case, I slipped it in a side pocket of my brief case reserved for spoils of war.

      Next, I searched the trunk and made additional discoveries.  Apparently Cynthia had been shopping on Boston’s trendy Newbury Street and failed to empty her trunk.  There was a brand new Burberry umbrella and scarf still in the store’s shopping bag.  A glance at the price tag caused me to shake my head at the sheer extravagance of certain people’s lives.  However, since rain was no longer a concern of Ms. Cynthia Rose, I placed the items in the trunk of my Honda.  It would make a nice gift for Darlene especially since I would forget to remove the price tag.  No doubt she would reward my generosity in the usual way.  There was also a short skirt carrying the Prada label.  The receipt from the boutique bolstered the argument that I should give up police work and the lowly salary of an honest cop.  I pictured Nikki in the skirt swishing her young tail around my place and decided to add the garment to my booty.  

       Being thorough, I lifted the cover off the spare tire to reveal one of those expensive Halliburton brief cases. Fortunately, it wasn’t locked which was something of a surprise since it contained a large quantity of cocaine and a sizeable number of phials of recreational prescription drugs comprised of the usual ones: Vicodin, Percoset, Zanax, Oxycontin, and several that I wasn’t familiar with.  I managed to stay away from drug enforcement in my criminal justice career.  There were also a number of unmarked phials, one of which I recognized as Ecstasy, the club drug.

      Since I had no personal use for drugs other than grass, I photographed the case and its contents and carefully listed each pharmaceutical.  I even counted the pills and tablets to prove to my superiors what a good cop I was.  I would turn the drugs over to the Evidence Locker where after the passage of a decent amount of time, they would be turned into hard cash to be distributed among the higher ups.

     In pursuit of whatever treasures the Beemer might hold, I searched the vehicle diligently even going to the trouble of removing the back seat.  My reward consisted of a twenty dollar bill and slightly over four dollars in pocket change.  I decided that several used condoms were of no importance and ignored them.  The glove box was empty except for several lipsticks, owner’s manual and the vehicle registration.  I was about to give up when I looked under the driver’s seat. 

      I stared at the new laptop computer trying to decide whether it was evidence or something that could be put to good use by an underpaid public servant.   My own laptop was three years old and infected with several pieces of badware inadvertently downloaded from porn sites.  I decided to wait to decide until I had a chance to investigate further.  If the system had relevant clues as to who killed Cynthia, I would add it.  If not, it was mine.  

      After I carefully repeated my search without finding additional potential evidence or things for myself, I walked back to the office of Captain Franco Zamora, head of the Impound Lot, to report the completion of my task.  It was after five and I expected to find Captain Zamora gone for the day but there was Fat Franco seated behind his desk staring at the screen of a security camera.  Franco and I had gone to the police academy together which didn’t make us friends but we were on speaking terms.   I hadn’t seen him in quite a while and he had put on some weight. 

      As soon as I entered and before I could open my mouth, he signaled for me to be quiet.  Cesar, the mastiff who was always at Frank’s side, ambled over to sniff my crotch.  Deciding I was male and thus of no interest, he returned to Frank’s side of the desk.  I had heard rumors about Frank and Cesar’s activities but had put them down to idle gossip.

      Frank signaled me to come around the desk and view the screen with him.  As I came closer, I saw that Frank’s uniform trousers were unzipped and he was stroking Mr. Happy.  It was of modest length and uncircumcised but its girth was sufficient to appeal to that portion of the female population who favor thickness.

     “Did you ever see anything as pretty as those two?  They are absolutely gorgeous,” said Frank not skipping a stroke.  He seemed totally enthralled with what he was watching.

     Those two turned out to be a sixteen year old male named Darius and his fifteen year old sister, Safia.  I had to agree they were appealing, especially in their distressed and vulnerable state.  The pair was seated alone in Franco’s outer office discussing his proposition. 

      Mom and dad had unexpectedly flown to Ohio to comfort a sick relative leaving their teenagers with strict orders to stay home and behave.   Typically, they had ignored their parents and driven downtown from their home in the upscale suburb of Newton Centre to a party in Boston.  Showing normal teen smarts, instead of driving Darius’ hand me down Toyota, they took Dad’s brand spanking new top of the line Lexus.   They managed to leave Daddy’s chariot parked in a no parking zone leading to its relocation to the Mattapan Impound Lot. 

      The impound charge was $435.72.  Only cash or certified check payment accepted.  Mom and Dad were due back first thing next morning.   Unfortunately, the pair had arrived shortly before five assuming their credit cards were good.  It was now half past five and technically, the lot was closed and the Lexus could not be reclaimed until morning.

     Franco had listened sympathetically to their tale of woe which was driven by the fact Daddy was a real pisser and the pair was scared to death of the old man.  They had whined and begged to no avail; however, Fat Franco being a softie had offered them the following quid pro quo.  The Lexus could be driven home free of charge provided the pair agreed to have sex with Franco on an anything goes basis.  It was a simple straightforward transaction that even a teen age brain could navigate.

      Franco’s stout body and unattractive appearance did not make the decision as easy as one might think.  Handsome was an adjective only his mother would apply but he did have something they desperately wanted.  Frank had stated his deal right before I arrived and dismissed them to his outer office to make the right decision.  Unbeknownst to the teens, camera and microphone were transmitting their discussion to Frank’s desktop.  The pair was seated close together on a torn leather couch engaged in serious tête-à-tête.

      “We don’t have any choice,” said Safia.

      “What do you think Dad will do if he finds out,” asked Darius who I immediately gathered was the weaker of the two?

      “For starters, get his belt out and make you wish you were dead.  He expects you to protect my virtue.  He’s always quoting passages from the Quran about the brother’s responsibility to protect his sister’s honor.  But the car isn’t the only problem,” said Safia.

      “What else is there?” asked Darius sounding despondent?

      “The party, stupid, we went to a party where there was alcohol, drugs, and sex,” said Safia.  “And I did things with David and his friends, he could find out about.”

      “He doesn’t know that,” said Darius.

      “But he will assume there was and he won’t be wrong.  He’ll question us separately and figure it all out.  He’s a trained interrogator.  He’ll make Mom check again to see if I’m a virgin.  She said she wouldn’t lie for me the next time.  He’ll kill me if he thinks I’ve dishonored the family,” said Safia.

      “Daddy is a former Iranian intelligence officer,” whispered Franco.  “Those guys will fuck your daughter for laughs but kill their own if she puts out.  We ought to ship all the fucking Arabs back to where they came from.”

      I didn’t bother to mention that Iranians are Persians not Arabs.   We kept watching as Safia argued for accepting Franco’s offer.

      “You should have kept your self pure,” said Darius.

      “Like you, I know what you and Claude have been doing after school.  Dad would go ballistic if he learned about it,” said Safia.  “You’re not going to be doing anything with that cop you haven’t done before.”

      “Except he’s a lot older and fatter,” said Darius.

      “Now, my feelings are hurt,” whispered Franco with a smile.

      “If I can do him, you can too,” said Safia.  “It’s getting late and we don’t have a choice.  I say the two of us go in there and fuck the bastard’s brains out.”

      “I suppose we don’t have any other choice,” said Darius sounding defeated.

      “Yes,” hissed Franco in triumph as he switched off the monitor and put his cock back in his pants.

      “I better be going,” I said placing a copy of my evidence report on his desk.

      “Hell no, stay.  It’ll be fun.  Remember the time, we partied with those hookers,” said Franco recalling an incident when we were rookies in uniform.

      “They are sweet,” I said deciding to stay.  The girl was slender and attractive with an olive complexion and so was her brother.  My cock gave a little twitch at the prospect of sex with the pair of them.  If you’re not supposed to fuck under aged children, why did God make them so damn cock hardening?

      “You swing both ways too so it shouldn’t be a problem,” said Franco as someone knocked quietly on the door.  Obviously, my gender preferences were wider known that I thought.

      “Come in,” said Franco in his make nice voice.

      They seemed startled to find me there, but Franco didn’t give them a chance to ask about me.

     “So what did you kids decide?  Remember, there’s no pressure here.  If you don’t feel like partying just show up tomorrow with the cash and the car is all yours,” said Franco.

     “No, we need it now,” said Darius.

     “So you kids want a Sam Adams,” asked Franco trying not to gloat while opening a small refrigerator behind his desk?  “I got wine and soda too.”

     “Beer for me,” said Safia looking my way.

     Franco retrieved four bottles of Miller Lite and set them on his desk.  “Beer, Simon?”

     “Sure,” I said taking the bottle and opening it.

     Franco was enjoying the hell out of himself.  “Darius and Safia let me introduce one of Boston’s finest, Lt. Simon Westbrook of our Special Crimes Unit.”

      “Hello, Darius,” I said taking his hand.  “I understand you’re into boys your age.  Well, so am I.”

      “Nice meeting you,” said Darius attempting to process what was going down.  He looked a little scared and worried.

      “Are you going to stay, Officer Westbrook,” asked Safia when I took her hand.

      “Yes, Captain Zamora has graciously asked me to assist him this evening,” I said.  “Call me Simon.  Lt. Westbrook is too formal for someone whose cock you will be sucking.”   I’m enough of a bastard to enjoy her expression after I made my remark.

      “Let’s get naked,” said Franco unbuttoning his shirt.

      I stood up and took off my tie.  I decided it was Franco’s play and he deserved to call the shots.  The neat moment came when Darius and Safia got a look at my cock and got all wide eyed.  Safia got that worried look inexperienced girl’s get when they’re faced with putting something that large in their very small hole.

***

     

     “Have you ever watched your sister being fucked,” I asked Darius?  “I have and it’s sweet, especially if you get to fuck her too.”

     We were seated on the couch sharing a joint.  My arm was around the boy in a fatherly fashion and we were getting acquainted by jacking each other off.  Franco demonstrated his Boy Scout upbringing by taking a couple of large mats out of a closet and spreading them on his office floor.  It also signaled that Darius and Safia weren’t the first ones to take their vehicle without the exchange of cash.

      In addition to the beer, Franco set out a small box of tightly rolled joints, one of which I lighted and passed to Darius.  People leave all kinds of things in their cars.  While the three of us were getting high, Franco expertly arranged cocaine into narrow lines on the glass top of his desk.  He chopped the white powder with a razor blade like one of those chefs you see on television prepping vegetables.

      My drug consumption is limited to alcohol and marijuana so I demurred when he offered me the glass straw and so did Darius.  However, Safia proved eager to participate.

      “I’ve never done coke before.  Will you show me how,” said Safia betraying her innocence and readiness to lose it.

      Franco proved a willing instructor and Safia an eager pupil.  Cocaine is one of the quickest acting drugs and within seconds Safia had that wide eyed anything goes look that girls acquire after inhaling a couple of lines.  I’d seen it before at parties and night clubs in downtown Boston.  Girls who in the cold light of day consider themselves chaste undergo a change of attitude under the influence of coke.  They wind up seated on a commode in the men’s room sucking cock until they pass out.

      “Why don’t you two guys sit over there and get acquainted while Safia and I get things started,” said Franco gesturing toward a near by couch.  Obviously, he felt the first piece of Safia’s ass belonged to him. 

      So there we were, man and boy, enjoying the preliminaries of homosexual sex as we watched Franco slurp and lick Safia’s sex.  He was a noisy wet pussy eater who kept first one then two fingers in Safia’s anus as he rooted around in her vulva reminding me of one of those trained pigs, the French use to locate truffles in the forest.  I twice backpacked through Europe in my college days.

     I felt it was an appropriate time for a father and son talk in which I would impart some of my accumulated wisdom on the topic of sister fucking.

     “I’ve actually never seen her naked before,” said Darius relaxing from the effects of the weed.

     “Well, after tonight, you should be able to fuck her anytime you want,” I said.  “All you have to do is remind her of what happened here then tell her to lie down and spread your legs.”

     “Really? I want her to suck my cock,” asked Darius taken with the idea.

     “That won’t be a problem, but I’m sucking you first,” I said bending over to engulf his smooth dark boy cock.   I couldn’t resist taking him in my mouth.  I wanted the sensation of feeling his erection grow on my tongue.

     “You mean I’m going to get to fuck her tonight,” asked Darius raising his hips slightly to express his eagerness for my mouth.

     “Yes, you’re going to fuck her in the mouth, pussy, and ass.  And she’s going to love it,” I said looking up.  “Have you ever had sex with another man?”

     “Yes, I’ve been doing things with this buddy of mine, Claude.  We go to school together,” said Darius.

     “What kind of things,” I asked between licks of his balls.  “Scoot down.  I want to rim your asshole.”

     “Jacking each other off mostly, we suck each other’s cock.  I haven’t done anal,” said Darius complying with my request even raising his legs so I had a clear shot.  But at that moment, something else drew our attention.

      “Oh God, you’re so big,” moaned Safia as Franco pushed his fat dick in her tiny hole.

     “Shit honey, wait until Simon opens your up with that cock of his,” said Franco starting his rhythm.

     “Is he going to fuck me too,” asked Safia glancing at my now erect manhood?

     “Of course, we’re all going to fuck you, even your brother,” said Franco.

     “Not my brother,” said Safia looking shocked.

     “That isn’t your decision.  The three of us are going to fuck you and you’re going to love it.  You’re going to leave here a brother fucking little whore,” said Franco pounding away inside her tight fifteen year old pussy.  

     Franco wasn’t being easy on her physically or emotionally.  He was slamming in hard and working her tiny boobs with his mouth stretching her nipples out with his teeth.  His terms of endearment consisted mainly of cock sucking whore, pig slut, and filthy cunt.

     Safia signaled she had reconciled herself to her fate by raising her legs and wrapping them around Franco’s hairy butt.  She adopted his timing, pulling him into her each time he thrust forward.

     “Your sister’s a natural whore,” I quietly informed Darius after observing how Safia reacted to being screwed by a brutal pudgy cop twice her age who didn’t in any way resemble Brad Pitt.  I could have added, “And you’re a natural bisexual, possibly a full fledged queer by the time you’re thirty,” but I didn’t want to upset the boy.  He’d figure that out on his own.

     “Why do you say that,” asked Darius so intent on enjoying my blowjob he didn’t open his eyes?

     “She’s double humping a man twice her age and getting off on it.  She’s achieved an orgasmic plateau which is rare for a girl her age,” I said.

      “My Dad was right.  He told me that she was a weak woman who would not resist other men.  She will disgrace our family,” said Darius proving to be a chip off the old block.

      “Come in my mouth,” I said picking up the pace as I traced the pad of my index finger across his prostate.  Seconds late, I exulted in the warm salty liquid covering my tongue.   I held it in my mouth for a few seconds luxuriating in the taste and feel.  Then I placed my mouth on Darius’ and shared my treasure.

      Behind me, Franco announced he was getting his nut by yelling in a loud voice a long list of filthy names he felt were applicable to Safia.   Getting into the spirit of the moment, she replied in kind demanding that the filthy motherfucker fuck the shit out of her.  The innocence and joy of first love can be very emotionally satisfying.

***

     “You’re up, Darius,” said Franco getting to his feet.  “I saved you a piece of cream pie.” 

     Safia lay there fingering her clit as a narrow stream of semen slowly dribbled out of her vagina.  My cock stiffened at the sight of her well fucked vagina giving up its treasure.

     Cream pie,” questioned Darius?

     “Safia, get on top so you two kids can sixty nine,” said Franco as he took a seat beside me.  “You get to eat her gooey snatch from the bottom.  Come runs downhill.”

      The fact he sat so close our legs were touching signaled Safia probably wouldn’t be the only one having sex with Franco.

      “Kids today aren’t that smart when it comes to sex.  Boy didn’t know what a cream pie is,” whispered Franco as he placed his hand on my cock and began a slow stroking.  Being a brother officer I returned the favor placing my fist around his slime coated manhood.

      “He seems to be getting the hang of it,” I said.  Darius’s mouth was glued to his sister’s opening extracting girl juice and semen, one of the two best cocktails ever mixed.  Safia was competently sucking his cock, something she probably mastered in middle school

       “I’m getting hard already, better living through chemistry,” said Franco.

       He was right.  His fat stubby pecker was solid as granite.  I took a stab at naming the reason.  “You take some kind of ED drug?”

        “Yes, Francesca got this doctor to prescribe it.  Keeps you in the batter’s box for as long as you want to stay, and, get this, you don’t run out of juice. My next load will be just as big and thick as my first, maybe more.  Are you using any kind of male enhancement drug?”

       “No,” I said.

       “You better get with the program, Officer Westbrook.  Cunts today expect a guy to fuck them till they wear the skin off their dick.  These feminine bitches want at least two full blasts, maybe three.  Frannie says she sleeps better when she’s got spunk in all three orifices.”

      I did have an issue earlier in the week when Darlene and Nikki wanted me to do them both.  Fortunately, Winston arrived to help me out.  “Maybe I should consider it.   I’m living with two women and they both expect to be serviced.  What are you taking?”

      “Frannie knows.  I’ll get her to email you the name.  And she’ll send you the Web address of the doctor who’ll prescribe it without you having to go there.  He does everything through the Internet.  He’s a little pricey but he’s worth it,” said Franco.

       Three feet away on the mats, Darius had his sister bent double and was pounding away.   Her loud grunts indicated she’d gotten over any guilt associated with incest. 

      “You like to kiss,” asked Franco turning his head toward me and licking his lips?

      “Sure,” I said placing my mouth on his for a round of porn kissing.   

      After a short make out session, I found myself kneeling on the floor between his legs sucking his prick.  Behind me, Darius was trying out various positions with Safia.  I did not doubt that Daddy Franco had broken down a certain barrier and that in the future the two of them would be fucking like rabbits until they found someone more interesting to screw.

     For reasons unknown, Franco decided to continue our earlier conversation.  “There are side effects to the ED pill.”

      Diarrhea, loss of eyesight, irregular heartbeat, etc, came to mind.  “Are you experiencing one of them?”

      “Dreams, actually nightmares, I never had them until I started taking it.  I used to sleep like a baby,” said Franco as he placed his hands on the sides of my head for a little throat fucking.

      “That’s a new one on me.  What kind of nightmares are you having?” I asked between thrusts.  Normal conversation is difficult with a cock blocking your throat.  Fortunately, Franco’s was barely long enough to reach the opening and that was with my face shoved hard against his groin.

      “It’s kind of the same in different versions, but it is very bizarre.  Last night’s was at the Essex County Jail.  I woke up in a cold sweat,” said Franco sounding troubled.

      “You were assigned there for a while,” I said.

      “Two years in that shit hole before I got transferred out to impound,” said Franco.

      “So what was the dream,” I asked?

      “This one was in color; most times I dream in black and white.  I was in Block A, in the Holding Cell spread out on the floor.  I was dressed in my navy blue suit the one I wear to mass except that my pants and boxers were pulled down to my knees.  Four guys were holding me down, and there were twenty or thirty guys watching,” said Franco maneuvering my head do I could suck his nuts and lick his pucker. 

      Behind me, Darius was pounding away and Safia was grunting each time, he drove deep.   He was being affectionate.  “I love you, Safia.  You are so beautiful.  I’ve wanted to fuck you since we were little.”

      “Interesting,” I mumbled thinking what was so bizarre about dreaming you were gang raped in jail.  That happens all the time.  In Essex County’s bad days before the courts installed a new management team and spoiled the fun, the gaolers organized gang rapes every Saturday night.

      “Take one of my nuts in your mouth and pull hard on it like you were going to rip it off with your teeth.  In the dream, I’m scared shitless.  That’s when I look down and see my Mom kneeling between my legs. My Dad is standing behind her which is odd since he’s been dead for five years.  And Francesca is there and she’s got this jar.  She’s holding the lid in one hand and the jar in the other.  And this part is really creepy.  Lise Anne, my oldest daughter, is there too pointing at my erection.  Did I mention I’m so hard it feels like it’s going to burst?”

      “No, you didn’t mention that,” I said wondering why Franco was having Oedipus fantasies at his age.  I’d gotten over fantasizing I was fucking my Mom when I was thirteen.

      “That’s when I see that Mom’s got a scalpel in one hand and one of my balls in the other.  She’s stretched it out really tight.  Pull harder on my nut.  I want to feel your teeth biting into my sack.  This is where the dream gets really weird.  Mom cuts into the side of my bag then reaches in and pulls out this bloody ball of flesh about the size of a tangerine. It’s still attached so she cuts it free and hands it to Francesca who holds it for Lise Anne to lick before she puts it in the jar.   Then Mom cuts off my other nut and it goes into the jar.  Francesca screws on the lid and hands it to Lise Anne.  So what do you think it means, Simon?”

      I ceased tugging on Franco’s testicle like a bulldog in a tug of war.  I’d had my own share of castration thoughts.  “Castration fantasies aren’t uncommon.  I’ve had a few.”

      “Other times, I’m in bed at home.  Francesca has wrapped a chord around my scrotum so my balls are separated.  They’re tied off so tight they look like they’re about to burst out of my bag.  Her brother, Ralph, is there and he’s laughing.  All of a sudden, she raises this big claw hammer and whispers, “Say goodbye to your balls, Franco.”  Then she smashes my nuts with the hammer.  I woke up screaming at that one.  Scared the shit out of Frannie,” said Franco    

      “Remember the Balls of Steele case,” I said recalling one of Boston’s most notorious unsolved crimes.

      “Fuck yes, I almost lost my job over that one,” said Franco.  “Pull my balls hard.  Really work them.”

       I’m no stranger to guys who favor ball torture.  I slapped his dick a couple of times then grabbed his balls hard and twisted them as I sucked hard on his piss hole. 

       “That’s right.  Punish those nuts,” hissed Franco in pain and loving it.

       I’d been assigned to the team assigned to find the man or men who castrated Victor Steele, a much sought after high school all American who just happened to fall into the clutches of Essex County when he and his team mates decided to celebrate their victory in the regionals with a little street racing.  Mr. Steele made the mistake of running from Boston PD leading the cities finest on a high speed chase in which two cruisers smashed into one another badly injuring the occupants.  When cops get hurt, somebody has to pay even if they are star athletes.

     When the youth was finally caught due to some well placed puncture sticks, he was taken to Essex County and placed in a holding cell occupied by two dozen members of the Jamaican Posse who’d been caught up in a sweep of drug dealers in Roxbury.  The jailers turned a blind eye while Victor was first stripped then subjected to a prolonged period of sexual abuse that left his anus unable to close for three days afterwards.  That would have been no big deal but sometime in the early morning, a Posse member with the skills of surgeon and the stealth of a ninja slit open Victor’s scrotum and replaced the occupants with two similar size steel ball bearings.

      The incision and the subsequent stitching was so carefully executed, we officers assigned to the case, looked for a perp who had medical experience, perhaps a medic in the service.  But they were all high school dropouts whose only employable skills were in the acquisition, distribution, and retail sale of illicit drugs.  Solution proved impossible.

      The odd thing was that nineteen year old Victor went ten days before he noticed that erections were extremely difficult and ejaculations impossible.   Plus, his body was beginning to reject its foreign invader.  His scrotum was the size of a large cantaloupe.  I kept a copy of the X-ray as a souvenir.

     When he took himself to the family doctor, the switch was discovered and became the lead story in the Globe on a slow news day.  I suppose the castration of a local star athlete is newsworthy especially when the testicles were switched for industrial ball bearings.

      The management at Essex County took the indefensible position that since it had been ten days since Victor’s incarceration, the crime was committed elsewhere, possibly by a relative or a member of a team  Victor’s had defeated.    Thus came about the notorious “Balls of Steele Case” that was never solved and resulted in the court appointing a special master to run Essex County.    A series of Globe articles focused on the institution’s history of physically and sexual abuse of the men and women who found themselves behind its grim walls.  A hot line established by the courts was overwhelmed with lurid tales of rape and worse.  The practice of certain female wardens for fisting of both young and old women prisoners made national news.

      “I’m surprised you haven’t dreamed your balls were swapped like Victor Steele’s,” I said.

      “Christ, I haven’t thought of that.  Maybe that’s my next dream.  I’m ready to come again.  You want the load?” said Franco.

      “Yes,” I said redoubling my efforts by pushing two fingers in his ass to massage his prostate while going all out with lip pressure on the shaft.  True to his earlier prediction I was rewarded with a bountiful supply of creamy semen that I savored before swallowing.  Behind me, Darius was filling his sister’s twat with his essence thereby adding incest to his list of youthful transgressions.

      Franco gave me a conspiratorial wink as lifted my head then he whispered.  “Our little Safia is having way too good a time to suit me.  We’re being too nice.  Give her a fucking she’ll never forget.”

      His suggestion suited my mood.  Safia was kneeling on the floor sipping her beer and looking expectantly in my direction.  She was a beautiful girl whose pussy had taken two loads of spunk. Darius joined Franco on the couch as I stepped to where Safia was kneeling is front of me.  Franco took the boy in his arms for a long deep kiss before pushing him downward for more oral.

***

      “Have you ever been face fucked, Safia,” I asked fisting my nine hard inches?  From her expression, I could tell she was concerned how something so long and thick was going to fit inside that tiny hole between her legs.  She was about to learn the answer.  I would make it fit. 

      “That just means sucking cock. Doesn’t it?” said Safia reaching for my cock.

      Franco was right.   She was having too good a time.  I played her like the inexperienced cunt she was.  “Not really, open wide and flatten your tongue on the floor of your mouth,” I said as I took hold of the sides of her head.  I pressed my thumbs against her temples to make it hurt.

      Hammer time I thought as I went to work on the little bitch.  I spent the next ten minutes punishing the lining of her throat. Drool cascaded down onto her tits as I choked her.  I held her head in a vise grip as I forced my cock down her throat and held it there as she gagged, struggling to free herself.  I only relented when she seemed on the verge of passing out.  It was very satisfying to watch her gasping for breath when I pulled out.  I cock slapped he face bruising her cheeks before I fed her more dick.  And I didn’t neglect those sweet little girl tits, focusing on the right one.  I flattened and twisted the nipple bringing tears to her eyes.

      I pondered how she would react long term to the way I was fucking her. Women say they want their sex gentle and romantic but for most that’s a lie.  There’s something in their genes that cries out for cave man sex.  All their bullshit about caring relationships goes out the window when a man drives a nine inch cock down their windpipe.

     Deep throat session over, I followed that up with a whispered announcement.  “I’m going to piss in your mouth and you’re going to swallow every drop, or I will beat you black and blue.  You don’t want to explain that to Daddy; do you?”

      I was pushing my luck expecting a fifteen year old to drain my tap but she seemed precocious.  I took the fact she kept my peter in her mouth as a signal to take a leak.  I started with a small squirt that caused her to wrinkle her nose in disgust.    Urine is an acquired taste.  The first time I sampled mine, I thought it tasted awful.  But after a few swallows, it wasn’t so bad.  It was me who first suggested to Winston he let me drain his bladder.  After that we added Arlene to our merry crew of piss drinkers. 

      Behind me, Franco was keeping Darius informed.  “Simon’s going to teach your sister what it means to be railed.”

      “What’s railed,” asked Darius.

      “Fucked rough with lots of pain and humiliation.  She needs to be taken down a notch,” said Franco.

      “She deserves it.  She twists our Dad around her little finger.  He lets her get away with murder all the while pretending she’s pure.  If he knew half the things, she’s done, he’d break her neck,” said Darius.

      First small swallow over, I relaxed and allowed my stream to become steady.  “Keep swallowing.  That Sam Adams runs right through me.”  Safia was turning out to be a first class slut.  I admired her throat action as she gulped down mouthful after mouthful. 

      “Tell your brother that you’re a piss drinking whore and he can fuck you anytime he wants,” I said to Safia once we finished.  She looked absolutely fetching with several golden drops on her lips. 

      Safia dutifully repeated my words before I positioned her for dog style.  I slapped her ass hard as I placed my cock head at her slippery opening.  I dove deep without letting her get used to it.  My reward was a loud scream followed by an urgent request for me to take it out.  I ignored her focusing on ravaging her cervix with my cock head.  I didn’t doubt she’d be walking a little bowlegged come tomorrow.  And of course, there was that tit I continued to mangle with my fingers. 

      Personally, nothing is a bigger turn on than the painful whimpers of a female suffering from the invasion of your cock.  What Safia didn’t know was that I was just getting warmed up.  When I looked down, I felt nothing but admiration for the manner her pussy lips clung to my cock.  No matter how she felt personally, her vagina wanted my dick bad enough to hold on to it.

     It was time to take her anal cherry. “Got any lube, Franco,” I asked?

      A second later, Darius appeared at my side with a squeeze bottle of Astroglide.  He stayed to watch as I covered his sister’s asshole then slipped a finger inside. 

      “Cool,” whispered Darius.

      “Put your finger in beside mine,” I said.

      Safia moaned and whimpered as Darius and I loosened up her anus.  When I deemed her ready, I placed my penis against her sphincter and gave a small push.  “Guess what’s about to happen, Safia?”

      “Are you’re going to fuck me in the ass.  Please take it slow.  I’ve never had anyone inside my bottom,” said Safia.

      “You have now,” I said before burying my dick in her shitter.  I went in to where my balls slapped hard against her pussy.  It was one swift motion and my reward was a loud wail of pain.

      “Cool,” said Darius enjoying his sister’s pain.  “Her fucking eyes bugged out when you fucked her ass.”

      “Mind if we join you,” asked Franco appearing beside me.  He reached between my legs to rub my balls.

      “Sure, let’s introduce Safia to the joys of triple penetration,” I said.

      The three of us spent the next hour taking turns in Safia’s orifices.  Darius demonstrated his manliness by savaging his sister’s nipples with his teeth.  By the time, we finished, her boobs looked like a pair of Dobermans had been using them as a chew toy.

     I blew a load deep in her ass then sucked it out and spit it in her mouth.  I have a thing for felching.  I also taught her to play my Rusty Trombone.  She showed a real talent for tongue fucking my shitter while stroking my shaft.  It was an hour of full menu sex where nothing was too nasty or perverted not to try.

***

     “You a pet person, Safia,” asked Franco?

     It seemed an odd question given that he was lying on his back and Safia was bouncing up and down on his cock.  Safia apparently believed in making the best of her situation.  If she had to fuck an old fat cop why not enjoy it.  Surprisingly, she’d recovered her bonhomie after I’d introduced her to the joys of rough sex.  She was turning out to have a gift for whoring. 

    Eyes closed with a look of intense passion fixed on her face, one hand reaching behind her to work Franco’s balls while the other was stroking her clit, she must have thought his query as an unwelcome interruption.  What,” she asked?  Questions aren’t welcome when a girl is working on sustaining her orgasm.

     I turned my head in their direction, still managing to keep my cock in Darius’ ass.  Franco’s pudgy fingers were pinching and pulling her raw nipples.  Judging from their red and raw appearance someone was going to have sore knockers in the morning.  Darius’s rectum was filled with all nine inches of my manhood, and he was showing his appreciation of my efforts by loudly grunting each time, I drove in the max.   His butt was nice and tight, but what else would you expect from a sixteen year old of limited experience.  A few years from now, I could picture him in the back room of the Ramrod being double fisted by a body builder.

      I kept pounding away as Franco continued his dialogue.  I’d heard rumors about his proclivities and suspected that Safia was about to widen her sexual horizons.  

      “Do you have any pets at home,” asked Franco?

      “Yes, two cats and a dog, one of the Persians is mine.  Turner, the Lhasa Apso, is Mom’s dog,” said Safia as she rocked back and forth.

      “What do you think of Cesar,” asked Franco? 

      Cesar’s ears perked up at the mention of his name.  Franco had banished him to the far corner of the office before we started.  Obedience school must have taken because he hadn’t moved although he seemed eager to join in.

       “He’s enormous.  What breed is he?” asked Safia rocking back and forth.

       “He’s a Brazilian Mastiff.  They were originally bred to guard the slaves on the giant rubber plantations.  They’re known for their loyalty to their masters,” said Franco demonstrating some smarts.  I recalled he did well on the written exams at the police academy.

       “I’m coming again, fuck me harder,” screamed Safia slamming herself down on Franco’s cock as she spanked her clit. 

      Safia was a fifteen year old who fucked like a crack whore desperate for a rock to smoke.  She was quite a sight as she orgasmed.  Eyes closed, hair matted with sweat, nipples as hard as sapphires, she rode Franco until she was exhausted and fell forward for a round of spit swapping tongue kisses. 

     I took that as my signal to drop another load in Darius’ bowels.  I jacked his cock as I panted his rectum with sperm.  When he reared up to blow his load, I managed to squirm in front and capture the head before he spewed.   There is nothing sweeter on the planet than a mouthful of boy come.

      Feeling utterly depraved, I placed my hands on his knee pits and rolled him up onto his shoulders.  I attached my mouth to his sphincter and sucked my load back out.  Due to all the fucking, his butt gave everything up and I got another mouth full. I tossed my head back and used my tongue to blend the two creating one of the two best cocktails on the planet.

      “Open wide,” I said to Darius as I leaned forward bringing my mouth directly over his.  He did as he was told and I rewarded him with a generous sample of my oral treasure.

      “You ever been felched, Safia,” asked Franco observing our action?

      “No,” answered Safia.

      “Simon, don’t be a pig.  Let Safia have a little,” said Franco.

      I leaned over to her and we kissed.  Her tongue darted into my mouth to extract a portion.

      “How about you, Franco,” I asked?

      Franco turned his head in my direction and opened wide.  “Sure, why not?”

      I kissed Franco and let him take most of the rest.  That turned into a four way come swap that lasted until we ran out of fluids.  The four of us lay there catching our breath.  I was pretty fucked out and so was Franco but we weren’t done.

     “You kids were great.  One more thing and you can take Daddy’s Lexus and skedaddle,” said Franco coming up onto his elbow.

     “What is it,” asked Darius?

     “There’s one of us who hasn’t gotten his nut,” said Franco reaching for a footstool.

     “Who,” asked Safia looking around as if another cop might pop out of the woodwork?

     “Just man’s best friend,” said Franco lifting Safia to her knees as he positioned the furnishing.  “Lie on your belly and spread your legs.”

     Safia followed his directions.  She must have wrongly assumed Franco was going to fuck her dog style; when in reality Franco’s dog was going to fuck her. 

     “Come, Cesar,” said Franco as he placed a small rug over Safia’s back.   Cesar raced over.  Franco grabbed his collar to keep him from mounting Safia.  The pup was eager to get his nut.

     It still had not dawned on those kids that bestiality was next on the program.

     “What are you going to do,” asked Darius who must an inkling about what was about to happen?

     “Cesar is going to fuck your sister.  But first you have to suck his cock,” said Franco forcing Cesar to lie down and turn on his side.  The sizeable slimy penis had slipped out of its sheath in anticipation. 

      My personal experience of bestiality was limited to the one time that Winston talked me into letting Mr. Ickes’ Dalmatian, Roscoe, screw me.   Roscoe’s nails did a number on my back and it took a dozen painful attempts before he managed to get his cock in my ass.  It wasn’t an experience I choose to repeat.  However, I do admit to a certain fascination with watching Cesar and Safia go at it.

      “No way,” said Safia starting to rise up before being slammed back down by the heel of Franco’s hand in the small of her back.

      “Don’t be a cunt, Safia.  Cesar needs some pussy.  And if you don’t want your Daddy to find out what a slut you’ve become, do as I say.  Or he might just receive an email describing what and who you did at that party,” said Franco.

      Safia and Darius contemplated their options for a half second before Safia asked a question.  “And if we do this one thing, we can take the car and go?”

     “Yes, I promise on my badge as a member of Boston’s Police Department, the oldest paid law enforcement establishment in the entire United States,” said Franco looking solemn.

     “He won’t bite me,” asked Safia?

     “No, he’ll just stick his cock in your sweet pussy and fuck you,” said Franco.  “The rug will keep you from getting scratched up.”

     Cesar was on his back looking eager for his blow job.  Obviously, it wasn’t his first time.

      “I don’t know if I can do this,” said Darius reaching for Cesar’s cock.  He looked at me expectantly as his mentor.  I had taught the boy a lot about gay and straight sex.

      I guess I’m an old softie when it comes to twinks.  “Let me show you,” I said leaning down to take Cesar’s cock in my mouth.   Honestly, I was curious how it tasted.  It was kind of bitter.  I’d rather suck boy cock any day.  After a few long slow sucks, I offered it to Darius, “See, nothing to it.”

      He dove in and began to noisily make mouth love to the mastiff.  Franco was marking time allowing Safia to suck his cock.  Cesar managed to stick his muzzle between Safia’s legs and start licking.  I have heard that some women train their dogs in cunnilingus.  Cesar’s tongue was long enough for penetration.  Between sucking Franco’s cock and enjoying Cesar’s head, Safia returned to moans and sighs to express her approval for what was happening. 

     After a few minutes Franco declared it was time for the coupe de main.  He got Cesar to his feet and helped him mount Safia.  Franco’s hand guided Cesar’s cock into Safia’s vagina.  Once there, Cesar barked his approval and began humping madly like any good canine enjoying a prime piece of human pussy.   Darius and I jerked off as we watched Safia and Cesar go at it.  It wasn’t long before a series of loud barks announced Cesar had his nut.  Dog semen with the consistency of whole milk flowed out of her twat when he withdrew.  Cesar walked unsteadily back to his corner where he laid down and fell instantly asleep. Obviously dogs have minimal staying power

     “Facial time,” said Franco turning Safia over.

     We three managed to coat her face with goop as she gamely worked her clit to another climax.  The pair wiped off with a towel Franco graciously provided then dressed in rapid order.  The four of us did some kissing then true to his word, Franco handed them the keys to the Lexus and sent them on their way.

      Franco and I sat drinking a final beer after they had left.  We needed a few minutes to recover.  “That was sweet,” said Franco idly stroking his limp dick. 

     “Sweet as honey,” I agreed.  “How often do you get that kind of action?”

     “Not as often as you would think, maybe once a month and mostly from wives who don’t want hubby to know where they were parked.  That’s my first brother and sister in a year,” said Franco.

     “I need a small favor,” I said.

     “Anything for a fuck buddy,” said Franco taking a long pull on his beer then placing his hand on my bare thigh.

     “Can you hang on to the evidence sheet for a few days?  I may need to amend the list of things I took from the Beemer,” I said.

     “Sure, I’ll give you five days.  Is that enough?” said Franco rubbing my leg and allowing his hand to brush my cock.

     “More than enough, I’ll let you know tomorrow,” I said feeling confident I could determine if Cynthia’s laptop was evidence or contraband in a couple of hours. 

     “And I have a favor to ask in return,” said Franco.

     “Anything for a fellow officer of the law,” I said.

     “We got a group of guys who meet once a month for a down low party in the room above the Shield.  It’s a sweet setup with enough mattresses and slings so no one feels neglected.  We usually invite a couple of twinks to make things interesting.  Guys busted for possession looking for a way to get the charges dropped.  Your nine inch cock would be a most welcome addition,” said Franco lifting my penis for emphasis.

      “Love to come if my presence won’t make anybody unhappy.  You know how it is since Tom offed himself,” I said.

      “That’s not a problem with these guys.  I’ll email you about the next party,” said Franco standing.  “Wake up Cesar, you worthless shit eating hound.  Let’s go home and fuck Mommy.”

      I drove home wondering if Franco’s remark about Cesar fucking his wife was bullshit.  I also wondered about Darius and little Safia.  They had gotten a lifetime’s sexual education in an evening.  They’d joined the tiny population of humans who have had sex with dogs.  Based on their willing participation, I decided no harm had been done.  Kids are tough and getting gang fucked by adults and pets is all part of growing up. 

Chapter 7 Dating Nikki

      “Let’s go out on a date,” said Nikki taking a seat in my lap.  The fact she was wearing only bra and panty made her welcome, especially after she wiggled her bottom across my groin. 

      From her older sister, Nikki had learned that bargaining sex would result in wishes being fulfilled.  And why not?  She combined gorgeous looks with an awesome body and a libido that craved penetration in all forms.  Winston had dubbed her, “Nikki the Nympho,” and he wasn’t wrong.

      That was the suggestion that got the evening started.  At first, I wasn’t enthusiastic.  While Nikki was an incredible sixteen year old fuck who wouldn’t hesitate to cater to my most bizarre requests for kinky sex, she wasn’t exactly someone whose company I craved.  What did I have in common with a high school sophomore?

       It was just the two of us Saturday night.  Darlene was working a bachelor party at a downtown hotel.  Her refusal to take Nikki along had occasioned an argument between the sisters.

       “Why can’t you take me?  I can fuck as well as you or any of your whore friends,” said Nikki staking her claim to slutdom while noting there is no age requirement to be a prostitute.

     I was inclined to agree.  Nikki expertise rivaled her older and more experienced sister’s, but Darlene had other concerns.

        “This is a business not a game.  And this is not my appointment.  It’s April’s party and she’s got a full crew.  Sometime when we’re short a girl I’ll see if I can get you in,” said Darlene loading her bag with condoms, lube, and a vicious looking strap on dildo.  It was covered with rubber spikes.  If she used that on the groomsmen, they’d be wearing Depends for the ceremony.

       “April wouldn’t have to pay me.  I’ll work for tips,’ said Nikki anxious to be tripled penetrated by drunken strangers.

       I’ve been to my share of bachelor parties.  At Winston’s which as best man I arranged and paid for, we had over thirty guys and five hookers.  By the time dawn broke and we kicked the whores out, you could hear semen sloshing inside them when they walked.  I paid each girl fifteen hundred exhausting my savings.  However, they’d made almost that amount again in tips.  They charge extra for going around the world or drinking your piss. 

       “April and the others wouldn’t go for sharing their tips; so forget it.  Ask Simon to take you to a movie,” said Darlene ending the conversation by dumping her sister on me

       “What movie do you want to see,” I asked handing her the Globe’s movie section.  The possibility I would wind up seeing a chick flick crossed my mind.

     “Let’s go into the city clubbing,” said Nikki working my crotch with her ass.  “There’s a new place just opened up on Lansdowne Street.  It’s called The Edge.”

     “You have to be twenty one to get into Boston’s clubs,” I said.  Nikki didn’t look her age let alone the legal one for bar hopping.

     “I have an ID,” said Nikki.

     “Security personnel at those places are experts at spotting fake Ids,” I said.  My police career was already on shaky ground.  Being arrested for attempting to take a minor into a night club was not the ending I desired.

     “It’s not a fake.  It’s a valid Massachusetts’s driver’s license,” said Nikki.

     “Darlene told me you turned sixteen last month.  How could you have a valid driver’s license that gives your age as twenty one?” I asked.

     “I got it from the Registry,” said Nikki.

     “Someone believed a birth certificate that stated your age as twenty one,” I said.  Nikki didn’t look sixteen to me.  Winston believes she’s really fourteen.  That does not prevent him from showing up several times a week to hump her.  He even insists she wear pig tails to incite his pedophilic urges.

      The Division of Motor Vehicles AKA The Registry, the most hated and despised arm of state government, was known for the pleasure employees take in humiliating citizens seeking driver’s licenses based on fake documents.    It also happens to be a felony though rarely prosecuted.   Arrest followed by a semi-public strip that includes a deep tissue cavity search is considered sufficient punishment for those who cheat to drink before the legal age.  One of my college dorm mates wrote a detailed description in his blog about the joys of having a sixty year old Registry officer slowly insert his arm in his bowels and shake hands with his prostate.  He wound up sucking off said official to avoid an even deeper search.

       “Show me your license,” I said expecting to find one of the obvious fakes sold around area high schools and colleges.

        “Here, it’s valid.  It’s in the computer,” said Nikki taking the complicated looking card out of her wallet and presenting it to me.

        “How did you get this,” I asked after closely examining the license?  It looked like the real thing and I was a cop with years of experience in detecting fake driver’s licenses.    The Commonwealth had recently installed a new system funded by Homeland Security to produce a tamper proof license that met Federal Government’s standards.  The system cost millions. The birth date on Nikki’s license calculated to twenty one years and two months.

        Nikki didn’t answer my question.  “I hate my picture.”

        It was kind of dorky but I had seen worse.  I walked over to my new laptop computer courtesy of Cynthia Rose and accessed a Web site that allowed the police to check Ids.  I keyed in Nikki’s Social Security Number and learned that according to the state’s data base she was truly of age and the owner of a valid license.

        “This guy at the Registry got it for me,” said Nikki looking pleased with herself.

        Corruption is as much a part of government as taxes or laws.  Someone at the DMV was engaged in serious felonious crimes.  It wasn’t my case, but I was curious.  “What exactly did you have to do to acquire this,” I asked handing it back to her.

        “Screw him,” said Nikki who hesitated before adding, “And his wife and brother-in-law.”

        “No money, just sex,” I asked?

        “No, but I have to go to his place on Wednesday nights for the next eight weeks or he’ll delete the license from the system,” said Nikki.

        “That’s it.  No money exchanged hands?”

        “No, just fuck the three of them.  The wife was kind of fat, but she’s on Jenny Craig and trying to lose.  So can we go, please?” said Nikki.

        I am constantly being amazed by the attitude of young girls toward intercourse. I’m also curious.  “What did you do with them?”

       “Nothing special, the wife and I went down on each other while the guys watched.  After we got each other off, they climbed aboard,” said Nikki.

       “Anal?” I asked.

       “Of course, they wanted us to felch,” answered Nikki rubbing my sweat pants covered cock.  “Please take me.  We can do anal all you want.”

       I’m a pushover for sex crazed sixteen year olds who are into hardcore anal. Plus there was the Cynthia Rose case.  Maybe a tour of Boston’s club scene would give me a better feel for what happened to her.  I still had some contacts in that scene.  Maybe one of them saw or knew something.  “All right, go get dressed.”

       “I’m going to wear the skirt you bought me,” said Nikki hurrying away.

       It was after eleven when we got to the club.  Having a ridiculously young girl on your arm is an ego booster.  And when that girl looks as hot as Nikki, you can feel the envy.  She’d gone all out to make herself look good for our “date.”  The black Prada skirt hugged her bottom that was nicely elevated by a pair of high heeled strapped sandals.  A flimsy top clearly stated there was no bra underneath.  The term “Lolita” came to mind as I held the car door for her.  She rewarded my courtesy with a crotch shot that revealed she had gone commando.

     Lansdowne Street was crowded.  There was a line in front of The Edge that stretched around the block.  My police badge convinced the doorman to let us in.  “Welcome to The Edge, Officer Westbrook.  May I see your ID, Miss?”

    Letting in the under aged can get a club shut down for thirty days, a financial disaster.  Cop escort or not, Nikki had to prove she was twenty one.  The doorman took a long look at her hard earned driver’s license placing the plastic card under a special light that verified the hologram.

       “You’ve certainly aged well,” said the doorman.

       “My Daddy takes good care of me.  Don’t you Daddy?” said Nikki holding onto my arm.

       “You and your Dad have different surnames,” said the astute doorman studying my badge.

       “He never married my Mom.  After he raped her, he dumped her,” said an even cleverer Nikki.  “Mom talked this stupid doorman at the club where she danced into marrying her.”

       “Interesting story, I’d like to hear more when I take my break,” said the doorman obviously getting a kick out of his repartee with Nikki.

       “Daddy would love to tell you all about the rape.  He beat the living shit out of Mom after he ass fucked her,” said Nikki carefully placing her license back in a tiny purse crowded with lube and condoms.

       “You’re a lucky man to have such a beautiful and intelligent daughter,” said the doorman as he unhooked the velvet rope.

       “Not to mention she sucks cock like a pro,” I said playing along.  “Find us on your break.  She’ll be more than happy to show you how talented she is.”  I figured she owed him for the shit she handed him at the door.

     “Anything to please you, Daddy,” said Nikki as we stepped inside the club.

      Years ago as a college boy, the Lansdowne clubs were my Saturday night haunt.  I went there to pick up girls.  My taste for boys came later.  Harvard, MIT, Tufts, BC, BU, Northwestern, and a host of smaller colleges were only a short ride on the T.  Most of the time, I was successful not that it was all that difficult. I met some very interesting women several of whom opened me to new experiences.  Thanks to the horny ladies of Lansdowne I had my first threesome, S&M session, orgy, and serious introduction to kink.  She begged me to piss in her mouth.   “Go slow, Simon.   I want to swallow every drop.” 

      But I outgrew the place. Loud music and late hours lost their appeal when you have a demanding day job.  I found other less stressful ways to get laid.  And my sexual tastes expanded to the point most college girls would think me kind of creepy.

      However, besides the clubs offering cheap beer and wide screen TV, several establishments had recently opened whose appeal was directed to an older crowd with money.   A stiff cover charge kept out college riff raff except for wealthy expatriate students from South America and the Middle East.  

      “$40,” said the young girl inside the booth where you paid the cover.  A push up bra lifted her silicone inflated breasts to a level you could set a drink on.

      “I’ll get it, Daddy,” said Nikki pushing a hundred dollar bill through the window.

      “You got a young daddy,” said the girl making change.

      “I’m lucky.  He’s a wonderful father and a terrific fuck,” said Nikki.

      “You are lucky.  My old man was lousy in bed.  He only screwed me when he was drunk,” said the girl. 

      I wondered whether playing along with customer’s bizarre behavior was something management encouraged.  Places like The Edge flourish on the outlandish.  Twenty dollars bought you among other things, admission to a freak show.

       I was only a few steps away from the booth when I heard a familiar voice.

       “Simon Westbrook, welcome to The Edge.”

       It was Arnie Claiborne.  Arnie and I had gone to high school and college together.  After we graduated, Arnie went to work for one of the big sports and entertainment companies.  Last I heard he was in LA, managing a club on Sunset that catered to the Hollywood crowd.  I hadn’t seen him in five years.

       Arnie hugged me like we were better friends than I recalled.  I introduced Nikki who wisely dropped her daddy shtick.  Arnie ushered us to a corner booth where he removed the reserved sign. A waitress showed up to take our drink order.

       “I’ll leave you two to catch up,” said Nikki heading toward the dance floor.

     “She’s gorgeous and oh so young,” said Arnie watching Nikki walk away.  Nikki had the kind of tight little ass you pictured your cock and tongue deep inside.

     “But wise beyond her years,” I said.

     “How’s the cop business,” asked Arnie?

     “In case you haven’t heard, I hit a rough patch.”

      “I heard.  I keep track of my old friends.  Too bad about Tom, no woman is worth blowing your brains out for,” said Arnie. Left unsaid was, “Even if the cunt is fucking your best friend.”

     That reminded me that Arnie, Tom, and I had attended Boston Latin together, three boys bright enough to get into a highly competitive examination high school.  One was dead.  The other’s career was at a dead end.  But Arnie seemed to be doing all right.

       “So what do you think of my place,” asked Arnie?

       “Incredible, this is yours?” I said and I meant it.  The club was large and packed with customers.  I can’t describe the décor other than to say it must have cost a fortune and be considered the epitome of cool.  The music was loud and non stop.  Nikki was dancing surrounded by young men.  She was grinding her ass against their groins, foreplay for the young crowd.

      “I have some silent partners, people from the coast,” said Arnie.

      “Glad to see you’re doing so well,” I said raising my glass.

      “I heard you’re working the Cynthia Rose case,” said Arnie.

      “True, but how did you hear that,” I asked?

      “You’re an old friend.  I follow your career,” said Arnie.

      “Bullshit,” I said.  Arnie had a source within Boston PD.  

      “She was here the night she died,” said Arnie.

      “Really, when,” I asked?

      “Showed up a little after ten, left before midnight,” said Arnie.

      “Seems early,” I said.

      “She got a call and rushed off,”

      “Any idea who or where,” I asked.

      “She told one of the bartenders she was headed to a private party over in a loft in South end,” said Arnie.

      “Whose party?”

      “According to rumor, the Club Macabre crowd,” said Arnie.

      “Named after the Biblical Jewish Maccabaeus who were tortured and put to death,” I said.

     “You’re shitting me,” said Arnie.  “I didn’t know that and I’m a Jew.  You were always the smart one in school.  How did you wind up being a cop?”

     “I’m not that smart about some things, I guess.”

     “Ever think about going private?  I could use a new head of security,” said Arnie gesturing toward Nikki.  “The one I have is letting seriously under aged girls into the club.”

     “Maybe I’ll consider that.  She fucks like an adult,” I said.

     “I bet she does,” said Arnie.       

      I brought the conversation back to where I wanted it.  “I’ve heard of Club Macabre.  It’s supposed to be on the extreme side.”

      “Serious S&M, sometimes they invite guests who are interested in seeing how much pain they can stand, very dumb move,” said Arnie.

     “You know anyone who had done that, lately?” I asked.

     “Yeah, as a matter of fact, Gina, our waitress, want me to call her over?”

     “Please,” I said.

     Gina was Italian, looked Italian and talked like an Italian.  She was attractive and the brief waitress uniform revealed a long thin body with boobs too large and round to be natural.

     Arnie made the introduction. “Sit down, Gina, and tell Officer Westbrook about your Club Macabre experience.”

     Gina didn’t look all that happy about having to talk to the police.  Next day, I learned there was an outstanding warrant out on her for credit card fraud.

      “I’d sue those motherfuckers if I knew who they were,” said Gina.

      “What happened?” I asked.

      “Look at this shit,” said Gina lifting her top to reveal a pair of nipple less breasts.  There were large round scabs in place of the missing buds.  Someone had hacked off the top of her knockers.

      “Ouch,” I said.

      “Dr. Carter says it will cost eight grand to fix my boobs.  He’s going to graft pieces of my labia.  He’ll have to trim my pussy to even it out.  What do you think?”

      “I always follow my doctor’s advice,” I said being non committal.  “Tell me how it happened.”

     “I didn’t see who did it.  I was doing Ecstasy that night and passed out.  It was after they whipped me,” said Gina.

     “They whipped you,” I asked?

     “Blindfolded me and tied me to a cross.  The motherfuckers whipped my ass until it was purple.  I couldn’t work for three days,” said Gina.

      “What else,” I asked?

      “They shocked my pussy and asshole.  They stuck these things in me and turned on the juice.  The slipped something down my piss hole to shock my bladder,” said Gina who had left her boobs uncovered.

      “That must have been rough,” I said.

      “I almost went out of my mind.  My clit was numb for a week and I keep wetting my pants.  The bastards laughed at me when they weren’t too busy jerking off on my face,” said Gina.

      “Did you see any animals there,” I asked?  Cynthia Rose’s gerbils hadn’t made the news and I wanted that to stay quiet as long as possible.  Once it was in the media, every nut job in New England would be sticking rodents up their butt.

      “They were all a bunch of fucking animals as far as I am concerned,” said Gina.

      “No, I mean animals like ponies or dogs, maybe even smaller animals like mice or guinea pigs,” I said.

      Gina looked thoughtful before she spoke.  “There were dogs.”

      “What kind of dogs,” I asked?

      “I don’t know, the kind you see on fire trucks or in the Disney move,” said Gina.

      “101 Dalmatians,” I said.

      “Yes, white with black spots,” said Gina.

      “Did anyone do anything sexual with the dogs,” I asked?  Bestiality is a felony in Massachusetts, surprisingly a more serious crime than necrophilia.  You can spend more time inside for fucking a live pooch than a dead girl.

      “I don’t want to talk about that.  Everyone was doing a lot of E and things got wild.  You know how E affects some people,” said Gina thereby indicating there were Dalmatians in Boston with a Gina notch on their dog house.

      “So how did you hook up with Club Macabre,” I asked?

      “My ex boyfriend, the creep took me there and let them do those things t to me,” said Gina.

      “And he is,” I asked?

      “Larry Joyner,” said Gina.

      “And where do I find him,” I asked?

      “He lives in Everett with his family.  I haven’t heard from him since that night,” said Gina.  “His wife says he’s booked on her and the kid.  She hasn’t seen him in days.  She’s probably lying.”

      “Why did you go with him,” I asked.

      “He and I were into S&M but nothing that extreme.  Those crazy bastards actually branded a girl.  She was begging and pleading for them to stop but they slapped this CM brand right on her butt.  That’s fucking permanent.  Thank God, they didn’t do that to me.”     

      “So you want to sue them,” I asked?

      “I want to but my Uncle, he’s a lawyer, said since I signed a consent form, it would be tough,” said Gina.

      “I need a copy of the consent form you signed,” I said.

      “Okay, it’s in my purse.  Arnie, can I use the copy machine in your office?” said Gina.

      “Sure,” said Arnie handing her a set of keys.

       “Remember the time we picked up those twins who liked to be spanked,” said Arnie.

      “Rose and Wendy, I thought I was going to rupture a blood vessel in my hand,” I said before returning to the topic of interest.  “Club Macabre sounds serious, but not serious enough to kill someone.”

     “According to the press, Ms. Rose’s death was an accident.”

     “What can you tell me about her,” I asked.  Arnie must have known it was no accident or he wouldn’t have brought it up.

     “Most of the time she came here with a couple of girl friends, Megan Connors and Austen Draper.  They’re pretty wild.  Cynthia, especially, had a big appetite for sex and drugs, a blow job artist with a jaw that could go the distance.”

     “You ever fuck her,” I asked?

     “A couple of times, nothing serious, you could probably get half the guys and girls in this place to admit to doing her.  She was more into quantity than quality.  Once she got iced, she went all out.  She’d march right into the Men’s Room, take a seat on the john, and yell, “Who wants a blowjob?” A few weeks back, she imbibed several days’ worth of her normal protein allotment before she passed out on the floor.  A patron took advantage of the situation in a uniquely nasty fashion.”

      “How,” I asked?

      “According to the Security associate, who discovered her, the gentleman was holding her head down in a commode full of dark pee and shit as he piss fucked her in the ass.”

      “Was he trying to drown her,” I asked?

      “No, he let her up to breathe occasionally,” said Arnie.  “And he pulled her out after he dumped his load.  She was quite a sight when he finished.  Leaking semen and pee out her ass with her head covered in urine.  One of the girls cleaned her up.”

     “Why didn’t Security stop him,” I asked.

     “The young man is from Bahrain and his family is mega oil wealthy.  Security would have stopped him if he held her under too long.”

     “He piss fucked her.  I though that was a gay thing,” I said.  In my experience it was a gay thing. 

    “Started out that way but the heteros picked it up as the latest cool form of sexual intercourse.  Everybody’s pissing up their girl’s butt in Hollywood.  It is one messy way to screw.”

     “How do I get invited to Club Macabre?” I asked?

     “That’s a tough one,” said Arnie.  “You have to know someone who is a member.  And the membership is the best kept secret in the Commonwealth.”

     “But you know someone,” I said.

     “Possibly, but she may be hard to get that close to,” said Arnie.

     “Who,” I asked?

     “Ever hear of Violet Addison?” asked Arnie.

     “Society type, yes, I know of her.  Even met her a few times when I was a rookie cop,” I said.

     “She’s upstairs in the VIP Room,” said Arnie.   

           

       

                      

Chapter 8 Violet Addison

     “Nikki, your father has the sweetest dick.  My mother just loved sucking it,” said Violet taking a break from deep throating my cock.”

     “Thanks, all my VBFs love to suck Daddy off,” said Nikki coming off the man sized pecker lodged in her throat.   Nikki had a competitive streak that forced her to swallow Max’s cock right down to his balls then slip her tongue out to lap at his nut sack.  There was no question the girl had talent.

      For some odd reason possibly having to do with the average woman’s unfulfilled lust for her father’s cock, Violet and Nikki were keeping the daddy fantasy going.   Violet knew damn well I wasn’t Nikki’s father.

     There were four of us in a private room in the club’s VIP Lounge.  Max and I were seated together on the couch with our bare hips touching.  Violet and Nikki were kneeling between our legs practicing fellatio combined with digital anal insertion.  It was classic oral sex from two expert fellatrix.  Violet’s fingers were working my prostate in sync with her mouth sliding up and down my shaft.  Her tongue work was superb and she maintained just the right amount of cheek pressure.

     My fingers were working Max’s nipples and he returned the favor.  Violet’s companion was Maxwell Webber who I guessed was in his mid twenties.  He was run way model handsome which thrilled Nikki who couldn’t wait to get her mouth on his pecker.  How do you classify a slut who will suck you off two minutes after she shakes your hand for the first time?  At least, Violet and I were old acquaintances.

     Max was in something called financial services which meant he was really a stock broker.  I assumed his life consisted of the gym, making cold calls, and squiring rich clients like Violet through the club scene.  His initial interest in meeting a good friend of Violet’s faded when he learned I was a lowly cop, not a trust fund baby with assets in the stratosphere.

     Still, he’d gone along when Violet suggested he pair up with Nikki so she could spend some quality suck time with her old friend, Lt. Westbrook.  His interest revived somewhat when Violet unzipped my slacks and exposed my manhood.   We hetero guys kissed and worked each other’s nipples as our dates blew us.

     I’d lied to Arnie when I told him I’d only met Violet a few times.  Years ago, I’d been a frequent visitor to the Addison estate.  It all started while I was still in uniform and working a charity function for Breast Cancer Awareness at a downtown hotel.   Violet’s mother, Cornelia, was the chair person and temporarily a survivor of the disease.  Violet was there helping her mom.  The hotel’s ballroom was filled with at least a thousand people who except for yours truly and the wait staff had paid five hundred dollars each to eat a sub standard chicken dinner.

     I ducked out to get some air something that technically I was not supposed to do; so I was hanging back in the shadows when I saw Cornelia and her husband, Mr. Perry Addison, come out a side door near me yelling at one another.   Violet was trailing along trying to calm everyone down.   I recognized Mr. Addison as one Boston’s movers and shakers. He was a charter member of an ad hoc group called The Vault.  It was The Vault that ran Boston not the voters or their elected officials.

     I could tell Mr. Addison was drunk.  It wasn’t my business so I stayed put.  Perry Addison could have me fired in the time it took him to make a phone call.  All of a sudden, the bastard punched Cornelia in the face.  It wasn’t a love tap either and she went down hard.  Violet flew at her father screaming.  Mr. Addison was a big guy whose idea of parental discipline was to grab his daughter by the throat and slap her hard enough to make her nose bleed.  He got in a couple of vicious bitch slaps before I arrived on the scene.  Most of the time, the arrival of a uniformed cop with a gun on his hip calms things down but Mr. Addison either wasn’t the type to be overawed by a Glock 19 or too drunk to give a shit.

       I dodged a couple of round house swings before deciding that no one is above the law.  At that time, I was still an idealist.  I used my baton to take Mr. Addison down to the pavement in short order.  I even threw in a blow to the Addison jewels as punishment for attempting to strike an officer of the law.  To a cop, there is no better sound than the one you hear when a twenty six inch steel baton contacts testicles.  I’ve seen guys stay down a half hour moaning and crying after being whacked in the nuts.

      “I’ll call the EMTs,” I asked reaching for my radio as I cuffed the miscreant?

      “No, don’t.  I’m all right,” said Cornelia who was being helped up from the pavement by Violet.

     She didn’t look all right with a fat bleeding lip.  Still, the Addisons weren’t ordinary people whose wishes you could ignore.  “Money talks and bullshit walks,” was a favorite saying of my old man.

     “Are you sure?  Maybe you should go to the ER and let them check you out,” I said.

     “No, I must get back inside.  Violet, you stay with the officer and make sure this is properly handled,” said Cornelia heading back to the ballroom.

      Properly handled meant a number of things.  I didn’t arrest Mr. Addison. In fact, I drove him home and helped put him to bed.  It also meant I kept my mouth shut about what happened.  When I got back to the hotel, the function had just ended and the guests were streaming out.

      I found Violet in the crowd and told her Daddy was home sleeping it off.  I wasn’t thrilled about how things had turned out.   “He should be in jail.  He could have really hurt you or your mother.  Maybe next time, he will,” I said recalling what I had learned about domestic abuse.   Prison or death are the only ways to stop a wife beater.

      “Mother wants you to come up to the Commonwealth Suite so she can thank you in person,” said Violet.

      “That’s not necessary.  Is your Mother all right?” I said.

      “Come along, I insist,” said Violet taking my arm and adding, “I wish all Boston cops were as handsome as you.”

      They say every one had their quirks.  Cornelia and Violet’s shared theirs which was me.  They remain the only mother and daughter I have had sex with.  And I’m not talking about screwing mom one day and daughter the next.  I’m talking about being in bed with the two of them at the same time with lots of around the world and ass to mouth and any other kinky shit that struck our fancy.  Mother and Daughter didn’t have any inhibitions and I fit into their program because neither did I.

      “Your mother was a wonderful woman.  I loved her,” I said giving Violet’s hand a squeeze.

      “She was crazy about you but not enough to divorce Daddy and marry a man half her age.  Nikki, did you know your Daddy had a thing for my Mom?” said Violet.

      “No, really, was he hung up on her,” asked Nikki working hard to get Max off?

      “When the cancer came back and she got real sick, he would still come and make love to her.  She died in his arms.  My asshole Dad wouldn’t have anything to do with her after she lost all her hair.  He ran off to Buenos Aires with his tango whore.  He even missed her funeral,” said Violet.

      “Daddy’s a sweet guy.  That’s why my sister and I like do him together,” said Nikki.  “It’s something we can look back on when we have children of our own.”

      “I can still remember you lying there in bed with her at the end.  She weighed ninety pounds and was coughing up blood.  Mother said that I should marry you,” said Violet. 

      “And why didn’t you,” I asked thinking that it would be nice to enjoy the Addison millions?

      “You’re too good for a slut like me.  Nikki, let’s finish them together so we can snowball.”

      Max and I locked lips and pinched nips as we reached the jumping off point.  Nikki and Violet swapped our sperm back and forth before swallowing always a satisfying thing to watch.

     “I need a favor,” I said.  Violet and I were alone.  Max had offered to introduce Nikki to Dwayne Coleman, the Red Sox rookie sensation who was somewhere in the VIP Lounge.  Nikki jumped at the chance to hump a Sox player.  She was quite the fan.

     “I’m hurt.  I thought you let me suck your dick because you still loved me,” said Violet pretending to pout.

      “I do love you and I want you to get me into Club Macabre,” I said.

     “I though S&M wasn’t your scene,” said Violet.

     “I’m working a case.  I think a girl’s death is connected to the club,” I said.

     “Must be Cynthia Rose, she’s the only member who’s died recently.  The Globe said it was an accident,” said Violet.

     “The Globe got it wrong but you can’t tell anybody,” I said.

     “I admit things can get a little rough at Macabre but no one has ever been killed or even seriously hurt.  Well, maybe the branding is a little extreme but that’s the worst of it.  They’ll whip you until you bleed and shock the shit out of your genitalia but nothing more,” said Violet.

     “So will you take me,” I asked.

     “Yes, provided you do me a favor right now,” said Violet.

     “Name it,” I said.

     “I need a good railing.   I want to feel used and abused.  Make it rough,” said Violet pushing me to the floor and spreading her legs.

      I pushed my face into what I assumed was Max’s cream pie.  With Violet, you could never be sure who fucked her last.  It was nice and sticky.  She contracted her abs and a big dollop of filling eased out onto my tongue.  There’s nothing quite like the taste of semen that’s been marinated in pussy juice. 

      I eased on top of Violet and slapped her face hard.  I wrapped one hand around her throat while the other pressured her jaw hinge forcing her mouth open.  She had that wild look in her eye I’d seen before.  It reminded me of the time a buddy who managed the Stoneham Zoo invited me to watch the jaguars breed.   It was about the most savage rape you could imagine.   But in spite of everything the look in the female’s eye meant she wanted it that way.   We maintained eye contact as I spit the slime into her mouth.

      “Swallow it, Bitch,” I demanded.

      “Make me,” said Violet.

      I bitch slapped her hard enough to snap her head around.  That convinced her.

      I went back to check out her asshole.  I wasn’t surprised to find another load.  I felched it then slapped her silly until she swallowed it.

      The lady asked for a good railing and that is exactly what she got.  I worked her right tit while I fucked her dog style.  By the time, I finished, her boob looked mangled. 

       A general rule with Violet was that the rougher the sex the more frequently she climaxed.  I pounded her pussy so hard I hurt; then I switched to her ass. 

      She was a small woman who bought her clothes in the petites.  Having my nine inches expand her bowels was painful.  Having a two hundred pound male slamming his cock in your ass while he tries to rip your nipple off is only for the few.

      I blew my load over her face; then used my cock to smear her makeup. She looked damn awful by the time I finished.   But degradation was how she wanted it to end.

        “Mother always said you were the best, Simon,” said Violent when we cuddled post coitus.

        “I miss your Mom,” I said.

        “So do I,” said Violet before falling asleep.

       I won’t ever forget the night Cornelia passed.  I got to the Addison estate late.  I was tired and dirty.  The day before a cop had shot it out with a pair of black kids on the campus of Roxbury Community College.  He’d caught them dealing drugs and tried to make an arrest.  Fortunately, the officer was one of the best shots in the force, maybe in the world.  While they were spraying bullets randomly out of their Tec-9s, he calmly fired two bullets at each shooter.  According to the coroner, one bullet took out the left ventricle and the other the right.

      Although it was a perfectly righteous killing and the dealers had criminal records dating back to grammar school, the students at RCC decided to stage a protest that turned into a riot.  It was July and hot as hell.  Boston hadn’t had a public disturbance in years so we were due.

     I’d spent the day in riot gear which is not designed for comfort.  Standing shoulder to shoulder with my fellow officers behind a heavy plastic shield wearing a ten pound helmet in the July heat is not my idea of a good time.  It was almost dark when our watch commander decided he’d had enough shit thrown at him.  Several of our guys had been injured and taken away by the EMTs. 

      The word came to advance and we marched forward batons at the ready.  Some of the demonstrators, the smart ones, ran but maybe half stayed.  There was a skinny black girl with a mega phone screaming about her right to peaceful assembly.  She’d struck me as the leader and chief rebel rouser.  Heaving chunks of pavement at the police is not my definition of peaceful.

      I found myself facing the girl with a mega phone which she swung at my head.  I landed the baton on her wrist causing her to drop it.  The baton made a nice cracking sound when it hit the bone.  Then I proceeded to deal out street justice landing the baton where it would hurt the most.  It was a long beat down and I worked up a sweat.  Her face was a bloody mess and I bet her boobs were purple by the time I finished.  I slipped a pair of plastic cuffs around her wrists and tossed her in the paddy wagon.

      I wasn’t done with her.  “Tell the matrons at Essex County to treat this one special,” I said to the driver.  That was a code.  It meant Big Bertha’s fist would make a careful search for contraband inside her uterus.  The funny thing is that same girl was on the front page of yesterday’s Herald.  Tamika Taylor is running for city council.  History says that our greatest leaders began as rebels fighting the system but eventually become part of it.   

     So it wasn’t the kind of day that got you ready to help someone get to the other side.

     “The doctor said it won’t be long.  She’s been calling for you,” said Violet greeting me at the top of the stairs. 

      Rich people have the resources to die at home.  Cornelia’s bedroom had been transformed into a well-equipped hospital room.  The big difference was that the art on the wall were originals and worth a fortune.

       “Hello gorgeous,” I said leaning down to kiss her.  She felt cold. The cancer had wasted her body.  She was down to ninety pounds.  If a doctor ever tells me I’m going to die of cancer, I’m going to stick my Glock in my mouth and pull the trigger.

       “How was the riot,” asked Cornelia in a whisper?

       “I busted some heads,” I said.

       “Is that blood on your shirt,” asked Cornelia touching the stained material with her trembling hand.

       “Yes, I broke a girl’s nose,” I said.

       “Come to bed and tell me all about it,” said Cornelia.

       “I need to clean up first.  I’m filthy,” I said.

       “Make it quick or you’ll miss my finale,” said Cornelia.

       Cornelia’s last wish was to die in a young man’s arms, mine actually.  Violet had been right about her dad.  Perry had flown off to Buenos Aires with his female assistant for the ostensible purpose of improving his salon tango.  Strangely though, he and I had gotten along on my frequent visits to the Addison Estate.  If he had any hard feelings about the beating I gave him or the fact I was his wife and daughter’s lover, he didn’t show it.  In fact, we got it on one night when I met him in the kitchen.  It was three in the morning and we were both on the prowl seeking a sandwich.  You work up an appetite fucking mother and daughter.

       “Cornelia says you are quite the swordsman,” said Perry as he spread mustard on a slice of rye bread.  “And my daughter calls you super stud.  She also informed me you’re AC/DC.”

       “I cover the waterfront,” I said.

       We almost finished the sandwich when he asked me to sodomize him.  “I’d like to bottom for you,” said Perry pulling a family size bottle of Astro-Glide out of his robe pocket.  “That way you can say you fucked all the Addisons.” 

     Given that I was doing the rest of the family, I couldn’t think of a reason to say no.  He sucked and rimmed me before presenting his well-lubed sphincter dog style.  I worked his nips as I savaged his hole.  It was bareback and he had a thing for sucking a cock that had been deep in his ass; so we switched around several times.

       He asked me to finish in his mouth and the man whore in me complied.  It was one of many very odd nights at their mansion.  Fitzgerald said the rich are different from us and in the case of the Addisons he was right.

      I knew that when Cornelia was gone things would be different.  Violet was going to live in Rome for a year.  She was anxious to experience Italian cock. 

       Violent and Natalie, Cornelia’s nurse, bathed me.  The pair had been acting as Cornelia’s fluffers once she got too sick to blow me or jerk me off.   It’s not easy maintaining a hard on when you are screwing the dying.  I had to take it easy.  The fluffers would work my balls and asshole as I gently plowed Cornelia.  Physically, it was tough.  I couldn’t put any weight on her and had to support my upper body during a long slow missionary fuck.

     That last night, Violent and Natalie sucked my cock and ate my ass until I was ready to blow.  Somehow, I managed to wedge my dick into Cornelia’s cunt and shoot my load.

      “That’s the way I want to go with a pussy full of your sperm,” whispered Cornelia when I finished.  “Thank you, Simon.”

      Violent and I cuddled her from both sides.  Exhausted, I fell asleep.  Natalie woke me up to tell me Cornelia was gone.  I sat by the bed and cried for an hour.

      Violet and I were still cuddled up when Max and Nikki returned.  Nikki could barely hold her head up.  The little vixen was totally fucked out.  After Nikki had screwed Dwayne Coleman to show him how much she appreciated his play in center field, she had joined a group of black rappers who gang fucked her until she collapsed.

      Somehow I managed to get her to the car where she quickly fell asleep.  Darlene had just gotten home from the bachelor party and was seated at the kitchen table counting her take, a little over twenty five hundred.  We undressed Nikki and crawled into bed with her.  I slept for twelve hours.  It was one hell of a date.

       

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.

Chapter 10 Party till You Puke

     I hadn’t planned to stage what turned out to be my best orgy since my high school senior prom.  It was spontaneous.

     I’d shown up at Cynthia Rose’s condo to look for evidence, strictly business.  Then Austin and Megan arrived to retrieve their bestiality videos from Cynthia’s safe.  I’d called Malcolm Fraser because we needed someone to open the safe.

     When Malcolm stated that his eclectic talents required compensation, I made him the proverbial offer he could not refuse a no limits fuck session with Austin and Megan.  The girls, after minimal protests agreed to compensate Malcolm on his terms.  So it all started innocently enough.

     Given that the pair of college sluts was attractive with excellent figures highlighted by the breast augmentations normally found in young femmes with wealthy parents, I saw no reason not to participate.  I signaled my intention by taking a firm grip on their buttocks while we watched Malcolm ready his safe cracker tools.

     Safe cracking is highly skilled work and the practitioners of the art are the royalty of the criminal world.  Keeping up with the latest technology and maintaining one’s skills over a broad array of manufacturers requires continuing education and study.

     The girls and I made out and fondled each other all the while keeping a wary eye on Malcolm’s progress.  They signaled their eagerness to get started by shedding their tank tops and offering me their augmented boobs to kiss and suck.  In no time, my cock was rock hard and their pussies had that nice wet feel signaling all cocks were welcome.

     “You’re huge,” said Megan who’d slipped her hand inside my fly to check out my package.  “Feel it, Austin.”

     “I’m going to have a sore pussy, tomorrow,” said Austin after slowly passing her small warm hand over my cock and balls.   She was a petite strumpet, barely five feet tall.  My thick nine inches would penetrate almost ten per cent of her length, more if you only considered her torso.  I didn’t doubt she could handle it.  She appeared the kind that craved that full of dick feeling.

     “You slut,” said Megan as she engaged in a prolonged tongue kiss with her friend.  “I bet that’s not the only hole that sore.  Austin loves to take it in the ass.  She’s an ATM girl that prefers a little brown on her lick stick.”

      “Good thing to know,” I said picturing my stained rod sliding between her lips.  It appeared things were going to get anal and I didn’t think a trip to the bathroom to douche was in the offing.  College sex had changed since my day.  Bisexuality was in as was S&M and fetishes like water sports.  In the S&M category, the level of execution far exceeded the open palm spankings I begged for in college.

     Orgies tax the body and sear the soul but I find them spiritually renewing.  I did not doubt that I would be limping home with sore balls, a raw dick, and a tired tongue.  As it turned out, I suffered much worse.

     “You guys don’t start without me,” said Malcolm looking over his shoulder.

     “We won’t, but hurry up.  They’re getting me horny,” I said to speed him along.     

     Of course, a proper orgy requires an appropriate setting.  Cynthia’s condo was spacious and well appointed with soft Italian leather couches and a deep pile carpet suitable for group acts without danger of rug burn.  Another contributing factor was a full pantry containing several cases of Red Bull, Sam Adams Lager, and Poland Springs mineral water.  Proper hydration is important if an orgy is to have legs.

     Party girl Cynthia had a well stocked liquor cabinet that contained a full case of premium vodka.  There was also a selection of aged cognacs and brandies to savor after a good fuck.  A humidor filled with contraband Cuban cigars sat on the dining room buffet.  I would be hard pressed to describe a more perfect setting for a two day fuck-a-thon.

     The contents of Cynthia’s night stand and her S&M paraphernalia also played a major role in the long running event.  As it turned out, some of her furniture had a dark side.  It had been custom built to convert into instruments of restraint and torture.  The comfortable looking sectional sofa was fitted with concealed rings for attaching restraints. 

     Based on the ready manner that arriving participants located the rings, I concluded Cynthia’s condo was not hosting its first orgy.

     An institutional pack of pre-lubed Maxims XL was available for the body fluid adverse.  Cynthia Rose was a woman of refined tastes and I wish I had screwed her before she was murdered. 

     Cynthia’s high definition bestiality DVD’s were of excellent quality and the fifty four inch flat panel television rendered them beautifully.  Top of the line Bose speakers produced an unmatched surround sound effect.  Any time I felt my energy flagging during the two day affair, I would close my eyes and focus on the sounds filling the room.  Listening to an innocent young college girl moaning and cursing as she was impaled and knotted by dog cock equals a double dose of Viagra.

     A proper orgy requires a continuous influx of fresh bodies.  Cynthia’s building contained numerous BC students of good families and bad morals.  Once the word spread that her friends were holding a naked wake in her condo, there was an ongoing infusion of talent. 

     Finally, no modern American orgy would be complete without a supply of drugs, especially cocaine and crystal meth, and those were provided by the contents of Cynthia’s safe. 

     “What have we here,” asked Malcolm peering into the now open safe?

     “Stand back, I need to search for evidence,” I said putting my hand on his shoulder to pull him away.

     “Cynthia had the best drugs of any girl at Boston College,” said Megan.  “Let’s get high before we party.”

     Drugs are not my thing since Boston PD performs random tests and the penalty for failure is dismissal from the force.  Cynthia’s supply of controlled substances would have qualified her for life imprisonment in any state of the union.  However, since I am not assigned to vice, they were not my concern.

     I handed back numerous phials of designer and prescription drugs to Malcolm and the girls who were delighted to receive such bounty.  In preparation for payment, Malcolm had exposed his impressive manhood for the ladies to admire and touch.  Being children of the pharmacological age, they freely sampled the pain killers and anti-depressants passing them to each other while commenting on their effects or experience.

     “Take this,” I said passing a gallon sized freezer bag stuffed with marijuana to Austin. 

       “Cynthia had a connection in Vancouver.  This is BC Bud with a THC of fifteen or better,” said Austin.  “It will knock you on your ass.”

       “Roll us some joints, Austin” said Megan one hand holding drugs and the other stroking Malcolm’s cock.

       “Yes, Mistress,” said Austin establishing her submissive role as she headed to the living room.

       “I need a minute alone to look for real evidence,” I said having spotted something of interest.

       “You won’t forget about giving us the DVDs,” asked Megan?

       “No, but I need to look at them first,” I said.

       “Give me one.  We can watch while we screw,” said Megan.

       “Here,” I said handing Megan one of the dozen DVDs.

       “Great, I’m in this one with Rex the Wonder Dog,” said Megan examining the title.

       My desire for privacy resulted from the discovery of several jewelry boxes in the safe’s drawer.  As a reward for my efforts toward discovering Cynthia’s killer(s), I decided she would want me to have her exquisite pearl necklace and spectacular diamond earrings and matching bracelet.  Being a modest policeman, I reluctantly left several other items including a jeweled Ebel watch.  Watches are easy to trace.

      I closed the safe then placed my just rewards in my evidence case along with two of the DVDs and took the precaution of taking my booty downstairs and locking it in my car.  That turned out to be a wise move on my part.

      I planned to share the DVDs with my family.  Nikki would immediately demand we get a dog.

      The orgy began with a Megan directed BDSM session that rocked my world and kicked my libido into high gear.  I know it’s fucked up but there is nothing like pain and brutality to bring out the worst in me.

     The action had already started by the time I reached the living room.  Malcolm was reclining on the couch with his leg’s spread and anus exposed.  Austin was kneeling and sucking his cock.  I took a minute to admire her technique as I undressed.

     The index finger of her left hand was working his anus sliding deep to stimulate his prostate then withdrawing only to repeat a moment later.  Her right hand had a firm grip on the base of his sack pulling and twisting to bring those pleasure centers into play.  The back of her hand pressed against his frenulum complementing the work of her left hand on his prostate.  Austin’s oral skills were admirable.  Maintaining eye contact she worked his cock head with her tongue before slowly coursing down the shaft to bury her lips against his shaved base.  An observable bulge in her throat showed she had overcome her gag reflex.

       It was an impressive performance of oral gratification.  Obviously, Austin was a young lady who took pride in her oral skills.   There was nothing the Kama Sutra could teach her about the art of cock sucking.

       “Eat me, Lieutenant,” commanded Megan who was seated beside Malcolm sucking his nipples while applying a large vibrator to her clit.  It was the kind that plugged into the wall.  My sister Arlene has similar equipment.  Batteries are for middle school girls according to Arlene.

       “Simon will do,” I said finishing stripping off my clothes.  I saw no need for such formality from a woman who would soon have my tongue in her snatch. 

      Megan’s vagina was oozing natural lubricant as I buried my face in the folds of her labia.  My tongue circled her opening savoring the viscous secretions.  Her sex had a strong, healthy and natural flavor.  No pomegranate douche for her twat.  In my view, pussy tastes perfect as God intended it.  Adding fruity flavors is for dilettantes.

      On screen, Megan and Austin were sharing an oversized canine cock I assumed belonged to Rex the Wonder Dog.  The digitized sounds of the girls slurping away on Rex competed with the real noises of the four of us.  It wasn’t long before Megan wrapped her thighs around my head squeezing my face into her flowing cunt as she orgasmed.  I was covered in cunt juice from forehead to chin when she finished. 

       “I like to start off with a good orgasm,” said Megan after a couple of recovery breaths. “Now let’s get down to business.  Are you a submissive, Simon?”

        She was definitely a take charge girl who sensed that while I was an officer of the law and therefore an authority figure that my sexual preferences at the moment ran toward the submissive.  I was feeling guilty about some of the evidence I’d collected.  I needed to be punished severely for being a thief, a part time faggot, and a false friend.  My sins were myriad and could only be expiated by suffering.

       “Yes, Mistress Megan, I submit my body to you.  I am an unworthy slave who will accept any punishments you offer,” I said signaling my willingness to play her game and become her pain bitch.

       “Excellent, open your mouth, you pathetic piece of shit,” said Megan raising my head to hers using my hair as a handhold.

       I did as I was told.  My reward was the sizeable gob of spit she expectorated on my tongue.

       “Swallow it, pig,” said Megan.

       “It’s delicious, Mistress,” I said and I meant it.  Degradation was turning me on big time.

       “For being such a good pig, you get a reward,” said Megan producing a pair of clothespins.

        “Thank you, Mistress,” I hissed as hard wooden teeth snapped shut on my nipples.  The prospect of a clothespin regime caused my penis to jump with joy.

        “Got any more of those, Megan,” asked Malcolm?  “Austin’s nips need some attention.”

        A minute later, Austin gasped in pain as Malcolm captured her large buds in the pinchers.  Does anyone use clothespins to dry laundry anymore?

     Megan continued her sputum fetish.  “Malcolm, Simon wants you to spit in his mouth. Don’t you, Simon?”

     “Yes, Mistress, please Malcolm,” I said. 

     “Beg him more,” said Megan.

      “Please, Malcolm, spit in my faggot mouth. I want to swallow your spit,” I said in my most humble voice.

      “Open wide, pig,” said Malcolm leaning in my direction.

      “Thank you,” I said before gulping down another sizeable gob of warm sputum.  Few things are as degrading as being forced to swallow someone’s expectorate.  I felt hot all over as the slime traveled down my gullet.

      Megan slumped down, raised her legs, and grabbed her insoles.  She pulled her legs back toward her head exposing her anus.  “Lick my asshole clean, Simon.  I took a dump after my morning shower and forgot to wipe.

     In submissive mode, I get off licking a ripe asshole.  No, I’m not really into scat and I don’t eat turds.  But that doesn’t mean I can’t revel in the smell and taste of a pretty girl’s shit.  After I cleaned Megan’s ass, she made me do Malcolm’s and Austin’s.  She would have had me do my own if that had been possible. 

     Megan peed in a glass then got Malcolm to add his urine so Austin and I could share a piss cocktail.  While scat is not my thing, water sports are.  I love the taste of body temperature urine.  Given that my sister and brother also partake of the juice of the bladder, I consider it a DNA issue.  When we were kids, the three of us would piss in a jar, shake it up, and then pour it into one of those molds you put in the freezer.  We spent many a hot summer afternoon licking a refreshing pee sickle.

      Austin was just as big a water sports aficionado as I.  We would take a swallow then kiss and share.  Drinking a full bladder of body temperature urine is the ultimate aphrodisiac.   

     My intense need to be punished was the reason I agreed when Megan announced there was a sling in Cynthia’s bedroom and I was going to be the occupant.   Harsh punishment would expiate my sins. 

      The sling was concealed under the bed.  Megan showed me a stepladder I could use to suspend it from ceiling hooks.

      Minutes later, I was in the sling under restraint with wrists and ankles cuffed to the support chains.  My mouth was forced open by a Whitehead gag permitting the three of them to grace me with another round of sputum.  The sling was tilted so my head was several inches lower than my butt making it convenient to release body fluids into my mouth.

       Megan wrapped twine around my ball sack separating my testicles and forcing them into tight pouches at the bottom of my scrotum.  She attached a metal hook to the free end of the twine than added a weight and let it drop a good foot. 

       I screamed in pain since it felt like my nuts were being ripped off.  CBT wise, I was off to a good start.

       “Tell me you love me,” said Megan stroking my cock.

       “I love you Mistress,” I answered as the pain subsided.

       “I love you too, Simon,” said Megan before adding a second weight to the hook then allowing it to drop.

       “Fuck,” I screamed as the slack left the twine and my sack went crazy with pain.

       “If you really love me, you’ll want us to whip your cock and balls,” said Megan handing Malcolm and Austin two foot lengths of flexible bamboo.

       “Please, whip them,” was all I managed through the gag? They must have heard me or it did not matter, because Austin snapped the bamboo across my nut sack and I was off to Planet Pain.   Malcolm concentrated on my pecker head as Austin worked my over stretched nuts.  I screamed as I twisted and turned, desperate to escape the agony in my sex.  Somehow I transitioned from pain to pleasure and started to beg them to strike me harder.  After Austin landed a particularly brutal strike across my testicles, I ejaculated.   Megan captured my load in her hand, fed most of it to me then rubbed the rest over my face.

       “Let me sound him,” said Austin unzipping a leather case containing a set of Van Buren sounds.

       I am terrified of sounds.  I whimpered in terror as Austin coated the thin metal rod with lubricant then positioned the J-curved end just inside my piss hole.

       “This is the 32F, the thickest but you can take it,” said Austin as she gave the sound a slight twist that started the twelve inch rod on its journey to my bladder. 

        My piss hole was not a 32F and the sensation was not for the squeamish as the rod slowly descended to reach my bladder.  Just as it was about to reach its maximum depth, Austin quickly pulled it out.  I went out of my mind with pain.

       “Oh, did that hurt,” laughed Austin as she once more allowed the sound to descend.

       “You girls really know how to hurt a guy.  What’s that, Megan?” said Malcolm referring to the stainless steel anal probe she was about to slide up my ass.

       “It’s called a Pod.  Its weight is what makes it effective.  Here, you can put it in,” said Megan handing it to Malcolm.

       “Jesus, its heavy,” said Malcolm hefting the Pod as he coated it with lubricant.

       “It’s surgical steel and weighs over three pounds.  The ball on the end is three inches in diameter,” said Megan.

       I wanted to plead and beg for them to stop but all I could do was babble through the Whitehead gag.  Austin was driving me crazy spinning the Van Buren sound.  I swear to God I could feel it stirring the piss in my bladder.  She repeatedly pulled it half way out causing me untoward agony.  I’d never been sounded before.  Having your piss slit expanded hurts like all hell.

       I gasped as Malcolm forced the round head of the Pod pass my sphincter.  It felt huge as it traveled through my rectum to rest beside my prostate.  It weighed on my prostate and I wanted to come but there was a steel rod blocking my sperm’s escape route.

       Just when I though matters could not get more intense, Megan produced two large tuning forks.  She banged on a table then touched it to the end of the sound.  The other vibrating fork contacted the end of the Pod.  I went out of my mind as the vibrations traveled down the metal into the base of my penis and prostate.

      “Cool,” said Malcolm. “He looks like he’s ready to shit a brick.”

      “Each fork is tuned to a different harmonic.  They complement each other.  The effect is extraordinary,” said Megan.

      It was a different type of pain and difficult to describe.  I would have begged Megan to get my revolver and blow my brains out except for the gag.  The sensation was intolerable.

      “Last semester, we sounded a freshman girl this way and the little slut had a nervous breakdown.  She’s in a clinic in Boulder, Colorado, crazy as a loon,” said Austin reapplying the tuning fork to the tip of the sound.

      “I’ve never heard of this,” said Malcolm.  “I never went to college so I missed out on this kind of shit.”

      After a few minutes of reducing my prostate to jelly, Megan equipped my torturers with cattle prods and the fun continued.  On several occasions in the past, I employed a Bull Zapper 1000 to the testicles of a criminal unwilling to provide information required to insure that justice is done.   It had invariably produced the desired data at the cost of a few burn marks that healed before his trial.

      Austin and Megan applied the forked tips of the Zapper to the Van Buren and Pod and simultaneously pulled the trigger. My prostate and bladder protested loudly as they received voltage from two directions.  I contorted and convulsed noiselessly screaming my agony into the Whitehead gag. 

      Alternating applications of the tuning forks and cattle prods broke my spirit and I began to cry like a baby. Tears gushed from my eyes as I crossed that invisible line where pain became confused with pleasure.  I found myself thanking Divine Providence for having placed me in the hands of two such wonderful girls.  I love them with all my heart and even felt great affection for Malcolm who delighted in bringing the forked tip of the Zapper in contact with the metal of my Whitehead Gag.  I thought the fillings in my teeth were going to melt.

       Just when I thought the agony was at its peak, Megan produced two “ball beaters.”  Ball beaters are aptly named, eighteen inches long with a handle on one end and a round rubber ball on the other.  The rubber ball is bright blue signifying that after your testicles are subjected to a good ball beating; you will have the world’s worst case of blue balls.

      While Megan pounded my nuts to ravioli, Austin and Malcolm applied the Zappers and tuning forks.  My role was to attempt screaming through the Whitehead gag.  After what seemed like forever, my body decided that it had reached the end of its endurance and I passed out.

      Several minutes later, I awakened to the splash of a warm fluid on my face.  The fluid turned out to be Malcolm’s piss taking advantage of his opportunity to urinate in the mouth of one of Boston’s finest.

     As they were helping me out of the swing, Megan answered her cell.  After a brief conversation, she announced that Bernard Pike was on his way up in the elevator.  He and several friends were bringing Cynthia’s dogs they had retrieved from Longwood Kennels.  While yours truly was searching the safe, Megan and Austin had called Cynthia’s friends to invite them to pay their respects by attending a naked wake and orgy in her condo.

      According to Bernard, it could not be a proper wake without Cynthia’s fuck hounds that she had personally trained. 

      “Ever suck doggie dick, Simon,” asked Austin helping me to stand?

      “No,” I answered truthfully as three large canines bounded in the room to sniff my peter and lick Austin’s pussy.

      “You’re lucky.  This will be your chance to expand your horizons.”

   

      

Chapter 11 Canine Sex

     The Dolby-4 surround sound of a dog’s loud barking drew my attention to the screen where an excited Dalmatian named Rex the Wonder Dog was showing approval of Austin’s all out cock sucking efforts.  The young fellatrice, her face covered in saliva and whatever kept oozing out of Rex’s penis, was just as talented and aggressive with canine cock as human.  I suppose it was a skill than transcended species.  I could picture her going down on a silverback gorilla. 

      That made me wonder if Diane Fossey ever took the high hard one during all the years she lived with the apes.  My high school biology teacher was a fan of hers and made us watch a documentary about her and the mountain gorillas.  Maybe one of the silverbacks was a little bent and decided to try out the hair less bitch who hung around all the time.  I suppose if she did make love with any of the great apes she kept it to herself.  I made a mental note to search the Web for human and great ape sex.

     These random thoughts passed through my brain as I in the non digital or real world sucked Rex’s slimy cock while my own prick was lodged in Austin’s throat.  Her fingers were deep in my rectum maintaining pressure on my prostate while my hands massaged my canine lover’s balls seeking to coax his love juice from their reservoir.   Uncertain that canine anatomy included the equivalent of the male prostate, I’d decided to keep my fingers out of Rex’s ass.  He might bite.

     That is not to say I wasn’t turned on by bestiality.  Sucking doggie dick for the first time was hot and I would have blown my load down Austin’s throat immediately except that I’d already gotten off a half dozen times and it was taking longer to build up the pressure required to launch my swim team.  I was more than a little curious about the taste of dog spunk.  Nearby a pair of giggling coeds were snowballing the jism of Benson, a handsome black Labrador.  That made me wonder if the old saying that once you go black you never go back applied to Labs.

     The bizarre thought occurred that when Rex released a flood of doggy jism, it would immediately flow down through me into Austin’s gullet.  I’m given to such outlandish ideas especially during sexual intercourse.  The possibility of my body functioning as a straw struck me as belonging in Alice in Wonderland albeit C. S Lewis would have imagined a much younger fellatrice.  

      My family owned Irish Setters and Labrador Retrievers while I was growing up.  As far as I know, the thought of sex with them had never occurred to us including my horny younger sister.  Looking back I find it surprising Arlene never fucked one of the family dogs but I suppose even she has her limits.  But perhaps she had a dark side I am unaware of and occasionally made love with the family pet.  I recall one of them, a male Lab named Shep slept in her room.  I made a note to ask Arlene her views on bestiality.

     If she expressed interest, I could take her out to Longwood Kennels flash my badge and introduce her to Rex.  She could provide oral for starters.  Once he was tumescent, she would assume the position.  I would assist Rex by guiding his penis into my baby sister’s vagina.  I’d observed that dogs have difficulty locating the human vagina, not surprising if you think about it.  I’ve been known to fumble around getting it in the hole if I’ve had a beer or two.

      If Arlene liked dog sex, I would get credit for introducing her to form of sexual pleasure.  Winston would be jealous and would seek to top me by taking her to Mexico where on a small stage before a crowd of screaming tourists she would provide oral, vaginal, and anal to a burro.  Sibling rivalry even in fantasy can reach absurd levels.

     The jury was still out on my own limits.  Rex was certainly willing and well equipped but not spectacularly so.  I’d sucked bigger cocks.  I recalled that Matt the office asshole had once shown me a blurry image of his wife fucking the family dog.  The fact she was the mother of his children was not a factor in his decision to expose his wife’s perverted acts to his fellow officers.  Maybe canine sex was more common than I thought.

     I made another mental note to further investigate Longwood Kennels.   The dogs Bernard brought were all three males.  I realized there was an important aspect of canine sex I had yet to explore.  Maybe the folks at Longwood had a bitch in heat desperate for a serious fucking by Boston PD’s finest.

      A glance around revealed that all three of the mutts Bernard had brought were fully engaged with multiple humans.  A few feet away, a coed named Paget who I rated as one of the most beautiful women I had ever encountered was being penetrated by an Irish Setter named Harry.   Harry’s ears were back as he eagerly hammered his eight inch dick into what could only be described as a perfectly formed hairless pussy.   Paget’s exquisite beauty was probably lost on Harry who would have preferred the furry cunt of Dixie, a Golden Retriever, in the kennel’s adjacent dog run.  Paget’s mouth was wrapped around Bernard’s cock making it a two species fuck.  I wonder what would constitute three species intercourse.

       “Knot me, Harry,” yelled Paget removing Bernard’s cock to speak.

       At least I think that was what she said.  Her face was pressed into the carpet as she reached back between her legs to rub Harry’s balls and her clit. I reflected that dog sex was probably not as far down the perversion scale as necrophilia.  Society would be more accepting of screwing a live dog than a dead girl. 

     With the help of a sister coed, Harry managed to force the loud round ball of flesh into Paget’s vagina.  It made a plopping sound as it hid inside her.  That sent Paget into one hell of an orgasm.

     “Oh fuck, yes, he’s in me.  We’re tied,” exclaimed a triumphant Paget.   She tossed her gorgeous head in exultation while experiencing one of those head to toe climaxes some women are capable of.  I fell in love with her at that instant.

       I could tell by the way she contracted her abdominal muscles she was in dog fuck heaven.  For a true canine lover, being knotted or tied is the ultimate goal.  I recalled the time, years ago, when Bruno, the neighbor’s beagle, got tied to Mrs. Kurzweil’s Bichon Frise and dragged the little bitch all over the front yard trying to free himself.  Mrs. Kurzweil ran out with a pitcher of ice water to throw on Bruno.  She tripped causing the water to become airborne and land on her.  We three Westbrook kids laughed our young asses off resulting in Mrs. Kurzweil complaining to our mother about the lack of respect.

      Harry howled in triumph as he filled Paget’s vagina with semen.  The knot was not a true seal and some of Harry’s essence leaked out and dribbled down her luscious thighs.  Paget having sensed that Harry had ejaculated let out her own whoop of ecstasy as she enjoyed her prolonged climax.  The cunt in addition to being drip dead gorgeous could climax like a Thai hooker.  Her helper coed applied her lips to the area surrounding Paget’s vagina eagerly consuming the overflow.

     Rex, encouraged by his kennel mate’s success, filled my mouth.  And fill is an accurate term.  During the orgy, I learned from casual conversation with zoophilia coeds that the most appealing aspect was the voluminous load and strong taste.  I looked like a squirrel taking a large supply of nuts back to his nest.   I’ll quote lovely Paget’s views on the topic.

       “I’ve been sucking guys off since the sixth grade.  After a lot of effort and sometimes a sore jaw, you get a couple of tablespoons at most from your average male.  Often it’s a lot less and you can barely taste it.  But a dog or a horse can blast a mouthful down your throat and it tastes so real it makes my toes curl.”

       I admit she was right about the quantity although I found the taste a trifle off putting.  Appearance wise it resembled low fat milk.  After Rex graced me with his essence I laid there holding it in my mouth savoring the taste, rolling it back and forth over my tongue.  I’d just lost my canine virginity and I wanted to make it last.

      Austin sensing I was ready to shoot stuck three fingers in my ass and pushed on my prostate as she slid her lips all the way down my cock to nestle in my balls.  Her tongue danced around my cock head drawing out a three tablespoon load. 

      Wordlessly, Austin climbed on me and we kissed, snowballing back and forth the two varieties of jism. 

       “Have a doggie facial, Simon” said Paget crawling over once she got Harry’s knot out of her twat.  I could tell she was interested in me.  There were a dozen guys around who would have been thrilled at her offer.

      “There’s enough for two facials,” said Austin putting her head beside mine.  She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue.  I followed her lead all the while admiring Paget’s red and slimy vulva as she positioned it three inches over our faces. 

       There was a barely audible whooshing sound and my face was covered in dog semen.  Paget assisted by Harry went into lick mode.  Harry and I traded tongue kisses.  It was a pretty hard core moment.  I tried to recall if any of the coeds I went to college with were capable of eating dog jism and didn’t come up with any names.

      There was a nympho named Nadine Alpert who was into Bukkake and the guys at my frat house obliged her with a salvo of semen leading to a facial that made one of the female onlookers throw up the pizza and beer she consumed.

      But even though Nadine was willing to fuck anyone at the frat house who threw her down on the floor, I could not picture her sucking happily on canine pecker.  Times had changed and women had moved up a level.

      Rex and Harry needed a break and so did I.  They rested their giant heads in my lap and went to sleep.  A loud scream drew my attention to the big screen where Cynthia Rose had just been impaled by horse cock.  I’m no judge of horses but I would say it was bigger than a pony but smaller than a race horse.

     “That’s Javelin.  He’s a Morgan,” said Megan taking a seat beside me.  Like a true party girl, she’d been running around the room keeping the orgy going.  She’d tasted every cock and pussy present and based on her breath a few ripe assholes. 

     She placed her hand on Rex’s cock and began slowly stroking as she engaged in a little dog talk.  “Poor old Rex, did the big bad policeman suck your dick dry and wear you out.”

     I must have because Rex didn’t move. “Cynthia was a very beautiful and passionate woman,” I said observing the look of intense pleasure on her face as she fought to get Javelin’s cock inside her vagina.  I’d guess eighteen inches and thick as my fist.  Horse cocks don’t slide in easily.  It takes girl power.

     Horse fucking was not for wusses.  Winston had shown me Brazilian porn where coffee skinned girls sucked off horses and ponies before attempting penetration.  Most of the girls quit after a few inches although I can recall one where the horse reared and slammed it home.  They had to carry the girl away.

     “She used to ride Javelin around her Uncle’s ranch naked.  It would drive the cowboys crazy,” said Megan.   “When they got tired of her teasing, they would take her in the barn and gangbang her.  She loved it.”

     “I can imagine,” I said watching and listening as digital Cynthia struggled to get more of Javelin in her. “Where’s the ranch?”

     “Right outside Bozeman, Montana, Cynthia’s aunt, Melissa, trained Javelin.  Her Uncle Bert claims Javelin is the best fucking horse on the planet,” said Megan.

     “Did you ever fuck Javelin,” I asked?

     “Yes, but not on this DVD, it’s on one you kept and promised to return.”

     “I promise you’ll get it back unless there is evidence concerning Cynthia’s murder,” I repeated for the tenth time.

     “There’s nothing on them except BC students screwing dogs, horses, and snakes,” said Megan.

     “Snakes,” I questioned?

     “Only on one, this zoology major had a pet python she trained to crawl into her pussy.  She claimed it was part of an ancient Hindu ritual.”

     “Did you try that,” I asked. 

     “Yes, it was different.  She climbed inside my pussy and roamed around while I worked my clit.  I pulled her out after I climaxed and she was covered with slime.

     “I took Shiva up the ass,” said Bernard joining the conversation.

     “Shiva was the snake?” I questioned wondering what kind of freak would allow a snake to crawl inside his GI track.

     “Yes, she was a girl snake and in the Hindu ritual, the python crawls up the supplicant’s ass to perform a cleansing ritual.  I’m a religion major so it was research,” said Bernard.

      “What did you learn,” I asked?

      “That it hurts like all hell to have a fifteen foot reticulated python slither up your large intestine but it was cleansing,” said Bernard who struck me as a poser and intellectual snob.

      “Cleansing how?” I asked wondering if I was curious enough to imitate Bernard.  I’m usually up for anything sexually bizarre even if it is totally nuts.

      “Shiva ate all my shit leaving my bowels clean as a whistle.  I could feel her swallowing my turds.  That was truly weird,” said Bernard.

      Cynthia and I jacked his cock while Shiva cleaned him out,” said Megan.  “We had to gag him or the neighbors would have heard his screams and called the police.

      “Any of you ever take gerbils up your pussy or ass,” I asked deciding to do a little police work?

     “No, but I’ve always heard stuffing a gerbil in your ass was for homosexuals,” said Austin.

     “There’s an urban myth about a gay guy going to the ER to have a gerbil removed from their ass.  It never really happened,” said Megan.

     “I’d be willing to try it if someone provided the gerbil,” said Bernard.

     “But none of you ever put a gerbil in any of your orifices,” I asked?

     Their negative reaction caused me to return my attention to the screen where a sweating and struggling Cynthia with the assistance of an older couple I assumed were her aunt and uncle had managed to engulf two thirds of Javelin’s cock. 

     Cynthia was lying on a wheeled cart her Uncle was rolling back and forth simulating intercourse.  Some females get off on having something so large in their vagina that intercourse is painful.  Cynthia appeared to be one of them.

      “Fuck me harder, Javelin, you big beautiful bastard,” screamed Cynthia as her Uncle forcefully impaled her on a prick not designed for human pussy.  Finally, Javelin unleashed his load whose volume I judged to be a quart.  Semen oozed out of Cynthia only to be captured by the eager mouths of her aunt and uncle.

     “Rex has got one more fuck in him,” announced Megan whose slow stroking and mouth work had restored his erection.

     “Simon, have you ever been fucked by a dog,” asked Austin?

     “No, I can’t say I have,” I said eyeing the long slimy cock.

     “Then assume the position,” said Paget.

     Given that I was quite taken with her, I quickly got on my knees and elbows.  After Austin positioned me at the proper height, Paget maneuvered Rex’s penis in position and gave it a shove. 

     Rex sensing he was in the hole took off.  Paget slipped under me to suck my cock.  If anything ever came of our relationship it would be interesting to recall the first time we met. 

     Rex gave me a good reaming.  He pounded my butt so hard it hurt.  I hung on as he gave me everything he had.  Paget worked my cock and balls like a pro.  I was in dog fuck heaven.

     Proper dog fucking requires experience and skill.  Paget demonstrated both at the appropriate moment by taking hold of Rex’s knot and shoving it inside my rectum.  I signaled my appreciation by filling her mouth with every drop of semen available. 

     I marveled as the come hungry coed maneuvered her tongue to capture Rex’s overflow.  Rex dragged me a few feet attempting to free himself as I enjoyed both the feel and the fantasy of having a dog’s knot inside my shitter.  Paget and Austin shared the bounty once the knot shrunk.  I realized that having two attractive coeds suck dog spunk out of your ass would be hard to top in future years.

     Paget placed her mouth over my gaped hole and extracted the contents with the same force as my mom’s Kirby vacuum.  I remained still enjoying the sensation.

     At that point, all three canine lovers were exhausted and no amount of oral stimulation by Megan or Austin could restore their interest.  In order to keep the orgy going, Paget announced that she wanted to be a piss geyser and we should all follow her into the bathroom.

      As I said before, Paget Clarendon was probably the most beautiful woman I had ever met.  I was quite smitten.  One of the best things I took away from the orgy was her telephone number.  Oddly enough she was studying to become a lawyer like my sister.

      A few minutes later, Paget was lying on her back in the tub with a funnel gag strapped to her mouth.  Her hands and feet were bound tight with nylon straps.  There were a good two dozen of us, all sipping sports drinks or beer to fill our bladders.

     The gag was a serious contraption that included a rubber bit that fit between Paget’s teeth forcing her mouth open.  A funnel opening as large as a dinner plate was set to capture any liquids sent its way.  Fluids poured into the funnel would wind up in Paget’s throat on their way to her stomach.

     “Paget is begging for your spit,” said Megan in charge as usual.

     The action started with each of us hawking a luggie into the funnel.  Austin worked Page’s clit as her throat action indicated she was swallowing our sputum with gusto.  From the look in her eyes, you could tell she was getting off on what was happening.  That gave me one more reason to look forward to our first date.

      “I’ll go first,” said Megan straddling the tub. 

      Megan must have been holding it forever because the volume was incredible and the color was dark yellow.  We all took a turn.  Paget’s abdomen began to swell as she consumed a couple of cases of recycled Sam Adams.  I had been drinking Sam’s dark ale and my urine was almost amber.

      “Now for the piece de resistance,” announced Megan who had disappeared into the kitchen while we emptied our bladders.  She was holding a blender carafe filled with a piss and shit cocktail.  Paget’s eyes got wild as Megan slowly poured the foul concoction into the funnel.

      “What is it,” asked Austin taking a whiff of the carafe?

      “Dog piss blended with my shit,” said Megan.

      “Let’s take a dump on her,” said Bernard taking my hand for support to position his rear over the edge of the tub.   I’d heard of college parties where some lucky coed is tied up and placed in a bath tub then shit on by all the party goers but I’d never seen it happen.   The onlookers quickly followed Bernard’s lead and in practically no time, the tub filled.  Plucky Austin used her hands to smear Paget from head to toe.

      Paget was breathtakingly beautiful even when covered with shit.  I contributed a pair of perfect turds, not too soft or hard.   The geyser part came when Megan removed the funnel gag and pressed her foot on Paget’s swollen abdomen.  It did remind me of old faithful as the pressure caused the contents of Paget’s stomach to reach two feet in the air.

      “That’s incredibly painful,” said Austin admiring the geyser.  “In French law it was a punishment for certain crimes.  They filled the women with piss and shit then forced her to regurgitate.  Some women went mad as a result.  I almost lost it when they did me.”

      “You’ve done it yourself,” I asked?

      “Only once at Club Macabre, my belly was sore for a week,” said Austin.

      Based on the look on Paget’s face, it must have been agonizing.

      “We leave her there for an hour to meditate,” said Megan shooing us out of the bathroom.

     I went into the other bath and showered then collapsed on the bed and fell sound asleep.  When I awoke hours later, a different group of students had arrived to pay their respects to the late Cynthia Rose.

Chapter 12 Castrate the Cop

    

     When I woke, there was a note from Paget lying on my pillow.  She apologized for leaving without saying goodbye but she needed to study for a World Civilization mid term.  She complemented my performance with Rex and suggested we meet for dinner and a movie.

     Her phone number and email address were neatly printed at the bottom of the note.  There was a slight aroma of piss and shit emanating from the note.  My mind’s image of her lying in the tub covered from head to toe in feces and urine caused my cock to harden.

     The sounds coming from the living room indicated that the orgy remained in full swing and I decided to rejoin the wake.  It turned out that other than Malcolm, Megan and Austin, the mourners had flipped over and a new complement of revelers had arrived.  They were loosely formed into naked piles of bodies where the sex was for the most part bisexual.  College kids today are far more versatile when it comes to gender.

     Noting the presence of a group of Afro-Americans I took to be athletes, I joined in a fun game of rotating ass to mouth.  There were six coeds on their hands and knees tightly packed together enjoying anal and oral penetration by a dozen well hung males.   There’s something about being on the spit that appeals to today’s liberated female.  The ladies alternated to where a girl facing you was adjacent to one pointed in the other direction.

      A talk dark hunk of chocolate muscle had just blown his load deep in Megan’s bowels.  I got down on my knees and placed my cock in Megan’s hole reveling in the sensation of sliding into another guy’s hot semen.  It felt warm and slippery, like being in asshole heaven.  Malcolm was on the other side face fucking her mouth.

     I gave Malcolm the sign and we gave the sadistic slut a brutal double pounding.  I slapped her ass hard while Malcolm held her head in a vise like grip and choked her with his cock.  One free hand worked her tit causing her to writhe in pain.  I did the right while Malcolm worked the left. All she could do is whimper in pain as we gave her knockers the full treatment.  Malcolm and I were both experienced tit torturers and we made the cunt wish she had a double mastectomy.

     For S&M enjoyment, it’s hard to equal having your cock deep in a girl’s shitter while one hand slaps her ass hard enough to leave red hand prints and the other pulls and twists her nipple to the point she thinks you are going to rip it off.  Megan writhed in pain tightening her rectum and squeezing my cock. 

      When the game master signaled it was time to switch, I pulled my shit coated dick out of Megan’s asshole and quickly inserted it in Austin’s mouth.  The girls of BC had a different attitude toward scat than my homosexual friends.  Gay guys are into tidy anal douching.  Getting caca on your partner’s tool is bad form and sufficient cause to be banned from bare backing for a lengthy period.

      But the femmes of Chestnut Hill treated a shit coated penis like a five year old with a bowl of vanilla ice cream covered in chocolate sauce.  Austin looked me in the eye as she licked the sauce of my pecker. 

      Since some of the guys were giving piss enemas, it was a pretty nasty and slippery game.  Someone was going to have to shampoo the carpet. I managed to go around twice before I dumped my load in a pretty red head’s mouth. 

      After I wiped the shit off my pecker, I felt in the mood for more S&M and went in search of a suitable subject.

      One of my favorite forms of sadism is penetrating a virgin asshole.  I’m not talking about a slow careful insertion where you show a decent concern for your partner.  I’m referring to that magical moment when an unsuspecting male or female receives my thick nine and a half inches unexpectedly and it feels like a red hot poker has been rammed up their ass.

     I’ve slammed it home with both sexes and the result is the same, a full throated scream wrung out of the essence of their being followed by heartfelt pleas to remove my pecker.  It was highly gratifying especially if they continue to whimper and beg as you pound mercilessly away.  It makes it even better if shit and blood leaks out their asshole.  The grand slam of anal rape is when the sphincter prolapses and they have an inch of rectum hanging out past their anal ring.  

      Anal takes getting used to.  Winston and I had to ass rape Arlene a dozen times before she started to beg to be butt fucked.  The first time Winston did my ass, I thought I was going out of my mind. 

     The trick is to stay inside and repeat the act without being dismounted.      My fellow sadists refer to it as a rodeo ride.  I like to ram it in all the way to my balls and hold on for eight seconds, not always easy to do.   I’ve had grown men who are anal virgins cry like babies for me to take it out.

       A fat little tart named Kimberly majoring in Finance had been working the orgy, sucking and fucking all comers.  She struck me as a bossy loudmouth, the kind you love to hurt.  She made a point of frequently announcing to everyone, “I don’t do anal.  I never have.  And I never will.  It’s not safe.”

     For reasons unknown, the way she said it pissed me off so I took her on as a challenge.

      While I’m not a chubby chaser, her rubenesque figure appealed to me more and more as I observed the way her full lips wrapped around a cock or forced apart the folds of labium majoris.  She seemed to have a preference for rug munching, another shortcoming in my view. 

     Her large soft breasts were optimum for a tit fuck.  She kept her cleavage well lubricated and got off on holding her mouth open for a climatic facial.

     During one of the round robins, I sampled her vagina and found it much to my liking.  It was tight and warm and had a nice way of clinging to your cock as you pounded away.  I decided her refusal of anal sex was something I would help her get past.  She was in college now and being an anal virgin was for high schoolers.

      Plus girls who attend orgies should not expect others to honor their limits.  In point of fact, limits are at odds with the very idea of a good orgy.

      Fortunately, Kimberly’s taste for drugs and alcohol was at odds with her intent to remain anally chaste.  When her sobriety reaches its nadir, I decided to act. 

      I began my informing Malcolm of my plans and enlisting his support.  He’s already shown a sadistic streak in the way he tortured Austin’s breasts and clit then whipped her backside until she was out of her mind with pain.

     “Cool, I’ll get the things we need to make the cunt beg to be ass fucked,” he replied when I let him in on my plan.

     At a break in the action right after she had just swallowed the ejaculate of BC’s All American corner back, we hauled the near comatose femme out of a pile of black athletes and took her to an unoccupied bedroom.

      Malcolm solved the problem of her being too out of it to feel pain by forcing a large dose of crystal meth down her throat.  The crank quickly brought her to a state of high anxiety.  Her heart was beating like she’d been on a tread mill at max speed for an hour.  Crank does that to you.  Housewives who use it to keep their energy up have been known to vacuum the carpet until the nap disappears.

       So with our rubenesque slut on her elbows and knees facing the mirror and looking wild eyed, I prepped her with minimal lubricant; so she would never forget how it felt the first time she took it in the shitter.

     Malcolm secured her wrists in a cable tie then applied the versatile plastic restraint to the base of her fat tits immediately creating an attractive balloon like effect.   He left her no slack.  She was fair skinned and the veins in her boobs made their appearance creating a road map.  The constriction also hurt like all hell and she began to sweat profusely.

       She was too fucked up to talk but she could make little mewling sounds I found highly erotic.

       “This is going to be an ass fucking you’ll never forget, you fat bitch,” whispered Malcolm in Kimberly’s ear. 

     The look of terror that came over her face indicated she understood we weren’t two studs entranced with her beauty.

     Malcolm produced a pair of nasty looking Turkish nipple clamps from his satchel of safe cracker tools.  They were the advanced kind that pierce and crush both nipple and areola drawing blood.  Conically shaped and over two inches long they provided a breast torture experience a girl could tell her grandchildren about.  The Turks use them to teach their wives to mind or to punish a Kurdish winch who won’t put out for the army.

     A spring loaded wire loop captured the base of the nipple.  A lever on the side leveraged the nipple drawing the top of the boob into the three hundred and sixty degree embrace of razor sharp points.   Once the top of her boob was inside, Malcolm pressed a button releasing the spring loaded points.  An audible click was followed by a prolonged scream.   Blood spurted on the floor.  Kimberly whimpered and pleaded as the metal points activated the nerves in her swollen knockers.

      Malcolm did the other boob then attached a one kilogram weight.  Based on Kimberly’s reaction, it hurt.  Her big sow tits almost brushed the floor.

      “Your tits are going to look different after this,” advised Malcolm to the wide eyed fatty.  She was drooling like a French bull dog.     

      My cock head found her vaginal opening and I power fucked her twat as brutally as I could.  I found myself enjoying the delivery of powerful open palmed slaps to her corpulent rear.  At times, there is nothing as attractive as a red palm print on a broad white ass.

       Spanking over, I inserted my index fingers in my own ripe asshole.  I made sure the good brown stuff coated each finger then reached forward to fish hook the corners of her mouth.  I pulled hard bringing her head erect.  I’d been fish hooked a number of times so I knew how to make it hurt.

      I could tell that between the pain and the realization she had my shit in her mouth, Kimberly was not a happy coed.

      Prep work over, Malcolm spread her butt cheeks and placed my cock head directly on her sphincter.  Using her jaw flesh as leverage, I slammed it home.  The feel of my cock expanding her bowel as it raced inward was highly satisfying.  Her failure to relax made it more painful to her and pleasurable to me.

     My only regret was that we didn’t capture the look in her face as the last ten inches of her gastrointestinal tract informed her brain that the pain level was off the charts.  I came to a crouch and pounded away until Malcolm took my place. 

    “Fucking bitch is bleeding out her ass,” observed Malcolm as he forced her sphincter.  “Her anus has prolapsed.”

    A bleeding asshole is proof positive that I knew the proper technique for deflowering an anal virgin.  There was a good inch of rose bud hanging out of her sphincter.

    “Does it hurt, Kimberly?” I asked with my face only inches from hers.  Large tears stained her cheeks as she attempted to cope with the pain.

     “Yes, it hurts,” mumbled Kimberly making me feel proud.

     “You need to suck the cock that was in your ass or I’ll cut your nipples off,” I said placing my heavily stained penis against her lips.

     In a matter of seconds, she had the look of someone who had been eating brown gravy with a crooked spoon. 

     Deciding that further degradation was called for, I took hold of the tit clamps, squeezed hard and then announced, “Swallow my piss or I’ll rip your nipples off.”

     I took a long slow leak so she could gulp it all down without spilling a drop.  It was mainly reprocessed Sam Adams Summer Lager.  Her fear of the clamps resulted in her performing admirably.  As she took in mouthful after mouthful, I exulted in the aroma of fresh beer piss.  True water sports enthusiasts swear that there is no more flavorful pee on the planet than Sam Adams.

      “Put her in a shoulder stand,” I said when Malcolm took a break.

      We propped her up against the bed then proved that her asshole could be stretched to accommodate both our cocks for a vicious double fucking.  We established a rhythm of plunging down together bringing forth a loud scream.

     We withdrew occasionally to observe that her anus had temporarily lost the capability to close and further prolapsed.  Her rosebud was now hanging a good two inches outside her anus.  We celebrated our accomplishment by spitting down into her open hole.  Watching a gob of sputum slowly slide deep into her rectum was highly gratifying.

     Based on the way she moaned and whimpered, it must have hurt awfully.  We found her heartfelt pleas for us to stop highly erotic and before long, there were two load of semen parked in her garage.  Malcolm added a pint of urine to make an ass cocktail.

      “Felch time, darling, suck hard for your reward,” I said to Kimberly as I placed one end of a clear plastic tube in her mouth while Malcolm slid the other end inside her rectum.  I got a deep sense of satisfaction from watching the blood streaked greenish white mixture travel through the tube ultimately to mix with the Sam Adams piss in her tummy.

     Having exhausted our menu of painful and degrading acts, Malcolm yanked the clamps off as I cut the cable ties.  We laughed as she wallowed around on the floor like a beached whale attempting to deal with the pain. That was when she surprised us.

      “Thanks guys, that was terrific,” said Kimberly rubbing her sore tits.

     I suppose overweight coeds appreciate any kind of attention they can get.  We kissed and thanked Kimberly for the great anal sex as we took her back to the living room and dropped her in a pile of naked bodies.

***

     The orgy was not without its perils.  At some point, late Sunday afternoon, I passed out from exhaustion and booze.  Maybe I was drugged.  As I got woozy, the male students took advantage of my state to fuck a cop in the ass.  I’d forgotten that the relationship between the city’s college students and the police was not all that friendly.  I didn’t particularly mind but it would have been better if I had been alert enough to enjoy it more.  My ultimate fantasy is to be publicly gang raped by a large coterie of world class athletes.  I picture a stadium with a crowd of one hundred thousand screaming for them to fuck me harder.  The jumbotron contains close ups of me being anally penetrated.  Well it is a fantasy.

     In pursuit of ultimate police humiliation, they also played “Cop Bukkake.”  I was made to kneel with my mouth open and tongue out while the male assemblage either spit in my maw or filled it with their jism.  I was drenched in sperm and sputum by the time they finished.  A couple of guys made me drain their tank swelling my abdomen.  My belly was so full of pee I sloshed when I walked.

      “Payback time, Simon,” said chubby little Kimberly as she managed to position her prolapsed sphincter over my mouth and fart a cup of viscous brown liquid down my throat.   There were lumps in it and they tasted like shit.

      My finale was a group performance where Megan and Austin equipped with strapons, the punishment type with rubber spines, savaged my asshole while they worked my nipples with Kelly forceps.  I was propped up in a shoulder stand with my butt pointing toward the ceiling.  Both girls took their position and forced the dildo heads inside my sphincter.  Then to the crowd’s count of one-two-three, they slammed it home.  I delighted the many onlookers by screaming my lungs out then fainting.

       I awoke when Austin held a bottle of poppers to my nostrils.  I slowly realized I was in Cynthia Rose’s video studio making a porn film. The presence of video cameras and the intense lighting gave the situation away. A truly gorgeous female was slowly easing my cock into her incredibly tight pussy.  She was struggling to get the large mushroom head past her opening.

      “It’s too big,” whined the girl.  “It’s hurting me.”

      “Shit, Mary Beth, don’t be such a baby,” said Megan stepping forward to place her hands on the girl’s shoulder and push her down. 

      She squealed in pain as I widened her tunnel.  A trickle of blood oozed out on my belly.  A small hand turned my head toward the camera allowing my mouth to take in a smooth young cock.

      It took a few minutes for me to realize my sexual partners were not old enough for Boston College.  It turned out they were barely old enough for middle school.

      But I was too far gone to object and allowed nature to take its course as what I ultimately learned were Megan’s younger siblings had their way with me.  The male in spite of his youth proved adept as sliding his asshole up and down my pole while his sister squatted on my face.  Megan took close ups of me swallowing her cream pie followed by a multiple mouthfuls of girl and boy pee. 

      When they finished draining me, the lights dimmed.  Megan and Austin stopped videoing.  My two underage partners vanished.

      I groaned as Austin took hold of my testicles and squeezed hard then used sash chord to tie and separate them. 

      “Listen asshole pig policeman, if you don’t want a video of you fucking two underage kids on YouTube, stay away from Club Macabre,” said Megan talking hold of my nipple in a forceps and giving it a vicious twist.

      At that point, Austin slammed her fist into my balls.  I crumpled up in pain and puked up piss, spit, and jism plus pepperoni pizza I had for lunch.  I spent the next few minutes in a tight ball attempting without great success to dodge their attempts to stomp my nuts flat.  Finally, Megan grabbed my ankles and pulled my legs apart and attached them to a spreader bar. She was a strong bitch and I was too fucked up to resist.  I was exposed and helpless which for inexplicable reasons gave me a hard on.

      I watched scared shitless as Austin knelt between my legs holding a rubber mallet.  The insane thought occurred to me that the last time I saw a mallet like that was at Home Depot.  The guy in the paint department had used one to seal the gallon of ceiling white I’d bought.

      “They say all men have castration fantasies,” said Megan pulling the chord attached to my nuts so her partner had a clear shot.

      “Say goodbye to your balls, Simon,” said Austin raising the mallet and taking aim.

      “Please, God, no,” I screamed as it slammed down on my left nut.

      It was probably the worst pain I had ever felt.  They were castrating me the hard way by smashing my balls flat.  Weren’t they supposed to slit open my sack and cut them out?  They could have them bronzed and displayed on the mantle

      “Maybe you can get a job guarding a harem,” said Megan positioning the right testicle for her partner. 

      I was helpless as the mallet descended.  I actually felt my ball flatten before a wave of pain arrived causing me to pass out.

      It was dark when I woke.  I was alone.  Everybody had left.  My nuts were still on fire and felt as thin as pancakes.  There was also a horrible cramp deep in my gut.  It took everything I had to reach my cell phone and call the special number for Mass General.   The number summoned discreet medical help for a cop in trouble.

      Thank God the EMTs got there quickly.  I recognized Barry who took one look at my balls and got an ice pack from the kitchen.

      “Who fucked you up,” asked Barry as they loaded me in the ambulance?

      “A couple of vicious cunts,” I managed to whisper.  “There’s something inside my belly and it’s killing me.” 

      It was like the biggest meanest turd in the world and it wanted out in the worst way.

      An hour later in the Mass General ER, Doctor Pope informed me after studying my x-ray there was a large foreign object in my intestine.  “But I think we can get it out without cutting you open.” 

       They propped me up on all fours with pillows and inserted an anal speculum in my ass.  My flattened testicles rested in an ice bucket.  The doctor cranked my sphincter open to the max and squeezed a quart of lubricant in my ravaged bowels.  I screamed into the pillow as a skinny Puerto Rican nurse reached deep inside me and grabbed the foreign object.

      I went nuts as she pulled it out.  A couple of orderlies held me down as she slowly extracted an economy sized cucumber.

      “I almost couldn’t reach it,” said Nurse Maria Sanchez showing me the place on her biceps representing the maximum depth reached.  Any further and her hand would have come out my mouth.

      “Anyone for salad,” asked Doctor Pope holding up the shit covered vegetable for the OR staff.  That occasioned a round of laughter.

      They shot me full of painkillers and I went off to la-la land.   

Chapter 13 Retribution

     “You didn’t boil their tits, did you Sean,” I asked as Sean O’Boyle of Somerville’s Winter Hill gang inserted a DVD in the player?  We were in my bedroom.  Nikki was in school and Darlene was working the mid day shift at the Squires Club.

     It had been five days since my unfortunate brush with castration at Cynthia Rose’s condo.  According to Doctor Pope, my testicles were not destroyed merely badly damaged.  Megan and Austin had failed to make me into a eunuch.  Each ball was still swollen and the slightest movement hurt.  On the other hand I was horny and thinking of calling Paget to see if she wanted to come over and play nurse.

      Sean and I went way back to when I walked a beat that included his Dad’s bar.  I’d helped old man O’Boyle handle some sticky situations during which I became friends with his son who was about my age. 

      “No, of course not, Simon, I just showed them this video as a warming what would happen if they went to the cops or gave you any further grief.  I thought you might like to see it,” said Simon carefully lying on the bed beside me.

      Simon fancied himself a movie director or auteur as he called it.  He’d been making films since he was in high school and was a graduate of the New York Academy of Film Arts. 

     However, his subject matter tended to be cinema verite of rape, torture, and murder which meant he was unwisely creating evidence that could be used in a court of law.   It wasn’t my job to act as his legal counsel so I kept my mouth shut.

     Over the years, I collected several Sean O’Boyle productions including his first that involved the gang rape of a lesbian nun on a pool table in his dad’s bar.  The sister had seduced a number of girls at Bishop Fenwick’s school including two who were daughters of bosses in the local Irish mafia.  Even on that early effort, he showed a penchant for the non conventional.  He tied the nun’s wrists and ankles with razor wire making it a gore fest.  After the rape, they wrapped her naked body in wire and dropped her off at the nunnery

      Sean’s films were enjoyable to watch with a girl because they were authentic.  His role as an enforcer and torturer for the Irish mob provided him the necessary income to pursue his dreams. 

      I’d asked Sean to kidnap the pair and accomplish two things.  First priority was to retrieve all video of me screwing Megan’s siblings.  That shit could put me in prison for the rest of my days.

     Second priority was retribution for attempting to blackmail and castrate me.  I’d cautioned him to make them endure all the pangs of hell but not to do anything too permanent or obvious.  There were to be no broken bones, missing teeth, or gouged out eyes.  Boiling the skin of their breasts was off the table; however it was common practice among Boston’s IRA-related Irish community and I worried Sean might have gotten carried away.

     “You fucking Irish, boiled potatoes and tits,” I said as the screen flickered to life.  The title read, “A Winter Hill Production of a Sean O’Boyle Film.” A second screen announced that Maryanne Baumgartner, lawyer, community activist, and mother of four was the star.

      Boston PD had an arrangement with the Irish mob, also known as the Winter Hill gang.  In return for looking the other way concerning the gang’s participation in prostitution, extortion, human trafficking, and drugs, the police received large sums of cash and the occasional favor.  We also provided the names of snitches and informers who the gang justly punished with an excruciating death.  Nobody likes a squealer.  It was quid pro quo of cops and robbers that had endured for decades and out lived several FBI investigations.

     In my criminal justice career, I’d accumulated several favors owed so when I was discharged from Mass General I put in a call to Sean and explained I sought retribution from Megan and Austin and the return of certain incriminating videos.

     Plus no one and I mean no one can get away with fucking Boston PD.  That’s a tradition that goes back to the founding of the nation’s oldest paid constabulary.  The general rule was that whoever screwed with Boston PD had to suffer harm by a factor of three.  You kill a cop it means you and two of your closest relatives die.  If that meant your wife and kid, so be it.

       “Mission accomplished, the original and two copies,” said Sean placing three discs on my night stand.  “It got my motor running watching you with those two kids, especially the boy he was a cutie.”

       “Are you sure that’s everything,” I asked looking at the discs marked with my name and the date.  There was the possibility that Sean had retained a copy in case he had a problem with me in the future; but I discarded the idea.  There is honor among thieves and furthermore Sean had a thing for me or rather my cock.  When I used to drop by his Dad’s place, he would blow me in the back room for starters then bend over and take it like a good Irishman. Buggery and the Irish go together.

       “Very sure, by the time, I was done with them, they were far beyond lying,” said Sean.  “Let me see them.  Do they still function?”

       “See what,” I asked but I knew what he meant.

      “Your nuts, I understand they’re damaged,” said Sean.

      “Oh what the hell,” I said throwing back the cover to reveal the world’s largest testicles.

      “Wow, they’re still swollen.  Let me give it a kiss.  Those cunts deserved everything they got,” said Sean reaching for my cock.  Sean had his own castration fantasies.

      “Be very gentle or I’ll scream,” I said grabbing his hand for a moment.  “So what are we watching?”

      I watched as Sean gently kissed the tip of my pecker.  I felt a stirring which I took as a sign of recovery.  “You should remember this one.  Maryanne was a lawyer and community activist in Dorchester who decided the relationship between street whores and the police was too cozy.  It was disturbing the ambiance of her newly gentrified neighborhood; so she surreptitiously videoed the police and the girls interacting then turned it over to a buddy at Channel 5,” said Sean unzipping his slacks and exposing his cock.  “Mind if I jerk off while we watch?”

      “Feel free,” I said reaching for his cock.  “Wish I could.  Now, I remember.  It was three, no four years ago.  WBZ was filled with grainy scenes of hookers getting into cop cars then disappearing for a blow job or a fuck.”

     Several patrolmen and a watch supervisor were suspended and reprimanded ending their chances of promotion.  A lot of good cops were hurt and retribution was called for.  The word went out that Maryanne had to be taken down in a way that was untraceable back to Boston PD.

       Sean’s video opened in a warehouse where a dozen Irish goons were ripping the clothes off a screaming female I assumed was Maryanne.  She looked to be in her forties and about thirty pounds overweight.  She was a grandmotherly type with wide hips and a big hairy bush the guys delighted in yanking.

     Before they got down to serious business, the boys engaged in verbal humiliation reducing the terrified woman to tears.  They’d spit in her face and tell her how fat and disgusting she was.  The thugs made her stand with her feet spread wide then bend over and spread her cellulite dimpled cheeks exposing damage from hemorrhoids.  As the cameras rolled, the guys fingered her ass and pussy as they informed her what an ugly pig she was.  After that, things got painful.

     Two guys tuned her upside down and held her legs apart while another ape wailed on her exposed vagina with a radiator hose.   When your pussy is repeatedly smashed, there is no way you are going to enjoy your rape.

     And it was a true rape video full of lust, energy and brutality not the fake shit you see on the Web even the Russian stuff they did with the Chechnyan woman.  After they beat her senseless with rubber hoses, she was thrown on a dirty mattress and repeatedly raped in all three orifices.  Sean had edited the action to eighteen minutes from what must have taken several hours to complete.  According to Sean, a good director allows ninety percent of the video he shoots to wind up on the editing room floor. 

     Sean’s crew was given to violence.  Act One ended with Maryanne lying there covered in piss and semen.  A facial close up revealed both eyes swollen shut, nose smashed to one side, and missing front teeth.  It was the signature Winter Hill beating for a female.  They had a different approach for males that included putting the guy’s testicles in a vise and very slowly crushing them. At least, what Megan and Austin did was quick.

      Act Two opened with Maryanne hung from the ceiling by her wrists and ankles in a reverse suspension, back to the ceiling and belly to the floor.  I’ve been suspended that way once when I got drunk at the Ramrod and allowed a pair of CBT freaks to attach forty pounds of weights to my balls and jerk me off.  It hurts like hell but I shot a load I would never forget.   You feel like your shoulder and hip joints are being dislocated.   Maryanne’s breasts hung straight down.    She appeared to be unconscious.  What’s more she was bald.

      “You shaved her head,” I commented slowly stroking Sean’s cock. 

      “It’s traditional,” said Sean.  “I shaved your two, nothing uglier than a bald woman and it is psychologically devastating to females.  You’ll see in a minute.”

     It struck me as going beyond my instructions but since I hadn’t specifically forbade it, I let it pass.  Megan and Austin could afford a wig until their hair grew back.

      “Wake up, Maryanne,” said one of Sean’s crew rolling in a table containing two large beakers of cooking oil sitting on Bunsen burners, the kind I remembered from chemistry class.

     “What kind of oil do you use,” I asked.  I was being sociable by showing an interest in his work.

     “Only fancy grade extra virgin olive oil from Spain, it’s first pressing from the best of the olive crop,” said Sean who paid attention to details.

     I suppose torturers have their quirks.  I doubted whether Maryanne cared whether it was a gourmet oil or 10W-30.  When Maryanne didn’t respond, he walked over to a sink, filled it with cold water then threw it in her face.  She woke up sputtering and moaning then passed out again.

      “Wake up, bitch,” screamed the Mick taking a cattle prod off the table.  The sadist placed it on her swollen sex bridging the labia and pushed the trigger.  Maryanne woke with a full throated scream.   He repeated the act to make sure she was fully awake then shocked her nipples.  He seemed to get a big kick out of watching her flop around mid air. 

      The Mick moved the table under Maryanne managing to position each boob in a beaker without spilling a drop.  He lit the burners and adjusted the flame.

      “I can always count on Tommy,” said Sean.  “He’s the most reliable of my crew.”

      Tommy took a seat in a near by chair and pulled out a copy of The American Racing Forum.  He studied the paper making occasional markings as he chose his nag for the afternoon’s races at Suffolk Downs.  Apparently, he was not only a torturer but a handicapper.

      Sean’s camera focused on Maryanne’s face as she came to realize the liquid her knockers were immersed in was becoming warmer.

      “I never get tired of watching this,” said Sean as we stroked his cock to hardness. 

     “How long does it take to boil a tit,” I asked?

     “Fifteen minutes on medium heat,” said Sean sharing his closely held knowledge of torture methods developed by the IRA during the time of troubles.  “But I edited the video down to six minutes.”

      “How come they don’t pass out,” I asked noting that Maryanne was going nuts with the pain.

      “Don’t know but they never do.  Must have something to do with the way the nerves work,” said Sean his hand now a blur.

      “Jesus, they look like overripe strawberries,” I said as Tommy moved the table from under Maryanne and turned off the flame.  She was still screaming like a banshee.

     “More like raspberries, the entire epidermis comes right off after ten minutes,” said Sean.

      Sensing he was about to blow his load, I gingery leaned over and took his cock in my mouth.   He spewed as the camera provided a close up of how breasts looked without their skin.  They were blood red with bright blue veins.  Nipple and areola were missing.

      “So you showed this to Megan and Austin,” I asked wiping my chin.

      “Yes, and told them they would get the same if they had any additional copies of your video or gave you any further trouble,”

      “So what do you boil if it’s a male,” I asked.

      “Cock and balls, that was standard in the old sod for an informer,” said Sean.

      “God that must have hurt,” I said recalling an old Japanese Yakusa film where they stuck a guy’s package in a pot of boiling oil.  The Japs scare me.

      “I haven’t finished the final edit so this is a little rough,” said Sean jumping off the bed to insert a new DVD in the player.

      It opened with a shot out a car window in front of Megan and Austin’s condo building.  It was semi dark but as the girl’s emerged from Megan’s two seat Mercedes, a white van pulled up and out jumped Sean’s crew.  Blue lights crackled in the darkness as tasers disabled the girls.  In five seconds total, they were tossed in the van and it roared off.  One of the guys followed in the Mercedes.  No doubt he was headed to a chop shop the gang operates of Central Square in Somerville.

      The screen cut to the arrival of the van in Sean’s warehouse.  Two naked females tumbled out onto the concrete floor.   Their hands were secured behind their backs with plastic cable ties, the same ones used by Boston PD when mass arrests were in order and regular cuffs were insufficient in number.  Both girls’ knockers were sporting decorations I thought I recognized.

      “Are those Kelly Forceps,” I asked referring to the scissor like objects flopping around their tits?

      “Yes, that’s standard for a punishment rape.  First used to gang rape any Irish colleen caught sleeping with a British Tommy,” said Sean who knew something of the history of his profession.

      I’d seen girls go nuts when a guy captures a good solid inch of tit flesh in the business end of the forceps and clamps it in place.  The pain is indescribable as the cold steel crushes the capillaries.  In hospitals, a Kelley Forceps or Clamp is used on patients under general anesthesia undergoing surgery.  That doesn’t hurt, but use a pair on a fully awake girl then twist and pull them while your cock is inside her pussy or ass and you have yourself a first class rape the Marquis de Sade would appreciate.

      “I’ve seen it used before.  A medical student I knew put them on his girl friend after he caught her in bed with his best friend.  He arranged for six of us to gang rape her.  She didn’t have a good time,” I said.

      Served the bitch right,” said Sean.  “My guys stripped and clamped them on the ride.  They got caught in traffic so they raped them twice to save time.”

      “Your guys couldn’t wait,” I said wishing the video included the initial rape.

      “No, they’re an impatient lot.  They get the rape started if it’s a long drive and they’re horny,” said Sean.

      On screen it was bastinado time.  A rubber hose hurts like all hell but does not leave marks, at least not serious ones.  Sean’s crew was professional and well trained.  Two guys wishboned Austin upside down while a third bruiser went to work on her pussy and asshole with three feet of rubber hose.  Both girls had their clitoral hood removed by a plastic surgeon so the little man in the boat had zero protection.  They made Megan watch so she knew what she had coming.

      Each loud whap was followed by an ear piercing shriek.  For good measure, they applied the hose to armpits, knee pits, and soles of feet.  The bruiser was a big, well muscled man and he put his shoulder into it.  Megan became hysterical watching them work on her friend.

      Megan proved she could scream louder than Austin during her beating. 

      “Cyrus loved to beat a girl more than fuck her,” said Sean watching a close up of the hose flattening Megan’s clit. 

      “I’d say it will be a while before she enjoys a fuck,” I said.  Megan’s clit looked pulverized.

      “There’s a loss of sensation that takes months to get over if ever.  Sometimes the nerve endings are so traumatized they never recover,” said Sean.  “In Belfast, they used to fix a girl caught sleeping with the Brits so she could never enjoy sex.”

      “How did they do that,” I asked?

      “Cut her clit off and made her eat it,” said Sean once more stroking his cock.

      “Let me suck it while we watch,” I said carefully leaning over to take him in my mouth.

       On screen, a good two dozen men had gathered and the gang rape commenced.  They worked the forceps back and forth to make sure it was anything but enjoyable.

      “Those two sluts would probably enjoy their rape if you weren’t torturing them at the same time,” I said watching a close up of a large cock slamming into Austin’s bleeding asshole.

      “That’s just for starters of course, something to soften them up,” said Sean.

      I felt my cock stir as I watched a dozen young men brutally gang rape Megan and Austin.  When the men finally ran out of jism, they made the girls kneel with their mouths open for a piss session.

     “Give me a little squirt, Sean,” I requested as I took his cock head into my gullet.  He obliged me with a short burst of power yellow that trickled down my throat.

     After the rape, the girls were strapped into chair and made to watch Maryanne Baumgartner having the skin boiled off the tits.  The scene faded to black as Megan and Austin promised to provide all the video of my indiscretion.

      Sean triggered the remote to pause the DVD as I got serious about sucking his cock.  It wasn’t long before I enjoyed a second mouthful of warm semen, further proof I was on the mend.

     Sean went and got us a beer after I sucked him off.  I had a question when he returned.  “Were there any problems in forcing them to return these,” I asked pointing to the three DVDs on my bed table?

     “None, I followed my Uncle Angus’ playbook and sealed an M-32 grenade and remote igniter in their vaginas.  To make it real I showed her a video of a Unionist bitch running down the street screaming toward a squad of Tommys.  Right as she reaches them, the IRA corporal presses the remote exploding her cunt.  Somehow they got a shot of her lying on the pavement with her pussy blown out,” said Sean.

     “A picture is worth a thousand words,” I said.

     “They yelped quite a bit when I sealed up their hole with surgical staples to keep everything in place,” said Sean.

     “That must have hurt,” I said.

     “Yes, but it convinces the cunt there’s no way she can get the booger out of her snatch before I trigger the remote.  They were good as gold on the trip to the banks to retrieve your DVDs from their safety deposit boxes,” said Sean. 

      “Sounds very effective,” I said.

      “Never had a problem, of course if it’s a guy, we staple the grenade to the base of his balls,” said Sean restarting the video to show me the retribution phase.

     “I got to hand it to you, Sean.  So far this has been very impressive.”  The scene had changed.  The girls were strapped into a gynecological exam tables.  I recognized it because we had one in my frat house in college.  One of the tests for being the frat’s little sister was to allow all the frat brothers to perform a pelvic.

     “Got those for practically nothing at an auction of obsolete medical equipment, they come in handy since it puts the gal’s bits right out there,” said Sean.

     Their legs were spread wide and strapped into the stirrups.  Their arms were restrained to the side of the table and there was a metal contraption between their teeth that held their mouth open and prevented speech.  They could however babble and whimper which added to the eroticism of the performance. 

      “Excellent idea,” I said.  I’d always understood that torturers for the most part adapts the tools of others.

      “Any chance you could handle some oral.  I’d feeling a bit randy,” said Sean eyeing my cock which had grown since we started watching.

      “We could give it a try but be very careful of my balls, I said.

      “Your whang is gorgeous,” said Sean leaning over to give my cock head a lick.

      “Who’s that,” I asked as an attractive red head arrived on scene?

      “That’s my cousin Cathleen. She has her own salon in Davis Square,” said Sean who was doing an excellent job of bringing the dead back to life.

      “Pretty girl,” I said relaxing somewhat after days of worrying if I would ever fuck again.

      “I’d set you up with her but she’s strictly into girls.  Which is odd because when she was a little kid Uncle Pat fucked her every night after he read her a story?  My cousins tapped her after school and bragged about how much she loved to fuck.  You would have thought she would grown up to be a cock lover but she strictly munches rug.”

      “Nature often surprises us,” I said watching Colleen cut off their hair with an electric shear.  Behind the sound of the shears, you could hear Colleen humming some Celtic ballad.  Megan and Austin appeared very distraught.  Once again, Sean collapsed the time and the final frames showed Colleen passing a razor over the bare scalp of both girls.

     After she wiped off the excess lather, she applied some sort of ointment to their bald pate.  Colleen gave their bare skulls a loving kiss then held a mirror to each girl’s face so they could admire their new do. 

      “Shave a girl’s head and tears flow like water,” said Sean as the screen provided a close up of the bald sobbing women.  Mindful of what the bitches did to my testicles, I didn’t feel any pity.

      “What’s next,” I asked watching Colleen leave and the dependable Tommy appear on scene rolling a molded plastic luggage.

      “Since you specified nothing permanent, we had limited options.  Normally, I would have cut their ears and nipples off and branded them in a couple of strategic places,” said Sean between attempts to force my cock head into his throat.

      From somewhere I recalled seeing a formerly attractive female in the ER missing her ears and nipples with, “Erin Go Bragh,” branded across her chest. 

      “You stretched their holes,” I said as Tommy inserted a lubricated inflatable dildo in Megan’s vagina and pumped it up to the max causing her to protest loudly in spite of the gag.  Unmindful of Megan’s objections, Tommy inserted an inflatable butt plug in her anus.  When he finished inflating the plug, he did the same to Austin.

      “It can be difficult in film to depict the passage of time,” said Sean drawing my attention to the digital clock in the corner of the screen.  It started at noon then moved rapidly to six o’clock when Tommy once again appeared with his rolling box.  One assumed six hours had passed and the walls of their orifices were permanently changed.

      Tommy replaced the vaginal and anal inflatables with larger ones then left.  Six more hours passed in thirty seconds and Tommy returned.  At this point, it is becoming obvious that their orifices are stretched possibly beyond the point of return. 

     For the final round, the plugs had the diameter of a bowling ball.

     “No more fucking for those two for quite a while, maybe never,” said Sean gently licking my balls.

     On screen, Tommy had removed the fourth and final set of stretchers.  He demonstrated the effect by easily inserting both fists in Austin’s cunt and asshole. 

     “Ready to take my load, Sean,” I asked as the credits rolled?

     “Give it to me,” said Sean wrapping his lips around my cock head and going deep.

Chapter 14 More Gerbils

     “Took you long enough, Lieutenant, Penelope Grace, Special Agent, Serial Crimes Division,” said the moderately attractive brunette FBI agent extending her hand.  “I’m here to help on what must be the most difficult and challenging case of your career.”

    That was FBI ease for we are taking over.  Do as you’re told and stay out of the way, Lowlife.

     “Lt. Simon Westbrook, it’s a pleasure to be working with you,” I said ignoring her shitty remark as I shook her warm firm hand.  Her pantsuit fit well enough that I could judge her body.  The phrase, above average, fit Penelope Grace perfectly. She was slightly above average height with a slimmer than most figure.  Her face was more handsome than pretty, and she had great hair, a cascade of soft brow shoulder length curls.  Your average FBI femme believe the more mannish they look the better chance of promotion.  Your average Hoover doll looks like she’s working security at a lesbian mixer.

     But her outstanding better than average features were located on her anterior upper torso.  Fake or not, the woman was sporting some serious tits.  I’m more of a butt man but that does not mean I can’t appreciate the presence of large melons on a skinny girl.  I wondered how long it would be before I got a look at the size tag in her bra.  My initial estimate was 34D.  Unfortunately my visual scan got me off to a bad start.

     “Watch the elevator eyes, Lieutenant.  I’ve heard all about you,” said Penelope squeezing my hand like a man.

     Behind me, one of the female MEs snickered.  Her name was Sally Rawlings and I along with half of Boston PD had nailed the little slut when she got drunk at a retirement party for one of the division heads.  I had pictures on my home computer of her gobbling my cock.  I made a mental note to send one to her husband.

     Agent Grace was wearing a wedding ring with a big diamond.  A later peek at her HR file revealed she was the mother of two boys and currently married to a fellow agent assigned to counter terrorism.  Somehow I didn’t think that would keep me from getting into her pants.  I can be a terrible optimist when it comes to believing I will fuck every woman on the planet.

      “Sorry, there was a wreck on Storrrow Drive.  Traffic was a bitch,” I muttered as we stepped over trash scattered around the abandoned mill building in a seedy section of Mattapan.  I decided to play the consummate professional.  I may be a cock hound but I don’t want the reputation of one.

     “Three kids discovered the bodies and called it in at 8:47AM.  A black and white was dispatched.  Patrolman Radnor was first on scene.  He took a quick look and called SCU.  Why is the FBI involved?” I wasn’t able to control my curiosity.

      “If this is what I think it is Boston is the fourth city they have worked.  I wasn’t informed about the gerbils found in Cynthia Rose’s orifices, a serious omission by your department,” said Penelope as we stopped at the front door to don our gloves.

     When I arrived Penelope was waiting impatiently to enter the crime scene.  Given her aggressive reputation, I was surprised she waited; however, the FBI was forever admonishing its agents to play nice with the local PD even if they are incompetent and not worthy to be on the same planet with the exalted members of the bureau.

      “You mean to tell me a serial killer is moving about the country murdering people and stuffing gerbils in their orifices as a calling card?” I said as we stepped inside the dark building.  The smell of fresh pigeon shit filled the air.

      “Exactly, you should have contacted us immediately when you discovered the gerbils in Ms. Rose’s rectum and vagina,” said Penelope turning on her flashlight.

      “Sorry but at that time I had no reason to assume it was not a local crime,” I said ignoring her implication that I had fucked up.

    “I understand you adopted the gerbils,” said Penelope as we slowly and carefully walked toward the bodies with the MEs in tow. 

    How the hell did she know that?  But I was determined not to allow the bitch to rattle me.  My boss had called to alert me that the FBI had assigned a real ball buster to my case and that I had better be on my best behavior.  “Yes, Puss and Ass are in a gerbil habitat at my residence.”  I left out the part that the two had been fucking like crazy and Puss was knocked up.

     “Puss and Ass, sounds sexist, I would have thought Boston PD would be more up to date on diversity,” said Penelope as we stared up at the naked bodies of a young man and woman.

     “Puss is the white female gerbil removed from Ms. Rose’s vagina and Ass is the black male one extracted from her rectum.  I thought the names would be helpful in case it turned out their sex and colors have a meaning,” I said in my calmest and most professional voice.  In reality I would have liked to slap the bitch senseless, rip her clothes off, fuck her ass till her rosebud hung out a good two inches then leave her hanging in the mill along with the two bodies.

     “FYI, a white female is always inserted in the vagina and a black male in the anus.  At least that has been their practice in Tampa, Nashville, and Birmingham,” said Penelope playing her flashlight over the man’s body.

     Officer Carl Radnor had reported the presence of dead Caucasian male and female bodies suspended upside down, their heads waist high.  They were facing each other with their legs and arms spread wide.  Chains attached to wrist and ankle cuffs stretched them between the ceiling joists and support columns.

     And stretched was highly accurate.  A hand crank at the end of each chain had been tightened to the maximum.  When I checked there wasn’t any slack.  You could play them like a banjo.  The image of Cynthia Rose stretched like a rubber band across the trunk of her BMW came to mind.

     There was bruising under the armpits.  It like their shoulder and hip joints were dislocated.  There were several piles of fresh shit on the filthy concrete floor.

     Luckily, Officer Radnor noticed the clear plastic plug inserted in the man’s ass and the movement of something trapped inside. Rumors about my gerbil case had spread throughout the department; so he called SCU.

     “Was castration also part of his MO,” I asked noting the absence of the man’s testicles and penis?

     “Yes, the male’s penis and testicles will most likely be found wedged in the female’s esophagus,” said Penelope aiming the flashlight on the female.  “If the MO is the same, she was asphyxiated by it.  The female victim is castrated by the removal of the clitoris which the man is forced to consume.  They also remove the breasts but for some reason, possibly cannibalism, they keep those.”

      I pushed aside the thought that Agent Grace’s knockers would easily feed a family of eight.  “Why do you think more than one person is involved,” I asked noting her use of the plural pronoun?

      “Our best profiler believes it to be a couple, a male and a female, possibly doctors or someone with medical training,” said Penelope.

      I didn’t have a lot of confidence in profilers, and I did know something about the history of serial killers.  I couldn’t recall a man and woman acting in concert.  “A couple would be unheard of.”

      “Yes, something of a first, although there have been several pairs of males,” said Penelope looking at me as if I was Ted Bundy’s partner.

      Even in the semi darkness, you could tell they hadn’t died easy.  There were marks all over their bodies and their toe nails and finger nails were missing.  There were burn marks and cuts on the sensitive areas of their bodies including the arm pits and inner thighs.

      When I walked to where I could see their backside, my flashlight played on a gruesome scene.  Their skin had been flayed off from their shoulders to the top of their thighs.  Someone had whipped the flesh of their backs.  “They were skinned,” I said.

     “My guess is they were abducted Saturday night and did not die until last night,” said Penelope.

     “Two days of utter hell,” I said feeling slightly sickened.  Sometimes I liked my sex with a good dose of pain, but this was on a different scale altogether.

     “That’s quite a pile of shit,” I said focusing my light on the brown cow piles nearby.

     “Our lab says it is from a high colonic, a very painful high colonic,” said Penelope. 

     “You’ve lost me,” I said unfamiliar with the term.

     “It’s a very serious and thorough high pressure enema that cleans out and opens up both the large and small intestine.  Your gerbil friends have been running back and forth in about twenty feet of open gut having the time of their life,” said Penelope.

      I’d had my share of pre-ass fuck enemas and while they hurt in a good way, they weren’t all that painful.  “You said it was painful,” I said.

     “Very, there’s tremendous water pressure and they use an astringent that makes your bowels burn and cramp.  They probably started screaming when it started and didn’t stop until the last turd got sucked out of their intestines.  It’s nothing like what happens when you douche out your hinnie for some boy cock,” said Penelope.

      The boldness of her remark surprised the shit out of me.  I wondered if she monitored my Web purchases and knew of my recent acquisition of a shower douche to speed the cleansing of my rectum.  I’d made its use part of my regular routine.  At that very moment, I could take nine inches in my poop chute and it would emerge poop free.

     Penelope had me at a disadvantage.  She seemed to know everything about me and I knew nothing about her other than my growing desire to publically humiliate the cunt.

     She reminded me of Stacy Winters, the class cock teaser we gang raped after a football game.  Having satisfied our enraged lust, we wrote whore and slut all over her body, stuffed oversized dildos in her pussy and ass, secured them with duct tape and tied her naked to the flag pole in front of the high school.  There was quite a crowd including Principal Mayhew gathered around taking pictures when I arrived for class.

     Strangely enough she suffered no long term emotional damage from the event, a keen disappointment to the football team and a reminder of just how mentally tough females are. 

     “I don’t have a boyfriend, strictly hetero here,” I said without conviction.

     “Sure you are, Simon,” said Penelope as she patted my rear.  “That little tushie of yours is still virgin.”

     That engendered more snickers from the MEs.  It was time to change the subject.  “It looks like his cock and balls were ripped off,” I said noting the jagged flesh.

     “Jerked or snapped off is more accurate.  We think the perps apply the strappado,” said Penelope shinning her light on a pulley in the ceiling.  “They ripped her tits off the same way.  They cauterize the wounds to keep them from bleeding out.”

     My Mom always taught me never to be afraid to ask a question even if it does make you look stupid.  “Strappado, I’m not familiar with the term.”

     Penelope looked at me as if I was a dumb shit then explained.  “It’s a form of torture that’s been around for centuries.  It was first used in Italy during the Inquisition but it is still used in Turkey and the Middle East. And of course, our military used it at Abu Ghraib before the bleeding hearts broke the story to the press.”  

     “So how does it work,” I asked?

     “They tie your hands behind your back like so,” said Penelope reaching behind her back and holding her wrists together.

     I could help but notice how that made her boobs stand out.  I felt a stirring in my groin that I hoped she wouldn’t notice.

     “Then they attach a rope to your wrists and using the pulley lift you off the ground.”

      Agent Grace bent over to demonstrate how the strappado would live your arms upward.  My horny brain formed a mental image of her slacks and panty down around her ankles.  My favorite officer of the law was switching his nine inches between her pussy and her ass as she begged me to fuck her harder.  I ordered myself to stop fantasizing.  There would be plenty of opportunity to fuck her once I had established my professional reputation.

      “Jesus, that must hurt,” I said.

      “It’s agonizing.  And that’s not all. In this case they tie a wire around the base of your cock and balls and attach weights.  They do the same to the female’s breasts.  Then they haul you up about ten feet.  They let you hang for a while.  Then they let you drop to where you almost touch the ground.  But the rope isn’t that long and you jerk to a stop.  It dislocates and eventually breaks your shoulders.”

      “And your cock and balls,” I asked?

      “They keep adding weights and repeating the lift and drop until they snap and splatter on the ground,” said Penelope shinning her light on a bloody spot on the floor.

     “We think they drive some sort of super RV,” said Penelope shinning her light on a set of tire tracks.  “It’s equipped for every kind of torture from electro to branding irons.”

     “But you still haven’t been able to find them,” I said wondering how many full sized RVs equipped as dungeons were tooling around on the nation’s roads.

     Penelope anticipated my question.  “It may not be registered as an RV.  These people are very clever.  But I have some ideas about how we can work together to catch them.”

Chapter 15 Sorry for Your Loss

      Officer Radnor found the wallets of the couple in a trash heap behind the warehouse.  I didn’t find it surprising they were charter members of the intelligentsia.  Smart people can get involved in some very dumb things.

     They were in their mid thirties and considered rising stars in the academic world.  The female was Margaret Powell Worthington, professor of Chinese history at Harvard and current occupant of the Lunenburg Chair for Asiatic Studies.  According to her bio she was a leading authority on the Han Dynasty.

      The owner of the separated penis was Wendell Myers Worthington, her husband, and a full professor at the Harvard School of Government.  He had recently published a well received text on macro economic theory.

           Penelope and I had the responsibility to convey the bad tidings to their restored Cambridge home in the Historical District where we encountered the Worthington’s two minor children and their maternal grandmother, a Dr. Carrie Nicholson, a GP with a private practice in nearby Belmont.

     Informing relatives of the fatality of their loved ones is the job we cops hate the most.  Standard procedure required that a grief counselor accompany us and luckily for me we were assigned, Nancy Aimes, an associate of mine who I occasionally boned to get past such unhappy situations.  Nancy considered it her duty to not only comfort the families but to provide the accompanying officers with a hot piece of ass to help them relieve stress and focus on solving the case.

     Penelope and I arrived at the Worthington home before Nancy arrived and were obliged to wait in the car for her.  The waiting gave me time to think and I found myself thinking about Nancy’s non standard approach to grief counseling.

     Some of my fellow officers have guiltily admitted to looking forward to informing families of their loved one’s demise knowing that it meant a roll in the hay with winsome Nancy who pulled out all the stops preferring to begin her therapy by playing the officer’s Rusty Trombone.

     After my last visit to the bereaved wife of a lawyer killed at random in a liquor store holdup, Nancy had swabbed out the first two inches of my rectum with her tongue then proceeded to give me an incredible blowjob with a Las Vegas finish that rocked my world.

    That brought to mind the tale that Matt, the office asshole, was spreading about his most recent tryst with Nancy.  According to that deviant, he had persuaded her that only a chili dog would allow him to process the trauma of informing a husband that his bride of two weeks had been raped, tortured, mutilated, and killed by a homicidal maniac.

     Nancy, always a trooper, agreed to Matt taking a dump between her large breasts then using the poo as lubricant for a tit fuck.  Unbeknownst to her, a concealed video camera operated by Matt’s perverted wife captured the scatological event.  Seventeen minutes of hard core HD video was making the rounds of the department.  I considered Matt’s behavior very unprofessional in its treatment of a fellow officer.

     In my experience, chili dogs were only appropriate for females who had betrayed their significant other by having sex outside the relationship without permission and lying about it.  That normally involved filling the miscreant with booze and/or drugs until she was helpless but not comatose.   It was important she be impaired to the point she was mentally aware but physically helpless.  Perform a chili dog on a totally passed out female was considered pointless.  The woman had to know she was being shit on as punishment for her misdeeds.

     In my college fraternity, we had an elaborate ritual.  The offended partner and selected brothers would consume several 14.5 ounce cans of Hormel chili at a formal dinner.  There was some debate whether the “with or without beans” variety achieved the best results when it came to the consistency of the dump.  A diarrhea like bowel movement was obviously superior to a pile of well formed logs.

      Once the female was properly drugged, she would be stripped and a set of “before” pictures made.  These began with her fully clothed and ended with her naked, spread out on a plastic sheet and the words, “whore”, “slut,” and “cunt” written in block letters on her anatomy.

     The offended frat brother would then take a pair of needle nose pliers and capture the tip of her nipple.  He would extend the tendril of flesh to the maximum and give it a couple of twists.  His best friend would then tie a slip knot of fishing line at the base.  This was repeated with the other nipple connecting the two breasts and giving the brothers a means to hold her boobs close together during the chili dog.

     Ducolax or some other strong laxative was then passed around to the chili dog team.  The offended party went first.  The brothers braced his squat as he evacuated his bowels.  The look on their face when they saw the sphincter open and spew a half gallon on loose shit was priceless and one we worked hard to capture on film.  If offal went in her mouth, so much the better.

     As soon as she was coated in excrement, the offended party took a seat on her chest, positioned his cock between her breasts, grabbed the fishing line and gave it a twist to create the bun effect and began to pump toward her open mouth.  If she refused for hygiene reasons to open her mouth, a two pronged hook made from a coat hanger was inserted in her nostrils and pulled, creating the desired open mouth effect.

     Still images and pictures were made of the event carefully omitting the face and any identifying features of the shitter.  As soon as he dumped his load on her face, the next shitter took his place.  By the time, the ritual ended the girl was buried in poo from her waist to the crown of her head.

      Images and video were carefully edited by a frat brother skilled in the visual arts.  The final product was loaded onto what we called the, “Server of Shame,” located in the frat house attic.  The Server’s URL was emailed to the student body and the girl’s parents.  It was about as apt a punishment for an unfaithful lover as one could imagine.  College memories can last a lifetime. 

     My reverie was interrupted by Nancy’s arrival.

     “Are you going to shit on her tits and do a chili dog,” asked Penelope as we watched Nancy park?

     Her question surprised me.  The woman seemed to know everything of significance about Boston PD.

     “I haven’t decided.  But it does not seem an appropriate way to treat a fellow officer of the law,” I said.

     “It’s not so bad.  Happened to me a couple of times,” said Penelope as we exited to the sidewalk.

     The grandmother proved to be a stalwart individual.  She summoned her husband and several friends to be with the children then sat down with us to be interviewed.

     “I told Margaret not to go.  Clubs like that are dangerous,” said Dr. Nicholson.  “There was no need to go anywhere. There is a fully equipped dungeon in the basement.”

     “What club was that,” asked Penelope?

     The grandmother looked uncomfortable while she made her decision to talk.  It isn’t easy to reveal your deceased daughter and her husband were perverted and into serious S&M.   But once she made her decision, she held nothing back.

     “Club Macabre, it’s an organization that caters to certain exotic tastes of a sexual nature,” said Dr. Nicholson.
     “It’s a local BDSM club, very exclusive,” I offered for Penelope’s edification.  “It’s tied to my other case.”

     “Your daughter confided in you that much?” asked Penelope surprised that the mother and daughter were that close.  Your average sibling would find it hard to confess to Mom and Dad she gets off having her ass whipped for fun.  However, I recalled that Cambridge and especially the area around Harvard was a center for hardcore S&M.  There were a number of campus organizations devoted to bondage and sadism.  And it was common for more than one generation of the same family to join and play together.

      “Margaret and I were very close.  We used to play together when she was younger.  Lately, she’s become more extreme in her play.  I blame her husband, Wendell.  He was into edge play and refused to set limits.  That can be very dangerous when you play with strangers,” said Dr. Nicholson.

      “Do you have any idea where they went Saturday?” asked Penelope.

      “Not exactly, but Wendell mentioned something about it being a quick trip to the South End,” said Dr. Nicholson.

      There was an area of the South End filled with warehouses and lofts. It was a favorite locale for raves and similar out of control drug fests.  It was a frequent destination for Boston’s college population.  The warehouse district averaged several gang rapes a weekend.

      “Anything else,” asked Penelope?

      “Only that he was looking forward to an extreme session with a new couple who were both dominants,” said Dr. Nicholson.

     “Your son-in-law was a submissive,” asked Penelope?

     “Sexually yes and so was Margaret, that was why they needed others to play.  Herman, that’s my husband, is a sub while I am dominant.  We were able to enjoy each other,” said Dr. Nicholson.

      “But your daughter and her husband needed others to dominate them,” asked Penelope?

      “Yes, at first, I dominated them along with Margaret’s Uncle Travis but Travis had a minor stroke while applying the cane to Zenobia’s bottom,” said Dr. Nicholson.

      “Zenobia,” asked Penelope?

      “His wife, she’s British.  You know how much our cousins love the feel of the lash and in particular the Malacca cane.  I suppose that comes from their school system,” said Dr. Nicholson.

     The interview ended with a tour of the basement dungeon.  It was similar to other S&M play spaces I’d experienced, perhaps a little better equipped than most.  There was a punishment station consisting of a St. Andrews cross and an English style whipping bench.  Both appeared well used.

     “Margaret was a talented submissive.  She could orgasm when a quirt was applied to her breasts,” said Dr. Nicholson picking up a short vicious looking whip from the collection hung on the wall. 

      “Beautiful workmanship,” said Penelope taking the whip from the doctor and examining it. 

      “It’s Australian.  They make the best from kangaroo.  It doesn’t absorb blood and change color,” said Dr. Nicholson.

     “Turks Head knots,” said Penelope admiring a flogger.

     “Yes, only for the serious and experienced pain lover, I see you know your whips.  Is that something they teach at the FBI Academy?” said Dr. Nicholson giving Penelope a knowing look.

     “No, just something I picked up after graduation.  I specialize in sex crimes,” said Penelope.

     I was beginning to think working with Penelope wouldn’t be so bad.  We asked questions as Dr. Nicholson showed us the rest.  Several models of fuck benches were lined up beside a swing.

      “They were both bisexual and loved to fist,” said Dr. Nicholson giving the swing a slight push.

      Next was bondage with lots of implements for tormenting the sensitive parts of the body.  If your idea of a good time was being suspended with an inflatable butt plug in your ass and twenty pounds of weights stretching your balls, the Worthingtons could accommodate you.

    One corner of the room contained a toilet, a rim seat, and enema gear.  A three quart pumpkin bag hung from a hook and there was a large bottle of Castile soap.  They had all the equipment need to fill your colon and keep it filled until you begged them to let you shit. 

    “They both loved estim,” said Dr. Nicholson pointing to a jumble of control boxes, probes, and contact pads.

     “It can be a marvelous experience,” said Penelope examining a G-spot double electrode.

      “You have experienced electro play,” asked Dr. Nicholson?

      “Not as much as I would like,” said Penelope staring intently at the device.

      Things were getting a little heavy so I changed the subject.  Next thing I knew, the good doctor would have that probe in Penelope’s snatch feeding her G-spot enough amps to blow her mind.

      “They filmed their sessions,” I asked pointing to a tripod mounted video camera.

      “Oh yes, they loved to play before the camera,” said Dr. Nicholson opening a nearby cabinet to reveal hundreds of DVD discs.

      “We’ll need to take them as evidence.  They may have played here with their killers,” said Penelope a little too eagerly.

      I expected an argument about privacy but Dr. Nicholson quickly agreed and even located two empty cardboard boxes to carry them.  Penelope quickly divided the DVDs between the boxes.

     I had reached the conclusion my FBI partner was definitely into kink and BDSM.  I found myself fantasizing I was shitting on her tits after I had whipped them bloody.

      “Interesting case,” I said loading my box of DVDs into the trunk of my Crown Vic.

      “Very, we can split the DVDs.  We both watch half,” said Penelope looking too excited for a serious hard working law officer pursuing serial killers.  Just being in the Worthington’s dungeon had turned her on.  She was going to go home, pop one of the DVDs in the player, get naked, and jerk off.  I was starting to like her more because I planned to do the same.

      “It’s getting late,” I said looking at my watch.

      “Let’s meet tomorrow at 9:00 and review the evidence,” said Penelope scurrying toward her car with her prized box of S&M porn.

      

      

    

    

Chapter 16 My Dark Side Surfaces

     “You’re going off the deep end, Simon.  You should take your sister’s advice.  Get married and have kids.  Settle down.  Keep going the way you are and some pervert will be sticking his cock in your cold dead asshole,” I said to the empty car as I pulled into the morgue’s parking lot.  Fucking the dead was starting to appeal to me.

     The old saying you are what you fuck came to mind and gave me pause.  Or was that you are what you eat.  It was almost midnight.  Two hours ago, I’d received a text invitation from Dr. Denise Jared.

     “Hot couple dying to fuck, join the party at midnight,” was all it said.  I probably would have ignored her invite except for the attached image.

     A naked boy and girl wrapped together in a ball hanging from an overhead beam like a Christmas ornament.  Later, I learned they were MIT students who would never reach their full potential.

     Cindy Tsang was an absolutely gorgeous Chinese American with a perfect SAT score whose genius IQ got her into college at sixteen.  According to her Wikipedia bio, she was Kristi Yamaguchi, Stephen Hawking and Yo Yo Ma rolled into one tight ass coed who could give the Pope a hard on.  Perusal of her Facebook entry which included a pair of thong bikini pictures was cock hardening.

     Her partner in death was Will Cosgrove, a scholar athlete from Valdosta, Georgia who at seventeen already held several important patents in computer technology and was an Olympic candidate in the pentathlon.

     All this brainpower, athletic ability, and talent came to an end when Will and Cindy developed an interest in asphyxiaphilla.  Gaspers off themselves or their partners more often than you would think especially among the college set.  At a certain age, you develop the wisdom that no matter how great the orgasm, it’s not worth dying for or winding up with crushed cervical vertebrae.

     The two precocious kids engineered a platform that rhythmically raised and lowered two feet.  They attached two ropes of the correct length to the ceiling, fashioned a hangman’s knot on the ends, placed it around their necks and flipped the ON switch.  Cindy wrapped her legs around Will’s muscular torso then slid him inside her for the ultimate gasper fuck.

     As the platform lowered the rope tightened until they were slowly strangled.  At its lowest point they were left suspended in air until the platform rose relieving the pressure.  What a stupid idea although supposedly an awesome way to fuck.  

     According to their fellow students, it was an act they performed numerous times with great success.   They even allowed their friends to give it a try.  Word spread around campus that your college education wasn’t complete until you’d been fucked and choked on Will’s amazing machine.

     Normally, Will’s best friend and dorm mate, Henry Tate, was present to act as a safety man in return for which he got sloppy seconds with brainy and promiscuous Cindy.  But Henry was delayed by a lab experiment gone awry and the couple unwisely started without him.

     In spite of Will’s engineering brilliance, he failed to notice a loose bolt on the platform’s supports. At the exact wrong moment, the structure collapsed, leaving the two suspended in the throes of orgasm.  It was slow death by strangulation in which Cindy showed spunk by keeping Will’s hard cock in her love tunnel.   In the picture they looked liked Satan’s idea of a Christmas decoration.

     No doubt the parents would sue MIT for failing to properly supervise their progeny.

     I’d only expect Dr. Denise Jared to be present but there were three people waiting for me in the morgue.

      “Simon, this is my sister, Diane, and her husband, Jake,” said Denise.

      It turned out Jake owned a New England based chain of funeral homes and Diane was the medical examiner for the city of Lynn.  Fucking the dead obviously ran in the family and who better to get first choice of prime meat than a mortician and an ME.

      Sister and brother-in-law more than qualified as fuckable in my opinion.  Late thirties Diane was MILF material.  She was wearing a lab coat unbuttoned to display the black hose and garter belt that completed her costume.  Plastic surgery had trimmed her labia and freed her clit from its surrounding tissue.

     Two inches of dangling love button makes one hell of a statement about the owner’s world view.  Clits you can suck like a mini cock are much preferred over those you can’t.  Plus in my vast experience females with a hoodectomy are always horny.

     A fully naked Jake possessed a gym toned body with a thick nine inch handle.  He must have been on some kind of erectile dysfunction drug because his cock looked hard enough to strike a match on.  My butt hole squeezed tight at the possibility he would be splitting it open.

     A table in the center of the room held our intertwined love interests covered by a sheet.

      “Aren’t they gorgeous,” exclaimed Denise when she whipped the sheet of the dead lovers.

      I found it mildly disquieting that my cock hardened as I viewed the deceased.  Outside of a stretched neck and a protruding tongue, they looked almost normal.

      Jake and I got our queer side working as the sisters carefully peeled the pair apart.

      “Denise said that you’re bi,” asked Jake reaching for my fly as he knelt down.  His hands were quick and warm as he exposed my hardening penis.

      “Definitely bi,” I answered as he flicked his tongue over the tip. 

      I leaned back against a table allowing Jake to establish he was one hell of a cocksucker.  While Jake worked his magic, I watched the sisters inject the late Will Cosgrove’s balls using a syringe loaded with Denise’s secret formula. 

     Diane’s hands squeezed his scrotum hard isolating one nut so her sister could perform the injection.  I winced as the wide gauge needle broke the surface of the skin and descended halfway into the fleshy orb.  If Will had been alive, he would have wished he was dead.

     Dead man’s Viagra worked in seconds bringing Will’s penis to an impressive size that I doubt it achieved while living.  The skin was stretched to translucence and his nuts were the size of grapefruits.  The girls slapped it several times then took a few licks, seemingly satisfied with the result.

     “How about a squirt,” whispered Jake anxious to establish his bonafides as a no limits pig?

     “Sure,” I said closing my eyes to focus on releasing my bladder. 

     The key to piss drinking is to piss slowly.  Of course, some guys want you to piss all over them but others want the satisfaction of emptying your reservoir.  They’re after that warm feeling you get from a belly full of body temperature urine.

     Girls are just as much into water sports as boys although most won’t admit it.  I suppose it’s not considered ladylike if you got a yin to imbibe your boy friend’s pee.  Nikki claims all her BFFs are pissaholics.

     My sister Arlene went though a stage in high school where she insisted Winston and I fill an ice tea glass with urine.  She would then add ice and a sprig of mint for what she called a, “Pee Julep.”  She preferred to drink her Pee Juleps sitting on the commode urinating.  My sister can be a little weird on occasion.

      Jake kept up with my flow swallowing each mouthful until my tank was empty.  By the time, he imbibed my golden liqueur I was hard as a rock and eager to fuck a corpse.

      “You guys come here.  We got a treat for you,” said Denise standing beside Cindy’s corpse.

      I watched as Diane climbed on the table and forced Will’s chemically expanded salami in her twat.  You could tell it hurt from the expression on her face and the loud grunts she made as each inch of that pussy destroyer disappeared in her hole.

      “Diane doesn’t believe in lube.  She takes her cock raw,” whispered Jake.     

      “Fuck my cunt, you bastard,” shouted Diane obviously in serious pain.   One hand was spanking her girl dick as she bounced up and down.

      “You can go first, Simon, since you’re new,” said Denise handing me one end of a length of plastic tubing.  The other end was inserted in Cindy’s vagina.

     The idea of sucking a dead boy’s semen out of a dead girl’s pussy might strike your average male as too far out.  However, I wasn’t average.  I placed the end of the tube in my mouth and sucked hard.   I watched as my reward traveled through the clear plastic to fill my mouth.

      “Care to share,” asked Denise taking me in her arms.

      I crushed her nipples between my thumb and forefingers as we swapped the liquid back and forth.  Behind me, Jake was sucking out a mouthful of pussy aged semen.

      “Don’t hog it.  Give me some, Simon,” said Diane bouncing on Will’s cock.

      I kissed Diane while Jake moved the tube from Cindy’s pussy to her ass.  He had astutely noticed a trickle of jism seeping from that orifice.  Whether it was Will’s or someone else’s we would never know.

     Jake established his extreme hard core credentials by emptying that cavity.  Eager to prove my own high level of perversity, I kissed Jake, accepted half his offering and shared it with his wife.  It was one hell of a way to start a party.

      Fluids consumed I climbed on the table and booty licked Diane to prepare her for DP.  I switched my tongue between her brownie and Will’s balls.   Diane’s vagina looked stretched to the max as she took all dead Will had to offer.  Her truncated labia clang to his cock threatening to pull her pussy inside out. 

     Her anus had the ragged look of the frequently ass fucked.  She was a natural gaper and I had no problem burying my tongue inches deep in her shit hole.  Her breed of MILF believed douching out your rectum before anal was a waste of good shit.  My libido went into overdrive as I inhaled the aroma and savored the flavor of girl shit.

     Beside me Jake was slurping away on dead Cindy’s recently fucked snatch while Denise engaged in anilingus.

     “Fuck man, she’d still juicy,” murmured Jake as he forced his lips and tongue in her hole.  He was rooting in her cunt like a French pig searching for truffles.

     Denise was just as noisily playing her brother-in-law’s Rusty Trombone jerking his cock with one hand while she rubbed her pussy with the other. 

     “Kiss me, Simon,” ordered Denise taking a break from rimming.

     I turned in her direction noting with satisfaction the brown ring around her mouth.  I must have been in the same state because she licked my lips to sample her sister’s butt fertilizer. 

     Shit sharing done, I retuned to Diane’s opening with renewed vigor.  I forced four fingers past her sphincter to loosen her up for a butt fucking. They looked like fudge pops when I pulled them out so I reached around and stuck them in Diane’s mouth.  The greedy cunt sucked them clean then begged me to do it again.

      She lifted off Will’s cock so I could suck it. 

      “I’ll rim you while you give him head,” said Diane switching places.

     I was turned on, almost out of control.  I lifted Will’s legs to expose her anus then tongue fucked his brownie.  MIT is a bisexual campus.  I detected the smell of semi fresh semen as I forced the tip of my tongue past his sphincter.

     Diane feasted on my anus as her hands worked my cock and balls.

     “You’re nice and ripe,” said Diane pushing fingers coated with my feces in my mouth.   “Maybe for a finale, you can take a dump on my face and tits.”

      Before sunrise, I tried every position available to four living and two dead humans.  I fucked dead Cindy’s cunt and ass, Will’s ass, and all the orifices of my three fellow necrophiliacs.

     Having Will’s over inflated cock in my ass was beyond hot.   I took every inch of that monster even though the pain brought tears to my eyes.  The fact that it owner was several hours dead made it even hotter.

     After three hours of non stop perversity, my gun registered empty.  But I was so out of control I allowed Denise to inject my nuts with a small dose of her magic elixir.  It wasn’t as bad as you might think.  She used a fine gage needle and I only felt a small pinch.

     In a few seconds, I was ready to fuck again. 

     “Time is getting short.  This is for the finale,” said Denise shoving a suppository containing a powerful laxative up my ass.   Immediately, I felt my guts begin to rumble.

      Denise and Diane lay with their heads together as Jake and I squatted over their faces.  We kissed and jerked each other’s cocks as we released our bowels.  We added a couple of squirts of jism to the girl’s facial decorations.

      I was so exhausted I barely made it home and my bed.  I was still asleep eight hours later when the phone rang.  It was Penelope and she wanted to see me right away.  

       

      

    

Chapter 17 Penelope’s Big Surprise

     Penelope and I were in a sandwich shop on Mass Ave when she described her plan to catch the killers.  She surprised the hell out of me. 

      “You say you have an entre to Club Macabre,” said Penelope looking very serious.  She’d seemed on edge.  Something was up I could tell.

      “Yes, an old friend, Violent Addison, has offered to sponsor me,” I said.

     “Is she someone you fucked before,” asked Penelope trying to make her use of the F word sound normal?

     I sometimes answer nosy questions in ways calculated to shock the questioner.

     “Yes, I screwed the whole family, Violet plus her mom and dad and two of the maids.  Violet’s parents are dead now.  Her mother was a great lady,” I said before taking a bite of my Panini.

      “Christ! Is there anyone in Beantown you haven’t fucked,” said Penelope with a look of disgust?

      “I haven’t fucked you,” I said.

      “That brings me to my point.  Can this Violet be persuaded to sponsor us as a submissive couple,” asked Penelope?

     I wasn’t sure I heard her right.  Clarification was needed.

     “Us, as in you and me, pretending that we are a married couple, submitting to the sexual whims of the most depraved people in the commonwealth since the days of the Puritan Saints,” I said.

     “Yes, we have to find the killers responsible before they decamp for another city.  If they leave Boston, I’ll have to start all over again.  I’ll probably be taken off the case,” said Penelope looking upset at the possibility of failure on a high profile crime.

     “But you have any idea what that would require of us,” I asked?  This was the same female who a couple of days ago had threatened my life and career if I came on to her.

     “Yes, I have to have sex with you along with other members of Club Macabre including females.  There would be sex, pain, and perversions.  I think I should warn you that I’m not very experienced in the world of kinky sex.  I wish there was another way but it’s worth it if it saves lives,” said Penelope tilting her chin upward and straightening her shoulders to communicate what a heroic sacrifice she was offering.

     “Dogs too,” I added.  Obviously, she had no idea other members of the animal kingdom may be involved.  I left out horses, burros, and chimpanzees.  I didn’t want to frighten her.  Violet had mentioned that they have a specially designed fixture that permits a horse or donkey to safely mount a female.  Violet had qualified the term safely by adding, “Of course, my cervix bled for a week afterwards.”

     “You mean members are expected to have sex with dogs?  That’s disgusting and illegal,” said Penelope looking aghast.

      “Look, you need to understand that in their world there are very few limits.  You’ll be with people who have no qualms about making you wrap your lips around a slimy dog cock and swallow every drop of what comes out including piss,” I said trying to make sure she understood what would be expected.  “You will be subjected to the complete repertory of the Marquis de Sade plus a host of perverted acts he didn’t think of.

     I ate quietly while she mulled it over.  Obviously she hadn’t considered all the possibilities.  After a few minutes, she changed her expression and made an announcement.

     “The case is too important to allow my petty scruples to get in the way.  People are dying,” said Penelope with more of the Joan of Arc look in her eyes.     

      I had a slightly different perspective.  She is an ambitious career woman.  Solving a big case would put her on the fast track to a senior position in the bureau.  I’d heard the Agent In Charge or AIC of the Boston Office was on the verge of retirement.  Boston was an important regional office, responsible for all of New England. 

      “Are you sure you’re okay with that,” I asked uncertain what might happen if I pronged the bitch and we failed to solve the case.

      “Yes, but I expect you to keep your mouth shut.  If my panty goes up on the bulletin board in your squad room signed with your name and mine, I will personally slit open your ball sack and remove your testicles,” said Penelope holding up a dinner knife to emphasize her point. 

      She was one tough cunt and my scrotum twinged at the prospect of her doing exactly that.  My recent brush with castration had made me wary of losing my balls.

      “I swear I will not carve a Penelope Grace notch in my bedpost.  I’ll take to my grave what ever happens.  I promise,” I said wondering how long I would have to wait before I told my brother officers that I had nailed her.  I pictured myself chewing on her nipples until they were bleeding and raw.  I questioned whether she really understood what she was getting herself into.  There was another consideration, however.       

      “You’re married,” I said broaching a topic that needed to be discussed.  I’d gotten in trouble laying pipe to the spouse of a fellow law enforcement officer.  Karl Grace led a FBI hostage rescue team and according to my illicit search of FBI personnel files was a highly skilled marksperson.

     The possibility my head would explode like JFK’s occurred to me.  I’d be leaving work and Karl would be a mile away on the roof of the Federal Building with a sniper rifle. 

      Karl would whisper, “Die, you wife fucking bastard,” as he squeezed the trigger.  My brains would spray out over the pavement in a fine mist.

     “I told him last night about our plans.  He agreed but with certain provisions that involve you.  I need your cooperation in meeting his requirements,” said Penelope.

     I had no part in making, “our plans,” not that it mattered.  I wondered if Karl had already taken position for a kill shot the moment I left the sandwich shop.

     “Cooperate how,” I asked?

     Penelope looked thoughtful for a brief second before plunging ahead.

     “You’re married to someone for fourteen years and think you know them but you’re wrong.  There are always surprises.  I’d expected Karl to grudgingly agree or say no way was he going to let you and a bunch of strangers screw me but I was so wrong,” said Penelope misting up a little.

     It appeared that Karl did not belong to that caste of noble men who prize and protect their wife’s virtue above all else.  Penelope had wrongly assumed he was her knight in shining armor.  I suppose finding out your husband is not particularly concerned who fucks you is disconcerting.

     “Well, it is an important case and people are dying,” I offered to hurry her along.  My curiosity was raging out of control.

     “Karl wants to watch us,” blurted out Penelope.

     “Watch us what,” I asked being disingenuous?  After the way, she had humiliated me at the crime scene yesterday, I was extracting payback.  It was a stupid question and of course I knew the answer.  Keeping a smile off my face kept every ounce of self control I possessed.

     “Make love,” said Penelope.

     I had experience of husbands who get turned on watching other men screw their wives.  There is a category of Craig’s List where one finds MW4M advertisements.   The man and woman or MW are usually looking for a well hung male  or M who will plow the wife’s furrow while hubby videos the action.  Blacks and Latinos are much preferred for this kind of film.  Watching a long hard ebony cock descend into your wife’s white pussy is the ultimate turn on for some.

     Years ago, on a lark I answered such ads with my picture and stats.  Most of the couples turned out to be in their forties and fifties.  However the wives weren’t all that bad and the husbands showed their appreciation by sucking my sperm from their wives’ love tunnel like it was mother’s milk.

     Often, the husbands sometimes had a hidden agenda involving humiliation of a domineering wife.  I didn’t know Karl Grace but I knew his wife was a castrating bitch who probably made Karl seem less of a man.  My guess was that Karl would agree to and join in anything that degraded her. 

     “He would be present,” I asked?

     “Yes, he wants to make a video.  I assume you would have no problem performing in front of an audience,” said Penelope showing a surprising naïveté about Karl’s real motives.

     In my view, the video was a dead giveaway as to what Karl really wanted.  A permanent record of proud Penelope brought low.

     I’d fucked women and men with hundreds watching.  Being watched was a turn on. 

     “No, I can handle that,” I said.

     “Karl is very organized.  He made a list of things he wants us to do,” said Penelope reaching into her purse for a sheet of paper.

     It was a printout of an Excel spreadsheet.

     “This is quite a list,” I said after scanning from top to bottom.  I’d be a busy little wife fucker.  Anal was at the top of the list along with ass play.  It was in alphabetical order.

     “So can you come to dinner tonight?  We’re having veal marsala,” said Penelope.

     “I’d be delighted,” I said after going through the motions of checking my Blackberry.  I planned to give Penelope Morgan Grace the most degrading fuck of her life.  I had a few things of my own to add to Karl’s spreadsheet.

***

      “That was wonderful.  I seldom get a good home cooked meal,” I said as Karl cleared the plates.

      It was a sincere compliment.  The veal was perfect.  I don’t cook and other than taking a pizza out of the freezer and sticking it in the oven I had never seen Nikki or Darlene perform in the kitchen.  Nor for that matter did they clean up after themselves.  Fucking was their only domestic skill, but they were superb at.

      I was in the historic Boston suburb of Lexington, where the embattled Minutemen stood and fired the shot heard round the world.   However, the Grace home was recently constructed on a quiet cul-de-sac.  I suppose the current term is McMansion.  When I arrived, Karl gave me for a tour of the five bedrooms, three and a half bath domicile while Penelope finished up dinner.

     He proudly showed me his basement workshop where he turned out his version of Early American furniture.  There was a certain awkwardness when we entered the master bedroom suite.  The king bed was stripped down to the top sheet with the bedding folded neatly on a nearby chair.  Tripod mounted video cameras were positioned on each side of the bed.

      “Who’s going to edit the video,” I asked taking a look through the camera’s viewfinder?

      “A buddy of mine has the hardware and software to get the job done,” said Karl keeping his voice low.

      I was a little surprised Karl would turn over the video to a buddy.  Didn’t he realize his friend would keep a copy to jerk off to or post on an amateur porn Wed site for the world to view?  Some people are very naïve when it comes to such matters.

      “Can you email me a finished copy,” I asked?

      “Yes, as long as Pen doesn’t know,” whispered Karl.

      I pictured myself hosting a squad meeting in the upstairs room at The Shield where I would show the video.  The after hours police club was a great place for the guys to get together after work and swap stories about who they had been fucking.  Putting it to an FBI couple would up my status.         

      It had been a very quiet dinner.  My hosts were more than a little nervous which led to their consumption of two bottles of pinot grigio.  I’d worked hard at small talk, something I’m not good at.  Their two boys were spending the night at Karl’s sister thereby removing the possibility they would blunder in and catch their mother with my dick in her mouth.

      “If it’s all right, we can have coffee and dessert afterwards.  Karl made a chocolate truffle tart,” said Penelope.

      “A tart after a tart,” I said making a lame joke.

      That occasioned some forced laughter from the pair.  I decided it was time to get the party rolling.

      “Karl, tell me about the first time you screwed your wife,” I asked boldly in hope of breaking the ice with sex talk.

      That brought on a sharp look from Penelope but Karl smiled and appeared to take pleasure in recounting their first time.  He was pretty straightforward about it.

      “We started dating right after we graduated Quantico.  It was our second date.   After dinner we went back to my place and made out on the couch.  She got worked up after I finger fucked her pussy.  She practically raped me,” said Karl.

     “It was our fifth date,” interrupted Penelope.

     “Only if you count having lunch together in the cafeteria as a date,” said Karl.

     “How long did it take to get to second base,” I asked?

     “She let me feel her tits on the first date,” said Karl after considering my question.

     “You did not,” said Penelope.

     “You got your hand inside her bra on the first date.  That’s pretty sluttish,” I asked.

      “Yes, sweet little Penelope was practically a nympho in those days.  I thought she was going to put out then but she backed off at the last minute, probably to keep me from thinking she was a whore,” said Karl.

      “Take off your top so we can see your tits, Penelope,” I said.

      “Can’t we wait until we’re in the bedroom,” asked Penelope her face showing the first signs of disquiet?  She had wrongly supposed it was going to be a quick fuck and out the door.

      “Simon said for you to strip, so do it.  Remember our agreement,” said Karl in a no nonsense voice.

      Obviously, Penelope’s willingness to sacrifice her honor on the altar of her career had made Karl the signal caller.  For the first time in years he was showing he still had a pair of balls.

      “All right,” she said attacking the first button on her blouse thereby acknowledging inferior status. 

      I have always had a good sense of family dynamics.  My assumptions about the nature of the Grace’s relationship were turning out to be correct. 

     While Penelope started to disrobe I decided it was time for my first unexpected move of the evening.  I took a phial of pills out of my pocket, opened it, and swallowed a couple of tablets.  I then tossed the phial to Karl.

      “Your wife is a hot piece of tail and normally I would empty my gun inside an hour but with these help of these little babies, I’ll still be hammering it home when the sun comes up.  Take a couple and you will be right with me,” I said.

      “Sounds like one hell of a good idea,” said Karl downing two tablets with wine.

      Penelope, struggling out of her bra, was too late to object but she did anyway.

      “Karl, please be reasonable,” said Penelope reaching behind to unsnap her bra.

      “I am being reasonable.  You agreed to this evening and I agreed to your going undercover.  Nothing is going to happen tonight that won’t happen while you and Simon are at that club.  I’ve heard about what happens in sex clubs,” said Karl.

      “Nice,” I said reaching for Penelope’s breast to work her nipple.  It was a big firm boob with an elongated nipple, the kind women develop after a couple of kids.  “Did you nurse your boys?”

      “She certainly did.  She nursed John so long it became embarrassing.  My sister said it was perverted to have a child his age sucking at her breast,” said Karl.

      “He is a sensitive child and he needed me to stay close,” said Penelope.

      “Once I caught her playing with her pussy while little John was sucking her dug,” said Karl.

      “Being horny and breast feeding are two totally different things,” said Penelope.

      “Sounds a little twisted to me, Penelope.  Did you get any breast milk, Karl?  When my sister was nursing my nephew, she let me suck whatever tit was available.”

      “Once or twice, not as much as I would have liked,” said Karl.

      Odd things get mentioned during wife fucking sessions.

      “Take the rest of your clothes off, Penelope.  So Karl, you were telling me about your second date.  Be explicit,” I said.

      “She unzipped my pants, pulled out my cock and offered to blow me.  She didn’t object when I pulled up her skirt and pushed her panty aside.  She was wearing those stay up hose instead of pantyhose and a thong so she was available.  I took that as a sign she was looking to get laid,” said Karl.

      “Had you heard any stories about her acting like a slut before you met,” I asked?

      “Yes, there was a rumor around she was screwing one of the firing range instructors.  She was having trouble qualifying.  Qualification was a requirement for graduation.  She screwed him in return for his adding a few points to her score.”

      “That’s a lie.  I’m an excellent shot,” said Penelope stepping out of her skirt.

      “You are now that I worked with you,” said Karl who was not only an expert marksperson but a range instructor.

      “Anything else,” I asked?

       “Not at Quantico but supposedly she was a big party girl at UMass and passed out at the Sigma Chi house and wound up pulling a train.  She had the reputation of being an easy lay,” said Karl.

      “You seem well informed,” I said.

      “One of the perks of working for the Bureau,” said Karl.

      “Did you shave your pussy today, Penelope,” I asked noting the appearance of her bald cunt?

      “I went to the spa for a Brazilian,” said Penelope spreading her hairless labia.

      “Excellent move, and did you clean out your rectum?” I asked.  “Karl’s list included anal intercourse so I assumed you douched the Hershey Highway.”

      Her face said she hadn’t.

      “I didn’t know that was necessary.  Maybe we should skip anal tonight,” said Penelope.

      “No way, you promised,” said Karl.

      “I wouldn’t want to make a mess,” said Penelope.

      “It’s not a problem we can’t solve.  Stand up, Penelope,” I said.

      “Why, what are you going to do,” asked Penelope?

      “Just do as Simon says.  You agreed to act submissive.  So be that,” said Karl with an edge to his voice.

      Penelope stood up.  I took her hand and pulled her close to my chair.

      “Suck on my finger,” I said placing my index finger on her lips.

      I half expected her to object.  She seemed on the verge of tears.  But she complied.

      “Good, now turn around, bend over and grab your ankles,” I said placing my hand on her bare hip to push in the right direction. 

       There was an audible sob, a brief hesitation, and then she bent forward.  Later I learned she practiced Iyengar yoga.  She was as flexible as they come.  She was also a skinny bitch outside of the big tits.

       “This is so fucking hot.  Wait a minute while I grab a camera,” said Karl getting up and running in the direction of the master bedroom.

       “It seems your significant other wants a permanent record of tonight’s events,” I said running my fingers between her labia.  She gave a little cry at my touch.

       “God, what have I gotten myself into,” sobbed Penelope.

       “This is nothing compared to what will happen at Club Macabre.  I talked to Violet Addison by the way.  She called the Club’s admissions director.  We are provisionally accepted at the next meeting,” I said fanning my thumb across her clitoris as my fingers probed her opening.

       “Got it,” said Karl returning with one of the video cameras.

       “Pull you butt cheeks apart so Karl can film your butthole,” I said.

       While Karl brought the camera in close, I spit on Penelope’s ass then smeared it over her anus.  There was a small amount of hemorrhoid scaring, not that much for a woman who had two kids.  I’ve screwed buttholes that look cabbages.

     “When was the last time you stuck your cock in her shitter, Karl,” I asked pushing my finger one joint deep into her anus?  Penelope responded with a grunt then more sobs and a squeaky wail of shame.

       My manhood was pressing hard against the front of my pants.  There is nothing more cock hardening that the mournful noise of a proud educated white female being sexually humiliated.

      “Only once, it was on our honeymoon in Antigua.  She got drunk and passed out.  The next day she was furious with me.  She claimed I gave her hemorrhoids.

      “I hope you got some Preparation H in the medicine chest because tonight she’s going to learn how it feels to have two big dicks split open her rosebud.  She’s be prolapsed by dawn,” I said forcing my finger deep in her rectum.

      That brought on more sobs and a declaration.

      “Go ahead you bastards.  Do anything you want.  I don’t care,” said Penelope tears starting to really flow as I vigorously finger fucked her sphincter.

      If Karl was feeling any sympathy for his wife of fourteen years, he didn’t show it.

      “Those pills worked.  I’m really hard,” said Karl unzipping his fly and pulling out his erect but average sized cock.  His other hand was holding the camera making sure he kept a complete record of his wife’s humiliation.

      “Sounds like she changed from a horny slut who fucked on your second date to an uptight bitch,” I said.

      “I’m lucky if I get it once a month and that’s only after I beg,” said Karl stroking and filming simultaneously.

      “I’m afraid we are going to need to clean out your butt, Penelope,” I said after examining my brown stained finger.  “Check her out yourself, Karl?”

      Karl stopped stroking long enough to stick his index finger in his wife’s anus.  I added my finger.  We had her sphincter gaped wide open.  Penelope obliged us with more wails of pain and despair.

     That was when the unexpected happened.  Karl and my face’s were inches apart as we fingered her butt hole.  When I turned slightly, Karl kissed me.  It was an aggressive open mouth gay kiss.

      There we were with our fingers in Penelope’s dirty ass snogging like a pair of horny teenagers.

      “I heard you were bi,” said Karl as we broke the kiss and ceased our digital invasion.

      “You heard right.  Stand up and turn around, Penelope,” I said.

      I stood facing her and bringing my shit coated finger to her lips.  I traced a brown stain across her upper lip causing her to wrinkle her nose in disgust.  Tears had caused her mascara to run.  I half expected her to revolt but she stayed put as Karl focused the camera on her face. 

      “Lick it clean,” I said forcing my finger in her mouth.  Her tongue washed over it and for the first time in her life Penelope Grace, more of two fine sons and Senior Agent of the vaunted FBI, ate her own shit.

      “I’m leaking pre come,” said Karl adding his finger to mine.  “I am so fucking turned on. Penelope said you were a cock hound, Simon.  What she didn’t say was that you are a genius cock hound.”

      I showed my appreciation for his complement by grabbing his nipple between my thumb and forefinger and crushing it as we kissed.  He held the kiss even though he whimpered in pain.

      “What’s next on the agenda,” asked Karl when we broke the kiss?  Penelope had watched us wide eyed. Later, she told me she had thought Karl was a homophobe.

      “We take Penelope in the bathroom and clean out her hole.  After that we get creative,” I said.

      

            

Chapter 18 Karl and I Break Penelope

     Face Fucking is a good place to start in breaking a woman’s spirit.  It’s not exactly pleasant having a thick cock forced down your throat leaving it raw.  Partial suffocation adds to your feelings that your partners are treating you like a piece of shit.  If it goes on for a while, you get to experience being covered with your own thick saliva and whatever heaves up from your belly.

     I’ve been there. So I know.  Still there is something erotic about having a cock head press hard against the throat opening for a few seconds before being forced down that narrow passageway.

     It gets a little too nasty if the victim pukes although that does give one the opportunity to rub their faces in it.

   Combine throat fucking with a regimen of painful enemas and forced imbibing of strong man piss and you’re on your way to making a respectable suburban wife into a low down trailer trash whore.  After we finished with Penelope, her self esteem was lower than whale shit.

     Penelope Grace left her bathroom a different woman than when Karl and I led her in by her nipples.  My bag of tricks included a pair of Kelly forceps.  I magnanimously awarded Karl the honor on placing them and he jumped at the chance.

      “Karl, put these on your wife’s zickers,” I said handing the shiny medical instruments to him while we were still in the dining room.

      “Those will hurt,” protested Penelope.

      “There will be much nastier ones at Club Macabre,” I said recalling Violet’s account for the member’s preference for antique breast crushers.

      “Several of the members are world class experts on making a woman beg for a double mastectomy,” was Violet’s comment.

      After a second’s hesitation, Penelope resigned herself to cruel fate at the hands of her newly sadistic husband, bravely offering her chest to the clamps.  The cunt was learning her place in the world of submissive S&M.

      “I hope this hurts a lot, Bitch,” said Karl pulling out a nipple with a twist of his wrist before applying a clamp.  He was obviously enjoying himself at her expense.

      A grimacing Penelope inhaled sharply.  My nips had experienced the tender mercy of Dr. Kelly’s invention.  Of course, the inventor’s intentions were nobler, a quick germ free method to stop a bleeding artery or hold open a flap of tissue allowing the surgeon to work unhindered. 

     But the BDSM crowd saw other possibilities.  Grab a nipple, pull it out with a vicious twist, apply the good doctor’s device to the base and you own her. She’ll suck your cock, lick your nasty ass clean, and present her sphincter for anal.

     Karl locked the handle causing his wife to yelp.  I could tell from the look on his face, he was enjoying himself.

      Penelope begged us to remove the forceps as we roughly led her upstairs to the master bath.  Fortunately, it was large enough to easily accommodate the three of us.  McMansions have their advantages.

     “The enema bag is under there,” said Karl pointing toward the storage under the dual sinks.

     “Oh God,” whimpered Penelope at the sight of the enema bag.    

      According to Karl, Penelope suffered from constipation after the birth of their youngest; so there was an industrial size two quart pumpkin style enema bag, a bottle of Castile soap, and a selection of nozzles including a large one that had never been used until I shoved it past her sphincter.

     I started with a mild solution of the Castile and warm water.  Karl bent her over with her face in the commode.  That was his idea.  He was showing potential as a sadist.

      “Karl, please go to the kitchen and get a bucket of ice water,” I said releasing the hose clip after I spit on her ass then forced the nozzle past her sphincter.  She let out a loud howl when the flow started and clinched her fists.  My cock hardened at the sight of her suffering.

      While Karl ran downstairs, I watched as Penelope’s intestines slowly filled.  She was an excellent moaner.  The Club Macabre crowd would like that.  The Castile soap irritates the bowel and creates an irresistible urge to shit.  You cramp up and your guts hurt like all hell.

      “I can’t hold it,” whined Penelope as her abdomen expanded to accommodate the fluid.  She was sweating like a pig.

      “Suck on this to keep your mind occupied,” I said exposing my cock.  She did as she was told.  I felt a wave of inner satisfaction that my dick was in the mouth of a female FBI agent who considered me, local Boston PD, her inferior.

      She managed to keep her shit inside until Karl returned with a large plastic pail of ice water and the video camera he left downstairs.

      “This is so fucking hot,” said Karl pushing us wife’s head into the commode water as he flushed the toilet.

      “Please, let me shit.  I can’t hold it,” screamed Penelope once Karl allowed her to surface.

       “Go ahead and poo,” I said coldly.

     She barely managed to get her rear on the throne before her ass exploded.  She clutched her abdomen and whined as her intestines cramped.  Enemas are fun for onlookers but hell for participants

     “Get naked, Karl.  Your wife wants to suck your dick while I film her,” I said.

     “Jesus, she stinks like shit,” said Karl undressing quickly, eager to further humiliate the mother of his children.

     “Penelope, open your mouth wide and tilt your head back, it’s throat fucking time,” I said presenting my hard cock to Penelope’s lips.  I took hold of the forceps to insure compliance.  As soon as she opened up, I dove in to my balls, sealing her mouth shut with my scrotum.  There’s something very satisfying about forcing your penis down that narrow opening.  A good gagger will squeeze your cock with a pulsing motion.  There’s also that look of wide eyed panic to enjoy.

     You have to be as twisted as I am to enjoy pushing your dick head into a throat while listening to the sound of water gushing out the subject’s asshole.  The smell was pretty bad but it added to her shame and my Eros.   I took a deep breath to enjoy the aroma.

     I held her head as I gave jacked hammered her face.  Her gullet made that thockey-thockety sound that is music to the throat fucker’s ears.  I held her head in a vise like grip being as brutal as I could.

     “You love it.  Don’t you, Penelope?” said Karl stroking his hard cock with one hand and filming with the other.  He could hardly wait to take his turn.

     “Play with your pussy to show us what a dirty whore you are,” I ordered taking her nipples through a painful one eighty.

     Saliva spilled out over her lower lip onto her boobs.  Karl was getting some great footage of her degradation.

     I turned Penelope’s throat over to Karl while I refilled the enema bag.  The water was from the refrigerator’s chiller and he had added ice.  Her bowels were not going to be happy.

    Karl shoved his cock in as far as it would go then pinched his wife’s nostril’s shut.  Saliva came pouring over her lower lip.  I briefly spelled Karl so he could take a few minutes of video.  He obviously attached real importance to the permanent record of his bride’s ultimate degradation.  I wondered how many viral Web sites would ultimately display her being brought low.

      Once more we bent her over the now polluted commode.  Karl placed his hand on the back of her head and pushed her face down into the enema water. That was a shitty thing to do.   As a husband he struck me as a nasty bastard; but he seemed like a terrific golf buddy.  I operated the video camera as she struggled to rise.  He only relented when she began shaking violently.

      I used the big nozzle this time and went deep as it would go.  There is nothing more gut wrenching that an ice cold enema mixed with castile soap.  I’ve been tortured in that manner.  You feel like you are going to die of the cramps.  Your intestines contract and move as they react to the unaccustomed drop in temperature.

      Karl kept the camera going as Penelope begged us to stop in between screams of pain.  I held the bag high taking advantage of the law of hydraulics.  You could see spasmodic movements in her swollen abdomen.

      We made her hold it for a while.  Penelope had a theatrical talent for begging and whining.  Her pleas for mercy were so expressive I almost relented. 

     Once she was back on the commode Karl and I engaged in another round of throat fucking that left her gasping for breath.  After we had exhausted the possibilities of that particular form of abuse we forced her into the oversized shower stall.  It easily held the three of us.

     “Down on your knees, Cunt,” I ordered and she complied.

     “Feel like taking a piss, Karl,” I asked?

     “Yes, all that wine is ready to escape,” said Karl aiming his cock toward his wife’s face.

     “Open your mouth and prepare to swallow, Penelope,” I said.

     “No, I can’t.  I’ve never done that.  I’ll get sick,” said Penelope.

     “Do as you’re told, Bitch,” said Karl delivering a hard stinging slap to the side of her face.  I hoped she didn’t bruise easily.

      There may be more humiliating acts than kneeling with your trap open and having someone piss down your throat; but I’m not sure what they are.  She swallowed some, gagged on most and finally wound up curled up in a ball as Karl and I gave her a head to foot urine bath.

     It was time to move to the next phase; so we cleaned her up, dried her off, and carried her to the bedroom. 

     “Remove the forceps, Karl,” I said once we had dropped her on the king.

     I got a good close up of Karl giving her nipples a final painful twist then unlocking the Kelly.  She gave out a sharp scream, grabbed her boob and rolled around on the bed sobbing.  

      “Oh my god, that hurt,” said Penelope cradling her throbbing tit.

      “Now for the other one,” said Karl repeating his prior act of brutality with identical results.

      The return of blood to the crushed capillaries is agonizing.  Her nursing days were done so I didn’t worry about permanent damage.  One thing I correctly predicted was that skinny Penelope’s oversized boobs would draw a lot of attention at Club Macabre.  Sadists have a thing for breast torture and Penelope had enough tit to keep a herd of them happy for hours.   I figured between what was happening tonight and her first sessions at the club her tits would never be quite the same.

      When the pain subsided we gave her some water and took a brief respite.  Karl started a hard core porn video on the television.  It was high def and featured a number of my favorite porn stars being sexually abused.   It started with Sasha Grey taking on three super hung black dudes who seemed intent on slapping her silly.  Given that beautiful Sasha was a tiny woman, I could only conclude she was hollow when all three monster cocks were inside her.

      “What’s next,” asked Karl eager to continue destroying his relationship with his wife?

      “We see if two in shape males powered by a four hour erectile dysfunction drug can fuck your wife to death,” I said fisting my cock in her direction.

      It was a hollow threat.  My brother’s porn collection contained more than a thousand gang bang videos, proof positive that a single female can service hundreds of cocks in one outing. 

      “Four hours,” protested Penelope.  “I won’t be able to move.”

      “Pretend you’re back in college passed out at the Sigma Chi house.  There’s a long line from the foot of the bed, out the door and down the hall.  You’re in cock heaven, Slut,” said Karl grabbing his wife’s ankles to spread her legs very wide.   He spread her so wide she was in a full split.  Without the yoga, he would have dislocated something.

      “Take it easy,” whimpered Penelope her groin screaming in pain.

      “Fuck easy,” said Karl as he climbed between her legs, used his hard cock to part her labia and rammed it home.

      “You’re killing me,” screamed Penelope in pain.  I hoped the neighbors didn’t hear and call the cops.

       It was a rape fuck.  Forget the foreplay, the love talk, the teasing, and all the other preliminaries.  It brought to mind the good old days when I hung out in Boston’s North End with Tony Menotti on a Saturday night.  We were two horny teens looking for stray pussy to rape.

     Penelope was on the receiving end of the kind of mean fuck horny Italian Stallions perform when they grab some drunk female off the narrow city streets.  The stupid cunts never seem to learn that dressing up like a slut, getting blasted at a club then walking home alone at two in the morning means you want to be raped and if truth be told, you should be raped.  Street rape remains a sport among the macho types of the city’s oldest ethnic hood.

      If the victim tried to resist, you broke her nose with your sap.  Sometimes you flattened her beak just because it was a fun thing to do or she was really good looking and needed to be taken down a peg.  In those days, I considered slamming it home while her smashed nose spewed blood a real turn on.  You can also use the blood to lubricate her pussy if she’s been fucked dry in one of the men’s stalls at a club.

     If the bitch is dumb enough to start screaming, a pointless act in a part of town where minding your own business was Rule Number One, you slammed your sap across her teeth.  It’s hard to yell when your mouth is full of blood and broken incisors.

     Most Sunday mornings after Tony and I had been on the prowl, the cops would find one or more nude females with a busted face bent over a trash barrel with semen and blood running down her thighs.  They’d take her off to Mass General and make a rape kit which the Italian cops would promptly lose.  Why ruin a young man’s life when he was just having a little fun?  And didn’t the cunt deserve what happened for walking around a respectable neighborhood drunk and dressed like a hooker. 

     If we didn’t have any luck, I’d suck Tony’s cock then let him fuck me in the ass although sometimes we flipped.

     Fortunately, Tony and I were never caught and we both grew out of being a bad shit.  Tony is a capo in the local mob and runs things out at the Suffolk Downs tracks.

     Enough of remising about the good old days, I told myself as I took a position at Penelope’s face and shoved my cock past her raw tonsils.

     We almost lasted the entire four hours.  Penelope finally got her head in the right place and let her inner whore emerge.  The woman became a fucking nympho begging for more cock.

      We fucked her in all positions known to the Kama Sutra. Her nipples, labia, and clit were raw when we finished and trickles of blood were oozing from her vagina and anus.

     She also got her head into amateur porn posing for Karl as I used her orifices. 

     “I love the taste of my ass,” she cooed into the lens as she licked the slime off my cock during the ass to mouth scene.

     At the end we double stuffed her pussy and ass.  We propped her in a shoulder stand, stuck both our dicks in first her pussy and ass, fisting her other hole until she was loose enough to take a bowling ball.

      At the finale, she eagerly spread her buttocks so Karl could film the inside of her rectum.

     After Penelope was fucked senseless, Karl said he wanted gay sex and I obliged him.  I figured I owed him for his being so nice about me fucking his wife.

     Penelope found enough energy to film Karl and me going at it.  I drove home with Karl’s jism slowly oozing out my asshole.

     All in all it was a highly satisfying evening.