Pheromonica - NaNoWriMo 2025 challenge completed

[SoftGameHunter]

Chapter 9


Tonight, is the societal divorce between rape and violence coming to an end?

For over a century, it’s been a near given in the public awareness that rape rarely if ever leads directly to more serious harm. And for almost as long, the now outdated notion of any sex leading to disease and infection has been absent from public consciousness. The grotesque horror that once surrounded this vile, criminal act has been reduced to its essential. Rape is rape, and nothing more. While medical standards remain intact, some now say that the era of violence is on the cusp of an unwelcome return.

In tonight’s special, we join leading experts including Brad Ranier, Alicia Jennings, Indira Murthy, and controversial author Vincent Kyle Peele for an in-depth look at rape and violence in today’s world. Rape and Violence – Reconciliation of the Estranged Twins?

“Rape. The numbers float around at the edge of our conscious conscience,” Alicia began. “In the North American States, the national average rate stands at slightly over three-thousand per hundred-thousand inhabitants. With ninety-eight percent of the victims being female, that puts women at roughly a six percent chance of being raped each year. Few of us escape it, and they say we’ve learned to live with it in our lives, mainly because we do know that our lives will continue. Local viewers will recall that I personally was gang raped right outside my local home station just a couple weeks ago. As infuriating as I found it, I can’t deny that it never occurred to me that the two men might injure or kill me. So, have rape turned into a nuisance?

“In the lifetime of every living human, we have never known personally the terrors that accompanied sexual assault, as it was once called, because assault is the one thing it no longer is. At least that’s what we tell ourselves if we think about it in these terms at all. But it is an assault. A man or men will grab us, hold us, shove us around and down. He’ll pull our clothes off, damaging them in the process. He’ll put his hands all over us. He’ll put his anatomy in us in places we don’t want him to be and frantically wish he would leave. And for all the lack of injury, he’ll usually hit up, restrain us in painful positions. We may get bruises, abrasions, cuts. It’s humiliating. It’s painful. It’s gross. It’s rape, and most of us with the wrong anatomy will know it well before we die.

“But we won’t die from it. Until now? Here in Metroland, in one American city, a recent high-profile nightclub robbery saw the rape and murder of two young women. Five rapes and five murders with two overlapping statistics. But are they rape-murders, or are they murders of women that happened to be raped recently? To a lot of people, the distinction is overwhelmingly important.”

“You must understand,” Frank Simpson said as he faced the microphone and cameras, “That these took place during a single criminal act. I can’t come in as lead investigator and say, ‘Oh, the murder came afterwards. Put a different detective on that case.’ Five women were raped in the middle of a nightclub, and two of them were shot and killed in that same nightclub, on the same floor, by the same men, on the same afternoon. This is one case.”

“How would you respond to the notion that these deaths, however criminal in their own right, are essentially not part of the rapes that occurred?” Alicia asked. “The shootings, all of them, began during the hostage rescue attempt, which is not to try to put blame with the MPD, but simply to observe that they may not have been rapists murdering their victims, but rather robbers shooting during their attempted escape. Wouldn’t it be like the distinction between felony murder and murder one?”

“First, let me correct something. The first murder, not of one of the two unfortunate rape victims, was of a male hostage prior to the breakdown at the scene,” Frank said. “Now, as for the rest, I can only speak as a police detective, not as a lawyer. I don’t decide who gets charged with what degree of murder. I see the point you’re trying to make. In a sense, the killings could have gone down identically even if the men had kept their pants up. I would also say that in my long experience, there are plenty of times crime scenes break down as police arrive or as the events play out. And when those crime scenes are rapes, usually no one gets shot, least of all the women. More police have been shot and killed during rescues than victims, despite the police wearing body armor, being clear-headed, and generally being free to move, while the women are usually naked, often bound, and suffering from the trauma of their sexual violations. The Tropic of Capricorn shootings are distinct, troubling, and not at all the norm.”

“Hence the old joke,” said a new man on screen, “That the safest place for a woman to be in a disaster is under a man with a cock in her that she didn’t ask for. It’s conservation of trauma, only one per customer.”

“Author and activist Vincent Kyle Peele,” Alicia continued, “is known for his advocacy of many controversial positions. One of which, among the most talked-about, is the notion that rape affords its victims a level of protection from violence that, combined with the subsequent social support that usually goes out to women, makes the crime among the least offensive on the books now.”

“Absolutely, the designation of rape as a class-C felony is a throwback to an earlier age when raped women suffered for their victimhood,” Peele continued. “They had legitimate fear for their lives and safety. Rape in this century has all the terror of being on a broken escalator. It’s annoying and will slow down your afternoon, but it won’t hurt you unless you hurl yourself down the steps.”

“How would you answer critics that say rape was once a class-A felony but has been downgraded for exactly the reasons you seem to be saying are ignored?” Alicia continued.

“I would say that’s great, at the time. But we now live in a time when no woman alive today has ever known legitimate fear during a rape. This is not a felony-level offense. Some guys out there would kill for a one in six chance of getting surprise laid each year!”

“It’s six percent, not one in six,” Alicia said.

“Still not bad odds if you’re not good at picking up guys. Look, some of my best friends are women. I love them, really. I have a good friend, I’m not naming her, but she’s shy with men and kind of plain. She’s been raped twice in the last five years and she confided in me that she went to bed happy each night. Because sex feels good! Her words, not mine. The words of a real woman, and I know she considers those men to be about as offensive as the folks who don’t pick up after their dogs. Woof woof. Rape should be a misdemeanor carrying no jail time. We don’t need to fill our prisons with all these non-violent offenders!”

“But are they non-violent?” Alicia continued, now back from her podium position. “Metroland was shocked by the rapes and murders in a nightclub, and now, just two days ago, the people reeled further by the recovery of kidnap victim Margot Carruthers who vanished six months ago and was presumed dead by many. She is not dead, but was recovered from the basement of a Princeberg house where she was held for the duration of her time missing.

“Yes, we rescued Margot Carruthers while arresting the final suspect in the Tropic of Capricorn shootings,” Frank said to the camera. “She was chained in the basement where Horatio Nance was hiding out, but she’d been there far longer than he was. We’re working to find out if there’s any connection other than coincidental.”

“Margot was subject to sexual abuse during her time there, correct?” Alicia asked.

“Yes. We found her in a state of nudity, and she was restrained with chains. Additionally, many recordings of her many rapes were recovered at the scene. She was subject to abuse with objects, and by many men, and one woman.”

“What sort of injuries did she have?” Alicia asked.

“She had bruising on her wrists, probably from fighting the restraints. It looked like she had suffered a long cut on her right buttock sometime in the last few weeks. She appeared to have had a recent nose bleed.”

“Hold on. This woman was held in a makeshift sex dungeon for six months, subjected to assault with tools and torture devices, and her injuries were, well, really that mild?”

“There are a lot of rumors flying around,” Frank said. “It is true, the room she was found in had tools in it of the sort found in many basements and garages, but there’s little evidence they were used to cause or even threaten harm. We are reviewing the recordings even now and will keep the public informed as relevant information is found.”

“Amazingly,” Alicia continued, addressing the cameras, “underground black-market tapes of Margot’s ordeal already circulated even before her rescue. But now that the woman in the tapes has been connected to the missing Metroland housewife, these recordings have become widely available. Because the information contained is found now in the public space, we’ll be showing some of it here but, viewer discretion is advised.”

Margot Carruthers lies bound spread eagled on an old bed frame. She wears a gag that consists of duct tape over her mouth and wrapped around her head. Getting it out of her hair looks like it will be a bitch of a job. From her jawline, there’s probably something in her mouth. The men, four of them, that surround her don’t seem to care about her calling for help. “At least she ain’t hurting my ears now,” one of them can be heard saying on the noisy audio.

It is the room she was found in, probably taken about four months into her abduction. She glances about, clearly afraid of them men standing over her. They’re as naked as she is, but not bound. One is sporting an erection already. He’ll probably be first, and he is. They move the camera as he climbs atop the woman and zoom in as his cock slides into her cunt. She’s lubed, either on her own or with an external application, and he slides in easy. Margot flinches and clenches her teary eyes shut as it starts up again. One of them pinches her nipples as his buddy fucks her. It’s a short rape, but the video fast-forwards through the grinding, making the guy’s ass look like a piece of locomotive, up and down at an inclined angle as he reams her at 8x speed.

Another cock does not follow. One of the men holds a screwdriver and he presses it to her face. “Lick it, bitch!” he snarls. She whimpers something through the tape over her lips. One man off-screen laughs. But the man presses the handle to her pussy and jams it in. Margot’s whole body tenses up. It’s a large screwdriver, and the handle is as thick and long as any dick, but rougher of shape and texture. The man holds it by the shaft and rapidly, far faster than a man’s pelvis that thrust in and out, shakes it in and out of her while making a motorboating sound with his lips. There’s laughter as Margot wails through her gag. One of the men puts clothespins on her nipples and flicks them.

“Hey, what are you doing?” one asks another as the latter starts to cut away the duct tape over her mouth. Unwrapping it is too much work. He slices the tape along her jaw before peeling the part over her mouth away.

“I want her sucking my cock, man. I want that sweet tongue!”

“Not again!” Margo whimpers.

“Ah, shut up.” He presses his cock to her lips. “Suck me off, bitch. Suck me like you wouldn’t suck your man.”

Still moaning from the screwdriver handle shaking her womb apart, she takes the offered dick between her lips and goes at it. If she wasn’t good at head before her abduction, she is now. At least these men get what they want from her. The screwdriver man throws the tool aside and mounts her. Now Margot lies there, bound and exposed, being double penetrated. When the man in her mouth cums, he pulls out, sending some obvious semen onto her face as he finishes.

“What’d I have for lunch, bitch?” he asks.

“I, I don’t know!” Margot cries. He slaps her face.

“Don’t give me none of that ‘I dunno’ shit, bitch? What’d you taste?”

“Hamburger!” she sobs.

“You dumb whore! I didn’t have no burgers today!” he says, slapping her a few more times.

“Yeah, you did,” one of the others laughed. “We got Fry-Boys, remember?”

“Oh, right. Fuck her, know-it-all cunt!”

“This is just one example of the amateur porn now circulated staring the unfortunate Margot Carruthers,” Alicia said. “Indeed, we can see in this example that though hardware was used on her genitalia, it was not done in any kind of injurious way. A dildo would have the same effect, with the roughness of the handle being the only harsher factor here. So, does this case really tell us anything new about rape and violence?”

An Indian woman in her thirties appeared on the screen, sitting at a nice desk in a clean, brightly lit office. “I don’t know how new anything is aside from the specifics,” she said. “But this latest situation with Mrs. Carruthers does demonstrate a related issue.”

“Indira Murthy is a doctor of psychiatry at Nichols Medical Research, and a specialist in long-term trauma associated with sexual abuse,” Alicia stated.

“As far as I know, and I’ve not been asked to consult on this case, Margot Carruthers did not suffer any injury that could not be treated with first aid. As far as I know, also, she did not fear for her life or health during her long captivity. But that is not the same as saying she did not suffer tremendous fear for her future. Especially in cases like this, she went each day in a humiliated, degraded state, kept naked, kept restrained, with no hope for getting out and resuming her life. This is a visceral terror every bit as devastating as the women of past generations who suffered rapes with loaded guns in their mouths during their assaults. Margot had no reason to believe, once it was evident that they were not letting her go, that she could be kept in that condition for years to come. You don’t have to die to lose your life. Men like this can take it from you in real time.

One of the serious downsides to the relaxing of attitudes towards rape in our modern society is that investigations of missing women, like Margot, do not get the same attention they would have in previous centuries. It’s not only the victims of rape that don’t fear for their deaths. It’s law enforcement. It’s social culture. We forget that whatever goes on in the male mind that makes them not want to kill us when they rape us does not seem to have diminished their enthusiasm for raping us. Quite the opposite. The increased regard for our lives is entirely offset by decreased regard for our dignity and humanity. Margot’s face was all over the news even as it was passed around in these underground black markets. I find it impossible to believe that no one noticed it’s the same woman. Look at that video. It’s her. Everyone can see it’s her. But while countless men jerked off while watching her violation, Margot faces a lifetime of remembering that no one thought she was even worthy of a phone call to the police. As I understand it, they received no tips whatsoever regarding her pornographic activities during the past six months. That’s how desensitized the new safe rape generations have become. Without danger, we’ve lost urgency and perspective.”

“But the DA’s office is already saying that the men associated with Margot Carruthers’ kidnapping are facing serious Class-A felony counts,” Alicia inquired. “Doesn’t that suggest that we do take these exceptional cases seriously?”

“Some of us do. But with commentators like Vincent Kyle Peele arguing for reducing the penalties even further, can we really argue that as a society we’ve not become numbed to sexual abuse?”

“Hey, convince me,” Peele said, his imaging cutting back in. “I’ll debate Ms. Murthy any time. She can argue for making a bigger deal out of less and less, and I’ll argue for sanity in legislation.” They were obviously on tape. Indira sat in a sunny office, while Peele sat probably in his home with a darkened window behind him. The viewer was left to guess what Alicia may have said to elicit their replies.

Audrey watched as they went to the first break. She sat naked in her armchair, legs folded up and crossed under her, slishing at her pussy as she watched the special. As she clenched her teeth, her assault on her own crotch grew more frenzied as she came twice more. But she gripped the armrest with her other hand, fingers and nails digging into the upholstery. “No living human!” she shouted, as if the screen could hear her or reply. “I’m alive! I knew fear once!” She stopped and rested both hands at her side, breathing deep, counting to ten. Three times.

“You want to know about fear? You fuckers! I’ll teach you fear! I’ll teach you all about fear! Women want to be scared? I’ll show you what’s to be scared of. “ She grinned. “Men too. You assholes did this to me! You tortured me! You want to know fear? Ask me! I’ll show you terror! I’ll show you despair.” She began to sing, out of tune. “You want to know forever?” They’d learn. They’d all learn. And for too many of them, it would be the last thing they ever learned!

[SoftGameHunter]

Chapter 10


“Hey, Frank, are you…” Sharon stopped. He wasn’t in the room. But his laptop was, sitting out, open. The door was locked, and only Sharon could sign out the passcode, but it was still a horrible breach. Frank was so careless. He was going to get his ass bitten off someday. He was probably peeing down the hall. She sat down in the next chair and looked to the screen. It should have been open to case business, and it was. But Sharon’s eyes opened, pupils and all, when she looked at the display. “Holy shit!”

Right in front of her was the paused image of inside the Tropic of Capricorn during the shooting. And he had every diagnostic in image and sound enhancement MPD subscribed to open in the background, cranking out the mathematical sorcery that allowed images to display more than images displayed. There was no way in hell he knew how to use that software, except…

“Take a picture, Sharon!” He stood in the doorway, slamming it shut behind him. “It will last longer!”

“That’s a funny choice of words, Frank. What the hell? I thought those files were all destroyed weeks ago! How the hell do you have a copy?”

“You could be happy we’re not at a dead end,” Frank said. “Why do you sound so bitchy?”

“Oh fuck you, you arrogant, lying ass! How do you have a copy of a file that was destroyed? How many do you have? This is falsification! Did…” She paused. Her gun was still at her side. Phil’s guilt was known, and assumed to spread no further than him and the unknown girl. “What happened to the files?” she finished.

“They blew up! They were wiped.” He hesitated but walked over and sat down. “I may have made some copies to avoid the paperwork of logging them out and back in each day.”

“Lazy breeching,” she said. “Oh, you just set HR’s training vids back thirty years.”

“And a good thing I did.”

“Well why didn’t you say something?”

“Jeez, Sharon. Figure it out! Do I want to spend a month in HR hell? Do I want a report put in my record? Let me solve the case, first.”

“Solve what? The shooting?”

“The shooting. The bombing. The IT hack. And stuff we don’t know about. How are your cases going?”

“I spend too much time babysitting your gonads.”

“Yeah, well, that’s fair. But I haven’t seen the girl since that day.”

“Why didn’t you really share this? With me?”

“I trust you now? I trust anyone? After what happened to Phil, well.” He didn’t have a completion. “A secret’s not secret with two. But fuck it, here you are. Want to see what I found?”

“Okay, sure. How is it not grainy security recording? I heard it was tough to watch.”

“It was, but this, um, stochastic deconvolution software cleared up a lot. Especially after the smokey parts.” She nodded. The end of the shooting saw a lot of gasses mixed with particulate matter. Smoke. The old guns fired old ammo, and the tweakers hadn’t sprung for the good stuff. Real candles knocked over. Nothing big. It just added a layer of haze, she now saw. But Frank put two windows side-by-side and the clarity was noteworthy.

“What’s the big news? And why not share it before today?”

“I found it this morning, and I’m trying to convince myself it’s real.” He began flipping through open windows, and turned on the big screen to display multiples. “This is Jillian Estrada,” he said. Sharon nodded. She knew the face from her company picture, but the smiling gal in the picture wouldn’t have known the terrified, naked woman crawling away, screaming as bullets whizzed and shots assaulted eardrums throughout the room. Even crawling, she showed a limp. Her left hip was hurt, Sharon recalled. And she was crawling over glass. It was hard to watch, but she kept her face passive, lest Frank seize on any kind of sisterly empathy. She knew how it ended.

“The time stamp is in the upper corner,” he said. “And here it is, at five fifty-one and seventeen seconds. Blammo!” The hole opened in her side, courtesy of a handgun bullet. Jillian collapsed to the floor, screaming. There was no sound in the recording, but her mouth and prone posture was clear. Her wound was agonizing and deadly, even if it didn’t play out until she was lying in the ER.

“Blammo, fine. So we see her die. Eventually. What’s the big reveal?”

“Gotta start somewhere,” Frank said. He pulled another window up, surveillance from a different angle. More of the floor was visible, but he zoomed in. Another naked woman crawled across the floor.

“Audrey Andersen,” Sharon said. Frank nodded. She too differed from her badge photo, but that picture didn’t show her smile any more than the footage did.

“You can see the semen leaking out of her crotch,” Frank said. “This software is amazing.”

“What’s the fucking point here?” Sharon demanded, but the tape continued. “Oh. Oh!”

On the screen, frantic, desperate Audrey grabbed a dropped gun and clutched it, looking around, cringing like she could duck from a stray shot. But in an instant, she extended it in both hands. The flash took only a frame. She knew the time stamp before she looked up to the paused playback. Five fifty-one and seventeen seconds. She stared, even as Frank resumed play. Audrey spun around, gyrating herself on the floor, trying to see? She crawled off in a frantic dash, dropping the gun. Not quite. Frank saw Sharon’s furrowed brow and backed it up slowly. Audrey used a fallen napkin to wipe the gun. The trigger. The grip. She spat on the napkin and wiped the piece clear of her obvious fingerprints.

“Okay. Okay, so… What the actual fuck? What the hell did we just see? Audrey Andersen killed Jillian Estrada? Deliberately?”

“Shot, yes. And death followed. I’m trying to see what else was in her line of sight. She may have missed her target.” Sharon reached over and backed up the footage. There was Audrey, seated naked on the floor in the broken glass. Not so much where she was. But smoke, shards, gunfire, and screaming surrounded her. She was using a crossed ankle position. Her single shot hardly knocked her back, despite her small frame.

One shot. And one kill. Her colleague.

“We should question her,” she said.

“After I verify what she may have been aiming for.”

“No, it’s already been too long. Let’s see how she answers. If she says she was aiming elsewhere, we can thank her for clarifying, and then we’ll know what to check out. I want to see her reaction when we pop up!”

“I don’t need your babysitting over Audrey Andersen. Although…”

“What?”

“A surprise visit would mean she can’t slap bad hats on over her face.” He pointed to her badge photo. “I want to see that smiling visage.”

“Good to talk you into it, Frank. Let’s do this.”

[Claire]

I made it to end of chapter 5 now. I'm still fascinated by your approach to lean this much into dialogue. I think you are not far off from writing a stage play instead!

I'm still trying to wrap my head around about the nonchalance that everybody seems to treat rape with, even the victims. Alicia just going on air and interviewing people after getting gang raped, Audrey seducing men shortly after geing raped and shot! It still gives the story this slightly surreal feeling that I find interesting.

I also appreciate that you don't turn every chapter into a never ending orgy but reat this as a erious novel. I think that elevates the story quite a bit. I hope you get some more readers soon!

How close are you to 50,000 words already? And how much do have planned out and how much are you making up as you go?

[SoftGameHunter]

Thanks, @Claire. I certainly get that people know a full novel is coming and might find jumping into it a bit unsettling, so your feedback, as someone around here keeps saying, is very welcome.

You're very correct that I'm not going to try to write a 50k word orgy. That may work in long stories that just naturally unfold over time, but for a month-long sprint it would be just tiring to me. I do like my longer stories to be porn with a plot, and while I have weaknesses as a writer, lack of story ideas is generally not one of them. Thanks for appreciating it.

Right now, I'm at 21125 words, including chapter headings, so I guess 21104 of body text. I think that puts me on track. My outline is a mess. I only did four pages of advance notes, and I deviated from them in chapter 1, which throws off a bunch of the details. Originally, the Audrey character was going to be a mystery, seen on tape but unidentified, but I wanted to connect the company to the action faster, so I put the company outing there in chapter 1 and made her an employee. Great, but my notes on Audrey still had her as an unknown person of interest, so I had to start winging it.

I hope you and others are intrigued by where this is going. That's my goal. Suffice to say, there are some major hidden plot points I need to foreshadow and develop sooner rather than later. Otherwise, a reader might fairly think, 'oh, how irrelevantly convenient' at the end. But my outline is starting to converge with the story again, so that's an encouraging sign.

[SoftGameHunter]

Chapter 11


“Hello, Miss Andersen,” Frank said as the door opened. He had his badge out in case she suddenly forgot who he was, as did Sharon standing beside him. He wasn’t expecting the sight in front of him. After missing her at work and at her apartment, they’d spotted Audrey coming home and waited only a few minutes to approach the door. But now, as she opened it, the girl was dressed only in a thin silky teddy, hanging off her shoulders by two little spaghetti straps and barely reaching halfway down her thighs.

“Yes?” Audrey asked when he paused.

“This is detective Sharon Price,” he continued. “Mind if we come in? We’d like to discuss the case with you.”

“How’re you feeling? Recovered?” Sharon asked. They didn’t wait for her reply before stepping over the threshold.

“Is there a recovery for that kind of thing?” Audrey replied. “As long as you’re here, why don’t I invite you in.”

“Did we come at a bad time?” Frank asked. Audrey’s body was all but on display. The teddy was either ultra cheap or designed to be formless. There was no shaping for the bust. Just two straps for her arms and shoulders in an otherwise shapeless fabric tube. It fit more like a curtain than a garment, yet it emphasized the nude body beneath.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” Audrey said. “I don’t think there’s a good time. But here you are.” She was trying to play it cool. “Sit, I guess.” She had a sofa, old, probably used when she got it. He knew what she made at Biogasms. A new living room set was not in her stars. But it was a comfy one. Audrey pulled some laundry off another chair and sat opposite them, cross legged. All he had to do was look down.

“We’re trying to work out a timeline of the shots fired during the incident,” Sharon said.

“Oh. Well, there were a lot of them,” Audrey said. She lifted her leg to show the bandage still on her thigh. “I can tell you about this one. It hurt, but shouldn’t scar much. I don’t know the exact time I got it, though. Somewhere in the middle. Maybe in the first half? I was kind of panicking. I was raped.”

“Did you witness anyone nearby you making any shots with any of the guns?” Frank asked her.

“I guess. I thought they’d blow my brains out. I didn’t feel safe at all, no matter what they’re saying on the tube.”

“Oh, um, you mean that special?” Frank asked.

“You were on it. Yes. The show with Alicia Jenner on it. The one where they said raped women don’t fear for their lives. That one.”

“I watched it too,” Frank said before Sharon could jump in. “I’ve been a cop a lot of years, and I’ll tell you this. It’s a real thing. But not in your case. Not in a shootout. I get it.”

“Well, thank you,” Audrey said.

“Did you do anything to protect yourself?” Sharon asked. “Did you have to defend yourself?”

“I crawled away and I lived. I guess that counts, wouldn’t it?” She adjusted her position, widening her legs as she did.

“Would you like to get dressed, Audrey?” Sharon finally broke. “I think we got you at a bad time.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Audrey said. “I like to be comfortable in my home. I put the slip on for your benefit.”

“We could do this at the station!” Sharon returned.

Audrey stared. “Am I under suspicion for something?” she asked.

“Audrey,” Frank said, trying to sound gentle. It looked like he was good cop for this round. “If there’s anything you’d like to share with us, now is a good time. We understand the situation you were in, but we need a complete picture.”

“I’d love a complete picture, sir. I have nothing more I can give you.”

“Did you fire a gun that day?” Sharon asked.

Audrey’s stare continued, and the silence grew longer. She didn’t move or try to open her legs even wider, not that there was much room on the seat if she tried. “Oh, that,” she finally said. “I think I do remember that. Yes. I must have. Did I hit anyone?” Her near-smile reversed. “I didn’t hit anyone by mistake, did I? I think I shot at one of the fuckers. Not one of the two that raped me, but I doubt I was picky.”

“How would you react if I told you that you shot Jillian Estrada?” Sharon asked.

Audrey’s face tensed right before it relaxed. “Ah. When you phrase it like that, it means there’s no way in hell I shot Jillian,” she said. “Why do you cops always ask it like that? You barge into my home, I never said you could come in, and now you’re making up questions you know the answer to.” She folded her arms. “So, did I hit a water main or something?”

“You hit Jillian,” Frank said. “How’s that for direct? We do have it on the recordings.”

“I already know those recordings were lost. It was on the news,” Audrey said. “And now the cops are lying to me. Next you’ll tell me that those guys you arrested ratted me out. This is so lame. Sorry I forgot I grabbed a gun. I mean that part. Sorry not sorry I had to do your jobs!”

“We can go to the station and show you the footage on the way to an interrogation room,” Sharon snapped.

“If you’re not arresting me, I’m not going anywhere,” Audrey answered. “I can’t even imagine what kind of scenario you’re hoping I’ll think you believe. Was I in cahoots with that gang? Was this a hit on five people I barely or don’t even know? I’m sorry I forgot picking up a gun. I’m still having nightmares about that day. I was raped and shot, you know! Whatever your secret footage shows that you didn’t get scrubbed, I’ll fess up to all of it. If I’m on camera, I’m on camera.” She sat glaring at the both of them. Her jaw trembled just a bit. The tear in her right eye seemed real, but was it genuine.”

“Alright,” Sharon said, taking the hint. “You are on a video recording and lawyers will probably be involved. I don’t think anything like charges are warranted under the circumstances. Assume you’ll hear from us again.”

“Joy,” Audrey said as they stood up. But she followed them to the door and closed it gently behind them. They walked down to the street for the slow surface drive back to the precinct building, only speaking in the car.

“Thoughts?” Frank asked.

“She was all over you! Get a good look up her hoo-haw?”

“I didn’t ask for it but I’m not complaining,” Frank said. “Too bad this case is so far from over. How are your other cases going?”

“I just have one other, and it’s a dead end. What do you mean, far from over?” She tried to study him, as if his driving face would give away his thoughts. “What did I miss?”

“The bombing was all over the news.”

“Yeah?”

“We never mentioned the IT attack. The public doesn’t know about that.”

“Who does know?”

“We do. The lawyers and owners at Tropic of Capricorn and at Biogasms know, but they understand the secrecy of it.”

“Perhaps. Could Audrey have heard a rumor at work?”

Could she have? “I don’t know. But we can’t overlook this. Audrey Andersen is now a person of interest.”

“What about Phil’s side piece? His so-called niece?”

“I met her,” Frank said. “They’re both young, slender. That’s as far as it goes.” Sharon snorted. “What?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m sure they’re not the same girl. But still.”

“What?”

“What color are Audrey’s eyes?”

“Shut up!”

“I thought so,” she laughed. “Bet you know the color of her lips, though.”

He said nothing. He’d met and spoken to the mystery girl. Not for long, but enough. It wasn’t like Audrey was any master of disguises. That big hat she wore the first time they met was absurd. “So what color are her eyes?” he asked Sharon.

“Huh?”

“Her eyes? What color are they?”

“Well, fuck if I know,” Sharon said. “But those lips. Yummy!”

[SoftGameHunter]

Chapter 12


“Hey, brain stud,” Helen said as she poked her head in the door. Byron glanced up and smiled but returned to his work. He brought it home again. She walked over to set the cup down, but frowned when she saw he was working on the special project. From home. That was a no-no, but she honestly doubted anyone was trying to surveil them.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Irish coffee. I thought you might like a little sweet kick tonight.”

“That sounds great!” He grabbed around her hips and pulled her in. “You’re the best!”

“Whoa! Someone’s in a good mood.”

“Yeah, well, I think I’ve got a lead on our Jane Doe?”

“Which one?”

“Only one as far as we know,” he replied. “And it’s more than a lead. I’ve got a name.”

“Shut up!” That couldn’t be true. “Really?”

“You know, I’ve had my suspicion now, for a while. I think, well, no. Maybe you don’t know. Because it’s insane. Except it’s not!”

“You’re giving me mental whiplash here, baby.”

“I think our girl works for Biogasms. Like, right now.”

“No way. Zeke vets everyone with an iron fist.”

“And would Jane Doe have enough time to get around even his vetting process?” he asked. It was a valid point. Byron certainly believed it. “No, I’ve wondered for a long time if she works here. Maybe not now, or not always. But sometimes. And I think now.”

He pulled up a personnel file, letting Helen scan over it. “A lab tech?” she asked.

“She has some inconsistencies in her background. Some school records that come up blank. Plus lack of immediate family. But here’s the smoking gun.” He pulled up a scan of a paper document from, Helen looked for the date, from almost sixty years ago. It was an old pilot’s license scan from Idaho. But even a scan of a paper scan was telling. She glanced at ‘Jane Doe’s’ personnel file.

“Well she’s aged well, hasn’t she?” Helen said.

“It’s from a backup archive some historian dug up last year researching the Alte Woods disaster. The state didn’t know it existed. No one knew there was a box of pilot certifications sitting in some crate in Boise.

“I know her,” Helen said. “Lynne comes to some of my self-defense classes for non-security personnel. She’s actually really good. And, well, she dates a lot.”

“She’s our girl.”

“Are you sure? We can’t be wrong about this.”

“Want to go over the other evidence?” he asked. “I’ve been staring at this stuff for a week now. And I discussed it with Larry. He likes the conclusion. He’s signed off on it when I’m sure.” He picked up the drink and sipped at it. “And now I’m sure.”

“This is real, right? This is really happening?”

“Relax, babe. I’m not going to go off half-cocked or anything. But we’ve got her. Tomorrow, when she reports in, let’s have a team waiting. No, day after tomorrow. I’ll fill Larry in and get someone medical. Doctor Samsa maybe.”

“I’ll get Tony and Alex ready. They’re both cleared for this.” She took a deep breath. “We’re doing this.”

“We’re doing this.”

***

The break room favored by the lab techies sat on the third floor facing south, for plenty of real sunlight, the kind of light strictly forbidden in the medical labs. It was there, on a sofa along the south wall reading a book that they found Lynne Baltimore. She glanced at the team as the walked over before the part of her head that alerted her to dangers caught up to her eyes. She looked back down, but then up again as she realized they were about to be in her business. Her boss, Rita, was with them, but standing back. She knew Helen well from the self-defense classes, and naturally met the gaze of the security chief. “Uh, hi?” she said as they walked up.

“Lynne, you need to have a talk with security,” Rita said, obviously feeling the need to make herself exist.

“Come with us,” Helen said. “You can bring your book if you want.”

“Okay. What’s going on?”

“We’ll talk in private,” Helen said. She wanted to smile. “Don’t make a scene.”

“Oh. Okay.” The girl stood up. It would have been fun to handcuff her, but a dozen other employees milled around, some already taking an interest in three security guards and a lab head. They walked her quietly to the elevators and down into the bowels of the building. Rita made her exit quietly, without Lynne realizing she’d gone until they were in the elevator.

“Hey, come on. What’s going on?” Lynne asked once more.

“This way, Miss Baltimore,” Helen said.

“Where did Rita go?”

“This way, please,” Helen repeated. Alex and Tony walked on either side of her. She wouldn’t be making a break for it. Odds were good she would just play dumb. They passed through several secure doors and entered the oversized exam room. Byron was there, but mostly as a courtesy, though if he was needed for more investigation it would help if he knew what was happening. More importantly, Larry Leclerk was there, and Doctor Saler too.

“Wait outside,” she said to her guys. They left without a word.

“Am I in trouble?” Lynne asked as her eyes danced around the room.

“Is your name Lynne Baltimore?” Larry asked.

“Yes! I’ve got my badge here.” She held up the lanyard, fishing the badge out from her shirt pocket.

“How old are you, Lynne?” Saler asked.

“Twenty-two. Why?”

“Are you sure you’re not older than that?” he continued.

“And, like, seven months,” Lynne added.

“Have you changed your name at any time?” Saler asked.

“No. I’m not married. I haven’t done anything with my name.”

“Alright. When you came back to work with us, you signed several releases,” Saler said.

“What do you mean, back? I started here last year. This is my first job out of college.”

“One of which is submission to medical examinations in the event of contamination. We’re invoking that clause. Take your clothes off.”

“Wait, no. I’m not contaminated. And if I am, you need to tell me with what!”

“Take your clothes off, Lynne,” Larry said. “Do it now.”

“Wait a minute, you all aren’t doctors or nurses! I’m not stripping for a bunch of men!”

“Don’t worry, Lynne. I’m here too,” Helen said. “Now do what he says and take your clothes off. All of them. Now. You don’t want to refuse.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I do want to refuse,” Lynne protested. “You can’t force me. It doesn’t matter what any release says.”

“Strip, or you’ll be stripped!” Helen snapped. Now Lynne tried to take in the room. Her eyes went to the door, behind Byron, with Alex and Tony waiting outside. There was only the single door. Larry stood menacingly, arms folded, though Byron made a more intimidating figure. Saler stood a bit back. Doctors, they never wanted to get in a fight.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Lynne sniffled. No one answered. Was she really going to refuse? Helen was ready to call her boys back in for an early unpaid bonus, but Lynne’s hands finally moved to her shirt buttons to begin the slow process. Her sniffles begin in earnest as she began on her pants. The first tear as she set her pants aside. Would she stop at her underwear, pretending not to know that naked meant naked? She stood, trying to face none of them, not even Helen. Byron and Larry were clustered by the door and Helen to one side. Saler stood further away, leaving Helen to try facing away from all of them as she did the rest. Socks. Bra. Panties. She set them on the table, but Byron collected them and put them in a bin.

“Don’t stare at the far wall!” Saler growled. Lynne stumbled around, turning to face them. Her red face leaked tears and snot as she tried to cover her body with her hands. She was a slim little thing, but with perky breasts large enough to make her a looker. Five foot five according to her files, and a hundred five pounds. She looked a few pounds over that, but maybe she had a salty breakfast.

“Alright,” Byron began. It was his turn, it seemed. Helen thought Larry would lead, or Saler. “Now, you still claim your name is Lynne Baltimore?”

“Yes! What else would it be?”

“Are you sure it’s not Audrey Pine?” he asked.

“Audrey Pine. Audrey? Wait, are you looking for Andrey Andersen? Jesus Christ, she was in the break room just now! I’m not her!”

“We didn’t say Andersen. We said Pine. You can’t accuse the nearest Audrey just because she shares your first name.”

“But she doesn’t share it! I’m not Audrey Pine. Please! You’ve got to believe me!”

“Put your hands at your sides, ‘Lynne!’” Larry ordered, stepping closer. Lynne stumbled back, trying to breath without sobs.

“Why? I’m naked!”

“Helen, do you have handcuffs with you?” he asked. Before she could answer, the girl shoved her hands down to her thighs. Her clenched fists contrasted with her weepy face.

“We already know that you are Audrey Pine,” Larry said. “You can admit it, or we can go through the evidence. And we have lots of evidence. It took me a while to find it all, so please, insist on it. I’d love to show off my work!”

Lynne, or Audrey as she was, stood there, shaking, sobbing, trying to keep it together. But she nodded. Byron took it as his cue to start. He’d set her bin of clothes down by the door, but now opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of paper printouts. “This was just the final clincher,” he said, setting the copy of the pilot’s license on the exam bed. “Have you flown many planes lately? This expired back in 2169.”

“What is that? I can’t see it,” she sobbed.

“Wipe your damn eyes, girl! It’s not brain surgery,” Saler said. Lynne flinched but rubbed the tears away. She stared at it.

“How did you find that?” she cried.

“So it’s you!” Byron burst out.

“No! It’s, that’s my grandmother. She’s Jeannette Logan. She was. Not me. She married Scott Baltimore, and they had kids. My dad was Logan Baltimore! It’s all in the tax records!”

“Exhibit B,” Byron said without a hesitation. “Your school records from your childhood.”

“You have no right to those!”

“No comments. No notes. No signatures. Just a table of grades.”

“What else would there be? I don’t know what my teachers said about me!”

“Exhibit C,” he went on, slamming more papers down. “A replacement birth certificate, issued four years ago. Delayed for two months while they searched for the original state copy.”

“Because I lost mine!”

“Exhibit D! Oh, wait, what am I thinking? We can just check your fingerprints against Jeannette Logan’s. Well, we can’t, can we, because those records are missing, even though she served in Idaho aviation enforcement for twelve years!”

“I don’t know how to answer something like that!” Lynne sobbed.

“Exhibit E, then! Your mother, Riley Baltimore nee Fredericks has a birth certificate. Signed by doctor Wesley Lattimer. Now why is that name familiar? Oh, I remember learning about him. He went to prison after he was busted for running an identity theft ring back in the nineties. They tracked down over five hundred fake birth certificates with his signature. Birth certificates for nobody, but they ended up with somebody. You don’t support Riley Fredericks also never existed? Where is your mom? Can we call her and—”

“She’s dead! You know she’s dead, it’s in my file!” Lynne screamed. “I want to go now! Give me back my clothes! I want to put my clothes on!”

“Oh, sorry, Audrey, but I still have exhibit F through, um, BE,” Byron sneered. “So stand there and answer for who you are!”

“I’m not saying anything more!” Lynne sobbed.

“You can say what you want,” Saler chimed in. “But we’re going to examine you, today. You’re going to lie on that exam bed and we’re going to study every inch of your body to see how your past treatments took.”

“I refuse to say more,” Lynne sobbed.

“And then you’re going to sleep here and get back on that table every day as we finish studying your body. And then, if we’re feeling kind, we will resume the tests we spent so much time and money on so many years ago!”

“I have nothing more to say!” Lynne sobbed.

“And you won’t be breathing any more sweet-nothings into some orderly’s face to get his cooperation to escape. Not this time.”

“I don’t know what that means! I’m not saying more!” Lynne sobbed. “What are you going to do to me! I wanna know what you’re doing to me!”

Saler stepped right up to Lynne, or Audrey, and jammed two fingers right into her pussy. She cried out and stumbled back, but Saler smiled. “She’s wet. Not coming yet, but wet. Oh yes, the treatment will continue. We can’t have you running around causing all kinds of havoc, Audrey.”

“What are you going to do to me!” she screamed. But the door opened. Someone took the bin with her clothes out, and some nurses and orderlies walked in. They wore gas masks. Lynne’s eyes bugged open at the sight of them. “No! Don’t touch me!” she wailed as she retreated to the far corner, but she stood no chance. Helen knew she wouldn’t fight her way out. She tried a few kicks. Well-executed, she noted. But in such a confined room, one naked girl against trained personnel stood no chance at all.

“Oh god! Let me go! Please! Please!” Lynne screamed as they swiftly secured her to the exam table. It was, Helen noted, a proper gynecological table, and when they extended the stirrups to hold her legs, her crotch now sat on full display. With her arms and legs bound, and a bit gag jammed in her mouth, Lynne or Audrey had no hope and no dignity remaining. The docs got down to business, but Helen didn’t need to be there. Neither did Byron, though she had to tug his sleeve to get him to leave with her.

“I didn’t get to do my whole show,” he moaned.

“Oh, you can do it with me. I can’t believe after all this time, you got her! All the glib protests of ignorance in the world can’t save her.” She chuckled. “You know, part of me wondered if Audrey Andersen was our girl.”

“Ha! Yeah, well, I think there’s something shady about her too, to be honest. But she’s not any kind of two-hundred-year-old escapee from our system, that’s for sure.”

“I still didn’t get to perform for the boss.”

“Make up for it with a flashy report. Come on. Let’s do some sparing. You look like you could blow off some steam.” They made their way to the training section. In the middle of the day it was mostly security people there, and not many of them, but the company tried to make full use of their own facilities, and employees did get their perks. It wasn’t hard to get a training room.

“You had a great day!” Helen said. “Rita’s the one I feel sorry for. She’s going to need a new lab tech.”

“Yeah, well, not our problem. I’m going to get changed. Meet you in there,” he said. She nodded. He needed to let off steam. And if he let it off on her, well, all the better. She headed for the women’s locker room to change. Maybe this would be one of the rare days she won, but she doubted it. There was no stopping Byron now.

[SoftGameHunter]

Chapter 13


The talk of the office turned into Audrey’s waking nightmare. She stood at her station, waiting for the chromatograph to finish its sequence. Running out early would only attract notice. Then she sat and fidgeted her report into the system. The damned network slowed itself! Like it could read her mind. Then it was ten minutes until break time, and an early run out the door would attract attention she could ill afford. But finally she was able to bolt.

Lynne Baltimore – the girl had nothing to do with Project Replicant! And they’d find it out soon enough. And then they’d be on the warpath. She didn’t even know there was a warpath! Lest too many gossipy eyes saw her nearly running, like an errant schoolgirl, she slowed to a stroll. Her mind could do the running. How had she missed it? Never hide in the bear’s den when it’s coming out of hibernation! She needed answers.

The executive suite was no good. She’d stand out in such a place. Who the hell was running it? The search! Why the hell did they still remember? Security, that was Helen Schaefer. At least she was the ‘muscle.’ And she led the goon squad in to spirit poor Lynne away. Byron Schaefer. It had to be him. He was so damn secretive. Her mid-grade hacking skills never got her anywhere close to his work. Biogasms kept all the good stuff behind a physical firewall anyway. He didn’t blurt out stuff like Helen did. ‘Rita’s the one I feel sorry for. She’s going to need a new lab tech.’ Great way to tap down those rumors, saying that in the gym! Who the hell could Audrey turn to on this, her last day at the company. She had an identity to bury and a new one to birth and she had no fucking time for this!

Ask and he shall deliver. There was operations chief Kelly O’Donnel. He walked ahead of her, up the hall. And he did not seem busy. She hurried to catch up. “Oh, hi, sorry, excuse me,” she stammered on cue. “Could I chew your ear for a moment?”

“Uh, Audrey, right?”

“Yes, sir.” Yes, like it said on the badge dangling off her neck. Time to pour it on. “It’s important. Someplace, private!”

“Oh, alright. Let’s go to my office,” he said.

“I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” she asked. “I’m not keeping you from any meetings, am I?”

“No, not for another hour,” he said. She nodded. It was perfect. She smiled and walked with him. His windowless office was perfect.

For her.

“I think…” Kelly gasped a half hour later. “Um, where was I?” He tried to peer around her. She sat naked on his lap, licking his ear.

“You were signing into the Black Box files,” she cooed. She grabbed his cock, trying to keep it under control. Her grip weakened when they spewed. Not much, but time ticked by too slowly already. “Project…?” She stroked his cock head lightly, switching from finger to fingernail.

“Replicant.”

“Yeah, I think that’s the one! Thank you so much!”

“It’s nothing! Oh god, I’ve got to fuck you!”

“In time, I promise!” It was a promise. Somehow, her pheromones knew when she was lying. They staged a little mini-mutiny on her. Not much. But time was a harsher mistress than she was. She’d fuck him. “But, Replicant.” She blew in his ear and neck.

“Yes,” he groaned, but continued typing and clicking. She slithered down and took his dick in her mouth. The man trembled under her tongue.

“So, do you have a family history here?” she asked.

“My wife works here,” he said.

“Parents? Grandparents?” she asked.

“Nah, not me. Maureen’s grandmother worked here, though.”

“How interesting. Can you get her personnel file too?”

“Sure.”

She resumed her tongue work, easing off only when his typing faltered, interrupted by too many steady clickings of the backspace key. She stood back up and stood behind him, running her hands over his chest while reading over his shoulder. The screen was showing the standby icon. But then it cleared and a new site came up. Project Replicant. Active Feb 24, 2035 – Aug 16, 2167. Status: Discontinued. Firewall Secret Classification.

“Why did you call it Replicant? What does that even mean?” she asked. It had been bugging her forever.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t even born. Let me see if I can find it,” he offered.

“No! First, could you show me what Byron Schaefer’s been up to in the past few years? How about since he was added to the, hmm, where’s the current stuff?”

“It’s been shut down for, like sixty years,” Kelly said. He grabbed at her hands and moved them to his face and neck. She obligingly stroked him.

“Check for Byron and Replicant, please,” she cooed. “I know he’s been doing…”

“Project Knighthood,” Kelly interrupted. “It cross-references a lot of the personnel from Replicant.” Her hands stopped as her blood froze in her veins. Names came up. Big files full of names and birthdays and addresses.

“Who are all those people?” she asked, not even daring to believe the answer if he offered it. “They seem like fun!”

“Let’s see. Current descendants of past employees,” he said. “Looks like Byron was compiling everyone whose ancestor worked on Replicant. And, huh, I don’t think I’ve been briefed on this part. He’s trying to connect them to murder investigations. And that nightclub shooting.”

“Kelly!” she gasped, leaning down and around, breathing on his face. “This is really important to me! Won’t you please cancel your next meeting? I know it’s short notice, but I really need this data!”

“Oh, well, I’m meeting with Byron. Maybe I can ask him about this.”

Shit! Byron was the last person. He was too invested. “Oh, no. It’s a surprise,” she cooed. It didn’t even make sense, but she ran with it. “Could you just quietly postpone until tomorrow?”

“Uh, I guess,” he said. It was his first hint of wavering. Why he had to be so anal about appointments was beyond Audrey’s grasp, but it didn’t matter. He sent off a quick cancellation. Now she stood in front of him again, letting him view her nakedness fully. She didn’t have all day.

“Could you do me one favor to wrap all this up?” she asked. “I’d love to have that file with all the personnel from Replicant. And a backup of everything Byron’s done on Knighthood. Oh, and security tapes of Lynne Baltimore’s custody.”

“I guess, but how? I can’t send messages from this terminal.”

“Can you plug it into your networked machine and do it that way?”

“No. Not a chance.”

“Okay, then a media storage device. How about a flame chip?”

“The only flame chips this terminal can write to are stored at IT. I’d have to sign one out and have it sent up here.”

Audrey stepped back and clenched her fists. So damned close! But maybe not. “Can you request a particular messenger?” she asked.

“Sure. Who would work for you?”

“Any man,” she said. “Straight, preferably.”

Kelly picked up the phone. “Hey, Bill. I need a flame chip in my office. Can you sign for one and bring it up here?”

That was easy. She sat on his lap and let his hands roam over her breasts as she quickly scanned the pages. There was so much. She knew the complete archives would fill a hundred flame chips and take all day to download. What else could she grab on this, her final day at Biogasms? Her final, finest hour? “Thanks, sir. This means a lot. I’ve spent years at this and only got a fraction of this stuff.”

“What stuff? You shouldn’t have any of it.”

“Genealogy, sir. It’s all freely available.”

“Right, of course.”

“Who’s that guy coming up?” she asked.

“Bill MacLeod.”

“Of clan MacLeod?” she asked. “Never mind. Is he on that descendants list?”

“Let’s see,” he said, typing in a name. “Yes, he is. Looks like his great-grandfather was a doctor with us. Orville Byrne.”

Byrne! She twitched and shuddered. But then she smiled. “And your pretty wife?” she asked.

A few keystrokes. “Yep, she is. Looks like her great-great-grandmother was a secretary back in 2045, to 2049.”

She was going to get the name, but a knock at the door put a quick end to that. She walked over, standing behind the door. “Hey, I’ve got to get dressed here!” Kelly said. But Audrey yanked the door open. She’d have to be fast about it. Sweat dripped off her body. The unsuspecting man outside started to just stroll in but stopped cold as Audrey’s nude body stood before him. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. She kicked the door shut as her lips locked with his. “I’m so glad you’re here!” she said as throatily as she could. She pulled the fire chip from his weakening grip. “Mr. O’Donnel is going to transfer some files while you fuck me. Is that alright with you, sir?”

“Fuck you?”

“Yes. Fuck me. I really hope you’re okay with that! I’m so wet and horny I could die!”

“Well, huh. I guess we wouldn’t want that,” Bill stammered. She quickly set the chip on Kelly’s desk and then draped herself down on the sofa by the back wall. Her throat was growing dry. She’d been secreting too much and too fast, but it was nearly over. Once he put his dick in her, the man would be fucking her of his own free will. She spread her legs for the monster in the room. He quickly got undressed and mounted her. Audrey gasped and moaned. He was well-hung, and filled her slick pussy fully.

“Oh gawd!” She began cumming almost right away. Her hands clutched at the leather couch cushions seeking a grip. Anything to flex with. As Bill quickly began a thorough fuck, Audrey’s eyes rolled back. She let out an anguished cry as her hips crashed in ecstacy.

“Good thing this is soundproofed, eh, Kelly?” Bill asked. “Who is this girl?”

“I’m Audrey,” she gasped. “Oh shit!”

“This must take you back, eh, Audrey?” Kelly asked with a laugh. Her face flushed and burned red, but she was too busy cumming to respond. If security burst in at that moment, she’d be helpless to fight, seduce, or run. She clenched her eyes shut as Bill’s cock drove her clit into a constant paroxysm of joy. Joy that turned to torture in time, but the man wouldn’t last as long as that. Not for lack of trying. As she cried and shook, her eyes went to the clock on the wall. It had barely been a minute. But as he plowed her cunt and grasped at her titties, Audrey’s time slowed to a torturous crawl. Her inflamed crotch went crazy under him. On and on. The guy was the age and personality type that he prided himself on lasting long. Too long for a normal woman. But Audrey’s sobs grew louder as it went on. She finally looked at the clock. Two minutes. Only two minutes! She continued to endure. Three. Four. She lost the ability to tell time.

Her orgasm subsided. She was lying on the couch by herself. No man on her. Bill was fully dressed and heading out the door. “Wait!” she cried. She stumbled upward and waddled over the floor, limping in both legs. “Please, stay for just a bit!”

“I should really be getting back down there,” he said. But his movements slowed as he fought the urge to stay or to leave. He was undecided, but he’d already fucked her and that weakened her persuasive powers.

“Just a few minutes. Bear with me. You can stay dressed. Don’t worry about me, I like being naked.”

“Heh. Alright,” he said. She turned to Kelly, and he was thankfully finishing up the file transfer. She had a flame drive now with all the data she could ever want. She set it in her pile of clothes and strolled herself over to the sofa.

“Alright, sir. I think you wanted to fuck me even harder?”

“Not harder than me!” Bill laughed.

“Stay put and check it out,” she laughed. Inside she winced. Kelly was hard, and Audrey was barely off her last orgasm. When he touched her pussy with his cock head, her pelvis again erupted. She was cumming before he’d finished a single cycle of in-out, in-out.

Her tears didn’t matter. Before long the blood flow to her head dropped and she passed into a daze of swirling fog and orgasmic quakes. She tensed and clenched, screaming. She was sure of it. She hoped she wasn’t kicking the man. Her vision faded back in, but still her pussy erupted as he pounded away at her. How long? Thirty-seconds? A cry of anguish slipped past her lips, not physical but emotional. The man was going to kill her as he fucked her.

One long orgasm later, he was done, and Audrey lay panting, the only naked person left in the room. She quickly got up and hurried to Kelly’s desk. “Oh, both of you,” she said. “One final, final thing and then I’ll leave.”

“Yeah?” Kelly asked.

“I heard that a lot of executives keep guns in their offices these days,” she said. She hopped up on the desk, legs spread wide, the scent of her heat filling the air. “Is that true?”

“Well, sort of,” Kelly said. He opened the top right and reached in deep. When he pulled his hand out, he held a modern high-tech shooter. Fully charged. “You’d have to shoot someone four or five times with one of these to kill them, even close-up.”

“Will it fire that many?” she inquired.

“Oh, sure.”

She aimed at Bill first. Two shots, then two more. Then, in a quiet room, ten more each.

[SoftGameHunter]

Interlude


Is Metroland ground-zero in the final reconciliation of rape and violence?

One year ago, the special ‘Rape and Violence – Reconciliation of the Estranged Twins?’ aired across the country. Today, our community feels besieged. Some even place that program at the center of blame for the collapse of the sexual violence estrangement. Metroland has witnessed a frightening increase in sexual violence in the past year, but some claim it is, astonishingly, the work of a single serial killer at large. The numbers may bear this out, but only to a degree, and the mood on the street is that it’s going to get worse before it gets better.

In tonight’s special, we are joined once again by leading experts including host Alicia Jennings, doctor Indira Murthy, author and activist Vincent Kyle Peele, and newly elected Metroland mayor Brad Ranier. Rape and Violence – Return of an Unholy Duality!

“Rape,” Alicia began. “Once the ultimate non-lethal crime, now it sits uneasily in our societal consciousness. Programs like this one host debates over its true impact on victims, on society, even on perpetrators. Ravishment Guilt Syndrome is an official psychiatric disorder found in the official DSM-XXII guide. Sufferers, it tells us, cannot healthily move past their previous sexual crimes. To many women, this sounds like a cop-out, that rapists being unable to forgive themselves is the very least they can experience. Yet millions of dollars are poured into treatment programs for rapists to feel better about themselves – amounts comparable, albeit inferior, to the funds spent on victim treatment programs of lesser effectiveness.”

“I have counseled many women who are victims of sexual abuse,” Indira Murthy said. “Quite a few of them, a majority for sure, have told me directly that they wish for their violators to suffer guilt for the rest of their lives. They cannot understand why any self-respecting mental-health counselor would attempt to alleviate such guilt in the rare cases it occurs.”

“What would you tell such members of your profession?” Alicia asked, now seated in Murthy’s office for the taped portion of the program.

“I don’t have to tell them anything. I work in all areas of mental health surrounding sexual abuse, including treatment for Ravishment Guilt Syndrome. In my career so far, I’ve helped dozens of men work past their guilt. What critics don’t understand is that untreated guilt can fester and become a self-fulfilling repeating shame, in which these perpetrators continue to commit acts of rape again and again, feeling worse and worse but not doing anything about it. In over sixty percent of my patients who have shown improvement for RGS, they have also drastically reduced or even eliminated their own performance of these criminal acts. To me, this is a tremendous benefit to society.”

“What about those critics who say you could just turn those perpetrators in to law enforcement and get the same effect?” Alicia continued.

“I would remind them of medical confidentiality laws that our society has maintained for several centuries. Then I would point out that a six-month to one-year prison term will do little to prevent rapes by a recidivist offender, while treatment that reduces or halts recidivism will have a far greater effect.”

“Stay with us for Doctor Murthy’s full interview later in this program,” Alicia continued. “We return now to the subject that the Metroland community has witnessed and the rest of the country has talked about – the recent and drastic increase in sexual violence. Since our last program aired a year ago, the greater Metroland metro area has suffered thirty-five known homicides associated with a rape victim. This is an astonishing explosion of violence that has police scratching their heads in bewilderment. I spoke to police inspector Frank Simpson about the citywide statistics. Here is part of his answer.”

“Your numbers are accurate, I’m sorry to say,” Frank said from a conference room in the Girard Precinct building. “Last year, the Tropic of Capricorn nightclub shooting left two rape victims dead, and that touched off a lot of discussion about sexual violence. The DA has determined that though they occurred during the same robbery, they were not directly connected to the perpetrator’s abusive mindset. He used proper legalese, of course, but it means the killings were not connected to the rapes. Unfortunately, in the time since then, quite a few cases have taken place in which the murders and rapes are linked. Local readers may recall the murder-suicide of Tyrone and Kendra Peterman. In that case, what looks like initially a consensual bit of kinky bondage place by a stable married couple turned into a strangulation followed by a self-inflicted gunshot wound to Tyrone Peterman’s head. A fatal one.”

“Have you handled many of these cases, inspector?” Alicia asked.

“A few. We do have a full team of expert police detectives at MPD.”

“How many of the thirty-five homicides have also involved suicide by the perpetrator?” Alicia asked him.

“There have been twelve such cases,” Frank replied. “Three of them in total have been husband-wife couples. It’s…” He paused, taking a deep breath and shifting in his seat. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Never imagined it.”

“So to be clear, three of these cases are husbands raping and murdering their wives?”

“Yes.”

“And these are not acts of murder that happened to take place after consensual sex acts?”

“That would be hard to determine with certainty,” Frank said. “But in all of them, evidence of violence was found on the bodies.”

“Is there anything at all that you know of that connects these cases, inspector?” Alicia persisted.

“Nothing. The Metroland area has seen some slight increases in other violent crime. We have a slight uptick in murder overall not even including these cases. We have a slight increase in suicide rates among men. I couldn’t say how these would be connected though. In the cases of violent sexual assaults and murder, nothing connects the cases. The victims were all of various ages, races, incomes, neighborhoods, you name it. I’m sad to say we’ve had a busy year.”

“You’re scheduled to testify in court next week, is that right?”

Frank coughed to cover clearing his throat. “That is on an unrelated civil case,” he said. “No comment.”

“But that case is over a kidnapping from a year ago,” Alicia pushed. “Can you tell us about the Lynne Baltimore kidnapping and her lawsuit against Biogasms Ltd?”

“No comment,” Frank said. “Let’s move on.”

“But Biogasms was the company at the center of the Tropic of Capricorn shooting last year, was it not? A company event at the club was interrupted and several of their women raped. The case you said was ultimately not a sexual violence case.”

“You may ask their corporate spokesman about that if you wish. I have no comment.

“No comment,” Alicia said, back in her home turf. “We did reach out to Biogasms, and we’ll have their response later in this program. Stay tuned as we hear from mayor Brad Ranier, author activist Kyle Vincent Peele, and more, coming up.”

As the show went to commercial, Audrey pulled her hand from her pussy long enough to let herself think. It took half the break before her orgasm subsided. She grinned. “So, is it Kyle Vincent Peele or Vincent Kyle Peele?” she asked out loud. Not too loud. The cheap motel had cheaper thin walls. “Shows the kind of respect you get, buddy boy.”

She stood up and walked to the bed. Peele lay there where she left him, gasping through the ball gag that fit snugly under the leather hood. He’d long since given up struggling. “That crazy bitch doesn’t even know your name,” she said. “I’m surprised she gave you a platform. Tell me, did your portion of the show go well? Well, did it?”

His grunts and head rolls conveyed nothing. Was he agreeing or not? “Aw, can’t commit to an answer?” she asked. “You know, you’re not on my list, fancy pants. You’re just an asshole. But I’m a fair girl, I’ll tell you that much. So I’ll make a deal with you. When the show is over, if you didn’t come across as a condescending woman-hating prick, I’ll fuck you and let you go. But if not, I’ll fuck you and kill you the instant you cum in me!”

[SoftGameHunter]

Chapter 14


Frank sat in his now private little office. Too many high-profile cases meant no one looking over his shoulder in the bullpen with the others. Literally. The brass trusted him to keep his thoughts to himself and not take bribes. Or was it to share his thoughts articulately and not take bribes? Keeping up was tricky. Politics were everywhere. There was no reasoning to any of it.

Or there was a reason, and he stared at it on his screen. Audrey Andersen. He alone had spent the most time face to face with her. He would know her on sight. Or so they reasoned. But he’d met and spoken to Phil’s side-piece niece and not recognized her before or after until it was too late. She was missing now, vanished. Probably out of town, out of the state. If she was wise, she’d be on a beach somewhere down south in a bikini, sipping on her endless supply of free drinks from besotted suitors of her choosing. And if she suddenly appeared in front of him, on his way home, or at his door, then what? Whatever her lure, was he immune? Maybe the brass thought him so, but he knew better. Maybe that was why he was on the case and given real backup from above.

Side by side, she did bear a resemblance to Lynne Baltimore. He put them on the screen side by side, again. Biogasms had provided their badge portraits. Each was a slender, young woman of bustier build than normal. But Lynne’s rounded, slightly freckled face looked nothing like Audrey’s sharper features. Any thought that they were the same girl posing as two was easily put to rest. The suspiciously sparse security tapes Biograsms provided of the day at the center of the lawsuit made it clear beyond suspicion. While Lynne was having her clothes removed and her body strapped down for examination, Audrey worked at her lab station and took a public break.

No one could look over his shoulders. The security tape video had several backups, including two on hard-copy media hidden at home. But he played it now, hoping it revealed something… It would reveal nothing. But the footage was his to enjoy. With the volume low and the door closed, he ‘studied’ it again.

“Please, what are you doing to me?” Lynne sobbed as they strapped her naked body into the exam table. With her tongue depressed, it sounded more like “Pwease, whah are ou going goo me,” but Frank had a good enough ear from drunk and dusty speech to hear it just fine. It was her, doctor Ted Saler, doctor Hiram Scheiner, nurse Gwen Lamont, orderly/thug Michael Linoge, orderly/thug Patricia Belmont, and the mysterious Larry Leclerk, some honcho from Biogasms management. Leclerk stood back, watching. Saler and Scheiner went at her. All of them wore gas masks except Lynne.

“Pulse one thirty two,” Gwen said as she performed some routine readings. “Blood pressure 123/78.”

“You’re stay quite calm, Audrey,” Scheiner said. “That’s good.”

“I’m not Audrey!” Lynne wailed. But her cries just soaked the walls. Scheiner now stood at her crotch with the lighted magnifier and the speculum.

“Open wide!” he said with a grin as he slid the device into her pussy. “That’s a good girl.”

“She still hot for it?” Saler asked.

“Oh yes,” Scheiner said as he prodded at her insides. Whoever was working the camera knew what to do. It was no passive security camera scanning at random. Though it was mounted on a wall, it zoomed in on the girl’s splayed vagina. The glistening was super evident under the bright lights. Sitting there, Frank could practically smell her.

“Take it out!” Lynn wailed. “Please!”

“Any sign of orgasm?” Saler asked.

“Not yet.”

“She’s had time to cool herself down,” Saler said. “Treatment note. Ted Saler with patient Audrey Pine.” He obviously knew he was being recorded as he started his play-by-play for later transcription. “Working off notes left by doctor Angela Petretti. Patient is initially non-orgasmic. Patient initially shows no signs of pheromone emission, but all room personnel are breathing from isolated air supplies. Patient presents as female approximately age nineteen to twenty-two. Signs of cosmetic surgery consistent with facial features not matching Audrey Pine.”

“Stop it!” Lynne wailed. Her wrists and ankles strained at the bonds holding her down. Straps around her waist kept her from bucking around, not that she didn’t try. Frank paused the playback. Lynne lay frozen in mid-struggle. Every time he watched it, he paused, replaying, rewatching. Aside from the dismal indifference these medical folk showed toward the girl’s distress and fear, there was something else that always seemed off about the picture. Being a good detective meant understanding lies, body language, stress, tone, and everything else that most people used to tell their truth when their words told lies. Usually, all sides agreed. Sometimes they didn’t. Lynne’s distress and fear were every bit as real as the doctors’ depraved indifference. So where was the lie?

It continued for a few minutes. The trio used a medical-grade camera to photograph every square inch of Lynn’s body with an extreme closeup macro lens. The thing was practically rubbing over her skin for how close it was. They could probably make out her individual pores. The girl’s bawling as they photographed her pussy was a performance for the ages. Scheiner used probes and forceps to fold and unfold every bit of flesh she had down in her pink flower. On their own terminal screen in the exam room, the gigapixel images flashed in rapid order. Saler had him stop and probe deeper, using an extension probe to take pictures from down deep.

The process was a long one. Almost an hour passed before they were done. They did have to remove Lynne and flip her over, giving Michael and Patricia something to do while they otherwise stood passively in the background. They trussed Lynne up bent over a narrow frame, ankles and wrists cuffed down low while her hips were raised up from below. Essentially, she lay on her belly mooning the office with her anus on wide display. They swabbed her, opened her up for an examination as she howled, and took the same level of pictures on her back, including her anal cavity.

“Schedule her for a colonoscopy,” Saler said as they re-fasted her on her back, legs up, humanity down. “We need a baseline health status to start with. Meanwhile, Audrey, let’s get you back on a treatment regimen and see where we stand after all these years. Gwen, could you bring over the medications?”

“Yes, doctor,” she replied. She picked up a tray with several hypodermics laid out. Saler picked up one of them.

“No! No no no no!” Lynne shrieked, shaking her head wildly as much as she could. They had straps over her forehead now, holding her head still.

“The internal names in use at the time of her last treatment will be used now,” Saler said. “First injection, Agitation A, two hundred milligrams, injection into the clitoris now taking place.”

Lynne’s scream was more from terror than from pain. Frank knew that now, but the girl obviously expected a pure acid injection to her privates. He had to grin. At least they weren’t raping her. Maybe if they had, she wouldn’t be so scared. Bad joke, he knew. But no one was listening. He wasn’t even talking. He resumed the show, again, but it was almost over. After three injections the recording stopped. It probably kept going, but that was where the file ended, and it was less than an hour after that that Frank personally received the anonymous email with the cache of video files starting in the break room and ending here, and the single line in the body of the message. This is happening right now in the sub-basement of Biogasms Ltd. headquarters to Lynne Baltimore, a lab technician at Biogasms.

Of course, even with an emergency search warrant, it was four more hours before Lynne was rescued by MPD Swat. Some of what followed were rumors even he couldn’t verify as true or false. Did Lynne spent four days strapped down in the ICU, scratching at invisible insects crawling over her pussy that only she could see? Did she begin lactating for several days? Did she fart cinnamon milkshakes? No one could say for sure to any of them. But her lawsuit was real enough. It would probably play out before the DA even decided if criminal charges could be filed at all.

The alert chimed and knocked Frank from his thoughts. It was one of his junior detectives. Larissa Tomay had a task he’d given her just the day before. Off as many records as he could make it, with no probably cause. Lynne, for all her victimization, for all her justified rage, was still hiding something. Larissa could follow her and attract no notice. Now she was calling in.

“That was fast, detective,” he said.

“I just followed the girl, boss. Wasn’t hard.”

“So what is she doing?”

“Couldn’t say. She’s in a house with the blinds closed. Not her house.”

“She got a boyfriend maybe?”

“Not exactly,” Larissa said. Her tone gave it away. She was waiting to spring the big one on him.

“Okay, a girlfriend then. Is she hot?”

“You tell me, Frank.”

She was drawing out the game too long. “Or you could tell me,” he returned. But he couldn’t fault her wish for dramatic tension. He’d have done the same.

Thirty minutes later, Frank knocked on a front door. He knew the address. He’d been by once or twice over the years. Nothing special. No real memories of note. But when the door opened and Sharon Price stood staring out at him, her face tried to predict if her brain would act innocent or defiant. “Don’t mind me,” Frank said. “I wanted to see if Lynne is ready for the trial to start tomorrow.”

“Frank,” she sputtered, but he walked in past her. “Hey! I didn’t say come in.”

“I’m not waiting for an invite,” Frank said, rounding the corner into the living room. Soft lighting. A streaming movie. A steamy, streaming movie. Lynne Baltimore sat on the couch wearing only her undies. Her clothes were in a pile nearby, and Sharon’s garb was sweatpants and a tee shirt she could jump into on the way to the front door. Beneath it all was probably more of the same as Lynne. Or maybe less of the same.

“Oh my God!” Lynne cried. She reached for a throw pillow that wasn’t there.

“Relax, Lynne,” Frank said. “Your professional ethics aren’t in question here. Are they, Sharon?”

“We haven’t done anything wrong!” Lynne protested. “Why are you here?”

“I came to see if you wanted to go over anything with me about the case. But maybe that’s what you were doing with detective Price?”

“Can the crap, Frank,” Sharon snapped. “Seriously. What did you come here for? To catch us? Me? What do you want?”

“I want nothing. Come on by my office in the morning, before nine. I have to head over to the courthouse. We can have a chat.”

“I should go,” Lynne said.

“You should do whatever you like,” Frank said. “I see no reason to stick around.” He’d gotten a surreptitious snapshot of the pair several times. If Sharon wanted her jollies with young Baltimore, so be it. As long as she didn’t hose the girl’s chances of a good court judgement, he was fine. He had no objection to Sharon boinking and slishing the girl on the side. With no outrage in his heart, Sharon would probably find his motives wanting, though. What followed, he would do because he could, nothing more. “Before nine, please. Goodnight, lovebirds.”

[SoftGameHunter]

Chapter Tags: This chapter contains the female rapist tag.

Chapter 15


“Do you believe in fate, Mr. Peele?” Audrey breathed. She knelt on the bed, naked, over Vincent Kyle Peele’s bound up body. But now it was time to convince him to behave. She couldn’t see his eyes under the hood, but his tense, rigid posture softened as he breathed in her lustful scent and sultry breath. “That was quite the interview you just gave. Sorry, gave a week or so ago I guess. But I’ll stick to the present. Aren’t you such a forgiving type of man? Forgiving the men who raped and killed their wives because they took their own lives too. You forgive them.”

She wanted an answer. After an evening of blissful silence, it was time to converse. She unfastened the ball gag, freeing the man’s mouth. “I, I don’t know what you want me to say!” he gasped. “You can’t keep me here. This is crazy. Madness! And not at all proportional!”

“Ooh,” she squeaked. He was going to be a tough nut to crack. “Proportional. You said, and I quote, ‘Women have been riding the soft quote rape unquote train to pleasure and fulfilment for over a hundred years, getting laid with no effort, no stigma, and free sympathy. They get to enjoy their guilty pleasures and then enjoy the social status symbol they get by flashing around the I was raped card for ice-cream laden pity parties with their girlfriends and guilt-riding free drinks from every guy at the bar.’ Did I get that quote wrong?” Before he could answer, she continued. “And then you said, again quoting you directly, ‘Now a tiny few of them are learning that you can’t get a free lunch forever, even if you marry your cash bull. And for what? If women don’t want to be murdered by their husbands, don’t marry a murdering rapist. Nothing has changed. Women still get raped daily with no fear of harm, including those three women who obviously pissed off their hubbies a little too much. For most of human history, a husband couldn’t rape his wife. It wasn’t possible. It was literally not possible. Then we changed the law and suddenly it was possible. And then it was astoundingly common. And then it was nearly universal that all marital sex is rape. I say think the lord above that something compelled us men to make the sacrifice and take the violence out of rape so we could all just get on with it!’”

“I, um,” he mumbled. Confusion was kicking in. Audrey breathed on his face, then straddled his nose and mouth with her moist cunt. “Andrea!” he cried out.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” she answered. She was going to be Andrea now for a while. Maybe ten years. She wasn’t ready for the Andrea identity, but the fuckers at Biogasms wrecked her plans. She’d take another name after that, and maybe return to Audrey after that next one.

“So, were you a bad boy or a good boy?” she cooed.

“I don’t know!”

“Hmm.” She paused in her head, though she kept grinding her crotch into his face. He was giving her honesty now. He knew his answer, but not the one she wanted.

“Let me make it up to you!” he cried. “Anything!”

“Is that fear talking, Mr. Peele?” she mock asked.

“No! I must have you, though. Please! Whatever else, I need you, Andrea!”

“Oh, you’re so nice,” she cooed. A tough nut indeed. Tough and brittle. He shattered like cheap glass. “Would you die for me, Mr. Peele?”

“I, I…” He wasn’t quite there yet. “That seems to be up to you.” And he was still showing an independent mind. Impressive. Maybe not so shattered. Maybe just a conflicted perv and a misogynistic prick. She slid her pussy off his face and crawled down his body. His cock was stuck straight up, waiting, ready. She flicked the head a few times and grasped it.

“Big,” she cooed. “Too big for little old me?”

“No!” he gasped. Was that an answer, or was he begging for no rape?

“Mr. Peele,” she said. “The problem here is that you’re just a jerk to women. I can’t believe you meant all those disdainful things you said about us. I think maybe you were trying to sell books and get more air time. But you did say them knowing how we’d take it, so it’s not all dishonest if you really feel that way about mocking and humiliating us.”

“You said you’d fuck me!” he gasped. “You promised a free lay!”

“Ooh, keeping up the schtick to the very end! You’re a feisty one, Mr. Peele.” She turned around and sat back down on his face, but leaned forward and down to take a lick of his cock. “I’ll tell you what. You get to licking me and make me cum. I’m supremely multi-orgasmic, so that should be no problem. They made sure of that! And as soon as I start cumming, I’ll blow you. If you can keep me cumming non-stop until you spew in my mouth, I won’t bite your dick off. How does that sound?”

“Oh! Oh god! Risky as fuck!”

“Yeah, life’s a bitch and so am I. Get started, or I may have to chow down on some Rocky Mountain oysters. Now!” She squashed her crotch down to his mouth and nose. His air was his own problem, but he shot his tongue out and up into her snatch. She wasn’t sure what to expect. A guy like that could pride himself on being a good fuck. Or he could be a selfish, useless one. But he started out eager, and she was pre-lubed from watching that rape special report. His interview had infuriated her, but she’d been prepared for that. Bound as he was, the man wasn’t going anywhere.

“Oh! Fuck!” she said. He was a good muff diver after all. She was cumming within the minute. “Don’t forget, I, I, I have to keep on…” She needed to remind him. “Cumming!” And she was. She wrapped her lips around his cock and began. He wasn’t the only one in the room with a skilled mouth, but she wasn’t inclined to be nice. She could take her time. With the man’s tongue slapping and splashing over her clit, it was hard to think anyway. She just lubed his cock and deep-throated him as her own body shook and writhed as she continued to cum. “Don’t! You! Let! Up!” she cried. Her pussy just kept on spasming. Shaking. She alternately rose up and slammed down, but when her pussy lifted away from his tongue, she felt the loss right away. This was why men tied girls like her down. Too keep her from ruining her own fun!

The man was groaning under her, around her cunt. The vibrations alone kept her twitching down there. She stayed at it, lost in the smell and feel of cock in her mouth. Down her neck. She had to strain a little. He was a lot taller than her. That was her curse in the sixty-nine area. Besides her own orgasm, the world didn’t exist. A fireman squad and swat team could burst in and she might not even know it. She cried out, joining the occasional hookers that filled many of the other rooms. Surely they could be heard. Her own cries were surely feeding the stroke fantasies of some lonely guy a room or two away, one without the money to even buy a whore.

The room swirled as she came and came. Non-stop. And hers! She slid down just an inch to get a better mouthful of Peele’s prick, but his cry of distress at losing the snug fit came with her own fading of the cum. She was going to lose it, and only ten minutes in. But then his cock head burst, and hot salty goo burst into her mouth. She coughed, letting most of it dribble out. Caught off guard! How embarrassing. But she slurped at it and milked the rest of it out as her own orgasm faded. She finally slumped down, her crotch still pressed to his chin as she lay with her face on a puddle of his spunk on his belly. Should she force more out?

He had to be under her spell by now. He could tie her to the bed and stimulate her for hours with his fingers, his tongue. The handle of a hair dryer even. It would be safe. But she lifted her face up from the drying puddle and sat up. Then stood up.

“Well, Mr. Peele. We had a deal, Mr. Peele. If you come before I finished, I wouldn’t bite your dick off.”

“Yes,” he intoned. He was under. At last.

“So you get to keep your junk attached.”

“Yes. That’s correct,” he said. The poor boy lost it.

“But I’m still going to kill you,” she said.

“I don’t get it,” he replied. “I help up my end.” He could have been discussing a five dollar surcharge at the mechanic.

“Don’t forget your interview. You said some mean-spirited things about raping women. Giving us pleasure while raping us. You were deliberately provocative. No, that’s too nice. You were an asshole and laughed at how many men who follow you will repeat your words to every woman they know.”

“But you enjoyed it,” he said. “I don’t understand.”

She laughed. “I enjoyed it? Mr. Peele, you didn’t rape me. Our sex tonight was consensual.”

“I still don’t follow,” he said. “You obviously have me under a spell. I think you raped me. And I enjoyed it. I’m no hypocrite. Women don’t rape men anymore, but if you started, I think most of us would be fine with it. I’d be happy to plug for you.”

Audrey frowned. He was totally under her spell, as he put it. And he was astonishingly self-aware of it. That wouldn’t do. She was going to kill him anyway. Maybe after a second round, but not anymore. Not before she chickened out. From her bag she produced her gun. So many murders, even if she had to squeeze off a ton of shots each time. Frank Simpson was a moron. He didn’t even connect the isolated male murders to his precious sex crimes work. Well, maybe he’d have a hint for this one.

Peele never saw her approach. He still wore the hood and the ropes, but nothing else. She aimed for his neck and fired, fired, fired, fired, fired.