Content Warnings: Sorry, folks. Another non-sex chapter. There are plenty of innuendo, rude thoughts and ruder words, but no fleshy parts.
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Chapter 16
Sharon didn’t knock. She usually maintained that minimum level of polite formality, but she pushed Frank’s little office door open and strode in to take a seat without a word. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. A quarter to nine. She followed his eyes. “It’s before nine,” she said. A word. She tried to hide the slight wince as she realized her mistake.
“Yes. You’re being punctual. I don’t have a ton of time for this, so close the door, unless you want other curious ears to listen.” She reached over and shoved it shut. “You’re having an affair with Lynne Baltimore,” he said. “How old is she? Twenty? Twenty-two?” She made no reply. “Well, I’d fuck her too. Except she’s a witness and a victim on a case you’re assigned to. A recovering victim, in therapy even now.”
“She’s not in therapy,” Sharon shot back.
“Oh? Hmm.” That was news. “All the same, if this came to the ethics review board, well, they might have some tough questions. Or should I say, easy questions and tough penalties.” She stared at him, her face in full lockdown. There was probably no returning to what friendship they’d once shared, but that was years ago and never strong to begin with. “If I report you, I can sink you. But we don’t have to let it come to that. Tonight, you stay home by yourself. I’ll be by when I can, and you can show me the same favor you show Lynne Baltimore.”
“And then it’s over?” she asked.
“It’s over when I get bored.” If that provoked her, she didn’t show it. “Try to be showered, and maybe shave your legs a little.” Her glower could have frozen a cup of coffee. “In fact, shave your pussy too, if you don’t already.”
“Is this really where you want to take this, Frank?” she stated. There was no question in there, but he answered it anyway.
“I tried to partner up with you, Sharon. You insisted on making complaints about me. You gave your, what did you call it, your independent commentary to the media on my case.”
“If it weren’t for me, you’d have been crawling on the floor in Audrey Andersen’s flop house!”
“I didn’t need a babysitter.”
“You need one now, you pathetic man-child. Look at you, blackmailing me for sex because of who I sleep with. Are you that insecure?”
“You’ve vain menace, Sharon. You weren’t that helpful on the case and you’re not that important now. I’m doing this because I can. You’ve got a good rack and a fine pussy and you’ve pissed me off too many times, so I’m going to fuck you. Or you can refuse. It’s your call. Be ready any time after six. I’ll probably be by tonight.”
With no indication if she would submit, she stood and walked out. He expected her to try recording him, but the office defenders didn’t message him. She must have guessed he would do something like this. A year ago, he would have winked, made a crude finger in the dyke joke, and moved on. No more. He would be by, probably around six. And then he would strip her and fuck her and decide if he wanted to bother with her again.
But now he had a court date. Before he even left the office, he checked in and found the Metro Superior Court was mobbed. The Baltimore case was turning into the biggest media circus in years, even more so than the Tropic of Capricorn trials had been. At least they’d been quick. Open betting filled the bookies’ time and logs over whether Ant Nance would ride old sparky with his buddies before he could be tried for his part in the Margot Carruthers rape and kidnapping case. Last he checked, it was five to three in favor of getting him in a courtroom. But now everyone was focused on a civil trial as Lynne made the case that they’d mistaken her for a two-hundred-year-old sex zombie. Oh yes, nothing salacious there.
He took a police flyer to the courthouse. There was still a security line at the top floor below the rooftop landing pad, but it was only three people long, and about as many minutes passed to move through it.
“Inspector Simpson, could I trouble you for a brief interview?” He knew the voice. Alicia Jenner walked over with her camera minions in tow.
“Alicia. I didn’t expect you here. How did you get up here?”
“The courthouse is accessible to the press, inspector. I flew in, same as you. About that interview? Just a few words before the trial opens?”
“No comment,” he said. “Why don’t you ask Sharon Price? She’s available, somewhere else.” He walked away before she could respond.
“Look at you!” Alicia shot after him. It seemed like a prelude, but she stopped speaking. No doubt there were cameras everywhere, even up on the top floor. Her taunt would have to live in her head. She and Sharon could go fuck each other as far as he was concerned.
He was settled into an old, overly soft and yielding pleather chair to do some outside the office work in the witness waiting area when in walked Alicia’s minions. Cameraman Ben carried the camera, while Christy scurried about like a lost little mouse, lacking purpose without her mistress around. They spotted Frank, though. He groaned as they walked over.
“Inspector Simpson,” Christy said. “I didn’t know you’d be here on day one.”
“First on scene, first to testify I guess,” he said. “I’m more surprised you two are here.”
“The judge banned cameras in the courtroom,” Ben said. “Said he wasn’t a lion tamer and didn’t care to ringlead. We’re stuck here until the first break. Alicia’s in taking notes.”
“No one’s looking at her. Must be hell,” Frank said.
“No, she’s not like that. That’s all wrong,” Christy replied. “I think she’ll be very happy doing it this way. She can take notes and organize her thoughts.”
“Sure, if you say so,” Frank said.
“What, you don’t think so? I thought you liked talking to Alicia.”
“I’m ordered, from time to time, to talk to the press. That’s really it. Sorry to burst your bubble, but you guys aren’t all that helpful most of the time. You’re helpful to your own ratings. Sometimes you say things worth knowing, but only if it gets the viewers. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
That did it. The pair slunk off to wait elsewhere, but the next pair of problems rolled in as they retreated. A much more significant pair. Helen Schaefer spotted him first, but she nudged her husband and pointed. The man took one look at Frank and said something else too quiet, but a moment later they too approached him. No one respected the crossword at all.
“Detective,” Byron said.
“It’s inspector, Mr. Schaefer,” Frank said. “To both of you.”
“We’re not mad, inspector,” Helen said.
“Speak for yourself,” her husband added.
“Actually, neither of you speak to me at all,” Frank said. “I’m going to testify against both of you, probably before lunch. This isn’t a criminal proceeding, but it’s not appropriate for us to converse about the case before we’ve been called.”
Helen smiled, forcing her lips to curl upward. “Another time, then,” she said. Another pair retreated. If more couples kept walking over, he’d lose the whole day, but the doorway remained empty for a time. It was a big waiting area, probably to keep different witnesses from needing to interact. Now he could work in peace.
What was a six-letter word for ‘rug for the lobe,’ second letter ‘a?’ Maybe he would never find out. A court bailiff approached him, making eye contact. “You’re being called, inspector Simpson,” he said.
“Alright.” He got up. “Hey, any idea was a rug for the lobe would be? Six letters, second one is an ‘a.’”
“They’re waiting for you, inspector.”
“Right.” The crossword would have to wait. A few minutes later, he sat on the stand, under oath. Alicia sat out in the courtroom spectators. Lynne sat with her lawyers. In the defendant’s seat, he recognized Biogasms CEO Lindsey Wells. She had to be in an awkward position, helming the company through a scandal she hadn’t been around for. At least she hadn’t been in charge, but when Patrick Anderson had been forced out under suspicion, it fell to the former CFO to answer the Board’s call. At least she wouldn’t have much to testify over about the events that day.
“Inspector Simpson,” Lynne’s lawyer began. “Could you please relate to us the events of the afternoon and evening in question?”
“Yes, I can,” Frank began. “At about three PM on the twenty-second, I received an email with the subject heading ‘Important Inside Biogasms’, containing video footage from inside Biogasms headquarters.”
“Objection,” the other lawyer interrupted. “Inspector Simpson had no way of knowing at the time that he was seeing footage from inside Biogasms.”
His gritted teeth made no sound in the courtroom as the judge overruled him. So, it was going to be one of those trials. His testimony would take twice as long as it had to because the lawyer was channeling his inner shyster. So be it. He was paid the same either way. Somewhere out there, a real crime could just wait.
In a blessing by God, his testimony and cross examination ended just before the close of business. For all the shyster’s protestations, his testimony was straightforward about what he saw, did, and reported. He was free and clear for now. The clock read 4:50. Sharon would just have to cool her heels. He couldn’t make it by six. At least he had a flight pickup back to the precinct. As he was climbing aboard, the chime told him he had a new message on his official email. He scowled. It came from an anonymous address. The subject line: ‘Important Inside Biogasms.’
He would read it, of course. He had to. But with millions of possible fakers out there following the case, the odds of it being important faded away with each breath. It could wait a while, until he was rested. These messages came in all the time. They still had the venerable 911 system for real emergencies. For now, he wanted to shit, shower, and shave. Strike the shave. Then a bite, and over to Sharon’s house. Maybe he’d be there by seven. He should have told her to wait naked. Oh well.
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Pheromonica - NaNoWriMo 2025 challenge completed
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This forum is for publishing, reading and discussing rape fantasy (noncon) stories and consensual erotic fiction. Before you post your first story, please take five minutes to read the Quick Guide to Posting Stories and the Tag Guidelines.
If you are looking for a particular story, the story index might be helpful. It lists all stories alphabetically on one page. Please rate and comment on the stories you've read, thank you!
Story Filters
Language: English Stories | Deutsche Geschichten
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Length: Flash | Short | Medium | Long
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SoftGameHunter
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Re: Pheromonica - NaNoWriMo (chapter 17 added)
Chapter 17
Helen walked into the security station but stopped cold. Byron sat there, at his desk, in his uniform. But he wasn’t alone. The kid, Ned Burbank, the kid that was officially his superior, the kid that was fifteen years his junior, that kid – he hadn’t gone home yet. But he saw Helen and waved. Now she couldn’t save any face for either of them.
“Good evening, Mrs. Schaefer,” he said.
“Hello, Ned,” she replied, hoping her tone conveyed the right overwhelming hint. “I’m surprised to see you here this late.”
“Oh, I was just heading out,” he said. He should have been out fifteen minutes ago.
“Have a good night, Ned,” she stated.
“G’night, Byron!” he said as he gathered up his coat. Maybe he wasn’t a kid at twenty-seven. He was old enough to be a real human, and tough enough to break bricks. Bryon just grunted with a nod. He was out the door for fifteen seconds before Helen broke the silence.
“You’re you doing?” she asked.
“If they think I’m going to rage quit, they’d better guess again!” he snapped. “How do you think I’m doing? I’m working the front desk in a damned clown costume!”
“Hey, those are my people in that uniform,” she said.
“And I’m not!” She shrunk back. Of course, she shouldn’t have said that. He was her people, the one that counted. Not Ned. They were trying to make him rage quit. The lawyers obviously thought it was the better option to firing him, so they demoted him and stuck him in a front desk job. And with him in court testifying, on his own time, he had to pull night shifts. Helen testified on the clock. She had no penalties. Maybe it was part of their plan.
“Of course you are!” she replied. “You’re a hundred times more the man than Ned. Jeez!”
“If you just came to patronize me…” He didn’t finish, and she expected him to turn away and give her the cold shoulder again. But he leaned forward. “Remind me. Not here. Later. I’ve got a little surprise.”
“About what?”
“About surprising stuff!”
“Okay. I’m sorry,” she said. As a tear formed, she turned away, faking a general visual of the lobby. At least he had something, even if he was being secretive about it. After the last year, any glimmer of joy in his eyes brought welcome joy in her heart to match.
“I’ll be home at the usual time,” he said.
“The usual is coming home with me,” she replied.
“The new usual.” Ice. She nodded.
“Alright. I’ll be up by then.”
“That would be good.”
“I’ll see you then!” she sputtered as she retreated out the front. Of course, he could watch her on the cameras, so she had to make it to her car before she let herself sob a little. It wasn’t fair. He was taking it all out on her, but she’d been a shitty wife. The real unfairness was Lynne Baltimore. Maybe she was ‘innocent,’ but she still couldn’t explain most of the discrepancies in her past. She was paper perfect and life lacking. It made sense to finger her.
She grinned. Fingering Lynne. Yes, that would be quite a lot of fun. But fingering her in this case as the unknown suspect girl. Audrey Pine. It looked more and more like Audrey Andersen was the real Audrey Pine, but that didn’t let the bitch off the hook. She couldn’t just take a super-generous settlement. No, she had to make a federal case out of it. A state case, actually. And it was lucky litigiousness that kept the Biogasms people out of jail.
Lynne. Helen hit the freeway fuming. Lynne Baltimore cared more about her butthurt pride than in just letting it go. She could have retired at twenty-three and gone off to live her special secretive life in some woodsy retreat, but she had to play the public fucking martyr, paling around with Alicia Jenner and the cop bitch lady. Well, the public would love watching her soon enough. Cameras or no cameras, Helen was going to make sure the video played all around the world online. Lynne could scream naked on the exam table all she wanted. A billion people would see her doing it. If they thought the Margot Carruthers sex tape was big, they hadn’t seen anything on Lynne Baltimore’s!
And that was just the beginning. Humiliation during the trial. And then more. A lot more.
Getting home didn’t improve her mood much. A little. She baked some chicken and sat watching some old movies. Red wine wasn’t supposed to go with chicken, but she didn’t mind at all. It was liquid anti-depressant. It went with everything. Blood red wine, and flesh upon to dine. She smiled, recalling the old songs she sang in her college metal band. They were wise and stupid beyond their years.
She woke up on the couch. The clock said it was half past three. She had hours to go and no one to get her there. She left the running TV behind her as she shambled to the cold bedroom and stripped down to plop face-down on the lonely mattress. No one touched her. She reached back and slapped her own ass. Not as hard as she would have wanted. Alone, she still felt the shame of touching herself instilled at a young age. What about spanking herself? In a quiet house, the slap was too loud. But she smacked her buttocks and crack with her hand. “Take that!” she whispered. Maybe she couldn’t feel anymore. It was a sad spanking, so she quit it and fell asleep.
The sounds of boots dropping to the floor woke her in a bright bedroom. She rolled over, unmoved since passing out. Byron was home, getting undressed. Starting with his boots. “Hey, morning,” she said.
“Oversleeping?” he asked.
“Huh?” She looked to the clock. “Oh, fuck me!”
“Later,” he said.
“Wait, I didn’t oversleep.” She squinted at the display. “Jeez, don’t scare me. Did you have a good night? What’s this surprise?”
“Night shifts are shitty, don’t care what happens. But yes, the surprise. I’m not sure yet, but it’s good. I mean, the plan, oh fuck. Just come with me.” Down to his skivvies, he walked out to his old home office. She stood and reached for her bathroom but stopped. He’d like it more if she didn’t. Naked, she followed him out.
“They didn’t really think they could lock me out of my own systems I hope,” he said as he logged in. A page that certainly wasn’t his normal profile popped up.
“Shit! You have a backdoor?” she cried. “Are you insane?”
“Yes, Helen, I’m the insane one!”
“Sorry.”
“I was able to use our network to set up a VPN.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So let me finish. I don’t want any surprises with this trial. So I managed to join our new best friend in digital spirit.” He clicked some more buttons and the screen changed. Helen read.
Metroland Police Department Secure Webmail Server.
“Holy fucking shit, Byron!” she cried. “What the–?”
“Don’t worry, I don’t go browsing, but I set up a parsed search script to look for emails with various keywords and properties. And today I got a ping.”
“This is! Byron! Oh my God!”
“And it’s to Frank Simpson,” he said. “Natch. Let’s see.”
Helen could read it over his shoulder. An email from yesterday afternoon, late. After the trial adjourned. ‘Important Inside Biogasms.’ Cute. Mimicking the email that started it all.
“Looks like he’s read it,” Byron said. He clicked to open and found only a video attachment. One. “Alright, let’s see what this is.”
“I think,” she began.
“What? What do you think, Helen? What? Tell me.”
“It’s nothing,” she said. “Just professional superstition.”
“Ha, yeah. I get it,” he chuckled. “No worries there. Now let’s just play this.”
The playback began. Helen stared for a few seconds before looking down to see his face deforming into a frown, a scowl, and finally a pale, pursed lipped specter.
“Well I know we shouldn’t even have to be here,” screen Helen said. She was seated with Byron in the courthouse. In the witness waiting area. “But we’re here because that bitch won’t leave it alone. We tried the carrot. It’s time for the stick!”
“Stick it where?” Byron laughed.
“Oh, I can think of some places. And believe me, that girl is vulnerable. I could take her away in two minutes. I know we can’t.”
“They can’t,” Byron said. “Personally, we can do anything.”
“We’d be the prime suspects!” screen Helen hissed.
“Would we? The lawyers made sure the case is all about the company. It’s a cash loss at worst. We only lose reputation. There’s really no motive to take the cunt out, not for us. Take her out into the woods and blammo! After some fun first.”
Helen laughed. “Yeah. Make her regret being born a girl!”
“Besides, I can cover my tracks. We can. We know how. Lynne’s going away. Not today, or tomorrow, but soon. And for the rest of her life!” He was slipping into classic-movie speak. She remembered the conversation. It was the closest she’d seen Byron to happy in weeks. Now, watching it as a re-run, Helen’s stomach slowly churned as the pit grew larger.
“How long is this?” she asked. Her eyes weren’t focusing on the screen well.
“Eleven minutes total,” he said. On screen, he was now discussing Lynne’s bank details.
“How is this possible?” Helen cried. “Oh man! How? They don’t have cameras in the witness waiting room. Do they?”
“No, certainly not. Maybe silent security cameras, but they’d be focused on the doors. I know. I’ve got access to them.”
“You what?”
“Focus, Helen!”
“I’m sorry!”
“This wasn’t taken from ceiling level,” Byron said. “This is a hand-held camera. This was someone…” He stopped, lost in thought.
“Those two reporters!” Helen snapped. “Alicia Jenner’s crew. There were no cameras allowed in the courtroom! They were recording us?”
“Must have had a parabolic microphone,” Byron grumbled. “Oh fuck. This already went to the cops. Which means it’s on the news soon!”
“Well, what are we going to do?” Helen cried. On screen, she was whispering and laughing about putting Lynne into the program anyway, back to where she belonged. Byron nodded along.
“They might well go for that, but we’d have to do it cleaner the second time,” he said. Turn off the internal cameras, or feed a dummy signal through them. Dead of night. Make sure Lynne is good and groggy. She’s not answering questions, so we can drug her. Yeah. And then strap the bitch to the table and wreck that pussy!”
He hit the pause. It wasn’t finished, but they knew how it ended. There had been no one sitting within thirty feet! They whispered, but the sound caught every last breath they took.
“What are we going to do?” Helen cried.
“I still don’t know! Stop yapping and let me think!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Go make some coffee. I’m going to be up late this morning. Fuck, the trial is back on at nine. Fuck. Fuck!”
Helen walked into the security station but stopped cold. Byron sat there, at his desk, in his uniform. But he wasn’t alone. The kid, Ned Burbank, the kid that was officially his superior, the kid that was fifteen years his junior, that kid – he hadn’t gone home yet. But he saw Helen and waved. Now she couldn’t save any face for either of them.
“Good evening, Mrs. Schaefer,” he said.
“Hello, Ned,” she replied, hoping her tone conveyed the right overwhelming hint. “I’m surprised to see you here this late.”
“Oh, I was just heading out,” he said. He should have been out fifteen minutes ago.
“Have a good night, Ned,” she stated.
“G’night, Byron!” he said as he gathered up his coat. Maybe he wasn’t a kid at twenty-seven. He was old enough to be a real human, and tough enough to break bricks. Bryon just grunted with a nod. He was out the door for fifteen seconds before Helen broke the silence.
“You’re you doing?” she asked.
“If they think I’m going to rage quit, they’d better guess again!” he snapped. “How do you think I’m doing? I’m working the front desk in a damned clown costume!”
“Hey, those are my people in that uniform,” she said.
“And I’m not!” She shrunk back. Of course, she shouldn’t have said that. He was her people, the one that counted. Not Ned. They were trying to make him rage quit. The lawyers obviously thought it was the better option to firing him, so they demoted him and stuck him in a front desk job. And with him in court testifying, on his own time, he had to pull night shifts. Helen testified on the clock. She had no penalties. Maybe it was part of their plan.
“Of course you are!” she replied. “You’re a hundred times more the man than Ned. Jeez!”
“If you just came to patronize me…” He didn’t finish, and she expected him to turn away and give her the cold shoulder again. But he leaned forward. “Remind me. Not here. Later. I’ve got a little surprise.”
“About what?”
“About surprising stuff!”
“Okay. I’m sorry,” she said. As a tear formed, she turned away, faking a general visual of the lobby. At least he had something, even if he was being secretive about it. After the last year, any glimmer of joy in his eyes brought welcome joy in her heart to match.
“I’ll be home at the usual time,” he said.
“The usual is coming home with me,” she replied.
“The new usual.” Ice. She nodded.
“Alright. I’ll be up by then.”
“That would be good.”
“I’ll see you then!” she sputtered as she retreated out the front. Of course, he could watch her on the cameras, so she had to make it to her car before she let herself sob a little. It wasn’t fair. He was taking it all out on her, but she’d been a shitty wife. The real unfairness was Lynne Baltimore. Maybe she was ‘innocent,’ but she still couldn’t explain most of the discrepancies in her past. She was paper perfect and life lacking. It made sense to finger her.
She grinned. Fingering Lynne. Yes, that would be quite a lot of fun. But fingering her in this case as the unknown suspect girl. Audrey Pine. It looked more and more like Audrey Andersen was the real Audrey Pine, but that didn’t let the bitch off the hook. She couldn’t just take a super-generous settlement. No, she had to make a federal case out of it. A state case, actually. And it was lucky litigiousness that kept the Biogasms people out of jail.
Lynne. Helen hit the freeway fuming. Lynne Baltimore cared more about her butthurt pride than in just letting it go. She could have retired at twenty-three and gone off to live her special secretive life in some woodsy retreat, but she had to play the public fucking martyr, paling around with Alicia Jenner and the cop bitch lady. Well, the public would love watching her soon enough. Cameras or no cameras, Helen was going to make sure the video played all around the world online. Lynne could scream naked on the exam table all she wanted. A billion people would see her doing it. If they thought the Margot Carruthers sex tape was big, they hadn’t seen anything on Lynne Baltimore’s!
And that was just the beginning. Humiliation during the trial. And then more. A lot more.
Getting home didn’t improve her mood much. A little. She baked some chicken and sat watching some old movies. Red wine wasn’t supposed to go with chicken, but she didn’t mind at all. It was liquid anti-depressant. It went with everything. Blood red wine, and flesh upon to dine. She smiled, recalling the old songs she sang in her college metal band. They were wise and stupid beyond their years.
She woke up on the couch. The clock said it was half past three. She had hours to go and no one to get her there. She left the running TV behind her as she shambled to the cold bedroom and stripped down to plop face-down on the lonely mattress. No one touched her. She reached back and slapped her own ass. Not as hard as she would have wanted. Alone, she still felt the shame of touching herself instilled at a young age. What about spanking herself? In a quiet house, the slap was too loud. But she smacked her buttocks and crack with her hand. “Take that!” she whispered. Maybe she couldn’t feel anymore. It was a sad spanking, so she quit it and fell asleep.
The sounds of boots dropping to the floor woke her in a bright bedroom. She rolled over, unmoved since passing out. Byron was home, getting undressed. Starting with his boots. “Hey, morning,” she said.
“Oversleeping?” he asked.
“Huh?” She looked to the clock. “Oh, fuck me!”
“Later,” he said.
“Wait, I didn’t oversleep.” She squinted at the display. “Jeez, don’t scare me. Did you have a good night? What’s this surprise?”
“Night shifts are shitty, don’t care what happens. But yes, the surprise. I’m not sure yet, but it’s good. I mean, the plan, oh fuck. Just come with me.” Down to his skivvies, he walked out to his old home office. She stood and reached for her bathroom but stopped. He’d like it more if she didn’t. Naked, she followed him out.
“They didn’t really think they could lock me out of my own systems I hope,” he said as he logged in. A page that certainly wasn’t his normal profile popped up.
“Shit! You have a backdoor?” she cried. “Are you insane?”
“Yes, Helen, I’m the insane one!”
“Sorry.”
“I was able to use our network to set up a VPN.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So let me finish. I don’t want any surprises with this trial. So I managed to join our new best friend in digital spirit.” He clicked some more buttons and the screen changed. Helen read.
Metroland Police Department Secure Webmail Server.
“Holy fucking shit, Byron!” she cried. “What the–?”
“Don’t worry, I don’t go browsing, but I set up a parsed search script to look for emails with various keywords and properties. And today I got a ping.”
“This is! Byron! Oh my God!”
“And it’s to Frank Simpson,” he said. “Natch. Let’s see.”
Helen could read it over his shoulder. An email from yesterday afternoon, late. After the trial adjourned. ‘Important Inside Biogasms.’ Cute. Mimicking the email that started it all.
“Looks like he’s read it,” Byron said. He clicked to open and found only a video attachment. One. “Alright, let’s see what this is.”
“I think,” she began.
“What? What do you think, Helen? What? Tell me.”
“It’s nothing,” she said. “Just professional superstition.”
“Ha, yeah. I get it,” he chuckled. “No worries there. Now let’s just play this.”
The playback began. Helen stared for a few seconds before looking down to see his face deforming into a frown, a scowl, and finally a pale, pursed lipped specter.
“Well I know we shouldn’t even have to be here,” screen Helen said. She was seated with Byron in the courthouse. In the witness waiting area. “But we’re here because that bitch won’t leave it alone. We tried the carrot. It’s time for the stick!”
“Stick it where?” Byron laughed.
“Oh, I can think of some places. And believe me, that girl is vulnerable. I could take her away in two minutes. I know we can’t.”
“They can’t,” Byron said. “Personally, we can do anything.”
“We’d be the prime suspects!” screen Helen hissed.
“Would we? The lawyers made sure the case is all about the company. It’s a cash loss at worst. We only lose reputation. There’s really no motive to take the cunt out, not for us. Take her out into the woods and blammo! After some fun first.”
Helen laughed. “Yeah. Make her regret being born a girl!”
“Besides, I can cover my tracks. We can. We know how. Lynne’s going away. Not today, or tomorrow, but soon. And for the rest of her life!” He was slipping into classic-movie speak. She remembered the conversation. It was the closest she’d seen Byron to happy in weeks. Now, watching it as a re-run, Helen’s stomach slowly churned as the pit grew larger.
“How long is this?” she asked. Her eyes weren’t focusing on the screen well.
“Eleven minutes total,” he said. On screen, he was now discussing Lynne’s bank details.
“How is this possible?” Helen cried. “Oh man! How? They don’t have cameras in the witness waiting room. Do they?”
“No, certainly not. Maybe silent security cameras, but they’d be focused on the doors. I know. I’ve got access to them.”
“You what?”
“Focus, Helen!”
“I’m sorry!”
“This wasn’t taken from ceiling level,” Byron said. “This is a hand-held camera. This was someone…” He stopped, lost in thought.
“Those two reporters!” Helen snapped. “Alicia Jenner’s crew. There were no cameras allowed in the courtroom! They were recording us?”
“Must have had a parabolic microphone,” Byron grumbled. “Oh fuck. This already went to the cops. Which means it’s on the news soon!”
“Well, what are we going to do?” Helen cried. On screen, she was whispering and laughing about putting Lynne into the program anyway, back to where she belonged. Byron nodded along.
“They might well go for that, but we’d have to do it cleaner the second time,” he said. Turn off the internal cameras, or feed a dummy signal through them. Dead of night. Make sure Lynne is good and groggy. She’s not answering questions, so we can drug her. Yeah. And then strap the bitch to the table and wreck that pussy!”
He hit the pause. It wasn’t finished, but they knew how it ended. There had been no one sitting within thirty feet! They whispered, but the sound caught every last breath they took.
“What are we going to do?” Helen cried.
“I still don’t know! Stop yapping and let me think!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Go make some coffee. I’m going to be up late this morning. Fuck, the trial is back on at nine. Fuck. Fuck!”
-
SoftGameHunter
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Re: Pheromonica - NaNoWriMo (chapter 18 added)
Chapter 18
Seven-twenty rolled around before Frank made it to Sharon’s front door. She lived in a basic little house not too far from the station, with a sun-deprived little front lawn covered mostly in moss. With the sun nearly down, it lost another chance to get some light, but the oaks in the neighbors’ lawns on both sides clearly deprived hers. Maybe the back was nicer. Doubtful. Sharon was drab. He tried the handle but it was locked. Walking in without notice would have been better, and she wouldn’t be naked. There’d been no time for any of that. Instead, he rang. Twice.
Her appearance was pleasing. Not good, but she didn’t try to frumpify herself with bulky sweaters or putting her hair in curlers. She had shorts and a tee-shirt. No bra. “Going to invite me in?” he asked.
She shrugged and turned away. He followed and locked the door behind him. She saw sitting in the living room when he turned the bend. “So, what’s the deal, Frank?”
“The deal is I can destroy your career, like you tried to destroy mine eight months ago.”
“I talked to a reporter, Frank. I’m allowed to do that. Since when do I owe you loyalty?”
“And filed a complaint?”
“Same question. This is retaliation, plain and simple. You caught me banging a witness and now you’re getting your jollies. At long last, the real Frank Simpson. Too bad I’m not surprised.” She sat there, feet up, glowering at him as he sat in the chair across from her. “Fine, you won. I’m bi. You’re not repulsive, so whatever. I can’t believe I’m missing Ice Station for this.”
“Take your clothes off,” he said. The sneer on her face gave the brief illusion of defiance, but she pulled her shirt off first. Then slid her shorts off. He couldn’t tell if there were panties in the bunch she tossed aside or not, but she sat there buck naked, still cross-legged like she was chilling with a movie and a bowl of chips. She was the kind of mid or late thirties woman in physical professions that filled the ranks. Fit enough. Hot enough. Wavy brown hair cut above the shoulders, not quite stylish and not quite drab. Good tits, though. And shaved. Recently, he guessed. He stared at her.
“You’re calling the shots. What now?”
“If you think being a dull, drab person is going to dissuade me,” he began.
“I don’t have a fucking plan, Frank. There’s no scheme here. I don’t know you well enough to turn you on or off. So, whatever. Here I am. Enjoy your victory. I’m daydreaming about someone else no matter what you do. You want to talk, talk. You want to dance, dance. Or we can fuck. Or are you going to hurt me? Because if you leave evidence on me, I will walk into the ER and get checked up.”
“Huh.” He should have had more to say. She didn’t seem like the fighter or the screamer. Well, fighter if she had a choice, but she didn’t. Sharon wasn’t that emotional, unless cold bitch counted.
“That’s full swabs, DNA, the works. If I have to go to the ER.”
So that was her limit. If she could freely walk afterwards, she wouldn’t. Her worries and threats were vaguely interesting, and he was happy she came to terms with it. At no point had he ever planned to fuck her up. Fuck her, yes, but not like that. “Get in the bedroom,” he said. She stood up, but he shoved her over. She fell with a brief cry. “Crawl.”
“Ooh, here I am, crawling,” she sneered, but she crawled as she said it. Her tits were largest when they hung down, straight off her chest, swaying as she wobbled along. He followed behind her, watching that ass wiggling. So far, he’d failed every chance to think ahead. By the time he could get his belt off and swing it at those twin meat slabs on her back side, she’d be in the bedroom and on her back. Maybe if he’d hurried, but it didn’t matter. She crawled and climbed up the side of the bed. He couldn’t have imagined it any more true to life. Her legs parted as she lay on her back, just as he assumed. She threw her arms back over her head, fully spreading herself. “Okay, here I am. Again,” she said.
No matter. She was a cold fish. He knew that. But this cold fish still had a warm cunt. He kicked off his shoes first. Normally he was a nude for sex kind of guy, but he did know Sharon a little bit. He left his undershirt on. She would find that extra low class. His cock didn’t care. And as he slid two fingers into her wet slit, her cunt didn’t care either. He grinned. Her jaw tightened but she said nothing. He’d half expected her to lecture him on autonomic body responses or some shit like that. Anything to deflect from her wetness. He lined it up and pushed it in her.
“Oh. Not too shabby there,” he said after a couple thrusts. She made no reply, nor did he expect one. She lowered her arms but lay still as he plowed her fields. “Yeah, tighter would be better, but beggars can’t be choosers. Oh, wait. I’m not a beggar!” The woman was going to break a filling gritting her teeth so hard, and her brain could get whiplash if she ever shared her real thoughts. He grabbed at her fleshy tits, pulling one up by her nipple as he used his other arm for balance. Her legs weren’t up in the air. She just lay there. He had to lean over her, but that meant he was leering straight down at her. Not straight, but close enough.
On impulse, he hocked up a loogie and let it drip off his lip onto her face. She winced and turned away, but he got some into her left ear. “Get comfy, Sharon. I’m an old man. Even with the comfort of my own hand this takes ten minutes usually. If you want to watch TV, you might catch part of Ice Station. They named a show after your cunt. Isn’t that sweet?” A total lie. Her fuck hole was hot and soggy.
“Will you shut up and just fuck me?” she snapped.
He thrust harder, and a squeal of surprise and discomfort leaked from her throat. She said nothing about it. “Yeah!” he said, giving her a few more hard thrusts. Maybe he could finish a little sooner. “But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving soon. I’ll squirt some juice into you, but I’m not aiming to leave right away.”
“Why the fuck would you stick around!” she cried.
“Think it over!” A few more hard thrusts. Sharon groaned as his cock smashed her cervix. He wasn’t that large. Large enough. Maybe she was that shallow.
“Think about how sad you are!” she grumbled. “Gah!” He must have hit her just right. Maybe a little sliding along the clit. He shifted his weight, pushing upward. “Oh fuuuuh…!”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Frank sneered at her. What exactly he meant, he wasn’t sure, but Sharon would fill something in. He wasn’t going to need ten minutes even. Not for Sharon Price. She couldn’t fake boredom. No woman could. Hot, wondrous pleasure flowed up his cock as his cum flowed out, into the woman beneath him. “Oh yeah!”
Sharon lay twitching under him. She certainly hadn’t gotten off, but that was better. The last thing he wanted was for her to cum. Sure, he could tease her if she did. But only if she got to cum, and he preferred she not. As he rolled off her, she just lay there further. A few minutes to get dressed left him with time to ask himself, what would he stick around for? To fuck her again? In a couple hours? Well, maybe one hour.
Did she leave the TV on? Something was playing in the living room. But her head perked up. She heard it too. She hadn’t left anything on. In a flash she rolled over and pulled her service piece from the nightstand drawer. He drew his own. “Wanna be human for one minute, Frank?” she hissed.
“Yeah, I’ve got your back,” he said. He led, but Sharon followed, stark naked. She had clothes in her own bedroom, but no time. The TV was on, and he recognized the show from months ago. The interview. That interview, Sharon with Alicia Jenner. He charged around the side of the couch, as it faced away from the kitchen and hall, and leveled his gun at the intruder.
Lynne screamed as she faced down the barrel. Sharon charged in a split second later but was the first of the two to pull back. “Lynne!”
“I told you to be alone,” Frank said. He put the gun back as Sharon stood there, utterly powerless to know how to react.
“What is this?” Lynne cried. “I thought—” She paused. “It wasn’t hard to figure out—” She stopped again.
“I said I couldn’t see you tonight,” Sharon stammered.
“Lynne, I didn’t expect to see you again tonight,” Frank said, but she stood up and glared at him.
“You! You! I knew you, know you threatened her, but—” She paused yet again. “You’re supposed to be on my side you fucking rapist!”
“Whoa, no one raped anyone here,” Frank said. “Did they, Sharon?”
“No,” she stated. “It was worse. I’d rather be raped by Frank Simpson than let him fuck me willingly, but there it is.” She joined Frank’s gaze at the screen. Her interview still played. Lynne obviously ran it when she got in.
“Is this why you’re blackmailing her?” Lynne asked. “Is it?”
“Inspector Simpson is the face of respectable rape investigations at the MPD,” screen Sharon said to Alicia Jenner. “I suppose if he can instill some kind of calm to the public, that’s something. But I’ve worked with him. He’s not sympathetic to us, to women. Women who’ve been raped.”
“You said ‘us,’” Alicia asked. “You’re a police detective. Have you been raped?”
“In my life, yes,” Sharon said. “Three times. Not since I’ve joined the force, but they don’t just leave my psyche because I get a badge and a license to shoot. Frank looks at raped women the same way we look at a kid who dropped their ice cream cone on a hot sidewalk. Some sympathy, some nods and calm words. And then he moves on, knowing that one ice cream cone in a lifetime is upsetting but soon forgotten. Frank likes women the way most men like women, with heat and a smattering of condescension. Oh, he’ll work the case. His ego won’t let him drop it. He'll be the savior if he can. And maybe that’s all anyone can ask for. He’s a cop, not a therapist. So no, I don’t think he’s a bad choice to lead these cases. He’s got a good nose for leads. Just don’t expect him to really care. It’s not his job and if it were, he’d be bad at it.”
“We’ve all seen this,” Sharon said. “Lynne, please, go home. I’ll deal with Frank.”
“Yes, Sharon, deal with me. Because you’re the only woman in Metroland who should ever have to,” he shot back. “Your little diatribe got me a meeting with the chief and the mayor. For an hour!”
“That’s it?” Lynne cried. “Really, that’s it? That’s the whole issue?”
“You’ve never met the mayor,” Frank said. “Suze Raymond is every bit as phony as her dye job.”
As Lynne’s jaw dropped, Sharon butted in. “That’s actually true,” she said to Lynne. “Sexist as hell, but a true statement. I don’t like her either.”
“This is… Whoa! You’re naked and this man, this… your boss, he just—”
“Whoa yourself, girlfriend. Frank’s not my boss,” Sharon shot back. “Lynne, please. Go home. I’ll handle it. I’ve got this. If you want to help, say nothing and let me handle it.”
“Alright. I’m sorry. I just, I’m sorry!” She stopped long enough to turn the TV back off before fleeing out the front. Sharon locked it behind her.
“How did she get in?” Frank asked.
“Asked the blackmailer about the blackmailee’s girlfriend. I gave her a key.” She sat down on the sofa, legs up again like before until she realized his cum was leaking out of her. “Oh shit!” She jumped up and ran for some paper towels. Frank sat on the chair while she cleaned up. She shot him some angry glares, but got the spot cleansed before sitting again. He couldn’t believe she was forgetting to put clothes on. Sharon was one cool cucumber.
“Alright, Frank. You fucked me. You embarrassed me. I’m not denying any of your accusations. And yeah, I told the truth about you to a reporter. There’s nothing to rehash here. Nothing. It’s just us here, your ego and my body. So, what’s it going to be? Is this a one-off, or are you planning to make it recurring? Tell me what you’re thinking so I can plan my schedule around your psycho perversions!”
“You really don’t see how you threw me under a train, do you?” he asked. “You think I’m just butthurt over you sharing your female whoa-is-me crap. You didn’t just badmouth me, you know. That level of public disrespect put the whole department in a bad light. You’re too pig-headed to see it!”
“I don’t need you to tell me that. I don’t answer to you!”
“Someone needs to tell you! Obviously it’s not going to be Suze Raymond or the chief. You three are too busy synchronizing your periods to your latest bitch sessions. Fine. You want answers? Get back in the bedroom!”
She stared daggers. “You’d better ask yourself if this is what you want to do, Frank.”
“And don’t even think of standing up!”
All the icy stares in the world didn’t change her position. She slid off the sofa and began her crawl back into her own bedroom. Frank was feeling as recharged as he’d been in years. The last time he got busy twice in under an hour was, well. It was a long time ago. But his dick was straining at his pants even as he followed her in, again too late to take his belt off and whip her ass a little. But he got his pants off as she lay herself down and was instantly hard. “Spread ‘em!”
She didn’t argue as she parted her legs. He grabbed her calves and lifted her legs up to more smoothly plug her. Sharon grunted a little as he jammed it in, but she was still slick from his last load mixed with her juices. She looked to either side as he fucked at her, never looking directly at him nor saying anything in words. If he left her high and dry, figuratively, last time, now she was too pent up to avoid it, and she came hard before he could stop her. The gurled cry in her throat gave it away. Her whole body tensed up as she kept cumming, unyielding as he slid hard against her clit until he too bubbled up and filled her. Not much volume, he figured, but it was even faster than the first time. That hadn’t happened since… ever.
She stopped when he stopped, slowly coming down off her orgasmic high. Frank dressed again and walked out to the living room. She hung back. When her footsteps finally preceded her back in the living room, he expected her to relent and cover up, but again she remained nude. Neither spoke right away as she slumped down on the sofa.
“Collect any more big violent high-profile rapes lately?” she finally asked.
“I’d gladly give them up, but no. It’s been a few days. Over a week, I guess. If you want the next one, say the word.”
“Fuck no. I’m not allowed. That’s all on you.”
“What do you mean, not allowed?”
“I mean what makes you think I didn’t get my ass reamed by the chief? And the mayor too? What, you think they didn’t notice my interview too? If I breathe to the press again without permission, it’ll be my badge. So get over your male persecution bullshit, Frank. I didn’t have any problem with that interview, but my female boss did, and her female boss did too. I’ve been punished plenty.”
“No kidding.”
“No, Frank. No kidding. I’m doing armed robberies and auto thefts.”
“Want a lurid one? I’m allowed to delegate once they go to me.”
“Are you joking? You come over and blackmail me into sex, twice. Now you’re offering me cases?”
“I’ve still got a job to do. Want it or not?”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever. I’ll take it.”
He pulled his pad out and logged in. With a few strokes, he had it transferred to Sharon. She sat there, watching. “Gonna tell me what it is?” she asked.
“You’re a big girl.”
She rolled her eyes as she got up to fetch her device. With a few keystrokes she logged in to check. “Oh fuck! The Vincent Kyle Peele murder? Like I care who shot that fucker. Alright, whatever. How is that in your magic inbox? I doubt he was raped before he was murdered. Rubbed one off on a floozy or a whore, maybe.”
“Maybe,” Frank agreed.
“Alright. Well, what now? I feel like this is kind of a moment here, but I still hate your guts and you’re still a man-child, so what’s the deal? Are you going to make a decision or not?”
He heard her words, but his attention had shifted to his emails. It was mostly the usual shit, but the one subjected as ‘Important Inside Biogasms’ caught his eye. Not for its message, though it had a video file attached, already scanned as safe. But the security bot flagged it anyway. Some outside user had already scanned it, and the logs said it was him. “Are you listening to me?” Sharon asked.
“Looks like I’ve got a gremlin,” he said, showing her the screen. “I got this earlier, but the system says I looked at it twice.”
“Ooh, something thinks they’re being clever,” Sharon laughed. “Like MPD doesn’t buy the best security IT on the market now.”
“Now, yeah,” he muttered.
“What’s the vid?” she asked. “Come on. If it affects Lynne, I care. You already know what she means to me, or are you a phobe as well as a prick?”
“Let’s see,” he said. He sat down with Sharon beside him and hit play. And there they were, Byron and Helen Schaefer, sitting in the witness waiting room, whispering in clear and crisp diction.
Sharon’s whole body tensed up.
“We tried the carrot,” Helen hissed. “It’s time for the stick!”
Seven-twenty rolled around before Frank made it to Sharon’s front door. She lived in a basic little house not too far from the station, with a sun-deprived little front lawn covered mostly in moss. With the sun nearly down, it lost another chance to get some light, but the oaks in the neighbors’ lawns on both sides clearly deprived hers. Maybe the back was nicer. Doubtful. Sharon was drab. He tried the handle but it was locked. Walking in without notice would have been better, and she wouldn’t be naked. There’d been no time for any of that. Instead, he rang. Twice.
Her appearance was pleasing. Not good, but she didn’t try to frumpify herself with bulky sweaters or putting her hair in curlers. She had shorts and a tee-shirt. No bra. “Going to invite me in?” he asked.
She shrugged and turned away. He followed and locked the door behind him. She saw sitting in the living room when he turned the bend. “So, what’s the deal, Frank?”
“The deal is I can destroy your career, like you tried to destroy mine eight months ago.”
“I talked to a reporter, Frank. I’m allowed to do that. Since when do I owe you loyalty?”
“And filed a complaint?”
“Same question. This is retaliation, plain and simple. You caught me banging a witness and now you’re getting your jollies. At long last, the real Frank Simpson. Too bad I’m not surprised.” She sat there, feet up, glowering at him as he sat in the chair across from her. “Fine, you won. I’m bi. You’re not repulsive, so whatever. I can’t believe I’m missing Ice Station for this.”
“Take your clothes off,” he said. The sneer on her face gave the brief illusion of defiance, but she pulled her shirt off first. Then slid her shorts off. He couldn’t tell if there were panties in the bunch she tossed aside or not, but she sat there buck naked, still cross-legged like she was chilling with a movie and a bowl of chips. She was the kind of mid or late thirties woman in physical professions that filled the ranks. Fit enough. Hot enough. Wavy brown hair cut above the shoulders, not quite stylish and not quite drab. Good tits, though. And shaved. Recently, he guessed. He stared at her.
“You’re calling the shots. What now?”
“If you think being a dull, drab person is going to dissuade me,” he began.
“I don’t have a fucking plan, Frank. There’s no scheme here. I don’t know you well enough to turn you on or off. So, whatever. Here I am. Enjoy your victory. I’m daydreaming about someone else no matter what you do. You want to talk, talk. You want to dance, dance. Or we can fuck. Or are you going to hurt me? Because if you leave evidence on me, I will walk into the ER and get checked up.”
“Huh.” He should have had more to say. She didn’t seem like the fighter or the screamer. Well, fighter if she had a choice, but she didn’t. Sharon wasn’t that emotional, unless cold bitch counted.
“That’s full swabs, DNA, the works. If I have to go to the ER.”
So that was her limit. If she could freely walk afterwards, she wouldn’t. Her worries and threats were vaguely interesting, and he was happy she came to terms with it. At no point had he ever planned to fuck her up. Fuck her, yes, but not like that. “Get in the bedroom,” he said. She stood up, but he shoved her over. She fell with a brief cry. “Crawl.”
“Ooh, here I am, crawling,” she sneered, but she crawled as she said it. Her tits were largest when they hung down, straight off her chest, swaying as she wobbled along. He followed behind her, watching that ass wiggling. So far, he’d failed every chance to think ahead. By the time he could get his belt off and swing it at those twin meat slabs on her back side, she’d be in the bedroom and on her back. Maybe if he’d hurried, but it didn’t matter. She crawled and climbed up the side of the bed. He couldn’t have imagined it any more true to life. Her legs parted as she lay on her back, just as he assumed. She threw her arms back over her head, fully spreading herself. “Okay, here I am. Again,” she said.
No matter. She was a cold fish. He knew that. But this cold fish still had a warm cunt. He kicked off his shoes first. Normally he was a nude for sex kind of guy, but he did know Sharon a little bit. He left his undershirt on. She would find that extra low class. His cock didn’t care. And as he slid two fingers into her wet slit, her cunt didn’t care either. He grinned. Her jaw tightened but she said nothing. He’d half expected her to lecture him on autonomic body responses or some shit like that. Anything to deflect from her wetness. He lined it up and pushed it in her.
“Oh. Not too shabby there,” he said after a couple thrusts. She made no reply, nor did he expect one. She lowered her arms but lay still as he plowed her fields. “Yeah, tighter would be better, but beggars can’t be choosers. Oh, wait. I’m not a beggar!” The woman was going to break a filling gritting her teeth so hard, and her brain could get whiplash if she ever shared her real thoughts. He grabbed at her fleshy tits, pulling one up by her nipple as he used his other arm for balance. Her legs weren’t up in the air. She just lay there. He had to lean over her, but that meant he was leering straight down at her. Not straight, but close enough.
On impulse, he hocked up a loogie and let it drip off his lip onto her face. She winced and turned away, but he got some into her left ear. “Get comfy, Sharon. I’m an old man. Even with the comfort of my own hand this takes ten minutes usually. If you want to watch TV, you might catch part of Ice Station. They named a show after your cunt. Isn’t that sweet?” A total lie. Her fuck hole was hot and soggy.
“Will you shut up and just fuck me?” she snapped.
He thrust harder, and a squeal of surprise and discomfort leaked from her throat. She said nothing about it. “Yeah!” he said, giving her a few more hard thrusts. Maybe he could finish a little sooner. “But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving soon. I’ll squirt some juice into you, but I’m not aiming to leave right away.”
“Why the fuck would you stick around!” she cried.
“Think it over!” A few more hard thrusts. Sharon groaned as his cock smashed her cervix. He wasn’t that large. Large enough. Maybe she was that shallow.
“Think about how sad you are!” she grumbled. “Gah!” He must have hit her just right. Maybe a little sliding along the clit. He shifted his weight, pushing upward. “Oh fuuuuh…!”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Frank sneered at her. What exactly he meant, he wasn’t sure, but Sharon would fill something in. He wasn’t going to need ten minutes even. Not for Sharon Price. She couldn’t fake boredom. No woman could. Hot, wondrous pleasure flowed up his cock as his cum flowed out, into the woman beneath him. “Oh yeah!”
Sharon lay twitching under him. She certainly hadn’t gotten off, but that was better. The last thing he wanted was for her to cum. Sure, he could tease her if she did. But only if she got to cum, and he preferred she not. As he rolled off her, she just lay there further. A few minutes to get dressed left him with time to ask himself, what would he stick around for? To fuck her again? In a couple hours? Well, maybe one hour.
Did she leave the TV on? Something was playing in the living room. But her head perked up. She heard it too. She hadn’t left anything on. In a flash she rolled over and pulled her service piece from the nightstand drawer. He drew his own. “Wanna be human for one minute, Frank?” she hissed.
“Yeah, I’ve got your back,” he said. He led, but Sharon followed, stark naked. She had clothes in her own bedroom, but no time. The TV was on, and he recognized the show from months ago. The interview. That interview, Sharon with Alicia Jenner. He charged around the side of the couch, as it faced away from the kitchen and hall, and leveled his gun at the intruder.
Lynne screamed as she faced down the barrel. Sharon charged in a split second later but was the first of the two to pull back. “Lynne!”
“I told you to be alone,” Frank said. He put the gun back as Sharon stood there, utterly powerless to know how to react.
“What is this?” Lynne cried. “I thought—” She paused. “It wasn’t hard to figure out—” She stopped again.
“I said I couldn’t see you tonight,” Sharon stammered.
“Lynne, I didn’t expect to see you again tonight,” Frank said, but she stood up and glared at him.
“You! You! I knew you, know you threatened her, but—” She paused yet again. “You’re supposed to be on my side you fucking rapist!”
“Whoa, no one raped anyone here,” Frank said. “Did they, Sharon?”
“No,” she stated. “It was worse. I’d rather be raped by Frank Simpson than let him fuck me willingly, but there it is.” She joined Frank’s gaze at the screen. Her interview still played. Lynne obviously ran it when she got in.
“Is this why you’re blackmailing her?” Lynne asked. “Is it?”
“Inspector Simpson is the face of respectable rape investigations at the MPD,” screen Sharon said to Alicia Jenner. “I suppose if he can instill some kind of calm to the public, that’s something. But I’ve worked with him. He’s not sympathetic to us, to women. Women who’ve been raped.”
“You said ‘us,’” Alicia asked. “You’re a police detective. Have you been raped?”
“In my life, yes,” Sharon said. “Three times. Not since I’ve joined the force, but they don’t just leave my psyche because I get a badge and a license to shoot. Frank looks at raped women the same way we look at a kid who dropped their ice cream cone on a hot sidewalk. Some sympathy, some nods and calm words. And then he moves on, knowing that one ice cream cone in a lifetime is upsetting but soon forgotten. Frank likes women the way most men like women, with heat and a smattering of condescension. Oh, he’ll work the case. His ego won’t let him drop it. He'll be the savior if he can. And maybe that’s all anyone can ask for. He’s a cop, not a therapist. So no, I don’t think he’s a bad choice to lead these cases. He’s got a good nose for leads. Just don’t expect him to really care. It’s not his job and if it were, he’d be bad at it.”
“We’ve all seen this,” Sharon said. “Lynne, please, go home. I’ll deal with Frank.”
“Yes, Sharon, deal with me. Because you’re the only woman in Metroland who should ever have to,” he shot back. “Your little diatribe got me a meeting with the chief and the mayor. For an hour!”
“That’s it?” Lynne cried. “Really, that’s it? That’s the whole issue?”
“You’ve never met the mayor,” Frank said. “Suze Raymond is every bit as phony as her dye job.”
As Lynne’s jaw dropped, Sharon butted in. “That’s actually true,” she said to Lynne. “Sexist as hell, but a true statement. I don’t like her either.”
“This is… Whoa! You’re naked and this man, this… your boss, he just—”
“Whoa yourself, girlfriend. Frank’s not my boss,” Sharon shot back. “Lynne, please. Go home. I’ll handle it. I’ve got this. If you want to help, say nothing and let me handle it.”
“Alright. I’m sorry. I just, I’m sorry!” She stopped long enough to turn the TV back off before fleeing out the front. Sharon locked it behind her.
“How did she get in?” Frank asked.
“Asked the blackmailer about the blackmailee’s girlfriend. I gave her a key.” She sat down on the sofa, legs up again like before until she realized his cum was leaking out of her. “Oh shit!” She jumped up and ran for some paper towels. Frank sat on the chair while she cleaned up. She shot him some angry glares, but got the spot cleansed before sitting again. He couldn’t believe she was forgetting to put clothes on. Sharon was one cool cucumber.
“Alright, Frank. You fucked me. You embarrassed me. I’m not denying any of your accusations. And yeah, I told the truth about you to a reporter. There’s nothing to rehash here. Nothing. It’s just us here, your ego and my body. So, what’s it going to be? Is this a one-off, or are you planning to make it recurring? Tell me what you’re thinking so I can plan my schedule around your psycho perversions!”
“You really don’t see how you threw me under a train, do you?” he asked. “You think I’m just butthurt over you sharing your female whoa-is-me crap. You didn’t just badmouth me, you know. That level of public disrespect put the whole department in a bad light. You’re too pig-headed to see it!”
“I don’t need you to tell me that. I don’t answer to you!”
“Someone needs to tell you! Obviously it’s not going to be Suze Raymond or the chief. You three are too busy synchronizing your periods to your latest bitch sessions. Fine. You want answers? Get back in the bedroom!”
She stared daggers. “You’d better ask yourself if this is what you want to do, Frank.”
“And don’t even think of standing up!”
All the icy stares in the world didn’t change her position. She slid off the sofa and began her crawl back into her own bedroom. Frank was feeling as recharged as he’d been in years. The last time he got busy twice in under an hour was, well. It was a long time ago. But his dick was straining at his pants even as he followed her in, again too late to take his belt off and whip her ass a little. But he got his pants off as she lay herself down and was instantly hard. “Spread ‘em!”
She didn’t argue as she parted her legs. He grabbed her calves and lifted her legs up to more smoothly plug her. Sharon grunted a little as he jammed it in, but she was still slick from his last load mixed with her juices. She looked to either side as he fucked at her, never looking directly at him nor saying anything in words. If he left her high and dry, figuratively, last time, now she was too pent up to avoid it, and she came hard before he could stop her. The gurled cry in her throat gave it away. Her whole body tensed up as she kept cumming, unyielding as he slid hard against her clit until he too bubbled up and filled her. Not much volume, he figured, but it was even faster than the first time. That hadn’t happened since… ever.
She stopped when he stopped, slowly coming down off her orgasmic high. Frank dressed again and walked out to the living room. She hung back. When her footsteps finally preceded her back in the living room, he expected her to relent and cover up, but again she remained nude. Neither spoke right away as she slumped down on the sofa.
“Collect any more big violent high-profile rapes lately?” she finally asked.
“I’d gladly give them up, but no. It’s been a few days. Over a week, I guess. If you want the next one, say the word.”
“Fuck no. I’m not allowed. That’s all on you.”
“What do you mean, not allowed?”
“I mean what makes you think I didn’t get my ass reamed by the chief? And the mayor too? What, you think they didn’t notice my interview too? If I breathe to the press again without permission, it’ll be my badge. So get over your male persecution bullshit, Frank. I didn’t have any problem with that interview, but my female boss did, and her female boss did too. I’ve been punished plenty.”
“No kidding.”
“No, Frank. No kidding. I’m doing armed robberies and auto thefts.”
“Want a lurid one? I’m allowed to delegate once they go to me.”
“Are you joking? You come over and blackmail me into sex, twice. Now you’re offering me cases?”
“I’ve still got a job to do. Want it or not?”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever. I’ll take it.”
He pulled his pad out and logged in. With a few strokes, he had it transferred to Sharon. She sat there, watching. “Gonna tell me what it is?” she asked.
“You’re a big girl.”
She rolled her eyes as she got up to fetch her device. With a few keystrokes she logged in to check. “Oh fuck! The Vincent Kyle Peele murder? Like I care who shot that fucker. Alright, whatever. How is that in your magic inbox? I doubt he was raped before he was murdered. Rubbed one off on a floozy or a whore, maybe.”
“Maybe,” Frank agreed.
“Alright. Well, what now? I feel like this is kind of a moment here, but I still hate your guts and you’re still a man-child, so what’s the deal? Are you going to make a decision or not?”
He heard her words, but his attention had shifted to his emails. It was mostly the usual shit, but the one subjected as ‘Important Inside Biogasms’ caught his eye. Not for its message, though it had a video file attached, already scanned as safe. But the security bot flagged it anyway. Some outside user had already scanned it, and the logs said it was him. “Are you listening to me?” Sharon asked.
“Looks like I’ve got a gremlin,” he said, showing her the screen. “I got this earlier, but the system says I looked at it twice.”
“Ooh, something thinks they’re being clever,” Sharon laughed. “Like MPD doesn’t buy the best security IT on the market now.”
“Now, yeah,” he muttered.
“What’s the vid?” she asked. “Come on. If it affects Lynne, I care. You already know what she means to me, or are you a phobe as well as a prick?”
“Let’s see,” he said. He sat down with Sharon beside him and hit play. And there they were, Byron and Helen Schaefer, sitting in the witness waiting room, whispering in clear and crisp diction.
Sharon’s whole body tensed up.
“We tried the carrot,” Helen hissed. “It’s time for the stick!”
-
SoftGameHunter
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Re: Pheromonica - NaNoWriMo (chapter 18 added)
Chapter 19
It’s a dream! It’s only a dream! Why won’t it stop?
Not again!
Awareness was nothing. Knowledge was nothing. Audrey lay on the exam table, strapped down. Soft but unbreakable wide leather cuffs held her wrists out at her sides. Her ankles were likewise restrained in the stirrups, and her knees too. Why did they have to spread her arms out like that? She couldn’t have them at her sides? She winced and whimpered as her orgasm crested again. Cool vents above blew gently over her sweaty body, letting dry air waft over her. She still sweated. That was evident as they sponge-bathed her body twice a day, lest she build up a salty crust. They talked. Despite all expectations, she listened. Poorly, but repeat a conversation a thousand times and even the most orgasmically obliterated test subject will pick it up.
The door opened. Which version was it, Audrey wondered. There were so many. She stared up at the ceiling, avoiding them. The porn loop feeding into the ceiling monitor was preferable to eye contact. But it was him. Lembert. The first doctor. The creator. God. I don’t want to see him again!
Only the sound went away as the observers and doctors filed into Audrey’s little corner of hell. The panting, crying, and screaming of the porn feeds went nearly silent, though not totally, but the images on the screens over her head stayed on, and the one showing her vital stats came to life. She only saw it when they came to look at her. She shouldn’t have tried to read it through the tears in her eyes, but her fevered head couldn’t help it.
“And this is our star subject, right here. Subject 761. She has a name, Audrey. That’s not a secret. How about we form a circle around little Audrey here.” Doctor Lembert spoke. It was usually him, her chief tormenter. She only recognized two other orderlies. The rest were strangers, at that time. Men and women, doctors probably, a half dozen of them. She would have spoken but her tongue was pinned to the bottom of her restrained mouth so she couldn’t swallow it. Another long orgasm began as their eyes soaked up her body, naked and clamped down so tightly. Her muscles all spasmed, as usual, but it didn’t allow her any movement. A long cry began in her throat.
“This can’t be right,” one of the women said, reading the identical stats chart oriented for standing observers.
“The girl is the Replicant centerpiece, Carol,” one of the men said as he looked her over. “It’s all recorded.”
“Yes, but…” The woman had no answer. Through her tears Audrey tried to focus, blinking them away as her orgasm surged again. “She’s having an orgasm right now?”
“She doesn’t really stop,” Lembert said. “But they peak in waves. Let’s see, the ten-hour rolling average has a period of forty-one seconds between crests. Up a little.”
“Her electrolytes had to be adjusted this morning,” one of the orderlies, Chad, said. “Doctor Smith took care of it.”
“And she’s allowed to know what’s happening to her?” another man asked.
“Oh, yes. It changes nothing. And Audrey would have to be dense as a brick not to have figured it out. She’s been kept in a state of constant orgasm, unbroken even by sleep. She cums in her sleep.”
“Hell of a dream that must be,” another woman said. “Oh, may I?”
“Go ahead,” Lembert replied. With what? But the question answered itself as the woman stuck a finger up Audrey’s pussy, bringing another wave of unstoppable torturous joy. She cried through the metal in her mouth. The third and final woman wiped her tears away, an obvious act of either sadism or generosity. It allowed Audrey to read her chart. And it made sure she could read her chart. She hadn’t seen it in days, and as she came again, she could hardly focus her eyes or her mind, but the data came through.
Audrey Pine. Sometimes she forgot that much. Duration of experiment: 96 days 5 hours 14 minutes and 20 seconds and counting. Weight 98 pounds. A bunch of blood chemistry. Orgasms recorded today: 914. Orgasms total: 180123.
“Now, the previous record was, twenty days?” a man asked.
“Twenty-two,” Lembert said. “All other subjects failed to maintain the state, even in sleep supplementation. And perhaps Audrey will fail too at some point, but the board has authorized an indefinite duration, so we won’t have to quit at the four-month mark as we feared. At her age, she has the stamina, we hope, to keep going for, well, I don’t know how long.”
“Isn’t anyone going to miss her?” the first woman asked. “Family? Schools? Friends?”
“Come on, Carol. You know the score. None of these girls in our facility are going home. But Audrey gets to have an erotic experience like no other. She’s maintained in perfect ecstasy.”
“Christ, Bill, you know that’s bullshit,” one of the men said. “You’re torturing this girl. Albeit, in a good way.”
“She’s so young,” woman two said. “What, eighteen? College freshman I’m guessing? Do you plan to study the long-term psychological effects of this ordeal after she’s done?”
“Doubtful,” Lembert said. “She won’t be returned to any kind of normal life, so her long-term prognosis is already out of kilter. It’s not like she’ll return to her family or anything. Her life will be restricted, naked, and probably under constant experimentation.”
Audrey wailed as two orgasms washed over her during their talk about her future. It was too horrible.
“What about her pain level?” a man asked. “Do you give her relief?”
“We do shift her position around every couple hours, to keep her muscles from atrophying, and to prevent sores. Right now she’s spread out wide, and usually there’s some variant of that, to increase her sense of vulnerability, but we try not to induce too much pain. We don’t give her any painkillers, of course. No drugs outside the regimen. As you can see by the pain estimates graph,” which popped up on the screen, “Audrey lives with moderate-low pain levels during her waking hours. Other experiments don’t bother with this, but we’re trying to keep Audrey cumming as long as we are able, so she gets some extra kind treatment.”
“What about actual sex?” a woman asked.
“Well she’s no virgin, I promise!” Lembert said to chuckles. “But no, her stimulation is strictly mechanical for this. We are curious how her future sexual responses will be affected by everything we’re doing. She could be rendered numb, or she could turn hypersexual, or anything in between. We speculate it will be closer to the latter, but we just don’t know.”
They learned. Audrey learned. Did Lembert live long enough to know Audrey’s pussy turned permanently into a quivering cumsicle? That she resumed perpetual orgasm in her sleep and remained persistently aroused by day?
“Maybe she’ll never stop,” one man said.
“Die an old lady on her billionth cum?” Lembert asked. “Well, maybe. But let’s let Audrey get back to it. As you can see, she’s crested eleven times while we’ve been in here talking about her. It’s obviously turning her on, being surrounded by strangers discussing her body, but we don’t want to push our luck.”
The sound returned with a roar, screaming and sobbing. They liked to feed her the violent porn today, the stuff where the women didn’t even pretend to enjoy it. Audrey could have been sick if they didn’t feed her exclusively intravenously for the past few months. She cried and came and cried some more. In the dream and in life.
Party whistles. That’s what Audrey recognized. Wait, am I jumping ahead? She couldn’t turn her head, but the mirrors told her they’d wheeled a cake in. She wouldn’t get any. “Happy birthday, Audrey,” Lembert said as the staff gathered around. She recognized many, but some in suits were obviously bigwigs. It must have mattered. They even released her gag, though the equipment kept running, kept squeezing orgasm out of her naked body.
“I, I’m,” she panted. A wave stressed all her muscles as she tensed up. All the people, surrounding her. They made her so horny. “Nineteen?”
“Why does she think she’s nineteen?” some big shot asked Lembert.
“Audrey’s long-term memory is very poor. She’s traumatized,” Lembert explained.
“By what? I’d kill to get my wife this satisfied,” the man said. “It’s supposed to be why we originally funded this. Back before—"
“Yes. But Audrey is, all the same, traumatized by her life experience.” He turned to her. “Audrey, you’re turning twenty-three. It’s right there on the display.” He wiped her tears away, letting her focus. Her age wasn’t there. Only the numbers. As if she could still do math. What did a duration of 1629 days even mean? What did 3122934 orgasms mean when there had only ever been one? It never ended. She cried some more. There was no cake. She came hard, crying out again.
I don’t want to relive this! Wake up! Wake up!
“Maybe Audrey could have some cake,” a nurse suggested as she took bites of her piece. “She’s so thin and small.”
“No, her diet is strictly regulated,” Lembert said. “She gets enough ingestibles to maintain digestive function. “But she can smell it. That’s a treat for her, isn’t it, Audrey?”
“P-please!” she sobbed as she came again, her pussy quivering as she did. But she got no cake. The party was over in twenty minutes, and Audrey was left to consider her adult life ahead of her, forever. It wasn’t forever. She knew that now. But it may as well have been. Oh god, please wake me up! Her orgasm crested again.
“I don’t like these numbers.” Audrey shivered. This was wrong. She turned her eyes through a listless arc across the room to Doctor Byrne. Another jump. It was the worst lucid dreaming ever. At least Lembert was dead now, but he was dead in real life anyway, as was Byrne. “Up the drip rate by two percent.”
“She’s very close to vaginal cramping now, doctor.” That was that nurse. Polly, something. She didn’t last long, but long enough.
“You have your orders.”
“Yes, doctor.” A wave of orgasm rippled through her. Your great-grandson is dead with a hole in his head! She couldn’t shout a word.
When her eyes flew open in the world, Audrey tried to sit up. Her cunt was still in spasm. Sometimes it didn’t stop for several minutes. She clutched at her bedside table for the numbing cream. Anything to dull the overkill, even if it was meant for toothaches. Her hands shook as her fingers fumbled at the tube. Before she could squirt too much onto the sheets, though, it began to wane. She got her breath back. She lay there in a cold sweat, gasping as she left her body recover. Only the muffled cries beside her kept her from drifting off. Now she rolled over and looked into the eyes of the man bound up and gagged beside her.
“Good. You’re awake,” she said. His glare softened. Now that she was awake, she could be charming and seductive. “I just spent the whole night creaming in my sleep. Does that sound enticing to you?”
“Mm hmm,” he mumbled, nodding. She pulled the gag off and untied his hands.
“Free yourself, babe,” she said. He could get his own ankles loose. “Want to fuck?”
“Yeah! That’d be cool!”
“Me?”
“Uh, sure. Unless you want to watch. I’m up for anything. Andrea, right?”
“Aw, you remembered. Yes. But I’ve got a long day, so why don’t you fuck her good and hard. And when you cum, I have a big treat for you both.”
He rolled over and mounted the nude woman tied beside him. Her gag was thicker, but her muffled cries were still enough to wake the dead. He flipped her over to take her doggie-style. When her frantic screams threatened to pass through the thin walls of the couple’s apartment, Audrey stood up and grabbed her gun. The woman’s whimpers faded as she stared into the barrel. “Shhh,” Audrey soothed as the woman’s boyfriend began to pound her roughly. “Relax and enjoy it, bitch. When he cums, I’ve got a big surprise for you both.”
She sat down and watched, stroking the pistol, waiting for them to enjoy their one final cum together. “Come together, right now,” she sang lightly. “Family.”
It’s a dream! It’s only a dream! Why won’t it stop?
Not again!
Awareness was nothing. Knowledge was nothing. Audrey lay on the exam table, strapped down. Soft but unbreakable wide leather cuffs held her wrists out at her sides. Her ankles were likewise restrained in the stirrups, and her knees too. Why did they have to spread her arms out like that? She couldn’t have them at her sides? She winced and whimpered as her orgasm crested again. Cool vents above blew gently over her sweaty body, letting dry air waft over her. She still sweated. That was evident as they sponge-bathed her body twice a day, lest she build up a salty crust. They talked. Despite all expectations, she listened. Poorly, but repeat a conversation a thousand times and even the most orgasmically obliterated test subject will pick it up.
The door opened. Which version was it, Audrey wondered. There were so many. She stared up at the ceiling, avoiding them. The porn loop feeding into the ceiling monitor was preferable to eye contact. But it was him. Lembert. The first doctor. The creator. God. I don’t want to see him again!
Only the sound went away as the observers and doctors filed into Audrey’s little corner of hell. The panting, crying, and screaming of the porn feeds went nearly silent, though not totally, but the images on the screens over her head stayed on, and the one showing her vital stats came to life. She only saw it when they came to look at her. She shouldn’t have tried to read it through the tears in her eyes, but her fevered head couldn’t help it.
“And this is our star subject, right here. Subject 761. She has a name, Audrey. That’s not a secret. How about we form a circle around little Audrey here.” Doctor Lembert spoke. It was usually him, her chief tormenter. She only recognized two other orderlies. The rest were strangers, at that time. Men and women, doctors probably, a half dozen of them. She would have spoken but her tongue was pinned to the bottom of her restrained mouth so she couldn’t swallow it. Another long orgasm began as their eyes soaked up her body, naked and clamped down so tightly. Her muscles all spasmed, as usual, but it didn’t allow her any movement. A long cry began in her throat.
“This can’t be right,” one of the women said, reading the identical stats chart oriented for standing observers.
“The girl is the Replicant centerpiece, Carol,” one of the men said as he looked her over. “It’s all recorded.”
“Yes, but…” The woman had no answer. Through her tears Audrey tried to focus, blinking them away as her orgasm surged again. “She’s having an orgasm right now?”
“She doesn’t really stop,” Lembert said. “But they peak in waves. Let’s see, the ten-hour rolling average has a period of forty-one seconds between crests. Up a little.”
“Her electrolytes had to be adjusted this morning,” one of the orderlies, Chad, said. “Doctor Smith took care of it.”
“And she’s allowed to know what’s happening to her?” another man asked.
“Oh, yes. It changes nothing. And Audrey would have to be dense as a brick not to have figured it out. She’s been kept in a state of constant orgasm, unbroken even by sleep. She cums in her sleep.”
“Hell of a dream that must be,” another woman said. “Oh, may I?”
“Go ahead,” Lembert replied. With what? But the question answered itself as the woman stuck a finger up Audrey’s pussy, bringing another wave of unstoppable torturous joy. She cried through the metal in her mouth. The third and final woman wiped her tears away, an obvious act of either sadism or generosity. It allowed Audrey to read her chart. And it made sure she could read her chart. She hadn’t seen it in days, and as she came again, she could hardly focus her eyes or her mind, but the data came through.
Audrey Pine. Sometimes she forgot that much. Duration of experiment: 96 days 5 hours 14 minutes and 20 seconds and counting. Weight 98 pounds. A bunch of blood chemistry. Orgasms recorded today: 914. Orgasms total: 180123.
“Now, the previous record was, twenty days?” a man asked.
“Twenty-two,” Lembert said. “All other subjects failed to maintain the state, even in sleep supplementation. And perhaps Audrey will fail too at some point, but the board has authorized an indefinite duration, so we won’t have to quit at the four-month mark as we feared. At her age, she has the stamina, we hope, to keep going for, well, I don’t know how long.”
“Isn’t anyone going to miss her?” the first woman asked. “Family? Schools? Friends?”
“Come on, Carol. You know the score. None of these girls in our facility are going home. But Audrey gets to have an erotic experience like no other. She’s maintained in perfect ecstasy.”
“Christ, Bill, you know that’s bullshit,” one of the men said. “You’re torturing this girl. Albeit, in a good way.”
“She’s so young,” woman two said. “What, eighteen? College freshman I’m guessing? Do you plan to study the long-term psychological effects of this ordeal after she’s done?”
“Doubtful,” Lembert said. “She won’t be returned to any kind of normal life, so her long-term prognosis is already out of kilter. It’s not like she’ll return to her family or anything. Her life will be restricted, naked, and probably under constant experimentation.”
Audrey wailed as two orgasms washed over her during their talk about her future. It was too horrible.
“What about her pain level?” a man asked. “Do you give her relief?”
“We do shift her position around every couple hours, to keep her muscles from atrophying, and to prevent sores. Right now she’s spread out wide, and usually there’s some variant of that, to increase her sense of vulnerability, but we try not to induce too much pain. We don’t give her any painkillers, of course. No drugs outside the regimen. As you can see by the pain estimates graph,” which popped up on the screen, “Audrey lives with moderate-low pain levels during her waking hours. Other experiments don’t bother with this, but we’re trying to keep Audrey cumming as long as we are able, so she gets some extra kind treatment.”
“What about actual sex?” a woman asked.
“Well she’s no virgin, I promise!” Lembert said to chuckles. “But no, her stimulation is strictly mechanical for this. We are curious how her future sexual responses will be affected by everything we’re doing. She could be rendered numb, or she could turn hypersexual, or anything in between. We speculate it will be closer to the latter, but we just don’t know.”
They learned. Audrey learned. Did Lembert live long enough to know Audrey’s pussy turned permanently into a quivering cumsicle? That she resumed perpetual orgasm in her sleep and remained persistently aroused by day?
“Maybe she’ll never stop,” one man said.
“Die an old lady on her billionth cum?” Lembert asked. “Well, maybe. But let’s let Audrey get back to it. As you can see, she’s crested eleven times while we’ve been in here talking about her. It’s obviously turning her on, being surrounded by strangers discussing her body, but we don’t want to push our luck.”
The sound returned with a roar, screaming and sobbing. They liked to feed her the violent porn today, the stuff where the women didn’t even pretend to enjoy it. Audrey could have been sick if they didn’t feed her exclusively intravenously for the past few months. She cried and came and cried some more. In the dream and in life.
Party whistles. That’s what Audrey recognized. Wait, am I jumping ahead? She couldn’t turn her head, but the mirrors told her they’d wheeled a cake in. She wouldn’t get any. “Happy birthday, Audrey,” Lembert said as the staff gathered around. She recognized many, but some in suits were obviously bigwigs. It must have mattered. They even released her gag, though the equipment kept running, kept squeezing orgasm out of her naked body.
“I, I’m,” she panted. A wave stressed all her muscles as she tensed up. All the people, surrounding her. They made her so horny. “Nineteen?”
“Why does she think she’s nineteen?” some big shot asked Lembert.
“Audrey’s long-term memory is very poor. She’s traumatized,” Lembert explained.
“By what? I’d kill to get my wife this satisfied,” the man said. “It’s supposed to be why we originally funded this. Back before—"
“Yes. But Audrey is, all the same, traumatized by her life experience.” He turned to her. “Audrey, you’re turning twenty-three. It’s right there on the display.” He wiped her tears away, letting her focus. Her age wasn’t there. Only the numbers. As if she could still do math. What did a duration of 1629 days even mean? What did 3122934 orgasms mean when there had only ever been one? It never ended. She cried some more. There was no cake. She came hard, crying out again.
I don’t want to relive this! Wake up! Wake up!
“Maybe Audrey could have some cake,” a nurse suggested as she took bites of her piece. “She’s so thin and small.”
“No, her diet is strictly regulated,” Lembert said. “She gets enough ingestibles to maintain digestive function. “But she can smell it. That’s a treat for her, isn’t it, Audrey?”
“P-please!” she sobbed as she came again, her pussy quivering as she did. But she got no cake. The party was over in twenty minutes, and Audrey was left to consider her adult life ahead of her, forever. It wasn’t forever. She knew that now. But it may as well have been. Oh god, please wake me up! Her orgasm crested again.
“I don’t like these numbers.” Audrey shivered. This was wrong. She turned her eyes through a listless arc across the room to Doctor Byrne. Another jump. It was the worst lucid dreaming ever. At least Lembert was dead now, but he was dead in real life anyway, as was Byrne. “Up the drip rate by two percent.”
“She’s very close to vaginal cramping now, doctor.” That was that nurse. Polly, something. She didn’t last long, but long enough.
“You have your orders.”
“Yes, doctor.” A wave of orgasm rippled through her. Your great-grandson is dead with a hole in his head! She couldn’t shout a word.
When her eyes flew open in the world, Audrey tried to sit up. Her cunt was still in spasm. Sometimes it didn’t stop for several minutes. She clutched at her bedside table for the numbing cream. Anything to dull the overkill, even if it was meant for toothaches. Her hands shook as her fingers fumbled at the tube. Before she could squirt too much onto the sheets, though, it began to wane. She got her breath back. She lay there in a cold sweat, gasping as she left her body recover. Only the muffled cries beside her kept her from drifting off. Now she rolled over and looked into the eyes of the man bound up and gagged beside her.
“Good. You’re awake,” she said. His glare softened. Now that she was awake, she could be charming and seductive. “I just spent the whole night creaming in my sleep. Does that sound enticing to you?”
“Mm hmm,” he mumbled, nodding. She pulled the gag off and untied his hands.
“Free yourself, babe,” she said. He could get his own ankles loose. “Want to fuck?”
“Yeah! That’d be cool!”
“Me?”
“Uh, sure. Unless you want to watch. I’m up for anything. Andrea, right?”
“Aw, you remembered. Yes. But I’ve got a long day, so why don’t you fuck her good and hard. And when you cum, I have a big treat for you both.”
He rolled over and mounted the nude woman tied beside him. Her gag was thicker, but her muffled cries were still enough to wake the dead. He flipped her over to take her doggie-style. When her frantic screams threatened to pass through the thin walls of the couple’s apartment, Audrey stood up and grabbed her gun. The woman’s whimpers faded as she stared into the barrel. “Shhh,” Audrey soothed as the woman’s boyfriend began to pound her roughly. “Relax and enjoy it, bitch. When he cums, I’ve got a big surprise for you both.”
She sat down and watched, stroking the pistol, waiting for them to enjoy their one final cum together. “Come together, right now,” she sang lightly. “Family.”
-
SoftGameHunter
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- Senior
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- Joined: Thu Sep 18, 2025 1:59 pm
Re: Pheromonica - NaNoWriMo (chapter 19 added)
Content Warnings: Another dreaded no-sex chapter.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 20
Sharon sat at her dining room table with a glass of wine and a stack of printouts. They were a pain, but unhackable. She shouldn’t have been doing case work at home, but such rules fell in the same category as not taking the blue-discount at diners and liquor stores – there in print to satisfy the rule-makers but irrelevant to daily professional life. Frank hadn’t lifted his sexual blackmail, but he was gracious enough to give her a plum case. He’d even made some very tiny points about her behavior with the reporters. Tinier than the points on his head, but still valid. Now she spread the forms out for visual pattern spotting. Vincent Kyle Peele could still be useful one final time if he had a solvable murder. And if not, well, those were the breaks.
The crime scene pictures were clear enough. The man died naked in a crappy hotel room. Not even his own, but rented to Andrea Fisk, probably a fake name. It hadn’t shown up on any of the recent spate of sex killings in Frank’s database, but she could add it in. Andrea Fisk.
As for poor Vincent, evidence of rope bindings was clear on his wrists and ankles. Something had gone plenty wrong. She had to laugh. Rape had, until very recently and very locally, turned into a non-violent crime for over a hundred years, but whores still killed their Johns for cash in numbers unchanged since the Nineteenth Century. Maybe this whore knew how to read. She might not have been the big fan he claimed most women secretly were. There was no Andrea Fisk in the vice database. Prostitution may have been legalized, but they still kept their records for leads and informants. No one knew the pulse of the underworld better than the girls that routinely stripped naked for it. Pussy loosened the mouth better than money or a truncheon.
Andrea Fisk. She ran the name over in her head. It tickled the cold-case nerve in the back of her head. She’d seen that name, somewhere. A quick search brought it up. One year ago. A dead hotel manager in a case with no leads. Forty-three guests checked into The Ridgeway the night of his slaying. There it was. Andrea Fisk. Room 217. Of course, his body wasn’t found in a guest room, but in the laundry. They didn’t have camera coverage. So a year ago, Andrea Fisk happened to be at a hotel where a man was murdered. A year. She looked at the dates.
Tropic of Capricorn. It was the night of the big shooting. But Andrea Fisk had nothing to do with the nightclub. None that anyone knew of. Certainly she wasn’t there. Everyone was accounted for a dozen times over within a day.
Actually, in real time, at the time. All but two. Ant Nance was sitting in a suicide watch cell. And Audrey Andersen ran out of the building after being raped and shot. And shooting a man. Audrey Andersen, who hadn’t been seen since the Biogasms killings.
With clammy fingers, she did the one thing she least wanted to do, and placed a call.
“Sharon,” Frank said. “See the way it works is I tell you when I want to fuck. Not the other way around.”
“Shut up and listen to me!” She took a breath and speed-counted to ten. “That case you gave me? Peele?”
There was no quick reply. “Just say what you want to say,” Frank finally said.
“Peele’s killer is all over your other cases.”
“You’ve got a name?”
“A name, but it’s probably fake. Andrea Fisk.”
“Yeah, the room was hers.”
“Andrea Fisk is Audrey Andersen.”
Now the pause was his. She waited for a follow-up, hopefully without the shade. “Are you at the office? It’s late.”
“I’m at home,” she said.
“I’m coming over. It’s for work, so just keep your clothes on.”
“Fucking bastard shit!” she growled after he hung up. Keep her clothes on. Like she’d have them off for him if she wasn’t ordered to. She got up, slipped her robe off, and got dressed. Now she didn’t regret not having Lynne over. They weren’t that permanent. Not yet. But she never needed to see all the crap surrounding everything. She was in it deep enough.
“So you’ve connected some names?” Frank asked when he arrived.
“Andrea Fisk. I’ve been looking into her for the last half hour. She’s got all the hallmarks of a fake ID. Some basic records. A bunch of credit charges mostly in the past year. Nothing going back more than a few, and very little until last year, when Audrey Andersen went missing.
“So how did you connect her at all? She may be an alias who just hates Peele.”
“Ah, well that’s where I think Audrey may have slipped up,” she stated, not concealing her tone of triumph. She related the Fenway murder case and its timing with Audrey’s brief disappearance after the Tropic of Capricorn and again after the Biogasms killings. That she was guilty of those was never in doubt.
“I figured she left town. Or the state,” Frank said. “Hell, offing some corporate big shots, she should have fled the country.”
“That would have been smart. But I’m not sure she’s thinking smart. Clever. Tactical. Could she be the unsub in more of these killings?”
“She was registered under Andrea Fisk,” Frank said. “And other charges?”
“Lots of rooms. Lots of stores.”
“Like she was living on the run,” Frank said with a nod. “But no connections to any of the known sex killings. I haven’t seen that name before Peele. Lots of dead bodies in hotel rooms, but always registered to the victims or a plain old fake name.”
“Yeah,” Sharon agreed. “But what’s different in this case? Audrey Andrea fucked up. How, though. Why? This seems careless. Let’s say she’s been killing random people all over Metroland for the last year. Something in her snapped. Something triggered her. Andrea Fisk floats around in mid-grade hotels, using an alias she had handy after the Tropic of Capricorn, but keeps it away from her other crimes. Now she uses it for the most famous victim in her spree? One no one can help but notice?”
Frank sat down. Quiet as a whisper of wind, he stared ahead, into the wall. After a minute he glanced briefly at some of the papers spread out over the Peele case. “It would make perfect sense,” he finally said. “If she didn’t find him. What if he found her?”
“Peele? He found Andrea? Or Audrey?”
“He was an investigative journalist. I know he claims to have once been in federal intel, and no one believes him, but he’s got a bunch of best-sellers, and some of them aren’t about his gripe with sexy women.”
“So he’s following whatever lead he’s on, probably connected with the rape-murders. He shows up at Andrea Fisk’s hotel room. She lets him in,” Sharon said. “And overpowers him? Convinces him to play bondage games? He had to be on his guard if that’s the case.”
“And lots of family men have raped and killed their wives. Their girlfriends. Out of the blue,” Frank said. “Lots of other victims were in places they shouldn’t have been.”
“And Phil Zapreto let his side piece into the station to bomb it,” Sharon said. “This isn’t some vampy femme fatale slipping drugs and whispering sweet nothings into men’s ears.”
“We don’t know what it is.”
“What about Biogasms? How did Audrey Andersen stroll past dozens of security cameras and pull data off a secure server and convince two executives to let her? And then stand around and be shot over it? We don’t really know what happened that day. Except to Lynne. But not with Kelly O’Donnel and Bill MacLeod. Makes you wonder what Biogasms has cooked up in their labs,” Sharon said. “It can’t all be sexual health research. I’d say Audrey Andrea has the means to render her victims docile, helpless, and helpful all at the same time. To what end? Okay, she’s a serial killer. Let’s say all the outlier murder cases in Metroland are all her. Not just the rape killings. Why? Why the escalation?”
“The data files Audrey stole,” Frank said.
“A research project from decades ago,” Sharon said. “Details. Names. And Byron Schaefer’s research into that older project. Knighthood and Revenant.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I talk to my girlfriend,” Sharon replied. Lynne and her lawyer were up to date on everything Biogasms couldn’t hide.
“Right.” He logged back in again. Sharon didn’t have the file from his cases. She didn’t know what was in the Revenant or Knighthood projects exactly. But Frank pulled them up. It was easy enough to run an SQL5 search. Soon the names began popping up. “Holy shit!” he muttered. “Holy fucking…” The names just kept coming. Sharon looked at the query closer. They were pulled from descendants of every person who had worked on the Revenant project between 2046 and 2156. Every murdered raped woman was in the database. At least one ancestor worked the project. And a whole bunch of dead men. All the ones found with a dead woman, and a fair number not flagged for anything particular.
Frank expanded the search. Sharon just watched. It wasn’t just stuff in the last year. The jump a year ago was obvious, but it filtered back in time to about thirty years ago. Her head reeled. Some might be happenstance killings. But more names caught her eye. One recognizable name caught her eye and pulled her breath away. Her panting caught Frank’s eye but he said nothing. Lucy Barghazian was a name she never thought she’d see as part of a case. The woman had been raped and murdered forty-five years ago in Portland. Sharon remembered her from a crime sociology class, one of only two rape-murders in the United States that year. And her killer, who took his own life, had driven four hundred miles just to do it. As if on cue, his name popped up on the screen. Donald Lomar, grandson to a pharmacist on Revenant over a hundred years ago.
“Frank,” she gasped. “What the living fuck are we dealing with here?”
“Huh. Well, if the evidence leads us somewhere, we’re bound to follow. We’re dealing with a serial killer that’s at least…” He looked at the earliest record returned. “At least, assuming they start at twenty, at least eighty years old.”
“And who cares about people who worked on a Project Revenant between seventy-one and a hundred-eighty-one years ago,” she finished. She logged in again on her own terminal.
“What are you looking for?” Frank asked.
“There was a name they kept calling Lynne. It’s on the video of when they abducted her,” she said. The audio was quite clear. “Audrey Pine.”
“Think she has a record?”
“I think someone must have taken her picture in some kind of records,” she said. The spinning dot on the screen told her there would be no easy answers. “Of course, the government records on the Twenty-First Century aren’t going to be easy to search. Or maybe they were. Did computers exist in the 2000s? She couldn’t recall, but the results began to spit back out. She had a driver’s license once, cars only. Fliers certainly weren’t around back then. The picture came up.
Audrey Pine had a bunch of identities. Of course. It wouldn’t be an uncommon name. “Do an image compare search,” Frank suggested. “Turn on the cosmetic correction app.”
“It’s already running,” she said. Audrey Pine certainly wouldn’t have stayed the same. Assuming they weren’t both utterly insane, a woman of that age still alive would have hidden her true identity.
But not from facial recognition software. A driver’s license photo from 2046 in Maryland appeared, side-by-side with Audrey Andersen’s badge picture. They were similar. Slight builds, same hair color. The numbers flashed up. Cosmetic surgery detected. Match probability: 99.374%.
Audrey Pine went missing in 2046 and was declared dead in 2053. But she wasn’t dead, Sharon thought, was she? She was alive and physically well in Metroland, 2227. But, as the names seemed to finish popping up, almost six hundred had been forcibly unalived in the decades leading up to one year ago. And another hundred-fourteen since then, entirely in Metroland.
Sharon’s eyes shivered as she looked at the metadata for the list of descendants. Assuming Byron Schaefer’s list was up-to-date, there were fifty-one thousand one-hundred-fifty-six living descendants of the Project Revenant participants. A number that would sure keep dropping.
“She’s a lot better at disguises than I thought the first time I met her,” Frank said. Sharon could only nod. “If we plaster her face all over the public space, she’ll go underground.”
“And if we don’t, she’ll keep killing! We can’t protect fifty-thousand named people! Even in Metroland, which is…” She typed quickly. “Fourteen thousand.”
“The girl is two-hundred, no, she’s a hundred-ninety-nine years old, and over half of it she spent as a medical experiment.” Frank drew a deep breath. “She’ll never stop.”
“We’ve got to find her. No matter what, we need to stop her!”
“Yes, Captain Obvious.”
“Well we do! Forgive my ass for saying it out loud.”
“No, you’re just saying what we’re both thinking. Alright. Tomorrow we team back up full-time. I’m pulling every string I have. And I guess we’ll have to talk to the chief about this. And the mayor.”
“Maybe the fucking president,” Sharon added. “Christ!”
Frank stood up and stretched. “Alright. That’s enough detecting for one night.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s late. We’re both tired.” She nodded. “So get your clothes off and... Nah, forget it. See you in the morning. Bring coffee.”
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Chapter 20
Sharon sat at her dining room table with a glass of wine and a stack of printouts. They were a pain, but unhackable. She shouldn’t have been doing case work at home, but such rules fell in the same category as not taking the blue-discount at diners and liquor stores – there in print to satisfy the rule-makers but irrelevant to daily professional life. Frank hadn’t lifted his sexual blackmail, but he was gracious enough to give her a plum case. He’d even made some very tiny points about her behavior with the reporters. Tinier than the points on his head, but still valid. Now she spread the forms out for visual pattern spotting. Vincent Kyle Peele could still be useful one final time if he had a solvable murder. And if not, well, those were the breaks.
The crime scene pictures were clear enough. The man died naked in a crappy hotel room. Not even his own, but rented to Andrea Fisk, probably a fake name. It hadn’t shown up on any of the recent spate of sex killings in Frank’s database, but she could add it in. Andrea Fisk.
As for poor Vincent, evidence of rope bindings was clear on his wrists and ankles. Something had gone plenty wrong. She had to laugh. Rape had, until very recently and very locally, turned into a non-violent crime for over a hundred years, but whores still killed their Johns for cash in numbers unchanged since the Nineteenth Century. Maybe this whore knew how to read. She might not have been the big fan he claimed most women secretly were. There was no Andrea Fisk in the vice database. Prostitution may have been legalized, but they still kept their records for leads and informants. No one knew the pulse of the underworld better than the girls that routinely stripped naked for it. Pussy loosened the mouth better than money or a truncheon.
Andrea Fisk. She ran the name over in her head. It tickled the cold-case nerve in the back of her head. She’d seen that name, somewhere. A quick search brought it up. One year ago. A dead hotel manager in a case with no leads. Forty-three guests checked into The Ridgeway the night of his slaying. There it was. Andrea Fisk. Room 217. Of course, his body wasn’t found in a guest room, but in the laundry. They didn’t have camera coverage. So a year ago, Andrea Fisk happened to be at a hotel where a man was murdered. A year. She looked at the dates.
Tropic of Capricorn. It was the night of the big shooting. But Andrea Fisk had nothing to do with the nightclub. None that anyone knew of. Certainly she wasn’t there. Everyone was accounted for a dozen times over within a day.
Actually, in real time, at the time. All but two. Ant Nance was sitting in a suicide watch cell. And Audrey Andersen ran out of the building after being raped and shot. And shooting a man. Audrey Andersen, who hadn’t been seen since the Biogasms killings.
With clammy fingers, she did the one thing she least wanted to do, and placed a call.
“Sharon,” Frank said. “See the way it works is I tell you when I want to fuck. Not the other way around.”
“Shut up and listen to me!” She took a breath and speed-counted to ten. “That case you gave me? Peele?”
There was no quick reply. “Just say what you want to say,” Frank finally said.
“Peele’s killer is all over your other cases.”
“You’ve got a name?”
“A name, but it’s probably fake. Andrea Fisk.”
“Yeah, the room was hers.”
“Andrea Fisk is Audrey Andersen.”
Now the pause was his. She waited for a follow-up, hopefully without the shade. “Are you at the office? It’s late.”
“I’m at home,” she said.
“I’m coming over. It’s for work, so just keep your clothes on.”
“Fucking bastard shit!” she growled after he hung up. Keep her clothes on. Like she’d have them off for him if she wasn’t ordered to. She got up, slipped her robe off, and got dressed. Now she didn’t regret not having Lynne over. They weren’t that permanent. Not yet. But she never needed to see all the crap surrounding everything. She was in it deep enough.
“So you’ve connected some names?” Frank asked when he arrived.
“Andrea Fisk. I’ve been looking into her for the last half hour. She’s got all the hallmarks of a fake ID. Some basic records. A bunch of credit charges mostly in the past year. Nothing going back more than a few, and very little until last year, when Audrey Andersen went missing.
“So how did you connect her at all? She may be an alias who just hates Peele.”
“Ah, well that’s where I think Audrey may have slipped up,” she stated, not concealing her tone of triumph. She related the Fenway murder case and its timing with Audrey’s brief disappearance after the Tropic of Capricorn and again after the Biogasms killings. That she was guilty of those was never in doubt.
“I figured she left town. Or the state,” Frank said. “Hell, offing some corporate big shots, she should have fled the country.”
“That would have been smart. But I’m not sure she’s thinking smart. Clever. Tactical. Could she be the unsub in more of these killings?”
“She was registered under Andrea Fisk,” Frank said. “And other charges?”
“Lots of rooms. Lots of stores.”
“Like she was living on the run,” Frank said with a nod. “But no connections to any of the known sex killings. I haven’t seen that name before Peele. Lots of dead bodies in hotel rooms, but always registered to the victims or a plain old fake name.”
“Yeah,” Sharon agreed. “But what’s different in this case? Audrey Andrea fucked up. How, though. Why? This seems careless. Let’s say she’s been killing random people all over Metroland for the last year. Something in her snapped. Something triggered her. Andrea Fisk floats around in mid-grade hotels, using an alias she had handy after the Tropic of Capricorn, but keeps it away from her other crimes. Now she uses it for the most famous victim in her spree? One no one can help but notice?”
Frank sat down. Quiet as a whisper of wind, he stared ahead, into the wall. After a minute he glanced briefly at some of the papers spread out over the Peele case. “It would make perfect sense,” he finally said. “If she didn’t find him. What if he found her?”
“Peele? He found Andrea? Or Audrey?”
“He was an investigative journalist. I know he claims to have once been in federal intel, and no one believes him, but he’s got a bunch of best-sellers, and some of them aren’t about his gripe with sexy women.”
“So he’s following whatever lead he’s on, probably connected with the rape-murders. He shows up at Andrea Fisk’s hotel room. She lets him in,” Sharon said. “And overpowers him? Convinces him to play bondage games? He had to be on his guard if that’s the case.”
“And lots of family men have raped and killed their wives. Their girlfriends. Out of the blue,” Frank said. “Lots of other victims were in places they shouldn’t have been.”
“And Phil Zapreto let his side piece into the station to bomb it,” Sharon said. “This isn’t some vampy femme fatale slipping drugs and whispering sweet nothings into men’s ears.”
“We don’t know what it is.”
“What about Biogasms? How did Audrey Andersen stroll past dozens of security cameras and pull data off a secure server and convince two executives to let her? And then stand around and be shot over it? We don’t really know what happened that day. Except to Lynne. But not with Kelly O’Donnel and Bill MacLeod. Makes you wonder what Biogasms has cooked up in their labs,” Sharon said. “It can’t all be sexual health research. I’d say Audrey Andrea has the means to render her victims docile, helpless, and helpful all at the same time. To what end? Okay, she’s a serial killer. Let’s say all the outlier murder cases in Metroland are all her. Not just the rape killings. Why? Why the escalation?”
“The data files Audrey stole,” Frank said.
“A research project from decades ago,” Sharon said. “Details. Names. And Byron Schaefer’s research into that older project. Knighthood and Revenant.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I talk to my girlfriend,” Sharon replied. Lynne and her lawyer were up to date on everything Biogasms couldn’t hide.
“Right.” He logged back in again. Sharon didn’t have the file from his cases. She didn’t know what was in the Revenant or Knighthood projects exactly. But Frank pulled them up. It was easy enough to run an SQL5 search. Soon the names began popping up. “Holy shit!” he muttered. “Holy fucking…” The names just kept coming. Sharon looked at the query closer. They were pulled from descendants of every person who had worked on the Revenant project between 2046 and 2156. Every murdered raped woman was in the database. At least one ancestor worked the project. And a whole bunch of dead men. All the ones found with a dead woman, and a fair number not flagged for anything particular.
Frank expanded the search. Sharon just watched. It wasn’t just stuff in the last year. The jump a year ago was obvious, but it filtered back in time to about thirty years ago. Her head reeled. Some might be happenstance killings. But more names caught her eye. One recognizable name caught her eye and pulled her breath away. Her panting caught Frank’s eye but he said nothing. Lucy Barghazian was a name she never thought she’d see as part of a case. The woman had been raped and murdered forty-five years ago in Portland. Sharon remembered her from a crime sociology class, one of only two rape-murders in the United States that year. And her killer, who took his own life, had driven four hundred miles just to do it. As if on cue, his name popped up on the screen. Donald Lomar, grandson to a pharmacist on Revenant over a hundred years ago.
“Frank,” she gasped. “What the living fuck are we dealing with here?”
“Huh. Well, if the evidence leads us somewhere, we’re bound to follow. We’re dealing with a serial killer that’s at least…” He looked at the earliest record returned. “At least, assuming they start at twenty, at least eighty years old.”
“And who cares about people who worked on a Project Revenant between seventy-one and a hundred-eighty-one years ago,” she finished. She logged in again on her own terminal.
“What are you looking for?” Frank asked.
“There was a name they kept calling Lynne. It’s on the video of when they abducted her,” she said. The audio was quite clear. “Audrey Pine.”
“Think she has a record?”
“I think someone must have taken her picture in some kind of records,” she said. The spinning dot on the screen told her there would be no easy answers. “Of course, the government records on the Twenty-First Century aren’t going to be easy to search. Or maybe they were. Did computers exist in the 2000s? She couldn’t recall, but the results began to spit back out. She had a driver’s license once, cars only. Fliers certainly weren’t around back then. The picture came up.
Audrey Pine had a bunch of identities. Of course. It wouldn’t be an uncommon name. “Do an image compare search,” Frank suggested. “Turn on the cosmetic correction app.”
“It’s already running,” she said. Audrey Pine certainly wouldn’t have stayed the same. Assuming they weren’t both utterly insane, a woman of that age still alive would have hidden her true identity.
But not from facial recognition software. A driver’s license photo from 2046 in Maryland appeared, side-by-side with Audrey Andersen’s badge picture. They were similar. Slight builds, same hair color. The numbers flashed up. Cosmetic surgery detected. Match probability: 99.374%.
Audrey Pine went missing in 2046 and was declared dead in 2053. But she wasn’t dead, Sharon thought, was she? She was alive and physically well in Metroland, 2227. But, as the names seemed to finish popping up, almost six hundred had been forcibly unalived in the decades leading up to one year ago. And another hundred-fourteen since then, entirely in Metroland.
Sharon’s eyes shivered as she looked at the metadata for the list of descendants. Assuming Byron Schaefer’s list was up-to-date, there were fifty-one thousand one-hundred-fifty-six living descendants of the Project Revenant participants. A number that would sure keep dropping.
“She’s a lot better at disguises than I thought the first time I met her,” Frank said. Sharon could only nod. “If we plaster her face all over the public space, she’ll go underground.”
“And if we don’t, she’ll keep killing! We can’t protect fifty-thousand named people! Even in Metroland, which is…” She typed quickly. “Fourteen thousand.”
“The girl is two-hundred, no, she’s a hundred-ninety-nine years old, and over half of it she spent as a medical experiment.” Frank drew a deep breath. “She’ll never stop.”
“We’ve got to find her. No matter what, we need to stop her!”
“Yes, Captain Obvious.”
“Well we do! Forgive my ass for saying it out loud.”
“No, you’re just saying what we’re both thinking. Alright. Tomorrow we team back up full-time. I’m pulling every string I have. And I guess we’ll have to talk to the chief about this. And the mayor.”
“Maybe the fucking president,” Sharon added. “Christ!”
Frank stood up and stretched. “Alright. That’s enough detecting for one night.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s late. We’re both tired.” She nodded. “So get your clothes off and... Nah, forget it. See you in the morning. Bring coffee.”
-
SoftGameHunter
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Re: Pheromonica - NaNoWriMo (chapter 20 added)
Content Warnings: Turns out to be another no-sex chapter. But don't worry. The next one is going to have lots of banging and bruising.
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Chapter 21
“Another one?” Frank asked as the chief dumped some papers on his desk. They were going hard-core old-school on the paper, but paper was more secure than any firewall. Still, what was chief Nancy Szillard doing at a precinct office? The usual order was shit flows down, and peons crawl up. He went to her, not the other way around.
“I was in the neighborhood, Simpson,” she said. “And this one’s a doozy.”
“Ugh. Who bit it this time?” he asked as he opened the folder. For a moment the names meant nothing to him. Benjamin Whittier and Christine Riley? He glanced at the scene, found that morning. The woman was smashed to bits, but the man, well, he was more intact but his head was blown clean off with an old-fashioned slug thrower. “Grim,” he said.
“You don’t recognize the names?”
“Should I?” he asked. But they’d been fully identified, and it was their job fields that jogged his memory rudely back to reality. “Alicia Jenner’s crew!” Ben and Christy!
“That woman is on the warpath, Simpson. She’s been police-friendly so far. Try and keep her that way, okay?”
“I’m not in babysitting,” he said as she walked out. If she heard him, it didn’t affect her stride at all. “Go get laid,” he grumbled under his breath. But now he had another high-profile case to manage, right on top of the Peele murder. Not really high-profile. This was different. By themselves, the pair wasn’t worth much in the news cycle. But Alicia would make them matter. He got to work.
Sharon walked in as he stared at the screen. Just stared. There was nothing much more to look at. Sharon peered around him as she sat and slid a coffee over to him. Just as he’d told her to. She had one of her own. Hers came from Bean Seeing You. His came from a charging station.
“So what’s our plan?” she asked.
“Chief came by,” he said. “Dropped this one in my lap. Fucking hell. Alright, Sharon, if it wasn’t obvious, I’m field promoting you to my second on these. I can’t do it all and you know the most. Our first order of business is to throw out everything we thought we knew, including last night.”
“What? Why?”
He slid the files across his desk to her. “Alicia Jenner’s crew. Ben and Christy. Cameraman and personal assistant.”
“Fuck!” She looked through the pictures.
“It just happened. I’m about to head over before they clear it. You come too. But first look at this.” He swung the screen around. The database of Revenant descendants was up. Sharon was a bright one. It took her no time to see what he’d been searching on.
“They’re not on the list!” She looked again at the bloody scene. “So, he raped her? He obliterated her! Then took his own life. Perfect MO. But they’re not on the list.”
“They are indeed not.”
“Maybe they pissed her off? Or Alicia Jenner did. But how? She’s been following these cases for a year now. Longer, I think. Nothing’s changed.”
“Something’s changed. Come on, let’s go find out what.”
He hated the weird ones. The scene was Ben’s home, a nice apartment in a nice block. Nothing grand, but Alicia took care of her people. Past the barricades, the bodies were being packed up. The medical examiner was already there, also packing it up. The head guy. George Niecy walked over, peeling off his latex gloves. “Frank. Sharon,” he said, shaking clean hands.
“What’s the situation, George. What it looks like?” Sharon asked. “God knows we’ve seen enough of these.”
“No, you haven’t,” George said. “You haven’t seen anything like this.”
“Come on, it’s going to be a long day. What’s up?” Frank asked.
“I’ll do a full autopsy of course. But this was a set up. I can tell that much right away.” He pointed to Christy’s body, tarped up and being wheeled out. “She wasn’t sexually assaulted. But someone tried to make it look like she was.”
“Wait, I saw the pictures. She had semen—” Sharon began.
“Post mortem,” George interrupted. “She was killed, then someone tried to, ahem, add the semen after the fact. And there was no penetration. It’s just on her. It would have gone on her while she was alive, but it’s pooled such that she wasn’t moving, so I’m thinking all of it was post mortem.”
“A copycat?” Frank said. It sounded like a question, but it was a statement. A copycat killer was loose now. “Oh fucking terrific! That’s just fucking great! Who the fuck takes inspiration from all this shit!” Who indeed? There were several million local suspects now.
“Thanks,” Sharon said as she pulled Frank away. “I don’t think this is a copycat,” she said as they retreated to Ben’s home office. It was barely a closet, but he did have a little table for writing along with stacks of fancy optics and electronics.
“It’s a fake rape and murder,” he said.
“Okay, but it’s not random. Ben and Christy? Alicia’s crew? They don’t even live together and they’re not a couple. Someone is trying to make it get lost in the system, but this isn’t random. There’s a motive here. I can smell it.”
She was right. A copycat, but not a random one. A set up in every sense.
Screaming outside yanked his attention back to the living room. “Ma’am, you can’t enter!” some officer was shouting.
“Wait!” Frank shouted, hurrying to the door. Alicia Jenner stood, held tight by two of the men as she fought to get in. “Let her in, guys. She’s good.”
“I just heard!” Alicia cried as she rushed forward. Frank winced for her. The bodies were covered and Christy’s was already removed, with Ben’s soon to follow. But there was blood. Broken and scattered debris and furnishings. And lots of blood, including the spatter pattern on the wall where Ben supposedly shot himself.
“Don’t touch anything!” Frank warned. The forensics team was still cataloging the room.
“I know! But, how? What happened? Someone said it was a murder suicide? That’s bullshit! Don’t fuck with me, Frank Simpson! Don’t you dare try to fuck with me!”
“It is bullshit,” Frank said. “Come on, let’s talk.” He returned with Sharon and Alicia to the little office. The team would get to it soon enough, but there were no blood nor bodies there. The notes and writings might be evidence, but for his team, not the lab boys.
“Can you listen to something and stay off the record?” Sharon asked. “We’re talking to their friend and boss here, not a journalist.”
Alicia sniffled back her runny nose but nodded. “Yeah.”
“This was set up,” Sharon said. “It’s supposed to look like the kinds of crime spree Metroland has been seeing in the last year, but our medical examiner could tell right away it wasn’t. It was staged. Someone had a motive to kill them both, but Ben didn’t rape or harm Christy in any way. We’re trying to figure it out, but we need you to stay calm and quiet. This goes out on a broadcast, it alerts anyone who might be involved.”
“I, yeah, but… Keeping crimes a secret? The public. Danger!” She was sputtering. She was spiraling. Frank understood. An unaware public was a vulnerable public.
“Come with me. Let’s talk,” he said. “Outside. Sharon, keep on things here.”
“Right.”
Outside meant the hallway, not the street. But they got away from the lab guys talking about blood spatter ten feet away. “I know your instinct is to share everything with the public. Public safety. Public awareness. But not this one.”
She opened her mouth as she raised her finger to respond.
“No, just listen. This wasn’t a rando. They were specifically targeted. The crime scene was just to throw us off. I’m sure of it. The public is in no general danger on this one.”
“Then why? Why them? I’m the on-air face. I’m the leader of my own work. They’re both excellent, but they didn’t made content decisions. That’s all me! So why them? I’m easier to get at! Hell, I got raped right outside the station last year, in an alley. That’s how careless I am. Ben was super conscious of our surroundings. And Christy, she’s a brown-belt in, um, Karate I think. She took self-defense. She could have beat me up. Why not come for me?”
“Those are really good questions,” Frank said. “Believe me, that’s what we want to know. It could be because you’re more visible. They might not want to make waves.”
“And you’re asking me to not make waves!” She backed away. Her gaping eyes showed dilated pupils as she sucked in breath. “Is this… Oh my god!”
“I’m telling you why you should hold back until the case is solved!” Frank said as Alicia threatened to melt down.
“If the case is solved!” Alicia screamed.
He floundered for a reply, but Sharon came striding out and down the hall at them. Great, he thought. She gave us a whole minute.
“Sorry to interrupt?” she said. Alicia didn’t look like he’d calmed her at all. Because he hadn’t. Sharon held up a notebook. More paper. “I started to flip through this. It was Ben’s, right? I think it may be relevant.”
“Give it here!” Alicia snapped as she snatched it from Sharon’s offered hand. “It’s his time records. He notes what’s at each stretch of video.”
“Why use a notebook. Don’t cameras have that annotation feature?”
“Because we don’t want to share it with every tom hairy dick that has wireless. Those cameras are routinely linked to the studio and to my office. We keep some stuff private.”
“Sounds like our case work,” Frank said. “What are we looking at?”
Sharon pointed. Frank read it over Alicia’s shoulder. The entry was among the most recent, on Monday.
9:46 to 9:57, courthouse. Biogasm. Schaefer, Byron and Helen golden confession. ASAP send to FS MPD
“The MPD caught my eye,” Sharon said. “Frank, didn’t you get an anonymous vid recently?”
“What is this? What vid?” Alicia asked.
“Hold on,” Frank said.
“What vid? Are you in contact—”
“Shut up! Let me think.” He thought. The courthouse. They were there. And the Schaefer duo was there being sued. 9:46, right after he was called in to testify. “It was them,” he said. “Now we know where the video came from!”
“What video? Can I ask now?” Alicia snapped.
“I got an anonymous tip. It wasn’t a golden confession, but Helen and Byron Schaefer were talking all too gleefully about the things they would do to destroy Lynne Baltimore. Like, actually torture and harm her. Steal her money. That shit. They had a bit too much knowledge of her personal life, but that’s what the whole lawsuit is about, so there were no surprises.”
“And they sent it to you? Ben recorded it?”
“From across the room in the witness waiting area. Full audio. I assume his camera can do that?”
“Of course.”
“They thought they were whispering. Well, they were. But not quietly enough. Right in the courthouse! I swear, those two are a couple of clever retards.”
“But if they found out Ben did it? But how? Wait, how would they ever know? You didn’t tell them!”
“No, I didn’t,” Frank said. He told Sharon because she watched it with him. “I didn’t have to.” He didn’t have to say anything to anyone because someone read his email. He held up the notebook. “Ben’s instincts were correct. He should have couriered the file over on a chip. Alright, Alicia. I’m going to give you a bone. Full inside access as we take down a pair of psychopaths inside Biogasm. This is enough to get another search warrant, this time for their home and offices. You don’t have to hold off forever. I think we’ve got an arrest coming in the next couple days on this one. And it’s going to be grand!”
-------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 21
“Another one?” Frank asked as the chief dumped some papers on his desk. They were going hard-core old-school on the paper, but paper was more secure than any firewall. Still, what was chief Nancy Szillard doing at a precinct office? The usual order was shit flows down, and peons crawl up. He went to her, not the other way around.
“I was in the neighborhood, Simpson,” she said. “And this one’s a doozy.”
“Ugh. Who bit it this time?” he asked as he opened the folder. For a moment the names meant nothing to him. Benjamin Whittier and Christine Riley? He glanced at the scene, found that morning. The woman was smashed to bits, but the man, well, he was more intact but his head was blown clean off with an old-fashioned slug thrower. “Grim,” he said.
“You don’t recognize the names?”
“Should I?” he asked. But they’d been fully identified, and it was their job fields that jogged his memory rudely back to reality. “Alicia Jenner’s crew!” Ben and Christy!
“That woman is on the warpath, Simpson. She’s been police-friendly so far. Try and keep her that way, okay?”
“I’m not in babysitting,” he said as she walked out. If she heard him, it didn’t affect her stride at all. “Go get laid,” he grumbled under his breath. But now he had another high-profile case to manage, right on top of the Peele murder. Not really high-profile. This was different. By themselves, the pair wasn’t worth much in the news cycle. But Alicia would make them matter. He got to work.
Sharon walked in as he stared at the screen. Just stared. There was nothing much more to look at. Sharon peered around him as she sat and slid a coffee over to him. Just as he’d told her to. She had one of her own. Hers came from Bean Seeing You. His came from a charging station.
“So what’s our plan?” she asked.
“Chief came by,” he said. “Dropped this one in my lap. Fucking hell. Alright, Sharon, if it wasn’t obvious, I’m field promoting you to my second on these. I can’t do it all and you know the most. Our first order of business is to throw out everything we thought we knew, including last night.”
“What? Why?”
He slid the files across his desk to her. “Alicia Jenner’s crew. Ben and Christy. Cameraman and personal assistant.”
“Fuck!” She looked through the pictures.
“It just happened. I’m about to head over before they clear it. You come too. But first look at this.” He swung the screen around. The database of Revenant descendants was up. Sharon was a bright one. It took her no time to see what he’d been searching on.
“They’re not on the list!” She looked again at the bloody scene. “So, he raped her? He obliterated her! Then took his own life. Perfect MO. But they’re not on the list.”
“They are indeed not.”
“Maybe they pissed her off? Or Alicia Jenner did. But how? She’s been following these cases for a year now. Longer, I think. Nothing’s changed.”
“Something’s changed. Come on, let’s go find out what.”
He hated the weird ones. The scene was Ben’s home, a nice apartment in a nice block. Nothing grand, but Alicia took care of her people. Past the barricades, the bodies were being packed up. The medical examiner was already there, also packing it up. The head guy. George Niecy walked over, peeling off his latex gloves. “Frank. Sharon,” he said, shaking clean hands.
“What’s the situation, George. What it looks like?” Sharon asked. “God knows we’ve seen enough of these.”
“No, you haven’t,” George said. “You haven’t seen anything like this.”
“Come on, it’s going to be a long day. What’s up?” Frank asked.
“I’ll do a full autopsy of course. But this was a set up. I can tell that much right away.” He pointed to Christy’s body, tarped up and being wheeled out. “She wasn’t sexually assaulted. But someone tried to make it look like she was.”
“Wait, I saw the pictures. She had semen—” Sharon began.
“Post mortem,” George interrupted. “She was killed, then someone tried to, ahem, add the semen after the fact. And there was no penetration. It’s just on her. It would have gone on her while she was alive, but it’s pooled such that she wasn’t moving, so I’m thinking all of it was post mortem.”
“A copycat?” Frank said. It sounded like a question, but it was a statement. A copycat killer was loose now. “Oh fucking terrific! That’s just fucking great! Who the fuck takes inspiration from all this shit!” Who indeed? There were several million local suspects now.
“Thanks,” Sharon said as she pulled Frank away. “I don’t think this is a copycat,” she said as they retreated to Ben’s home office. It was barely a closet, but he did have a little table for writing along with stacks of fancy optics and electronics.
“It’s a fake rape and murder,” he said.
“Okay, but it’s not random. Ben and Christy? Alicia’s crew? They don’t even live together and they’re not a couple. Someone is trying to make it get lost in the system, but this isn’t random. There’s a motive here. I can smell it.”
She was right. A copycat, but not a random one. A set up in every sense.
Screaming outside yanked his attention back to the living room. “Ma’am, you can’t enter!” some officer was shouting.
“Wait!” Frank shouted, hurrying to the door. Alicia Jenner stood, held tight by two of the men as she fought to get in. “Let her in, guys. She’s good.”
“I just heard!” Alicia cried as she rushed forward. Frank winced for her. The bodies were covered and Christy’s was already removed, with Ben’s soon to follow. But there was blood. Broken and scattered debris and furnishings. And lots of blood, including the spatter pattern on the wall where Ben supposedly shot himself.
“Don’t touch anything!” Frank warned. The forensics team was still cataloging the room.
“I know! But, how? What happened? Someone said it was a murder suicide? That’s bullshit! Don’t fuck with me, Frank Simpson! Don’t you dare try to fuck with me!”
“It is bullshit,” Frank said. “Come on, let’s talk.” He returned with Sharon and Alicia to the little office. The team would get to it soon enough, but there were no blood nor bodies there. The notes and writings might be evidence, but for his team, not the lab boys.
“Can you listen to something and stay off the record?” Sharon asked. “We’re talking to their friend and boss here, not a journalist.”
Alicia sniffled back her runny nose but nodded. “Yeah.”
“This was set up,” Sharon said. “It’s supposed to look like the kinds of crime spree Metroland has been seeing in the last year, but our medical examiner could tell right away it wasn’t. It was staged. Someone had a motive to kill them both, but Ben didn’t rape or harm Christy in any way. We’re trying to figure it out, but we need you to stay calm and quiet. This goes out on a broadcast, it alerts anyone who might be involved.”
“I, yeah, but… Keeping crimes a secret? The public. Danger!” She was sputtering. She was spiraling. Frank understood. An unaware public was a vulnerable public.
“Come with me. Let’s talk,” he said. “Outside. Sharon, keep on things here.”
“Right.”
Outside meant the hallway, not the street. But they got away from the lab guys talking about blood spatter ten feet away. “I know your instinct is to share everything with the public. Public safety. Public awareness. But not this one.”
She opened her mouth as she raised her finger to respond.
“No, just listen. This wasn’t a rando. They were specifically targeted. The crime scene was just to throw us off. I’m sure of it. The public is in no general danger on this one.”
“Then why? Why them? I’m the on-air face. I’m the leader of my own work. They’re both excellent, but they didn’t made content decisions. That’s all me! So why them? I’m easier to get at! Hell, I got raped right outside the station last year, in an alley. That’s how careless I am. Ben was super conscious of our surroundings. And Christy, she’s a brown-belt in, um, Karate I think. She took self-defense. She could have beat me up. Why not come for me?”
“Those are really good questions,” Frank said. “Believe me, that’s what we want to know. It could be because you’re more visible. They might not want to make waves.”
“And you’re asking me to not make waves!” She backed away. Her gaping eyes showed dilated pupils as she sucked in breath. “Is this… Oh my god!”
“I’m telling you why you should hold back until the case is solved!” Frank said as Alicia threatened to melt down.
“If the case is solved!” Alicia screamed.
He floundered for a reply, but Sharon came striding out and down the hall at them. Great, he thought. She gave us a whole minute.
“Sorry to interrupt?” she said. Alicia didn’t look like he’d calmed her at all. Because he hadn’t. Sharon held up a notebook. More paper. “I started to flip through this. It was Ben’s, right? I think it may be relevant.”
“Give it here!” Alicia snapped as she snatched it from Sharon’s offered hand. “It’s his time records. He notes what’s at each stretch of video.”
“Why use a notebook. Don’t cameras have that annotation feature?”
“Because we don’t want to share it with every tom hairy dick that has wireless. Those cameras are routinely linked to the studio and to my office. We keep some stuff private.”
“Sounds like our case work,” Frank said. “What are we looking at?”
Sharon pointed. Frank read it over Alicia’s shoulder. The entry was among the most recent, on Monday.
9:46 to 9:57, courthouse. Biogasm. Schaefer, Byron and Helen golden confession. ASAP send to FS MPD
“The MPD caught my eye,” Sharon said. “Frank, didn’t you get an anonymous vid recently?”
“What is this? What vid?” Alicia asked.
“Hold on,” Frank said.
“What vid? Are you in contact—”
“Shut up! Let me think.” He thought. The courthouse. They were there. And the Schaefer duo was there being sued. 9:46, right after he was called in to testify. “It was them,” he said. “Now we know where the video came from!”
“What video? Can I ask now?” Alicia snapped.
“I got an anonymous tip. It wasn’t a golden confession, but Helen and Byron Schaefer were talking all too gleefully about the things they would do to destroy Lynne Baltimore. Like, actually torture and harm her. Steal her money. That shit. They had a bit too much knowledge of her personal life, but that’s what the whole lawsuit is about, so there were no surprises.”
“And they sent it to you? Ben recorded it?”
“From across the room in the witness waiting area. Full audio. I assume his camera can do that?”
“Of course.”
“They thought they were whispering. Well, they were. But not quietly enough. Right in the courthouse! I swear, those two are a couple of clever retards.”
“But if they found out Ben did it? But how? Wait, how would they ever know? You didn’t tell them!”
“No, I didn’t,” Frank said. He told Sharon because she watched it with him. “I didn’t have to.” He didn’t have to say anything to anyone because someone read his email. He held up the notebook. “Ben’s instincts were correct. He should have couriered the file over on a chip. Alright, Alicia. I’m going to give you a bone. Full inside access as we take down a pair of psychopaths inside Biogasm. This is enough to get another search warrant, this time for their home and offices. You don’t have to hold off forever. I think we’ve got an arrest coming in the next couple days on this one. And it’s going to be grand!”
-
SoftGameHunter
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Re: Pheromonica - NaNoWriMo (chapter 22 added)
Chapter 22
Alicia sat in the corner of Frank’s supposed office. It was temporary, until he solved sexual violence, so they never planned it to last long or be that comfortable. But there was room for a couple people, and Alicia had followed him around through the day, blankly typing and dictating notes while dodging calls from her producers. Now she followed him back to his office and sipped from the flask he hadn’t noticed she had.
“I never realized there was so much drudgery,” she said. “The DA, then the judge, then the chief of police. And the mayor tomorrow?”
“I’d tell you it was just part of the judicial checks and balances that make our system thrive,” Frank said. “But then you’d call me a liar. Everyone wants their cut of the action. Everyone wants their time in the spotlight.”
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as that. You can’t get a warrant without a judge.”
“Yeah, but they always ask pesky questions. What’s your evidence? How did you get your evidence? How reliable is your evidence?”
“I can’t tell if that’s sarcasm or cynicism,” Alicia said. “But thank you for letting me follow this. I appreciate that you generally act straight with me. I’d have been crying all day if I had to just…” She hesitated, wiping back tears. “Sorry. This has just been too much. I just, I always thought if someone came after me, it would be me, or about me. But it’s really because they sent you a tip.”
“That’s what it looks like. We’ll make the arrest in the morning, early. We’ve already got a trace going back into their house, but I want the files on their computers.”
“I just wonder, why did they do that? Not that they, well, why do that?”
“Their news noses failed to stay neutral?” Frank asked. “I don’t know. I spoke to them that morning after the judge kicked out the cameras. I may have had some choice words about their profession. Sorry, but I wasn’t polite when they tried to corner me for a comment on the case.”
“Ben really saw himself as an information warrior. He wasn’t much for talking but he could sure focus. Pun intended. That’s his joke. Was his joke.” She stifled some more sobs. “Sorry.”
“Come on, let’s get out of here. This place will crush your soul. Hungry?”
“Yeah.” Poor girl. It might have been a confession or a question, like admitting to hunger was admitting to failure. The headstrong reporter girl was gone for a while. He locked up and headed to his car. Alicia’s, if she had one, was still parked by Ben’s apartment. She hadn’t left Frank’s side all day as he shuttled from judge to DA to judge to chief, half the time with Sharon tagging along and half not. Now he drove home.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“Home. My place. Neither of us need a public showing at a restaurant.” It took her a second to let it sink in, but she nodded. He had to wonder what was in the flask. It was the literal truth. He’d built up a bit of facial recognition over the past year, and Alicia was a huge local celebrity. He drove her home. His home. A modest house on a modest street. It wasn’t even as nice as Sharon’s, even with her smaller salary, but he had more saved for retirement. No one was around as they walked through the setting sunlight. It would have been a hell of a photo-op. Chief Sex Crimes Investigator Seduces Chief Sex Crimes Reporter! News at 11!
“How do you do it, Frank?” she asked.
“I just peel the dry skin off the onion and then slam it through the mandolin,” he said. He knew damn well she wasn’t talking about dicing up onions for the pasta sauce. She was talking, he already knew, about the supposed hardness of the seasoned and salty policeman. How he could look death and hurt in the eyes and feel nothing. It wasn’t all a lie. Depending on the crime, he might feel a tinge of arousal too. But not lately. Not with Audrey Pine out there, or with the Schaefers of the world trying to piggyback off her to cover for their own crimes. George’s final report had been clear. There was not rape. Christy Riley didn’t die with a cock in her, Ben’s or anyone else’s. She just died, naked, in terror and incomprehensible pain. And Ben died, according to George, straining every muscle to keep them from twisting his arm up to make him shoot himself. For security pros, they were a couple of mooks, and Frank got to remember their handiwork vividly for the rest of his life.
“Come on, don’t spin me now. At least, not like that.”
“There’s a better way?” he grinned. “Alright. How do I do it? Booze. Denial. Cynicism. Self-abuse, and not the good kind. Well, not only the good kind.”
“But I have to fight just to catch a glimpse of hell, which I pass off to my viewers. You’re up against it all the time, first on the scene.”
“Rarely.”
“Why is this happening, Frank? What’s happened to us, to women? I mean, we had a thing going, sort of. We don’t fear you, and you don’t hurt us.”
“Hey, come on.” But she was right.
“But now someone is hurting us. How long until we go back to those olden golden times when rape meant a good chance of death and destruction? What the hell is happening to us?”
He continued chopping. It was going to come out someday. If he managed to solve the Audrey Pine case, it would be explosive on so many levels. “Want a big scoop?” he asked. “I mean, the mother of all stories?”
Some of the reporter in her was still sober. She leaned forward, all eyes and all ears. “Off the record, but I get the inside edition until it’s ready?”
“If you want it, sure. I don’t care much for reporters, but I respect you. Sorry if it’s super condescending, but you’re one of the good ones and that’s how I see it.”
“I can live with that.”
“Let me tell you a story I don’t yet know the beginning, middle, or end of. It involves a girl almost two hundred years old with magical powers and a death-wish of revenge gone mad.” He began to talk. And talk. He was still going when the food was ready, and he hardly got a bite in as he finished relating the whole picture. Alicia would probably write a book and get millions if she got on it first. But now she sat there with glassy eyes and hanging jaw as he finished it up.
“I. Wow. And you’re both, um…”
“We’re sure. Sure enough. We plugged it into the crime statistics app and it spit back a bunch of confidence intervals and p-values and t-values. She’s killing them. These descendants of the program are in danger and we don’t have a clue how to deal with it. And she’ll never run out! Everyone who hurt her once is dead now, so she’s going after kids, and grandkids, and great-great-great grandkids. Until now, no one ever noticed.”
“And it was some sex thing?”
“We’re least certain of that part, but yeah. Orgasm research, or something, maybe. Something Biogasms did forever ago. I can’t even guess what the legal issues will be from this.”
“You know. I’ve put my ear to almost every sexual rumor, act, gathering place, you name it. I’ve studied them all.
“Hell of a job you’ve got.”
“Haven’t you ever heard the urban legends? The ones about the hospital that kidnapped young women and strapped them into orgasm machines and made them cum non-stop for the rest of their lives?”
“I don’t know. Maybe? Lots of stories like that out there?”
“It’s like the teen couple making out that found the maniac’s hook hand stuck in the car’s door handle, or the babysitter with the spooky calls coming from inside the house. My favorite was the one about the twins that heard about the retarded kid that escaped from the asylum and when they looked up, he was sitting in their window with their mom’s severed head in his lap. And he looked just like them!”
“Nice.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty crappy stuff. But the girl in the sex hospital that spent the rest of her life cumming while man doctors watched, sometimes it ends with her pussy being so fragrant it drives the orderlies mad with lust and they help her escape.”
“That makes as much sense as anything else.”
“And then she kills them.”
“Well, naturally.” He dug into his plate. Maybe Audrey had loose lips. Or more likely, someone in the hundred-ten years of her captivity had loose lips.
“The other version says she kills men she finds jerking off because she doesn’t want anyone else to orgasm ever again.”
“I’m sure the story, even if it was ever true, hasn’t been mangled in the last seventy or more years. But, maybe. I don’t know. Maybe.”
Silence reigned as they finished eating hot food. He poured them each a scotch, into a beer glass. “I don’t want to be alone tonight,” Alicia finally said. Another admission. “I’m so alone. I don’t like it. I really don’t like it.”
“Then don’t be alone.”
She stared at him. Seductive? Or just dazed from too much drink. Her hands could have been acting on their own as they unbuttoned the top of her blouse. Then again, on the next button. “I’m drunk. Aren’t you going to stop me?” she asked, maybe playfully. Maybe plaintively.
“Nope.” He stepped closer to her and leaned down. She didn’t resist. And a moment later, she didn’t let him resist as she wrapped her arms up around his neck and pulled herself up. Alicia Jenner was hardly petite. She had a good model body, and may have once been one. But he still stood way over her, and now she jumped up to meet their lips. He grabbed her ass to hold her.
“I need this. Now. I really need this.”
“I know you do.” He carried her over to the bedroom and plopped her down on the bed. She grinned and pulled at her blouse more, fumbling to get it unbuttoned fast. He still beat her to it, but she swung her hips up and slid her skirt off in a swift move, much faster than he could get his pants off. “Finish,” he told her. She grinned more and pulled the rest off. Bra and panties, gone. Socks too. She licked her lips.
“Come on, give me the scoop!”
He almost laughed. It was a corny fucking line, but he wasn’t going to complain when a woman of her build said it. God her tits were terrific. She may not have been twenty, but she had the chest of a twenty-year-old. But larger. He wasn’t going to wait before pouncing on her. His pants could wait. She had a body to grab hold of. She had such soft, warm breasts and hard nipples. Oh, she was ready. Catharsis. Intoxication. Grief fucking. It didn’t matter. Her cunt was soaked, as he found when he grabbed her there. He pinned her down, atop her body, crushing her into the mattress and kissing her sweet, sweet, somewhat Italian-seasoned lips. With both hands on both tits, he drove his tongue down into her mouth, tasting her, holding her. Pressing her.
She had enough and rolled him over, grabbing at his pants. “It’s fair!” she gasped. “I want this too! Give up the goods, Mr. policeman.”
Fair was fair. He let her yank his pants off. He was already straining at his boxers, but Alicia yanked them off as easily. She quickly slid down and wrapped her seasoned lips around his cock, tasting him up and down his shaft and especially at the head. Oh, she knew how to blow a man. She probably knew it all. He settled back for a moment to let her give some terrific head. In his youth he would have blown his seed all over her mouth and made it cum up her nose, pun intended. He had staying power, now.
But she slipped her mouth off, breathing hard. Too hard. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s, I think, I think you’ll think I’m insane! I can’t do it this way! As soon as I started to tingle, I thought about, them! All that blood.”
Was she fucking serious? But then her words replayed. I can’t do it this way. Not, I can’t do it. “What do you need?”
“Safe space,” she whispered. “Tie me down. I don’t want to move. Just, tie me down and do it hard. I need to vent it off. I need to scream! Frank, I need to scream!”
“Want a gag?”
“Yes! Please! I need safe space from myself! Please! I need it!”
She could strip gears changing his perception that fast. It had been a long time since he got to use the toys. They were in a box in the closet, but he hurled shoe boxes and other crap out of the way. He’d been planning to introduce Sharon to them soon enough, but not now. He should probably dump her. Now he grabbed the cuffs and the thick gag. Alicia’s eyes widened. “Oh, you perverted man! I figured cop-issued cuffs.”
“No such luck,” he said as he shoved her back. Her broad smile opened as he locked one and then the other wrist to the headboards. Same with her feet, and he pulled her legs to make sure she had the least slack he could give her. As he climbed back onto her, she opened her mouth wide to receive it. Tears rolled down into her ears as she lay there trembling.
“Yes,” she said.
“How much do you want?”
“Make me feel something, copper,” she said. “Make me feel anything else!” Anything other than the pain? Or rather, pain to block the pain. Restraint to block the helplessness. “But make sure the gag’s a thick one.”
Right. It was. He fastened it on. The whole-head harness looped around her face and behind her neck and skull. It could be fitted with eye masking, but for now the leather head harness just held that padded ball in her mouth, keeping her jaw open. He couldn’t face fuck her with it, but a ring gang wouldn’t work if she was intent on screaming. She’d been holding it in all day. Whatever she was enduring at seeing her friends dead, she was intent on blasting it away with brutal, painful fucking. Degrading sex. Did she care about him at all? He smiled. She had damn well better care what he was doing to her. No one mentioned safe words. If she begged to stop, well, she should have said something first. But he knew she wouldn’t. Not for real.
Now his stiff, pent-up cock would have to wait. He could have pulled a whip out, but his belt was a lot more personal. “I think I’ve got your number,” he said. “Slut.” Just a little nod of her head followed as tears flowed harder. She said something, cried something. A name? Ben? Christy? One had a syllable, and then two more followed, but she wasn’t making words now. And as he brought the belt down over her chest to start, she wouldn’t be trying to for a while.
“I don’t really know what all you’re looking to get out of this,” he snarled, striking her again, on her belly. All in good time. “So I’m just going to amuse myself on your body.” Another blow, on her right thigh. “But I promise you you’ll feel it!” She cried out into the gag as he landed another one on her tits. Oh how they wiggled and jiggled as he hit them. Lying on her back, they were somewhat flattened, but not so much they couldn’t shake. “You want to drown out your pain?” he asked. Another, again on her titties. “You want to cover up your illusion of failure!” He wasn’t sure that made sense, but he finally smashed the belt down on her crotch, on her pussy. Hard. She yowled into the gag. “You let an angry man bind you and beat you?” Across her chest, on the tops of her breasts. “You make yourself vulnerable like a slut?” Another on her belly. “You think raw, angry sex will make you forget yourself, you bitch!” Right on her cunt! She cried out and jerked at the cuffs holding her. Her left arm trembled. More would follow.
“I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I can’t make anyone listen to me!” he growled, now striking her faster. Not harder, but more of them. “And now I’ve got you, a stupid, exhibitionist slut whore tied to my bed. Oh, you’ll walk away from this, girl. Don’t worry. You’ll limp away, crying into your breakfast yoghurt parfait, and you’ll cry again when you pass out at your dining room table, because I’m going to take my time and make you hurt. You wanted pain?” He paused. Now her hands and jaw shivered. “Scream for it!”
He landed the big one, again on her tits. Hard. If she expected it, she was kinkier than he gave her credit for. She was basically a rape reporter, so maybe. But she was still going to scream. She wanted to block the pain with pain, then he’d let her block everything. Her scream was a loud, agonized wail of agony. “Think about that,” he finished, calmly. Quietly. He was going to whip her now, and he didn’t want to try to think up clichéd lines to feed her. She was hurting? He hurt too, and he could mask pain with pain too. Just not the same. He began to thrash her. Hard. Not the hardest he could, but hard, unrelenting. Up and down her body. He wasn’t going to untie her just to whip her backside. Her ass was safe. She could just live with the asymmetry. From her hands to her feet, though, her front side caught hell and back. Those tits wobbled so seductively. And that hole, the one between her legs. The one women used to make men mad. What had they all lost, taking violence out of sex? Oh, except when some silly whore like Alicia Jenner offered her body up on a platter for ripe abuse and disgust. Did she know she was tickling the dragon’s tail when she let him lay into her pussy with leather and speed? Did she learn? As her muffled screams turned to anguished shrieks, it was impossible to know.
He did pause. Maybe Alicia, sobbing on the bed as her body jerked on its own, would think it over. He just wanted to put some clamps on her nipples, which he did. And he wanted to fuck her. He’d been thrashing this hot past-prime model journalist with a hard-on and achy balls for how long? Twenty minutes? Thirty? His dick was going to blow on its own. He laid down on her and slid it in. Oh, she was wet already. Wet, slick, hot. Not welcoming, if her crying counted for shit, which it didn’t. Not now. She’d opened the gate. If she begged, pleaded, threatened murder or suicide to make him stop, he wouldn’t have stopped. Was it rape if she agreed? He drove his cock in. She was getting fucked whether she liked it or not. Whether she still wanted it or ever did. And that made him a rapist, and it was a good fucking feeling knowing his cock ruled her gash that he slammed and smashed it into her. If only he could smash her without feeling the same. But he was made of tougher stuff than her little woman body, so he plowed into her with as much abandon as he could. God, were her screams good for the soul. A crying, suffering, regretful woman was the sexiest object in the world. Break the toys and watch them cry!
His cum sprayed out and into her snatch. It could have boiled for all he cared. His woman was full of his goo now. She was his forever, in a way. Even if she cleaned it out, his mark of cum was on her, in her, forever. He lay, relaxed atop her quivering body. Such a rush. The blood flowing near his ears washed out the world in a dull roar, but she was sobbing under him. Sniffling. At least she could breath a little around the gag. He wasn’t one for taking a ripe cunt out of the world that way. Funner to listen to and bask in her tears. Was it still what she wanted? Who the fuck cared? Was she safe in her mental bubble? Who the fuck cared? Did she even cum? Who the fuck cared? Not Frank Simpson the rapist cop. Fuck Alicia Jenner. Fuck her right in the slick cunt hole that was her person.
One was not going to do it. Oh no. He had time. She did too. His feelings mattered the most. Then the feelings of the leather implements in the box, And her feelings last. He grabbed a real whip. The clamps stayed on her nips. “Let’s try that again,” he snarled. “Open wide!”
Alicia sat in the corner of Frank’s supposed office. It was temporary, until he solved sexual violence, so they never planned it to last long or be that comfortable. But there was room for a couple people, and Alicia had followed him around through the day, blankly typing and dictating notes while dodging calls from her producers. Now she followed him back to his office and sipped from the flask he hadn’t noticed she had.
“I never realized there was so much drudgery,” she said. “The DA, then the judge, then the chief of police. And the mayor tomorrow?”
“I’d tell you it was just part of the judicial checks and balances that make our system thrive,” Frank said. “But then you’d call me a liar. Everyone wants their cut of the action. Everyone wants their time in the spotlight.”
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as that. You can’t get a warrant without a judge.”
“Yeah, but they always ask pesky questions. What’s your evidence? How did you get your evidence? How reliable is your evidence?”
“I can’t tell if that’s sarcasm or cynicism,” Alicia said. “But thank you for letting me follow this. I appreciate that you generally act straight with me. I’d have been crying all day if I had to just…” She hesitated, wiping back tears. “Sorry. This has just been too much. I just, I always thought if someone came after me, it would be me, or about me. But it’s really because they sent you a tip.”
“That’s what it looks like. We’ll make the arrest in the morning, early. We’ve already got a trace going back into their house, but I want the files on their computers.”
“I just wonder, why did they do that? Not that they, well, why do that?”
“Their news noses failed to stay neutral?” Frank asked. “I don’t know. I spoke to them that morning after the judge kicked out the cameras. I may have had some choice words about their profession. Sorry, but I wasn’t polite when they tried to corner me for a comment on the case.”
“Ben really saw himself as an information warrior. He wasn’t much for talking but he could sure focus. Pun intended. That’s his joke. Was his joke.” She stifled some more sobs. “Sorry.”
“Come on, let’s get out of here. This place will crush your soul. Hungry?”
“Yeah.” Poor girl. It might have been a confession or a question, like admitting to hunger was admitting to failure. The headstrong reporter girl was gone for a while. He locked up and headed to his car. Alicia’s, if she had one, was still parked by Ben’s apartment. She hadn’t left Frank’s side all day as he shuttled from judge to DA to judge to chief, half the time with Sharon tagging along and half not. Now he drove home.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“Home. My place. Neither of us need a public showing at a restaurant.” It took her a second to let it sink in, but she nodded. He had to wonder what was in the flask. It was the literal truth. He’d built up a bit of facial recognition over the past year, and Alicia was a huge local celebrity. He drove her home. His home. A modest house on a modest street. It wasn’t even as nice as Sharon’s, even with her smaller salary, but he had more saved for retirement. No one was around as they walked through the setting sunlight. It would have been a hell of a photo-op. Chief Sex Crimes Investigator Seduces Chief Sex Crimes Reporter! News at 11!
“How do you do it, Frank?” she asked.
“I just peel the dry skin off the onion and then slam it through the mandolin,” he said. He knew damn well she wasn’t talking about dicing up onions for the pasta sauce. She was talking, he already knew, about the supposed hardness of the seasoned and salty policeman. How he could look death and hurt in the eyes and feel nothing. It wasn’t all a lie. Depending on the crime, he might feel a tinge of arousal too. But not lately. Not with Audrey Pine out there, or with the Schaefers of the world trying to piggyback off her to cover for their own crimes. George’s final report had been clear. There was not rape. Christy Riley didn’t die with a cock in her, Ben’s or anyone else’s. She just died, naked, in terror and incomprehensible pain. And Ben died, according to George, straining every muscle to keep them from twisting his arm up to make him shoot himself. For security pros, they were a couple of mooks, and Frank got to remember their handiwork vividly for the rest of his life.
“Come on, don’t spin me now. At least, not like that.”
“There’s a better way?” he grinned. “Alright. How do I do it? Booze. Denial. Cynicism. Self-abuse, and not the good kind. Well, not only the good kind.”
“But I have to fight just to catch a glimpse of hell, which I pass off to my viewers. You’re up against it all the time, first on the scene.”
“Rarely.”
“Why is this happening, Frank? What’s happened to us, to women? I mean, we had a thing going, sort of. We don’t fear you, and you don’t hurt us.”
“Hey, come on.” But she was right.
“But now someone is hurting us. How long until we go back to those olden golden times when rape meant a good chance of death and destruction? What the hell is happening to us?”
He continued chopping. It was going to come out someday. If he managed to solve the Audrey Pine case, it would be explosive on so many levels. “Want a big scoop?” he asked. “I mean, the mother of all stories?”
Some of the reporter in her was still sober. She leaned forward, all eyes and all ears. “Off the record, but I get the inside edition until it’s ready?”
“If you want it, sure. I don’t care much for reporters, but I respect you. Sorry if it’s super condescending, but you’re one of the good ones and that’s how I see it.”
“I can live with that.”
“Let me tell you a story I don’t yet know the beginning, middle, or end of. It involves a girl almost two hundred years old with magical powers and a death-wish of revenge gone mad.” He began to talk. And talk. He was still going when the food was ready, and he hardly got a bite in as he finished relating the whole picture. Alicia would probably write a book and get millions if she got on it first. But now she sat there with glassy eyes and hanging jaw as he finished it up.
“I. Wow. And you’re both, um…”
“We’re sure. Sure enough. We plugged it into the crime statistics app and it spit back a bunch of confidence intervals and p-values and t-values. She’s killing them. These descendants of the program are in danger and we don’t have a clue how to deal with it. And she’ll never run out! Everyone who hurt her once is dead now, so she’s going after kids, and grandkids, and great-great-great grandkids. Until now, no one ever noticed.”
“And it was some sex thing?”
“We’re least certain of that part, but yeah. Orgasm research, or something, maybe. Something Biogasms did forever ago. I can’t even guess what the legal issues will be from this.”
“You know. I’ve put my ear to almost every sexual rumor, act, gathering place, you name it. I’ve studied them all.
“Hell of a job you’ve got.”
“Haven’t you ever heard the urban legends? The ones about the hospital that kidnapped young women and strapped them into orgasm machines and made them cum non-stop for the rest of their lives?”
“I don’t know. Maybe? Lots of stories like that out there?”
“It’s like the teen couple making out that found the maniac’s hook hand stuck in the car’s door handle, or the babysitter with the spooky calls coming from inside the house. My favorite was the one about the twins that heard about the retarded kid that escaped from the asylum and when they looked up, he was sitting in their window with their mom’s severed head in his lap. And he looked just like them!”
“Nice.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty crappy stuff. But the girl in the sex hospital that spent the rest of her life cumming while man doctors watched, sometimes it ends with her pussy being so fragrant it drives the orderlies mad with lust and they help her escape.”
“That makes as much sense as anything else.”
“And then she kills them.”
“Well, naturally.” He dug into his plate. Maybe Audrey had loose lips. Or more likely, someone in the hundred-ten years of her captivity had loose lips.
“The other version says she kills men she finds jerking off because she doesn’t want anyone else to orgasm ever again.”
“I’m sure the story, even if it was ever true, hasn’t been mangled in the last seventy or more years. But, maybe. I don’t know. Maybe.”
Silence reigned as they finished eating hot food. He poured them each a scotch, into a beer glass. “I don’t want to be alone tonight,” Alicia finally said. Another admission. “I’m so alone. I don’t like it. I really don’t like it.”
“Then don’t be alone.”
She stared at him. Seductive? Or just dazed from too much drink. Her hands could have been acting on their own as they unbuttoned the top of her blouse. Then again, on the next button. “I’m drunk. Aren’t you going to stop me?” she asked, maybe playfully. Maybe plaintively.
“Nope.” He stepped closer to her and leaned down. She didn’t resist. And a moment later, she didn’t let him resist as she wrapped her arms up around his neck and pulled herself up. Alicia Jenner was hardly petite. She had a good model body, and may have once been one. But he still stood way over her, and now she jumped up to meet their lips. He grabbed her ass to hold her.
“I need this. Now. I really need this.”
“I know you do.” He carried her over to the bedroom and plopped her down on the bed. She grinned and pulled at her blouse more, fumbling to get it unbuttoned fast. He still beat her to it, but she swung her hips up and slid her skirt off in a swift move, much faster than he could get his pants off. “Finish,” he told her. She grinned more and pulled the rest off. Bra and panties, gone. Socks too. She licked her lips.
“Come on, give me the scoop!”
He almost laughed. It was a corny fucking line, but he wasn’t going to complain when a woman of her build said it. God her tits were terrific. She may not have been twenty, but she had the chest of a twenty-year-old. But larger. He wasn’t going to wait before pouncing on her. His pants could wait. She had a body to grab hold of. She had such soft, warm breasts and hard nipples. Oh, she was ready. Catharsis. Intoxication. Grief fucking. It didn’t matter. Her cunt was soaked, as he found when he grabbed her there. He pinned her down, atop her body, crushing her into the mattress and kissing her sweet, sweet, somewhat Italian-seasoned lips. With both hands on both tits, he drove his tongue down into her mouth, tasting her, holding her. Pressing her.
She had enough and rolled him over, grabbing at his pants. “It’s fair!” she gasped. “I want this too! Give up the goods, Mr. policeman.”
Fair was fair. He let her yank his pants off. He was already straining at his boxers, but Alicia yanked them off as easily. She quickly slid down and wrapped her seasoned lips around his cock, tasting him up and down his shaft and especially at the head. Oh, she knew how to blow a man. She probably knew it all. He settled back for a moment to let her give some terrific head. In his youth he would have blown his seed all over her mouth and made it cum up her nose, pun intended. He had staying power, now.
But she slipped her mouth off, breathing hard. Too hard. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s, I think, I think you’ll think I’m insane! I can’t do it this way! As soon as I started to tingle, I thought about, them! All that blood.”
Was she fucking serious? But then her words replayed. I can’t do it this way. Not, I can’t do it. “What do you need?”
“Safe space,” she whispered. “Tie me down. I don’t want to move. Just, tie me down and do it hard. I need to vent it off. I need to scream! Frank, I need to scream!”
“Want a gag?”
“Yes! Please! I need safe space from myself! Please! I need it!”
She could strip gears changing his perception that fast. It had been a long time since he got to use the toys. They were in a box in the closet, but he hurled shoe boxes and other crap out of the way. He’d been planning to introduce Sharon to them soon enough, but not now. He should probably dump her. Now he grabbed the cuffs and the thick gag. Alicia’s eyes widened. “Oh, you perverted man! I figured cop-issued cuffs.”
“No such luck,” he said as he shoved her back. Her broad smile opened as he locked one and then the other wrist to the headboards. Same with her feet, and he pulled her legs to make sure she had the least slack he could give her. As he climbed back onto her, she opened her mouth wide to receive it. Tears rolled down into her ears as she lay there trembling.
“Yes,” she said.
“How much do you want?”
“Make me feel something, copper,” she said. “Make me feel anything else!” Anything other than the pain? Or rather, pain to block the pain. Restraint to block the helplessness. “But make sure the gag’s a thick one.”
Right. It was. He fastened it on. The whole-head harness looped around her face and behind her neck and skull. It could be fitted with eye masking, but for now the leather head harness just held that padded ball in her mouth, keeping her jaw open. He couldn’t face fuck her with it, but a ring gang wouldn’t work if she was intent on screaming. She’d been holding it in all day. Whatever she was enduring at seeing her friends dead, she was intent on blasting it away with brutal, painful fucking. Degrading sex. Did she care about him at all? He smiled. She had damn well better care what he was doing to her. No one mentioned safe words. If she begged to stop, well, she should have said something first. But he knew she wouldn’t. Not for real.
Now his stiff, pent-up cock would have to wait. He could have pulled a whip out, but his belt was a lot more personal. “I think I’ve got your number,” he said. “Slut.” Just a little nod of her head followed as tears flowed harder. She said something, cried something. A name? Ben? Christy? One had a syllable, and then two more followed, but she wasn’t making words now. And as he brought the belt down over her chest to start, she wouldn’t be trying to for a while.
“I don’t really know what all you’re looking to get out of this,” he snarled, striking her again, on her belly. All in good time. “So I’m just going to amuse myself on your body.” Another blow, on her right thigh. “But I promise you you’ll feel it!” She cried out into the gag as he landed another one on her tits. Oh how they wiggled and jiggled as he hit them. Lying on her back, they were somewhat flattened, but not so much they couldn’t shake. “You want to drown out your pain?” he asked. Another, again on her titties. “You want to cover up your illusion of failure!” He wasn’t sure that made sense, but he finally smashed the belt down on her crotch, on her pussy. Hard. She yowled into the gag. “You let an angry man bind you and beat you?” Across her chest, on the tops of her breasts. “You make yourself vulnerable like a slut?” Another on her belly. “You think raw, angry sex will make you forget yourself, you bitch!” Right on her cunt! She cried out and jerked at the cuffs holding her. Her left arm trembled. More would follow.
“I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I can’t make anyone listen to me!” he growled, now striking her faster. Not harder, but more of them. “And now I’ve got you, a stupid, exhibitionist slut whore tied to my bed. Oh, you’ll walk away from this, girl. Don’t worry. You’ll limp away, crying into your breakfast yoghurt parfait, and you’ll cry again when you pass out at your dining room table, because I’m going to take my time and make you hurt. You wanted pain?” He paused. Now her hands and jaw shivered. “Scream for it!”
He landed the big one, again on her tits. Hard. If she expected it, she was kinkier than he gave her credit for. She was basically a rape reporter, so maybe. But she was still going to scream. She wanted to block the pain with pain, then he’d let her block everything. Her scream was a loud, agonized wail of agony. “Think about that,” he finished, calmly. Quietly. He was going to whip her now, and he didn’t want to try to think up clichéd lines to feed her. She was hurting? He hurt too, and he could mask pain with pain too. Just not the same. He began to thrash her. Hard. Not the hardest he could, but hard, unrelenting. Up and down her body. He wasn’t going to untie her just to whip her backside. Her ass was safe. She could just live with the asymmetry. From her hands to her feet, though, her front side caught hell and back. Those tits wobbled so seductively. And that hole, the one between her legs. The one women used to make men mad. What had they all lost, taking violence out of sex? Oh, except when some silly whore like Alicia Jenner offered her body up on a platter for ripe abuse and disgust. Did she know she was tickling the dragon’s tail when she let him lay into her pussy with leather and speed? Did she learn? As her muffled screams turned to anguished shrieks, it was impossible to know.
He did pause. Maybe Alicia, sobbing on the bed as her body jerked on its own, would think it over. He just wanted to put some clamps on her nipples, which he did. And he wanted to fuck her. He’d been thrashing this hot past-prime model journalist with a hard-on and achy balls for how long? Twenty minutes? Thirty? His dick was going to blow on its own. He laid down on her and slid it in. Oh, she was wet already. Wet, slick, hot. Not welcoming, if her crying counted for shit, which it didn’t. Not now. She’d opened the gate. If she begged, pleaded, threatened murder or suicide to make him stop, he wouldn’t have stopped. Was it rape if she agreed? He drove his cock in. She was getting fucked whether she liked it or not. Whether she still wanted it or ever did. And that made him a rapist, and it was a good fucking feeling knowing his cock ruled her gash that he slammed and smashed it into her. If only he could smash her without feeling the same. But he was made of tougher stuff than her little woman body, so he plowed into her with as much abandon as he could. God, were her screams good for the soul. A crying, suffering, regretful woman was the sexiest object in the world. Break the toys and watch them cry!
His cum sprayed out and into her snatch. It could have boiled for all he cared. His woman was full of his goo now. She was his forever, in a way. Even if she cleaned it out, his mark of cum was on her, in her, forever. He lay, relaxed atop her quivering body. Such a rush. The blood flowing near his ears washed out the world in a dull roar, but she was sobbing under him. Sniffling. At least she could breath a little around the gag. He wasn’t one for taking a ripe cunt out of the world that way. Funner to listen to and bask in her tears. Was it still what she wanted? Who the fuck cared? Was she safe in her mental bubble? Who the fuck cared? Did she even cum? Who the fuck cared? Not Frank Simpson the rapist cop. Fuck Alicia Jenner. Fuck her right in the slick cunt hole that was her person.
One was not going to do it. Oh no. He had time. She did too. His feelings mattered the most. Then the feelings of the leather implements in the box, And her feelings last. He grabbed a real whip. The clamps stayed on her nips. “Let’s try that again,” he snarled. “Open wide!”
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SoftGameHunter
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Re: Pheromonica - NaNoWriMo (chapter 23 added)
Content Warnings: Alert! Alert! Lesbian sex to follow here.
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Chapter 23
Someone was in her home. Sharon arrived at her house by her normal route, but nothing close to her normal time. There were lights on. She never left her lights on unattended, and certainly not more than one. But she crept halfway up the front walk with her hand on her service piece before she inwardly slapped herself. Intruders didn’t light up the house in the middle of the evening, but girlfriends did. Lynne had never come over without Sharon there, but obviously she did now. She wouldn’t know Sharon would be running late.
Inside, she found the girl seated at the dining room table. And case files were spread out in front of her.
“Oh,” Lynne gasped. Flustered. Sharon walked over. Those printouts had been in her file cabinet. Not locked, but they shouldn’t have to be in a single-person home. Legally, of course, Sharon was fucked if anything came of this. All the material should be kept locked. “I was only curious about my own stuff. I mean, Biogasms.” Sharon peered down at what Lynne had out. It was all the latest, at least as of last night. Last night, when she and Frank broke it all wide open. “I’m sorry,” Lynne squeaked. “Please don’t be too mad.”
“I spent today,” Sharon said, “watching Frank Simpson embed a hot reporter in the case because he wants in her pants. You’ve got a thousand times the discretion Alicia Jenner has. So it’s cool. For this one. It’ll be over soon anyway.”
“So, this is all real? This insane story?”
“Yeah.”
“Audrey Andersen, Pine, is two hundred years old?”
“Yup. And before you ask, she’s a serial killer with some kind means of rendering her victims compliant and obedient.”
“The men, at least,” Lynne said.
“Huh, yeah. That would make sense.”
“I wonder,” Lynne began. “Would it work on gals like us? You know, because we like it too?”
“Pussy. Maybe. But we’re women still. Not men. I’m sure some of these victims were gay. Don’t think about it too much. We still don’t know where Audrey is or how to find out. That case may drag on for years.” She set her access pad down and logged herself in. “If Frank can share all, I can too. You have a right to know what they caught you up in. Audrey Pine is dangerous, but so are Helen and Byron Schaefer, and they’re going down. I have to be up early, so let’s eat, okay?”
“Sure,” Lynne replied. But she began scrolling as Sharon headed for the kitchen and the microwave.
“They made her cum,” Lynne said. “That’s all they did. Cumming.”
“I don’t think our records are complete,” Sharon replied. “But something like that. Non-stop orgasms, maybe very lengthy ones.”
“The wording is plain,” Lynne said. “They made her orgasm non-stop. For longer than a human lifespan! It’s right there in the summary opening.”
“I would be skeptical. Biogasms found a cure for aging and used it to make a random college coed orgasm for a whole century? And never sold it? Never marketed it?”
“Could she be naturally long-lived? A Countess Saint-Germaine?”
Sharon laughed and shook her head. Lynne wasn’t looking. “I don’t know. Let’s keep it real. Perhaps. She exists, she’s old, she’s angry.”
“She helped me more than I can repay,” Lynne said as she joined Sharon in the kitchen. Sharon remained still as Lynne embraced her from behind. “I’m sorry, but I could be strapped down in that basement even now if it weren’t for her.” Her voice cracked. “They could be zapping my pussy with drugs or shocks or whatever, even now, while I scream. I really got lucky!”
“I know,” Sharon said as Lynne sniffled behind her.
“But hey!” Lynne forced a laugh through the tears Sharon could only hear, only smell. “Maybe I’d be able to cum now! At all.” Sharon clutched the girl’s hands. Primary Anorgasmia was a bitch. Sharon could climax easily in bed with a hot young piece like Lynne, but Lynne remained forever frustrated every time. “I just wanted to say that. I know Audrey is something else, but she’s not all bad.”
Sharon turned to hug her girlfriend. But she had more in mind than a hug. “Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Not really.”
Perfect. She took Lynne’s wrist and pulled her to the bedroom. “Whoa, hey, what’s this?”
“Tonight, we’re going to make magic happen,” she said. “We’re going to get you the big O.”
“Oh!”
“Yes. A total assault on the senses.”
“Okay,” Lynne replied. “What should I do?”
“Start by being naked,” Sharon said as she pulled her own shirt off first. “Now, I need total honesty. No judgement.” She turned on the wall TV. “Is there any kind of visual you think gets you aroused. Anything at all. No judgement. Even if it’s women being gang raped by diseased hobos while their cats watch.”
“That’s oddly specific,” Lynne laughed. “But no. Men don’t do it for me. But some dyke gang bang might work.”
“Sweet,” Sharon said, pulling up some porn.
“But, um, still keep the rape part.”
Sharon swirled back to gaze at her girl. “Rape porn? Really? No judgement, but wow. I did not guess that.” She resumed looking. “So, are you the dom or the sub in this?”
“I guess it doesn’t matter, does it?” Lynne replied. “Not if I’m just watching it.”
“What about acting it out?” Sharon asked. Maybe she shouldn’t ask. She’d been forceful a bit, sometimes. Holding Lynne’s arms down over her head while she tongue-lapped her face. She usually put Lynne on the bottom as they went at it.
“You’ve got a gang of girls ready?” Lynne laughed. She was naked now. Totally waiting for it as she sat and leaned back on the bed.
“You’d let them assault you?”
“You can’t rape the willing!” Lynne laughed again. “But maybe I’d join them. Pick out one hapless victim and go at her.” An odd look crossed her face. “Maybe pick you!”
“If you want,” Sharon found her mouth replying. She wasn’t a sub at all. “But tonight is about your pussy, girlfriend. Want to tie me down?”
In an instant, it was like their dynamic changed. Lynne wasn’t reclining before her dominant cop woman lover. She was reclining in comfort while a naked Sharon stood for viewing. For inspection. A shiver of questionable pleasure ran down her spine. Could she make herself helpless? Truly defenseless, naked and open to anything done to her?
“No. You tie me down,” Lynne gasped. She gasped as she spoke, like the words were on fire. “I’ve never, except that day in Biogasms, I don’t…” She took a hard breath. “Tie me down. I want you to. Make me cum. Just get it out of me. Don’t take no for an answer! Just, you know, untie me when we’re finished, right?”
“Yeah. I’m not giving up the whole bed!” Sharon shot back. Tie her up? With what? “Hold on. Lie down and spread out! I’ll be back.” She knew that scarves were supposed to be what everyone used, but she didn’t like the idea. She didn’t know if she had enough of them anyway. But she had a garage and there was some rope out there. Other people could be kinky. She’d had to tie some stuff to her car once for a camping trip. But it was enough to hold Lynne down. She raced back to find Lynne’s slender little body stretched out, ready for her restraint. She wasn’t holding back, and had her arms and legs extended out as far as she could, lined up with the posts. Sharon swiftly knotted the ropes around all the joints and bedposts that mattered. She made plenty of loops around Lynne’s wrists and ankles to make sure it didn’t constrict too tightly. She knew that much. When she was done, Lynne couldn’t go anywhere. She just lay there with a nervous grin, waiting.
But there was still a mood to set. A porno was needed. It could play out on the big screen with the volume up to capture all the cries and screams or whatever lesbian gang rape entailed. “No judgement. Hard and heavy, or lighter?”
“For the show, hard. Heavy. Something that gave the actress nightmares. For me, just use your judgement. I promise I’ll give lots over verbal and body feedback.”
“There’s the sexy talk,” Sharon said. Hard lesbian rape porn. Like Sharon really knew what to look for on the streaming feed. But there were tags, stars, reviews. She wasn’t reading the reviews, but something popular with the harsher tags would work. She laughed when she saw the title, and cringed at a handful of blurbs when she found it. Cum and Die for Satan’s Nunnery! From the reviews at the top of the feed at the bottom of the page, the only thing light about the vid was the title. “Well, you only live once,” she said as she started it up. It promised screenfuls of naked abusive women and one victim. Maybe two. Sharon wouldn’t see most of it. The screen would be behind her as she worked Lynne’s body.
“Don’t let me quit,” Lynne said.
“I won’t,” Sharon said as she began rubbing Lynne’s pussy. She was easily aroused. That had been clear from the start. Sharon had never fingered her cunt without finding it wet. Soaked, usually. The poor girl was constantly horny but never satisfied. Her body responded. Her limbs all tensed up at once as she strained at her bonds. That was new. She tensed when Sharon pinned her, but now she strained, already sweating under a still very light touch.
“Look at you!” Sharon cooed. “All that energy into struggling. Put some into letting go. Let your cunt explode, you dirty girl.”
“Harder!” Lynne gasped.
“Oh, I’ll give it to you harder, dirty girl,” Sharon said, putting two fingers in and stepping up the pace. A whimper escaped Lynne’s lips. So responsive, so unfulfilled! It was God’s crime against her body, revved up like that but no way off the starting line. The action was getting started behind her up on the screen. The sounds suggested a half dozen or so girls ganging up on one, and they were brutal. Flagellation began. Sharon wasn’t going to watch it, but she could hear it. The thing was well done, considering the cornball title. It even has passable original music running in the background, ominous and harsh to match the victim’s increasingly frantic cries of distress.
“Oh! Oh please!” Lynne cried. She went from zero to frenzied in just a few minutes, but it meant nothing. They’d had lovemaking sessions lasting an hour or more that left Lynne quaking and threatening an asthma attack. The first time, Sharon was so worried she wanted to stop and call medical services, but Lynne assured her that was just how she sounded. She could breathe just fine. Raspy, but fine. Now her throaty gasps were building up.
“Don’t like my fingers?” Sharon asked as she slid down the bed. “Try this!” She pressed her tongue to Lynne’s hot slit, and the aroma of heated girl filled her nose and mouth. Much like sweaty, but more personal and intimate. Sharon’s own cunt was filling with her own desires. Maybe it could go both ways, as nature intended. She stood up to rotate, and laid back down atop Lynne’s bound body. Now they were cunt to mouth both ways. A classic 69. “Lick me! Lick me hard, girl!”
Lynne’s body was tight as a board below her. As Sharon lapped at her smooth muff, Lynne screamed into Sharon’s own gash. No echoes, but she felt the vibes through her soft flesh. She tongue-dove even deeper, as deep as she could. That was the one drawback of being a dyke. She didn’t have the anatomy to go as deep as men could get. Bastards. But she knew how to use her tongue. Tongues had control. Tongues were flexible, and they appreciate all the senses in a woman’s pussy, not just the tactile. Taste. Everything was a matter of taste. Lynne sobbed. This was fast turning into her most intense response Sharon had ever seen.
“Please!” Lynne wept. “Please! Just this once!”
Oh, that was sad. Heart wrenching, really. She flicked Lynne’s clit even harder. Faster. It may take time. She knew that. But she had to start if she was to finish. With a cry, Lynne’s body suddenly jerked as her right hand and leg both burst free.
“What the hell?” Sharon asked as she lifted herself up. Lynne’s thigh almost twisted her neck as it came up so fast. But Lynne lay there, flustered and babbling.
“So hard. Sorry! Oh God, it hurts! Please. More.”
“Yeah, but, wow.”
“Uh, I, what kind of rope was that? Something inexpensive?” Lynne managed to ask.
“I thought it was the good stuff. I’m lucky I didn’t lose my mom’s cooler.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, when I was camping.” She examined the rope. It just snapped between bedpost and bound limb. Lynne’s left side was still secured, but two breaks at once. Granted, Lynne was right-handed and all. Legs were strong, but her arm?
“Sorry.”
“No, I’ve got more. You don’t get off that easy, dirty girl. I’ll just use two lengths. Or three! You’re not escaping that easily, girl. You’re going to cum if it kills us both!”
Lynne lay there, watching the harsh lesbo rape fest while Sharon used the rest of the rope to secure her tightly to the bed. She wouldn’t be breaking out now. Three lengths held each arm, and four for each leg. Total overkill, but she had to admit Lynne was sexy as fuck bound so helplessly. Maybe that bondage stuff had its appeal after all.
She’d calmed down a bit as Sharon bound her again. But as soon as Sharon began to stroke and lick her, Lynne quickly devolved mentally. Her body quivered and shook. Her strained yanking on the ropes might have hurt her wrists. What if she began bleeding? Sharon was so worked up she could hardly say if it would stop her, if she saw Lynne hurting herself. Back in the 69, Sharon was on her fourth cum while Lynne buckled and cried under her, frantic for release that just wasn’t there. The vid up on the wall ended and something else came on. It was another lesbian flick. Lots of screaming. Lots of distress. Some of the screaming was Lynne’s.
When Sharon finally sat up, after her sixth, she found Lynne puffy-faced red from crying so much. “Can’t do it,” she whimpered between sobs. “Can’t get there!”
“You’re getting there! I’m going to make you cum, girl. Damn it, you’re going to orgasm here and now!” Maybe it was inappropriate. She didn’t care. Her tongue knew how to pleasure a girl, but her fingers had the strength, flexibility, numbers, and hard edges to really go at a pussy and work the clit. Maybe a fingernail would give Lynne the final burst of sensation she needed.
“Agghhh!” Lynne just wailed. She screamed, wheezed, coughed a little, and strained in agony. And her wrists did bleed. One of them, her right. The stronger. That was a tomorrow problem, not a tonight problem.
“No relief! Cum for me, girl! Cum or it doesn’t stop! Cum for me and show me you love me!” Sharon shouted. Lynne just twisted and wept. Her pussy overflowed, but not from the uncontrolled release of pleasure she needed and deserved. The bed wouldn’t have just a wet spot. No. They might both sleep huddled on the couch tonight. But it was going to happen. Lynne was going to cum.
The blow caught Sharon off her guard as she hurled to the floor. Her head spun, but nothing was broken. She sat up to find Lynne half turned on her side. Both arms were still lashed to the bed, but both legs had busted free, breaking through four ropes each. The blow was from her twisting her body upward, curling up, and catching Sharon in the path. “Holy shit!” Sharon muttered.
“I, sorry,” Lynne wept. “I want it, so bad!”
It was enough to make them both cry. But it was a failure. Sharon’s failure. How long had they been at it, finally? An hour and a half? The third vid was starting. Don’t be a Lady Guard at a Women’s Penitentiary. Did these things never have good names?
“No. I’m sorry,” Sharon sniffled. She just wanted to hug the pain away. “I don’t know what else I can do.” She crawled up on the bed and lay down beside Lynne. Her arms could be freed later. She stroked the girl’s breasts as they watched the porno unfold, but lightly. It was time to just calm the fuck down.
This one was a goofy film. It wouldn’t have added much to the session, and the ‘victim’ guard couldn’t have been happier. Whatever. Sharon finally untied Lynne’s arms. “I’ve got some antibiotic crème,” she said. Lynne had rubbed both wrists raw. It might raise questions if the wrong people saw it. Like one limp-dicked asshole who happened to be her partner.
Was he psychic? No sooner had she thought briefly about him than the chime told her he was messaging her. She grabbed the pad before returning to the bedroom.
Short and sweet. ‘I’ve met someone better, so you’re off the hook now. Sleep tightly.’ Better! That was a laugh. Probably Alicia the superkink reporter.
She returned and gave Lynne a light, gentle kiss. For a fleeting moment her brain, now hooked on hokey porn plots, wondered if the kiss would send Lynne into orgasmic bliss. But no. A kiss was just a kiss, but a welcome one.
Sharon slept in the puddle and she slept very soundly. It was the least she could do.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 23
Someone was in her home. Sharon arrived at her house by her normal route, but nothing close to her normal time. There were lights on. She never left her lights on unattended, and certainly not more than one. But she crept halfway up the front walk with her hand on her service piece before she inwardly slapped herself. Intruders didn’t light up the house in the middle of the evening, but girlfriends did. Lynne had never come over without Sharon there, but obviously she did now. She wouldn’t know Sharon would be running late.
Inside, she found the girl seated at the dining room table. And case files were spread out in front of her.
“Oh,” Lynne gasped. Flustered. Sharon walked over. Those printouts had been in her file cabinet. Not locked, but they shouldn’t have to be in a single-person home. Legally, of course, Sharon was fucked if anything came of this. All the material should be kept locked. “I was only curious about my own stuff. I mean, Biogasms.” Sharon peered down at what Lynne had out. It was all the latest, at least as of last night. Last night, when she and Frank broke it all wide open. “I’m sorry,” Lynne squeaked. “Please don’t be too mad.”
“I spent today,” Sharon said, “watching Frank Simpson embed a hot reporter in the case because he wants in her pants. You’ve got a thousand times the discretion Alicia Jenner has. So it’s cool. For this one. It’ll be over soon anyway.”
“So, this is all real? This insane story?”
“Yeah.”
“Audrey Andersen, Pine, is two hundred years old?”
“Yup. And before you ask, she’s a serial killer with some kind means of rendering her victims compliant and obedient.”
“The men, at least,” Lynne said.
“Huh, yeah. That would make sense.”
“I wonder,” Lynne began. “Would it work on gals like us? You know, because we like it too?”
“Pussy. Maybe. But we’re women still. Not men. I’m sure some of these victims were gay. Don’t think about it too much. We still don’t know where Audrey is or how to find out. That case may drag on for years.” She set her access pad down and logged herself in. “If Frank can share all, I can too. You have a right to know what they caught you up in. Audrey Pine is dangerous, but so are Helen and Byron Schaefer, and they’re going down. I have to be up early, so let’s eat, okay?”
“Sure,” Lynne replied. But she began scrolling as Sharon headed for the kitchen and the microwave.
“They made her cum,” Lynne said. “That’s all they did. Cumming.”
“I don’t think our records are complete,” Sharon replied. “But something like that. Non-stop orgasms, maybe very lengthy ones.”
“The wording is plain,” Lynne said. “They made her orgasm non-stop. For longer than a human lifespan! It’s right there in the summary opening.”
“I would be skeptical. Biogasms found a cure for aging and used it to make a random college coed orgasm for a whole century? And never sold it? Never marketed it?”
“Could she be naturally long-lived? A Countess Saint-Germaine?”
Sharon laughed and shook her head. Lynne wasn’t looking. “I don’t know. Let’s keep it real. Perhaps. She exists, she’s old, she’s angry.”
“She helped me more than I can repay,” Lynne said as she joined Sharon in the kitchen. Sharon remained still as Lynne embraced her from behind. “I’m sorry, but I could be strapped down in that basement even now if it weren’t for her.” Her voice cracked. “They could be zapping my pussy with drugs or shocks or whatever, even now, while I scream. I really got lucky!”
“I know,” Sharon said as Lynne sniffled behind her.
“But hey!” Lynne forced a laugh through the tears Sharon could only hear, only smell. “Maybe I’d be able to cum now! At all.” Sharon clutched the girl’s hands. Primary Anorgasmia was a bitch. Sharon could climax easily in bed with a hot young piece like Lynne, but Lynne remained forever frustrated every time. “I just wanted to say that. I know Audrey is something else, but she’s not all bad.”
Sharon turned to hug her girlfriend. But she had more in mind than a hug. “Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Not really.”
Perfect. She took Lynne’s wrist and pulled her to the bedroom. “Whoa, hey, what’s this?”
“Tonight, we’re going to make magic happen,” she said. “We’re going to get you the big O.”
“Oh!”
“Yes. A total assault on the senses.”
“Okay,” Lynne replied. “What should I do?”
“Start by being naked,” Sharon said as she pulled her own shirt off first. “Now, I need total honesty. No judgement.” She turned on the wall TV. “Is there any kind of visual you think gets you aroused. Anything at all. No judgement. Even if it’s women being gang raped by diseased hobos while their cats watch.”
“That’s oddly specific,” Lynne laughed. “But no. Men don’t do it for me. But some dyke gang bang might work.”
“Sweet,” Sharon said, pulling up some porn.
“But, um, still keep the rape part.”
Sharon swirled back to gaze at her girl. “Rape porn? Really? No judgement, but wow. I did not guess that.” She resumed looking. “So, are you the dom or the sub in this?”
“I guess it doesn’t matter, does it?” Lynne replied. “Not if I’m just watching it.”
“What about acting it out?” Sharon asked. Maybe she shouldn’t ask. She’d been forceful a bit, sometimes. Holding Lynne’s arms down over her head while she tongue-lapped her face. She usually put Lynne on the bottom as they went at it.
“You’ve got a gang of girls ready?” Lynne laughed. She was naked now. Totally waiting for it as she sat and leaned back on the bed.
“You’d let them assault you?”
“You can’t rape the willing!” Lynne laughed again. “But maybe I’d join them. Pick out one hapless victim and go at her.” An odd look crossed her face. “Maybe pick you!”
“If you want,” Sharon found her mouth replying. She wasn’t a sub at all. “But tonight is about your pussy, girlfriend. Want to tie me down?”
In an instant, it was like their dynamic changed. Lynne wasn’t reclining before her dominant cop woman lover. She was reclining in comfort while a naked Sharon stood for viewing. For inspection. A shiver of questionable pleasure ran down her spine. Could she make herself helpless? Truly defenseless, naked and open to anything done to her?
“No. You tie me down,” Lynne gasped. She gasped as she spoke, like the words were on fire. “I’ve never, except that day in Biogasms, I don’t…” She took a hard breath. “Tie me down. I want you to. Make me cum. Just get it out of me. Don’t take no for an answer! Just, you know, untie me when we’re finished, right?”
“Yeah. I’m not giving up the whole bed!” Sharon shot back. Tie her up? With what? “Hold on. Lie down and spread out! I’ll be back.” She knew that scarves were supposed to be what everyone used, but she didn’t like the idea. She didn’t know if she had enough of them anyway. But she had a garage and there was some rope out there. Other people could be kinky. She’d had to tie some stuff to her car once for a camping trip. But it was enough to hold Lynne down. She raced back to find Lynne’s slender little body stretched out, ready for her restraint. She wasn’t holding back, and had her arms and legs extended out as far as she could, lined up with the posts. Sharon swiftly knotted the ropes around all the joints and bedposts that mattered. She made plenty of loops around Lynne’s wrists and ankles to make sure it didn’t constrict too tightly. She knew that much. When she was done, Lynne couldn’t go anywhere. She just lay there with a nervous grin, waiting.
But there was still a mood to set. A porno was needed. It could play out on the big screen with the volume up to capture all the cries and screams or whatever lesbian gang rape entailed. “No judgement. Hard and heavy, or lighter?”
“For the show, hard. Heavy. Something that gave the actress nightmares. For me, just use your judgement. I promise I’ll give lots over verbal and body feedback.”
“There’s the sexy talk,” Sharon said. Hard lesbian rape porn. Like Sharon really knew what to look for on the streaming feed. But there were tags, stars, reviews. She wasn’t reading the reviews, but something popular with the harsher tags would work. She laughed when she saw the title, and cringed at a handful of blurbs when she found it. Cum and Die for Satan’s Nunnery! From the reviews at the top of the feed at the bottom of the page, the only thing light about the vid was the title. “Well, you only live once,” she said as she started it up. It promised screenfuls of naked abusive women and one victim. Maybe two. Sharon wouldn’t see most of it. The screen would be behind her as she worked Lynne’s body.
“Don’t let me quit,” Lynne said.
“I won’t,” Sharon said as she began rubbing Lynne’s pussy. She was easily aroused. That had been clear from the start. Sharon had never fingered her cunt without finding it wet. Soaked, usually. The poor girl was constantly horny but never satisfied. Her body responded. Her limbs all tensed up at once as she strained at her bonds. That was new. She tensed when Sharon pinned her, but now she strained, already sweating under a still very light touch.
“Look at you!” Sharon cooed. “All that energy into struggling. Put some into letting go. Let your cunt explode, you dirty girl.”
“Harder!” Lynne gasped.
“Oh, I’ll give it to you harder, dirty girl,” Sharon said, putting two fingers in and stepping up the pace. A whimper escaped Lynne’s lips. So responsive, so unfulfilled! It was God’s crime against her body, revved up like that but no way off the starting line. The action was getting started behind her up on the screen. The sounds suggested a half dozen or so girls ganging up on one, and they were brutal. Flagellation began. Sharon wasn’t going to watch it, but she could hear it. The thing was well done, considering the cornball title. It even has passable original music running in the background, ominous and harsh to match the victim’s increasingly frantic cries of distress.
“Oh! Oh please!” Lynne cried. She went from zero to frenzied in just a few minutes, but it meant nothing. They’d had lovemaking sessions lasting an hour or more that left Lynne quaking and threatening an asthma attack. The first time, Sharon was so worried she wanted to stop and call medical services, but Lynne assured her that was just how she sounded. She could breathe just fine. Raspy, but fine. Now her throaty gasps were building up.
“Don’t like my fingers?” Sharon asked as she slid down the bed. “Try this!” She pressed her tongue to Lynne’s hot slit, and the aroma of heated girl filled her nose and mouth. Much like sweaty, but more personal and intimate. Sharon’s own cunt was filling with her own desires. Maybe it could go both ways, as nature intended. She stood up to rotate, and laid back down atop Lynne’s bound body. Now they were cunt to mouth both ways. A classic 69. “Lick me! Lick me hard, girl!”
Lynne’s body was tight as a board below her. As Sharon lapped at her smooth muff, Lynne screamed into Sharon’s own gash. No echoes, but she felt the vibes through her soft flesh. She tongue-dove even deeper, as deep as she could. That was the one drawback of being a dyke. She didn’t have the anatomy to go as deep as men could get. Bastards. But she knew how to use her tongue. Tongues had control. Tongues were flexible, and they appreciate all the senses in a woman’s pussy, not just the tactile. Taste. Everything was a matter of taste. Lynne sobbed. This was fast turning into her most intense response Sharon had ever seen.
“Please!” Lynne wept. “Please! Just this once!”
Oh, that was sad. Heart wrenching, really. She flicked Lynne’s clit even harder. Faster. It may take time. She knew that. But she had to start if she was to finish. With a cry, Lynne’s body suddenly jerked as her right hand and leg both burst free.
“What the hell?” Sharon asked as she lifted herself up. Lynne’s thigh almost twisted her neck as it came up so fast. But Lynne lay there, flustered and babbling.
“So hard. Sorry! Oh God, it hurts! Please. More.”
“Yeah, but, wow.”
“Uh, I, what kind of rope was that? Something inexpensive?” Lynne managed to ask.
“I thought it was the good stuff. I’m lucky I didn’t lose my mom’s cooler.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, when I was camping.” She examined the rope. It just snapped between bedpost and bound limb. Lynne’s left side was still secured, but two breaks at once. Granted, Lynne was right-handed and all. Legs were strong, but her arm?
“Sorry.”
“No, I’ve got more. You don’t get off that easy, dirty girl. I’ll just use two lengths. Or three! You’re not escaping that easily, girl. You’re going to cum if it kills us both!”
Lynne lay there, watching the harsh lesbo rape fest while Sharon used the rest of the rope to secure her tightly to the bed. She wouldn’t be breaking out now. Three lengths held each arm, and four for each leg. Total overkill, but she had to admit Lynne was sexy as fuck bound so helplessly. Maybe that bondage stuff had its appeal after all.
She’d calmed down a bit as Sharon bound her again. But as soon as Sharon began to stroke and lick her, Lynne quickly devolved mentally. Her body quivered and shook. Her strained yanking on the ropes might have hurt her wrists. What if she began bleeding? Sharon was so worked up she could hardly say if it would stop her, if she saw Lynne hurting herself. Back in the 69, Sharon was on her fourth cum while Lynne buckled and cried under her, frantic for release that just wasn’t there. The vid up on the wall ended and something else came on. It was another lesbian flick. Lots of screaming. Lots of distress. Some of the screaming was Lynne’s.
When Sharon finally sat up, after her sixth, she found Lynne puffy-faced red from crying so much. “Can’t do it,” she whimpered between sobs. “Can’t get there!”
“You’re getting there! I’m going to make you cum, girl. Damn it, you’re going to orgasm here and now!” Maybe it was inappropriate. She didn’t care. Her tongue knew how to pleasure a girl, but her fingers had the strength, flexibility, numbers, and hard edges to really go at a pussy and work the clit. Maybe a fingernail would give Lynne the final burst of sensation she needed.
“Agghhh!” Lynne just wailed. She screamed, wheezed, coughed a little, and strained in agony. And her wrists did bleed. One of them, her right. The stronger. That was a tomorrow problem, not a tonight problem.
“No relief! Cum for me, girl! Cum or it doesn’t stop! Cum for me and show me you love me!” Sharon shouted. Lynne just twisted and wept. Her pussy overflowed, but not from the uncontrolled release of pleasure she needed and deserved. The bed wouldn’t have just a wet spot. No. They might both sleep huddled on the couch tonight. But it was going to happen. Lynne was going to cum.
The blow caught Sharon off her guard as she hurled to the floor. Her head spun, but nothing was broken. She sat up to find Lynne half turned on her side. Both arms were still lashed to the bed, but both legs had busted free, breaking through four ropes each. The blow was from her twisting her body upward, curling up, and catching Sharon in the path. “Holy shit!” Sharon muttered.
“I, sorry,” Lynne wept. “I want it, so bad!”
It was enough to make them both cry. But it was a failure. Sharon’s failure. How long had they been at it, finally? An hour and a half? The third vid was starting. Don’t be a Lady Guard at a Women’s Penitentiary. Did these things never have good names?
“No. I’m sorry,” Sharon sniffled. She just wanted to hug the pain away. “I don’t know what else I can do.” She crawled up on the bed and lay down beside Lynne. Her arms could be freed later. She stroked the girl’s breasts as they watched the porno unfold, but lightly. It was time to just calm the fuck down.
This one was a goofy film. It wouldn’t have added much to the session, and the ‘victim’ guard couldn’t have been happier. Whatever. Sharon finally untied Lynne’s arms. “I’ve got some antibiotic crème,” she said. Lynne had rubbed both wrists raw. It might raise questions if the wrong people saw it. Like one limp-dicked asshole who happened to be her partner.
Was he psychic? No sooner had she thought briefly about him than the chime told her he was messaging her. She grabbed the pad before returning to the bedroom.
Short and sweet. ‘I’ve met someone better, so you’re off the hook now. Sleep tightly.’ Better! That was a laugh. Probably Alicia the superkink reporter.
She returned and gave Lynne a light, gentle kiss. For a fleeting moment her brain, now hooked on hokey porn plots, wondered if the kiss would send Lynne into orgasmic bliss. But no. A kiss was just a kiss, but a welcome one.
Sharon slept in the puddle and she slept very soundly. It was the least she could do.
-
SoftGameHunter
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Re: Pheromonica - NaNoWriMo (chapter 24 added)
Chapter 24
“I am so fucking tired!” Byron shouted. Ranted. He’d already paced, but now stood there. Helen knelt on the floor, fighting back tears.
“I know. I’m so sorry,” she sniffled. “They shouldn’t have done this to you!”
“They? Well, they made you my boss. They think I’ll rage quit. But you still set my schedule, Helen. You!”
“I have to maintain appearances!” she cried. He circled around her. She wanted to grab her bathrobe, but it was in the closet. She would remain naked, which he preferred anyway. “I can’t just give you no shifts, no duties!”
“This fucking trial. It’s never going to end. And now on the first night you give me off in weeks, we’re just, we’re fucking sitting around watching movies?” He leaned down and slapped her head on her right side, from behind. She whimpered and crumpled up, leaning lower.
“What do you want to do?” she sobbed. “Tell me what you want! Just say something to me but stop yelling at me! Please!”
“I want to get Lynne Baltimore! I want to make that bitch suffer!”
“We can’t do anything about her! The MPD saw our conversation! Byron, please! Let her go!”
“Then I want to spend my free evening on something better than god damned chick-flick rom-com bullshit.”
“It was a smash hit! I thought we could just relax and enjoy. I’m sorry!”
He grabbed the popcorn bowl and hurled it at the screen. The bowl shattered, being a crystal antique. From her grandmother. Helen winced and whimpered as it disintegrated. The screen was fine. “Why did you do that?” she sobbed as he glared way down at her. “I just wanted us to have a nice night! What do you want! Please just tell me. Name something and we’ll do it! Please!”
“Yeah, it’s all my fault. I’m the one holding us back!”
“I didn’t say that! I never said that!”
“Still my fault. Good one, Helen. That’s just fucking great!”
“I’m sorry. But tell me now. I shouldn’t have guessed. I shouldn’t have left you in the dark like that. I got excited, that’s all, really. I wasn’t trying to be a bitch. I just, sometimes… Tell me now, though. Say it and we’ll do it.”
“Jesus H Christ,” he grumbled, but he grabbed her hair and yanked upward. Helen scrambled to her feet, but he just shoved her over the footboard of their bed, bending her forward. The board dug into her pelvis a bit, but worse was to come.
She calmed her breathing. If this was how he wanted to start, good. He wanted something she could give. He got undressed behind her as she bent with her head down on the bedspread. Lube opened. She was plenty wet, enough to let him glide on in, but lube meant… She whimpered as he slathered it directly on her anus. Then his hot tip pressed to her tighter hole and in he pushed his dick, right up her rectum. It was hardly the first time, but it always hurt. She wasn’t built for it, she knew that. And he was built to penetrate, so she whimpered and clutched the sides of the mattress as best she could as he slammed her ass hard. The pain of the footboard digging into her abs was worse. She wasn’t super tall, but to lean over the footboard she had to lower her weight onto it and spread her legs out. It made it easier for Byron, having her cheeks partly parted, but each thrust threatened a hernia. Still, it was what he wanted. What he needed. She owed him at least that much. Even so, it was a crying relief as he emptied his balls into her butt.
She knew what was coming. He pulled her up and then shoved her to her knees again. “Is your shit on my dick?” he asked. “Huh? Answer me!”
She nodded, shaking. “A little. It’s not too bad. Just some discoloration—” He punched the side of her head. Helen cried out and went reeling but scrambled back to her knees. “I’m sorry!” she whimpered. She wanted to get it over with and be done with it. But not until he said so. Not without his say.
“Well? Get to cleaning it off!” he snapped. “Christ on a stick,” he grumbled as she wrapped her lips around him and began tongue-bathing his cock. She was right. It wasn’t too bad, compared. Not this time. Maybe he’d want her to finish and get his rocks off a second time. Sometimes he could when she went ass to mouth. Seeing her quivering with nausea was maybe his best aphrodisiac. But not this time. He shoved her off. She fell to her butt on the floor, shaking still, but no longer crying. He should be calmer now. Maybe they’d get that movie after all. Or a movie. After she vacuumed. The broken crystal all scattered to the left, but they were lucky he hadn’t stepped on a shard and she hadn’t knelt on one. But then, maybe then they could have a date night. Even if it was Exterminator 8 with beer and pork rinds. Best would be if he went to bed now. He was right. He was tired. A movie date night was idiotic. Colossally stupid of her. It was already late.
“Beer me,” he said. “Sorry I got hot under the collar there. It’s just, everything, you know?”
“Oh yes. I know! They’re fucking you, both of us, but especially you.” She jumped to her feet. “I’ll get your beer now. One second. I think there are some mugs in the freezer.” He nodded before she fled. Down to the fridge she nearly ran. Beer would make him happy. Not some dumb rom-com. She poured it and grabbed some chips, just in case. Upstairs she hurried into the bedroom, but he wasn’t there. “Byron?” she called.
“In here,” he said. At the secret terminal. Not so secret to anyone in the house, but no one else came in the house, and certainly not upstairs. “Got something with the urgent chime.”
“The urgent chime?” she asked. Now she could make him happy. “What is it?”
“It’s a tone that plays only for urgent messages, but that’s not important right now.”
She grinned. “Jeez, I always fall for that one!” But his smile was gone. Her spine froze. Why did they keep getting the worst news on that machine. She looked at the message.
“It interests me to inform you both that the cops are planning to arrest you both. They will raid your house just before dawn. They did not like your casual planning Lynne Baltimore’s downfall, and they’re even less happy that you both are the prime suspects in the murders of Ben Whittier and Christy Riley. You are both lucky Lynne Baltimore’s abduction didn’t result in criminal charges. They know those two tipped off the cops and they know you know they did it. The company that protected you both can destroy you both if they think the cops are too close. You’re both fucked with a capital FUCKED. Act as you like. PS, if you log into the MPD network, they’ll see it. They know you made these illicit probes:”
A listing of times and dates followed. Byron’s hands shook almost too much to call up his meta data, but Helen could see plainly that at least the first few matched. Someone knew exactly when Byron had hacked the system. Now he stumbled backwards. The wall caught him before his fall. Helen stood watching as the lump in her throat tried to choke her. Were they already being watched? Were they bugged?
“Uh, uh, okay. Carry all this crap down to the garage. Just unplug it and get it out of here!” he said. She nodded as he fled the room. They had to destroy evidence. Fast. They had hours, but they had to be thorough. She didn’t even get dressed until her first trip down to the cool garage. The bare cement on her bare feet reminded her to cover her damn body. She threw socks and her bathrobe on before gathering up another handful. Computer equipment, even non-storage devices like monitors, all left the room. And the paper records. Notebooks. Instruction manuals on IT security. She gathered it all.
Downstairs, Bryon pulled out an old aluminum stock tank, the hundred-gallon size. It was in their shed, but he slid it over to the back garage door. “Burn everything flammable!” he said.
“But, won’t the neighbors see? They’ll know we—”
His slap echoed in her head, knocking her sideways. “Stupid! They’re going to arrest us. Nothing can stop that. They’ll claim destruction of evidence. But they won’t have any.” He shook his head. “We may not get out unscathed, but we sure as fuck aren’t taking the fall for any of this. Now burn, damn it!”
“I’m sorry!” He was right. If they had physical evidence about the camera cunts, they’d have come already. They were fishing, putting together circumstantials. It was all a house of cards. She lit up the first stack, adding lighter fluid. When the flames shot up higher than her head, she found some old siding to block off part of the tub opening.
The flames roared, searing the tub and turning it into a hot radiator. She had to stand back. Byron, meanwhile, had the drill press running and poking holes in everything with data storage. He tossed the ruined chunks into the inferno to let the flames do the rest.
“Dawn, huh?” he said once his part was done. “Yeah, maybe we can get rid of this stuff. No one’s called the fire department yet.”
“We got some privacy. Maybe no one’s up at three in the morning,” she suggested.
“Right you are, babe. I knew there was a good head on you. Alright. I think it’s time to plan a new future. Biogasms can go fuck itself. They can just have Lynne Baltimore. Maybe I’ll look her up in ten years and say hello.”
“Yeah, that would be good. I’d like that,” Helem beamed. That would be so good.
“Okay, we’ve still got time,” Byron said. “Let’s…” He stopped talking as he shook violently. As he fell forward, she saw the wires sticking out of his back just as she saw the black-clad figures rushing into the yard from all sides. Before she could even scream, a hand went over her mouth, another around her neck, and they yanked her back into the garage. She tried to scream anyway. It was hopeless. In the living room, they threw her to the floor. Byron followed, twitching but getting his wits back about him. A dozen bright lights shone down in her face, in his face. She saw nothing until someone turned on the overheads.
A band of ninjas surrounded them. That was the image, though they had to be law enforcement. Or… “Who are you people?” she cried. “You, you’re not cops!”
“No, Helen, we had to stay up late to beat the cops here.”
Byron tried to speak but nothing came out. “Then, who?”
“Oh, you can figure that out. Consider this your early retirement.” The same man turned to his team. “We don’t want any bodies at the house. These two fled. But make sure the evidence is really destroyed. At least they were efficient about that.”
Now a hypodermic appeared in the hand in front of Helen’s face. “Say goodnight,” someone said as Helen screamed and a pinprick pierced her ass.
“I am so fucking tired!” Byron shouted. Ranted. He’d already paced, but now stood there. Helen knelt on the floor, fighting back tears.
“I know. I’m so sorry,” she sniffled. “They shouldn’t have done this to you!”
“They? Well, they made you my boss. They think I’ll rage quit. But you still set my schedule, Helen. You!”
“I have to maintain appearances!” she cried. He circled around her. She wanted to grab her bathrobe, but it was in the closet. She would remain naked, which he preferred anyway. “I can’t just give you no shifts, no duties!”
“This fucking trial. It’s never going to end. And now on the first night you give me off in weeks, we’re just, we’re fucking sitting around watching movies?” He leaned down and slapped her head on her right side, from behind. She whimpered and crumpled up, leaning lower.
“What do you want to do?” she sobbed. “Tell me what you want! Just say something to me but stop yelling at me! Please!”
“I want to get Lynne Baltimore! I want to make that bitch suffer!”
“We can’t do anything about her! The MPD saw our conversation! Byron, please! Let her go!”
“Then I want to spend my free evening on something better than god damned chick-flick rom-com bullshit.”
“It was a smash hit! I thought we could just relax and enjoy. I’m sorry!”
He grabbed the popcorn bowl and hurled it at the screen. The bowl shattered, being a crystal antique. From her grandmother. Helen winced and whimpered as it disintegrated. The screen was fine. “Why did you do that?” she sobbed as he glared way down at her. “I just wanted us to have a nice night! What do you want! Please just tell me. Name something and we’ll do it! Please!”
“Yeah, it’s all my fault. I’m the one holding us back!”
“I didn’t say that! I never said that!”
“Still my fault. Good one, Helen. That’s just fucking great!”
“I’m sorry. But tell me now. I shouldn’t have guessed. I shouldn’t have left you in the dark like that. I got excited, that’s all, really. I wasn’t trying to be a bitch. I just, sometimes… Tell me now, though. Say it and we’ll do it.”
“Jesus H Christ,” he grumbled, but he grabbed her hair and yanked upward. Helen scrambled to her feet, but he just shoved her over the footboard of their bed, bending her forward. The board dug into her pelvis a bit, but worse was to come.
She calmed her breathing. If this was how he wanted to start, good. He wanted something she could give. He got undressed behind her as she bent with her head down on the bedspread. Lube opened. She was plenty wet, enough to let him glide on in, but lube meant… She whimpered as he slathered it directly on her anus. Then his hot tip pressed to her tighter hole and in he pushed his dick, right up her rectum. It was hardly the first time, but it always hurt. She wasn’t built for it, she knew that. And he was built to penetrate, so she whimpered and clutched the sides of the mattress as best she could as he slammed her ass hard. The pain of the footboard digging into her abs was worse. She wasn’t super tall, but to lean over the footboard she had to lower her weight onto it and spread her legs out. It made it easier for Byron, having her cheeks partly parted, but each thrust threatened a hernia. Still, it was what he wanted. What he needed. She owed him at least that much. Even so, it was a crying relief as he emptied his balls into her butt.
She knew what was coming. He pulled her up and then shoved her to her knees again. “Is your shit on my dick?” he asked. “Huh? Answer me!”
She nodded, shaking. “A little. It’s not too bad. Just some discoloration—” He punched the side of her head. Helen cried out and went reeling but scrambled back to her knees. “I’m sorry!” she whimpered. She wanted to get it over with and be done with it. But not until he said so. Not without his say.
“Well? Get to cleaning it off!” he snapped. “Christ on a stick,” he grumbled as she wrapped her lips around him and began tongue-bathing his cock. She was right. It wasn’t too bad, compared. Not this time. Maybe he’d want her to finish and get his rocks off a second time. Sometimes he could when she went ass to mouth. Seeing her quivering with nausea was maybe his best aphrodisiac. But not this time. He shoved her off. She fell to her butt on the floor, shaking still, but no longer crying. He should be calmer now. Maybe they’d get that movie after all. Or a movie. After she vacuumed. The broken crystal all scattered to the left, but they were lucky he hadn’t stepped on a shard and she hadn’t knelt on one. But then, maybe then they could have a date night. Even if it was Exterminator 8 with beer and pork rinds. Best would be if he went to bed now. He was right. He was tired. A movie date night was idiotic. Colossally stupid of her. It was already late.
“Beer me,” he said. “Sorry I got hot under the collar there. It’s just, everything, you know?”
“Oh yes. I know! They’re fucking you, both of us, but especially you.” She jumped to her feet. “I’ll get your beer now. One second. I think there are some mugs in the freezer.” He nodded before she fled. Down to the fridge she nearly ran. Beer would make him happy. Not some dumb rom-com. She poured it and grabbed some chips, just in case. Upstairs she hurried into the bedroom, but he wasn’t there. “Byron?” she called.
“In here,” he said. At the secret terminal. Not so secret to anyone in the house, but no one else came in the house, and certainly not upstairs. “Got something with the urgent chime.”
“The urgent chime?” she asked. Now she could make him happy. “What is it?”
“It’s a tone that plays only for urgent messages, but that’s not important right now.”
She grinned. “Jeez, I always fall for that one!” But his smile was gone. Her spine froze. Why did they keep getting the worst news on that machine. She looked at the message.
“It interests me to inform you both that the cops are planning to arrest you both. They will raid your house just before dawn. They did not like your casual planning Lynne Baltimore’s downfall, and they’re even less happy that you both are the prime suspects in the murders of Ben Whittier and Christy Riley. You are both lucky Lynne Baltimore’s abduction didn’t result in criminal charges. They know those two tipped off the cops and they know you know they did it. The company that protected you both can destroy you both if they think the cops are too close. You’re both fucked with a capital FUCKED. Act as you like. PS, if you log into the MPD network, they’ll see it. They know you made these illicit probes:”
A listing of times and dates followed. Byron’s hands shook almost too much to call up his meta data, but Helen could see plainly that at least the first few matched. Someone knew exactly when Byron had hacked the system. Now he stumbled backwards. The wall caught him before his fall. Helen stood watching as the lump in her throat tried to choke her. Were they already being watched? Were they bugged?
“Uh, uh, okay. Carry all this crap down to the garage. Just unplug it and get it out of here!” he said. She nodded as he fled the room. They had to destroy evidence. Fast. They had hours, but they had to be thorough. She didn’t even get dressed until her first trip down to the cool garage. The bare cement on her bare feet reminded her to cover her damn body. She threw socks and her bathrobe on before gathering up another handful. Computer equipment, even non-storage devices like monitors, all left the room. And the paper records. Notebooks. Instruction manuals on IT security. She gathered it all.
Downstairs, Bryon pulled out an old aluminum stock tank, the hundred-gallon size. It was in their shed, but he slid it over to the back garage door. “Burn everything flammable!” he said.
“But, won’t the neighbors see? They’ll know we—”
His slap echoed in her head, knocking her sideways. “Stupid! They’re going to arrest us. Nothing can stop that. They’ll claim destruction of evidence. But they won’t have any.” He shook his head. “We may not get out unscathed, but we sure as fuck aren’t taking the fall for any of this. Now burn, damn it!”
“I’m sorry!” He was right. If they had physical evidence about the camera cunts, they’d have come already. They were fishing, putting together circumstantials. It was all a house of cards. She lit up the first stack, adding lighter fluid. When the flames shot up higher than her head, she found some old siding to block off part of the tub opening.
The flames roared, searing the tub and turning it into a hot radiator. She had to stand back. Byron, meanwhile, had the drill press running and poking holes in everything with data storage. He tossed the ruined chunks into the inferno to let the flames do the rest.
“Dawn, huh?” he said once his part was done. “Yeah, maybe we can get rid of this stuff. No one’s called the fire department yet.”
“We got some privacy. Maybe no one’s up at three in the morning,” she suggested.
“Right you are, babe. I knew there was a good head on you. Alright. I think it’s time to plan a new future. Biogasms can go fuck itself. They can just have Lynne Baltimore. Maybe I’ll look her up in ten years and say hello.”
“Yeah, that would be good. I’d like that,” Helem beamed. That would be so good.
“Okay, we’ve still got time,” Byron said. “Let’s…” He stopped talking as he shook violently. As he fell forward, she saw the wires sticking out of his back just as she saw the black-clad figures rushing into the yard from all sides. Before she could even scream, a hand went over her mouth, another around her neck, and they yanked her back into the garage. She tried to scream anyway. It was hopeless. In the living room, they threw her to the floor. Byron followed, twitching but getting his wits back about him. A dozen bright lights shone down in her face, in his face. She saw nothing until someone turned on the overheads.
A band of ninjas surrounded them. That was the image, though they had to be law enforcement. Or… “Who are you people?” she cried. “You, you’re not cops!”
“No, Helen, we had to stay up late to beat the cops here.”
Byron tried to speak but nothing came out. “Then, who?”
“Oh, you can figure that out. Consider this your early retirement.” The same man turned to his team. “We don’t want any bodies at the house. These two fled. But make sure the evidence is really destroyed. At least they were efficient about that.”
Now a hypodermic appeared in the hand in front of Helen’s face. “Say goodnight,” someone said as Helen screamed and a pinprick pierced her ass.
-
SoftGameHunter
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Re: Pheromonica - NaNoWriMo (chapter 25 added)
Chapter 25
Day 2
“Got a moment, Inspector?”
Frank glanced up at the cute tech girl poking her head in. He knew her. Lydia Rennert. “Yeah, sure. Is this the latest IT security patch?”
“The one and the same,” she said. She was too chipper for someone in this reality. “Won’t take but ten minutes.”
“And you guys still can’t do this remotely?”
“Ha, no. Sorry. It has to install directly off the dongle.”
“Alright. Have at it,” he said. Lydia could just have his office to herself for ten minutes. The break room beckoned. But Sharon was there. They locked gazes. He would have turned away, but she spoke.
“You know, a lot of this we can legit place on IT,” she said. “If they gave us secure networks to begin with, most of this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Someone tipped off Byron and his bitch,” Frank grumbled. “We can’t put that all on IT. It wasn’t IT’s fault Audrey Pine got in here and zapped my files. Oh, and lit off a bomb!”
“We can only fix what we can fix,” Sharon said. “We’ll find her. We may find them too. They can’t expect to stay hidden forever.”
“Why not?” he wondered, aloud. “Really. He’s a sharp counterintelligence guy. She’s tough and resourceful. If they go underground and lose their ambition, odds are they can stay hidden. They’re probably a thousand miles away by now.”
“I don’t know,” Sharon said. “I guess we’ll find out. Have you talked to Internal Affairs yet?”
“I had their first interview,” he said. “They start at the top. They’ll get to you sooner or later.”
“Jeez, Frank, could you be more of an ass if they paid you more?” She stormed away, but that was fine. He grabbed a crappy coffee and sat by a dirty window looking out at the dirtier city. Another couple died in a rape-murder-suicide in the day since the botched, pointless raid.
How much cash did Audrey have squirreled away, built up over the last seventy years? How many fake IDs? How many disguises? Safe houses? Friends? Andrea Fisk vanished without a trace, but she was still in town, still hunting. It was like the girl couldn’t stop. Obsessives were too common in his life and work. Obsessed cops. Obsessed stalkers, dealers, frauds. People who couldn’t walk away when it was good for their health to try. And to succeed. Sex fiends. It was easy to forget the two-hundred-sixty thousand living women raped in the year since Audrey’s spree began, just in MPD’s jurisdiction. Most of them hadn’t learned to fear for their lives yet. How long would that last? How long could they watch the obvious and pretend they weren’t under threat?
The irony was most of them weren’t.
“I’m done, Inspector Simpson,” Lydia chirped as she poked her head in. “Should I lock your door?”
“No, I’m going right back,” he said. There was less traffic in his office. There was no room for any. With Lydia now gone from sight, he checked out how much harder she made his job. There would be no more saving files for personal use. Even though it had saved the case back on day one, nothing could be written to an external device nor sent out of network. So logical, and so failing. Three passwords. All different. He sighed. Whatever.
Day 3
“It’s okay,” Lynne said as she lay beside Sharon. “We know it’s not going to happen. I just can’t cum.”
“You deserve to. Isn’t that ex employer of yours supposed to be working on things like this?”
Lynne tensed up before Sharon’s sentence even ended. “Their work is evil. I’m convinced of that.” She rolled over. “I need to get another job. The lawsuit could take years. It’s been postponed again.”
“Join the police force,” Sharon suggested. “No, wait. You want a happy and helpful career. Never mind.”
“I want money, and preferably no risk of harm.”
“All jobs pay. None are without risk. You risk yourself going outside every day. You risk yourself staying in. But I was joking. Don’t join the academy.”
“I could, you know. I’m strong. I’m tough. I need a paycheck.”
“You could save money. Maybe, move,” Sharon said. It should have sounded casual. Her voice squeaked, like she was forcing the words out. She didn’t even get to the best part, but Lynne shook her head.
“I don’t think so. Not yet.”
“Is it not me but you?” Sharon asked.
“It’s not anything. I’m not moving in. I need to be untethered, you know.”
“Yeah. Alright.” It wasn’t alright. It wasn’t close to alright. Sharon was in her late thirties now. She didn’t admit the number even to herself. Lynne was twenty-one. She wasn’t even a legal lay when Sharon was twice her age, and it wasn’t better now. Lynne’s choice was obvious.
“How’s the case? Cases?”
“No word on any of our fugitives. But Audrey killed again. She’s developing a solid MO. Seduce and charm one man on the list, drive over to the home of a woman on the list, rape her, kill her, kill him. Pose it as suicide. She can’t believe she’s fooling anyone by now. We don’t even know what she looks like now. Once in a while we get some grainy footage by dumb luck, but she changes up her appearance.”
“Can I see?” Lynne asked.
“Sure, why not?” She shuffled off to the dining room and returned with her new pad. Several passwords later, she called up some security tapes. There was Audrey and some poor guy. Sharon forgot his name. Craig, something. Maybe.
“Yeah, that’s her,” Lynne said.
“We know that, but, you can recognize her?”
“I’m good with faces of people I know.”
“Yeah, but this is a crappy feed.”
“I guess, but it’s her.”
“What about this one?” She called up the footage of the day of the precinct bombing. The cameras showed little of Audrey’s face, but what they showed was clear.
“Yeah, but you knew that already.”
“Okay, how about this one?” Sharon asked. Lynne gazed at it.
“Are you testing me? I’m not part of this. Not her.”
It wasn’t her. The case was unrelated. “Maybe a little,” she said. She pulled up another picture. Her academy graduating class group photo. “But I’m also intrigued. I’m in this picture,” she began, but Lynne pointed.
“Yeah, right there. You’re cute in your cadet uniform. You really fill it out nicely.”
“Damn,” Sharon said. “You are good. Maybe we’ll hire you as a photo analyst.”
“Paid to look at pictures all day? Ha, I could learn to live with that.” She ran her fingers along Sharon’s nipples, making her quiver. With enough stroking, it would make her cum. It wasn’t fair. “Is that the latest one you showed me?”
“No. We’ve had two doubles since the raid. Audrey wasn’t phased by any of it, if she even knew about it. She’s killing a couple almost every night now. Not an actual couple. Just a man and a woman whose last act is sex with a stranger.”
“Bummer,” Lynne said. What else was there to say? Especially from a girl who wouldn’t move in.
Day 4
“I’m hiring a new team,” Alicia said as she got dressed. Frank still lay in the bed, an hour before he had to head in. “I can’t stay off the air forever.”
“No, I don’t guess you could,” he said.
“Especially with that book about the Schaefers not happening.”
“Okay, well, sorry?”
“I didn’t blame you,” she said as she put her earrings in.
“It sounded like it.”
“Well it wasn’t. Don’t be so fragile.”
There was no good reply to that. “Meet up for dinner tonight?” he asked.
“I think, um, no. Not tonight. The hiring process, you know.”
“Cool. Tomorrow?”
“Oh, let’s just play it by ear.”
“Oh? Oh? Was that a dismissal?”
“Fragile. It’s unbecoming, Frank. I’ll call you.” She blew him a kiss as she walked out. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling.
“Welcome to Dumpsville,” he said to the same ceiling. “Population, me.” It was a blow-off if there ever was one. Maybe he could re-impose Sharon’s blackmail. But he shook his own head to veto that idea. She’d have a meltdown. It would end badly for everyone. He got up before the alarm to get ready.
Shit, shower, shave. The usual routine. On his way in a new message came in. Another killing. A triple this time. It was Sharon. He called her up.
“Yeah. Two women. The targeted one had a roommate. Not on the list.”
“She killed them both?”
“Shot them both, but the roommate lived. Still a double murder-homicide.” He rolled his eyes. Audrey Pine, the most conscientious serial killer in history. “I’m at the hospital now, taking a statement. She’s not too badly hurt, but she’s pretty well shook to the core. She never thought she’d be hurt.”
“I’ll join you there.”
“I’m almost done. The file is on your desk. I need to go, Frank. I’ll catch up.”
Sharon severed the connection. Frank gripped the controls as he steered robotically through the city. At his office, he found his machine running something. A new installation. The counter said it was thirty-five minutes until completion. Thirty-five fucking minutes! He closed the door and drew the blinds. Maybe he could cruise a porn site while he waited. If that was how little they all thought about his time, maybe he could just waste it freely.
Or not. Lydia Rennert poked her chipper little head in. “Oh, hi Inspector. You made it!”
“Of course I made it. This is my normal starting time.”
“Yeah. Sorry, another patch. This one’s a biggie! But I can explain it to you while it installs. We’ll need your current passwords.” She closed the door. “Privacy.”
“Of course.”
“I had to re-order your file system,” she began. “Don’t worry, nothing’s deleted this round, luckily.”
“You’d better not be deleting anything off my machine,” he said.
“And I didn’t. Don’t worry.”
“And you won’t!”
She frowned at him. “Come on, Inspector Simpson. You don’t own the machine. We would never remove anything you need.”
“If I put it on there, I need it.”
“You’re misunderstanding me,” she said.
He was misunderstanding her? Lydia Rennert had the personality of a talking fruit tree, but he was the one misunderstanding her? “I don’t think I am,” he said.
“But you are,” she repeated. He bolted up to his feet, standing over her now. The woman was younger than Lynne Baltimore or Audrey Pine. Well, Audrey’s appeared age anyway. She was too silly to have a real job in a downtown police precinct building. “I, uh,” she stammered. With a forced smile back on her face. “Serious face, we aren’t messing with your computer.” She looked down. “Well, twenty-five minutes left. Maybe this isn’t a good time.”
“You know, your attitude is really getting under my nerves,” he said. “Are you the only person who does these installations?”
“No, no way. We have a team. But, you know, I like to delivery service with a smile!”
“How is that an appropriate response to what I just asked? Your smile doesn’t help me solve a murder a day, Lydia. And I’ve got a list of fifty-thousand more victims lined up, all of whom are waiting on me while I wait on you!”
“Fifty… What?” Of course. She wouldn’t know that. The brass was keeping the list a secret. To avoid public panic. While Frank figured out how to solve their problems for them. “Okay, I see you’re mad at me,” she said when he didn’t answer. “I get that. But I’m not stopping you from doing your job, Inspector. Sorry I ruined your mood. I’ll come back.”
She turned to leave. Frank’s arm may as well have been in rebellion. He slammed his hand to the door as she reached for it. She turned back and up. Her eyes shook. “Inspector. We’re in your office. Right next to a dozen detectives!”
“Go ahead and scream then,” he said. “Be that girl. You know the one!” Maybe she knew. Maybe she was confused. Probably he should have been confused as he grabbed her neck and forced her to bend down over his desk. Her heavy breathing broke into vocalized gasps, more so when he yanked her pants down to her ankles. “Nothing to say?”
“Please don’t do this, Inspector.”
“Then scream. Go ahead. The walls aren’t that thick. Be that girl!”
She didn’t see him. Couldn’t see him with her face smashed to the desk looking at the wall. Not even at the door. She couldn’t see him unfasten his trousers. She couldn’t see his dick. But she could feel it. Her cunt wasn’t very wet. But nor very dry. He slid his cock head around her opening, holding her head down with one arm and fondling her clothed chest with the other. But it was her cunt that mattered.
“Please!” she squeaked. She had no idea. No idea at all how much the police lived in the same world everyone else did. And Frank Simpson deserved his due. He slid his prick up into the tech girl’s slickening pussy. She whimpered. Not even a gasp. She was no virgin. Her fat tits on her thin frame had to make her super popular, and super well laid if she wanted it. No virgin at all. She squeaked as he plowed her. Wham wham wham. It should have taken him longer. He’d just fucked Alicia the night before. Lydia was nothing to him. But she was hot. And she didn’t want him. Wham wham wham, and he was done. Her cunt was left filled with his spunk, and the install still have eighteen minutes left. He let go of her to pull her own pants up. Now she stared up at him through a puffy red face. Pure betrayal all over her expression. Shock. Any shame? None he could see. There was no shame in being raped. It was just shit that happened, like losing half the morning to an IT install.
“I’ll come back,” she rasped as she bolted out the door. He still had time to kill. Lost time. Time to pass up a lead. Miss a connection. Lose another life. Maybe Lydia’s. The dumb girl was on the list too.
Day 7
“This is huge!” the geek girl said. Woman. She was at least thirty. Molly Banks stood in the conference room. Frank sat center, but Sharon, Gina, and Mark surrounded him. Some other newbies on the team. But Molly had the stage. “We’ve run some spatial statistic on the data set and the list. That means we’ve tried to predict where and who Audrey Pine will strike next.”
“You don’t have to dumb it down for us,” Mark spoke up.
“We’ve developed a spatial autoregressive integrated moving average model,” Molly began, nudging her glasses up her nose.
“Dumb it back down,” Frank said. “What’s the takeaway for us?”
“We’ve analyzed the patterns of all the victims. For the women, we don’t know, but for the men she selects we’ve developed a model based on the previous half dozen or so addresses, the day, the time of day, the weather…”
“Audrey’s really using all this to pick her next dude?” Mark asked, interrupting?
“She probably doesn’t realize it,” Molly said. “But yes. These and a dozen or so other variables allow us to predict a set of the next men she’ll pick from.”
“How large a set?” Sharon asked.
“About twenty,” Molly said. “Thirty percent of the time.”
“Of for fuck’s sake,” Mark groaned.
“You could keep using the fifty thousand you’ve got. I think that’s hitting a hundred percent of the time!” Molly groaned back, mocking his tone perfectly. “I get paid the same either way.”
“A little less derision, please,” Frank said. “Can you give us a list of the targets to stake out?”
“I thought I made that clear,” Molly said. “It’s why I’m showing you this. Yes.”
Day 17
Frank didn’t have twenty surveillance teams to call on. There were other crimes in Metroland. Other murders, and lots of them. With five pairs, he put coverage on five addresses, updating with Molly’s software voodoo after each abduction and murder. She promised the model was slowly gaining accuracy. It only needed to be once, and he would gladly accept dumb luck. Smart luck. Anything at all. Finding Audrey the old-fashioned way, waiting for tips that never came, was a losing game. Now he could lose with more personnel.
“Is most police investigation this tedious?” Alicia asked as they lay in bed waiting for sleep to come. “I know I’ve asked before.”
“No, I’ll answer again,” Frank replied. “Yes. The end.” He wasn’t dumped. At least not yet. She could do better, but she was back in his bed for over a week and counting. She said little about her pulling away, but it wasn’t hard to guess. Lots of fish jumped back in the waters. Frank never had one return to the boat before. She got scared, now she wasn’t.
“That’s how it is with serial killers. Now and forever. Read up on some of them. It’s not like back in the Twentieth Century when it could take decades, or the Nineteenth when they rarely realized there was one, Jack the Ripper notwithstanding. But it can take years. If they stop, they can elude us forever. If we can find Audry Pine before Christmas, we’ll be doing well, statistically speaking.”
“But you don’t tell the men you’re watching?”
He hesitated. “We cycle them in and out of surveillance. If they knew it was happening, they’d react badly to that. We don’t want to start a public panic.”
“And by we…”
“My bosses. But they’ve got a point.”
“She follows patterns.”
“Sort of. She’s clever. See, a lot of the direct descendants have siblings. Parents. Aunts, uncles, cousins. They’re going to notice if whole families start dying. She’s picking a pattern broadly spaced over the metro region and avoiding hitting families more than once. I imagine she’ll have to repeat at some point. But with that in mind, and comparing to the weather and public events and a bunch of other stuff, they are figuring out a likely set of targets.”
“For the men. Not the women.”
“Yeah, that’s still a head scratcher. Molly says the choice of women could be dependent on the choice of men, so there are more variables and it will take longer. I think that’s what she said. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.”
“So you’ll just get the call someday. Some night, probably. So you could be just lying here, and the call is like, Shazam! We have her.”
He nodded, but the beep interrupted. He was getting a call. He looked to Alicia and she gazed back, eyes wide. He picked up. “Simpson.”
“We have her.”
Day 2
“Got a moment, Inspector?”
Frank glanced up at the cute tech girl poking her head in. He knew her. Lydia Rennert. “Yeah, sure. Is this the latest IT security patch?”
“The one and the same,” she said. She was too chipper for someone in this reality. “Won’t take but ten minutes.”
“And you guys still can’t do this remotely?”
“Ha, no. Sorry. It has to install directly off the dongle.”
“Alright. Have at it,” he said. Lydia could just have his office to herself for ten minutes. The break room beckoned. But Sharon was there. They locked gazes. He would have turned away, but she spoke.
“You know, a lot of this we can legit place on IT,” she said. “If they gave us secure networks to begin with, most of this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Someone tipped off Byron and his bitch,” Frank grumbled. “We can’t put that all on IT. It wasn’t IT’s fault Audrey Pine got in here and zapped my files. Oh, and lit off a bomb!”
“We can only fix what we can fix,” Sharon said. “We’ll find her. We may find them too. They can’t expect to stay hidden forever.”
“Why not?” he wondered, aloud. “Really. He’s a sharp counterintelligence guy. She’s tough and resourceful. If they go underground and lose their ambition, odds are they can stay hidden. They’re probably a thousand miles away by now.”
“I don’t know,” Sharon said. “I guess we’ll find out. Have you talked to Internal Affairs yet?”
“I had their first interview,” he said. “They start at the top. They’ll get to you sooner or later.”
“Jeez, Frank, could you be more of an ass if they paid you more?” She stormed away, but that was fine. He grabbed a crappy coffee and sat by a dirty window looking out at the dirtier city. Another couple died in a rape-murder-suicide in the day since the botched, pointless raid.
How much cash did Audrey have squirreled away, built up over the last seventy years? How many fake IDs? How many disguises? Safe houses? Friends? Andrea Fisk vanished without a trace, but she was still in town, still hunting. It was like the girl couldn’t stop. Obsessives were too common in his life and work. Obsessed cops. Obsessed stalkers, dealers, frauds. People who couldn’t walk away when it was good for their health to try. And to succeed. Sex fiends. It was easy to forget the two-hundred-sixty thousand living women raped in the year since Audrey’s spree began, just in MPD’s jurisdiction. Most of them hadn’t learned to fear for their lives yet. How long would that last? How long could they watch the obvious and pretend they weren’t under threat?
The irony was most of them weren’t.
“I’m done, Inspector Simpson,” Lydia chirped as she poked her head in. “Should I lock your door?”
“No, I’m going right back,” he said. There was less traffic in his office. There was no room for any. With Lydia now gone from sight, he checked out how much harder she made his job. There would be no more saving files for personal use. Even though it had saved the case back on day one, nothing could be written to an external device nor sent out of network. So logical, and so failing. Three passwords. All different. He sighed. Whatever.
Day 3
“It’s okay,” Lynne said as she lay beside Sharon. “We know it’s not going to happen. I just can’t cum.”
“You deserve to. Isn’t that ex employer of yours supposed to be working on things like this?”
Lynne tensed up before Sharon’s sentence even ended. “Their work is evil. I’m convinced of that.” She rolled over. “I need to get another job. The lawsuit could take years. It’s been postponed again.”
“Join the police force,” Sharon suggested. “No, wait. You want a happy and helpful career. Never mind.”
“I want money, and preferably no risk of harm.”
“All jobs pay. None are without risk. You risk yourself going outside every day. You risk yourself staying in. But I was joking. Don’t join the academy.”
“I could, you know. I’m strong. I’m tough. I need a paycheck.”
“You could save money. Maybe, move,” Sharon said. It should have sounded casual. Her voice squeaked, like she was forcing the words out. She didn’t even get to the best part, but Lynne shook her head.
“I don’t think so. Not yet.”
“Is it not me but you?” Sharon asked.
“It’s not anything. I’m not moving in. I need to be untethered, you know.”
“Yeah. Alright.” It wasn’t alright. It wasn’t close to alright. Sharon was in her late thirties now. She didn’t admit the number even to herself. Lynne was twenty-one. She wasn’t even a legal lay when Sharon was twice her age, and it wasn’t better now. Lynne’s choice was obvious.
“How’s the case? Cases?”
“No word on any of our fugitives. But Audrey killed again. She’s developing a solid MO. Seduce and charm one man on the list, drive over to the home of a woman on the list, rape her, kill her, kill him. Pose it as suicide. She can’t believe she’s fooling anyone by now. We don’t even know what she looks like now. Once in a while we get some grainy footage by dumb luck, but she changes up her appearance.”
“Can I see?” Lynne asked.
“Sure, why not?” She shuffled off to the dining room and returned with her new pad. Several passwords later, she called up some security tapes. There was Audrey and some poor guy. Sharon forgot his name. Craig, something. Maybe.
“Yeah, that’s her,” Lynne said.
“We know that, but, you can recognize her?”
“I’m good with faces of people I know.”
“Yeah, but this is a crappy feed.”
“I guess, but it’s her.”
“What about this one?” She called up the footage of the day of the precinct bombing. The cameras showed little of Audrey’s face, but what they showed was clear.
“Yeah, but you knew that already.”
“Okay, how about this one?” Sharon asked. Lynne gazed at it.
“Are you testing me? I’m not part of this. Not her.”
It wasn’t her. The case was unrelated. “Maybe a little,” she said. She pulled up another picture. Her academy graduating class group photo. “But I’m also intrigued. I’m in this picture,” she began, but Lynne pointed.
“Yeah, right there. You’re cute in your cadet uniform. You really fill it out nicely.”
“Damn,” Sharon said. “You are good. Maybe we’ll hire you as a photo analyst.”
“Paid to look at pictures all day? Ha, I could learn to live with that.” She ran her fingers along Sharon’s nipples, making her quiver. With enough stroking, it would make her cum. It wasn’t fair. “Is that the latest one you showed me?”
“No. We’ve had two doubles since the raid. Audrey wasn’t phased by any of it, if she even knew about it. She’s killing a couple almost every night now. Not an actual couple. Just a man and a woman whose last act is sex with a stranger.”
“Bummer,” Lynne said. What else was there to say? Especially from a girl who wouldn’t move in.
Day 4
“I’m hiring a new team,” Alicia said as she got dressed. Frank still lay in the bed, an hour before he had to head in. “I can’t stay off the air forever.”
“No, I don’t guess you could,” he said.
“Especially with that book about the Schaefers not happening.”
“Okay, well, sorry?”
“I didn’t blame you,” she said as she put her earrings in.
“It sounded like it.”
“Well it wasn’t. Don’t be so fragile.”
There was no good reply to that. “Meet up for dinner tonight?” he asked.
“I think, um, no. Not tonight. The hiring process, you know.”
“Cool. Tomorrow?”
“Oh, let’s just play it by ear.”
“Oh? Oh? Was that a dismissal?”
“Fragile. It’s unbecoming, Frank. I’ll call you.” She blew him a kiss as she walked out. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling.
“Welcome to Dumpsville,” he said to the same ceiling. “Population, me.” It was a blow-off if there ever was one. Maybe he could re-impose Sharon’s blackmail. But he shook his own head to veto that idea. She’d have a meltdown. It would end badly for everyone. He got up before the alarm to get ready.
Shit, shower, shave. The usual routine. On his way in a new message came in. Another killing. A triple this time. It was Sharon. He called her up.
“Yeah. Two women. The targeted one had a roommate. Not on the list.”
“She killed them both?”
“Shot them both, but the roommate lived. Still a double murder-homicide.” He rolled his eyes. Audrey Pine, the most conscientious serial killer in history. “I’m at the hospital now, taking a statement. She’s not too badly hurt, but she’s pretty well shook to the core. She never thought she’d be hurt.”
“I’ll join you there.”
“I’m almost done. The file is on your desk. I need to go, Frank. I’ll catch up.”
Sharon severed the connection. Frank gripped the controls as he steered robotically through the city. At his office, he found his machine running something. A new installation. The counter said it was thirty-five minutes until completion. Thirty-five fucking minutes! He closed the door and drew the blinds. Maybe he could cruise a porn site while he waited. If that was how little they all thought about his time, maybe he could just waste it freely.
Or not. Lydia Rennert poked her chipper little head in. “Oh, hi Inspector. You made it!”
“Of course I made it. This is my normal starting time.”
“Yeah. Sorry, another patch. This one’s a biggie! But I can explain it to you while it installs. We’ll need your current passwords.” She closed the door. “Privacy.”
“Of course.”
“I had to re-order your file system,” she began. “Don’t worry, nothing’s deleted this round, luckily.”
“You’d better not be deleting anything off my machine,” he said.
“And I didn’t. Don’t worry.”
“And you won’t!”
She frowned at him. “Come on, Inspector Simpson. You don’t own the machine. We would never remove anything you need.”
“If I put it on there, I need it.”
“You’re misunderstanding me,” she said.
He was misunderstanding her? Lydia Rennert had the personality of a talking fruit tree, but he was the one misunderstanding her? “I don’t think I am,” he said.
“But you are,” she repeated. He bolted up to his feet, standing over her now. The woman was younger than Lynne Baltimore or Audrey Pine. Well, Audrey’s appeared age anyway. She was too silly to have a real job in a downtown police precinct building. “I, uh,” she stammered. With a forced smile back on her face. “Serious face, we aren’t messing with your computer.” She looked down. “Well, twenty-five minutes left. Maybe this isn’t a good time.”
“You know, your attitude is really getting under my nerves,” he said. “Are you the only person who does these installations?”
“No, no way. We have a team. But, you know, I like to delivery service with a smile!”
“How is that an appropriate response to what I just asked? Your smile doesn’t help me solve a murder a day, Lydia. And I’ve got a list of fifty-thousand more victims lined up, all of whom are waiting on me while I wait on you!”
“Fifty… What?” Of course. She wouldn’t know that. The brass was keeping the list a secret. To avoid public panic. While Frank figured out how to solve their problems for them. “Okay, I see you’re mad at me,” she said when he didn’t answer. “I get that. But I’m not stopping you from doing your job, Inspector. Sorry I ruined your mood. I’ll come back.”
She turned to leave. Frank’s arm may as well have been in rebellion. He slammed his hand to the door as she reached for it. She turned back and up. Her eyes shook. “Inspector. We’re in your office. Right next to a dozen detectives!”
“Go ahead and scream then,” he said. “Be that girl. You know the one!” Maybe she knew. Maybe she was confused. Probably he should have been confused as he grabbed her neck and forced her to bend down over his desk. Her heavy breathing broke into vocalized gasps, more so when he yanked her pants down to her ankles. “Nothing to say?”
“Please don’t do this, Inspector.”
“Then scream. Go ahead. The walls aren’t that thick. Be that girl!”
She didn’t see him. Couldn’t see him with her face smashed to the desk looking at the wall. Not even at the door. She couldn’t see him unfasten his trousers. She couldn’t see his dick. But she could feel it. Her cunt wasn’t very wet. But nor very dry. He slid his cock head around her opening, holding her head down with one arm and fondling her clothed chest with the other. But it was her cunt that mattered.
“Please!” she squeaked. She had no idea. No idea at all how much the police lived in the same world everyone else did. And Frank Simpson deserved his due. He slid his prick up into the tech girl’s slickening pussy. She whimpered. Not even a gasp. She was no virgin. Her fat tits on her thin frame had to make her super popular, and super well laid if she wanted it. No virgin at all. She squeaked as he plowed her. Wham wham wham. It should have taken him longer. He’d just fucked Alicia the night before. Lydia was nothing to him. But she was hot. And she didn’t want him. Wham wham wham, and he was done. Her cunt was left filled with his spunk, and the install still have eighteen minutes left. He let go of her to pull her own pants up. Now she stared up at him through a puffy red face. Pure betrayal all over her expression. Shock. Any shame? None he could see. There was no shame in being raped. It was just shit that happened, like losing half the morning to an IT install.
“I’ll come back,” she rasped as she bolted out the door. He still had time to kill. Lost time. Time to pass up a lead. Miss a connection. Lose another life. Maybe Lydia’s. The dumb girl was on the list too.
Day 7
“This is huge!” the geek girl said. Woman. She was at least thirty. Molly Banks stood in the conference room. Frank sat center, but Sharon, Gina, and Mark surrounded him. Some other newbies on the team. But Molly had the stage. “We’ve run some spatial statistic on the data set and the list. That means we’ve tried to predict where and who Audrey Pine will strike next.”
“You don’t have to dumb it down for us,” Mark spoke up.
“We’ve developed a spatial autoregressive integrated moving average model,” Molly began, nudging her glasses up her nose.
“Dumb it back down,” Frank said. “What’s the takeaway for us?”
“We’ve analyzed the patterns of all the victims. For the women, we don’t know, but for the men she selects we’ve developed a model based on the previous half dozen or so addresses, the day, the time of day, the weather…”
“Audrey’s really using all this to pick her next dude?” Mark asked, interrupting?
“She probably doesn’t realize it,” Molly said. “But yes. These and a dozen or so other variables allow us to predict a set of the next men she’ll pick from.”
“How large a set?” Sharon asked.
“About twenty,” Molly said. “Thirty percent of the time.”
“Of for fuck’s sake,” Mark groaned.
“You could keep using the fifty thousand you’ve got. I think that’s hitting a hundred percent of the time!” Molly groaned back, mocking his tone perfectly. “I get paid the same either way.”
“A little less derision, please,” Frank said. “Can you give us a list of the targets to stake out?”
“I thought I made that clear,” Molly said. “It’s why I’m showing you this. Yes.”
Day 17
Frank didn’t have twenty surveillance teams to call on. There were other crimes in Metroland. Other murders, and lots of them. With five pairs, he put coverage on five addresses, updating with Molly’s software voodoo after each abduction and murder. She promised the model was slowly gaining accuracy. It only needed to be once, and he would gladly accept dumb luck. Smart luck. Anything at all. Finding Audrey the old-fashioned way, waiting for tips that never came, was a losing game. Now he could lose with more personnel.
“Is most police investigation this tedious?” Alicia asked as they lay in bed waiting for sleep to come. “I know I’ve asked before.”
“No, I’ll answer again,” Frank replied. “Yes. The end.” He wasn’t dumped. At least not yet. She could do better, but she was back in his bed for over a week and counting. She said little about her pulling away, but it wasn’t hard to guess. Lots of fish jumped back in the waters. Frank never had one return to the boat before. She got scared, now she wasn’t.
“That’s how it is with serial killers. Now and forever. Read up on some of them. It’s not like back in the Twentieth Century when it could take decades, or the Nineteenth when they rarely realized there was one, Jack the Ripper notwithstanding. But it can take years. If they stop, they can elude us forever. If we can find Audry Pine before Christmas, we’ll be doing well, statistically speaking.”
“But you don’t tell the men you’re watching?”
He hesitated. “We cycle them in and out of surveillance. If they knew it was happening, they’d react badly to that. We don’t want to start a public panic.”
“And by we…”
“My bosses. But they’ve got a point.”
“She follows patterns.”
“Sort of. She’s clever. See, a lot of the direct descendants have siblings. Parents. Aunts, uncles, cousins. They’re going to notice if whole families start dying. She’s picking a pattern broadly spaced over the metro region and avoiding hitting families more than once. I imagine she’ll have to repeat at some point. But with that in mind, and comparing to the weather and public events and a bunch of other stuff, they are figuring out a likely set of targets.”
“For the men. Not the women.”
“Yeah, that’s still a head scratcher. Molly says the choice of women could be dependent on the choice of men, so there are more variables and it will take longer. I think that’s what she said. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.”
“So you’ll just get the call someday. Some night, probably. So you could be just lying here, and the call is like, Shazam! We have her.”
He nodded, but the beep interrupted. He was getting a call. He looked to Alicia and she gazed back, eyes wide. He picked up. “Simpson.”
“We have her.”