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Paperback Writer

By: Harddaysknight



I'm a writer and I work from home. I am moderately successful. A few years ago, I added a two-car garage with a large room overhead to our house. This allows me a fortress of solitude from which to work. Working from home, along with a chance meeting with a tech-whiz, brought together the elements of an unusual, but fortunate experience.

I receive all kinds of promotional things in the mail, as well as in my email. But, who doesn't? I had been considering software that allowed me to speak my thoughts while my computer transcribed them. I wanted something that worked very well and left little room for snafus. To this end, I responded to a mailing about a tech show at a local hotel. There was where it all began.

As I wandered from booth to booth and vendor to vendor, I found myself amazed at the technological advances available. I struck up a conversation with a vendor about my age. He sold cameras and security items. He had cameras with him that were the size of a pencil, or smaller. 

As we chatted, I explained that I was a writer. To my pleasant surprise, he had read several of my efforts. He was able to name most of the pieces I had managed to get published. Needless to say, I admired the fellow's good sense and great taste. No matter how well I do, I always enjoy, or actually crave, acceptance and praise. This guy supplied it.

"I have a real cool camera I can loan you, Don," he confided. "All you do is place this tiny transmitter/camera someplace secret and attach this unit to your TV. You will see and hear everything with incredible clarity."

"That looks smaller than my dick, and almost as harmless," I chuckled. "What, or who, would I want spy on with that camera?"

"Find out what the wife says about you when you aren't in the room. See what the milkman does with her. See when dinner is ready. Shit, Don, there are a million uses for this thing," he added. "If nothing else, you will amaze people with your intuition. When the wife tells her friend she wants a watch from you for her anniversary and you get her a watch, she will be putty in your hands."

"I can see where it would be fun to play around with," I admitted. "It is so tiny, I can hide it one of her damn little knick-knack things in the kitchen and she would never know! How long can I have it?"

"Promise you won't tell anyone about this, okay?" he insisted. "It is not yet approved for the general public. I think we have a few thousand in the new Russian Embassy in Washington. I have another show at the Hotel Esquire in Denton next weekend. You can return it to me then."

I walked out of that show without the software I wanted, but with a tiny camera in my pocket. It was extremely simple to install. My wife was at work so I placed the camera part on a shelf that Loretta had crammed with figurines and artsy shit that served no real purpose that I could discern. I hid it under something that looked like a frog, or maybe a dog. I couldn't really tell and didn't care. When I stepped back into the kitchen a few feet, it was not even visible.

I had my doubts about getting any sort of picture, but I decided to try it. I inserted the receiver into my cable hook-up in the back of the TV and then reattached the cable to it. I turned on the television and it worked fine, if you like soap operas! Nothing had changed. I began going down the channels. I was about to give up when I hit channel 03 and suddenly my kitchen was on my big screen in living color!

I found that if I turned up the volume, I could hear the clock on the wall in the kitchen tick. I could see most of our eat-in kitchen, including the work area and the table. The picture was even better than cable. Soon I got bored watching the kitchen and turned on ESPN. Loretta wouldn't be home from work for another hour and there wasn't so much as a mouse walking around.

I was working on outlines for my next best seller and had plenty of time. When I am actually in the throes of brilliant writing, I can spend a whole day and night typing and creating. I stop only for a bathroom break or a snack. Luckily, I was not in that mode.

I heard Loretta pull into the garage below me, so I switched the channel to the kitchen. Loretta walked in with some groceries and put them away. It was really quite impressive. I was able to watch every move she made and it was very clear. I had to adjust the volume down because her heels made loud clicks on the floor. Loretta then began to unbutton her blouse. I found that quite erotic. It was like she was in a soap of her own. Then she left the room.

I knew she was going to go change from her work clothes, as she always did. I also knew I could go watch her if I wanted. I might even get lucky, although after 16 years of marriage, our sex life was a bit stagnant. Instead of going to watch her change, I began to wonder if I should have placed the camera in the bedroom. Then I could watch without having to get up. I marveled at my romantic nature.

I went back to work on my great American novel. I almost fell off my chair when I heard Loretta speak. I thought she was in the room with me! I swung around and looked for her. That was when I realized she had returned to the kitchen and was using the phone. I made a note to myself to keep a closer eye on the TV, lower the volume, and to change my underwear at the first opportunity.

I listened to Loretta's end of the conversation. She was talking to her mother and getting all her family news. Uncle Jack had a hernia and cousin Nancy had missed her period and might be pregnant. That would be okay, if the tramp had ever bothered to get married! I stored away the information, thinking I could look smart sometime, which would shock the shit out of my wife's family.

A short time after Loretta finished her conversation with her mother the phone rang again. Loretta seemed surprised and pleased to speak with the caller. It seemed that it was an old college friend coming to town for the week. Her name was Magill and she called herself Lil. 

Lil was in town for a job related seminar and wanted to get together with Loretta to catch up on everything. Before I could sprint down to the kitchen and put a stop to it, Loretta invited Lil to spend the week with us.

"We have a spare room and I would love to have you close so we can get reacquainted!" persuaded Loretta. "He won't mind, really. He spends most of his time in his little castle working on his books."

I knew I was the topic of the conversation now.

"Yes, he does quite well. You've read that one?" quizzed Loretta. "I haven't been able to get through it, although it is one of his best sellers."

What the hell was that remark? My own wife can't wade through my books? She sure doesn't mind wading through the surf when the royalties enable us to spend two weeks at the Caymans every year!

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," laughed Loretta. "I will pick you up at the airport tomorrow evening. It's settled!" 

I decided there would be a great deal less that I didn't know from that point forward. My spy network was going to come in handy. I would be able to hear what plans were being hatched and just what I was expected to not know.

It occurred to me that I had seen this situation before. Then it came to me. George Burns had a similar hook-up to watch Gracie! He always knew about her schemes and was able to thwart them. I considered speaking to my imaginary audience like George always did, but that could be a bad habit to begin. My fans would have to figure out everything with no help from me.

Needless to say, I never mentioned to Loretta that I was able to observe everything that transpired in the kitchen. Never give up the advantage.

I wandered into the kitchen just as Loretta was placing dinner on the table. I smiled to myself as I thought how she usually had to climb up the stairs and bang on the door to get me to come to dinner. 

"Honey, I got a call from an old friend today," she began. The 'Honey' part was a signal that she wanted something. "She is going to be in town for a week and I invited her to stay with us. You don't mind, do you?"

"I suppose we have the room, but you will be at work and I am working on my next book. I won't be entertaining her all day," I warned.

"She has some sort of seminar thing she has to attend during the day. She will be getting in about the same time as I," stated Loretta. "You will like her. She was a very attractive girl 20 years ago and I bet she still looks good."

"That will certainly make the intrusion more palatable," I admitted. "What is her name?"

"Lil Magill, from Ohio, originally," answered Loretta. "We went to school together. I will pick her up at the airport tomorrow afternoon. Thanks, Sweetheart!"

The next afternoon I turned on the TV when I heard Loretta pull into the garage. A minute or so later I saw her usher her friend into the kitchen. I had to admit that this Lil was not hard on the eyes! She was Loretta's height, and about her weight. 

I realized they were about the same size, but Lil wore a short, tight skirt and a blouse with a low neckline that showed more than a hint of cleavage. Her persona just seemed to ooze sexuality while Loretta looked like a plain housewife by comparison. 

Loretta brought out a bottle of wine and the two sat at the table and chatted. I thought there would be more reminiscing about the glory days than there was. Lil seemed more interested in discussing sex. She had my attention.

"So how is hubby in the sack, Loretta?" she asked. "Does he get the job done, and done often? My Steve fucks me at least three times a week and a few times on the weekend."

This girl was not shy! I had never heard a woman talk about being fucked, unless it was the auto repair place doing it.

"We don't do it as often as you and your husband. It's more like a weekend thing, if everything falls into place," Loretta replied. "Don isn't overly interested in sex."

Where was Loretta getting that shit? I would fuck every day if she would just give a hint that she was interested. It was her, not me! She was the cold fish that acted like sex was a duty she had to perform on rare occasions. 

"I am so sorry to hear that, Loretta!" cooed Lil. "I wonder if it might have a little to do with your attitude and the way you dress? You have a nice figure but you seem to keep it hidden, if the clothes you are wearing today are an indication."

"I am a professional woman and manage a large department store. I can't dress like some cheap floozy!" exclaimed Loretta. "I have an image to maintain."

"Like the Ice Queen?" asked Lil. "You control who fucks you, Loretta, but men will be much more cooperative if they feel the desire to fuck you. It makes them putty in your hands. Shorter skirts and a little tit will go a long ways!"

I liked the way this girl thought! Loretta was pretty conservative in her fashion sense. I knew she couldn't look as good as Lil did, but the right clothes would certainly help.

"Do you give Don many blowjobs?" she asked.

Loretta coughed on her wine! That question caught her totally off-guard.

"That is not something I do," confessed Loretta. I could vouch for her on that one. "Don doesn't really want me to do that."

What the hell was this woman saying? Did she want Lil to think I was a damn fag or something? I longed for a nice slow blowjob... my entire marriage. Loretta refused the few times I had suggested it, so it just died a natural death.

"That has to be a joke!" laughed Lil. "All normal men want blowjobs. If they had their way we would spend about eight hours a day with our lips attached to their dicks. I am surprised Don doesn't insist. You wouldn't refuse your wifely duty if he gave you no choice, would you?"

"You may be right, Lil. If her gave me no option and demanded and expected it, I would do it. I would not have to worry about any guilt feelings from my religious upbringing," conceded Loretta. "It would be something I had to do for my husband. He never seems interested though, so it doesn't really make any difference."

Why that little cocksucker, soon to be! I never guessed that! Why hadn't I pushed it more? I determined right then to test Loretta and find out if she was just bull-shitting to impress her friend. 

"My husband always makes me suck his cock, especially right after he eats my pussy," revealed Lil. "There is no discussion or refusing. He just pulls my head down on his cock and I just suck it like a baby. He loves it and it actually puts me in control. A man will do anything for the woman he loves when his cock is in her mouth!"

"Don hasn't eaten my pussy in years, so that is not apt to happen," Loretta sighed.

"Really? Do you have some horrible infection? Do you shower and douche now and then?" quizzed Lil.

"Of course I am clean! It is just that Don is not a sexual man. He is content to write his books and have the usual dull sex a couple times a month," lamented Loretta.

I was getting pissed! I wanted more sex. I loved to eat her but she never gave me any encouragement, so I gave it up years ago. She made sex seem like hard work!

"All men are sexual, Dear," smiled Lil. "It is just that some men are more sexual than others. You need to suck his cock and have him eat your pussy. Believe me, you will love it, and so will he."

"I am afraid we have drifted too far along to change now," Loretta admitted. "We have grown comfortable in our dull rut. More than a few times I have thought of finding a lover. I never have, but I daydream about a man that will use me for his pleasure and bring me pleasure in the process. Don has been a perfect husband and provider. He is just undersexed."

Goddamn! Why didn't she just place an ad in the paper saying I was a shitty lover? Why would she tell her friend all this crap?

"I think we need to go shopping tomorrow after your work and get you a new wardrobe. You are about my size and you will be surprised how sexy it will make you feel," suggested Lil. "I have another idea, but you will think I am crazy."

"I love to shop and I sure could add some spark to my life, so let's shop!" laughed Loretta. "What is the crazy idea you have?"

"It is just an idea, so don't get all mad. I will be staying here for a week. Suppose some night you got up to visit the bathroom and didn't return?"

"Do you think I should leave, or go sleep on the couch?" questioned Loretta.

"Just suppose I took your place in bed for awhile and tried to light a fire under old Donnie-boy? We are nearly the same height and weight," Lil observed. "He would not know it was me in the bed. I bet I could get him to eat my pussy and I would suck him off. It would get him thinking outside the square, so to speak. I would go to the bathroom again and you could get him to fuck the daylights out of you. He would also be more apt to eat you out and feed you his cock after that."

"Lil! You are a married woman!" exclaimed my wife. "How can you do that to your husband?"

"That is the beauty of it! I won't have sex. I'll just give him the blowjob of his life and get my pussy eaten," laughed Lil. "No one, including our husbands, will ever know!"

"I don't know if that is such a good idea. I would know and you may be very disappointed with Don's performance," worried Loretta.

Where the hell was that coming from? I promised myself no woman would leave my bed disappointed again! I wasn't religious, but I began to pray Lil would convince Loretta about the soundness of this idea. George Burns never got into schemes like this!

"Loretta, if the woman knows what she is doing, the man will not be a disappointment. You have to control the situation while making him believe he is in control," stated Lil.

"I think I will try to get Don a little more amorous the next few nights, Lil. If he responds and shows some fire, I will do it. It sounds odd, I know, but it isn't just his reputation at stake," Loretta offered. "If my husband has another woman, even without his knowledge, I want her to be satisfied and think I have the best lover and husband woman can have. Does that seem weird?"

"Not at all, Loretta. I understand perfectly. If I get in the sack with your husband, you want me to come away wishing he was my man!" agreed Lil. 

About that time they drifted into the living room and out of range of my spy device. My head was spinning with all I had learned. One thing was certain. I was going to make Loretta proud and get her to offer our bed to Lil. I had my own idea about what would happen after she gave me that blowjob she planned!

I strolled into the kitchen a few minutes later. No one was around so I went into the living room. Lil was there, but Loretta wasn't. When she saw me, Lil rushed over and gave me a very warm hug.

"You must be Don! I am Loretta's old friend Lil," she told me. "I have read just about all your books and enjoy them. You are very good!"

She was still standing close to me and I could feel her tits against my chest. I was a little flustered as I tried to think of a clever response.

"Thanks!" I responded.

I heard Loretta come down the stairs from the bed room area, but Lil didn't let me go. I turned to see Loretta watching Lil rubbing her tits against me.

"I see you have met Nancy," Loretta smiled.

Now I was totally confused. My look must have shown my confusion.

"She calls herself Lil, but we always knew her as Nancy," Loretta quickly added. "Call her Lil."

Loretta was making no sense. Lil, or Nancy, was close to laughing. It seemed odd that Loretta couldn't decide what to call her old friend.

"We just met, Loretta. You didn't tell me that Don was in such good shape! Do you spend a lot of time at the gym?" Lil asked.

"Well, I have a couple exercise machines in my office over the garage and I use them quite a lot while I am trying to dream up a new plot," I replied. "It is nice to meet you, Lil. I will leave you two to reminisce and get back to work. I just thought I would introduce myself and welcome you to our home."

I got no work done because I spent all my time watching the damn tube to see if I could learn anything more about my possible sexcapades. Nothing of interest came across the airwaves. We ate dinner and I excused myself to go to my office to watch the game. I was really more interested in watching my kitchen. Soon the women finished the chores in the kitchen and retired to the living room to chat. I actually turned the TV to the game.

Around 11:30 I walked into the living room and announced I was going to bed. I gave both ladies a peck on the cheek, climbed the bedroom stairs, and crawled into bed. The problem was that listening to Lil and Loretta earlier had made me extremely horny. I got out of bed, took a quick shower, got back in and waited for Loretta. I didn't have to wait long.

Loretta came into the room and closed the door. I pretended to be asleep and waited. I was pleasantly surprised when she peeled off her clothes, turned off the light, and slid next to me under the covers. 

She ran her hand over my stomach and down to my already hard cock. The little guy is not very good at subterfuge! Loretta began to stroke my cock and the precum began to ooze. Then she slowly kissed her way down my stomach till she was giving little kisses to my cock. It seemed that she was going to heed some of the advice Lil had bestowed earlier! But then, so was I.

I placed my left hand on Loretta's head and took my cock in my right. Then I pushed her head down as I pointed my cock where I knew her mouth had to be. I felt some resistance at first, but continued to press Loretta's head down. My cock was rubbing her cheek and I moved it all around her face. Gradually I brought it back to her lips and pressed it against them. I felt Loretta's mouth open and take my cock in! I was in heaven as I felt her begin to work her tongue around my cock. I couldn't believe the pleasure I was getting from her efforts.


Paperback Writer



Chapter 1 : Every Day I Write The Book

I don't know when I realised it was him....

I've been studying Creative Writing for about a year now. It's been a bit of a challenge, let me tell you. Before I started I'd written quite a bit for work - business reports, stuff like that -- but of course there is a whole different set of challenges once you try to tell a story.

I think my tutor has been losing patience with me. I've found some of the exercises quite difficult and some of his comments haven't been exactly helpful. "Polish up the English or English up the Polish as the case may be," was one of them. He likes puns. 

Two weeks ago he gave me another project. "You have terrible problems in writing believable characters," he said.

"Oh, don't pussy-foot around," I thought, "come right out and say it."

"If I said they are two dimensional I'd be suggesting that they possess a level of reality beyond anything that I could seriously defend. I find it easier to understand the motivation and feelings of the green man on the road crossing lights than anyone in this piece." He tossed the fruits of several long evening's efforts back at me. I probably looked less than happy at his criticism. "Look, Stuart," he said, "let me suggest a different approach."

I was pretty hacked off at this point. "Like what?" I said.

"Your problem is observation. You don't study people, so you can't write about what moves them. You don't listen to them speak, so you can't write dialogue. If you want to get better at writing, first you have to get better at watching and listening."

For the first time, something he said made some sense. 

"Try something for me. Choose someone you know. Write their diary. As if they were writing it. Watch what they do. Listen to what they say. Don't make anything up. Just record it. Describe what's going on around them if you need to but let their actions and words speak for themselves. Do it for a month. Then come back and we'll talk about it. If you really try to write their life as it is then maybe you'll find you can write their life as it might be. Then you'll have a story."

So I agreed to give it a try. I looked around for a subject and I chose Ray.

I live in this house with a group of other students and twenty-going-on-thirty somethings. I've got a bed sit up in the second floor front, we all share a kitchen and there's this big lounge where you can collapse with a beer if you feel the need for company. Nobody stays here long. The students come and go each year. The rest of us seem to move out after about eighteen months as job or girlfriends call. Except me, Stuart Pollock. I've been here five years now.

I'm not sure why I chose Ray. Maybe I thought it would be easy to write about him because he's around the house quite a lot. I didn't really know anything about him at all, even though I met him a year ago and we both lived within twenty feet of one another. I guess that's just another example of what my tutor thinks is my problem. 

The question is would I have chosen Ray if I knew then what I know now? Or even suspected?

I spent quite a while just watching him. Working out how to describe him; his build, his clothes; the way he smirks sometimes; the way he starts if he doesn't hear you coming. What does he look like? Slim, a bit taller than me, I guess around five eleven. Around thirty, thirty two I guess; a bit older than most of us. He's quite dark; dark eyes, dark complexion, short dark hair. It's odd; he manages to look quite foreign and very English at the same time. 

Anyway, that was how I started. It was good practice, just like my tutor said. I filled three or four pages with little quirky things about how he moved, how he sat, stuff like that. The details don't matter for this story -- that's a bit of a paradox isn't it -- but I really felt I was getting to grips with his character and his behaviour around the house.

That was the start of the trouble -- around the house. Actually that was the only place I'd ever seen Ray. I didn't know what he did for a job. He didn't seem to have a social life; never joined the rest of us at the pub. He didn't often stay long in the living room. He spent a lot of time in his own room. 

I found it fascinating. Why was he like that? What did he do? Where did he go when he went out?

That was easy enough to answer. A few times I followed him. He didn't seem to go anywhere much. Just walking around. I'd be looking at him and he'd be looking at the streets. He seemed to be as much of a watcher as I was. It's just that, as it turned out, we were watching out for different things.

Chapter 2 : I Read the News Today

There had been reports in the local paper and on local TV and radio. I hadn't really taken much notice until the girlfriend of one of my flat mates -- Dee she was called - said, "Isn't it terrible?"

She explained about this masked attacker,.,. how he was breaking into houses, always students, always girls. He didn't steal anything. He didn't rape the women. Didn't do anything sexual as far as anyone could tell. He wasn't even particularly violent. He just tied the women up and left them helpless. 

She said the police were hopeless - they hadn't been able to do anything to stop him -- and all they could do was to appeal for witnesses and advise young women to be particularly vigilant, ensure their doors and windows were locked and bolted and so on. She said it was disgusting. He was obviously a pervert. Who could do something like that? He must be crazy. And somebody must be shielding him. Someone must know who it is and what they are doing.

We'd all sat around in the living room listening to her sounding off about how she didn't understand how any girl could let a man do that to them. She'd sat on the floor, arms and legs folded, nodding her head as she made her points emphatically in a high pitched voice. It was funny really; this slight, slim girl in her jeans and her tee shirt, almost childlike in her anger, bewailing the irredeemable nature of men but sounding like someone had just stolen her ice cream.

A week later -- about the middle of March - we'd heard she'd been a victim.

We read about it in the paper. She'd been studying at home, working on her computer, listening to music on her iPod when he'd attacked her. Of course she wouldn't have heard him, she'd have had the volume right up. She might have caught a glimpse of him reflected in the screen of her laptop before he struck but perhaps not. It must have been a terrible shock for her. A gloved hand clamped over her mouth, being pulled backwards and pushed to the floor. And then what?

Well, the papers were suitably vague. Don't want to give away anything the police might use in their investigations, someone in the house said. You could guess, though from other reports. It wasn't hard to imagine him wrapping ropes around her wrists, pulling a cloth across her mouth. Winding more ropes around her body, tying her arms to her sides, pulling the ropes tightly across those pert little tits. 

Well, of course, it just seemed like a horrible coincidence when we heard about it. Until I realised that the expression in Ray's eyes had seemed rather cold and detached as everyone was saying what a terrible thing it was.

I suppose that was when I started suspecting. And when I should have said something. Especially when I realised that I'd been following him on the night it had happened. And I'd walked right past her house.

Chapter 3 : Suspicious Minds 

I didn't say anything right away. I suppose it was pretty selfish of me. Mostly I thought that if I said anything then I'd have to start my project all over again and I didn't fancy that. A little bit of me thought that it might make the project even more interesting. I suppose that it was that thought that won out in the end. And anyway I might have been wrong. It all might have been a big coincidence. 

I was intrigued though and I wondered if I could find out more. That's one of the consequences of being told to watch people and think about what makes them tick. It sucks you in.

Actually it wasn't difficult to find out more. I waited until Ray was out one lunchtime. The house was quiet. Pretty much everyone else was out too. The door to his room wasn't locked; none of us bothered with that. Ray had left his laptop on the table in his room. A rucksack was pushed under the bed. I pulled it out. 

And that was when I knew I was right.

The evidence was pretty incontrovertible. Hanks of rope, rolls of tape, some stips of thick black cloth. Even one of those ball things threaded on a strap that's supposed to be used as a gag. There was some other stuff in there too, thin latex gloves, a ski mask, and a knife; a very big knife. It wasn't hard to see how his victims would react confronted with that. The blade shone mirror-like, its chromed surface reflecting my face as I looked at it. The handle was heavy in my hand. It felt as though you would only have to lean the point of the blade on flesh and then let go to have the knife slice into flesh. It was frightening me and I was holding it. I put it back quickly into its sheath. There was other stuff too, in the pockets of the bag. A small camera and a packet of condoms that hadn't been opened.

Then there was his computer. He really hadn't been careful with that. The history log of his browser was pretty incriminating. Site after site that featured girls tied up and gagged. I mean, I know there's a lot of porn on the Internet but I hadn't realised how specialised this stuff could be. Secretaries in bondage, tied cheer leaders, uniform bondage.... all sorts. It was pretty obvious where his interests lay. None of the girls were naked though, I noticed. Odd that. I mean you'd have thought -- well, I'd have thought -- that it was some sort of sex thing and he'd want them naked, but no. And it wasn't really porn, either. Nothing that I'd call sex on show, anyway. 

If there had been any doubt about Ray, the contents of his images folder blew those away. There were a series of folders with names like "Rebecca 12 Feb", "Angie 07 March" and so on. And of course there was "Dee 15 March".

There were two lots of pictures. Some he'd taken on the street a few following behind her, one reflected in a shop window, another obviously snatched from waist level as he'd walked past her in a coffee shop. There was even one he'd taken when she was in the house that time. I certainly hadn't noticed him taking it. Presumably she hadn't either.

Then there were the others; the ones taken during what I'll call his "visit". She'd been wearing the same jeans she'd had on in our house together with a pale yellow tee shirt and a dark brown shirt worn loose over it. All the shots of her were after he had tied up, gagged and blindfolded her -- that was what the strips of black cloth were for -- but they were shot from different angles as she lay on the floor. He had turned her over so that he'd taken pictures from the front -- I'd been surprisingly good about guessing how he would have tied her with the ropes criss-crossing her chest -- and the back. There were some close-up shots of the tape spread across her lips, the way the rope cut into the flesh of her wrists and the way it creased the denim of her jeans where he'd tied her ankles. Together they painted a picture of Ray as someone who was really fascinated by the details. He wouldn't have had the problems I had with my writing.

I put everything back as it had been. I mean her would obviously be upset if he thought I was poking around with his things. Even so it was obvious that Ray that was responsible. He'd certainly got all the tools he needed in his rucksack and the pictures just confirmed it. 

Chapter 4 : Street Life

Well, I thought it would be all right, you see. I mean all the accounts in the papers said that he tied his victims up and then left them blindfolded. Even so, I thought I ought to wear a mask. I'm not stupid you know and, well he might change his mind or what the police call his "modus operandi" mightn't he?

So this time when I followed him I waited until after he left. He was in the house for about fifteen minutes I guess. I watched him leave, the back pack over his shoulder. He'd obviously got in through a back window or something so I went around behind the house. Everything was dark. It was a bit spooky really. The back door was ajar. He must have come out that way. Well it was easier for me than climbing in. I put my mask on and my gloves and went in. It led into the kitchen. It was all dark but it wasn't completely quiet. There was this sort of squeaking noise coming from one of the rooms upstairs. I guessed that it must have been whoever he'd attacked. I really had to see. I tried to go up the stairs quietly but I think she must have heard me because the squeaking suddenly stopped. It wasn't a problem because I'd worked out where it was coming from by then so I just went on as quietly as I could.

I looked around the edge of the door and there she was. It was OK because he had tied her up like all the newspapers said he did and she was gagged which was why she was just kind of squeaking, and she had a blindfold on so she couldn't see me. Ray had really made a bit of a mess because there were things all over the floor, drawers turned upside down, a real mess. But he'd made a really neat job of tying the girl up which was sort of odd really. She was sitting on a chair and he'd tied her hands behind her so they were behind the back of the chair too. He had tied her quite tightly because even though she'd been struggling she didn't seem to have loosened off the ropes at all. And there was quite a lot of rope. Around her waist and across her lap and around her knees and her ankles. He'd tied them together and then pulled them back against the rail that ran between the two front legs of the chair so she couldn't swing her feet about at all. He'd really done a very thorough job. I couldn't get much idea of what the girl looked like, what with the blindfold over her eyes and the gag across her mouth but she had quite an attractive figure it seemed to me, though I guess that rope pulling her waist in and her arms pulled back like that made her breasts look bigger than they would have otherwise. 

I didn't think I should stay though. I didn't want to frighten her any more than she was already. That didn't seem fair. So I backed away from the door and left her. She must have heard me coming up the stairs because when I got to the back door I could hear her squeaking again. It's funny, you would have thought that the gag would keep her quieter than that. Still, I don't really know about this sort of thing, so perhaps it's not surprising at all. I guess that's the sort of observation stuff my tutor was talking about.

Why didn't I tell the police then? Well, it probably would have been sensible, but I was intrigued I suppose and I really didn't want to start researching someone else. Or maybe you don't think that is much of an excuse....

Chapter 5 : Hot Legs 

It was the second time I'd followed him. 

I was quite interested to see what he had done with her gag this time. I think there must a risk when you push cloth into the girl's mouth that she will choke on it somehow. Obviously the same thing has occurred to Ray because I saw that this time he'd tied a cloth between her lips first and then pushed the wadding into her mouth on top of that. The cloth looked like a strip of sheet or something but then as she was struggling around I saw he'd actually torn it from her shirt. Any way with the cloth tied like that she couldn't swallow the wadding so he'd pushed quite a lot in and then put tape across on top of it. Her cheeks were really bulging from the packing. But it was obviously working a lot better than Ray's previous efforts and it's safer for the girl too, so I guess that's good. The only thing is it doesn't really look as neat because you've got the cloth under the tape and the packing really bulges out. Well, I guess that's not so important really and it's good that Ray is obviously thinking about how he does things, developing ideas, coming up with new ways. That's good.

There was something else different I noticed this time too. There wasn't as much mess around the place. With the other girl, he had really turned the place over; drawers emptied out, clothes pulled off hangars. And the girls in the paper had all said he'd stolen lots of stuff, jewellery, things like that. But this time there was none of that. Just the girl. On the bed. Tied up. Gagged. Blindfolded. Oh, yeah. And her skirt was up around her waist.

This was a new development.

It was only after I got back I started thinking about something my creative writing tutor had said. "Remember," he'd said, "it's not enough for your audience to know what your characters do, they have to know why they do it and they have to believe why they do it too. Motivation is the driving force that explains how characters respond to circumstance." I realised then that I had absolutely no explanation for Ray's behaviour.

I mean, I suppose he's got some sort of mental disorder. I mean he's obsessive about neatness in the way he ties the girls up, although that could just be careful craftsmanship or the safest way to see that they don't escape. Hang on, this man goes around tying girls up and photographing them, do we need any more evidence of mental disorder?

On the other hand he's quite rational. He doesn't engage much with us when we're talking in the house but if he does it's always with a well thought out point of view. If you asked me what I thought his politics were I'd have said he's left of centre. He's a libertarian, which is odd in someone that seems to take great pleasure from restricting liberty.

Certainly he's not very sociable though. He doesn't spend much time with the rest of us. Thinking back, I haven't seen him around the house for a couple of days.

Well, there's obviously some sort of sexual dimension, I suppose. Especially this time, with the way he'd rearranged her skirt but he could have obviously gone further. That knife of his would have snicked through the side of her panties without any problem, or he could have cut the shoulder straps on her dress to get at her breasts. There hadn't been anything like that though, just her skirt carefully pushed up around her waist.

Chapter 6 : Knowing Me, Knowing You

I didn't feel I was really getting inside his head though. I suppose I couldn't square Ray's rather reticent, quiet, self with what he was doing. It wasn't so much that I couldn't envisage him doing what he was doing; it was more that I couldn't see how he was doing it. I mean he didn't seem to be the sort of person who could persuade you to get him a cup of coffee, much less force someone into the situations that he obviously was. I had to see him at work.

I'd got quite good at following him. The terraced houses and back alleys of the part of town where most of the student digs are is scruffy with short narrow streets and plenty of doorways and corners to duck behind. In the evening the street lamps cast a series of orange pools along otherwise dark pavements. I don't think he ever realised I was following him. Too focused on what he had in mind, I guess. He would lope along the road at a steady speed, obviously knowing where he was going. Sometimes he didn't even carry a bag. He obviously had everything he needed in his long dark overcoat.

It was late in the evening. About ten o'clock. I suppose I should try to be a bit more exact but I didn't really notice the time. This time he'd gone a bit off his patch. The houses were bigger -- three story, early twentieth century, tall doors, tall windows. The one he was aiming for was at the end of a terrace. There was a door to the side of the building leading through to the back. He went through. I followed him.




Paperback Writer



Off of the street it was suddenly much darker. I just avoided falling over a rubbish bin as I tried to keep close enough to see where he was going but stay far enough back not to be seen. Thinking back this was spectacularly stupid. What would he have done if he'd seen me? I hadn't even thought about that.

I didn't see how he opened that back door but he did and a moment later he was inside. I was close behind him. The kitchen gave way into a hallway. I'd lost him. I had no idea where he had gone in the house. Upstairs seemed the best bet. 

I tried a door. A bedroom.

Then there were voices, lights coming on downstairs. I suddenly had a sense that I was somewhere that it wasn't good to be. I've watched too many movies, I suppose but what do you do in that situation? Of course, you hide in the wardrobe.

That's what I did. And then the door to the room opened. I held my breath. There were two voices. One wracked, pleading, a girl. The other quiet, almost soft but firm, Ray.

"Please, please -- don't hurt me. Please."

"It's all right. You know if you do as you're told you won't be hurt, don't you?"

"Yes, I guess so. That's what the papers say, isn't it? But.. the knife..."

"It's OK. Don't worry. Here take this..."

I was sweating. It was hot in the wardrobe and I was trying hard to hold my breath, or at least to breathe when they're talking so I wouldn't be heard. They were not really paying much attention to anyone but themselves, though. The wardrobe door was open a crack. I could see the knife he was holding and I understood why she'd be scared of it.

"What?"

"In your mouth. Please. It's just some cloth. Wad it up and push it in. It won't hurt." There was a pause. "Go on, Becky." 

He knew her name. Familiarity or research? I couldn't know from where I was and I wasn't likely to find out unless I find a diary that he's been keeping or something. There was a sort of whimpering noise and then a muffled grunt.

"Good." It was Ray again. I guessed that I wouldn't hear much more from Becky. "All right then. If you can lie down. It will be more comfortable. That's it. Now hands behind you." 

There were sounds from the bed. I peered through the crack between the wardrobe doors. Ray had his back to me. He was kneeling over the girl, busy with some lengths of rope and some gaffer tape. He was very methodical, knowing exactly what he was doing, working from place to place, quickly but without rushing. Wrists, elbows, ankles, knees all wrapped in rope that pulled them tightly to one another. Rope around the waist. He went to swing her around and I stepped back from the door, terrified that he or she would see me, even though they obviously had no idea I was there.

Then she was on her back. I got a better view of her. About twenty one years old, I suppose. She'd got bare tanned legs, disappearing under a short skirt. Bare feet. And the ropes, of course. I could just see her head; short brown hair, wide eyes fringed with long dark lashes. She was staring up at Ray in his balaclava mask. Her mouth was half open, white cloth spilling from it; like she'd been interrupted in the middle of a meal and she'd been eating her napkin.

"Sorry about this," said Ray as he leant forward. When he moved back I could see that he'd covered her mouth with grey tape, long, wide strips of it plastered across the lower half of her face, stretching from down under her chin almost up to her ears. She shook her head. Her eyes were wide. She was surprised; not by the fact that he'd done it but by the fact he's used so much tape. She must have known she wouldn't be able to shift it; at least not for a long time.

Ray stood up, on one side of the bed. He was staring down at her. She was looking up at him. She wriggled a little as though she wasn't sure what to do. He just stood there watching her. And that's all he did. For what seemed like a lifetime.

After a bit she realised that was all he wanted to do. Watch. She ought to have been relieved but she wasn't. She was pissed as anything; shaking her head and grunting into her gag. He just stood there, not moving, not saying anything. Then suddenly it's like he was getting bored. He looked at his watch, shook his head and then looked around the room. He picked up a scarf and wrapped it over her eyes; tied it tightly behind her head and then added some tape to make sure she couldn't get it off. About all you could see of her face was her nose; the rest was covered by the grey sense obliterating tape and the scarf. There was a pair of her tights beside the bed, he picked them up and pulled them down over her head. She was not sure what was going on. She shook her head and tried to struggle some more before laying still. 

Suddenly I was hoping that he wasn't going to come looking for more of her clothes. But then that was it. He didn't say another word. He just looked down at her once more, stopped and reached down to push her skirt up as she squeals in frightened anticipation. He took one look at her legs - tanned skin, white panties -- nodded with what I guess was satisfaction, turned and went to the door. He pulled his camera from his pocket, took a few shots, checked them on the viewing screen at the back and that was it. He'd gone. 

For the first time in what seems like hours I felt able to breathe. 

She lifted her head trying to decide if he'd gone or not. She heard me as I emerged and thought he was back, squealed into her gag and tried to struggle. I could see what he sees in this as I repeated his experience. The helpless, silenced girl, partly exposed, was struggling and fearful. I didn't plan to stick around either though. I left her, hoping she would struggle free soon enough but, frankly, looking at the way the ropes had been tied, I couldn't see her getting loose until someone finds her.

Chapter 7: We Are Detective

I'm talking with Detective Sergeant Rigby. He's one of those people that you feel happy talking to. There's no sense that he's judging what you're saying, just that he's listening; taking it all in. There's the recording machine of course. It's just like one of those scenes in a TV drama. I guess that just goes to show how observant those other writers are. Maybe my tutor has a point.

Still I've decided that I had to be open and honest in answering his questions. The one thing I've learned from all those shows is that there's no point in being evasive or, worse still, lying.

Rigby seems interested by what I have to say as I tell him about the writing course and my project. He nods sympathetically when I say that I could have hardly foreseen where it would lead and he seems quite happy to listen to my account of Ray's activities without challenging what I say.

He doesn't really ask many questions. Just occasionally. "Did you realise that you left a finger print on the table, there?"

I nod. "Yes stupid really. I took my gloves off for a moment." 

He rolls his eyes upward, tuts and shakes his head. "Easily done, easily done," he says in a way that suggests it happens all the time. "And on this piece of tape."

I tell him about Ray and how I found it in his room and how I must have left it then. Rigby seems to understand but suddenly I'm worried. What if Ray made none of these slip ups? What if he's given himself a really good alibi each time? I mean that's the sort of thing you'd do isn't it?

"Don't you worry, Mr Pollock," Rigby says when I voice my concerns. "If this Ray has done what you say I'm sure we'll be able to prove it. You just focus on telling me what happened."

I tell him about my notes that I've been making for my project and Rigby nods. "Yes," he says. "We found them. Very helpful. Very clear. That would be this notebook wouldn't it?" He turns his head to one side and says to the recording machine this time. "I'm showing Mr Pollock a small black notebook tagged as item #10369."

"Yes," I say, "that's it. I'm sure you'll find plenty to help you in there." 

We've been talking for about half an hour when there's a pause. A woman detective constable comes in a passes him a piece of paper. He unfolds it, reads it slowly and puts it into his jacket pocket. The woman is looking at me without much interest, just the casual look of someone whose gaze has fallen on the one thing in the room that's different from every time before. In the pause, I find myself wondering what Ray would make of her. Not his type really. She's a bit thin and angular. Thinking back, all Ray's victims were sort of softer, rounder. 

"Well, Mr Pollock," Rigby says. It's funny the police have been unfailingly polite. It's been quite pleasant to talk to them, "I'm glad you've been able to be of such help."

I'm relieved. I suppose I had half expected that they wouldn't believe me. I mean, you can see how things looked from their perspective.

The detective smiles quietly.

"Well, Mr Pollock, I'm sorry but we're going to have to start this all over again. It seems that when some of my colleagues spoke to the others in your flat, none of them knew anyone called Ray. Basically there's you and the others you gave me names for, but no Ray."

I'm puzzled. I can't imagine how he's made this mistake. I've been following him around. I know him inside out -- ask my tutor; read the notebooks.

"Except of course there is a Ray isn't there? And you and I know who he is, don't we?"

I really don't know what he's talking about. First of all he's saying Ray doesn't exist and then he does.

The woman folds her arms. She doesn't say anything but her look has changed from disinterested to attentive. It's as if she knows what's coming next but wants to see it anyway. I'm interested too. 

"Stuart Raymond Pollock," Rigby says, "I'm arresting you on suspicion of being involved in assaults on seven women. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

I have to say, it's all come as a bit of a shock.





Paperback Writer



The door chimed, and Keiko rolled out of bed with practiced ease to see who the new customer was. Some people would probably hate keeping such irregular hours, but Keiko considered a back room with a bed to be one of the perks of owning her own little tattoo parlor. She napped whenever she felt like it, only had to pay a mortgage on one little building, got plenty of business at odd hours of the night, and if she needed eight hours uninterrupted, she could always switch off the light and lock the door. But she almost never did. You never knew who would walk in.

When she came out of the back room and saw the woman standing in the entrance, she privately thanked every god she could think of that she hadn't decided to lock the door. She looked at a striking woman, six feet tall if she was an inch, with skin that was...that was oh, god. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Keiko had never seen anything like it, not in person. The woman held up an honest-to-god parasol to protect it from the light of the sun outside. Keiko's whole body tensed up. She wanted to strip this woman naked right here, and take that perfect, paper-white skin and make it into a canvas. Every ink would show up so perfectly, so vividly, and with the care she had to take about sunburn, they'd never fade. Keiko could make this woman a living work of art--no, not could. Would. Must. Keiko realized she was practically shivering. She felt every single ancestor urging her on, even the ones that would probably think she was a deviant if they ever actually met her.

The woman didn't pick up any of that. She just saw Keiko staring at her. "I'd have thought," she said, "that a woman who covered her whole body with tattoos would be a little more compassionate about being gawked at."

Keiko realized she'd been standing there too long without talking. "Sorry," she said. "I really didn't mean to stare. I--"

The woman sighed. "No, you meant to stare. You just didn't mean to get caught at it. This isn't the first time, you know. Everyone seems to think that 'albinistic' means 'inbred sewer mutant'. I have white hair, and white skin. It doesn't mean my parents were first cousins, alright?"

Keiko suddenly felt icy fear in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't lose this woman, and she'd already made her angry within the first few seconds of knowing her. "I, no, I really didn't mean to stare. It's just that when I saw you, I sort of--" wanted you desperately-- "I sort of started drawing tattoos on you in my head. It's a bad habit, and I'm normally not this bad about it, but you do have really good skin. I can tell from over here."

The woman sighed again, but in a tone of embarrassment rather than frustration now, and took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were pale blue, rather than the pink Keiko had expected, and there was an apologetic look in them. "No, I'm the one who should apologize. Twenty-two years of dealing with surprised looks, you think I'd be better at it by now. My name's Dahlia. Are you Keiko?"

Keiko nodded, the ice already melting inside her--in fact, now she felt more than a little warm. "Just like on the sign. Did you have any idea of what you wanted? For a tattoo, that is?"

Dahlia looked around at the designs on the walls. "No. I'm not even really sure why I want to do this. I just..." she sat down in a chair. "I want to not be me. Does that make sense?"

Keiko looked down at her own arms, on which dragons writhed and twisted as she flexed her muscles. "It makes perfect sense." She wasn't thinking about her tattoos. That had been decided for her when she was a child, when it became clear that Mother wouldn't be able to have any more children. Without a son, the family legacy had passed to her. Father had taught her everything she knew, just as his father had taught him, and his father had taught him, all the way back through the ages. Probably there were some women in there before Keiko, but Father had never stopped making her feel like she'd screwed up a lineage that went back to Ancient Mu.

She looked back up at Dahlia. Father would really hate her for this. "Howabout a kanji character? Lots of people like them, they're not too obtrusive, and they happen to be a specialty of mine."

Dahlia gave her a crooked smile. "So I'll be able to get a tattoo that says, 'Gullible Idiot' in Japanese?"

Keiko gave a mock gasp. "I would never do that...to someone sober and polite." She winked. "Hold on, I've got a book in the back with some designs. I'll go get it." She tried to control the pleading in her voice. "Don't go anywhere."

In the back room, she stood in front of the small sink, splashed cold water on her face, and took three long, deep breaths. She looked over at the small shelf on the wall, the one where she kept the...special designs. The family designs. She looked back at the mirror. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she whispered. "I'm not your daughter anymore. I don't want a good husband." She thought about that perfect, paper-white skin. "I want her," she whispered.

She grabbed the book and walked back into the main room. "Howabout this one?" she said brightly, flipping the book open to the first page. "It's Japanese for 'purity'." She practically held her breath. If Dahlia didn't like it, if she knew Japanese, if she could tell that the symbol wasn't even a kanji...

Dahlia shrugged. "Sure. Whatever you think works." Keiko nearly moaned. "I was thinking about just putting it on my ankle. I don't know if anyone will ever see it but me," and Keiko had to stifle another moan, "but I don't want anything big or elaborate." 

"Maybe next time for that," Keiko said, then gulped. "If there is a next time. I mean, I don't want to suggest--" Her hands were shaking. She needed to calm down. "You know what I mean," she said with a forced chuckle and a dismissive wave.

Dahlia just nodded. She seemed to have dismissed Keiko as a bit of a flake. Keiko didn't mind. She just needed to keep her involved until she could put that sigil on her ankle. "So, if you just want to hop up on the table, and take off your shoes..."

Dahlia did so. She must have noticed at least a little of Keiko's nervousness, because she fixed her with those beautiful pale blue eyes of hers and said, "You're OK handling a needle, right?"

Keiko grinned. It was the first time she'd felt centered all day. "I was born to handle a needle," she said.

Sure enough, once she picked up the instruments, the shakes went away like they were never there. She looked at the ancient book, seeing the design as if for the first time, and it was like she was a child again. She heard her father, showing her the sigil in the book, and then pointing to her mother's arm, where that design was replicated.

"This is the first element," he'd said. Keiko barely even noticed herself operating the needle in the real world, so pervasive was the memory. "Before all the other elements, before friendship, before trust, before loyalty, before love, before control, this must come first. It is not the most important, but if it is not there, the others will never be enough. You cannot train a dog that is not in your house, Keiko."

Carefully, steadily, Keiko inscribed the sigil onto Dahlia's body. A part of her noticed that instead of wincing in pain, Dahlia sighed softly as the needles lightly pierced her flesh. That was good. Some people got the endorphin rush, some didn't. Keiko was glad to see that Dahlia did. It wouldn't change the course of events one way or another, but it would make it more pleasant for Dahlia.

Afterwards, Keiko explained a few tips for care of the tat during the first couple of weeks, how to avoid infection, exchanged both small talk and money with Dahlia, and watched the woman she loved walk out the door.

On her ankle, she wore the first element. Not the most important, but the one that would ensure the the others. In the ancient tongue, it read simply, Return.

*****

Even so, it took almost a month before she saw Dahlia again. Keiko hadn't been worried. Well, maybe she'd been a little worried. Hers was the first generation to grow up in a time of laser tattoo removal; she'd already defied her ancestors and shamed her family, it'd be kind of embarrassing if it all turned out to be for nothing because Dahlia had zapped the tat away. But when she heard the chime and saw Dahlia walk in again, her worries melted away. Perhaps that was why her panties felt so wet.

"Hi," Dahlia said. "I know this sounds...well, not dumb. I mean, you obviously must like getting tattoos yourself, or you wouldn't do it for a living. But I just never thought I'd want another one." She giggled a bit, clearly trying to cover her own uncertainty. She didn't know why she'd come back here, and she was trying to hide it. "But I guess I must, or I wouldn't have come back."

Keiko nodded. She didn't trust her own voice right now. She was going to have to close the shop for a bit once Dahlia had left, she could tell.

"Any ideas?"

Plenty, Keiko thought. I've got a bed in the next room, a box full of toys under it, and a vivid imagination. But all she said was, "Let me go get my book."

As soon as she got into the back room, she let out a long, shuddering sigh. Dahlia was hers now. Like a fly in a web. Did Father feel this way when he etched the sigils into Mother's flesh? She suddenly calmed down more than a little. Nothing got your mind off sex quite like thinking about your parents having it. She grabbed the book and walked back in.

"I was thinking we might try something a little more elaborate," she said as she returned. "Say, something on your back?"

Dahlia blinked, a little startled. "I was just thinking maybe another one of those characters," she said.

"Oh, I was still thinking about doing those, but I thought maybe two or three, a sort of sentence. We can put it below your neckline if you're worried about it being seen at work."

Dahlia looked down at her long-sleeved shirt, and over at her parasol. "I don't tend to wear a lot of revealing clothes," she said ruefully. Keiko clenched the book a little tighter, but Dahlia didn't notice.

"Trust me, it'll look great." And soon, I won't ever have to say that first part again, Keiko thought.

Dahlia glanced over at the door with a worried expression, and Keiko eagerly leapt over to lock it and pull down the shade. Taking a deep breath, Dahlia slipped her shirt and bra off.

Keiko refused to let herself stare. She just looked once, briefly, snapping a mental picture of that perfect, paper-white skin, those perfect breasts, tipped with pale pink nipples. Then she turned towards the needles, getting them ready as Dahlia lay down on the chair, face-down. Her back looked like a canvas waiting for the artist, like a book waiting to be written, and it was all Keiko could do to keep from running her hands along it, just to see the contrast between her own olive skin and the beautiful whiteness. She felt almost feverish. But once she picked up the needle, the shakes went away.

The first sign was easy. The only tricky bit was covering her own slight hiss of pain as she drove the needle into her own palm before she started. But she had been drawing this one ever since she learned to read and write. She inscribed her own name in blood and crimson ink into Dahlia's skin, in the center of her back, just below the shoulder blades. Whatever Father might be thinking about her decision, Keiko knew he would admire her technique.

She had to look at the book to inscribe the next sign, placing it just to the left of her name in emerald green, interlocking the two subtly. Friendship. The other sigil went to the right of her name, again in emerald. Trust. Keiko looked down at the marks, standing out against Dahlia's skin like a rose bush in winter, and knew she needed to come, now. She watched Dahlia dress like a deer in the headlights, rushed through the payment, and barely managed to squeak out a good-bye with a voice about an octave higher than normal.

Five seconds after Dahlia had walked out, Keiko was on her bed in the back room. She hadn't even bothered taking off her pants; she just collapsed back on the bed, unzipped herself, thrust her hand into her panties, and rubbed like mad. Two fingers into a soupy mess of a cunt, her thumb grinding against her clit, grunting in animal lust, and the images just cycled around in her head: The glimpse of Dahlia's breasts, the fresh tats on her back, the smooth pale skin so close, and finally, the next sigil in the book. She came four times before exhaustion and hunger pushed her to stop.

*****

Dahlia returned several more times before the tats were even fully healed, just on a social basis, and each time, Keiko wound up spending an hour or so after each visit frantically masturbating. The two of them chatted about hobbies and personal lives--Keiko found out that Dahlia wasn't into women, or really much into men, for that matter. Her striking looks, combined with her height, had intimidated most men away from asking her out...and those who remained had difficulty getting through to an aloof, cynical woman used to dealing with social ostracism. Keiko felt glad that she could be a friend to someone who obviously needed one; perhaps it was for all the wrong reasons, but Keiko felt like she was doing the right thing.

At least, that's what she told herself.

Then, two weeks later, Dahlia finally came in and asked for another tattoo. "I just...I like the way they look in the mirror, Ko. And..." she looked around, furtively, even though it was just the two of them in the shop. "I like the way it feels." She looked down. "Weird, huh? Being jabbed with needles, and I like it."

Keiko grinned as she got the needles ready. "It's perfectly normal. A lot of people feel it. The pain from the needles is really small, but your body feels it and releases tons of endorphins--kind of all-natural painkillers." Dahlia lay down on the chair again. "And when your endorphin levels spike, it's kind of like a drug high. Lots of people come back for tattoos on a regular basis, just to get that endorphin high."

Dahlia chuckled. "So they're addicted to tats?"

Keiko began to inscribe, her hands steady as a rock. She felt anything but steady, though. Her head was swimming. "Oh, yes." She lowered her voice a little, even though she, too, knew they were alone behind a locked door and a drawn shade. "Some people even get, you know...kind of horny when they get one." She filled in the sigil with vivid scarlet, moving slowly, not daring to hurry the process. "The endorphins kind of get their motor running." She was almost done, now. Carefully, she delicately interlocked the sigil with her own name, still as vivid as ever against the snow-white skin. "I'm not saying everyone feels that way, but I'm sometimes glad I have a bed in the next room. Grrrowl, you know?"

Dahlia didn't say anything for a long moment, as Keiko finished the design. Then she said, in a strained voice, "I didn't know...it wasn't just me." She rolled off the chair. Her pale nipples were hard. She took a long, shuddery breath. "And you...help people out when they're feeling that way?"

Keiko gave her a warm, seductive smile. "If they're people I like."

For a moment, Dahlia showed her the truth behind the aloof, cynical mask she wore. "Do you like me?" she said in a small voice. All this time, all this work, all this effort to ensnare her and she still had to ask.

"Oh, baby, yes..." Keiko gasped out, enfolding her in a long, gentle kiss.

Dahlia practically carried Keiko backwards into the back room. In fact, after the first few steps, she did. Keiko wound up entwining her legs around Dahlia's hips, and the two of them stumbled onto the bed with a creak of mattress springs. The two of them spent the next few minutes fumbling with each other's clothes; it was almost impossible to get undressed, the two of them were so fogged with lust. Buttons snapped, zippers stuck, Keiko got distracted from pulling Dahlia's pants off at least three times by those wonderful, delectable breasts, but finally, they were both nude.

Dahlia clearly didn't know what to do with her fingers and lips, so she tried everything. She rubbed, pinched and fondled Keiko's nips, stimulating them to the point where Keiko had to finally push Dahlia's hands away. All that meant was that Dahlia pressed her lips to them instead. Keiko let out a shriek of surprise as much as pleasure as she came.

After that, things blurred. They wound up in a sixty-nine, Keiko marveling at Dahlia's downy white pubic hair covering her pussy, and Dahlia learning how to read Keiko's moans and gasps like a new language as she licked and touched. Dahlia was on top, though. Her new tattoo was still a little sensitive, inscribed in a language that only Keiko could read.

Lust.

*****

A year later, and Dahlia was scarcely recognizable as the woman who first walked into Keiko's parlor. Her skin was richly inscribed with tats, each one a new word, each one a new command. The new Dahlia was no longer a canvas ripe with possibility, but a walking work of art. She practically advertised Keiko's skills.

Especially one day, when a young man walked into the tattoo parlor and goggled at Dahlia's skin. "That is really...really amazing!" he said. "I...wow." He turned to Keiko. "Did you do those?"

Keiko nodded with pride. "She's all my work," she said.

"Those designs are awesome. Do you think you could do one of those for me?"

Keiko looked at Dahlia for a long moment. She wondered for a moment if this would redeem her in her father's eyes, or just enrage him further. He'd never taken a second wife, even after Mother had been unable to give him a son. He'd never used the sigils again.

Then again, he'd want me to give him grand-children somehow...

She looked back at the young man, his skin a story yet to be told. "I have just the one," she said.

THE END



Paperback Writer



It felt so good I knew I wouldn't last very long. I debated pulling from Loretta's mouth before I came. Then I decided it was about time I based some decisions on what I wanted and I kept her on my cock as it began to spurt. It seemed as if she offered no resistance and sucked my cock dry. She even swallowed all my seed! This was all new and incredibly sexy to me. I didn't need any urging as I pulled Loretta's face back up to mine and I kissed her, tasting some of my cum on her lips. Then I lay her down and began sucking on her nipples. She was always sensitive around her nipples and I showed no mercy. Finally I began to slide down her stomach to her sweet pussy. I felt her tense up and heard a small gasp as I slid my tongue inside her. I left it there for a minute or so and then began to run it around the lips of her pussy. She was wetter than my saliva could have caused. I slowly licked every part of her love tunnel and even rimmed her asshole a few times. 

I felt Loretta tremble through a small orgasm, but I kept going. The old me would have been content to end it after a few licks and certainly after an orgasm. The new love machine I was determined to become did not slow down. I started concentrating on her clit and it wasn't long before I felt Loretta wracked by a major orgasm. I cleaned up all the excess juices and then slid back up to her nipples. I devoured them as I rubbed my cock back and forth over her pussy lips. I felt her arch up, trying to slide my cock inside her. I would not allow it, however. I kept control and teased her steaming cunt for a couple more minutes. Then, with no warning, I plunged into her, all the way to the hilt.

Loretta wailed some sort of primal scream as I hit bottom! It was like nothing I had ever heard from her. I briefly wondered if there was any way Lil didn't hear it, but I was too far gone to be able to concentrate on anything but the wet, hot pussy around my cock. I pounded Loretta for another five minutes and drew at least two more of those eerie moans form her before I emptied my balls inside her. We were both drenched in sweat as I drained myself and slowly slid off her. My cock popped out as I rolled off her and tried to catch my breath. Loretta snuggled as close to me as she could and fell asleep with her head on my shoulder. I felt great!

I spent the next day thinking about Loretta and the great sex we had enjoyed the previous night. It was as good, or possibly better than our honeymoon. We were much more missionary back then. I had a taste of good sex and I was thinking of ways to make it better. Knowing that Loretta wanted me to lead her in sexual situations allowed me some room to be creative.

I was actually on my ab machine when Loretta and Lil came in that night. I remembered they were planning on shopping so I didn't really expect them home before the stores closed. I heard them speaking in the kitchen. I looked at my screen and saw Lil bent over, reaching into the refrigerator. What a sweet ass! It was shaped perfectly. She had another short skirt on and it accented the curve of her legs. All in all, she was as a woman should be. 

Then I saw Lil walk into the kitchen from the living room! I had been admiring Loretta's ass and didn't realize it. Loretta stood up and turned around. I couldn't believe how full and firm her tits looked. She was wearing a low cut sweater and it really flattered her figure. The difference the clothes made was startling. Loretta was a very sexy lady!

The two were laughing and talking as they threw a salad together. It was obvious they were friends from way back.

"I heard you last night, Loretta," teased Lil. "I was this close to dialing 911. Do you always scream and moan like that? And you told me that Don wasn't all that interested in sex. I think you are just trying to talk me out of trying him out for myself."

"I was a bit vocal, wasn't I?" laughed Loretta. "I don't know what got into me last night."

I do! It was Don, and I strongly suspect he was balls deep the way you carried on," interjected Lil. "I noticed the smile on your face while we were shopping. I know what causes a smile like that on a woman."

I was beginning to feel pretty good! It seems that I wasn't the pathetic limp-dicked loser I had been portrayed to be by my loving wife the previous evening.

"Did he do you doggy-style and spank your ass while he was filling you with his big cock?" Lil asked.

Loretta turned to look at Lil.

"I never said Don had a big cock and he has never lifted a hand against me!" Loretta proclaimed.

"It just sounds better to be rammed with a big cock, doesn't it?" chided Lil. "I'm not talking about abuse. A little spanking during sex is a turn on. My husband likes to redden my bottom while he is fucking me. It makes me cum like you wouldn't believe."

"It seems that you and your husband have quite a wild sex life, Lil," conceded Loretta. "I'm just surprised he spanks you."

"He makes me leave my panties home when we go out for the evening. If I forget and wear them, he makes me give them to a waiter, or bartender, or a bellhop. He likes me to look as desirable and wanton as possible," admitted Lil. "It excites him to have other men want me and give me that look."

"That look?" asked Loretta.

"Yes, the look. The look men give you when they want to fuck you. The look that salesman gave you when you came out of the changing room wearing that outfit," chuckled Lil. "I saw the way he looked you over. I saw you blush and smile back at him, too, you little tramp!"

"My God! You saw that?" gasped Loretta. "It felt like he was undressing me right there. He was so obvious!"

"Get used to it, Girl. The clothes you bought today will cause that to happen a lot," predicted Lil.

"I hope Don doesn't think I look to trashy in those outfits," confided Loretta. "He is used to me being conservative."

"Oh, yeah, he'll complain constantly, if he can get his hard-on to go down!" laughed Lil. "Husbands want their wives to be desired by other men. It is a macho thing. They are sending little signals to each other that women can't hear."

"Signals? Asked Loretta.

"Yes, signals," answered Lil. "Hey buddy, do you see that really hot little minx? That's my wife and I fuck her brains out every night. Makes you wish you were me, doesn't it?'

Both women broke into laughter as they left the room. That damn Lil seemed uncommonly aware of the male thought process.

That night was a repeat of the previous night's sex, except more kinky. I did everything I did the night before, except I added a little doggy fuck with a light spanking. I reached around and pinched Loretta's nipples as she neared an orgasm and she went off again. I would not have been surprised if the neighbors called the cops. Afterward we curled up together and slept like babies.

I decided to do some sex research the next day. I read several stories and articles about sex and pleasing your partner. I read about sex games couples play, in public and in private. When Lil left, I was going to insist that Loretta indulge in some of them with me.

The ladies spent very little time in the kitchen that night. I was disappointed. I was anxious to learn what they thought of my performance the previous night. That night in bed I had Loretta practically howling at the moon! She must have cum five or six times and sucked my cock dry twice.

It must have been around 3AM when I felt her stir and getup and shuffle off to the bathroom. I heard her tinkling in the guest bath and wondered about that in a fuzzy, sleep-filled way. She always used the master bath. I was almost back in a deep sleep when I felt the bed move as she got back in. As she snuggled up to me, I noticed something different. It was the perfume! The scent was different. It was the scent that Lil wore! 

By this time she had my cock in her hand and was working her way down with her mouth. I came awake instantly. It was Lil in bed with me! I squeezed her tits and I could tell they were slightly bigger than Loretta's. I pushed her head down and felt her take my cock in her mouth. I cursed myself for coming at least three times with Loretta earlier that night. Then I decided to make it work for me. I would be able to fuck for hours without losing my erection!

I let her suck me for a few minutes, then I pulled her back and dove into her pussy, face-first. I had been eating Loretta's love nest quite well, but I outdid myself on Lil. I sucked and nibbled her clit and her pussy lips. I licked her easy and hard. I sucked her juices from her and finally I felt her try to push my head away. She was making gagging noises as she tried to keep from moaning too loudly. Then I flipped her over and spanked her hard. I knew she liked it when her husband did it, so I figured what the hell. 

Her ass felt hot to my touch and her cunt was dripping fluids. I put my cock at her entrance and pushed in. It was incredibly tight and wet. I knew then that her husband had to have a smaller cock than mine. She was having orgasms until they just rolled into one continuous procession. Then I gave her the little nipple-twist I had so recently perfected and she actually squirted all over my cock. That was more than I could take and I deployed my troops as deeply as I could. It was probably deeper than her husband had ever attained! I don't know if she fell asleep or passed out then, but I collapsed next to her and never heard another thing until the phone rang.

I looked around in a daze. The clock said 10:17 AM! I had slept at least three hours later than usual. I crawled across the bed and picked up the receiver.

"Don?" came the male voice on the other end. "I am sorry to bother you, but my supplier is asking about that camera I loaned you. He wants it back for some reason and I stalled him, but I promised I would give it to him early tomorrow morning."

"Bob?" I finally croaked. "I'm sorry if there has been any trouble. I will get it back immediately. It works great, by the way."

"Glad to her it, Don. I know I promised you could have it till Saturday, but I have to get it back. I will be going your way this evening. Can we meet at Friday's at 6:30 tonight?" he asked. "I'll get it from you then, okay?"

I agreed, somewhat reluctantly and hung up. I spent another hour remembering the incredible night I had just had. I had gone from a guy that was lucky to get laid a couple times a month to a guy that had mind-blowing sex with two beautiful women in the same night. No wonder I had slept so long!

I liked Loretta's new look and was anxious to take her out and see how our friends reacted to my hot wife. Lil had drawn the wildcat in her into the open. I had learned to be more assertive, more thoughtful of her, and more eager to experiment and to please my wife. I promised myself that she would not be wearing panties when we went out from now on!

I had the camera and the receiver disconnected and in a bag to return to Bob when Loretta and Lil came in that evening. They were laughing when I walked into the kitchen. I was sure that I had seen Lil walking a little gingerly when she went into the house, and that made me smile. They had no idea that I knew their little ruse.

"Hello, ladies! You look beautiful this evening," I complimented them as I gave each a little kiss. "Are you wearing any panties?"

"Don!" scolded Loretta. "How can you talk that way in front of a guest?"

"That is something a man should find out for himself, rather than ask," laughed Lil. 

It sounded like a challenge, but a challenge I dared not accept, not with Lil. I reached down and felt Loretta's ass. 

"I am glad you wear them to work, Loretta. What say we all go out for dinner tomorrow night?" I suggested. "I would take you out tonight, but I have to have a short meeting with my publisher in an hour."

"Lil has to leave tonight, Don. Her seminar is done early and her husband wants her to come home. I will be taking her to the airport in a few minutes," Loretta stated.

I embraced Lil in a tight hug and gave her a kiss.

"You are always welcome here, Lil. Stop in again. It was great having you spend some time with us," I told her. "Loretta, let's meet at the Cove for dinner at 8:30. It is on the way back for you and I won't be too far from there."

"Don!" beamed Loretta. 'You haven't taken me out to dinner in some time. I will be delighted to meet you there!"

I went to the door and turned back to Loretta.

"Wear that same outfit, but don't have any panties on!"

I saw her face turn red as I turned and headed out to return the camera to Bob. I felt great and marveled at how lucky I had been to have Bob offer to loan me that camera when he did. Every now and then things fall into place and the universe is perfect!

I did not have the benefit of a spy device to hear what Lil and Loretta talked about after I left. I was totally oblivious to it, in fact.

Loretta rushed to Lil and gave her a big hug.

"Nancy, you did everything you said you would, and more!" Loretta gushed. "It is the best money I ever spent!"

"We have a very good success rate, as I told you when you hired us," agreed Nancy/Lil. "I was afraid you blew it when you called me Nancy, though. We were lucky Don didn't pick up on it."

"I know it! It was just a slip. That camera trick is great! Last night, Don was positive he has fucking your brains out. I couldn't believe what a tiger he was!"

"Tell me about it!" laughed Lil/Nancy. "I never heard two people make so much noise during sex. You had me wishing it was me! It sounds like Don is taking the other suggestions I made about panties and having you be sexier in public. Your sex live has really improved, just like Bob and I told you it would."

"Thanks so much, Nancy. I will take you out to meet Bob now. He'll be getting that camera from Don shortly," Loretta predicted.

"We have been contacted by a politician's wife in New York. She wants pretty much the same service," confided Lil/Nancy. "Bob will be 'bumping' into her husband tomorrow and loaning the camera to him. I will show up at the door as an old friend and hopefully, we'll get the same results. I have to tell you, Loretta, that you and Don may be the best success story our business has had in the three years we have been spicing up marriages."