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Dark Impulse

By: Willailla



~I will give them paradise and eternal life, then I will deceive them into disobeying me so that I can torment them in the flames of hell forever~

*

ONE

I didn't press the recorded message button. I knew it would be Victor. I didn't want to hear from him ever again. I threw on a pair of jeans, t-shirt and athletic shoes. Grabbed a pack of cigarettes and shoved it in the side pocket of my sports jacket as I left my second floor apartment.

The smell of burning leaves was in the air. Commuters going home from work had already passed, leaving the streets empty. I lit a cigarette as I walked toward the campus. The library was practically empty The fluorescent lights of the glassed in foyer mimicked the light of the leaden sky.

The girl was there, sitting in a booth by the entrance door. She checked people leaving to make sure they didn't steal any anything. There wasn't much of anyone to check. I glanced at the book she was reading: A History of Prostitution.

I'd seen her before on campus, walking around or in the Sub. A nice dish-water blonde with blue eyes. Nice body. She was wearing a button-up-the-front blouse and a gray skirt.

"Considering a profession not in the curriculum?"

She smiled. "It's really interesting."

"Hmm." 

"My name's Beth," she said, extending her hand.

"Vian," I said. "James Vian."

We shook hands. Hers was small, soft and warm.

I felt need spread throughout my loins like a drop of ink in a glass of water. There was no controlling it. Not that I tried.

"Are you doing research?"

"No, not tonight. Just dropped in to see if the library still has books." I paused. "One of the English professors is throwing a party on the east end."

"That's too far out. My boyfriend doesn't have a car."

"Hmm." Well that fucking ball didn't bounce. I thought I detected a little peevishness in her voice when she'd said, My boyfriend.

When I came back from the stacks I was surprised to see she was waiting for me. We walked out by the fountain next to the library and down some steps to the parking lot. She moved next to me, and I put my arm around her waist. We got in her beat up Honda, and she drove me to her apt. on 2nd Street near the campus. She parked up an alley in a gravel lot and led me up wooden back steps to her apt. 

It was neat and tidy. The kitchen led in to a living room. A doorway to the right opened on a bedroom.

"I have to take a shower," she said.

I sat on a green couch facing the bedroom doorway. She stepped out of sight and, after a moment, walked passed the doorway toward the bathroom wearing a terrycloth robe. She glanced at me as she did so.

I smiled to myself. Obviously she was more than just a little peeved with her boyfriend and, foolishly, was going to use me to get back at him. What the fuck? She had a car even if he didn't?

I heard the sound of the shower came on.

I pulled the opaque curtain to the side. She had firm full tits, narrow waist and a modestly unshaven cunt. I stepped inside the stall and grabbed her. She gasped as I placed my hands behind her knees and lifted her up. The head of my cock brushed up against her cunt. She encircled my neck with her arms as I pushed into her forcing her back against the tiles. I bit her neck. I wanted to tear out the flesh. I bit down hard on the tits, pulling the nipples out between my clenched teeth.

Later, that evening we were in bed when I heard footsteps coming up the front indoor steps. Someone knocked. I felt her tense. A young man's voice called out her name and knocked several more times. I got on top of her. She humped against me like a wild animal.

I walked back to my apt. late that night.

My answering machine was flashing again. Leave me alone, Victor. Leave me alone.

I pressed the button. It wasn't Victor.

"James, when you get this message, come. The door is unlocked."

It was Miller.

I climbed into my ten year old Mustang and headed out to Glendale Estates, an upscale community, and pulled up in front of a townhouse of gray brick and green shudders next to Miller's BMW. The security guard passed by and waved. He had seen me before. 

She was spread-eagled, naked, face down on her Queen-sized bed. Her arms and legs cuffed to the four corners. There was a white ball gag in her mouth smeared with bright red lip stick. A leather riding crop lay on her shapely ass. She looked at me, her hazel eyes wide with fear.

On the night table was a note with instructions. I read it carefully then lit it with a silver lighter and burned it in the ashtray. I undressed slowly. When she saw the size of my cock she shook her head with a pleading expression. Spittle oozed from her lips coating the white ball and dripping to the peach-colored silk sheet.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and ran my hands over her supple body. I grabbed a handful of her long black hair and pulled her head up until the back of it almost touched her shoulders. She whimpered, her buttocks quivering. A little more and I could've broken her neck. I was tempted.

I could whip her first then fuck her or I could fuck her first then whip her.

But there had to be blood.

I pressed a button on a console that started a video camera. The whole event was to be recorded.

I picked up the whip and flexed it. The leather made a crackling sound. I teased her with it, stroking her ass gently, pushing it over her cunt, then I started with light taps up and down her body. I loved the way her muscles bunched in anticipation; the way her ass cheeks drew tightly together. My strokes became harder; her hands balled into fists. Then harder, much harder. Her muffled cries louder. I worked on the tender soles of her feet until they turned beet red and the toes curled in. I hit the ass until large welts swelled up—red then purple then bleeding.

I was like a mad man swinging the crop as hard as I could. Sweat came from every pore, rivulets trickled down my heaving chest. I covered her whole body with welts until it looked like enemy territory laid waste by marauding troops. Gasping for breath, I climbed between her legs and shoved my cock in her ass. Her cheeks gripped me so tightly that I thought I'd never stop coming.

TWO

Harold worked as a night watchman at Dell Manor, a day care center for mentally handicapped children. I had met him in a bar after coming back from L.A. And we had hit it off from the first and gotten into the habit of hanging out together with a couple of girls he knew. Debra was a dark haired beauty with blue eyes and a sexy figure. She was up for anything anytime—a game player. Jean was a Plain Jane with auburn hair and brown eyes, never said much, always content just to follow.

Debra had an apt. on a tree lined lane near a cemetery. Jean lived with her aunt on a dinky side street. 

Harold had car trouble, so I picked him up then the girls. 

Debra's camera dangled from a leather strap around her neck. "Let's go to the cemetery," she said. "I want to take some pictures."

"Photos," Jean said.

Debra made a face.

I parked by the office, and we all got out and started walking up one of those winding avenues all large cemeteries have until we were the only ones about among hundreds and hundreds of tombstones and tombs. All about us hundreds of game players, once like us, locked forever in their dark coffins or marble vaults, forgotten.

Debra stepped off the pavement. "We go this way." 

We followed her until we were in an isolated spot out of sight.

I knew what was coming.

Jean unbuttoned her blouse. Debra snapped some photos. Harold and I stripped. 

I lay down face up. 

"Get on top of him, Jean."

She straddled me and lowered herself until her cunt was poised just above my cock. I could feel her cunt hairs brush lightly against the head.

"Go on. Put it in."

She did, and her cunt was tight. Slowly, she slid down on me until I was fully in her and she was sitting straddle my hips. Her face and chest turned red. She raised her face to the sky with her eyes closed. She moved up and down on me, moaning softly. Then faster and faster until her small breasts were jiggling. "Oh, god; oh, god." She was wobbling about crazily. I could feel her cunt muscles squeezing around my cock like a velvet fist.

I pulled her forward onto my chest. Her mouth was against my ear, her moans and hot breath. Harold got behind her and eased his cock into her ass. Her body shuddered as he pounded into her.

When we were through, we got dressed and left her lying naked on the ground.

THREE

Driving back to my apartment, after dropping everyone off, I suddenly realized it would be left up to me to come back and pick her up. I'd just as soon leave her there to rot, but what the hell. 

Groaning, I turned the car around. I should have had a scarecrow to guide me. All the avenues looked the same. I hadn't paid much attention. After a few tries, though, I found the right one. And it was a good thing I'd come back, for the dumb bitch was walking toward the office. I guess she hadn't planned on spending the whole night.

I scrolled down the window and told her to get in. I gave her my jacket. Seeing her naked again made me realize she wasn't as scrawny as I'd thought. She was tall and slender but like a runway model. She had small tits but they suited her. Her auburn hair usually hung in a ratty tangle halfway down her back but a good shampoo and brushing would have done wonders. Had she had more than a plain face she could have been striking. I guess.

I drove her to her aunt's. We went in to the back up an unpaved alley. Her aunt lived in an old shotgun with tall oak trees all about. She didn't want to walk naked into the house, so I went with her in order to get my jacket back.

Her aunt was passed out on a swaybacked sofa. A half a bottle of whiskey lay on the floor next to her. She was on her back, naked.

"You can fuck her, if you want. She won't wake up."

I spread her legs, forcing her knees up to her chest. She wasn't bad looking for a drunk. Maybe late thirties, early forties. She had red lipstick on, and light green eye shadow. The lipstick was streaked over one cheek. There were faint round scars on her breasts and belly, which was still taut like a young girl's.

"Sometimes men burn her with cigarettes. She has false teeth if you want to fuck her in the mouth."

I didn't expect her to be tight, but she was. The old sofa creaked with each thrust. It smelled moldy. I came fast, draining my tube. Jean lit a cigarette from the pack I had in my jacket and handed it to me.

I pressed it against her left breast until I smelled burning flesh, then the other one.

When I was dressed, Jean gave me my jacket, and, as I was leaving, settled down in front of the TV to watch a sitcom.

FOUR

She was sitting in the booth still reading about the history of prostitution. 

"I broke up with my boyfriend," she said.

"Must've been tragic." She didn't catch the sarcasm.

She nodded.

"Do something for me."

"What?"

"Take off your clothes."

"What, you mean right now?"

I nodded.

"You're kidding. I can't take my clothes off here."

"Sure you can. All you have to do is scoot your stool back and crouch down in the booth. Nobody will see you."

"I can't."

"It's not crowded."

"Mrs. Wright is there behind the check out desk. She might see, and someone might come in or go out...I can't."

"Would you, if you knew no one would catch you?"

She nodded.

"Okay, then, take your panties off and give them to me. You can do that."

She bit her lip then eased up off the stool. She lifted up her skirt and tugged her panties down quickly, balled them up and sat back down, her face flushed. I took the panties and shoved them in my pocket.

"Now your bra," I said. I flicked open my switchblade and lay it on the counter before her. You can cut the straps with this."

She crunched down in the booth and unbuttoned the top of her blouse. She cut the bra straps, unhooked the front fastener and sat back up. She held the bra in her lap and when no one was watching handed it to me. 

She lay in my arms. 

"I was so afraid," she said.

"Afraid I was going to make you take all your clothes off?"

"Yes."

"You would have."

"I didn't think so...but now I'm not so sure. You make me feel powerless, excited. I've never felt that way before."

The phone rang. I picked up when I heard Victor's voice.

"It's about time Jamie. You shouldn't keep old Victor waiting on pins and needles to hear from you. How's it going? Still trying to keep the monster at bay?"

"I told you, Victor. I'm no longer in the game. Find somebody else."

"Oh, don't think I can't. You're not irreplaceable, you know, and I have bosses who expect me to maintain a tight ship--no loose cannons." 

Victor paused. I waited for what was coming next.

"Why waste your talent, Jamie, doddering about when you can get paid for what you do naturally?"

"I like being free, Victor," I rubbed my hand over Beth's breasts and down her belly and stroked the triangle of pubic hair. She flinched.

"Fuck this shit, Jamie. I'm running a business. A very lucrative business with a very select and demanding clientele. I can't afford to let you or anyone else slide. I'm expecting you back in the fold, Jamie. And you don't want to disappoint me."

I hung the phone up when it went silent.

"Who was that?" Beth asked.

"Nobody," I said. "Just an old employer who wants me back."

"Hmm, you must have been good at what you did."

FIVE

It was raining when I woke up. I got dressed and picked up my umbrella. Listening to the rain bounce off it, I lit a cigarette. I liked to take long walks in the rain. It somehow soothed me. I headed downtown toward the river. Victor worried me. You don't cross him and stay healthy. Cars went by, their tires making swishing sounds on the wet streets. One, a gray Porsche, stopped next to me.

It was Carla. "Want a ride?"

"Why not?" I got in. It smelled of rich new Italian leather and Carla's French perfume.

She drove us to a upmarket hotel, The Towers, and gave the car over to an attendant. We entered an elevator and arrived at a top floor bar with a panoramic view of the smudged sky, the angular city and the smoky river.

"Something stirred not shaken," she said to the waiter.

Carla was a statuesque blonde with green eyes. She was wearing a skin tight, green leather, low-cut mini dress with straps and a stainless steel zipper running top to bottom in front.

Carla had a dark side, too.

"Victor wants you back?"

"I gather."

She lit a cigarette with a gold lighter. "Why not? What else can you do? People like you and I are made for one thing and one thing only. You can fight what you are, but in the end you'll give in. I know. I tried to break away, just like you, but what's the alternative really, to live like the common herd? That's all illusion. You're too evolved to want that. Besides you don't cross Victor."

"I'll make it."

"No...you won't. And how would you live even if you did?"

I had no answer.

"You see," she smiled. "You're just like me." She tapped her cigarette on the ashtray. "Impulsive." She brought the cigarette to her mouth and slowly inhaled, then let the smoke drift out through her nostrils. "Let's do something kinky."

"Out of curiosity, what?"

"A very rich man wants his young wife trained. We can do anything we want to her. Something perverted."

"Anything?" Despite myself, I felt the need growing inside me.

"Well...within limits. Nothing medieval you know. Fucking mostly. We tape it. That's all he's interested in. At least that's what he says."

"They're always afraid to say want they really want, aren't they?"

"Always." Carla gave me a speculative look. "She's very attractive. Well educated—though somewhat naive like most rich people. I've already made friends with her. I'll introduce you to her, then we will seduce her." 

The waiter brought our drinks. Carla took a sip. "Shame we can't rip her guts out."

SIX

It was a warm fall day. The sun was out, and fluffy white clouds lingered in a brilliantly blue sky. Carla had the top down on her Porsche. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a bun; her beautiful face masked behind dark sunglasses. We cruised along by the river passing one mansion after another set back on their opulent lawns among majestic oaks behind pristine white fences.

Carla was dressed conservatively in a pearl white blouse open at the throat, a modest gray skirt and tan slip-ons. I wore a navy-blue polo shirt, gray slacks and brown loafers.

At our destination there was the obligatory long winding tree-lined driveway that ended at a two story rustic mansion all stone, glass and thick wood beams.

The young bride, Gina Corzalka, was around back on her knees in a greenhouse tending to a grouping of yellow orchids. She stood up when we entered smiling shyly. She was, as Carla had said, attractive. Short ashen hair framed an oval face that had a streak of dirt on one cheek. The eyes were soft gray. She stood about medium height and was wearing yellow pedal-pushers and a tan blouse unbuttoned on top revealing deep cleavage. 

"Hi, Carla." She exclaimed with such enthusiasm that you knew she was sincere.

"This is my brother, James."

She took a cotton glove off and shook my hand. Charming.

"I think I already know you. Carla has told me all about you. Filming documentaries and all that. Though why you'd want to waste your time filming me I'll never know." She rubbed at the streak of dirt on her cheek.

Carla chuckled. "Don't ask. He never reveals his whys and what-fors." Carla patted me indulgently on the shoulder.

"I'm afraid I'm not much of an artist," Gina said, "I've got my orchids I'm developing for a hobby, but I really don't know much about them yet. I would really like to hear about your work, the places you've been. It must be exciting."

"Don't get him started or that'll be all he'll talk about," Carla said.

"Oh, I wouldn't mind." 

Carla gave me a look.

"Anytime," I said.

"I know." Carla looked at me. "Why don't you film Gina puttering around in her greenhouse...as a kind of introduction, you know, then how 'bout we go out and paint the town red tonight?"

"Or green or blue," Gina said, then grinned awkwardly as if she thought she might have sounded foolish.

SEVEN

"Where's hubby?" I asked Carla while Gina was upstairs getting ready to go out.

"Burt? Somewhere in Mexico, I expect. He runs drugs into the country for the CIA with a fleet of trucks he owns. She, of course, doesn't know anything about it. Bryn Mawr. Pampered wealth and all that."

There were footsteps and Gina came down the stairs to where we were sitting by a massive stone fire place.

She was wearing a long-sleeved black mini dress with a Mandarin collar and black spiked heels.

"Nice," I said.

She smiled, and actually blushed.

"There's only room for two," Gina said, with dismay, when we came to the Porsche.

"Well then, let's go bats," Carla said. "You can sit on James' lap."

"I won't mind," I said.

Gina smiled.

Carla dropped me off at my place to change while she drove off with Gina to the hotel.

When they returned, Carla was wearing the green leather mini dress.

I was wearing a loose fitting, purple shirt with black leather pants.

The dance floor of the Midnight Lounge was packed. The music was a canny mixture of Latino, rock and progressive jazz. The ceiling pulsed with a blue light while the dance floor lay in an anonymous twilight. One could fuck there and not be noticed.

Men asked Carla to dance, since I was sitting closer to Gina, but she refused them. 

"I danced a few with Gina, holding her close, my hands on her ass. Then Carla danced with her. We plied her with drink until she was woozy. Then we drove her back home. In the glow of the dashboard, I pulled down the zipper of her dress and kissed her back. I felt her body tremble. She lay her head on my shoulder moaning softly. When we got there, Carla took the camera out of the trunk. Gina leaned against me as I took her up the stairs to her bedroom. Carla circled us like the paparazzi constantly filming.


Dark Impulse



FIFTEEN

I got the gang together. It was night when we drove out to Glendale where Doolittle's house was situated on a corner facing a large park on two sides. Behind was a stone cliff and to the side a thick hedge that blocked any view from the house next door. 

The windows were dark except for one which cast the flickering glow of a TV screen. We put on our ski masks and got out, except for Jean who got in the driver's seat and drove off in case security passed by.

Doolittle had given me the key to the house, so getting in would be easy. We sneaked up the driveway next to the hedge to the back of the house. There was a screened-in back porch and the door was latched, so I had to cut the screen and lift the latch. The key fit the indoor lock. I eased it open slowly. According to what Doolittle had told me, about the layout of the house, the room with the flickering light would be the master bedroom which was on the other side. I turned on a pen light to guide us.

"What if she's got someone with her?" Debra whispered.

"How do you spell screwed?" I replied.

We went through a kitchen into a dining room then some kind of office-library and into a sunken living room. Beyond was a hallway at the end of which was a traverse hall that had a guest bedroom on one end; a bathroom in the middle and the master bedroom on the other end.

Suddenly, Lisa appeared at the end of the hallway, her nude body outlined by the luminous glow from the master bedroom. She flicked on the bathroom light. In a moment there was the sound of a shower turned on. Harold and I put our backs to the wall on either side of the bathroom door. I reached in and flicked the light switch off. I heard Lisa utter a curse and the shower went off. There was the pad of wet feet on the tile floor. I grabbed her wrist as she came to the doorway. Harold grabbed the other. She let out a piercing scream, but there was no one to hear it.

Debra hit her in the stomach, and we dragged her back into the bedroom. I got my camera out of the duffel Debra had carried and began filming as she and Harold spread-eagled her to the bed. 

"Let me go you cocksuckers!"

"Shut up, bitch," Debra said, and slapped her hard back and forth. Then strapped a leather blindfold on her. "Scream all you want, bitch. It'll only excite us more."

Harold got between her legs, so excited his banana cock was jerking up against his belly. He fumbled a thrust then got it right and rammed home.

Lisa grimaced, clenching her teeth, her tits jiggling as Harold slammed into her. Up and down his ass went faster and faster until his body went spastic. When it was over he collapsed on top of her, panting like a dog. I took my turn on her then Debra straddled her and made her lick her cunt.

When we were through, I dialed a number on my cell phone. "She's ready," I said.

About twenty minutes later, Doolittle and Jean came in and Harold and Debra left. I stayed to finish filming. Without saying a word the doctor took off his clothes and climbed on the bed between Lisa's legs. His cock was big and hard. Enough, in my opinion, to satisfy any woman. But Lisa was one of those women who liked to sample a variety of meat. The doctor wasn't in a mood to be gentle. He slapped her face hard as he rammed his cock in her then bit down savagely on her tits. Her screams were piercing. When he was through with her, he pulled out, dripping copious amounts of come on her thighs. He went into the bathroom, took a shower then came back and sat down in an armchair. Jean held the flame of a butane lighter against Lisa's nipples then her clit. The screams were beyond anything human. This was truly the cry of the damned in hell. Doolittle was hard again. Lust was sculpted into every facial feature. He climbed back on her and spared her nothing, thrusting into her relentlessly. By now there was only endless whimpers and cries of agony coming from her. Her wrists and ankles bled as she tore at her restrains. He hit her with his fists, screaming epithets like a madman—which by now he was.

He was still beating her when Jean and I left. 

SIXTEEN

A few days later, according to the local news, the Doolittles's cleaning lady found the nude couple in their bedroom. Mrs. Doolittle, dead from multiple blunt force injuries, was restrained on their bed while Dr. Doolittle was slumped over in an armchair, dead from a self inflicted gun shot. Murder-suicide apparently.

And I had practically all of it on tape. What the media would have paid for that. But, the drawback would be in explaining how I came by such a tape.

As a nude Alice was fixing me breakfast, there was a knock on the door. I put her in the closet and answered it. A slim attractive woman in a gray suit announced herself as Detective Sergeant Williams with the RCPD.

"I'm doing a routine investigation into the murder-suicide of Dr. Doolittle and his wife."

"Tragic, I said. I heard about it on the news. The world has lost a great man."

Her face remained passive, but I could tell she knew bull shit when she heard it.

"You were his patient, were you not?"

"Yes, that's right."

"And you saw him on the morning of the same day he killed himself?"

I nodded.

"Did he seem upset, out of sorts, in any way?"

"Hmm, not that I recall."

"Hmph, that's odd. His secretary says, that after you left, he canceled all his remaining appointments for that day and stormed out of his office."

I shrugged. "Beats me. But why all the questions about what was just a murder-suicide?"

"Just routine."

She had a nice body. Like a dancer. Lush brown hair and grayish-blue eyes. Faint pink lipstick with a touch of mauve eye shadow. I wondered if she had handcuffs and a gun. I was getting turned on.

"I was wondering..." she said, "just what it is you do for a living?" Her grayish-blue eyes searched my face. She was good at concealing her feelings, but it's hard for a woman to resist me. I am, after all, fairly good looking. I could see interest in those perfect eyes.

"I film documentaries." I paused. "Say, would you like to come in? I'm sure you would be more comfortable sitting down. I forget my manners sometimes. Coffee?"

As she stepped inside I found myself wondering what she would look like hanging naked from a tree limb.

"Yes, please. Cream."

There was a brief awkwardness as her officious persona was dropped and her social feminine side emerged. As I made coffee, I saw her glance around the barren room. 

"I lead a Spartan-like existence," I said. "I only splurge on cigarettes, haute cuisine, women, booze, riotous living and fast cars."

She smiled.

There was only a double wide bed with a nightstand, a table against a wall with three straight back chairs, and a laptop on the table. There were no pictures on the walls. The thought suddenly hit me that I would like to have Doolittle's painting of his nude wife.

She pulled out a chair from the table and sat down crossing shapely legs. She was wearing high heels, and I wondered how she would chase criminals in them.

I sat our coffees on the table and took a seat across from her. She sipped hers leaving a trace of lipstick on its white edge, like lipstick smeared on a white ball gag.

"There's one thing that puzzles me," she said, after a moment.

"Oh, really. "What's that?"

"Well, Doolittle's wife had third degree burns on her nipples and vagina."

"Doolittle burned her?"

"Um, that's just it. There was no cigarette lighter or matches about."

"That's odd," I said, nodding thoughtfully.

"Yes, I thought so, too."

"How do you explain it?"

She raised the coffee cup almost to her lips, paused, her eyes fixed on me. "There had to have been somebody else there." 

I pretended surprise. "You think someone killed them and made it look like a murder-suicide?

"Hmm, don't know. It's a big house. Perhaps Doolittle left the bedroom for some reason, before he whacked himself, and left the lighter elsewhere. If he'd used matches to burn her there should have been remnants lying about. But there weren't any."

"Hmm, sounds like an intriguing murder mystery that would make a great subject for a documentary."

She smiled and glanced at my camcorder sitting on its tripod by the closet. She got up and walked over to it. Her heels clicked on the wood floor. "Is this what you use for your documentaries?" She stood with her back arched, the palms of her hands resting on the back of her hips, the fingertips pointed downward. It was an enticing pose done unconsciously on her part. 

"No, I just carry that around on the off chance of something unusual popping up." The tape I'd taken at Doolittle's was still in it.

"I'm a complete klutz when it comes to cameras, lighting, focusing and all that." 

"That's pretty much automatic," I said. "Hard to screw up."

She popped out the viewer and pressed the play button. Fortunately the battery was drained.

"I guess you've been taping a lot," she said, and flipped the viewer shut. 

Like all good cops, she had a strongly developed sixth sense. I was certain that she felt there was a connection between me and what happened to the Doolittles, but what that was she didn't know. I lit a cigarette and saw her eyes fix on the bluish flame. Was she wondering what it would feel like on her nipples? 

When she was at the door getting ready to leave, I asked her if she would like to go out sometime. She gave me her number. I knew she would. I was her only lead.

SEVENTEEN

It was late at night when I climbed into my silver Mustang and drove to Glendale. I circled the Doolitttle place several times. No lights were on. I would have to be quick. I backed into the driveway so my license plate didn't show. Yellow police tape was strung from the garage to the screened-in porch. I keyed open the door, snapping on my flashlight.

This shit was risky, but necessary. I paused at the door of the master bedroom and took out my lighter. I couldn't put it some place difficult to find. They'd probably searched the place thoroughly and wouldn't be likely to do so again. I rubbed off any fingerprints and tossed it on the floor near the baseboard at the head of the bed. It might be too obvious, but, what the hell, shit happens. Somebody would get an ass chew for incompetence. I backed out and stepped into the living room.

The lights came on.

Detective Williams was standing on the other side of the room at the office doorway. Smiling wryly. An automatic aimed at me.

"I thought you would show up after I mentioned that there wasn't a lighter at the crime scene. I had a hunch you were implicated somehow when Doolittle's secretary told me how he reacted to your visit. And here you are with a key to the back door and tossing a lighter into the bedroom. I told my colleagues about the missing lighter, but they weren't interested. It looked like a murder-suicide so that's what they decided it would be."

"That's what it was," I said. "All I did was film some of it—not the murder-suicide. I had no idea that was going to happen. We left before that—"

"We?"

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the darkened office door way and struck Williams on the head with a bronze bookend. She sank to the floor.

"Good thing I came," Jean said. "I got to thinking that I had fucked up by not leaving my lighter here."

EIGHTEEN

We tied and gagged Williams and put her in my trunk. I took a winding road through the park toward Jean's Aunt's place.

"I tried to call you," she said, "but you didn't answer, so I cut across the park to the Doolittles."

"Good thing you did."

"How do you like my hair?" she said. "I shampoo it everyday and brush it."

"Spiffy."

Jean's aunt was sitting at the kitchen table smoking and reading a movie magazine. Her false teeth were in a glass filled with liquid cleaner next to her elbow.

"Where's the key's to the farm, Marie?"

"You're not going out there this late, are you?" She sucked on the cigarette, her cheeks hollowing inward.

"Yeah."

"On the mantle."

Jean went through a bedroom toward the living room. I waited with the aunt.

"I don't suppose you could lend me a few bucks for a bottle, could you? I'll fuck you for it."

The lights from houses thinned out the farther we drove from the city until the landscape was black and the highway a narrow dirt road. Then we pulled into a dirt driveway next to a white frame house with and open porch.

"This belonged to my daddy," she said. She lit a kerosene lantern as we got out. I opened the trunk. Williams had revived. Her grayish-blue eyes stared up at me. I picked her up onto my shoulder.

"We've got chickens and pigs," Jean said, as she led me through a gate and down a path toward a block house silhouetted against the black landscape. We stopped by a pig pen next to it. "See that big old hog there," she said, raising the lantern above her head. "That's Hugo. He was my daddy's favorite. He won a blue ribbon at the state fair. My daddy taught me how to butcher pigs and ring the necks off chickens. And lots of other stuff. He was a survivalist. He believed a person ought to know how to hunt and grow their own food in case there was ever a nuclear war."

Rain began to patter on the tin roof as we entered the block house. Jean flipped a switch and florescent lights bounced off a blood stained floor and ceiling onto a long stainless steel table. Steel hooks hung from tracks in the ceiling. A pulley with chain was suspended from another track. Large sacks of salt were stacked in a corner on top of pallets. A screened-in fan was built into one wall. Another had meat cleavers, skinners, bone cutters, saws and several other tools I didn't recognize hanging from pegs.

I put Williams on the table. Jean pulled the automatic from the waist band of her jeans and placed the barrel against her head. "We're going to untie you, lady, but try one fucking thing and I'll blow your goddamn brains out."

"You know," I said to Jean, as I began untying Williams, "I think you ought to use a little make up. Eye shadow, lipstick—a pink like she has on, maybe. Nothing heavy. And have a dentist clean your teeth."

"What's wrong with my teeth?" she said, crestfallen.

"Oh, nothing really, nothing. It's just that they're a little yellow. You probably don't brush them like you should. Maybe too much coffee or pot."

I removed the gag from Williams. Jean placed her thumb on her lip and pushed it up. "Her teeth are really white."

"That's because she takes care of them. So could you, and yours would be just as white."

"Get up," Jean said to Williams, when I'd untied her.

Williams hung her legs over the side of the table and eased herself onto the floor. "You'll never get away with this," she said.

"Oh, we will, yeah," Jean said, casually. She jerked the gun upward. "Take your clothes off."

Williams glanced around the room; at the blood stained walls; the meat hooks hanging from the ceiling; the cutting and sawing utensils. Her eyes were wide with fear.

"What are you going to do...to me?"

"If you have to ask you don't need to know."

Slowly, with trembling hands, she took off her jacket then unbuttoned her blouse. She lay them on the table and unhooked her bra, kicked her heels off, stepped out of her skirt and slid down her panties. All these she placed on the table--and with a sudden swipe, Jean brushed them off onto the floor. Williams inhaled abruptly, her tits swelling upward.

"Now put your elbows on the table."

She had a really nice body. Sleek and perfect. I could imagine her dancing Swan Lake. I took my clothes off and hung them on a peg. I wanted to feel her skin on mine. I positioned myself behind her and eased up. The touch of her warm smooth ass against the head of my cock was electrifying. I spread her ass cheeks and slowly forced my cock into her cunt. She arched her back and tried to pull away from me, but Jean grabbed her wrists and bent her over the table. I rammed into her so hard that she cried out. I was in and out of her like a piston in a race car. 

She was gasping as hard for breath as I. 

When I was finally done, I collapsed on top of her. 

I felt come dripping out of her onto my thighs. She twisted her head from side to side as if she were trying to shake what had happened from her head. My body rose and fell on top of her, from the force of her breathing, like a surfer riding the swells.

I pulled out of her. My cock was quivering, glistening with her juices.

Jean released her. She remained bent over the table. Suddenly her legs gave out from under her, and she sank to her knees then sprawled over onto the floor.

I picked her up and laid her out on the table. She placed her forearm over her eyes. Her thighs were wet. I climbed onto the table taking her legs up until her knees touched her tits. My cock had stayed hard. I leaned forward sinking deeply into her perfect flesh. She lowered her forearm. Her eyes were aglow. Teeth clenched. Her hips rose to meet my thrusts with a fierce anger. Her breath came in labored bursts from her nostrils. Her tits rising and falling rapidly. I couldn't hold back. I came so hard it was like shooting ground glass. 

As I withdrew, her eyes bore into me. With what thoughts I couldn't imagine.

I sacked her over my shoulder. Jean led the way. The pigs were suddenly alive with squealing. I kissed her perfect body and tossed her into the muddy pen.

NINETEEN

There was a knock at the door. A better-than-average looking guy of medium height, wearing a hooded sweat shirt and jeans, was standing there.

"I'm Barry, Tracy's boyfriend. She told me you had some really boss weed."

I recognized him from the sub. Cutie pie's guy. Pre-med.

"And you--"

"Wanted to buy an ounce. Trace said it was mind altering, course she's never smoked before." he chuckled. "But she said you said it was White Willow and that's some wicked shit."

"Hmm, is Trace with you?" I asked, using the familiar.

"Yeah, she's down in the car."

"It'll cost you four an ounce."

He tried to intimidate me by looking annoyed. "Man, that's kinda steep." 

"That's because I don't deal in chicken shit amounts. You want it cheaper buy in pounds." I paused, looking conciliatory. "But I know how it is--going to college and all. Must be expensive. You're a smart guy. So you've got Tracy footing part of the bill. Now she's alright for that, but when you get through med school you're gonna need a wife who is sharp and sophisticated—someone who can further your career socially and politically. So you can get the better class of suckers--er, patients. The Knob Hill crowd. And let's face it, Tracy's not that someone."

"Man, what the fuck are you saying?"

"Wait a minute," I said, and shut the door. I got an ounce of weed out of the closet and went back to the door. I handed it to him. 

"I'm saying I'll take it out in trade."

I watched him go down to the car and get in. Several minutes passed then Tracy got out and Barry drove off. I left the door open. I heard her footsteps on the stairs. She came in. I shut the door. There were tears on her cheeks. I unbuttoned her blouse then unhooked her bra. I got down and unlaced her joggers, pulled them off then the socks. I stood back up and unbuckled her belt and unzipped her jeans, pulling them down along with the panties.

I took my clothes off and led her to the bed.

There's no thrill greater than fucking someone's girl friend, especially when she has just realized she's being pimped. The only greater thrill would be to fuck a prepubescent girl. 

She lay down on the bed without being told to do so. She didn't move when I entered her. At first. Then she started raising her hips, rotating them, moaning, until, finally, she was gasping.

I gave her some weed to smoke after wards. Then when she was properly sedated, I injected her with cocaine while my dick was in her. She went wild.