Mystery

“Bruny,” I said. “I’m still getting used to the name. It’s an unusual one.”

“It’s named for the French explorer Bruni D’entrecastaux.”

“I love when you talk dirty to me.”

Jean-Luc shook his head. “You are so bad. Bruny has an amazing history. They have albino wallabies and fur seals…Kaia would love them.”

“I would love to hear all about it, but there’s a car coming for me any minute and I don’t know about you but I would love a quickie.”

Jean-Luc stopped mid-sentence. He looked down as I unbuttoned his Levis and reached in for his cock among the tight band of his white boxer briefs. I told him all the time to go commando, but the man just wouldn’t listen.

I kissed him, the heat rising between us instantly. I loved his cock and knelt to take it in my mouth. I sucked on him and he grew hard against my tongue. The silken feel of his skin gave way to smooth rigidity and as usual, it turned me on. I released him, dragging down his pants. My mouth went straight to his ankh tattoo, and he sighed.

“That was never an erogenous zone until I met you.”

I stood, turning him around. All I could think about was being in his beautiful, tight ass.

“Oh, no you don’t bitch.”

I loved when he got nasty.

“Your ass is mine and I plan to fill it up. I need to remind you what’s what.”

He undid my pants, turned me around so that I was facing the bathroom vanity. He rarely fucked me, because I wasn’t into being fucked so much…until I met Jean-Luc. Lately I’d enjoyed it. And he knew it, too.

I saw him disappear from the mirror, heard him close and lock the bathroom door and he yanked my pants down some more. He knelt behind me. his tongue dipping into my ass. Man, I loved what he did to me. He got me good and ready, but still, he fumbled in the drawer and retrieved a square of lube, opening it with his teeth.

“Fuck me,” I whispered, still amazed that I wanted it so much.

He straightened, smeared me with the cold gel and then he goddam let me have it. In the position I was in it felt like hell for a few seconds. He titled my hips and seemed to know exactly how to angle me so I’d be begging for his cock, begging for him to come inside me. He reached around, jerking on me and we came together.

A car started honking but he didn’t stop. I felt the twitch of his cock inside me.

Rongo parked and we ran to the elevator. I'm not a small man, around six feet tall, but he was six foot four and in such need, it woke up a five-bell alarm in me.

When you come close to death, you crave sweet. You sometimes confuse it with craving sugar. Some cops choose donuts. Some choose sex. This is why so many cops cheat. You need the honey…you need to grab great handfuls of life…you need a reminder that there is no shortage of love in the world.

He pressed into me as soon as we got into the elevator. Somebody got in behind us. "Take the next one," he yelled and I glimpsed an elderly couple looking shocked as two men grappled with each other in that glossy silver box. We rose high and fast as Rongo pinned me against the wall. His hand went straight to my cock as he rubbed against me.

"I need this," he whispered against my mouth. His mouth roamed my face and throat. "This is a building ASIO has apartments in, somebody could be watching," he suddenly said. "Maybe we should wait until we get into the apartment."

He dragged me by the waistband as soon as the elevator pinged toward his apartment. We went one way, then the next.

"I'm so hot for you, I forget which room I'm in." he fumbled the keycard and I took over. It clicked unlocked, flashing a green light. On the other side of the door, we wrestled one another's clothes off.

He propped me on the sofa, licking me from my feet, up my thighs and to my ass. He opened my legs wider, pressing soft, wet kisses and licks on my ass as my feet hovered in the air. He pushed me to the side, mounting me as he knelt between my legs.

"I gotta take you," he said as my hands gripped his hard, muscular ass. I loved the color of his skin against mine. I loved the need of him against mine. He pushed his cock into me, the head hard and unyielding. My knees were pushed tightly to my chest. I wanted him bad and he knew it.

"Sweet Lord, Honeybone. Your ass is God-lovin' tight."

He fucked me deeply, hard and fast. Neither of us lasted long and I clung to him, my hands on his ass cheeks as we pulsed, coming together in a sensuous rhythm.

In spite of the time apart and all the hurt, we hadn't lost a step. 

Later that evening, they stood together in their room looking out the window. The view was breathtaking. White sands and palm trees lined the road directly below them. In the distance, spectacular mountains dominated the landscape.

“That’s Gavea Mountain,” Angelo told him, pointing at it. “People hang glide off it onto the beach.”

“Wow,” Marshall said, shaking his head. “They must be brave. I wouldn’t do that.”

Angelo had showered and changed into a pair of navy shorts and a yellow tank top. He looked beautiful, he smelled wonderful. The view out the window paled in comparison.

“Want to go walking on the beach?” Angelo asked suddenly, moving away from the window. “Everything’s open twenty-four hours. There is even a gay beach in Ipanema.”

“Really,” Marshall laughed, his eyes moving over Angelo as he went into the closet and took out a plastic bag. He threw it at him.

“What’s this?” Marshall laughed as he caught it in his hands.

“Just a little gift I picked up in the hotel while you were in the shower.”

Marshall opened the bag to find a pair of light blue shorts with a beautiful cotton short-sleeved shirt. The shirt was a darker shade of blue with the faintest imprint of palm trees in the background.

 “Is this for me?” Marshall asked. He wasn’t used to receiving gifts.

“Yeah. Try it on,” he said, but Marshall was already beginning to undo the buttons.

 It fit perfectly. It made him feel like a completely different person. “You have good taste,” Marshall told him, as he whirled around in front of him.

Angelo ran his gaze over him. “You’d look sensational in anything, but you especially look sensational in nothing.”

Marshall moved closer to him and kissed his mouth. “That can be arranged.”

“Not if we’re going to get out of this room, it can’t. Come on,” he urged, pushing him out the door and locking it behind him.

They took a walk, Marshall holding Angelo’s arm close to him. No one blinked an eye. They stayed on the beach to watch fireworks. Angelo told him they had fireworks every night on the beach. Lovers sat together, kissing in the moonlight as the lights exploded in the sky.

They sat on the beach. Marshall smiled at Angelo as he watched the fireworks with the excitement of a small boy. Marshall reached over and took his hand. He turned his face to him and their eyes locked.

Music rang out over the beach. Angelo suddenly jumped to his feet, pulling Marshall up with him. “Let’s dance?”

He was drenched in moonlight. Marshall’s breath caught in his throat for a second.

Even though the band was playing some distance down the beach from them, the music drifted up to where they were. They were totally alone.

Angelo smiled at him as the cool night breeze blew his dark hair around his face. He pulled him into his arms. They began to dance, moving slowly to the rhythmic Latin beat.

Marshall moved deeper into his arms, laying his head on his shoulder. He moved his lips against his neck. Umm, what heaven it was to hold him like this, to run his hands down the length of his back, to hear his soft breathing, his strong steady heart beat. The heat from his body was intoxicating and the way he moved against him was enough to drive him out of his mind.

He didn’t know exactly how long they remained there alone, dancing. It might have been twenty minutes or more. He ran his hands over his silky hair, removing the leather cord that held it. He pressed his hair to his lips, breathing in the subtle fragrance, rubbing the strands against his cheek. “So soft, your hair,” he whispered.

They both laughed, moving a bit faster to the beat as Angelo pressed his lips to his forehead, then his mouth.

 Marshall kissed him deeply, passionately, tightening his hold on him as they kept dancing. Then he pulled him down in the sand on his knees. The kisses became more forceful, their passion rising like the ebb of the tides. Marshall broke away from him, laughing. “Wow,” he whispered, his chest heaving. “Let’s go back to the room.”

 “Sounds like a plan,” Angelo said deeply, getting up on his feet, taking Marshall with him.

“Oh, I have a serious plan,” Marshall replied, a devilish glint in his eyes.

“So,” Angelo teased, following him across the sand, “are you going to give me a hint about this plan of yours?”

“As if you need any hints,” Marshall replied as he started to run. Angelo started to run behind him.

“If I catch you, can I have you?” He called after him.

“If I’m running too fast, let me know,” Marshall cast him a flirtatious glance backward.

They were both out of breath, and laughing like fools when they reached the lobby of the hotel.

The woman at the front desk grinned at them. “Ah…the two handsome boys,” she said in English.

Marshall and Angelo nodded at her, and said goodnight. They waited impatiently for the elevator, never taking their eyes off each other. Once they got on, Angelo sobered and turned to Marshall, “Did she say boys?”

“Ah, did she hurt your ego?” Marshall taunted him, laying the palm of his hand on his chest…

“Never mind,” he told him with a grimace, which caused Marshall to howl with laughter.

In the room, Marshall stripped off his new clothes, then motioned to Angelo. “Come here, boy,” he slurred, “Tonight, I will teach you how to be a man.”

Angelo raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?” he moved over to him and took him in his arms. “Okay, professor, I am your willing and most humble student,” he said, kissing him deeply.

Marshall stepped out of his arms and smiled at him. “First you need to get out of those clothes, slowly.” He went and lay down on the bed.

“Ah, a strip tease?”

“Um, go ahead student.”

Angelo bowed his head. He undid his shirt and threw it at him, causing Marshall to laugh and unceremoniously take off the rest.

“That wasn’t very sexy,” Marshall protested, laughing.

“Oh, I know,” he said, “but this is.” He ran his hands up over his body and moved seductively toward the bed, lifting his sex in invitation. “How about that, teach? Do I get a passing grade? And how about this?” He bent down over him and let his tongue swirl around the head of Marshall’s cock.

Marshall let his head go back. “Oh yeah,” he whispered.

“And how about this?” He moved a hand under Marshall’s ass and inserted a finger up inside of him. “Do I pass this test or do I have to stay after school?”

Marshall reached up and placed his hands in his hair. He kissed his mouth, squirming as Angelo moved his finger in and out of him.

Angelo pulled away, laughing, forcing Marshall over onto his stomach. He pulled his hips upward and placed a hand on his ass. His tongue replaced the finger and Marshall just about lost his mind. A few minutes later he heard the condom package tear and he whimpered a little. “Yes, take me. Take me, baby. Now.”

“What will I have to do for homework?”

“You’re perfect,” Marshall groaned, “you pass…Jesus…you pass…pass!”

Angelo fucked him hard and long, his hand reaching around to torment his cock at the same time. The tension was sublime and release came leaving Marshall grasping, his heart pounding, and his body reeling from the pleasure. He clung to him all night, waking up every once in awhile to kiss him mouth, caress his sex, and check to see if he was real…if it all was real.

Her long red hair brushed across his neck. Her creamy breasts rubbed against him as she lowered herself slowly down his body. She was young, taut, and willing. He sighed. Such a wonderful feeling when she took him in her mouth. And such a shame that he had to ruin her first time.

He reached behind him to the dressing table until he felt the cool, metallic shape in his hand. He waited until he was fully inside her mouth, almost down her throat. He put his left hand at the nape of her neck, holding her by the hair against his body. He kept his right hand steady, took careful aim, and pressed. There was a flash of light. She gagged and tried to pull away, but he held her close. The second flash caught her with her eyes open.

He threw the camera on top of the high armoire, far higher than she could reach without climbing. “It’s okay, honey,” he crooned. “It’s just for me, a little keepsake. Keep going, love, keep going. That’s it,” he breathed. His right hand joined his left, pushing and pulling her head until he came.

“This is as far from innocent as love is from hate.” Angelique pressed closer to me and her lips barely brushed against mine with every sharp syllable. “This is the point that you find out just what a soul is worth and what lengths some of us will go through to get them.”

The kiss was electric. Her lips pressed hard against mine and her tongue forced my mouth open, starving to explore. Every nerve ending in my body betrayed the voice in my head that was shouting to stop her. I put my hands on her shoulders, but instead of pushing away, I held her tightly.

I joined her in the savage kiss, grunting as her hand began to stroke me hard through my pants. My loins were on fire, my heart beating flaming signals throughout my limbs that all cried out to take her on the floor. There was no love to be made—just an animal hunger for sex, a desire to taste every inch of her skin to a wild glorious climax.

Angelique got rougher.

He slipped her robe off, and led her into the shower. The water was warm and inviting. She still clutched her bottle of body wash. “I thought we’d take turns soaping each other,” she said tentatively. “I mean, if you want to.”

“I thought we’d just do this, he said, as he placed both hands behind her and lifted her up until she was high enough for him to penetrate her. She dropped the body wash. The plastic bottle bounced against the opposite wall, fell to the floor with a hollow thud, and rolled into a corner.

“Oh, my goodness,” she gasped, as he entered her, hungrily, greedily, and deeply. Her back was against the ceramic tile. He lifted her higher. Her legs were around his waist, her hands on his shoulders, and the water was streaming over both of them. She moaned. “Dominic. . .”

“Do you like that, cara? Do you like what I am doing to you?” His voice was raspy, almost a growl, and his body against hers was pure male strength. “Oh God, yes,” she sobbed. He moved inside her, very slowly at first, and she tried to rock her hips against him, but he was totally in control. Sharp, insistent pleasure engulfed her, and she forgot where she was; she forgot everything, except this man’s body inside hers. He kept driving into her, relentless, and she hung onto him for dear life. A high-pitched cry escaped from her throat as her orgasm shuddered throughout her body. He thrust into her, twice more, hard and savagely, and his body jerked abruptly as he climaxed and his semen entered her.

Lauret’s heart was in motion on the way home. She really liked Dominic, enjoyed his company as well as his conversation. She was not looking for a man, but if she were, it would be someone just like the handsome newspaper mogul.

As Lauret pulled up to her house, she noticed a covered basket on her porch. Her mind went into overdrive. Now what is that? I wasn’t expecting any type of delivery today. She cautiously got out of her car and climbed her front porch steps. Carefully, Lauret uncovered the basket only to be overwhelmed by the smell of death. The basket contained three small decomposing animals.

There was a note attached to the top, I know you like soft fuzzy things, sweet cheeks, here’s something for you to cuddle.

Lauret was disgusted, she began to cry. She knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that David found her. She left the basket, went into the house and called the police. David was the only person that ever called her sweet cheeks.

Lauret was even more disturbed when she went to place her key in the lock and the door opened. She knew she had locked the house before she left. She walked in cautiously and looked to see if something, anything had been disturbed. Everything was in order, but Lauret was uncomfortable. Somebody had been in her house and the presence could still be felt. She immediately dialed 911.

 At the moment, preoccupied as Gage was with things he had no business being preoccupied with, he could think of nothing but the female beneath him. The one who’d begun to breathe in short, hard gasps as his fingers found their way into her, as they parted the silken-velvet folds of her flesh almost without him knowing they’d been going to do it. Nothing but the way she’d started to whimper softly, deep in her throat, with urgently needful little sounds and the way she stared up at him, a flutter of bright red feathers obscuring most of her face, and the way she’d renewed her efforts to lift herself onto his stroking and not-quite-probing fingers.

Her body moved in slow and sultry waves, undulating as she escaped the grip of his free hand at last. Held only by his hips now, her thighs and legs spread and still pinned firmly to the feather-strewn floor, the upper half of her seemed almost to ripple, seemed almost dream-like as it tensed and relaxed, lifted and receded, always trying to capture more of him…all of him.

Hell. Surely he could spare a minute…two minutes…

Plunging once more, plunging his two fingers as deep into her as he could manage, Gage opened them slowly. He spread them apart, and with them he spread her as well. Pulling, tugging gently, pressing insistently, he urged her to open for him. To ready herself for the invasion he could safely say lay well into the future. For he meant to take his time. Meant to stir in her the same kind of hard and knotted longing for release that was already making a living misery of his own existence. Meant to stir in her a heat at least equal to his own or maybe, preferably, a heat so immense and so overriding it would render his own scorched agony inconsequential and unimportant.

He spread his fingers and then he held them that way, delighting in the taut straining of muscle and tissue as her body adjusted itself to accommodate him. Delighted, too, in the low murmur of sound that broke from her throat, a silken feline growl of warning entangled with promise.

Slowly, slowly, not quite experimentally as before, Gage moved his hand again. This time he rotated it. varying the pressure he exerted on flesh that instantly, insanely grew wetter and softer until he closed his fingers again and waited. Just to see what she would do. Just to see if she would back away, if she would slip free of the digits that no longer impaled her, as he was giving her every chance to slip free and back away.

Lisette smiled at him again. Twirling a gemlike strand of topaz hair around the length of one white and slender finger, she turned her head slightly away from him in an ages-old posture of coyness and sudden shyness. And with the other hand, as he watched, she reached for him. Reached to touch him with the equally slender and sensual fingers of that hand. Reached to catch the collar of his light summer shirt and tug a little upon it as she slipped seeking fingers beneath the edge of it. Against the startled skin beneath the edge of it.

He bit back a cry. Of agony and anticipation. Of excitement at the amount of passion Lisette aroused, the kind she could arouse even with such a slight brushing of fingers across skin that prickled suddenly. Skin that began to tingle as if someone pressed a low-voltage electrical wire, the very tiniest live electrical wire, against it for a hundredth of a thousandth of an instant.

Seizing his new chance, Gar stroked her hair again. The way he'd stroked it before. Almost as if in afterthought. He allowed his fingertips to drift aimlessly, idly, through sun-drenched strands of verging-on-platinum silk to find their ends. To twist them exactly as she had. Delighting in the strong silk, the prickle-tickle of the ends, the smooth sweetness of scent that wafted from it when he stroked. When he deepened his stroking to take in more of the roots now than the ends.

Lisette dropped her hands to her sides. She returned to the attitude of impatient breathlessness that he'd found so enticing before…so utterly, unequivocally charming. Making no effort now to sway toward him, she leaned back against the rough-barked tree that made such a startling contrast to the alabaster-smoothness of her face, her hair, her voluptuously carved and sleek body. Pressing herself tightly back against its roughness, she seemed incapable of swaying again. In any way.

She seemed to lose much of her definition. Seemed to tell him she was ready.

Cupping her face in his hands, Gar stopped long enough to take in its loveliness. Long enough to gaze down into eyes that gleamed duskier now, smoky rather than brilliant emerald, liquid rather than any solid, definite thing of the real, the outside, world.

So it was he who leaned forward. Toward her. He who moved to kiss her as he had before. Dwelling on her cheek, lingering there until she caught her breath in a sharp and startled gasp. And then at once he moved on. Very quickly and steadily moved toward lips she turned up to him…up for his convenience and ease. Lips, he saw, that were swollen. Rounded far beyond their usual pouty ripeness. Lips that invited as much with their raspberry-apple richness as with their pressed, taut, waiting position. Lips that invited even more than the shuddering heave of breath that shook her entire body, or the distinct prick of engorged nipples against the inside of her thin scarlet blouse, or the way her eyes began to slip shut. Slowly at first and then faster, faster, faster as the shuddering quality of her shaken breathing increased.

Gar made sure he caressed her face with a rain of kisses at the same time that he caressed her body, every sweet-succulent curve of her body, with his hands. And then, moving closer still, with a sway of his hips and everything associated with his hips.

"Damn you! Let me up!" She struggled against his immense strength.

"Your movements only serve to arouse me further." He dipped his head and took her mouth, pressing her head into the mattress as he lowered his chest to press against her breasts.

Lincoln's mouth was hot against her lips. Morgan tried not to respond. When he tried to force his tongue between her lips, she tried to turn her head to break the kiss. A well-placed hand quickly took hold of her head, preventing it from turning. His hot mouth deepened the kiss, forcing her to part her lips.

Reality of the situation gripped her insides. She didn't want Lincoln to have sex with her again. She didn't want to feel his body pressing against hers or have his arms holding her tightly. A lone tear eased from the corner of her eye. The pain of defeat filtered through her heart.

Lincoln began a slow exploration of Morgan's body, sliding his hands from her throat to her breasts, fondling, caressing. With deft movements, he opened her blouse and pushed the fabric from her body. His fingers delved behind the lacy cups of her bra and found her taut nipples. He slid one hand behind her back and released the clasp on her bra.

Morgan groaned in agony. He was doing it to her again. Making her forget her principles and arousing her body and senses so that all rational thoughts, save those of being physically satisfied, fled her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, searching for a fragment of defense against the tormenting lovemaking that was beginning.

Lincoln paused briefly, holding his body rigid, as though sensing her show of defiance. A long sigh left his lips, fanned the auburn hair at Morgan's temple.

The caressing resumed, his hands inching along her side and lowering to her hip. When he passed his palm across her abdomen in search of the zipper on her jeans, she tightened her muscles, pressing her buttocks into the firmness of the mattress. Hope fled her mind as he proceeded to release the pull and lower the zipper. In a rapid movement, he jerked her jeans off her hips and along her thighs.

Determined to mentally resist, Morgan lay as still as she could, her teeth gritted together, her eyes pinched shut. Her hands balled into fists and her muscles straining against his hold. When she felt his fingers skim along her bare abdomen, the urge to pull in a deep breath came over her. "You son-of-a-bitch!" She bit the words out, listened to their raspy sounds, as they seemed to echo into the quiet dark room. A sensation akin to hate and loathing, congealed inside her body. The thought of being subjected again to Lincoln's sexual attentions was degrading to her feminine senses. I don't want him touching me. The slow lowering of his hand intensified the thought. When he splayed his fingers amid her bushy crotch, she jerked her head around and opened her eyes.

Lincoln's large shadow loomed dangerously close, hovering mere inches from her bare breasts and naked abdomen. His knee braced apart her thighs and held her legs gaping. For a split second, she hated herself for placing her body in such dire straits. How could she have been so stupid to think she could sneak into his house and snoop without getting caught? I never seriously considered the consequences. Morgan bit her bottom lip. The thought that she would end up in bed with Lincoln, his big body holding her down so he could have his fun with her, never once materialized in her mind. She sighed and turned her head. To top everything off, she found her will to resist him quickly fading.

Herbert had never felt such bewilderment. He tried to imagine how Molly smuggled herself aboard Strathmorgen. Perhaps Kenneth had a hand in it. Since falling ill, I suspected the man of subterfuge, trying to take over the Stokes fortune. He could have enlisted Molly’s help, offered her a share to play her part. The woman who’s already proven herself devoid of scruples would have jumped at the money. Because the alternative is so unthinkable, the more I consider it the more plausible it sounds. Kenneth and Molly are conspiring against me.

But why send me away to do it when they could have achieved it as well at home? Perhaps they thought this the safer way. Too many people at home to question Molly’s presence. The housekeeper for one, whose eyes and ears don’t miss the smallest incident. If Kenneth were not in the arena, his implication would be improbable. I could point the finger of accusation, but if Kenneth were not there, being seen to participate in the plan the presumption of his innocence by police, and anyone else who matters, would be probable.

Herbert’s heart tightened. Of course I’m wrong. Kenneth could never do such a thing. My memory is returning. Although I still have blank spots, I suspect these contain more of the same good things I’ve recalled to date. Even though Kenneth is not biologically mine I haven’t lived with the man all his life without getting to know the inner Kenneth and the things making him the honourable person he is.

Because Kenneth knows the estates will become his, he has no reason to betray me. No reason at all, unless he believes his illegitimacy will exclude him from the inheritance. There’s ample proof he’s not a Stokes, no birth certificate, no pre-natal records.

No, thought Herbert without conviction. No one else is to blame. I am falling apart. The truth is inescapable. My illness is real and not the result of some wicked scheme.

Nauseated by his confusion, Herbert’s body hummed with exhaustion. But he still found strength to pick up the brandy bottle by the neck and smash it on the chest of drawers. “This can’t be right. I don’t want to do it,” he whispered before becoming breathless again.

Molly gave him the perfect murder motive, the threat of disclosure blood money couldn’t buy off. Kenneth was right. My life will be ruined. There’s no place to hide from the shame in London, where everyone in society knows everyone else’s business, and gossip spreads like disease.

“Molly, yours is the plan of a sophist, not a common whore. Had you help with it, or did you work it up on your own and get lucky?” Because the peril of its success snapped at his ankles like a terrier, he tried to drop the bottle, but couldn’t force his mind to unlock his hand. He tried to back away, but his feet moved forward as if he’d been pushed.

“Ye’ve no control no more, Master Stokes. For whatever ye wants to do I’ll make ye do ut other.”

Not sounding to come from her direction Molly’s words jangled in Herbert’s head.

“I know what ye’re thinking, how could such a low person as meself with no learning work ye into such a corner? Someone ye thought ye’d got rid of all those years back, paid off so handsome to lay low and keep mum, come up again and cause ye and yer family so much grief. But even in thinking it ye is wrong. I’m not ut stupid trollop ye takes me for. For haven’t I been able to show ye some surprising things. The big wave war a thing of sheer beauty, war it not? And didn’t ye really feel ut cold of ut sea as ye sank? And do ye not love ut fishy smell what follows ye about like a lost pup? Ah, no. Stupid I aren’t, Master Stokes. Ye really thought yer precious Mistress Vale war dead in her bathroom, did ye not? And at this very second ye wonders if ye’re losing yer mind, are ye not?”

Yes, in a moment I’ll wake from this hellish nightmare like I have woken from all the others.

* * * *

“But ye’ll not wake, Master, because this ain’t no dream. I’m going to finish ye and then finish yer precious Kenneth and them what come after. Ye is both coming to the dark place where ye sent me, the same dark place ye keeps seeing at my bidding, sees in me eyes, sees in the Mistress’s room behind her, sees all about ye when ye’re frightened. It’s cold here, Master, cold and deep and got no end. I know there’s others here but I can’t see them, nor can they see me. I can ’ear them talking and wailing and moaning, yet I can’t talk to them. They touch me but when I reaches out for them there ain’t nowt but empty space. I’m so hungry I feel like me belly is turning inside out, so thirsty me tongue sticks to itself. I never been so hungry and thirsty but there’s nowt to eat nor drink here.”

She paused. “When I goes to lay down there’s nowt to lay on but darkness, and when I fall asleep there’s those here what shakes me awake again. Can ye imagine what it’s like never sleeping, being awake till ye feels like ye is going to drop with it but not being able to find nowt to lay on? I’ll tell, ye, Master Stokes, it’s bad. Ye feel like ye want to die. Ye wish for it. Ye try and pray for it, but then noise rattles round in yer head and grabs yer prayers and squashes them. It’s scary in here. Ye can’t see it nor touch it, but ye can sort of sense it moving about ye. It gets in yer head and laughs at ye. An ’orrible cackling laugh bouncing between yer ears. I don’t want to be here, Master Stokes. It’s worse than ut hell I heard about in church. There’s no fire and brimstone here. No demons. No infernal heat. Nothing.”

As Duane and I were shown to a quiet corner of the main dining room, what stood beside our table for two raised the hair on my arms. I saw a trunk, the trunk, the exact same one I’d seen in my vision. It’s bigger than I’d imagined, built of wood with an external steel skeleton, its timber dented but polished, its metal brown yet smooth. It looked travel-worn, but still serviceable for future generations. Three words best describe it, sturdy, resistant, ageless. Two fancy hasp and staples secured the lid with old-fashioned padlocks. It sat on four old metal wheels with wooden guards and hard rubber tyres. Even empty, how one would lift its bulk by the metal handles bolted to each side beggared belief. The top’s hinges matched the decorative hasps. Its face divided down the centre into two doors, which I assumed swung out to either side. Its size amazed me. Four feet tall, five feet wide and four feet deep, a trunk like this is big enough for a world-traveller, big enough for a lifetime of souvenirs, big enough for…many things.

I frowned when I recollected the vision of a bundle hefted into the trunk. Would it be clothing? I mused as fingers of intrigue crept up my spine. Or a more sinister item, a body, perhaps…

Excitement clenched deep in my gut and kicked my brain into hyper drive. A body in the trunk means murder, which, if the body were Herbert Stokes, would explain why he never returned home. If it were murder, the culprit remained uncaught, unless Albert’s father, Kenneth, chose to keep the truth secret, as a parent might to protect the young. Why keep the secret in his adulthood…unless Kenneth killed his father. No. Not likely, unless Kenneth went on the cruise from which Herbert disappeared. Perhaps Herbert killed someone else and, to avert discovery, jumped ship and…disappeared. But who would he kill and why?

If someone opened the trunk at the end of Strathmorgen’s voyage, the body, whose ever it might be, should have been found, which means newspaper articles would exist, unless someone covered it up. If this is the case, someone should try to uncover it. Because I found the luggage key tag, I presumed the chosen someone was me.

No. I shook my head. I’m neither brave nor skilled in detection outside Internet research. I could concoct a hundred valid reasons to support my unsuitability for the task. Too busy. Not enough money. Too busy. No skills. Too busy. Other obligations. Too busy, too busy, too busy. I wouldn’t know one end of a sleuth from the other or where to begin. I cannot, and will not…

Although preposterous, the notion of an undiscovered body in a trunk, and how my mind created a murder mystery around a piece of printed cardboard, struck me like a kick in the shins. I laughed aloud. “I need to keep my wild thoughts caged.”

Duane raised his eyebrows at my unexpected outburst. “You always talk to old luggage?”

To confirm my mind’s fantasy flight, I wanted to touch the trunk. This particular trunk is in the here-and-now. It’s a hard, solid, real thing—an ornament in a pub whose décor is intended to convey its modern day visitors’ imaginations back to a more genteel time of discovery, danger and romance. This trunk is an immense item of luggage neither containing Herbert Stokes’s body nor belonging to him. Even though it’s a twin to the one in my mind’s eye, its presence here is coincidence and touching its inert form will provide proof. It’s a wood and metal box, nothing more.

I reached forward to stroke its worn smoothness. Before my hand reached it, a powerful blue spark arced between my fingertip and the trunk’s metal skeleton, emitting an audible crack. A painful sting shot up my arm. Wrenching my hand away, I looked at my shoes. Rubber soles. The floor’s timber parquetry. “There shouldn’t be any static electricity,” I muttered.

Duane squinted even more oddly at me as I shook my tingling hand.

“What happened?”

“It bit…uh, bit of static.” I nearly said, It bit me.

On 9th Avenue and 41st Street, we stopped in to get another pint bottle of gin. I didn't like being on anywhere near 41st Street anymore even though we were just a block from the site where Paco had died. I had no plans of staying with Connie much longer.

"Yvonne is cool," I heard her say. "I wouldn't worry about her."

I blinked my eyes and tried focusing on what she was saying. "Worry about what?"

She sniggered. "The maricone faggot has stupid ideas."

We left the liquor store. "What ideas?"

"She thinks you killed Paco," she quietly said, looking away.

Holy shit! I stopped and glared at her. "What? What did you tell her?"

She shrugged, but looked at me nervously. "Nothing. Don't worry about her, she won't say anything. She's cool."

Right away I knew that this had gotten out of hand and I was falling deeper into it than I cared to go. All I wanted was just some more sex, fucking, blowing, stroking and then doing it again, over and over. Is that too much to ask for? It is, if the girl has just killed someone and then blamed you for doing it. Aw, shit! What am I thinking? Just get the fuck out of here!

Eric managed to get a few hours sleep in the cage before he was needed back in the bullpen. He was finding it more and more difficult to push her out of his mind. He went to get some coffee.

"Stiles," Lug said, breaking through his churning thoughts.

"Hey, what's up?" he replied as he grabbed his full cup of coffee.

"Trace on the box of blood came back," Lug said.

Eric walked to his desk. "And?"

"They found a piece of hair in the box sealant."

"Were they able to get a name?"

"Yeah," Lugow started as he looked down at his desk in hesitation. "It came as a match to a Veronica Naltin."

Eric froze as the name hit him in the chest. "What?"

"Yeah," Lug replied as Eric took a deep breath. "We double checked. There's no mistake."

"Jesus," Eric said as he leaned on the desk, his mind spinning uncontrolled.

Adam appeared and looked at him. "You told him?"

"Yeah."

"So now what?" Eric asked as he tried to reign in the fear that began to bubble in his stomach. They were not only dealing with a stalker, but now a ruthless killer.

"We start from the beginning," Adam said as Lug nodded. "We look at everything from both cases."

"We should look at anything that's happened since this guy made first contact with Rebecca," Lug suggested.

"Do we have a date?"

"The only specific date I have is two weeks before the teddy bear," Lug replied as he looked at his notes. "I will try and get something more specific."

"Where is she now?"

"Donna's," he said with a deep breath.

"Is she going to be safe there?"

"She'll be fine for now," Lugow added.

"Okay, let's get to work," Adam said.

Eric's phone rang. "Detective Stiles."

"Eric, we have a problem," Charlie said, sounding panicked and out of breath.

"What's going on?" he said, looking to Lug and Adam.

"Rebecca got a message from the stalker."

"When?"

"I little while ago," he replied.

Eric's heart began to race.

"We think he's going after Donna."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Something about the message."

"Did you hear it?"

"No."

"Let me talk to Rebecca," he said and then heard Charlie pass the phone to Rebecca.

"Eric," she said, sounding terrified and shaken.

Eric got to his feet as Adam followed him. "What did he say?"

"Uh, it was a joke."

"A what?"

"A knock, knock, joke."

"Tell me exactly what he said, Beccs."

"Knock, knock, who's there, Donna, Donna who, Donna turn around ka-boom," she said into the phone.

He could hear the agony in her voice. "Where are you?"

"On our way to Donna's office."

"Okay, let me talk to Charlie," he replied in an even tone. He heard her pass the phone back to Charlie.

"Hey," Charlie said.

Eric and Adam reached Adam's car. "Have either of you tried to call her yet?"

"Yeah, she's not answering, but Beccs said she had an early meeting."

"We're on our way to Donna's office as well, but you need to stall and keep Rebecca away until I tell you it's okay."

"That's going to be pretty hard to do."

"Listen to me, this could all be a way to lure Rebecca out into the open," Eric explained as Adam pulled onto the street. "Just stall long enough for us to make sure it's safe."

"Okay," Charlie agreed before Eric hung up.

"What's going on?" Adam asked.

"Rebecca got a message from the stalker."

"What kind of message?"

"One with a ka-boom."

Eric, Adam, Lug and the bomb squad arrived in front of Donna's office twenty minutes later. Adam coordinated the sweep and evacuation of the building while Eric went looking for Donna. He stepped off the elevator and flashed his badge to the receptionist. "Detective Stiles, I need to speak with Donna Smith, it's an emergency," Eric said as the woman looked at him in confusion.

"I thought you were meeting her in the parking garage," the woman replied.

Eric spun, dashing to the elevator as he called Adam. "She was called down to the parking garage, I'm on my way now," Eric said into the phone hitting the P on the elevator. The doors opened moments later, and as he stepped off, he saw Donna leaning against her car with a look of irritation. "Donna!" he called out to her.

She shifted, looking.

He ran toward her.

"Eric, what's going on?" she asked as she moved to meet him.

Eric heard a door slam just to the left.

"Is Beccs alright?"

"She got a call from the stalker. He…"

"Donna!" Rebecca called as she ran toward them, Charlie in tow.

He realized that Rebecca was going to pass right in front of Donna's car. "Beccs, no!" he screamed, pushing Donna behind him just before the car exploded. The blast pushed both he and Donna off their feet as it shattered and sprayed glass across the parking lot.

Robert felt her wet body press up against his. He got aroused from the contact.

"What's that smell?" She pulled away and stared at the slime stuck to her skin. "What is this stuff?"

"That is bug guts," Tony replied.

Brittney screamed and kept her distance from Tony. "Don't touch me!" she said. "The only way I'll allow it, is if you're naked."

"That can be arranged," he joked.

Robert moved through the cave until they reached the strewn remains of the insects.

"This was in the cave?" Brittney cried. "I don't want to stay in here."

"We have to," Tony soothed. "It's safer in here than outside."

Robert left the two of them to argue and made his way further into the darkness. He held his gun out in case of danger.

Chantel held onto his shirt and followed his every movement.

As he rounded a corner, a private alcove came into view. This will be a perfect place for us to be alone. He searched the area thoroughly and once satisfied that it was clear of predators, he lay down with the woman that he loved.

In the quietness of the darkness, she held him tight. "What is this place?" she asked. "These are no ordinary bugs. What if there are worse creatures on the island?"

Robert lit a match and ignited the end of a scattered branch. "Can you hold this for me?"

Chantel grabbed the torch and held it out. "What are you looking for?"

He reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved a map. "I found this among the debris." Robert studied the geographic lines carefully. "According to the diagram, this is where we crashed."

Chantel leaned over and studied the strange writings. "It says, Isla de Los Hombres Inutiles." Her brow rose in speculation. "What does that mean in English?"

Robert stroked his chin thoughtfully and attempted to decipher the meaning. After a moment of deep thought he turned to Chantel, laughing.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"I know what Isla de Los Hombres Inutiles, means. In English it translates to Island of Useless Men."

Still in the twilight zone between fully awake and fully asleep, I was slowly becoming aware of pleasant sensations.

It seemed like I was still in dreamland. In the dream, I was getting one hell of a blow job. An incredibly realistic dream, I could feel the warmth and moisture surround my cock.

But I also felt other sensations.

I felt soft fingers caressing my skin, the tips of long square tipped acrylic nails softly scratching my skin, and warm breath on the tip of my cock, followed by soft, warm lips. Then I felt silky-smooth hair on my thigh. My right leg was being gently squeezed in between soft, ample, natural breasts.

A sweet female voice said, "Is my big, strong police officer awake yet?"

I snapped instantly awake. This was no dream! "Okay, Vanessa, I'm awake."

Vanessa stopped having her way with my cock, and moved back up, to snuggle up against me. "Good morning, baby."

I turned my face, to look in her soft brown doe eyes. "Good morning, sweetness."

She caressed my face with the back of her left hand, and her right hand rested on my tummy. She softly nuzzled her lips against the nape of my neck. "Did you like your wakeup call?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"Why don't I pick up where I left off?"

The light was fading from the sky as Anna looked out over the old wooden porch. The evergreens cast dark shadows over the front lawn. A figure slowly walked down the driveway towards her. He had finally come.

Fear gripped her, and she began to cough uncontrollably. She leaned against one of the porch posts, waiting until the fit subsided. The pain in her chest had grown larger in the past few weeks, choking the joy from her life. It was cancer, they told her, and the doctor had informed her months ago that it was unstoppable in its march through her body. It had resided in her lungs at first, and slowly spread outward.

Anna was fifty-four years old and knew that she was going to die. Nothing could be done; nothing would stop its progress.

The figure stopped at the iron gate, deciding to wait at the end of the walkway. He gestured for her to join him. Suddenly and with great surprise, her chest cleared and she breathed deeply. The pine smell was sweet and refreshing as it flooded into her nostrils.

“Anna,” the figure called. “It is time.”

She sighed and closed her eyes, remembering the pleasures and pains of her lifetime. Her end time was upon her. Slowly she stepped down the front steps, not bothering to look back at the ancient home that was the birthplace of her grandmother, and all those before her.

She walked deliberately down the flagstone walkway, keeping her eyes focused on the dark figure waiting at the gate. His face was hidden in the shadow of the fedora that perched atop his head; a loose gray trench coat was thrown over his shoulders. He reached his hand out to her and she accepted it. His face confirmed who this man was.

The Morning Star.

Yes, it was her time. He smiled at her, and again she was in love, as much now as when her mother first introduced her to him as a child back in 1955. She realized that, surprisingly, he was dressed now as he had been then.

Weakness overcoming her, Anna suddenly fell against him. Her body’s reserves had finally exhausted themselves. He supported her weight with ease. For years she had worshipped him, until she came of an age to bring that worship into a realm of ecstasy and pleasure. He had never forsaken her. Not once.

“Anna, I will walk with you into the darkness. You will not go alone.”

She looked up at his boyish face, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Yes. Thank you,” she whispered, her voice faint and cracking.

As the blackness claimed her sight, she felt the warm wetness from his eyes strike her face.

Her fingers wrapped themselves into his long blond hair, pushing him violently down towards her sweetness. The heels of her feet dug into the sides of his waist, looking for purchase as he struggled against her demanding force. His mouth was upon her, his cooler lips and nose suddenly buried into her wetness, the fluid pouring out of her and onto his lapping tongue. He struggled, but submitted when her second hand joined the first on his head. He could not move and she would not release him. His tongue stammered at first and then drove into a pleasurable cycle, circling round and round, flicking up and down, all over her engorged lips.

She allowed him to breathe, letting him rise up to gasp for air. When he did so, she asked him a question. "You want this? You want my flesh?"

He couldn't answer, at least not vocally. His response was to lick harder, his hands creeping up to caress her belly and on upwards to her aching breasts. His fingers grabbed her nipples, twisting them gently at first and then gripping them tight and firmly. Pain intermingled with pleasure and she gasped out, feeling the orgasm wash over her, her body arching to press harder against his tongue. She lay back, releasing his head, enjoying the gentle waves shuddering through her.

His body slid up over her, his cock hard and hot against her legs. He placed his forearms on either side of her head as he positioned himself over her. She reached for him, her fingers dancing over his hard abdomen as she readied for her penetration. Wrapping her legs around his thighs, she led him into her, her lips spreading wide as his cock slid smoothly into her, pressing her flesh out of the way and merging with her into one body.

I don’t know how it happened, how we got by the lobby attendants, but the next thing I knew we were in my condo. A strange music entered my brain. Drums, bells, some type of high-pitched violin, a bass—definitely a bass. The room was filled with a pulsating beat. The music seemed to enhance my senses while at the same time dulling them. My skin felt hot. I was weightless, starting to float, and then I was standing in the middle of the living room, swaying to the music, and Ray was sitting on the couch, talking to me.

“Do you see them?” he asked.

“Who?”

“The men and women. Where do you think you are?”

“I…I’m in my living room.”

“No,” Ray hissed. “You’re on stage, and they’re all here to see you. Look around. Look to your left. There’s a couple kissing. His hand is between her legs. Her hand is fondling his cock. Look. You can see them.”

I looked to my left and there they were. I could barely make them out, but it was a couple, kissing and fondling each other.

“Everyone wants to see your tits, Mandy. You can hear them whispering your name—Mandy, Mandy.”

I turned my head to the left and to the right and I could hear the voices, whispering my name.

“Take it off,” Ray said. “Take it off and throw it aside.”

I reached behind my neck, untied the top of my bikini, lifted it off, and just let it drop.

“Uh oh,” Ray said. “A man is on the stage. He’s not supposed to be there, but he wants to feel your tits. You want him to feel your tits. Tell him. Tell him what to do.”

“Put…”—the room started to spin—“…put your hands on my tits,” I whispered.

“No,” Ray said. “Tell him what to do.”

“Squeeze my tits,” I said. “Squeeze my nipples.”

I felt him. I knew it was Ray, but it seemed like a stranger. He was pawing me and squeezing me and sending shock waves through me. I put my arms in the air and around my neck and just let him fondle me.

“He wants to suck on your tits,” Ray whispered. “You want him to suck on your tits. Tell him.”

“Suck on my tits,” I whispered.

“Talk dirty,” Ray commanded.

“Suck on my fucking tits,” I shouted.

“Drink this,” Ray said. “I have one more in the fridge if we need them, but I don’t think we will. Drink this and let it spill on your tits. Ask the man to lick it off.”

I lifted the bottle to my lips. Cold liquid ran down my body, over my breasts and down between my legs.

“Bad girl,” Ray said. “You spilled it on your bathing suit. Take it off.”

I tried, but I could barely move. Ray helped me, pulling my suit down my legs, lifting my feet, and tossing it aside.

“Bend over,” he commanded. “Bend over and show everyone your pussy.”

I did what he commanded me to do. I bent over and wrapped my hands around my knees, spreading my legs.

“Uh oh, Mandy. Another man is coming. He’s going to lick the liquid from your pussy. You want him to do that. Tell him. Tell him that you want his tongue on you.”

“Lick…lick my pussy. Lick it clean. Lick the juice out of me.”

“Your ass hole has liquid on it, Mandy. Tell him.”

“Lick my ass hole,” I shouted. I began to feel lightheaded from bending over so long. I could feel myself swaying, trying to stand up.

“Mandy,” Ray said. “I got liquid on my cock. Get on your knees and lick it off.”

I obeyed. He shoved his cock into my mouth, grabbed my head and moved it back and forth. I sucked and sucked and sucked. All of a sudden he was behind me, and then he was in me. I was trying to stay on all fours as he pounded into me.

“Oh, god,” I cried. “Oh, God—Oh, God—Oh, God!”

A disembodied voice came from nowhere. “Mandy,” it whispered.

“What?”

“You love Ray. Tell him.”

“I…” I knew I didn’t love him, but I felt compelled to tell him.

“Tell him,” the voice said.

“I…I love you, Ray.”

“Yes,” the voice said. “You want to help him. Tell him.”

“I want to help you, Ray,” I said. He kept pounding into me, slapping against me, squeezing my tits.

The room fell quiet. I felt myself floating toward the bedroom. Someone was holding my hand and leading me to the bed. Someone pushed me face down on the bed and lifted me up from the waist and put a pillow under me.

“Ray’s going to fuck you in the ass,” the voice said. “There will be no pain—only pleasure. You will like it and want more. Tell Ray—tell him you want him to fuck you in the ass.”

I didn’t! I didn’t trust him! He didn’t care for me! I wanted Ned! But I was compelled to answer. I had no choice.

“I want you to fuck me in the ass,” I said.

“Louder,” the voice said.

“I want you to fuck me in the ass,” I cried.

“Louder!” the voice shouted.

“I want you to fuck me in the ass!” I screamed.

“Yes,” the voice hissed.

I felt him at the entrance to my bowels. I felt him press up against me. I felt him shove into me in one fast motion.

“Oh, God,” I screamed.

“It feels good,” the voice said.

“Yes,” I screamed. “Yes!”

“Tell Ray you want to marry him,” the voice said.

“But…but…”

“Tell him!” the voice screamed.

“I want to marry you, Ray!”

He was in me, pushing hard and deep.

“Oh, YES!” I screamed.

I began to leave my body and become a field of energy. I saw red, white and blue stars dancing in front of my face.

“Tell him again!”

“I want to marry you!” I screamed.

“I coming,” the voice shouted.

I saw the first of the voice’s ejaculations shoot in front of my eyes, a white streak that ended in an explosion like fireworks. My body disappeared altogether and I was nothing but colored stars, dancing around the room.

“Oh, fuck!” the voice shouted.

I saw the second ejaculation and my head exploded!

I turned into pure energy and watched his jism soar across the room and explode into a burst of white light. My own orgasm appeared in front of me, emanating from the middle of my body and racing up my bowels, through my stomach and out my mouth, appearing as an explosion or red lightning.

The voice or Ray or whatever pressed deep into me and groaned as the last ejaculation spread across the entirety of my field of vision, punctuated by sporadic white lights spraying out of my mouth.

I could barely breathe. I could barely move. I felt the presence pull out of me and a hot liquid spread all over me.

And I heard the voice saying something about God.

“God,” it said. “I love mumble fucking mumble.”

I didn’t care. I was paralyzed and slowly returning to a human form. Pleasure continued to pulse with me until, slowly, the room turned black.

She groaned and shivered in delicious anticipation. Then he entered her and made love to her. A period during which time stood still and she felt she was in a dreamlike state. Expertly, he loved her until her desire had built to an unbearable crescendo. He loved her until her orgasm burst from her in a thunderous roar in her ears like water over a waterfall. She screamed as she climaxed and her juices flooded from her and soaking him, and the bed beneath her. She heard him moan softly and felt his own release deep within her as he ejaculated, filling her with his hot semen, this member throbbing in time with his ejaculations, throb after throb. She screamed again and wrapped her long legs about his waist, not wanting him to withdraw the instrument of pleasure from her. She gave another scream, a long drawn out scream of pure pleasure.

There was a loud knocking on her bedroom door. "Miss Marston? Miss Marston," a voice shouted from the hall. "Are you alright?"

"Thank you, my Lady, it was wonderful," her mysterious lover whispered in her ear and disappeared from view as she woke fully.

"Please don't go," she whispered plaintively, but it was too late for he was gone.