Collecting Rayne

by Havok, Rayne

  I have to keep busy, so I call Keith. “What do we know?”

  “Uh, well, still… nothing.”

  Slamming down the phone without another word, I begin shuffling the papers on my desk, looking for anything to clear my mind. I decide to head to the coroner’s office, maybe unload some of this headache onto someone else.

  Michael Kirby is standing over the body with a magnifying glass pressed to his eye and aimed right at the dead man’s crotch.

  Now, had that been anyone else, I would have made a joke, or possibly worry, but I know he’s just thorough, and not a man to joke with, so instead, I ask, “What do we have?” Walking further into the room and grabbing gloves to put on, I come to stand next to him.

  “Well,” he says, not looking away from the dead man’s dick, “at first, I thought it might have been a bruise.” Finally looking up at me, he begins his analysis.

  “This gentleman presented with no apparent cause for death. Once I got inside, however, I could see he was completely dehydrated, which one would think, takes a good bit of time to die from, but if it’s severe enough, the kidneys make you regret it quickly. Most of his organs were, for lack of a better word, raisins.”

  “Ok,” I interrupt, “why do we have the magnifying glass down there then?”

  “Well, like I said, I thought there was some bruising, which isn’t uncommon, even the most vanilla sexual encounters can sometimes lead to bruising. This was spreading a bit more though, and is confined only to his shaft. I thought taking a closer look would clear it all up, but it hasn’t. Not yet, anyway.”

  “So, would that play a part in the rest of it?”

  “Can’t say for sure, I swabbed the genitals and have them next on the list for the lab.”

  “So, nothing definitive just yet?”

  “That’s right. I’ll have my report to you as soon as I get done, if there’s anything that needs your attention before then, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks, Kirby.” I make it all the way to the door before he calls out to me.

  “Wasn’t gonna say anything, Chief, but you look like shit, you ok?”

  “I’m fine.” Rolling my eyes, “Got a difficult possible witness.” I leave it at that, and go.

  Knowing the rest of this could take hours, I head home for a shower.

  ***

  Against my better judgment, I dress in casual attire and head to Vīrya, maybe Tula won’t have her guard up if I’m there ‘unofficially’. And maybe, I just really want to see her tits again.

  Checking in with Keith before I walk inside, I learn that the man whose video we were waiting for has come in and will be looked over by the techs now. Happy with the forward momentum, I shut my phone off and let the security guard know that I’m here for the show. He lets me in and directs me to the stage. I don’t sit there, though, I keep to the darkened corner to maintain my anonymity for as long as I can.

  I have a drink and then stick to water as, one by one, some of the most gorgeous women have their turns on stage. I enjoy the show, while keeping my eyes open for anything suspicious, and also for Tula, who I’m surprised hasn’t been around.

  It’s getting later into the evening and the club is busy, with most of the people parked up toward the stage for a better view.

  This place isn’t the throwing-bills-on-the-stage kind, instead, there is a machine on the table that you enter your credit card number into that takes care of all that. Like an open tab, it charges for drinks as well.

  How fancy.

  The announcement for Tula sends a hush around the club, which makes clear the fact that she can control more than only me.

  I’d settled in, but become more alert when Tula climbs the steps and appears in a black outfit; skin-tight and flawless. Two-inch-wide black strips wrap around her, like a latex-clad mummy, leaving all the right parts exposed—those being her huge boobs and curvy ass—like an anti-bikini.

  Her soft, black hair contrasts against her porcelain-pale skin, simply splashed with the color of her red rose tattoo, peeking through her dark outfit. It’s all enough to make you forget to breathe. But upon closer inspection—which I can’t help but do—the pink of her pussy lips appear as she swirls around the pole, sending me into a tunnel of vision that leads only to her. She becomes the light at the end, and my only choice is to follow it, follow her.

  Add to the seven great wonders of the world: this woman.

  She’s up there for five minutes before both she and the music suddenly stop.

  Silence from the audience.

  “I know it’s highly unorthodox,” she speaks in her normal sultry voice and it carries to the far corners of the room with no problem. “But we have a new guest tonight and I’d like to give him a taste. Hopefully you don’t mind. Feel free to leave if you fear it might be too much for you.”

  I’m curious to see what she’s talking about, that is, until the light guiding her along the darkened path between patrons leads her directly over to me.

  She locks eyes with me—mine telling her that this isn’t going to happen, hers glinting with mischievous plans to ignore me, taking my hand as I try to pull it away. “You wouldn’t be scared, would you?” she taunts.

  She practically double-dog-dares me to come up with her. And fuck her if I am going to back down.

  I let her lead me to the stage, passing people whispering their curiosities, helping only to fuel my own. If this isn’t standard procedure, then what the fuck does she have planned for this ‘tasting’?

  Hoping I can learn more about her through her nonverbal way of speaking, I sit on the stool someone has so kindly set on the stage in her absence, and wait to learn.

  She begins with a little lap dance. Grinding and rubbing against me to the beat of the music, I have to assume was chosen specifically for this moment. I keep my eyes on Tula’s as much as I can, even though I’d love to look elsewhere. She puts my hands on her body and the smoothness of it intoxicates to levels of drunkenness.

  “Are you scared?” her whispered breath sends shivers over my body.

  You don’t scare me, I tell her with a chuff and a sideways smirk.

  I do get a little nervous, however, when her hand goes to my fly. I struggle to keep my eyes, and cock, from bulging out of their respected areas, while attempting to play her game.

  Pulling me up from the stool, she presses against me, tugging my pants all the way down to my shoes. I keep eye contact with her as she wraps her warm hand around my very hard and not-at-all embarrassing hard-on. She doesn’t seem surprised to know she excites me, and I don’t let on that it bothers me that she does.

  Tula dances on me while not once losing contact with my dick, it’s absolutely maddening not to have a second of reprieve. It feels like she can tell exactly what is happening inside me.

  Resting her ass on the stool, my stool, she spreads her legs and pulls me between them. I mentally tell myself that sex would be the line I’d draw, but she keeps her grip on my dick as she leans back, using only her core strength to keep her in position, telling me I’m not the one drawing boundary lines.

  Reaching with her other hand, she rubs her pussy. I can smell her arousal instantly, and it hits me hard, like a drug. Her continued milking keeps my hazy-head in the clouds.

  Her eyes hood, and I sense that moments like this might be the only time in her life that she lets her guard down. She loves this, being on display, having people watch her—us.

  She comes, and her whimpered moans drag me over the edge along with her, I spray across her tummy and up her chest. Not releasing me, she runs her finger through my come and scoops onto her tongue.

  A collective gasp is heard from people in the crowd I’d somehow forgotten were still in existence.

  Repeatedly, she does it again, keeping her eyes on mine, eating every drop of it, lastly, collecting the drip on the tip of my dick, sucking her finger into her mouth and simulating a blow job.

  My dick twitches, and I know she feels it
when, in response, she lifts her brow and gives me a tiny smirk.

  She relinquishes my semi hard cock and takes a bow, plucking my pants up as she does, walking quickly away from the stage with them. And me—I go after her.

  I’m only a few feet behind her when I reach the open door to her office. She’s standing with my pants hooked via beltloop onto one of her fingers.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking them from her.

  “Did you like the show?”

  “The one I was in, or the other one?” I stumble, trying to get my leg back inside my pants.

  “Both.”

  “It’s a really nice place you have here, very beautiful people,” I say evasively, not wanting to give her another moment to sexually manipulate me.

  “I know, right?”

  “What happened last night?” I sneak back into Chief mode, once I’ve gotten myself tucked into my pants again.

  “He wanted to walk me home.”

  Surprised I’ve gotten something new from her, I am actually not prepared with a follow up right away. “And then…?”

  “And then,” shoulder shrug, “he was no longer walking me home.”

  “Funny.”

  “Try as you might, Chief, I can’t tell you what happened last night to that man.”

  “Why not?” exasperation is back.

  “You wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Try me.”

  “I just did, and you tasted as good as I had hoped, maybe even better.” Her cheeky, cheshire cat grin would bring rise from a dead man, luckily for me, I look away from it before she can.

  Heat finds way to my cheeks; a mix of embarrassment and excitement hits me. If this were not a case I was working, I’d have run in here and laid her down. But I’m the chief of police, and there is a way to respectfully conduct oneself in that role.

  “We got some footage of the park—the bench we found him on, specifically.” I watch to see her reaction, but can’t read it.

  “Then you already know what happened.”

  “The techs still have it, but I will know by morning.”

  “Sounds like you should make it an early night then, Chief.” She starts unwrapping her leather bindings and I linger longer than actually necessary until I’m able drag myself away. I shut the door behind me for privacy she doesn’t seem to require.

  I get home and check for the email message I am expecting, and sure enough, there’s a video attached to the email.

  Great.

  I click on it. It’s good quality and I’m glad of that. The first couple seconds has nothing but the bench, and I think they may not have queued it up for me, but then there is movement off to the side, which turns out to be two people. I can see unequivocally, that one of them happens to be our very own Tula. She and the vic are going back and forth verbally about something—no audio. But they sit on the bench together.

  He reaches for her; it appears he’s brushing the hair off her face.

  Very original.

  She turns her head when he tries to kiss her. Making a move to stand up, it looks like he tugs her back down. I can only see the back of their heads from this, the only angle. So, I can’t gauge her reaction, whether she may be doing that coy, flirty thing she does, or something else.

  He tries again to kiss her.

  A very clear headshake from her.

  And then he pounces. His mouth is on hers in what I can clearly see is a fashion she did not authorize.

  I’m stumped though when, instead of running away, or struggling more, she gets on top of him. Her hands go around him, and very clearly, begin caressing his body. The next few minutes is all foreplay, touching, groping, kissing.

  The real action starts when Tula stands and removes her jeans before expertly tugging his down just like she had mine. Then she quickly mounts him.

  She fucks him with an expertise that says this is not her first time on a rodeo bull, and she goes for a whole lot longer than eight seconds.

  When finished, she hastily stands and redresses, then simply walks away, waving once as she turns back to the vic before leaving the frame.

  I clearly see his hand go up in a farewell of his own, then he runs his hands through his hair, shakes his head like I do when I finally get away from her—like I’m actually able to breathe again, and lastly, rests his head on the back of the bench. Then the video ends, pausing on that frame.

  I look at the body of text that was sent along with it, and it reads. “She’s not our guy. He was clearly alive when she left. Although, he doesn’t move after that. My report is not back yet, and there’s nothing else on the video until the witness calls it in and we show up. Could be heart attack or something.”

  “Could be,” I say aloud, but there is definitely a mystery surrounding this woman, so I keep my guard up, haunches and all.

  chapter seven

  Despite my restless sleep, I’m out of the bed early. I go straight to the M.E.’s office without checking in at the station.

  “Oh, good, Chief, you saved me a phone call.”

  “What do we know?”

  “So, the genital bruising I was looking at when we last saw each other has blossomed.”

  Blossomed?!

  “I’m sure you know what you mean by that, but I sure don’t.”

  “Let me show you.” He leads, and I follow him to the refrigerated drawer the vic is in. Lifting the sheet with a wave of his hand, expositing the hideous looking dick.

  “It has definitely blossomed,” I say, shocked by the change.

  “It’s still confined to his shaft. I can’t tell you what would cause this sort of differential decomposition.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, never having heard the term before.

  “It basically means that the decomp progression is at different levels of age or advancement. His penis has rotted, let’s say, at a much faster rate than the rest of him. And the sample I swabbed of his shaft is full of necrotic skin cells. Too far advanced to be his own. I sent it to DNA and am awaiting the results.”

  “So, the dead cells aren’t his own. Could they be of the woman he had sex with just prior?”

  “Absolutely,” he adds quickly, “if she were very dead.”

  “Well, we saw a very undead woman and this guy engaged in sexual activity just before his death.”

  “I have no answer for you, only observational facts.”

  “Thanks, doc.”

  “I’ll have the lab send over the DNA results when they’ve finished, I had them put a rush on it.”

  A quick wave goodbye, and instead of going to the station, I head to Vīrya to make them give me Tula’s info. We need to talk.

  I needn’t bother though, when I find Tula, instead, leaning her ass against my cruiser when I step outside. How she knew which was mine, or even that I’d be here, is beyond me.

  Tula walks toward me. How a woman could actually be so beautiful has surpassed my understanding. My brain fills with giddy excitement like some uncontrollable chemical reaction headed straight for my dick, even though I know she’s probably not here for me in that way.

  “Chief,” she catches up to me, stopping me with a hand on my elbow. She wants my attention and, I suppose, I’ll give it to her.

  “Tula,” I say back in the same straightforward tone she’s used.

  “Has the video come back? If so, we both know that when I left, that man was alive. Right?” A sort of hesitant certainty resides in her eyes.

  “We do know that, yes.”

  “So, you’ll be investigating elsewhere now?”

  “I suppose I will have to. Why didn’t you just tell me what had happened? This all could have been over for you much sooner.”

  She seems to think for a minute, “I guess, it all comes down to you. Had I said what I’d known all the way in the beginning, we wouldn’t have been able to have all these meetings?”

  Her face doesn’t look like she’s joking, but she has to be, so I laugh instead of wondering any longer
about it. Sidestepping further inquiry into her statement, I ask, “What was his demeanor when you left?”

  “Maybe… spent, if I had to choose a word.”

  “Why did you have sex with him?” Not intending to sound jealous, it comes out exactly that way, and I see she also notices that it has reared its ugly head. “What I meant to say is, I saw him come on a little strong, only to get brushed off, but then you engaged with him anyway. Why?”

  “I can’t give you an answer for that. I suppose I thought he was a nice guy, until he proved he wasn’t a nice guy. Maybe he got what he deserved.”

  Neither of us moves until the phone ringing inside my pocket breaks the silence. Fumbling, I answer it. “Yea?” Keeping eye contact with her, while trying to read her, only builds more confusion with every passing second.

  Dr. Kirby tells me the DNA he submitted is not the vics, which we’d been assuming was the case. He’d had sex before death, and obviously without a condom. The skin cells—the necrotic ones—are not his. And I can guarantee they aren’t Tula’s; she’s very much not rotting. I end the call when Kirby has finished. Thanking him for the rush.

  “You wouldn’t want to give us a sample of your DNA, would you?” I ask Tula.

  “I don’t think that would prove beneficial to me.”

  “Didn’t think so. Did you two use a condom?”

  “If the video doesn’t include such information, then it is not for you to know.”

  “Gee, and here I thought you’d like to clear your name.”

  “I don’t have to; the video has done that for me already. You’ve said so yourself.”

  She is quite perplexing. She’s been nothing but obtuse and difficult. Even though it doesn’t seem to be for the purpose of annoying me, it does.

  “I’ve got to get to work,” I say, making my way around her to my vehicle.

  “See you later, Chief.”

  I watch her walk away and then slide in behind a cherry-red convertible sports car that I couldn’t afford in this lifetime, driving away with her hair wild and free.