by P. A. Brown
Geography of Murder
by P. A. Brown
He jerked on the chain attached to the nipple clamps, sending pain lancing down my chest. "I can't hear you."
"Yes, Sir. I'll be good, Sir."
My shoulders ached from the unnatural position they were forced into. When he spun me around I almost lost my balance and pitched forward on my face. He steadied me and barked, "Stand still."
I froze. His hands on my hips, he crouched behind me and parted my ass cheeks. When his mouth covered my hole I shouted and locked my leg muscles to keep from toppling forward.
My cock strained toward release, but before I could come he reared up behind me and pressed his denim-clad groin against my ass. I moaned.
"You like drugs?" he murmured into my ear.
"N-no."
"Yes, you do." His arm swung around and his hand swept under my chin. "But that doesn't matter anymore. You will never take them again. Right?"
"W-what? I don't understand—"
"Who do you belong to?"
"You."
"Say my name."
"Alex."
He jerked at the clamp, twisting my nipple. Pain shot through me. "My name."
"Alex Spider. Detective Alexander Spider!"
"That's a good boy," he purred. His mouth closed over the nipple he had so recently twisted, soothing the lingering burn.
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He lavished attention on the other one then he stepped away from me again. His zipper slid down and cool gel-covered fingers probed my anus. It was followed by his latex covered cock. He twisted my clamped nipples again.
My heart jolted in my chest at the same time he rammed up my ass. There was nothing gentle about his assault on me.
He hung on to my shoulders and pounded into me, grunting and muttering obscenities in my ear. Behind the hood I shut my eyes and released myself to the sensation of having him inside me and holding me, enfolding me in his essence.
One of his big hands wrapped around my cock and pumped me. The storm abruptly ended in orgasm and we sagged together. He quickly released my bound hands and I collapsed in his arms. My Oxy-induced daze lingered, my ass and nipples ached. My head buzzed, still fired up. God forgive me, but I wanted more.
He walked me over to the bathroom and with a slap on my sore butt, pushed me toward the shower. "Get cleaned up.
Get dressed. You can cook supper."
"I can?" I was totally enervated and couldn't even think about food.
"Yes, you can. You're going to learn how to cook a decent meal, and you're going to serve me supper. If you're especially good, I'll even let you do the dishes."
"Oh, would you," I muttered and stopped in front of the bathroom mirror to see myself. My skin still glistened with the oil he had covered me with and my totally hairless body looked ... odd. He'd even shaved my pubic hair and my cock 108
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stood out against my pale skin where it would normally be nestled in my dark pubes. The sight was oddly arousing.
I stepped away from the mirror and into the shower, where I screwed up the controls and turned on the cold water full blast, giving myself an Arctic blast. Jolted awake I scrambled into the bedroom where I found the clothes I had brought from home laid out on the neatly made bed. My parade pants—that made me smile, I guessed I had made an impression on him the day he busted me—a leather and metal cock ring I eyed dubiously, and the mesh shirt that really made me look like I had a decent body. I always got picked up right away when I wore that to the clubs. No underwear. I struggled to put on the cock ring. I'd only ever worn one once before and let me tell you, they are damned hard to get on when you've got a boner. Every time I thought of what was coming my cock would swell and I couldn't get the thing on. The idea of course was you weren't supposed to lose an erection once you had the cock ring in place. Getting it on was another issue. Finally I thought of every undesirable thing I could. Baseball. Cold showers. Women. Suzie. I eventually got it on, then struggled into the skin tight parade pants. All this for a man I barely knew.
Somehow the gesture of choosing my clothes didn't infuriate me. I whistled while I pulled the black mesh shirt on.
Sliding my fingers through my mess of damp hair. Smoothing the material over my hips, I followed Spider into the kitchen.
I found him fishing out pots and pans and mixing bowls from various cupboards.
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He indicated a sink filled with potatoes, carrots and broccoli. "Start peeling the potatoes. Cut them into small chunks, they'll cook faster. Ditto with the broccoli. Only with that you trim off the stem."
"What are you going to do?"
"Take a shower." Spider patted me on my still tingling butt. "When I come back I'll get the grill going for the chicken."
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Spider
All I can say is: incredible. The kid is incredible. I never expected our play to be so fulfilling. The drugs had surprised me, though they shouldn't have. I'd seen his jacket. But it was the perfect way to get the upper hand so fast.
He was so eager to let me be in charge it was all I could do to draw it out as long as I did, when all I wanted to do was fuck him until we were both squealing. It was better this way.
He was biddable now. He might not know it yet, but he was mine.
I thought of the little surprise I had for dessert. It promised to bring the evening to a wonderful close.
He was a passable cook. Under my tutelage he would learn to be so much more. I let him have a single bottle of beer during the meal. I didn't want him getting any more fuzzy-headed than he was. I toasted him over the chicken he had grilled to perfection, with my help and watched his eyelids droop in exhaustion. He gamely hung on, every so often giving a little jerk as he almost slid into a doze. Can't have that. I left the room and when I came back he pulled himself up in his chair and shook himself like a dog.
"Sorry, Sir. I didn't mean—"
"Here, this will help." He set a bottle of thick, greenish liqueur on the table, along with two small glasses. "It's called absinthe. It's illegal to sell and make, but not to own. This is the only drug you can take with me."
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I nuzzled his neck, loving the smell of his freshly washed skin. He shivered under my touch. Wonderful. I bit his throat, then soothed the bitten area with soft kisses. He hissed and twitched under my attention.
He reached for the shot glass then stopped and met my eyes. "How do you take it? Straight shot?"
I produced a spoon and a sugar cube. Jason's gaze never left my hand while I poured cold water over the ice cube and slowly mixed it into the absinthe, turning it a milky white. I stirred the rest of the sugar into the bitter drink and handed it to him. He upended the shot glass and downed it with practiced ease. He sighed when the first shot hit his throat.
He turned glittering eyes toward me and silently asked if I wanted any. I shook my head and he poured another shot.
This time he performed the louching exercise as I'd shown him. He sank back, resting his head on the back of my dining room chair, eyes closed.
"Oh man, that's bitter shit."
"They say it has mild hallucinogenic effects. What do you think?"
"Cool."
I kept nuzzling his neck, biting hard enough to leave marks. "That's what you get for being a good boy."
Jason's lethargy was gone. He bounced to his feet, buzzing, laughing, reminding me of how young he really was.
I watched him for several amused minutes then grabbed his arm. He was giving me a contact high. "Whoa, there, boy."
He stood in front of me, vibrating. "Come on," he said.
&nbs
p; "Let's go dancing."
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"Dancing? This is Goleta. Two guys show up anywhere here and the only dancing you'll be doing is on the end of someone's boot."
"Come on, you're a big guy. You've got a gun. Who's gonna bother you?' He stroked the front of my shirt, playing with the buttons, eyes glazed as he contemplated some inner wonder.
I smiled and tipped his head up to meet my gaze. "We're going to have to make our own entertainment."
"Okay." He dropped to his knees and jerked open the fly of my jeans. He looked up at me slyly. "You mean like this."
He pulled out my already half-hard dick and swallowed it to the root. An electrical charge slammed through me. I steadied myself on his shoulders and watched him suck me.
He had a talented mouth and had me on the brink in seconds.
He had the presence of mind to pull off me before I came, shooting thick streamers of come over my stomach, and his head and shoulders. I shuddered and released him.
He climbed to his feet and grinned at me.
"Now we both have to shower again," he said.
We made it a quick one, then retreated to the living room where I let him pick out a movie for us to watch. Not surprisingly he chose Psycho, though he did complain I didn't have anything better, like Saw. I grimaced at the suggestion and said curtly, "Not in this house."
We settled onto the couch together, his head on my shoulder, his knees drawn up as he pressed against me. After a while my arm grew numb but when I tried to pull away I 113
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found he was sleeping. I left him until the movie ended and the final credit rolled, then I pushed him off me.
"Come on," I said. "Let's get you to bed."
I don't think he fully woke up as I led him into my bedroom. It didn't make it easy to undress him, but I managed and rolled him under the covers. I shed my clothes and followed him. The mess in the kitchen would have to wait until morning.
He snorted and rolled over in his sleep, throwing his arms around me and settling against my chest. I looked down at his sleeping form and felt a tug in my gut I hadn't felt in years. No way, I thought savagely. No way I was going to fall for this little mall rat.
My last thought before I fell into darkness was, he smells good.
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114
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Jason
My blankets were wrenched off me and my shivering flesh exposed to the cool air. I protested but Spider's harsh voice told me to get up. I ignored it for two seconds when a hand landed square on my ass.
Yelping, I rolled out of bed and stood facing a fully clothed, smirking Spider.
"You really do look pretty, boy, all spit and polished clean and shiny as a billiard ball." His voice grew sterner. "You sleep when I tell you to," he said. "You have chores to do.
Duties you neglected last night."
Chores? Where was I? On my Grandpa's farm? I glared at him, rubbing my stinging butt.
"Don't give me lip, boy. Remember last night."
I did, and my body immediately clenched into full arousal.
He glanced down at my fat erection and his sternness increased. "Not yet, boy. Save that until you've done your chores."
"What chores?" I asked in growing exasperation.
"That mess you left last night to start." He took my jeans and T-shirt off the dresser and tossed them to me. "Get dressed. Then you can come and inspect the damage."
Word of advice: don't leave food on plates overnight without rinsing. It took me nearly two hours of hard-ass scrubbing to get the congealed shit off those plates and cooking pans, not to mention the tile and wood surfaces through the kitchen. The barbecue grill was the worse. I stank 115
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of burned charcoal and oily soap by the time I was allowed to crawl into the shower and make myself as clean as the kitchen I had just left. When I came back out he was standing by the cupboard minutely examining the plates I had cleaned.
I went up to him and snatched the plate out of his hands.
"What? You think I didn't do it right?"
He looked at me lazily. "They look okay. Now you can do the rest of the kitchen." He gestured to where he had set a broom, bucket and mop. Water and something that smelled of pine steamed gently in the basin of the bucket.
"I'm going to get some groceries for dinner. See that it's done when I get back."
As he went out the front door I shouted after him, "I didn't join the fucking army and I don't take orders from anyone, Mr. Drill Sergeant."
I half expected him to come back and ream me out, but all I heard was the roar of his truck engine then silence broken only by a distant dog barking.
I cursed the black-hearted asshole but swabbed his deck when I really wanted to give him a piece of my mind. By the time Alex returned I had finished, put the tools and empty bucket away and had wandered out to the backyard. I sat in an Adirondack chair to study the nearby cottonwoods and bushes. I wished I had my binoculars with me. I thought I spotted a hermit thrush and a yellow-billed magpie dancing through the leafless branches looking for something meaty to eat. Around me the air was alive with bird song. This area had an entirely different ecosystem, full of birds not found on the coast. It would be fun to spend a few hours roaming the rural 116
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areas out of town. But somehow I doubted Alex was the least bit interested in woodland hikes.
The door banged open and Alex came out on the patio. He had a beer and wore a battered San Francisco Giants baseball cap.
He took a slug of beer and dropped into the Adirondack beside mine. "Get this straight right now. You are in the army, mister. You're in my army now. And you will do what you're told when you're told to do it."
"You say jump and I say how high on the way up?"
He gave me a lazy smile. "Something like that."
"Can I have a beer?"
"No." He looked around his backyard. It was pretty obvious he didn't use it much. The grass, what there was of it, was brown in patches. Weeds filled in the rest. None of the bushes had been trimmed. "What are you doing out here?"
"Admiring the view," I muttered.
"No, really. What are you doing?"
"If you must know, bird watching."
I waited for the ridicule. Instead he looked thoughtful.
"There lots of them out here? I never noticed."
"Can't you hear them?" I listened to the mournful coo of a several mourning doves and the nearby screech of a scrub jay complaining about something. Maybe a neighborhood cat; I'd seen a few around, slinking through the underbrush hoping for a quick meal. I hate cats.
He paused to listen. "Yeah, I guess I can," he said. "Not much traffic noise out here to drown things out."
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It was quiet. "You like this kind of solitude? It must get lonely out here at times."
He played with the label on his beer. "You angling for an invitation to keep me company? I like being alone. People not knowing your business."
I wasn't surprised to hear that coming from a man who clearly had a lot of secrets to keep. Still, it must get lonely at times, despite what he said. Maybe that's why the Vault was so important to him. It was the one place he could indulge his kinks and not be labeled a freak or worse. So why did I want to be the one who filled his void? I didn't think he was a freak. He was a man I wanted to know more deeply. What kind of fool did that make me?
Abruptly he stood up. "Come on, you earned yourself a car ride. I'm taking you out for lunch."
I hurried after him. "Do I need to change?"
He looked me up and down. "No, that's just fine. We're not going anyplace fancy."<
br />
"Right, this is Goleta."
He took me to the local Sizzlers. It wasn't gourmet, but the food was plentiful and filling. He let me have a beer with lunch.
He ordered the steak. I opted for something different, ribs.
I don't know what it is, I have a thing for chomping on bones.
I was on my final rib, sticky fingers and face drawing amused glances from Spider, when his cell rang. Looking peeved, he pulled it out, checked the caller ID and frowned. His voice was cool when he answered, "Spider."
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He listened for several seconds, growing grimmer by the minute. I put my rib back on the plate, appetite gone. I waited for him to get off the phone.
When he did, he glowered at me as though I was to blame.
"There's been another homicide. It looks like it could be my guy."
"You have to go in?" I hastily wiped my fingers on the napkin.
"Yes."
No apology. No regrets. What did I expect?
He signaled for the bill and slapped a Visa down on the table. Upending his ice water he drained it and stood up, grabbing his jacket.
"I have to stop by the house. If you want, you can stay there and wait for me, or I can drop you at your car in town.
Your choice."
He signed off on the charge and took my elbow, and headed for the door. I hurried to catch up. Spider in overdrive was a sight to see.
In the truck he turned and noticed my slowness in obeying him. He frowned and tapped an impatient rhythm out on the steering wheel.
"Which is it, Jason?"
I shook myself. Did I want to sit around a strange place, not know when he'd be back? Didn't sound like much fun. He might even come home tired and cranky and did I want that?
"I think I'll go home. I have things to do..."
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Without another word he swung the truck toward his place, changed into a suit and tie and strapped on his gun. When I went to collect my things he stopped me.